Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,78

from this place. To Tairngire. To Comharra. To the brilliance of Reyna’s smile.

The guards led him into a square castle built on top of a cliff jutting out over the sea. Much smaller than most, its two slim towers were scarcely taller than the rest of the buildings. Dim light shone through arched windows stained red. It might be late, but they were not the only ones awake.

“The lords will meet with you here.” The guard motioned at an open door that led into a small study where a flickering hearth waited for them. Lorcan cast a quick glance at Nollaig, who said nothing. It could be some kind of trap, he couldn’t help but think. These lords had been against his father. Who was to say they’d resist stabbing him in the back while they had the chance?

“Wait here,” the guard said, leaving Lorcan and Nollaig alone in the study.

“Well?” he asked with a raised brow after the guard shut the door behind him. “What do you think? Are they going to try to kill us?”

“Unlikely. They’ll be curious more than anything.”

“They hated my father.”

“You aren’t your father.”

“But I’m his son.”

“That kind of thing doesn’t matter to the shadow fae as much as you think it does.” She shrugged. “We aren’t like those other courts.”

In both good and terrible ways, Lorcan thought.

The door reopened a few moments later, and two distinguished lords strode into the study, flanked by several shadow fae guards. The one to Lorcan’s left stood almost as tall as he with a thick black beard twisted together into a dozen braids. The one on the right was a much heartier version of the other, his grin bright, his eyes sparkling. Nollaig had filled him in on their histories and their names during the short journey. The slender, tall fae was Lord Tristin. He was the quiet one of the two. There wasn’t much known about him. Lord Maddox was the other. He enjoyed revels and feasts and had yet to bind himself to a wife, even though his family urged him to produce an heir.

“Your Highness.” Both lords bowed low. “I must admit, we’re surprised to see you here and at this time of night.”

“Apologies for the time, but this could not wait,” Lorcan said. “I’ve come to you because Findius is under siege.”

Lord Maddox slipped his thumbs beneath his bracers. “We’ve heard about the siege, Your Highness. Nasty business from a nasty king.”

Relief settled warmly in Lorcan’s gut. Perhaps this would be easier than he’d thought. “Lord Maddox, Lord Tristin. My advisors have informed me that you have a substantial army here in Caraid. One that might be our only hope of winning this war against Ulaid Molt.”

“Ah.” Maddox shifted on his feet and glanced at Tristin. Neither one looked particularly happy about Lorcan’s proposal. “Problem is, we don’t want to send our subjects to their slaughter.”

Irritation flickered in Lorcan’s gut. “Lord Maddox, I am not asking to send them to slaughter.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Lord Tristin cut in with an uneasy clearing of his throat. “With all due respect, I don’t believe you understand the full gravity of the situation. How many warriors does the wood king have?”

Lorcan glanced at Nollaig. “We can’t be certain. He’s using illusions to hide some of them.”

“Then, he likely has far more than you realize.” Lord Tristin grimaced. “Your advisors are right. We do have an army here, but we do not have enough to win a war against Ulaid Molt.”

It took all of Lorcan’s strength not to sag beneath the weight of his deflated hope. They’d come all the way here to get this army. It was his only move forward. If he did not have that, he did not know what else he could do. Either the fae of Findius would die of starvation. Or he would have to surrender them all to the Wood Court.

Both options made him feel as though his heart had been wrung through a meat grinder.

This was their only hope. As the High King, he could force the issue if he wanted to. And then lose any hope of a peaceful alliance with these coastal lords.

“However,” Maddox cut in, snatching Lorcan’s attention away from his dark thoughts. “There is one thing we can offer you. Bring your fae here. Flee Findius. We have room, and we can build extra homes if need be.”

“And we have fresh fish,” Tristin added. “There will be no great feasting, not like we had a hundred