Page 234 of The Edge of Darkness

This time, Niall cocked his head, his expression calling the commander’s bluff.

Roirdan gave him a stern look that I imagined said something similar to, Quit giving me shit about it. For a brief moment, it looked as if Niall might have mind-walked to reply. When Roirdan’s nostrils flared, I knew Niall was, indeed, giving him shit.

I claimed the head of the table, and Niall took the chair opposite me. Once everyone was situated, I stood, and spoke. “I wanted to host this meal as a way for us to unwind and enjoy each other’s company. For too long, I took family meals for granted. It wasn’t until I found half the dining table permanently empty that I realized how much it meant to just share a meal with the ones you love.” I couldn’t help the tears that welled in my eyes as I spoke. “You all have become my family, and I will cherish every meal we have together, regardless of the finery or the occasion. I am grateful for each and every one of you, and I hope you know that.”

Smiles and nods circled around the table.

I raised my glass. “To family.”

“Family,” everyone repeated.

We ate and talked, and ate some more. Laughter filled the air—such a warm sound—and I wrapped myself in its embrace, capturing each smile in my memory. It was often the small moments like this that held the most meaning. The comfort that each grin held, the sincerity in every cackling laugh drawn out by a poorly delivered joke, the wisdom of some, and the tales of hundreds of years of life—all those things left their mark on me. It didn’t have to be an extravagant ball, or a castle feast, to be memorable. It was who I was surrounded with that made it worthwhile.

Down the table, Niall stared deep into my eyes, grinning with pride.

There’s something going on between Roirdan and Nivelle, he said into my mind.

I sipped from my glass. I was starting to grow suspicious of that myself.

I can smell it on them.

Smell what?

Their . . . indulgences.

I didn’t bother hiding the wrinkling of my nose. What does that even smell like to a fae? The way his mouth quickly tugged into a smirk made me wish I hadn’t asked. Actually, don’t answer that.

His deep laugh danced across my mind.

He had just glanced over to Remic, and was about to say something to him, when his head shot toward the north. He stood from the table, abruptly, his chair shooting back behind him. “Folquin—” he said, but the rest of his words were cut off by a clamoring near the patio doors.

There, collapsing into a heap on the ground as he materialized, was the spy. His chest heaved with harsh, broken breaths, and he groaned as he rolled onto his stomach, clutching his ribs.

Niall and Remic were at his side in an instant. The rest of us weren’t far behind.

“What happened?” Niall asked, trying to assess his spy’s physical state.

A pained sound crept up Folquin’s throat. “I got . . . caught.”

My stomach hollowed out, and the look on Niall’s face told me his had done the same.

“Skadi’s shadows . . . they discovered me—” He launched into a coughing fit, then caught his breath again, but struggled to get through his words. “I made it into . . . the main camp . . . Lyceius was there . . . and so was Killian . . . And . . . the human king is in danger.”

“What kind of danger?” Niall pressed.

“The kind where . . . you’re silenced . . . for knowing too much—” Another groan of pain cut his words short.

Niall glanced up, meeting Aremis’s stare as he and Roirdan settled closer to listen.

“Broderick uncovered . . . some sort of information that he plans on exposing . . . and somehow . . . Killian knows more about it than we do.”

“What information?” Roirdan asked.

“He just said . . . the king knows ‘the truth’ . . . And Lyceius wants him dead for it.”

I shook my head in confusion. What could the king possibly know that would make him a threat to Lyceius?

Beside me, Roirdan shifted uneasily on his feet. By the looks of his hardened brow and balled fists, he was ready to launch into action.