“Until the end, Lugh,” he agrees.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Keiran
Kermode’s and Thorburn’s forces are waiting for us when we arrive on the borders of Queen Mab’s lands. They’ve established a camp in one of the clearings on the edge of the Wylds, offering us a clear view of the snowy, rolling fields of the Unseelie sídhe, with its cairns and standing stones. They’ve chosen a defensible space, one beyond Queen Mab’s immediate reach. The huscarls set to work expanding the encampment, while the Hunt and I find Kermode, who has a message for us.
We find him unloading the new supplies, and he smiles when he sees us approaching. “About time you arrived,” he says. “I didn’t fancy facing those messengers again.”
“What messengers?” I ask.
“The Winter Knight and the Prince of Air and Darkness,” he says. “Moment we halted here and began setting camp, they appeared out of nowhere. Felt like being struck by lightning. Had a blade at my throat before I could say a word. They thought we were part of Goodfellow’s forces. Once they heard we were with you and the seidhr, away goes the blade, out comes the politeness, and the question of where the hell you were. When I said I didn’t know, the prince gave me a message to deliver. He said to scry as soon as you arrived.”
“Shit,” Lugh mumbles. He brushes his fingers against the back of my arm. “I should go.”
“Not far,” I tell him. “If they want you to meet with them, I’m going too.”
Kermode beams at that. “So the talk is true? You’re going to face down Queen Mab? Gods, I’d love to know my territories were secure from her reach. You lived in her sídhe, so you must know how to negotiate with her.”
If only he knew what life under her rule was truly like. “I intend to try.”
He nods and gives my shoulder a meaty slap before turning back to the wagon. “Good luck then. We’ll be eager to hear your story when you return.”
The Hunt exchange wary looks. They know Queen Mab. They’re far less optimistic about the coming encounter.
“We’ll stay here,” Cybel tells me quietly. “Do what we can to help. We’ll make sure our tents are set and ready when you get back.”
It’s easier to walk away to find Lugh when I know I’m leaving the minutiae in capable hands. The huscarls and the Hunt are all experienced and confident leaders. They provide good counsel and I trust them. If we win this war, I’ll reward them for their loyalty and service.
Lugh will also share in those rewards. For the first time in decades, I’m buoyed up with hope. Lugh relies on instinct more than planning when he makes decisions, but he’s not foolhardy. His choices always have a reason attached. The pledge he made to me in front of the Sluagh means something, something I’m scared to examine until after Lugh faces his family and makes a final decision about his future.
That moment may arrive sooner than I think. I find Lugh sitting on a rock just outside the shelter of the trees and wrap my arms around him from behind. He hums a greeting, but isn’t distracted from the small bowl of water in his hands. After a moment, the edges of the water shiver and ripple toward the center, obscuring the reflection of Lugh biting his lower lip as he focuses on the task. The movements of the water stop and Lugh swears.
Leaning down to kiss his cheek is easy now. I’m allowed to steal these intimacies because we’re both hopelessly entangled in each other’s pasts, presents, and, gods willing, futures. “What’s wrong?” I ask, shuffling so I can drape the edges of my cloak around his shoulders.
“Haven’t scryed in a while,” he grumbles, leaning back against me so the cloak covers him more fully. “It’s so much easier to send ravens.”
“Armel will be so disappointed in you. He’ll probably bring back your practice until you can scry in your sleep again.”
“Don’t you dare tell him about this,” Lugh says. “I won’t go through that hell again.”
“Should you try again or—?”
The hairs on my arms prickle and a wave of sensation crawls up my spine, reminding me of the charge in the air when lightning splits the heavens close by. The bowl tumbles to the ground and Lugh’s beside me in a moment, nimbly stealing one of the knives from my belt as I draw a short axe. Our tension melts away the moment we see who steps from the forest behind us. Prince Lyne and a blond man with mussed hair and an easy smile inspect u
s.
“You’re late,” Prince Lyne remarks.
“We didn’t plan for a coup among the Sluagh,” Lugh shoots back.
Prince Lyne’s utter lack of surprise at Lugh’s statement unnerves me. He knows something’s gone wrong, but he doesn’t seem angry. In fact, he awkwardly clears his throat and declares, “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Lugh flushes a little at the unusually obvious affection from his older brother.
The prince gestures to the other man, who steps forward nervously. “Smith, this is my youngest brother, Lugh, and his guard, Keiran. Lugh, Keiran, this is Smith, my consort. Now that that’s out of the way, we need to get back.”
“Consort?” Lugh asks, just as I ask, “Isn’t the sídhe sealed?”