Fae King's Throne (Court of Bones and Ash Book 6) by Layla Harper

Author:Layla Harper [Harper, Layla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-04T16:00:00+00:00

“Drink.” Aegir flags a small female holding a gold tray in her tiny hands. Some race of dryad, I imagine, by the green tone of her skin. She wears nothing but strips of gold fabric attached by flimsy ribbons, as does every other female server in this room.

In the center of the hall, a large fountain spouts streams of liquid gold that pools into a glittering basin below, and sitting on a pedestal at its base is a cauldron large enough to hold ten orcs. Servers ladle mead Aegir personally brewed into waiting mugs. Raucous laughter, interrupted by lively bursts of music performed by bards stationed at each corner, saturates the hall.

“Please, eat your fill,” our giant host prompts. “Indulge without fear of reprisal. My sentries will notify me as soon as they have located the two missing from your party.”

Sersha and the ceasg aren’t missing.

They’re taken. And if I have to turn every stone in this gilded cave to find them, I will.

“Easy now,” Frinhol says from the corner of his mouth. “You will scare the pretty drunken fae.” He inspects half the tray the dryad holds before settling on a juicy piece of meat. “Who knows what interesting tidbits we can glean from loose mouths, eh?”

He has a point.

“My lord?” The server turns to me.

I shoo her away. My stomach roils, and there’s a strange lightness to my limbs I can’t shake. Like a layer of skin has been peeled from my body. Perhaps a weird effect of the wards, nullifying spells, and magic inside this hall?

“What do you think of him?”

“The giant?”

“‘Aye.”

“Eh.” Frinhol shrugs. “I like him better than his ‘wave breaker.’”

The urge to break something rides me hard. Our host appears amicable, his demeanor a stark opposite of his ill-natured wife. Where she scowls, he smiles. Where she takes, he offers. After our release from Ran’s chamber, we were afforded baths, fresh clothing, and ushered into this ornate hall like honored guests. He seems genuine in his concern for Sersha, but still . . . there’s something off about this place—these fae—that triggers my battle instincts.

I watch a couple tumble away from the cauldron. A chair to the side is occupied by two males sandwiching a very willing female. They’re not fae. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

“They come from all worlds.” Aegir offers me a brew I decline. “Vanaheim.” He takes a long sip from the goblet and then gestures to a black-winged wraith. “Svartalfheim. Alfhemir. Even the lost kingdoms hidden in the human plane.” His gaze points to a white-bearded man with a big belly and flushed cheeks. “And then there are others unknown to even the gods.”

My eyes track to the rutting trio. “And they all gather here because . . . ?”

“They hear her beckoning.”

“Who?”

“Look around you.”

“This hall beckons them all?” I’m beginning to think this giant sea god inhaled one too many barrels of seawater.

Aegir leans in conspiratorially. “You and your friends would not have been welcomed had she not chosen you.

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