Hope is the thing with feathers.
He inhaled deeply, drawing strength both from Jessa’s words and voice. Doubt might chase him, but he was a fast flyer. He could stay ahead of it.
If only he could get warm. Simith rubbed at his arms again, the soft chattering of his teeth the only sound in the woods. The stillness nudged at his instincts. Below, the doe’s head came up, ears flicked forward. He froze.
Someone was near.
Simith readied a blade, eyes scanning the tall grass of the meadow leading out of the Jaded Grove. The summer breeze rippled the high stalks like waves on the sea—except in one spot. There, the wavering tide broke, as if a stone squatted within the current. Or a crouched enemy.
It moved.
The doe vanished into the woods and Simith alighted on the next tree. On silent feet, he followed a branch that extended over the meadow above his target. It shifted again. Simith halted, ready to throw himself back to cover if his foe looked up. It didn’t. A careless mistake, though his quarry had hidden themselves well. He couldn’t see whether it was a fairy or troll spying the forest, but the mid-morning sun betrayed their shadow.
Which shifted again. Any farther and Simith would lose the angle of attack. He burst across the final steps, darting down upon his enemy with a snap of wings. His target let out a startled yelp as Simith pressed their face into the dirt. His blade point found the tender spot behind their ear. Their struggles ceased.
“Your name,” Simith demanded softly, “or I’ll make this meadow your grave.”
“Sir Simith?” a muffled, familiar voice said. “Is that you?”
“Flix?” Simith moved off him. He stared in astonishment at the young pixie scout. Though, not so young anymore. Two years had passed since Rimthea had trained him. That had been the last time he’d seen the boy. Just before Rim was killed.
“By the winds, you’re terrifying, sir.” Flix gave a strained chuckle, rubbing at the spot where Simith’s blade had pricked him. “I never heard a sound.”
Wary at his presence, Simith kept his blade close. “What are you doing here? Why hide in the grass instead of the trees?”
“I was sent to await Helm Firo and his soldiers. Fairies don’t appreciate when we startle them from above. Now I see why.” He lowered his hand from his head and stared at Simith, wide-eyed. “Is it really you, sir? They said you’d been ambushed by trolls and killed.”
“Who did?”
“The Helms. They told us you were sent to offer a truce, but the troll king murdered you instead.”
Just as Firo had said they would do.
“Helm Firo was dispatched to retrieve your body.” Flix gripped Simith’s arm, blue eyes bright with pride. “I knew it had to be a mistake. There isn’t a troll alive that could best you.”
Simith looked away. Flix was too young to remember the peaceful creed the pixies lived by ten years ago. He’d have been a child of eight when they entered the war, barely old enough for his conduit. Flix’s admiration was a conviction of all the things Simith loathed about himself. No wonder he was no longer welcome in the moorlands. His influence was as toxic as an ill wind.
Simith pushed these dour thoughts to one side. Flix’s presence here meant the limited time he had to contact the troll king was less than he’d thought. He considered having the boy delay his report to the Helms, but decided against it. The fairies might suspect Flix had some part in Simith’s plan. Who knew what they would do to him in that case?
He stood. “Helm Firo isn’t coming. You must return and inform the commanders.”
Flix blanched as he rose. “The trolls killed them?”
“No.” He hesitated, then unbuckled his sword belt, holding it out in his hands. “Take this with you when you return.”
The boy stepped back from the weapon. He shook his head emphatically. “It’s not your fault, sir, whatever happened. The fairies won’t blame you.”
“Flix…” He didn’t know how to explain that their allies were not allies, that they wished to use his death to inspire even greater slaughter. He could barely understand it himself.
“Besides, you have to come back with me,” Flix said. “All knights have been recalled. The Thistle Court arrived today to address the accusation.”
He frowned. “What accusation? Against whom?”
“Against you, sir. The trolls accuse you of oath-breaking. They say you lured them to a meeting for peace, and ambushed them.” He gave an outraged snort. “A pathetic twist on the truth as ever I’ve heard.”
