Page 61 of The Filigree Key

“Lock away your high-value prisoners where the lackeys can’t get them,” the mare summarized. “Asset hoarding. Smart.”

“Alec is probably going to be forced to give the key to the Antlered Arsehole. I liked that one best,” Shari told the honey badger.

“He needs a magic reserve if he can’t find Wystan,” I muttered.

“But what started the fight?” Daphne asked. “They’ve never been so rash before.”

“Bensen ran his mouth, that’s what,” Flora answered sourly. “I can see why Cody doesn’t like him. Too big for his britches sometimes, that one. Then it was fight time. The Brotherhood was already pissed, so they used the ‘disturbing the peace’ excuse to do some snatching—basically all Fair Folk present and any prominent townsfolk. Our rebellious mutterings have not been going unnoticed and so they took those who have the most influence, like Ms. Harris.”

The honey badger broke off to finish the sandwich. Mine and Sawyer’s stomachs rumbled in protest. With a nudge to his flanks, I sent him off to procure us the wheel of Brie cheese while I worked on the next potion.

Dried calendula petals and a whole vial of wild black-eyed Susan seeds started it off. I had Cousin Rose to thank for this piece of magic, or rather, her ineptitude when it came to anything involving a cauldron. She hadn’t inherited Aunt Peony’s talent, and this blue glitter—there really was no other name for it—of a failed healing salve could dissolve metal. Add a small pinch to a padlock and no more tumblers. Sprinkle liberally over a soldered-shut grate and watch your toes when it falls off.

Sawyer didn’t encounter too much resistance from the honey badger, stealing the Brie cheese with nary a swipe of claws in his direction. Flora, however, did devour the pear, almost out of spite.

After a satisfied burp, Flora reclined and ran a hand over her distended belly. “So I followed them.”

“You did?” Daphne blustered. The poor mare had been on pins and needles waiting for this part of the story. “But you can’t touch your magic. How could you risk—”

“I’m a honey badger. I have a surplus of fart-around-and-find-out energy. And I know this town. It wasn’t hard to find someplace to hide if I needed to. And I didn’t, because no one has had the gall to even consider following the Brotherhood back to their lair until me.”

“Until you got your memories back, you mean,” Shari corrected.

“Shush. Anyway, their lair is this old hanging shed in the middle of the woods south of the square. Off the beaten path, because, you know, who wants the stink of processing meat to ruin the small-town ambience? Or deal with the vermin it might attract.

“It’s cedar with plenty of gaps between the slats for ventilation, so I got a good look around from the outside. Everybody’s shackled to the hanging hooks, and they keep more than one Brother there on guard. One asleep, one watching. I didn’t see a tunnel entrance, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

“Spent the night out there spying then worked my way back here all inconspicuous-like and ran into Mr. Limps”—she pointed to Sawyer—“on the way. You finish up that concoction, cider witch, and I’ll turn right back around. That Domineering Dimwit has terrorized my rabbit and fairy long enough.”

“I still like Antlered Arsehole best,” Shari mused, sewing away.

“It’s too risky in the daylight.” I shook out the ache in my arm from all the stirring. The potion had abandoned its grainy, poultice-like nature for a paste akin to choux pastry. We were halfway there. “You should go at sunset when the light starts to play tricks on the eye.”

“Good, because I need a nap,” Sawyer murmured, already half asleep with the half-eaten round of cheese pillowing his chin.

“No nap for you yet, Stripes,” Flora said, heaving herself upright and stuffing her hand under the cot.

She produced a scroll of parchment that she unrolled against the packed-earth floor. A jar of crochet hooks, the hard cider bottle, a snacky sack of hazelnuts, and the orange-size pincushion weighed down the corners. Angling to the side to get a better view, I realized it was a map of Redbud. The castle, every business on the town square, Alder Ranch, Sweet Cider Farm, even the greater landscape attributes were accounted for.

The honey badger extracted a thin stick from the fire, spat on the tip to put the fire out, and sharpened it into a point against the bricks. Then she got to marking. “The shed’s over here, and this is where I found Stripes. Where’s the grate?”

As the tomcat and honey badger debated exactly where the tunnel exit was based off of Sawyer’s description, I took a closer look at some markings that didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason. Crosshatches and infinity symbols. There was a list of names off to the side under another larger infinity symbol—Cody, Emmett, Codrin Alder, and others.

“The crosshatches are places we’ve gone to spread the rebellion,” Daphne explained when she caught me scrunching up my face. “The infinity symbol marks those places that eagerly embraced our message. ‘Forever Redbud’ supporters, as Flora calls them.”

“So few,” I murmured.

She nuzzled my shoulder. “Don’t give up. The Caer powder affects everyone differently—some are shaking off the illusion faster than others. And none of these places have ratted us out. Give it a little time. We’ll circle back to them. Speaking of.”

She craned her long neck to the window. The cold light highlighted her mane with silver and turned her hair to pearl. The Arabian eyed the position of the sun.

“It’s already past midday, if you can believe it,” she announced to the hut. “Now that I know you’re alright, Flora, if still ridiculously reckless, I need to go. With so much of the game having run off, the coyotes have been sniffing around the animal shelter more after my nanny goats. One of the kids got taken.” She blustered a sigh. “I miss Lewellyn. Good luck with the dress, Shari. Be safe, you three.”

Ducking her head, Daphne pushed through the heavy curtain flap and stopped short, her rear haunches and tail blocking the exit.

“Blight me, Daph.” Flora smacked the charcoal stick against the mare’s hamstring. “You’re letting in the cold!”

“. . . am I doing here?” Daphne was saying loudly. “Can’t a mare have afternoon tea with her friend? As a member of the Brotherhood, I would think you’d know something about camaraderie.”