Page 92 of The Filigree Key

It took every ounce of self-control not to shudder in revulsion as something slimed and slid down my breasts to shore up in my bra. A vial.

“Oh,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to get your dress wet with my tears and snot. I’m just so upset.”

“Shane,” the Stag Man prompted.

The faelight Brother left his position by the dais and none-too-gently hoisted the honey badger over his shoulder to deposit with our friends. The other Brothers were still wrangling the raccoon and the beaver. For two old beasts, they had the vitality of juveniles when it came to protesting or resisting authority.

“Careful of my spectacles,” the raccoon cried as he was jostled forward. “These are antiques!”

“Hands off the toolbelt,” the beaver snarled, “or this hammer’ll clean your clock! Oye, Cernunnos, what’s the meaning of this?”

“You five will be guests in my castle until the rest of Wystan’s organization has been dealt with,” the Stag Man announced.

Not guests. Hostages.

And the ringleaders of my rebellion. Without them, the town would be leaderless.

“The rest of you, return to your homes,” the fae king ordered. “Find safety within. A curfew is now in effect: you are to stay in your homes while the Brotherhood routs out the remaining threats. Anyone caught outdoors during their search will be treated as an accomplice and imprisoned immediately.”

“But, Cernunnos,” the hog Bensen protested, “we’re still preparing for the winter. Not all of us live on self-sufficient farms.”

“You have until sunset to make any preparations.” He stood, Sawyer still clutched in one hand, and dismissed them.

The Brothers who weren’t corralling the hostages spread out and drove the crowd from the castle like herding dogs. When the last of them were on the bridge, the portcullis dropped with a thunderous boom, the gate closing after.

The great hall was quiet, a tension settling over everyone as the fae king skewered his mate with a stare. They remembered the bear, too, who had been quiet and unmoving in his corner. The raccoon gasped when he noticed the rapier sticking out of the grizzly’s back, and the beaver’s claws went click-click-click as he drummed them against the top of his hammer.

“Guests, huh?” Cody sniffed.

“Carissa, make our guests at home. The east wing will do.” Ossian dropped a disgusted look to where Flora had slobbered on my dress. “Lucky for you, the day is spent, and air is best mastered when you can see its effects. Shane, feed her and take her to our room to get cleaned up and ready for bed.” He trailed his hand down his leg of thick copper fur. “I’ll be along after. Sleep well, love. Tomorrow, you finish the filigree key. Tomorrow, we wed.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

In the morning, the Stag Man was gone.

Shane, however, most decidedly was not. His faelight stare tracked my every movement as I rose and meandered over to the wardrobe, whose door was slightly ajar. My clothes hung next to Ossian’s, and one of his spare buckskin trousers was missing.

He’s gone off to the elm tree again.

“Get dressed,” Shane ordered. “No delays.”

I yanked a sage-colored gown from its hanger and slipped into the adjoining bathroom.

“Stay where I can see you,” the Brother told me in his flat, monotone voice.

He’d said the same thing last night, though only after I’d managed to wipe the vial clean of honey badger saliva and hide it in a fresh bra. It was the leftover blue glitter, whatever she and Sawyer hadn’t used to open the drainage grate. While I appreciated its return, the effort had been too risky. Maybe Flora thought it would be too risky to leave it behind.

I had a fresh dress on before the Brother got impatient and hurried out into the corridor, Sawyer at my heels. Once there, the tomcat became a blur of stripes as he bolted off to avoid Ossian for the rest of the day. The Stag Man himself was waiting by the side door of the great hall, looking very fresh from his morning rendezvous with the elm tree, and dismissed Shane with a wave of his hand.

“My friends,” I began.

“Worry about yourself, Meadow,” the Stag Man snapped, rounding on me. His large hands had me pinned against the cold hard stone of the wall, the rough-cut blocks digging into my spine. “I will not tolerate any more of your little defiances. You have one job and a deadline that wheels perilously closer.”

He grabbed my hand and shoved it against his abdomen. Warm bronze skin and taut muscle beneath pressed back against my palm. Just yesterday, it had been covered by coarse copper hair. “You have seen firsthand what happens to those who break the terms of a fae bargain. My punishment for hurting that cat is only a fraction of what awaits you if you fail to open that portal. And let’s not forget the fate of your coven and your pathetic excuse of a brother hang in the balance too.”

I knew what was at stake, all of it. And perhaps I should’ve been more single-minded in my purpose—charge the key, open the portal, find the Samildánach, free my brother, make the Circle of Nine whole once more. Simple. In that, there was no justice for all the witches who had come before me, nor this town, or my family and friends. I could not forget Redbud.

Slowly, deliberately, I looked up into his face, watching a green glow come to my eyes in the reflection of his. “You’ve underestimated Violet in the past. Do not mistake my temperance for meekness. That is the last time you manhandle me, Stag Man.”