Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,67

Fomorian Square, where the Dagda’s grand statue once stood, there was nothing more than a stump of stone. Chunks of his form were scattered throughout the courtyard now packed with wood fae warriors. A wooden stage had been erected in place of the statue. On it, a shadow fae bound in iron chains had been forced to kneel before the king.

Ulaid Molt stood tall before them all, his emerald eyes flashing with rage. Reyna swallowed hard as the shadows twisted around him, smudging his features, making him look no more corporeal than smoke.

“What’s your name, shadow fae?” The king’s booming voice echoed through the courtyard.

“In the darkness, may I find the light,” the shadow fae muttered, keeping his head bowed low before the king.

Ulaid Molt scowled. “Why does every damn shadow fae keep babbling this nonsense at me?” He flicked his fingers, turning away. “Take his head.”

A wood fae warrior strode up to the king’s side and sliced his blade through the kneeling fae’s neck. Reyna twisted away with her hand clamped over her mouth. She could not bear to see the head roll. Not again. Grief threatened to slam down on top of her, pinning her to the ground. The weight of it was crushing.

Laoise took Reyna’s face between her warm hands and peered into her eyes with a ferocity that caught her off guard. “Do you see now?”

Reyna’s mind spun.

“He’s already done this to dozens of others,” she hissed. “He chops off their heads, and then feasts on their blood, growing stronger and stronger by the day. You have to stop him, Reyna. If you won’t do it for vengeance, then do it for us. For Findius. Do it for our fallen king.”

23

Reyna

“I’ll need a way to get inside the castle without being seen.” Reyna sat inside the back of an old Illusion House that had been boarded up decades ago, a place where lonely fae had once gone to see their wildest dreams. Now, it was home to a random assortment of former warriors, spies, and thieves. They called themselves The Rebels of the Mists.

And Laoise was a founding member, as it turned out. Instead of asking Reyna to charge in and kill the king on the spot, she’d led the way back through the twisting alleys before arriving here. The large, open, theatre-like space had been transformed into three distinct sections: a make-shift barracks full of sleeping pallets, a living area complete with ragged, threadbare cushions scattered around a circular table piled with scrolls and books, and a dining area where Reyna now sat with the others.

A long oak table stretched between them. Tankards were scattered across the surface, each engraved with the shadow fae sigil: two twisting antlers reaching up toward the heavens. In addition to Laoise, there was a rugged warrior named Finnegan with long silver hair twisted back into a braid. An ancient scar curved from his forehead down to his jaw, and his glassy eyes were distant and unseeing. At first, she’d thought him an ice fae, but he’d assured her he was not.

Duana sat beside him, her black hair cut short above her curving ears. She’d said little since Reyna’s arrival, but she had watched with hawkish eyes. Kelan sat on Finnegan’s other side. Short and slight, with soft brown hair and a fresh-faced smile, he almost looked like a child.

Together, these three—and Laoise—were the leaders of the rebels, who were at least twenty more. The rest were waiting scattered throughout the Illusion House for the final verdict from their leaders.

“If we knew how to get inside the castle without being seen, we would have already done it.” Finnegan braced his forearms on the table, scowling. “We don’t need another would-be spy. We’ve got those coming out of our ears already.”

Reyna took a sip of her drink to give herself time to think, grateful that Laoise had thought to bring the herbs. Her mind was already beginning to feel frayed again. “There are wood fae warriors crawling through every inch of this city. I can’t just walk inside the castle. They know who I am.”

Duana tsked. “I thought you were the hero of the Battle of Fomorian Square. Where’s all your magic?”

“I never called myself that,” Reyna said, sliding her eyes toward Laoise. “And my magic is…gone.”

“Gone?” Duana’s eyebrows slammed down.

“Only for now, love.” Laoise patted Reyna’s arm, smiling. “It’ll return to you when your owl comes back.”

Reyna wasn’t so certain about that. All the magic felt bled dry, as if