Anxiety built in the back of his mind. “What does this have to do with the Thistle Court if it’s me they accuse?”
“You were assumed dead, sir, and since you serve the fairies, the claim is a mark against their honor. The trolls have called for satisfaction through combat. The triad came to answer it in your stead.”
Simith ran a hand through his hair. Not only had the fairies attacked him, but they’d done the same to the trolls. How would he ever arrange another meeting if the troll king thought he’d betrayed them?
He tipped his head back as a far more dire thought sprang to mind. The triad—the three noble fairy houses—had come. The entire legion would be gathered in the same place. If the court had planned to use his death to subvert peace, they must have also known King Drokeh would level the accusation. He’d called for combat, a typical reparation between accuser and accused—unless Simith wasn’t there. The fairies would insist on a different sort of combat, the kind between two forces instead of two individuals. Rather than chancing a long siege in the trolls’ lands, they meant to finish their army off on a battlefield. Soon, by the sound of it.
“When is this meant to occur?” Simith asked.
“They’re working out the terms now, and whatever is decided will happen tonight.” Excitement lit his eyes. “But since you’re here, you can answer the claim yourself.”
Simith refastened his sword belt around his waist. Tonight. Far sooner than he thought. He had to stop this before it was too late. “Where are the trolls camped?”
“On the other side of the valley from the legion, and—Sir, where are you going?” Flix followed after Simith as he darted into the air.
“You mustn’t be seen with me now,” he told the boy. He tried to outpace him, but the farther he flew from the forest, the harder the fatigue pressed on him. Why was the air so cursed cold? “Flix, go back.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” he said, easily keeping pace alongside him. “All you need to do is explain what happened to the commanders. There,” he pointed, “Helm Capal comes for my report already. She’ll understand, you’ll see.”
A rider approached from the opposite direction. Simith lurched back as the Helm cupped her hands around her mouth. “Cover your ears!” Simith shouted, clapping his hands over his own, but the boy didn’t react in time.
Flix tensed beside him, eyes flaring with surprise. “Why…” He gawked at his own hand as it removed the dagger sheathed at his hip.
Simith twisted away, anticipating an attack. To his horror, Flix set the blade against his own throat. The blade cut into his skin.
“No!” Simith lunged forward. He grasped his arm, pulling hard against the unnatural will that commanded Flix’s body with his true name.
“Fight it,” Simith told him, though he knew he was trying, his arm trembling, terror in his gaze.
Flix’s boot rammed him in the gut and he almost lost hold of his arm. Growling, Simith adjusted, pulling the boy close, crushing his hand between them. He put a protective arm behind Flix’s neck and head. Then he took them to the ground. The impact left his elbows and knees throbbing. Flix lay dazed beneath him. Simith grabbed the dagger away from him and pressed his knees into the boy’s arms.
The point of a sword came to rest between his shoulder blades.
“I take it we won’t be seeing Firo or his soldiers again?” Capal said behind him.
His hand tightened on the dagger. “They are dead, yes.”
“A shame,” she said, though if she grieved for it, her voice didn’t show it. “Will you come peacefully, Sun Fury? Or must I use your true name to have you murder the scout?”
Simith closed his eyes and let the dagger fall from his hand. “Where are we going?”
The sword point lowered. A wry smile touched her words. “The Thistle Court awaits you.”
Chapter Two
She dreamed.
Beneath a cloud-covered sky, Jessa glided over a rolling, rural landscape she didn’t recognize. Bordered by stone cliffs, low shrubbery adorned it; cotton-grass, mosses, and bracken. Wild ponies with their manes snapping in the wind roamed alongside grazing sheep. She watched as she approached heather fields where cob cottages with roofs of grass and adobe walls dotted the terrain.
Home, a young voice said in her thoughts, but it wasn’t hers.
