Page 74 of The Filigree Key

“No one is innocent in this town, Meadow. Still, I’ll instruct the Brotherhood to obey your command. The egret, ferret, and hog will be released.”

“Thank you.”

His side smile felt patronizing. Like he was giving me this little win out of charity in the wake of losing my complete authority over the elm tree.

Then the Stag Man twisted around and untied one of the burlap sacks behind his saddle. He handed it to me, indicating I shouldn’t wait to open it. With no need to hold the reins since my horse was following other instructions, I wiggled the ties loose at the top and pulled the bag open.

Breakfast.

Hastily wrapped in beeswax cloth, too. Poor Mrs. Bilberry was probably muttering curses as she washed all those platters that she needn’t have bothered dirtying. At least the excess food would go to Arthur.

“Eat up,” the Stag Man said, picking up the pace. “You’ll need all your strength for what comes next.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

With no leaves or brush to dampen the sound, the river cutting through Cedar Haven Forest roared. Its waters were deep brown from all the tannins and red clay, and yellow foam bobbed in the eddies created by the boulders hidden below the surface. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought the river to be made of beer.

We tethered our horses at the top of the steep sawmill path and entered the Cedar Haven Forest on foot. Without rain or snow and the temperatures dipping to freezing every night, the path was hard beneath our feet. Where it broadened at the sawmill, the Brothers were instructed to stay and Ossian slung me onto his back.

The fae king took off through the forest, following the same deer paths my family and I had used to access the foraging grounds. This time, I didn’t hide my face from the wind. With eyes slitted, I watched the dreary colors of a wood on the verge of winter hibernation streak by in browns, grays, russets, and evergreen. Just as my thighs were beginning to ache, held tight against his ribs by his arms, Ossian slowed.

Titmice and chickadees fled at our arrival, twittering madly. A handful of blue jays cawed from the nearby trees—a warning for others to stay away. Ossian might be the King of Beasts, but they knew he wasn’t the benevolent sort.

Verdant green leaves and furrowed bark laced with faint silver light consumed my vision. The bright colors, especially contrasted against the deep blue of the sky, gathered tears at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away, running my tongue over my lips and tasting their salt.

“Go on,” Ossian urged softly.

His hand on the small of my back gave me a gentle push in the direction of the green flames. They snapped and flickered at my approach, tensing. Once they recognized my magic signature—the source of their existence—they immediately parted to let me pass.

I’m sorry, I mouthed to the elm tree, and I extended my glowing hands to either side. A deal was a deal, and maybe if I was really, really lucky, the elm tree could withstand its consequences.

The green fire licked my fingertips, and it took only a thought from me and a pulse of magic from the oak tree to change their composition. The flames turned the yellow-green color of a Bartlett pear, and I stepped back with a bowed head.

Ossian sucked in a deep breath, chest filling, his eyes bright with excitement. Approaching the ring of fire, he tested the barrier with a soft touch. Grinning at the lack of response, the Stag Man swaggered through the flames, unscorched, and pressed both hands against the furrowed bark of the trunk.

The golden aura of his skin brightened like the dawn of a new day. The silver veining that followed the furrows of the barks began to pulse, stronger where he made contact with the trunk and weaker at the tree’s extremities. The leaves shivered in an unseen breeze, filling the air with a tst tst tst reminiscent of cicada wings.

The Stag Man took all he could withstand, panting from the exertion necessary to control the influx. His gemstones recharged—not that they needed much after one of Graham’s snakes. While his antlers did not regrow those tips that had been broken off, the copper stag hair that covered his lower half receded until sleek hipbones peaked beneath bronze skin. Any further, and the Stag Man would have to wear buckskin trousers for real instead of just for show. I looked away as perfectly sculpted butt cheeks began to take shape, loathing fate for creating a monster who was so beautiful.

And it wasn’t even against the natural order of things. There were beautiful creatures all over the world that were just as deadly as him by their very natures.

I didn’t have to like it, though.

Full, but not sated, the fae king backed away from the elm tree. His gaze was lifted towards its wide-sweeping branches in wonder. It was a selfish awe, his thoughts directed only on what this wild magic could provide for him rather than marveling at its sheer magnificence.

Turning, he beamed a smile and rejoined me on the other side of the pear-colored flames.

“A fantastic day,” he repeated, gripping my shoulders.

“I’ll echo that if I’m successful at mastering water.”

“Your sullen skepticism will not dampen my mood, love.” Bending down, he ravaged my mouth again.

He seemed to delight in forcing his affection on me, and while part of me considered telling him to soften up, the majority of me would not tolerate the suggestion. Every bruise (which healed fast, anyway) and every aggressive touch only reminded me that Ossian was everything Arthur wasn’t, despite what the stolen fated mate bond tried to tell me.

The fae king hummed as he broke the kiss, running his thumbs across my cheeks. “I still can’t get over how you taste like it. If only your grandmother hadn’t cursed your memories.”

My eyes dropped so I wouldn’t glare my disgust at him. If only my grandmother wasn’t locked up in your dungeon.