Only a fool would believe Dagda destructible.
Any Fae of worth knew Dagda possessed the pure blessing of the Goddess herself. Only Dagda could destroy Dagda, ’twas the final word. If Grison planned to raid Dagda’s castle, ’twould be naught more than suicide.
“Enough talk about this. Grison’s plan will come forth soon enough. I’m starved. Let’s get to the hall before our rations are consumed by slaves.”
Thaddeus imprinted the two men’s faces to memory—he’d not seen them before—and waited for their receding footsteps to fade before pressing to his feet and cautiously opening the rickety door. ’Twould be his first venture into the belly of this cave. The musty scent of wet dirt and rock greeted him, as well as a chill that filled the crudely cut tunnel that extended to his left and right. Faint veins of elemental magic flickered along the jagged walls, barely enough light to illuminate the pathway beyond a foot or so.Magnified light came from patches of moisture that clung to the dark rock around the threads, not enough to cast a shadow.
Thaddeus’s lips pulled back in disgust before he could stop himself. This place was disgraceful. Pitiful. Below their standing in all realms. He was pureblooded Fae. Not a prisoner, a mortal, abeast.
These conditions were offensive.
The tunnel proved to be narrow, barely the width for those two men to walk side by side. Tipping his head up, he saw the teeth of the ceiling were naught more than a couple of feet above.
Primitive.
Ignoring the urge to speak his distaste, he flicked his right hand, igniting a dim yellow glow from his fingertips, and proceeded forward, following the men. He held his breath between inhalations, the stench of mold and mildew from the tiny rivulets of water creeping down the tunnel walls and soddening areas along the ground foul to his sensitive senses.
The tunnel twisted and turned, no branches into other directions. No doors. No additional pathways. None that he saw, though mayhap they were hidden behind spells. ’Twould make sense as to why no one had stumbled into the space he’d been kept in the last few days.
To test his theory, he pressed his palm flat to the surface of a dry protrusion of rock and cast a subtle revealing spell in the direction he’d just come.
“Well, well.”
Several doors, similar to the one to his room, appeared behind a wavering veil of magic. Tricky, powerful magic that tried to resist his own. When Thaddeus removed his hand from the rock, the doors faded back behind their stone façade.
What do you hide in plain sight, Grison?
Another few minutes of following the disgusting path brought him to the end of this tunnel, and a warped wooden door reinforced with metal bracers. From beyond, he could hear the echo of laughter, the sway of music, the clatter of solid objects, and smell the delightful aroma of fire.
Smoothing down his linen shirt and straightening his shoulders, he plastered his most indifferent expression onto his face and flung open the door.
The dark excitement that permeated the air greeted him with a sour tinge, though the music and noise faded. Several pairs of eyes from throughout this…room turned to where he stood at the top of four rough-carved steps.
For ’twas a room, by definition. A hall, mayhap, though poor in comparison to the glory of Seelie halls. A large, hollowed-out space with a handful of firepits dotting the otherwise level, packed ground. The ceiling, though not terribly high, far surpassed the low ceiling of the tunnel. Rickety chairs and lopsided tables held sparse servings of food and what Thaddeus assumed to be wine.
In the center of the room, decked in his best High Fae robes, perched like a royal imposter at a large dining table spread with delectable offerings from a fat roasted bird to basted vegetables, sat Grison. Cecir sat to his right. Three Fae Thaddeus recognized from royal Court gatherings but who held no significant positions in Dagda’s inner circles sat on either side of their new leader, enjoying the meal.
Forcing down the desire to storm over to the creature and demand answers—Grison would hang his knowledge over Thaddeus’s head until he milked every wish and command from his bones—Thaddeus used the curiosity and excitement he had piqued in the gathered group. Lifting his chin, he narrowed his eyes briefly on Grison as the rebel Fae picked a piece of chicken meat from a bone and popped it in hismouth. The corner of Grison’s mouth lifted, shrewd delight lighting his eyes.
Thaddeus met his challenge with a rueful grin. “I see now why you thought to abandon me in that despicable room. One shan’t miss a meal fit for traitors.”
Casually, he folded his hands behind his back and descended the narrow steps. He observed the room, the dingy walls no degree of firelight could hide. Not a Fae moved, all eyes focused on him as he strolled lazily toward Grison’s table.
His jab elicited the reaction he had hoped. A tendril of anger flicked over his skin, an electric warning Thaddeus shrugged aside. Mattered not the animosity they held toward each other; Grison needed him, and he wanted to know why.
“Aye, I’d much rather enjoy such delicacies than pay heed to a pitiful victim.” Thaddeus chuckled, a throaty rumble that caused two of Grison’s tablemates to cast their new leader wary glances. Grison dropped his hand to the scrap of linen beside his plate and wiped his fingers as Thaddeus stopped at the table, opposite Grison. He leaned forward a bit, widening his malicious grin. “Alas, I know Grison doesn’t waste precious time or put forth effort for naught when it comes to others. There must be opportunity for gain.”
Grison held his gaze for a tense moment, his expression as cold as this mangy hideaway. The imperfect candles across the table crackled and flickered beneath the weight of their confrontation, responding to the power that thrummed below the surface of their skin.
Thaddeus slowly lifted a brow.
“Do tell. What do you want of me to have brought me back from the brink of death? ’Tis not a sense of loyalty or kinship that guides your motivation, I’m most certain,” Thaddeus said quietly, the deep pitch of his voice directed atGrison. The man flinched, a reaction he tried to shield a second too slow.
Thaddeus cut his gaze to the members of Grison’s personal table, then casually helped himself to a cheese biscuit off Grison’s plate. “Since ’tis apparent you are no longer a member of Dagda’s Court, which makes you an outcast alongside myself.” He sniffed the biscuit, scrunched his nose at the sour aroma, and dropped the item on the table, brushing his fingertips over his linen shirt. Grison’s teeth ground behind stretched lips. “What need of me should you possess?”
A brief moment longer of this tense stand-off, then Grison’s tight lips relaxed a hair into a smile. Thaddeus wasn’t fooled by the shift in demeanor. He knew this snake better than most. Only this one would shed his skin to escape immediate persecution. Grison leaned back in the rickety chair and spread his arms out to the feast before him. Thaddeus maintained a level gaze on the devious Fae.
“’Tis wonderful you made it this eve. Care for a bite to eat?” Grison raised his hands and issued two sharp claps. Two Fae women scrambled to the table, their dresses naught more than the quality of a poor servant and hair haphazardly piled on top of their heads. They wiped down a set of cutlery, as well as a plate and goblet. Thaddeus held up his hand as they approached and, maintaining Grison’s cold gaze, issued a short shake of his head to the servants. The women halted in their steps and looked to their master for direction. “You haven’t eaten in days, Thaddeus. ’Twould benefit your strength to nourish your body.”
