“So, you are saying that she is already being punished for what her father did. The Caisleán is punishing her, which means no one is else is allowed to. At least, not until she’s done paying for her father’s sin. Once she has been punished for the sins her father committed, what right do you have to take her life? Unless she has done something else? Has she? Has she committed other sins that move you to end her?” Croi asks Ceara.

The fae princess doesn’t answer, so Croi continues speaking.

“Also, could you tell me what her death will achieve? No matter what justifications you give it, killing someone is murder. If you kill her, how will you be any different from those you say you are fighting against?

“You are Tine, so you can’t rule this kingdom. If the Robber Queen dies, who will replace her? Her heir? Will you kill him, too? Will there be a war as people vie for the throne? Do you think kin will thank you for the pain that a war, if there is one, will bring? I don’t know much about ruling or royalty, but surely the primary motive of anything a monarch does is to benefit the subjects they serve. How will you be serving Talamh kin by killing the Robber Queen?” Croi ends her monologue with a dry throat. She looks around for a water flask, but there isn’t one to be seen.

“You are an outsider! What do you know of the oppressions Talamh kin suffer? Who do you think is kidnapping these kin from their homes?” the Fire Princess says, fairly spitting out the words.

You won’t be able to convince them. Give up. Consider, too, that you are biased in your opinions because of your friendship with Irial.

“You are right. I am an outsider.” Croi holds her head, squeezing it to lessen the agony of the ache. “Therefore, you should leave me out of whatever plans you are making. I am not interested. Not in you and not in this kingdom.”

She ignores the angry expressions of the fae surrounding her and looks around the clearing. The Redcap caravan is still standing dark, seemingly untouched. Strange, she would have thought that it would be the first place these rebel soldiers explored.

She takes a step toward it, and Daithi’s hand goes to his sword.

Croi turns to look at him and narrows her eyes. She is too tired for more of his nonsense. “Do you really think you can stop me?”

TWENTY-ONE

THE PROMISE OF BLOOD FILLS the air, turning it cold.

A deadlock has been reached: the taciturn rebel soldier and the kin with the face of nightmares. The soldier, beaten once, refuses to be intimidated again. No one can predict what the ugly kin will do next.

“Must you?” Croi thinks to her inner self.

Yes, I must.

“Let me pass. I need to look for my pack in the caravan,” she says, not hiding the fatigue in her voice.