Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,100

darkness.

“Besides,” the wood fae cut in, laughing. “If you refuse to come with me willingly, we’ll kill your friend.”

Reyna froze.

“That’s right.” The wood fae nodded as she inched even closer, her blade flashing even in the heavy darkness. “You want to know what happened to your cloaked friend? We have her.”

“That’s impossible,” Reyna whispered. Nollaig couldn’t be that easy to trap. She’d heard the wood fae coming far before they’d advanced on their camp. How could they have caught her off guard so easily?

But…wood fae couldn’t lie. Could they?

Now that they had charged into the shadow lands, had they somehow found a way to toss off the restrictions of Tir Na Nog? That didn’t seem possible. That wasn’t how the laws of the realms worked.

Which meant they truly did have Nollaig.

“Come with us,” the wood fae hissed. “And we will let your friend live. Refuse, and we will chop off her head.”

36

Lorcan

Findius rose in the distance, but there was no sign of the army from Shademore. Unease churned in Lorcan’s gut as he gazed across the empty expanse of the Misty Wastes. Where the hell was Nollaig and Reyna? He glanced over his shoulder at Lord Tristin and Lord Maddox. Tristin’s face had grown increasingly pinched as the hours stretched on. The lords had only agreed to fight if they got reinforcements.

And those reinforcements were nowhere to be seen.

Where the hell are they? He gripped the reins tight in his fists. If something had happened to Reyna…

“Your Grace,” Lord Tristin said, inching his horse forward to trot alongside Lorcan’s mare. “I’m concerned that we’ve seen no signs of the other army. With Findius in sight, we should make camp. Otherwise, the wood king will see us coming.”

Irritation flared its ugly head. They didn’t have time to wait. More citizens of Findius were being slaughtered with every hour that passed. The wood king and his warriors grew stronger with every ounce of blood they drank. And Reyna was getting weaker. He needed to get inside that city, kill that king, and find a way to save his lover from the Ruin.

“I’m afraid it may be too late for that.” He rolled back his shoulders, sitting tall and commanding on his horse. “If we can see the castle, they can see us.”

“Beltane is tomorrow,” the lord argued. “We agreed we would wait for the army from Shademore, and that we would attack in unison with the kings and queens of the northern courts. They won’t be here until Beltane.”

Lorcan ground his teeth. He hated this. His skin itched with the need to do something, anything. He was beginning to understand exactly how Reyna felt most of the time. She was just the same, always desperate to move, desperate to launch into action, even if that action was nothing good.

She always stubbornly rushed headlong into danger.

Gods, he loved her.

He shifted on his horse to gaze back at the army. Two thousand warriors marched behind them, their gazes locked on the city ahead. They looked uneasy yet eager. Eyes flickered with pride. They wanted to fight for their king. They wanted to save the people of this dying realm.

If Lorcan forced them ahead before it was time, he would be sacrificing their lives for the hope of saving Reyna’s. He closed his eyes, the weight of his reign almost suffocating.

“Alright,” he said tightly, and hating himself for it. “We will make camp for the night and wait for Beltane.”

One more night. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Perhaps Reyna and Nollaig were only hours away with the army. They would reunite and march on the city together as soon as dawn stretched across the skies.

Just as he’d jumped down from his horse, a figure hurtled across the Misty Wastes, her cloak whipping out behind her like wings. Lorcan’s heart jumped into his throat as he left the camp behind, his boots churning through the thick ash.

“Lorcan!” Nollaig shouted as she stumbled forward. Dirt caked the bottom edges of her cloak, and blood painted her hood. His heart leapt into his throat as he rushed toward her, wildly searching for Reyna. She wasn’t there. Neither was Wingallock. Terror tripped through his veins.

“Nollaig.” Lorcan grunted as the shadow fae sagged into his arms. He held her tight, gently lowering to the ground. She hunched over, sucking in sharp breaths that rattled in her throat. “What’s happened? Where’s Reyna?”

“The wood fae found us when we made camp.” Nollaig scratched out the words, her entire body shaking. “They were in