Page 7 of The Filigree Key

“Wait.”

Sawyer launched from where he cuddled against my leg, springing over my lap and diving head-first into the plaster wall beside the bed. The upper half of his body disappeared into the wall, much like a fox after it’s pounced into the snow after a vole. When Sawyer emerged, shaking the dust and cobwebs from his face, that’s exactly what he held in his mouth.

A mouse. Whose beady eyes glowed blue with faelight.

There was a crunch, then Sawyer spat the little spy onto the rug. “Well that didn’t take long.”

“Why that deceitful, nosy—” I cut myself off before I could cuss, because I feared if I started, I might never stop. No doubt half the English dictionary could be used to describe Ossian, and when that was done, I’d move on to Gaelic. They had more creative expressions anyway.

I picked the dead mouse up by its tail and tossed it out the nearest window. Below, the yew bushes that grew in a hedge along the base of the castle swallowed it from sight.

The debate whether or not to send out a Scouting Spell ping was short—it would reveal to any of the other spies in the wall that I was aware of them and looking for them. The ones furthest from me and my vermin-catching cat would scurry on back to tell their master I wasn’t as enthralled as he thought.

Sawyer sniffed the hole he’d made in the plaster, ears twitching madly. “That’s it for now.”

“Good.” I pushed the nightstand over to block the hole and returned to the rug. “I made a bargain to open that portal,” I reiterated, “not let him through it. He is not going home. Ever. He does not get to seduce and lie and sacrifice all those women and just go home. I’m going to Elfame to get the Samildánach to ransom Marten and he’s not coming with me. If a key is needed to open the portal, then I’ll just lock it behind me on the way through.”

“But, Meadow, he’ll just take out his anger on everyone here. When you’re in Elfame searching for the mirror, what’s to prevent him from destroying the town and everyone in it while you’re away? The bargain you made only protects your friends and family.”

He left it unsaid that neither he nor Arthur qualified, but I heard those unspoken words as clearly as if he’d screamed them directly into my eardrum.

That was very true, about Ossian releasing his rage against the town. I didn’t have a solution for that yet, just the conviction he was never going to get his happily ever after. There was a chance I could bring him to justice before the deadline, but what if I couldn’t? I needed a Plan B. In the meantime . . ..

“We’ll need allies.” I rolled the black tourmaline crystal between thumb and forefinger, diverting magic from the amazonite crystal to recharge this defensive measure. It had proven invaluable against Alec, though it hadn’t been able to save me from Ossian. I decided to give it some more juice, a more explosive effect. “They’ll defend this place until I can come back, if it comes to that.”

“What allies? The entire town’s been turned into beasts so he can control them.” Including those mousy spies in our bedroom’s walls.

“Not everyone.” I slung the foraging bag over my shoulder and lifted the cat into my arms. Cradled into the crook of my elbow, Sawyer looked up at me with hopeful, albeit nervous, eyes. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you before the world went sideways with that last assault of Caer powder, but Brandi is here.”

“Brandi?” the tabby cat screeched, doubling in size as his fur stood straight out. He thrashed, paws flailing, as if I’d just zapped him with a nasty bolt of static electricity.

“She’s in the dungeon below the castle,” I quickly explained. “She’s the one who’s been making the Caer powder and toirchim tonic that’s been keeping me . . . subdued.”

“I’ll claw her eyes out! Then I’ll pop those ridiculous implants she has like piñatas! I’ll—”

“Under duress, Sawyer. She’s a prisoner, just like us. Just like”—I dropped the cat and jumped to my feet as a recently returned memory made itself known—“my family in the farmhouse! Oh my Green Mother, they’ve been trapped there this whole time, away from their hearth—”

My gaze fell to the gold censer on my belt and the dead coal inside. “Did they take the embers? With the Hawthorne ember in the hearth, they could replenish themselves! I mean, it’s not the same as grounding, but— Sawyer, I could free them! It’d not ideal, but we could expel Marten and remake the Circle of Nine with me as his replacement. We could defeat Ossian before—”

The tabby cat was shaking his head. “But if Marten’s expelled, the power of the coven that protects him still in the Unseelie Court will vanish.”

But of course. “Thistle thorns.” My boots scuffed against the stone floor as I began to pace. “But I can’t leave them there. Ossian might not be able to harm them because of our bargain, but the Brotherhood reports to Alec, and that monster does whatever he wants.” The vengeful part of me wished Arthur would bite Alec’s other forearm off.

“It’s too risky. Getting to the farmhouse the first time was a miracle, and we were almost caught anyway. And Ossian won’t let you out of his sight now, not when you’re the literal key to him going home.”

“But someone must go.”

Sawyer’s ears flattened against his skull, tail lashing. “Forget it! The last time you sent me away, you almost got killed by a silver mallaithe. And when you ran away from me, you got a fistful of Caer powder to the face that almost erased your personality. It was only my—”

He shut himself up then, tucking his tail in tight and looking away.

But he’d said enough. “You tried to bond me,” I whispered. “The Soul-Bonding Spell, that’s what Ame had called it. It’s why I had the cat silhouette on my tree. You saved me, Sawyer.”

“Yeah, well, you’re important to me or whatever.” He smacked his lips and twitched his whiskers. “And I didn’t even do it right. It was supposed to bind our spirits, not etch itself onto your magical core.”

I wanted so desperately to scoop him up, to cuddle him and thank him properly, but everything about his body language told me not to touch him. He clearly had conflicting emotions about his actions, and why wouldn’t he? For as long as I’d known him, he’d refused to be a witch’s familiar, despite his talent, and yet he’d made the choice to throw that conviction away to save me. And if the world were fair, he’d get the time to truly examine what that meant to him, but we were in enemy territory where the luxury of introspection did not exist.

We could only act.