Zaid moves over to the black stain, then squats again to examine it. Hand going to the bottom of the hut, he lifts it a good foot off the ground so sunlight streams in. “Maybe she got out this way,” he suggests, but we both know it’s unlikely with that amount of blood.
I smile as he stands, appreciating his attempt to give me hope. Because he’s my friend and of course that’s what he’d do.
Just as I’m his friend.
“How are you feeling about your dad?” I ask him hesitantly.
Zaid’s body jerks slightly, but he stands and turns to face me. “Knew you couldn’t keep your nose out of it,” he grumbles.
“Then you should have an answer ready for me,” I quip.
“I don’t know how I feel,” he mutters, moving my way toward the low table. He bends slightly, staring at the crystals. “My gut instinct says he betrayed us while Carrick seems to think he was tortured.”
“Regardless, he’s dead,” I say, not unkindly. “Are you okay with that?”
“What do I care?” he asks, his voice flat. He reaches out, then picks up one of the crystals in the bowl to examine it. “I hated him. I’m relieved he’s out of my life for good.”
“Really?” I ask in surprise. I thought death might change his feelings.
“Of course, really,” Zaid replies snappishly as he sets the crystal down and picks up another. His interest in the crystals keeps him from having to look me in the eye. “He made my life a living hell.”
Zaid sets the crystal down, but before he can pick up another to ignore me, I reach out and nab his hand. Zaid’s not one for touch, so his head whips up. I grip his hand hard so he can’t pull away. “I don’t think it’s your dad you hate. I think you hate yourself for what he made you become.”
A flash of fury skitters over his face, but it immediately melts into astonishment. I use the opportunity to press, squeezing his hand. “Zaid… you’ve more than made up for all the things you did with your father. You need to forgive him, but, more than that, you need to forgive yourself and move on. It’s over, and you are not the same person you were all those centuries ago.”
He might be grumpy on most occasions, but Carrick told me that Zaid has time and again performed acts of charity, kindness, and sometimes bravery to defend others in his quest to right his wrongs. It’s why his aura went from black to gray. I expect it will be white one day if he continues on this path.
“Maybe you’re right,” he mutters as he pulls his hand from mine, only to bend and pick up the crystal on the table with my hair on it.
Pulling the lock of hair from the crystal, he frowns, noting the color as he holds it up closer to the light source above us. “This is the color of your hair.”
I nod. “I gave it to Arwen on our first visit. No clue what she wanted it for, and all these crystals were glowing different colors at the time.”
“They’re memory crystals,” Zaid says off-handedly as he stares at my lock of hair, then his eyes move to the crystal in his other hand. “They were probably glowing when she was alive, because her memories were alive.”
My heart sinks. More confirmation that Arwen is dead. “I didn’t realize there were memory crystals outside the Hall of Histories.”
“Of course there are,” Zaid replies as he moves around the table, his gaze alternating between the crystal and the lock of hair, appearing deep in thought. “It’s the magical version of taking photos or video to preserve memories, but I’m guessing they all die when the person who created them dies since they’re not glowing anymore.”
But then he halts as if something strikes him. His gaze moves from the crystal to my hair, then back to the crystal again.
His head snaps up, and his eyes are wide. Thrusting the crystal at me, he says, “Take this.”
My eyebrows knit in confusion. “Why?”
“Just do it,” he snaps, and there’s my grumpy Zaid.
Stretching my arm out, I turn my palm upward. Zaid places the crystal there. The minute it touches my skin, it lights up a deep red with orange and yellow streaks pulsing within it.
“What the hell?” I murmur, my gaze lifting to Zaid’s.
He holds up my lock of hair that had been twined around the crystal. “I think she made that crystal personally for you.”
I can feel power within it, and it feels like Arwen. Like she is standing right here with us. My fingers close and I grip the thin cylinder, causing a shot of warmth to flow through me as a light shoots out from one end of the crystal.
I let out a tiny yip of surprise, but I manage to hold on. Twisting my wrist, I turn the crystal so the end from which the light is coming out points upward. I’m stunned when a 3D-holographic image forms before us of the inside of Arwen’s tent.
“Whoa…” I murmur.
Then the picture starts moving as if it’s a movie playing before us.
At first, I’m confused because it’s the table with the bowl of crystals, and they’re glowing. A hand comes into view—delicate and female, most likely Arwen’s—and it’s holding the crystal with my lock of hair.
I hear her murmuring in a language I don’t recognize, but then the point of view of what we’re seeing changes. It’s as if Arwen, who I think is holding the crystal, is being swirled around, and the crystal and my hair drop to the table. The point of view shifts again, and it’s like the crystal has become a camera of sorts to record the interior of the hut.
There’s Arwen’s table and chair, fully intact, but it doesn’t stay that way.
From out of range of the crystal, Arwen comes flying through the air and lands hard on the table, causing it to crack and fold in.
My blood turns to ice as I realize she set this crystal to record her last moments. And I believe Zaid is right… she keyed it to my lock of hair so only I could activate it.
I hold my breath as I watch.
From the left of the hologram, someone flies across the room, past the crystal recording this moment, and straight at Arwen.
