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He whirled around, looking for Nectan, and saw him standing in the midst of the Fey about ten feet away, watching them. The swirling Pictish design on his face gave his face a sinister cast in the moonlight. As their eyes met he crossed his arms on his chest, his mouth set in a grim line.
Thomas’ anger coalesced into fury, and he started towards the king, his fists clenched.
But he did not get far. Brorda grabbed him, restraining him as scattered cries rose up from the rest of the Fey.
Thomas ignored them all. “You knew he was here, all the time!” he snarled at Nectan. “At the Gathering, you barged into my head and found out everything about me. But you kept this from me, you didn’t tell me—” his words choked off as he struggled against Brorda’s iron grip.
“Thomas!” Brorda’s voice
