The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

Honestly, it’d be a miracle if that happened, but those have happened before. The small boy who watched Lugh’s official acceptance of the Horned King’s helm grew into a fine soldier. He fought with the Hunt when he was younger, but I never suspected he would gain the respect of the Sluagh clans and become their thegn. And I never dreamed he would support Lugh’s work in his lands. Yet, as the centuries have passed, we’ve watched Aage grow and turn to diplomacy and tradition, building a legacy while we build amusing legends. But through his support, we’ve found a place in the Wylds. We’re almost more Sluagh than Unseelie now. No matter what I think of Lugh’s plan, the urge to protect the Sluagh we’ve met in our travels rises in me too.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, Lugh says quietly, “I don’t care how it ends, but I need you to know I won’t allow Aage or his people to become pawns in this war. They deserve better than that. They always have.”

“I know.” And I do. The desires to be left alone to live my own life and to finally be acknowledged as worthy by the fae of the Winter Court wage a never-ending battle in my heart. Still, I’ve only faced the weight of this conflict for centuries. I can’t imagine living with it for millennia as the Sluagh have, for generations past and future.

“I have to try,” he says. “I have to give them the choice before Mother or Roark forces them into it.”

An impossible quest for an impossible man. I suppose there are worse ways to die.

“Fine.”

“You’re with me?”

“When am I not?”

He sighs and the dark mood hanging between us lifts. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“That’s true,” I agree, and lie back down. Shit, I need about a week to sort through Lugh’s news. I need the gods to come down and remind me to trust him because, no matter the harebrained scheme he comes up with, it always seems to work out in the end. Most of all, I need sleep. Start with sleep. “Are you telling the men, or am I?”

“I will. We need to start preparations for the trip.”

“In a hurry to go die, are we?”

&nbs

p; His nose scrunches in obvious distaste. He used to make the same face at the pickled herring I tried to get him to eat when we were young. “I have no intention of dying. But, yes, we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Queen Mab’s choice or your brother’s?”

“Both.”

Of course. I adjust my pillow and turn so I can face him as I drift off. The need to see him always lasts for a few days after the transformation. He doesn’t seem to mind, thankfully. “Do you need me to help?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll handle everything. You need to sleep.” He gives a wan smile. “Let me take care of you this once. Please?”

It’s the please that does it. I bury my head in the pillow so I don’t have to see his face and grumble, “This once.”

“Thank you. Now, for the love of the Goddess, get to sleep.”

I needed to know something else, but his suggestion sounds wonderful. He waits with me while I drift off, only rising to go to the door once my eyelids are too heavy to keep open. The hinges squeak, his footsteps begin to fade, but I remember what I needed to know and call out, “When do we leave?”

Surely that wasn’t him answering, “Tomorrow.” Couldn’t be...

Chapter Five

Lugh

Two days into our ride away from the Unseelie sídhe, our journey to reach Aage abruptly changes course. A shade visits me during my sleep to warn of a feral river kraken; the creature attacks anyone who visits its small, comfortable estuary. Unfortunately, the nearby village relies on it for water and fishing. The local huscarl, Voll, promised to send aid, but none has come—at least, not before a young fisherman was killed.

I don’t have it in me to resist his quiet, mournful ghost, so when we set out in the morning, he leads us to the creature’s nest. Our battle with the kraken is short and messy. I’m not sure I can really count it a victory, thanks to all the cleanup required. I’ve taken the brunt of the mess and am covered in a combination of slime, fish-scented blood, and river water. Cybel, Armel, and Drest grant me a wide berth as we ride. Keiran complains about my stench, but stays within a horse’s length.

“Seidhr,” Armel calls over his shoulder to me, “food or bath first?”

“Bath,” the rest of the men say before I can answer.

I must stink more than I realize, if they’re so adamant. I try to subtly sniff at my shirt, but everything smells so bad there’s no discernable difference. Keiran catches me at it and shakes his head. He’s been unusually quiet since we rode away from the kraken’s corpse.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.