I gasp as I realize it’s Pyke. Arwen tries to pull herself up from the wreckage of her desk when Pyke grabs the chair and brings it down on her back so viciously it splinters apart.
While, logically, I know Arwen is a Light Fae and strong as steel, I can’t help but gasp at the violence against her.
Pyke reaches down, grabs Arwen by her hair, and hauls her up to her feet. I bite down hard into my lower lip as he brings a dagger that’s surely made of iron to her throat. Putting his lips near her ear, he snarls, “I’m only going to ask you one more time, cousin… what did you see of Finley’s past or future?”
My head whips toward Zaid, who is staring back at me, aghast. We must be watching the moments after Carrick and I left from my meeting with her. We clearly missed the beginning of this confrontation, but she somehow made it to the crystal and my lock of hair to start recording the memory.
“Oh my God.” My entire body starts to shake, but I hold the crystal tight. “This was right after the first time we met her. She told me about my twin being taken and a changeling left behind. She’s the one who confirmed I had some type of light power inside of me.”
“And Pyke wanted that information for some reason,” Zaid growls.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arwen says to Pyke, her voice trembling with fear. Zaid and I bring our attention back to the holographic memory playing out. “I didn’t see anything. She was unreadable.”
“You’re lying,” he yells. The hologram is so lifelike that I can see spittle fly from his mouth. “Now tell me or I’m going to kill you.”
For a moment, I can sense the intense fear she’s feeling, but then it disappears and Arwen’s face smooths out. Her voice turns calm as she smiles at Pyke. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”
Pyke leans in closer to Arwen, studies her face. His lips tighten and he grits out, “You know… I actually believe you.”
Without giving her a second chance, he drags her across the hut by her hair.
She struggles and kicks, but she doesn’t cry out. I can feel the acceptance of her fate.
“No,” I whisper, knowing what’s coming.
Pyke throws Arwen forward. She stumbles and lands on her hands and knees near the side of the hut where the bloodstain lingers. With his boot at her rear, Pyke gives her a hard push and she sprawls forward, only to immediately roll to face him, ending in a sitting position. When he advances on her, she crab walks backward until her back comes to rest against the hut wall.
Right at the bloodstain.
I avert my eyes, but only for a second because Arwen taunts, “I’ll never tell you what I saw about Finley, but I’ll tell you what I saw about you.”
Pyke looks absolutely horrified at the suggestion.
“At the October new moon—” Arwen says.
She’s cut off, though, as Pyke bellows, “No.”
He lunges forward without hesitation, one hand to her throat and the other holding the dagger plunging it straight into her heart. Pyke pulls the dagger free, and Arwen falls back to sag against the leather hide wall.
And then, Arwen slumps with pain and impending death. Her head turns my way and while her eyes are covered with skin, I know she can still see. She stares right where the crystal is on the table and she murmurs words that make no sound, but they sound prayerful.
Then her head falls back against the tent and the crystal goes black, the holographic image disappearing.
Arwen had died.
Slowly, I look at Zaid, whose expression, I’m sure, mirrors my own.
Holy fuck.
Pyke killed Arwen, but why would he do that? They were family.
And why was he so interested in what she saw about me?
An uneasy feeling settles deep in my stomach. I drop the crystal in the bowl, urgently telling Zaid, “We need to leave Faere now.”
“Agreed,” he says, and we both start for the bed to grab the backpack and the satchel.
My heart slams against my chest as I’m brought to a halt by a male voice taunting from outside the tent, “Finley… I know you’re here… come on out.”
He called my name and not Zaid’s. My gaze snaps to Zaid, and I whisper, “He doesn’t know you’re here. Get the chalice and get out of here. Go hide.”
Whether it’s my tone or because he accepts it as the best option, Zaid gives a curt nod as I turn toward the flap door. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and plaster a smile to my face.
“Pyke?” I call, adding a surprised but genial lilt to my tone. I push the flap door open, then step into the sunlight to see the painfully beautiful Light Fae prince. His black hair shines almost blue in the light, and he grins at me warmly. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies smoothly. He’s wearing black leather pants with boots, a crew-type shirt, and tailed jacket—remarkably similar to the way many of the male Light Fae here dress.
Images of him stabbing Arwen assault my mind, and I swallow hard against the bile rising within me.
Pyke studies me critically as I try to come up with an excuse as to why I’m here.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t give me an opportunity to provide it, because the grin slides off his face. I don’t know whether he used magic or perhaps my poker face sucks, because his voice is dull as he concludes the truth, demanding, “You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?” I ask, but I can’t hide the tremor in my voice.
Pyke takes two steps toward me, but I hold my ground. Right now, as far as he knows, we’re just old friends running into each other.
The curving smile on his face doesn’t match the cold glitter in his eyes. “You know I killed Arwen.”
I want to feign surprise, but I don’t think I pull it off. “What?”
“Cut the bullshit, Finley,” he snarls impatiently. “While I can’t read exact thoughts, I can glean enough emotions to know you’re scared to death of me right now.”
Throwing my hands up in capitulation, I snap, “Okay, fine… I know. Want to tell me why you did it?”
