Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six)

because it was two against one, correct?”
    I nodded, though I doubted it was true. From what I could tell, the Morrigan held them off and conducted a mental conversation with me for precisely as long as she wished. She died only when she stopped trying to live.
    “We can do the same thing to them,” Flidais assured me, “one by one. Use the strategy their Roman puppet favored so much: divide and conquer.”
    Or, I thought, you could be pretending to help us now, and then you’ll quietly sit back and do nothing while Artemis and Diana hunt us down. There was no proof Flidais wasn’t the one scheming against us, other than my vague inclination to view her as one who participated in the schemes of others rather than initiating them herself. But I voiced a different thought: “Why are you so anxious to meet them in battle? Might you have a personal agenda?”
    Flidais scoffed. “I have never met them, so I don’t know what that could be.”
    “You’re essentially the same goddess, except that they’re virgins and you’re not. Maybe you’re trying to prove that chastity is overrated.”
    “That’s self-evident, Atticus,” Granuaile pointed out. “Or at least it is to everyone who’s enjoyed a good diddle.”
    “She knows what I mean,” I said. “Perhaps Flidais is seeking validation that she’s better than the Olympians instead of pursuing the strategically wiser option.” She wouldn’t be able to dance around calling me a coward if I turned her eagerness for battle into self-aggrandizement.
    Narrowing her eyes at me, Flidais let out a slow hiss of breath before saying, “All right, let’s go to the Old Way.” She waved at her chariot. “Follow and I’ll take you there.”
    “Hold on,” I said. “How did you get that chariot and team up through the cramped cellar of Windsor Castle?”
    “I didn’t.” She flicked a finger at her ride. “This is but one of many chariots I keep hidden throughout the isles. The stags live in the area and came when I called.”
    That was far more sensible than what the Olympians were doing—but, then again, they couldn’t shift planes the way Flidais could, so it would make little sense for them.
    We followed Flidais through the damp mist of the dark before dawn, the air like wet cloth on our faces. As we loped at an easy pace through the park, we stayed alert for any sign of the Olympians—or for any sign of betrayal.
    We received a sign before we reached the castle. A dull thump pounded the air a half mile ahead of us, and a faint shock wave buffeted our faces soon afterward. We stopped running and watched a pale cloud of dust rise into the sky. It wasn’t difficult to discern the source. I hoped no one had been in residence.
    Granuaile said, “Was that …?”
    “An explosion? Yeah.”
    
    We turned to Flidais and she shook her head. “It wasn’t me.”
    “I didn’t say—”
    “Speech wasn’t necessary. You think I arranged the destruction of the Old Way to keep us here.”
    “No, I don’t. But someone else did. Someone from Tír na nÓg. Do you have any idea who might be responsible or who might have ordered such a thing?”
    Flidais whirled on me with a flash of anger in her eyes. “Just what is it that you suspect of me?”
    There was quite a long list, but voicing my suspicions would be counterproductive. I chose my words withcare, leaving her little room to take offense or to escape telling me something useful.
    “I suspect nothing, but I wonder plenty. If you have no ideas regarding who might have blown up part of Windsor Castle to prevent us using the Old Way to get back, then we are dealing with someone extremely clever. Who amongst the Tuatha Dé Danann would be able to arrange an explosion on this plane less than an hour after you used it? Or, more to the point, who was following you in Tír na nÓg and saw you leave that particular way?”
    Flidais frowned at my last sentence. The idea that she might have been followed disturbed her more than anything else. The challenge faded from her eyes and she looked away, considering the problem.
    “I suppose Ogma could have done it. His designs have been inscrutable for a long while.”
    The thought chilled me but had occurred to me before. Granuaile gasped, because it hadn’t occurred to her.
    Flidais continued, “But Midhir has been keeping to himself recently. He has a mind for such things. And he is a patron of that Fae lord you shamed during your visit to