Elsbeth did not have the finesse for small magics.
The shadows burst from her fingers, excited to escape. They formed a wall so thick that it rivaled the reeds themselves. Her knees buckled, but the shadows held. It stopped whatever strange mist had penetrated the city walls.
Tormalugh was outside the city. Her brother was already on his way to the Nymph Village. She had no idea if he was alive or dead.
Rian Swiftgait struggled to regain his two-legged form. The crowd began to scatter, and screams echoed through the city.
A guard approached her shoulder. “We have to evacuate the city, your majesty. We need your order.”
“You have it.” Her words were breathless, her chest leaden. Her hands shook, as if she were holding up the world itself. “Go.”
“Your majesty—”
“I will not let the city fall until the last of our creed has left.” Her eyes burned with exhaustion. “Go.”
Elsbeth did not turn back to see if her orders were fulfilled. There were hundreds of kelpies, but nothing had breached the Reeds since the protections had been born.
The mists on the other side of her wall reached out, grabby fingers searching her magic for a single crack they might sliver through. Rot, decay, endless hunger.
“Fomorians.” A deep voice came from behind her.
“Swiftgait.” Elsbeth snarled. She thought he had run; she didn’t know how long she had been standing there, facing the mists alone.
“Fomorians.” He repeated. “They cannot hold form in this world. They seek bodies.”
“They can’t have my city.” Elsbeth bit back. Her knees buckled.
“They won’t last long outside of the water. Not without hosts.” Swiftgait explained.
Elsbeth dropped to her knees; the sand on the platform rose up, muddying the waters. “I can’t hold it much longer.”
“Feed from me.” Rian knelt down and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I can’t.” She closed her eyes.
The mists' attacks grew so fervent, like hailstones on her skin.
She felt his magic push inside of her. Jagged, unruly, and so powerful.
The shadow wall grew thicker and less transparent as they waited out the attack together, the empty city behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maeve Cruinn
We didn’t dare sleep, though every step was a labor that I did not want to repeat. The trees grew restless as we trouped away from the soothsayer’s house—determined, more than ever, to find Lugh.
The forest had other ideas.
The path changed so slightly that it was easy to miss. One moment, hidden behind brambles and undergrowth, the next, neat rows of cobblestones—the kind built by Fae hands.
The flowers, more vibrant than I had ever seen, flourished on either side of the path. The trees fell away. A town sat yards from the treeline. Cottages claimed by ivy. Blue frigid sky, trees heavy with blossoms.
“The Spring Court,” Cormac whispered in awe.
“The Seelie Court.” I nodded. “Who rules the Spring Court?”
“Absolutely no idea.” He shrugged, urging us both forward. “The Mer are not often invited to meetings between monarchs. Even if I hold the title of King of the Mer, it’s of little value. You can’t swing a catfish without hitting a self-proclaimed king or queen these days.”