“Not really,” he says with a feral smirk peeling his lips back. “But what I do want is the Blood Stone.”
I suck in a breath, my shock so immense I can’t hide it. “Why? And how did you even know I was here?”
“Easy to put a tracking spell on you,” Pyke gloats as he crosses his arms over his chest. “When I brought you back through the veil that time and we held hands, I marked you.”
I remember the tingle I felt. He’d joked it was attraction.
“I knew the moment you stepped foot in Faere,” he taunts. “Now I want the chalice.”
“And how do you know Carrick isn’t in the tent right now ready to blast you to smithereens?” I snarl, throwing my thumb over my shoulder.
Stalling.
To give Zaid a chance to sneak out under the bottom flap.
“If Carrick were here, he would have come out of there before you did, the minute I called your name. Now, the question is… why are you here alone? Perhaps guarding the Blood Stone while Carrick is off doing something else?”
There are a few choices available to me at this point. I could try to stall further, but Pyke isn’t going to let that go on long. I could use my powers to fight, but something tells me to keep the secret of my magic close to the vest. While I had used my magical shield briefly to stop the top of the pine tree from crushing down on us while we battled Micah, Pyke was too engrossed in actually battling the beast to have noticed.
So, I do the only thing I know how to. My hand shooting to my hip, I unsnap the leather loop with a quick flick and grip the whip in my palm. Pyke barely starts to uncross his arms, face a mask of shock, before I have the whip launching at him.
It catches him just below his left eye. He howls in pain, his hand reflexively going up to touch the wound. His fingers come away coated in black blood, which continues to trickle down the front of his face.
“You bitch,” he hisses as I pull my whip back to strike again.
And then, my whip is magically wrenched out of my hand as Pyke makes a grasping motion and then yanks at the air. Without even touching me, he manages to pull it away and send it sailing off to his left, far out of my reach.
I reach for my dagger, but Pyke conjures rope out of thin air, makes a twirling motion, and sends it flying right at me. One end slithers around my wrist, wraps tightly, and then yanks my arm behind my back. The rope then snakes around, grabs my other wrist, and wrenches it back. Within just seconds, both my wrists are secured.
Quickly, I do an internal check to make sure my magic is there and accessible. Thank God, it is, which means the rope tying me is nothing but a rope.
Pyke waves his hand in front of his face, and the cut under his eye disappears. Glaring at me as he advances, he growls, “Now… give me the Blood Stone.”
“I don’t have it,” I yell. “Carrick does, and he’s not here.”
With two long strides, Pyke stomps up to me and crosses one arm over his chest, only to let it fly in a backhand at my cheek. It connects solidly and I go stumbling backward, but I manage to stay on my feet.
“I hate liars, Finley.” Pyke moves so fast I can’t even see it, but he’s suddenly gripping the front of my shirt and jerking me up to my tiptoes as he glares down at me. “If I could so easily put a tracking spell on you, don’t you think I could do the same to the chalice? I felt it when you arrived.”
The memory comes at me as fresh as if it happened today rather than a week ago. After the battle with Micah in the forest clearing was over, Pyke was the one who had picked up the chalice and returned it to Carrick.
He had touched it.
He had put a tracking spell on it.
Before I can ask why, he’s swinging me around and pushing me toward the hut. “It’s in there. Now get it.”
Heart hammering, hoping to God Zaid escaped, I walk to it. The fact Pyke seems to think it’s in the hut doesn’t give me hope, though.
I look over my shoulder at Pyke, whose expression has turned thunderous. “Where is it? I felt it with you when you appeared in Faere.”
“It was,” I rush to assure him. “As was Carrick. He brought me here for safekeeping, then he left to go hide the Blood Stone.”
That explanation makes no sense as Carrick would never leave me behind. He would have battled Pyke right then and there, but the prince is either so outraged, so stupid, or a combination of both, that he doesn’t bother to puzzle that out.
“Where is he?” he demands. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” I say, which is the absolute truth.
Pyke must hear the veracity in my voice because he doesn’t ask me again. Instead, he starts a short pace back and forth in the hut as he obviously ponders his options.
Finally, he stops, bringing his gaze to me. “Carrick has the Blood Stone, and I have you. This could work out.”
Panic hits me as the meaning of his words sink in. I lunge for the opening of the tent, but I’m not sure where I think I can go with my hands tied behind my back. I stand firm in my resolve not to use my magic, because that’s a secret I’m not going to give up unless I’m in a life-or-death situation.
Right now, Pyke seems to want me as bait.
Surprisingly, I make it through the tent flap and halfway around the side before I’m stopped by Pyke grabbing my elbow. He whirls me around to face him and smiles down at me maniacally. “Yes, I think a trade will work out nicely.”
I lift my chin defiantly. “Carrick will never give it to you.”
Pyke laughs with genuine amusement. “I guess there’s only one way to find out, right?”
Before I can object, my body is pulled hard as Pyke bends distance, able to easily glide through the veil without ripping it. Benefits of being a Light Fae royal, I guess.
A Battle of Blood and Stone Page 26