Page 8 of A Court of Ravens
They turned away from the land when the pact wasn’t enough to satisfy greed. Hatred for anything different. The Other Crowd. What came after was worse. Encampments. Experiments. Wing clippings. Blackthorn wood. Briar root yew. Iron. Beheadings. Until finally, we said enough. We saved ourselves—andthem—from what lies below the Veil, beyond the sea, in the darkness of the Otherworld. They don’t know what’s out there. It slips through sometimes. Dark fairytales. Nightmares. Lore. There’s always a grain of truth.
Michael’s dramatics twist truth into tragedy, but there’s a kernel in it. Thedraíochtat the pub might not be from the priest. His brother is a better suspect.
I glance at the foundation stabbing into the earth like a wound. The restless hum beneath my feet confirms it.
“Michael has always leaned into the old tales a bit heavily. Don’t mind him,” the priest says with a nervous laugh.
Felicity’s question cuts through the noise. “Are there others on the island who feel the same about this resort?”
Smart woman. Brains, curves, and questions that matter. A rare combination. She doesn’t dance around things, which I respect. These mortals, though—they’re poking a badger and expecting it not to bite.
Sure, resorts mean money, but it’s a funny thing, income. Doesn’t mean much when the land you’re standing on decides it’s had enough of you.
The priest shifts uncomfortably. “Aye, there’s a few that aren’t too fond of the idea. Believe me, I had to get used to the thought of relocating my church.”
“Why do you have to relocate?” Felicity asks, her voice snagging on the air.
She’s stronger than most fae I’ve met. It’s unsettling how easily she uses mindspeak, like it’s merely another tool in her arsenal.
The priest gestures at the stone church stubbornly clinging to the hillside. The building looks like it’s been here forever and will still be here long after the scaffolding has rusted into oblivion.
“Aye, the developers bought it, but they paid enough for me to build another.”
The priest and his brother? Are they the ones screwing with the Veil? Together or separately? I’m not sure which one I trust less, but maybe I’m wrong.
“This isn’t far from where Jenna took the picture of the púca,” Felicity says, nodding towards the woman. “We went there this morning. Nothing but fog and sheep.”
“The púca ride at night,” the priest says.
“Well, I’ll be going. I have to pack since I leave tomorrow. Good luck,” Jenna says with a wave.
I lean against the stone wall, concealed by its bulk. I guess some locals still remember a thing or two about the fae.Good for them,I think, a faint sneer twisting my mouth.
Daylight…always a trial.Shifting under the moon’s light isn’t merely easier. It’s almost a kindness compared to the searing agony daylight brings.
“I’d like a word with the owner,” Felicity murmurs to the priest, but I can hear them from here. Perks of being fae.
“With pleasure,” the priest says, leading the way to Suitman, who’s concluding a tête-à-tête with a worker.
My inner beast recoils. Suitman’s too-perfect polished finish feels like a mask stretched thin over something monstrous. His seemingly normal eyes hold a strange hollowness, making my skin crawl.
“What can I do for you?” Suitman asks, his shadow stretching long across the ancient stones.
The priest introduces Suitman to Felicity as one called Archer.
Felicity disarms him with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “My readers are dying to know what haunts your cranes and cement mixers.” Her pale hand waves toward the site, impossibly ivory. Like moonlight made flesh.
Suitman flinches, guilt or discomfort, I can’t tell which. But I note it, the way a predator stalks its prey.
Her hand lands on his sleeve. Territorial possessiveness twists in my chest.
Gods, I’m fucking obsessed with her. Every minute of every godsdamned day, every breath between heartbeats. I dream of her in the night, in waking visions that tear at my sanity.She. Is. Mine.The beast inside me bares its teeth, promising violence. I will rip his heart out and feed it to the tide.
Tomas’s voice cuts through the red haze. “Planning to duel for her honour?” His tone drips with equal parts amusement and warning.
Bastard.
I turn my glare on him, voice dropping to a growl. “I need to talk to her.”
