Page 94 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“What do you want then? Why have me stay—”

Wards flare. They’re deep within the castle, from Ronan’s former rooms.

“You—”

“Your uncle is furious with both of you,” the witch continues in that same conversational tone. She has nothing to fear, of course. Why would she? Even if I had all my power, I could not hope to beat her. “I convinced him that Oisin was the greater threat. That he fills his head with dreams of Seelie freedom, of only Seelie sitting on the throne… He does not know the truth of you.”

“That I’m Seelie, too, or that it doesn’t matter?”

“Either. Or. That matters little to me, too.”

“If he kills Oisin, this realm is done for. He is the only one of us who can wear a crown.”

“Hence the other reason for pushing your uncle in that direction. We have a few months left. There are plenty of fae who cannot cross the veil. The Guardians will not allow them passage, and even if they change their minds on that front, it will be too late.”

“You’ll have them die here with you.”

Her face turns vicious in an instant, shadows pulling and twisting around her. “Yes. How easy it was for them all to dismiss me when your parents insisted. Your mother took the love I had for them both and twisted it, had me weave wards into the veil that would ensure no one would ever know the truth. And I did it! I did it because I thought it might convince them both to keep me, but—”

“They didn’t. You’re condemning everyone here. Most of these fae were not even alive when my parents were crowned.”

She scoffs. “This didn’t happen before their coronation,” she says slowly. “Not all of it. Most of it happened after your brother was born.”

“Ronan?”

“Iagan.”

Something about the way she says his name makes my stomach sink. She stares off into the distance for a moment before her gaze snaps to my face. The wards have not flared again. I can only hope Oisin felt them in time, that he has avoided my uncle’s wrath.

“Let me go.”

“You cannot help him.”

“I did nothing to you,” I growl, “and you are killing me. You. Let me do this one thing.”

The witch studies my face. “You wish for my sympathy.”

“No. I want a chance. You stacked the odds against me, against all of us. Oisin does not deserve to die for the games you are playing.”

She bares her teeth, but the stone around my ankles loosens. “Let him kill you too then. You do not have long left as it is.”

I turn and run. It does not matter. Oisin has not entered into a deal with the witch, and although she wants this realm to fall—which it likely will when I die, if Veles does not manage to find a strong enough successor—prolonging our suffering seems to please her, too.

When I reach Ronan’s former rooms, the door is open. Magic sparks within, but no one is using it right now. I dare not reach out. What if Aodhan is waiting for me? Unless he made a deal with the witch, he might kill me anyway.

“Come in, Lark,” Oisin says. He sounds tired.

I enter the rooms. Aodhan must have lashed out as soon as he broke through the wards, for the entire place is in disarray, furniture upturned and glass shattered. Oisin stands in the centre, surveying the damage. His hand is pressed to the back of his head and when he pulls it away, the tips of his fingers are red.

“Are you injured?”

He dismisses me with a glance. “I am faring far better than you are. He ran when I fought back. The crowns might siphon some of our magic, but they grant us more power to draw upon should the situation call for it. What a pleasant surprise.”

I grunt in agreement, stepping further into the room. Oisin turns his attention from the mess to me.

“He did not try your rooms?”

I reach out and the wards, not all that far away, reach back. They are undisturbed. “No. But I was not there.”