Page 34 of The Blood Queen

Father has the grace to look confused. “Unguarded?”

“The three stones outside Mugdock,” I say. “Auld Wives Lift. That portal was wide open and totally without protection.”

“Kenna is posted there, and—”

“Kenna?” I say, vaguely recalling the name. One of father’s favored members of court. One who loves the Wild Hunt. “I want you to think really hard, Father, and try to recall if Kenna rode beside you at the hunt?”

Father’s brows furrow in confusion and then turn into a scowl. Right. Just like I thought. Why bother guarding some rocks when you could be hunting? Whatever gods have not abandoned our realms save me from these idiot fae.

“I’ll send her back to the portal now—” my father starts.

“No need. I killed it.”

He allows his face to show surprise. “You had no authority to do such a thing. Closing portals—Alyth, that portal was for our family.”

I snort with derision. This man has never once respected the idea of family, and he’s only mad that I did something on my own without permission.

“Would you rather we let the High Blade stroll through, unmet by any fae guard, this close to the Seelie Court?” I ask.

Father is not liking my tone, but I hear the faintest huff of breath from behind me. Not quiet enough, so I step sideways, putting myself between him and Samson.

“The threat you have made me dedicate my life to protecting you from is here, Father,” I say. “And I need to know what you intend to do about it.”

Father waves his hand. “If they dare come here, we will kill them,” he says. “All Red Caps will die.”

I very, very pointedly don’t look over to Samson.

“And what of Scotland?” I ask.

Father tilts his head. “What of them? They can fight their battle. We will fight ours.”

Rage washes over me. “Then we will all die!” I shout, so loud that both Samson and my father jump.

“Alyth, please—”

“Don’t you dare,” I start, taking a step closer to him. He actually backs away from me, bumping into the large round table in the center of the room and gripping the edge with his hands as I jab my finger in his chest. “Don’t you dare treat the country of my home as collateral damage, a sacrifice in violence made to the High Blade.”

“It’s not your home,” Father scoffs. “You’re my daughter.”

“By blood only,” I snarl. “Because a real father gives his child a home. And this? This is not my home. You made sure of that.”

His lips are parted, but no sound comes out.

“And you’re a feckless idiot if you think the solution is to just sacrifice Scotland for your cowardice.”

“I’m not a cow—”

“Because have you forgotten that Red Caps feed on violence and terror and warfare? Letting them glut themselves on the deaths of the Scottish will only make them stronger when they turn their attention to the Seelie Court. And you and I both know that you cannot close every portal.”

The loss of each portal is a death of magic, pulling the fae toward a mortality they detest. Killing the stone portal at Auld Wives Lift has ensured that will-o’-the-wisps aren’t likely to venture to Mugdock, that the sprites that lit up my summer evenings will migrate farther north, that my own power to summon the wind or pull from the wild nature of the land will be weaker there.

Every portal outside the Seelie Court can fall, and these laconic arseholes can survive as long as the Caiy Stone remains open. But if the last portal falls, so do they. And if they let all the other portals close, they may as well turn this palace into a prison.

“You’re right, daughter,” my father says. He eyes me shrewdly. “But I am not the only one you will have to convince.” He pushes off the table, but I don’t step back. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I have often thought you resembled your mother, but she didn’t have this…this rage inside her that you have.” He looks at me curiously. “Don’t be more like a Red Cap than like her.”

His words are like a razor sliding so neatly through my skin that I don’t realize I’m cut until I’ve bled out on the floor.

I don’t think Samson heard that cruel remark; if he did, he doesn’t understand just how deep an injury that is. I keep my voice low, measured, hoping my own fury doesn’t spark his. “I’d rather be a Red Cap than a passive fool like you,” I grind out in a low voice. “And if this war comes like I know it will, you’ll be fecking grateful for my fury.”