Movement alongside caught her eye. There, a pair of pixies flew. Two young men, one not quite an adult yet, the softness of adolescence still clinging to his face. With a start, she recognized Simith. His shoulders were narrower than when she’d met him, his sandy brown hair long with feathers and flower stems woven through it. His brown eyes held the same piercing intensity, but with a spark of innocence that was no longer there.
“Late for supper again,” the older one muttered, his hair darker than Simith’s. His brother, though she wasn’t sure how she knew that. “I told you we didn’t have time to go chasing hawks.”
“Then you shouldn’t have challenged me to it, Cirrus.”
“Mama will keep you aground for a month.”
“Maybe. You know how it goes; the last to arrive is the first blamed.”
His brother smirked. “Take the blame, and I’ll help you sneak the cabbage off your board for the week.”
“A bargain.” Simith grinned and they shook hands. Gazing ahead, he frowned. “Is that smoke coming from our hamlet?”
Jessa shivered with cold as the dream faded. Other voices replaced those of the young pixies. They argued in strained whispers.
“Three hours. We said we’d call an ambulance if there’d been no change in three hours, and she’s just as bad as when we brought her back here.” Katie’s angry words moved from one side of the room to the other. Jessa groggily opened her eyes to see her friend pacing along the foot end of the bed.
A moment of disorientation followed before Jessa remembered Katie finding her by the trees. She recalled stumbling back to Relle’s house together and falling into the bed of the same guest room from before. Then dreams.
“If magic is involved, taking her to the hospital is the worst thing we could do.” Relle hovered by the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She looked like herself again, her Fae features hidden beneath the human mask. “When Granny wakes up, she’ll be able to tell us for sure.”
Katie rounded on her, gaze flashing with impressive ire despite the swollen side of her face. “We shouldn’t have let her go alone with that winged guy. What if he did something to her?”
“He didn’t,” Jessa said, voice croaking like she’d been in a coma. She was tempted to close her eyes and sleep on, but the drugging fatigue made her nervous. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, keeping the blankets around her shoulders. Did they have the air-conditioning blasting?
“How are you feeling, honey?” Katie hustled to the side of the bed and sat next to her. “Still cold?”
“Freezing.”
“You might have the flu.” She put a palm on her brow. “Or one coming on. There’s no fever yet.”
“That’s because it’s not the flu,” Relle said. “I can tell the difference between a regular virus and something caused by magic.”
Katie ignored her. “You’re sure nothing happened with the pixie? Maybe just a weird vibe?” She snorted at herself. “The things I never expected to hear myself ask.”
“He’d already left when it happened.” Jessa rubbed her face, her eyes sandy with exhaustion. Katie looked rough around the edges as well, her face pale, the makeup around her eyes smudged as though she’d wiped away tears. “Are you doing okay?”
“Not really.” She gave a watery smile. “Getting abducted by fairy-trolls and punched in the face wasn’t exactly what I’d planned for my birthday.”
Relle stirred by the doorway, her posture that of one who wanted to approach but wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed. “Katie,” she said softly. “I’m really sorry for what happened.”
“I already said it wasn’t your fault,” Katie replied, irritated. She took out her phone. “I’m calling an ambulance now. We can’t risk Jessa in her condition. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind an x-ray myself.”
Relle was there instantly, snatching the phone from her fingers. “You can’t do that.”
Katie gave her a dark look that could’ve melted stone. “Yes, I can.”
“We have to wait for Granny.”
The metallic squeak of a wheelchair startled everyone. Ionia appeared in the doorway; a fierce scowl firmly affixed despite the weariness hollowing her cheeks. She surveyed the occupants of the room with a dark gaze that made Jessa’s insides feel exposed. Even the human glamour couldn’t conceal her otherworldly aspect.
“Granddaughter,” she said. “Where is the pixie?”
Relle withered slightly under her scrutiny. “I let him go.”
“Did you.” Her mouth tightened. “So you have chosen our deaths over his.”
“He promised he wouldn’t tell the fairies—”
“Be silent.” Her voice was so dangerously soft, Jessa clamped her own mouth shut. “We will know soon enough the gravity of your foolish trust. Why are these two still here?”
