“That’s why we’re here,” the blonde said, seeing my confusion. “Nimue called the coven leaders to a conference, only to take them captive. We came on a rescue mission.” Her lips twisted. “And soon thereafter needed rescuing ourselves.”
“Would these coven leaders be able to help us get out?” I asked.
“Aye,” the redhead said. “If we could find them!”
“We have to stick to the plan,” the blonde said, looking around at the circle of women, who glanced at each other uneasily. “We have to try!”
“We don’t even know that there is a plan,” Hooknose argued. “If our boy’s lying dead in the woods, the covens aren’t comin’.”
“And even if they are,” the thin brunette put in, “we can’t get the walls down without the leaders. The wards—”
“Wait,” I said, trying to keep up. “What plan? And what boy?”
“A man, actually. Part fey. He’s helping us coordinate an attack on the camp.”
“The idea is to have the covens assault this place from the outside,” the blonde told me. “Keeping the fey busy while we free the leaders. Each of whom can harness the power of an entire coven, hopefully enough to destroy the palisade walls—”
“Then everyone scatters,” the redhead interrupted, hazel eyes flashing. “All the women in all directions while the covens fight off the fey. They may recapture some, but they’ll never catch us all!”
“Not at night. Not in our own lands,” Hooknose agreed.
“—but we were caught before we could find the leaders, much less free them,” the blonde finished.
“And now our only hope is dead,” the thin brunette said dolefully.
“You don’t know that. He had to find the other covens, get them to approve the plan, then make it all the way back here—”
“And that was one of the best illusions I’ve ever seen,” the redhead added enviously.
“Illusion?” I said, feeling my temperature start to rise. “What illusion?”
“Disguised himself as a slaver,” Hooknose said. “One who was killed trying to sneak back some of the girls we’d rescued from the fey. Our boy volunteered to pass through their lines and communicate the plan to the rest of the covens—”
“And he made it,” the blonde said firmly. “He must have. The illusion was perfect.”
Hooknose disagreed. “Too flashy. I told him to tone down that hair.”
“What does it matter?” the thin brunette wailed. “Knowing the fey, he’s dead by now—”
“You know, I seriously doubt that,” I said, watching a devil with two-tone hair run into the tent behind us and start thrashing around in the middle of the illusion. And then run out of the new back door and stare around like a madman.
Until he saw us. “Oh, good,” he told me, and visibly relaxed. “You’re here—”
And then I slapped him.
* * *
“Stop acting like you’re hurt,” I said, a few minutes later. “You’re not hurt.”
Pritkin felt his jaw for the third time. “It’s mostly my feelings—”
“Your feelings? You kidnapped me—”
“I explained that. I was coming back—”
“I thought you were going to court.”
“I am—I was,” he amended as we plastered ourselves to the side of a tent, halfway across the camp. “This . . . came up.”