He would want his people safe.
Reyna rushed through the storm with the shadow fae. The downpour plastered her cloak to her skin, and rivulets of rain raced down her chilled face. They didn’t speak as they ducked through alleys and slid through the mud. She didn’t spot any wood fae, but that did not mean they weren’t lurking around the next corner. Best to be quiet and quick.
At long last, Finnegan slowed to a stop outside of an imposing black stone building that hulked in the shadows like a monstrous beast. Located on the outskirts of the eastern edge of the city, it cast its tall shadows against the churning sea. The windows were boarded up, and strange drawings had been etched into the walls. Stick-like figures dancing and whorling against a red sky.
Reyna wanted to ask about the drawings, but there was no time. Finnegan pounded on the Illusion House’s door. A small hatch flipped open, and a single red eye peered out.
“Finnegan?” a voice whispered beneath the booming thunder.
“Let us in,” Finnegan growled, glancing over his shoulder at the dark, slick streets. “We need to speak with you about something important.”
The hatch slammed shut, and the door creaked open. A shadow fae darkened the doorway, donned in head-to-toe shadowsteel armor. His gleaming red eyes were the color of the mist-enshrouded sun, and his dark hair hung around his shoulder like strands of wet grass.
“Who’s this with you?” The shadow fae’s eyes narrowed as he slid his gaze down the length of Reyna’s body. “Don’t tell me you’ve made friends with one of those bloody wood fae.”
“Brody, this is Princess Reyna Darragh.” Finnegan stepped in and braced his hand against the door. “Let us in. They’re looking for her.”
“Reyna Darragh? Dammit, Finnegan. You should have stayed at the house,” the shadow fae hissed, ushering them inside. “What were you thinking, coming all the way here when there are wood fae marching through the streets, ready to kill any of us if we even blink at them wrong? Withher?”
“We came here looking for Nollaig,” Finnegan said, shaking the rain off his cloak. “Is she here?”
Brody frowned. “Why in god’s name would Nollaig be here?”
Reyna sagged. She closed her eyes. All the fragile hope she’d managed to scrabble onto vanished into the mists. Nollaig wasn’t here. Which meant…the wood king must have gotten to her, too.
“Her king is dead,” Finnegan said. “I thought she might come here. You know how she is. She loved the bastard. I can’t see her staying inside that castle and serving his murderer.”
Dead. Bastard. Murderer.
Reyna’s hands fisted. She felt herself take a step back toward the door, to the rain, and the thunder, and the lightning that called to her. This had been a mistake.Hopehad been a mistake.
“She did come by here. A week back. Maybe two. Asked me if I could pass out some of our stored food to the city. Said to hold tight, that she was heading south to see what they could find by way of allies in the coastal lords.”
A strange sensation prickled the back of Reyna’s neck. “The coastal lords?”
“Aye. The ones who refused to come when Bolg called,” he said with a shrug. “She thought they might have some more luck with them than he did. Those lords aren’t fans of Unseelie or dark magic or illusions or any of it at all. They’ve turned to the Dagda, like our High King did.”
“Nollaig went south,” Reyna repeated, her heart thumping.
“That’s what she said.”
She wet her lips. “And you think she was going to round up another army to fight against the wood king?”
“I’d say so. Hell, I’d even say she’s probably already on her way back. It’s only a three days’ ride to Caraid.”
“Alright, new plan.” She turned to Finnegan and gripped his arm. “I don’t need to get inside the castle. I need to getoutof this city. Now. I need to meet Nollaig before she gets here with the new army and warn her of what’s happened here. If we’re lucky, she’ll have enough warriors for a real battle. Forget subterfuge. Let’s take the city by storm.”
24
Eislyn
“Here are the books you requested.” Druid Evin dropped a stack of ten thick volumes on the table beside her hearth. He did not look amused. “It took me two days to find all these. In addition to all the others. Next time you want a book, you’re going to have to read the ones you already have.”
“Thank you,” she said, eagerly flipping open the first book on the pile. She’d had the druid search for any mention of the Dionadair in the library. It turned out there were quite a lot of books that touched upon the topic, though some only had a paragraph or two of information. Some she couldn’t read at all, not without a translation.
The druid slipped out the door, leaving her alone with the books. With a contented sigh, she curled up beside the flickering hearth and read while her new owl friend sat quietly on her shoulder. She’d made it halfway through the first book when her eyes skipped over a paragraph about a Fomorian named Dagda and a prophecy involving a magic he’d created—the Dionadair.
Her heart pounded hard against her chest as she sucked in a deep breath. She pressed her hand against the ancient parchment just as the door slammed open, creaking on its hinges.