“Jessa’s sick.” Relle shifted to one side as Ionia wheeled into the room.
“Does she not have aspirin and a bed in her own house?”
“Sick by magic.”
Her sharp gaze turned to Jessa. She rolled to the bedside, forcing Katie to jump out of the way or let the wheels squash her toes.
“Spell or curse?” Ionia directed her words at Relle as she assessed Jessa from head to foot.
“Neither, I think.”
“You think? Have you fallen behind on your studies because of,” she flicked a glance at Katie, “distractions?”
“No, Granny.” Relle sighed. “Magic is behind the ailment, but it’s not like anything you’ve ever shown me before.”
“I’m fine, really,” Jessa said, hoping it was true. “It’s been a crazy night. I probably just, uh, fainted.” That didn’t make her sound fine at all. She subdued another shiver.
Ionia tracked the movement. “You’re cold?”
“A little.”
“She been saying she’s freezing,” Katie supplied helpfully, ignoring Jessa’s glower.
Ionia took Jessa’s chin in between her fingers and stared into her eyes. Her dark gaze dragged Jessa under, black obsidian jewels as hypnotic as a sky without stars. Jessa tried to pull away, but the grip on her face firmed. “Hold still, child.” Her voice came slow and strange, drifting across an endless void. “Let me see your secrets.”
The room faded, replaced with the wide-open landscape of her dreams, only she wasn’t asleep this time. She knew she wasn’t. A separate part of her still saw Ionia’s eyes peering into hers, as though she’d covered half her sight with a hand.
It was just as before; the long stretch of heather fields, the blanket of clouds, but this time, black smoke billowed from the thatched houses. Screams rode the winds and trolls swarmed the ground. Fire arrows snapped from their bows and pixies fell to the earth, burning.
Two figures landed atop a smoldering roof: Simith and his brother. They tore through the straw of the roof, crying out “Mother! Father!”. Voices called back. Flames moved across the straw, swallowing the roof they stood on. Below, trolls chopped at the door, struggling against barricades behind it.
A hole formed in the roof. From within, a dark-haired man handed up an injured woman. She had an arrow
in her side and a gash on her head. She was barely conscious. Both boys gasped as they lifted her out.
“Why is this happening?” Cirrus cried while Simith stared, white-faced with shock. His brother held the woman close. “We’re no enemy of the trolls.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” their father said. “Hurry, I’ve got your baby cousins here, too.”
Another pixie landed on the roof as Simith’s father passed up two toddlers to him. They clung to him, silent with terror.
“We flee for Hollow Hill,” the new pixie said. She clenched a bow in her hands; her expression ferocious beneath soot-stained blonde hair. Her eyes softened only briefly when she looked on Cirrus. “Late as always, love. For once, I’m dreadfully glad.”
“Rimthea,” Cirrus breathed her name. “Why are you still here? Fly for safety.”
“Not without you.”
A crash came from inside the cottage. The trolls streamed inside.
“Father!” Cirrus pushed his mother into Rimthea’s hands. He grasped his father’s arms and dragged him through the hole. Fire arrows followed. “Look out,” he shouted, shielding his father’s back with his own.
Jessa tried to look away. She didn’t want to see Simith’s face as he watched his brother die, as he looked on helplessly while fire and blade consumed his favorite person in all the world. She wrenched herself away, toppling onto her side and nearly falling off the bed.
“What is going on?” Katie hollered while Jessa grasped her head, squeezing fistfuls of hair until her scalp tingled. Weight pressed down on the mattress, and then Katie was there, pulling her close. “She’s shaking. What did you just do?”
“Well, you were right,” Ionia told Relle as though Katie weren’t glaring at her murderously. “There is magic at work here, though I’ve never seen it behave this way.”
Jessa gulped in the air, trying to calm her thudding heart, her head spinning with awful images. “How can magic be making me sick?”
“Your dreams,” she said, “they have been strange, yes? Like the one we saw now?”
Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 140