Page 117 of The Stolen Heir
Bogdana grins from where she stands near the red stain of Lady Nore’s remains. “And why not? Are you not the Greenbriar heir, the thief of her inheritance?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Tiernan says, ignoring the storm hag. He glances at the gathered soldiers, at the trolls, at everything he would have to fight if he tried to stop me, and narrows his eyes. “Jude might not have come for her father, but she will bring all the armies she can muster here to war with you for her brother. This can’t be what you want.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Go,” I say. “Before I change my mind.”
“Best to do as she says.” I can see Oak weigh his options and make the only real choice left to him. “Get my father back to Elfhame, or if Jude won’t lift his exile, to somewhere else where he can recover. I told Wren I wouldn’t leave without her.”
Tiernan’s gaze rests on the prince, then on me, then goes to Hyacinthe. He nods once, his expression grim, and turns away.
A few of the other knights and soldiers follow. Hyacinthe strides across the snow to my side.
“You may go with them, if you wish,” I tell him. “With Madoc, and with Tiernan.”
He watches as his former lover helps his former general across the snow. “Until my debt to you is paid, my place is here.”
“Wren,” Oak says, causing me to turn toward his voice. “I’m not your enemy.”
A small smile turns up a corner of my mouth. I feel the sharpness of my teeth and roll my tongue over them. For the first time, I like the feeling.
CHAPTER
18
Bogdana leads the way to the Citadel. Hyacinthe walks by my side. When the servants bow, it is not out of mere courtesy. It comes from the same fear that caused them to make obeisances before Lady Nore and Lord Jarel.
Fear is not love, but it can appear much the same.
So too, power.
“Write to the High Court,” urges Bogdana. “As its faithful servant, you’ve retrieved Mab’s remains, ended the threat that Lady Nore presented, and set the former Grand General free. And then ask a boon— that you might remain here in her old castle and begin a Court of your own. That will be our first step. If your message gets there before Tiernan, the High Court could grant it all before they know better.”
Bogdana goes on. “Tell them that the prince is with you, but sustained an injury. You will send him back to Elfhame once he is rested and ready.”
Hyacinthe gives me a quick look, as though checking to see that I am the same person who so despised captivity as to help him escape from it.
I am not sure I am the same.
“Do not presume to give me orders,” I tell the storm hag. “I may owe you my life, but I also owe you my death.”
She steps back, chastened.
I will not make the same mistakes as Mellith.
“As soon as Tiernan and Madoc reach Elfhame, they will inform the High Court that we’re keeping Oak prisoner,” Hyacinthe says. “No matter what boon the High King and Queen have granted you, they’ll demand his release.”
“Perhaps a storm will delay their progress,” I suggest, with a nod toward Bogdana. “Perhaps Madoc’s injuries will require treatment. Many things can happen.”
All around the hall, birds still perch. Soldiers doomed to feed on kindness. To kill nothing or be forever winged. I close my eyes. I can see the magic binding them. It is tightly coiled and weaves through their little feathered forms, tugging at their tiny hearts. It takes me a moment to find the knots, but when I do, the curses dissipate like cobwebs.
With ecstatic sighs and gasps, these falcons discover they are in their own faerie bodies once more.
“My queen,” one says, over and over. “My queen.”
Surely, I am easier to follow than Lady Nore.
I nod but cannot smile. Somehow as satisfied as I find myself with what I have done, it does not touch me. It is as though my heart is still locked away in a box, still buried underground.
I find myself inextricably drawn to the prisons. There, in his iron cage, I see Oak lying atop the furs I had sent down. He looks up at the ceiling, cloak pillowed beneath his head, and whistles a tune.