Page 119 of The Filigree Key

“You’re hurting her,” Daphne cried, rushing forward. The scarred fae blocked her path with his spear and gave her a warning shake of his head.

Fionn examined the shallow wound he’d created, rotating her arm back and forth in the moonlight. Shari’s blood glittered like crushed ruby; in fact, I’d never seen blood so sparkly before. But whatever Fionn was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. He released her and straightened with a sharp inhale.

“We bring them,” he announced.

I quickly passed a hand over her wound, healing her, and held on to her trembling hand. “Are you alright?”

“I want to go home,” she whispered. She released me to be accepted into Daphne’s embrace, the older woman murmuring comforting words into her ear and stroking her back, when she wasn’t glaring daggers at Fionn.

“Finish,” the high fae said, indicating to his subordinates that we should be blindfolded. He carefully confiscated Faebane, holding the sword away from his body like it was something that could come alive and bite his head off his shoulders at any moment.

Ler grabbed Fionn’s arm. “You’d bring a demoness back into the high lord and lady’s grove?”

In a move too fast to track, Fionn had disengaged himself and simultaneously dropped the high fae on his back. “You might be my lady’s brother, but I am my lord’s captain. You will obey, Ler, or know dishonor.”

Ler shoved himself upright and smacked the grass from his clothes before retrieving his spear. “Yes, Captain.”

There was no blindfold for Sawyer, so he was put into my cloak. At least they let me hold him in my arms. Two fae stayed behind to monitor the portal while the rest of us marched through the wildflower field and through a wood with a merry creek that had all sorts of stones to skip over. The forest changed—the whisper of the wind was thinner here—aged, and a somber atmosphere you could almost taste filled the air.

“Step up,” Fionn told me, and my boot touched stone.

It took only a handful of steps before the ground leveled and my footsteps echoed. A courtyard?

There was another flight of steps, another courtyard, then another. I was beginning to think we were climbing through a series of terraced patios, each one marked by a different flower. Rose and gardenia, honeysuckle and jasmine, lilac and hyacinth.

“My knees can’t take much more of this,” Cody announced.

“Could we just . . . take a minute,” Emmett puffed, “and rest? Maybe . . . some tea?”

“If it’s peppermint tea with some whiskey in it, I’ll take it,” Flora moaned, sneezing violently.

“Keep moving,” Ler snapped.

“Is that music I hear?” Daphne wondered aloud. “It’s beautiful.”

There indeed was music—harps and flutes. And the air also brought the scents of pastry and roasting turkey and the sweet notes of something bubbly and alcoholic. Fairy wine. Rustling, like small waves sputtering along a beach, denoted the swish of ballgowns and the synchronized clicking of boot heels revealed there were couples dancing.

We were about to enter a party.

The music hushed, and Sawyer tensed in my arms as we both felt the attention of hundreds of eyes landing on us. Fionn removed my blindfold, and I blinked through the glare of a thousand candle flames.

Stone pillars that resembled trees lined a massive terrace, but there was no domed ceiling for them to support. Only the night sky dappled with stars and purple streaks of celestial dust stretched overhead. And the party was a winter solstice-themed masquerade, every fae clad in various shades of white, ivory, pearl, navy, robin’s egg, and the pale blue of arctic ice.

It was unnerving to bear the scrutiny of so many masked faces, but I kept my spine straight.

Fionn must’ve heard me preparing to speak—an inhale, a swallow, I didn’t know—and said in a low voice, “You do not speak here. Yet.” Then, louder, resonant, and in English: “My lord Callan, we found these visitors at the Banished One’s portal.”

There was a collective gasp as the masked fae shrank away from us, but whatever a clear feminine voice spoke in Faerish calmed them.

The party parted, quick-stepping this way or that, to create a path for a high fae who could be none other than the high lord of the Court of Beasts. He was dressed similarly to all the other males present in a doublet and breeches—silver slashed with navy and studded with diamonds—yet he was the only one adorned with silver feathers.

Heron feathers, if I wasn’t mistaken, though I had no idea if silver herons even existed.

Beside him was a striking woman with shiny brown hair that fell all the way down to her ankles. Unlike the other masquerade attendees, she had opted for elaborate face paint and diamonds instead of a gilded mask. The silver heron feathers painted at the corners of her eyes made it very clear that she was none other than the high lord’s bride.

“Sister,” Ler entreated, “this one has demon blood, and the one Fionn barely restrains wears Ossian’s colors. And look at the sword she brought with her. It’s faebane!”

Fionn gripped Faebane harmlessly by the hilt and showed it to his monarchs, point down. “And the one my subordinate claims is a demon is only tainted, my lord.”