I’d ignored the consequences of my actions for years. What did it matter anyway? What were they going to do? Kill me? I’d welcome the reprieve from the feckin’ hangover.
“Wallace called bright and early askingmewhat I’d done with his daughter. So I asked myself”—Rían tapped his pointed chin—“why would he be calling to me if Áine had left the castle with you?” He balled up my shirt and threw it at my face. “Unless she didn’t leave the feckin’ castle.”
“She—”
Rían held up a hand. If he didn’t get the thing out of my face, I’d chop it clean off. “I don’t give a shit that she’s dead. But I refuse to clean up yet another one of your messes. Now, sober up quick, put on something that doesn’t reek of drink, and get your arse back to the castle. You have a murder to explain.”
* * *
“You killed my daughter!” The accusation echoed around the great hall, sending my head pounding anew.
With the amount of wine I’d drunk, I’d known today was going to be shite, but the reality was far worse. If the fat little white-haired man didn’t stop pacing in front of the dais, the bile climbing the back of my throat would end up on his boots.
Rían’s eyes bore into my skull from where he sat on the smaller throne. Rían and his judgment could go and shite. If he’d slept with Áine, none of this would’ve happened. I would’ve returned to the bonfire, stopped Keelynn from drinking herself into a stupor, and spent the night in her bed instead of guzzling half a bottle puitín and faerie wine.
“Your daughter made threats against a woman in my charge,” I explained.
“A feckin’human,” Wallace seethed, his slightly crooked teeth flashing.
“Be glad my brother handled it before I did,” Rían drawled, his smile laced with quiet rage. As much as he hated me, he hated the faeries more. Our father had been a faerie before giving up his wings for my mother. She’d used spells and dark magic to allow him to maintain his power without them.
Rían had never forgiven Midir for abandoning him with his mother.
Wallace’s face paled. “You will pay for what you’ve done. Stealin’ a year of my little girl’s life away as if it’s nothing.”
Rían’s eyebrows lifted toward his mahogany hair. “That sounded like a threat. Wouldn’t you say, Tadhg?”
I didn’t want to see the man dead. He was understandably distraught over his daughter. Still, I couldn’t have him coming in here, delivering threats for all to hear. “Let’s ask Wallace. Were you threatening me just now? Or did you speak out of anger and wish to apologize?”
His face reddened. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke coming from his pointed ears. “I am sorry, my prince.”
Rían inhaled, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think you are.”
With me being a true immortal, there was nothing Wallace could do that would have any lasting impact. Unless he acquired the cursed dagger I’d left with Ruairi.
Still, I couldn’t let him get away with speaking to me like that. “Perhaps a day in the dungeon will change your tune. Rían?”
My brother’s eyes lit up, making him look like a child who just got a new puppy. With a flick of his wrist, he and the faerie disappeared.
Before I left Tearmann, there was one more order of business I had to deal with. Something I had been putting off for days. With a burst of magic and a focused mind, I evanesced to the Phantom Queen’s cliffside castle. An onyx monstrosity surrounded by the Black Forest.
I hated this place almost as much as I hated the gallows.
It wasn’t just the stench of rotting vegetation mixed with the perfume of death that made my stomach lurch. There was always this niggling feeling of eyes on you, even though no one was around. Then there were all the feckin’ crows pecking at the blackened ground. If I lived in this place, I’d be deranged too.
With my pounding head screaming at me to evanesce the hell out of there, I withdrew my dagger from its sheath and slid the sharp blade across my palm. Blood welled from the wound. I squeezed my fist, letting the deep red drops drip into the lock on the high spiked gates.
The lockclicked, and the gate whined as it eased open of its own volition.
Two guards on either side of the mammoth door peered from behind black masks, their outfits making it nearly impossible to tell if they were men or women. Not that it mattered when they had their swords drawn and aimed at your chest.
“What business do you have with the Queen?” Ah. A woman then. And a young one by the sound of her voice. No one knew where the old crow recruited her army of shadow guards. And no one dared to ask.
“I’ve come to discuss passage through the Forest.”
Behind the guard who had spoken, the massive door opened. The Queen emerged, her black feathered skirts fluttering on the rancid breeze. An onyx crown came to a point in the center of her pale, wrinkled forehead, matching the blackness pulsing through her veins. “Nephew, what a pleasant surprise.”
Being cursed to tell the truth meant I couldn’t return the false sentiment. “Hello, Auntie.”