“What are Regio’s plans for my daughter?”
The soldier snaps his lids open and closed many times. “P-Plans?”
Cathal’s nostrils flare. “Why did he bring her into the fucking tunnels?”
“Oh.” The man runs shaky fingers through his waist-long hair that I consider shearing off before carving into his neck, just to show the Fae how I feel about their inane status symbol. “I d-don’t know.”
Wrong answer.My body unspools until I am one with the lashing rain.
The man jerks out both palms as though two tender appendages could hold me back. I may have smiled had my mate . . . my curse-breaker . . . my everything not been stolen from me and brought into a place I cannot reach.
“The k-king w-wants M-Meriam to-to-to—”
To . . .?
Cathal’s patience wears thin, and he cinches the man’s throat. “Finish your fucking sentence, Faerie.”
A whimper burbles out of the soldier.
“What does that gutless turd want Meriam to do?” Cathal’s howl blows back the man’s pale tresses.
“I h-heard whispers of wed-wedlock.”
My blood runs cold.
Cathal’s head rears back. “Wedlock?”
“Between the B-Beast-charmer and our k-king.”
Cathal turns his attention toward the oil spill I’ve become.
The sky roars and brightens.
I want this mountain disemboweled before sunrise!I command my people, who begin to pound the friable gray rock with their iron beaks and talons.
Mórrígan, how I will eviscerate Regio and all those he holds dear.
“C-Can I leave?”
Cathal’s talons must sprout for the next thing I know, he’s holding the man’s head, and it’s no longer attached to the rest of the body. “I will kill him.”
Cian, who’s landed beside his brother, says, “I believe you’ve already done so, brother.”
“I meant—”
“I know who you meant.” He raises his eyes to mine, and although his do not fill with prophecies like his mate’s, I see Bronwen’s words scroll across his dark irises:Fallon will kill Dante.
The sky calms, as though holding its breath. Is that why Fallon hushed our bond, stole through the hidden staircase, and took off on horseback toward the valley? To fulfill a fucking prophecy?
How did she even know how to mute our mating link? Did Lazarus brew her an elixir? If he aided her, may Mórrígan take pity on his soul.
“Daya.” Cathal’s skin has become so bleak beneath the drips of charcoal that I press out of my mind and land at his side.
“What about Daya?” Cian asks.
“I forgot to ask if she was in the tunnels. I forgot to ask—” He rubs at his iron breastplate. “I forgot to ask if she was alive.”
Pity extracts a lie from my lips. “She is.”
