Page 118 of The Filigree Key

“Spies, then,” Ler persisted, “in his employ. Gods above, she has a sword of faebane, Fionn, and a faelene! Use your eyes!”

“That’s no faelene I’ve ever seen,” a third fae countered, giving Sawyer a wary look. He traced a hand down four fine scars that marred his face from just under his left eye and across his cheek. “And I would know.”

“I’m a domestic shorthair, thank you very much,” Sawyer said.

“And we’re not spies,” Flora shouted. She shoved Sawyer off her and stomped up to the nearest spearhead. “We were in the middle of kicking Ossian’s ass before we came here.”

The twelve high fae shared a look.

“You know, fighting him?” she elaborated.

Fionn cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t see how kicking someone’s beast of burden is an effective method of combat.”

“The point is, the enemy of our enemy should be our friend,” Daphne clarified. “Please, let us go in peace.”

“You are strangers here, druidess,” Fionn said flatly. “You will not be allowed to wander at your leisure.” He lifted his spear, a cue to the others to follow suit. “You will be taken to the court where the high lord and lady will decide your fate.”

“Seems fair,” I said, my own cue to my friends not to resist. It was better than a sword through the gut, that’s for sure. And this high lord and lady—Callan and Shannon, if the legends were true—were supposed to be fair rulers. They could probably point me in the right direction of the Samildánach too.

Six fae produced black blindfolds while the other six remained alert and on guard.

“Like either of us is gonna see anything?” Cody complained, wagging his thumb between himself and Emmett.

“You should take this as a compliment that we consider your eyesight as undiminished as one of our own elders,” Fionn replied.

“Well, since you’re being nice about it.” Emmett folded his glasses and tucked them into his overalls, then dutifully held still while the fae knotted the blindfold around his eyes.

“Fionn.” The scarred high fae’s voice was clipped. Alarmed. He stood frozen before Shari, eyes wide as if she were a cobra who had just flared her hood. “I smell . . . demon. She’s Unseelie!”

The six fae on guard sprang into the air as graceful as leaping dancers and stabbed down with their spears. The white spearheads streaked for Shari’s chest like a volley of comets unleashed from the heavens.

A savage wind scattered them like flies.

The high fae recovered quickly, rolling out their falls or landing catlike and brandishing their spears with that incredible speed of theirs.

Shari clutched Ossian’s cloak as I stood before her, brandishing Faebane and a magic vine that dangled from my hand like a whip. “We’ve come here in peace,” I snarled, though I was feeling very far from peaceful at the moment. “All of us. I hope to demonstrate that by not finishing what that faelene started and scratching out every one of your eyes. Before moving on to something else equally tender.”

I had no idea what a faelene was, but it was something they seemed to respect, even fear.

That gave them pause, but so did the fact that Shari hadn’t even raised a hand to defend herself. From the cautious looks the fae shared amongst themselves, I gleaned that an Unseelie demon would’ve behaved quite differently.

“Give me your hand, creature,” Fionn commanded.

Flora raced over to us, green magic boiling around her hands. “What are you going to do to her, long-legs?”

“Stand aside, fairy.” Then his purple eyes drilled into mine. “I could order your deaths at this moment, and only you seem to be up to the task of defending yourself. Will you risk their lives, or will you give me her arm?”

He rammed the butt of his spear into the ground and held out his hand expectantly. He wielded no weapon in his other hand, but with his reflexes, that could change in the blink of an eye.

Yet, he was being exceptionally fair given the circumstances. Goodwill would go a long way here.

“I’ve got you, Shari,” I promised her, pulling her out from behind me. I kept one arm around her shoulders and Faebane at the ready in my free hand.

The quiet crafter shrank into me, whimpering, but extended her hand.

To his credit, Fionn didn’t grab her and yank her forward. He merely took her wrist and pushed back the sleeve of her oversized sweater up to her elbow. Holding her steady, he dragged his thumbnail down her inner forearm.

Shari whined, leaning against me.