“How did you—How—?” Lyrial’s green eyes gape as wide as his blackened mouth.
“Magic,” I say before wondering why he and his people—pureFae—haven’t launched magical warfare on me. I don’t taunt him, preferring he keep it that way.
I fold and refold my fingers around the reins. “Our deal is done. Move.”
Neither he nor the female move.
“Did my voice not carry to your broad ears?”
“We heard you, girl.” The woman’s voice is as jarring as the purse one of her people has upturned. “We must count.”
At their speed, I’ll be here until sunrise. “They’re all there.”
“We. Count.”
I blow a piece of hair off my face.
The bookkeeper looks up after a half hour and says something that makes the corners of Lyrial’s lips hook upward. Did Morrgot cheapen out? I don’t have magical math powers, so I cannot tally up the spread of gold with a blink of an eye, but I can tell there area lotof coins down there.
More than I’ve ever seen in one place, at one time.
“What?” I snap.
Although Lyrial is still holding onto the reins, Furia begins to prance.
“Send us another bag from the heavens, and we let you leave.”
Fifty-Four
You heard the pointy-eared swine ask for something to be sent from the heavens, right, Behach Éan?
“I know you believe me part Fae and part daft,” I mutter with as much aplomb as I can muster for one encircled by irrational forest folk, “but I assure you, my senses are wholly adequate.”
At this point, I don’t much care if the jungle Fae assume I talk to myself.
No need to bristle. I was just making certain you and I were on the same page.
Before I can ask what in the world Morrgot’s trying to get at, smoke rips past Lyrial’s eyes and detaches the male’s arm at the elbow. Like, clean off. No tissue or bone connect the appendage now dangling off Furia’s bit.
My stomach lurches in time with Furia, who grasps his freedom between two hooves.
The last thing I see are Lyrial’s eyes rolling back into his pretty face and his female companion catching him with a shriek.
Arrows are launched. Since Furia seems to know where he’s heading, I pivot my upper body to keep my attention on the feathered missiles in order to duck and lean accordingly. Nonna taught me to never turn my back on the enemy, for one has far more chances of dodging a blow they see coming.
Although I react fast, Morrgot reacts faster. His shapeless blackness seems to swell as he zips left and right, up and down, batting away the hail of arrows. I almost relax enough to turn back around but catch a white gleam just as an arrow sails past my smoke shield.
I flick my head to the side, knocking my ear into my shoulder, and the arrow whizzes past my temple.
Fallon!Morrgot has turned solid and is gaping at me with such shock, like it’s the first time something has gotten past him.
I’m glad I didn’t let my guard down, or I’d have an arrow planted in the middle of my forehead.Wise Nonna.“I’m good, Morrgot.”
An arrow clicks into a neighboring trunk, snapping him from his trance. He doesn’t speak as he buffers me from the last ones. Only when Furia foams with sweat and we’ve put a kilometer between us and the bad Fae, does he morph back into feathers.
Did the arrow— Were you hit?
“No.”
