Veil drew in a long breath of the forest air, searching for the scent of those who had gone before them. The pursuit had picked up speed after the calls coming from ahead had shifted their direction toward the elven lands.
The spellcasters were making their way toward the boundary. They would know it was their only chance for escape once they heard the calls themselves. Most fey were capable of crossing the ancient boundaries, but that did not mean it was without risk. The energy it took to cross would be lost to them until their return. One would be unable to replenish without coming back onto fey lands. It was, after all, why the spellcasters were trying to break free of those bonds. The deadening that had taken the forest nymph whose body lay at the foot of Veil’s dais would be coming for the rest of them soon. The source of energy that fed them all would run dry.
Veil pinned his wings against his back and dove toward the earth, a mass of high fey swift on his tail. He swerved smoothly past a tree, adjusting his path to follow the calls of the watchmen ahead. There was a hiss of sound behind him from a tracker who’d caught the new scent on the wind. The stench was dark and sulfurous, a warning that the spellcasters were busy laying more traps.
Veil gestured at his warriors, and a line of them flew wide. He heard eager cries behind him and felt his chest swell with pride. They were nearing the boundary of stones and flowing water, and his fey had a taste for blood. The anticipation was rapturous in itself, but finally getting hold of the beings who had allied with his betrayers—who had caused peril to all fey lands—was going to bring far more pleasure than the chase alone.
As they closed in on the border between fey and elven lands, the mass that followed Veil spread to plot their course. Whatever plans they had devised, the spellcasters would stand no chance of getting out alive. As long as they were caught before crossing that boundary, he would have them in his trembling hands. He would devour them, drawing their energy free until nothing was left but the ash of their filthy castings.
A sharp yip echoed through the thinning forest, followed by a long and doleful cry. It was the howl of an ancient being bound inside the hide of a wolf.
Finn and Keaton were at the elven boundary.
17
Frey
At dawn, Chevelle and I dressed in leather armor, forgoing as much metal as possible to avoid interfering with the energy of the dragon. We walked the corridor in silence, the halls hosting a few spare guards while the fey were occupied with their summer festival. When we entered Anvil’s study, Rhys and Rider were already waiting.
“Good morning, Lord Freya,” Rider said in greeting as Rhys inclined his head.
I gestured them both to sit but remained standing myself.
I took a long breath. I needed to get the secret out and be done with it before I convinced myself to postpone things further. Chevelle stood beside me, as calm and steady as ever.
“I spoke with Junnie before she left,” I said. “She does recognize some of the script in the work you found in Asher’s study, but she’s afraid the page that holds its key is missing.” The brothers nodded, apparently unsurprised. “She’s promised to look into the document’s other notes when she returns to the village and its library vaults.” She would investigate what was left of them after my aunt’s rampage, anyway. I cleared my throat. “I know you’ve spent a great many hours studying in our own libraries to discover the key to fey energy and how the deadening of it might be stopped. I’m afraid I’ve withheld information that may be of help to you.”
Rhys and Rider were still, but their gazes betrayed a spark of interest.
“You know that the crossing of magic does not work, that the children created between too-different energies will not survive. The energies are incompatible, and when thrown together, they become too volatile.” I shifted, resting my hand on the hilt of my sword. “Volatile” was not the most precise word, because what happened was always entirely predictable: someone would die. Rider’s dark eyes stayed on mine. “The exception to this rule were Asher’s children, and a single half-fey girl. Ruby’s mother was strong and clever, but no doubt her tactics were bought from the same source as Asher’s and paid in blood. Those children were brought into being not in a natural manner, but by the hand of a powerful spellcaster.”
The torches along the wall were lit, and the tall windows of the study cast the light of a hazy dawn across the room’s ancient furnishings. It did not make me feel less cold. “It was not only our survival he guided. As his talent progressed, he was able to give Isa the ability of my mother’s family line, to spell into a being of dark magic that which has only been found among the light.” That much they already knew.
I pressed on. “We”—I glanced at Chevelle. “Those of us who were aware of Asher’s misconduct were mistaken in thinking he only dabbled in corrupt magic, in assuming that it was not a more thorough occupation.”
Chevelle’s gaze strayed in my direction, but he did not look at me. I would not argue terms with him. Even if the darkness was inside of both of us, it didn’t make it less malignant. I went on.
“In the years before Asher’s other children—his experiments with fey and human hosts—my grandfather took to toying with those nearer to him. With the dark elves he held within his rule.” Rider’s shoulders straightened slightly, his eyes going to the fidgeting of my hand, a contrast to the stillness of Chevelle’s beside me. I continued, “In addition to keeping me alive when the energy of my parents could not join, he cast onto the child of his head guard, and in doing so brought harm upon both the child and the mother. By some miracle, both survived, but the child bore a connection to the darkness Asher used in the casting of that spell.”
Rhys leaned forward, his gaze moving slowly to Chevelle. Both brothers had evidently suspected. But they would have, I supposed, because they had seen Chevelle cast. Chevelle and I shared a bond different from the brothers but no less powerful. I wondered if Rhys and Rider had been able to sense the way the power moved between us.
“As such,” I explained, “that child, Chevelle, is able now to… divert the energy needed for casting to use at his will.” When Chevelle frowned, I added, “To an extent, at least.”
The brothers were quiet for a long moment before Rider asked, “So your talent is not that of a conduit? You are able to give direction to that energy?”
“And when you say ‘divert,’” Rhys asked, “do you mean temporarily, or is this only a single direction, a route away with no return?”
“It is something I am still coming to understand myself.” Chevelle’s voice was smooth and steady, though my fingers still trembled against the metal of my sword. He glanced at Rider. “It is not unlike a conduit, but I am able to direct it with the aid of words and powders. I’m not certain the volatility of it on its own.”
My stomach dipped. It was what spellcasting had always been. It was dangerous, capable of taking on a life of its own. It was why the binding words were needed. It was why no one with a bit of sense dabbled in it. Chevelle was lucky to be alive after what Asher had done.
He looked to Rhys. “And yes, it does seem that I may only aim its intent. I’ve thus far been unable to return the energy to any form other than its initial strike. I lose my grip on it once it is discharged.” Chevelle’s brow drew down. “Though that may be only that I’m not strong enough to hold on or demand its return.”
“Unlike the fey lord,” Rider said. “He is able to release that energy from within himself, but he seems able to both draw it in and release it back to its original form.”
They carried on for a moment while I swallowed my misgivings and pressed down my own energy, which felt as if it could fight back. My palms went slick with sweat, my mouth dry. I drew a long breath through my nose.
The room had gone quiet, the three of them watching me, waiting.
“Yes,” I said. “And so”—I cleared my throat once more—“we do have some inclination as to how the spellcasters’ magic works, even if we cannot determine
why it has brought on this deadening or if that is even what is at fault.”
Chevelle’s eyes were on mine, fixed and settled, and I took another deep breath. “When Veil stole the dragonstone from my jewels, I sent the others to bring one of the creatures to us so that we might study the way the fey energy moves through it.”
Rider nodded.
I dragged my sweaty hand over the hem of my shirt. “The fey energy is resistant to metal and to running water, among other things, so we would do best to avoid those where we can. There are nymphs who thrive in still water ponds, but the streams create some sort of interference. Metal, however, will cause a greater disturbance and inflict pain.”
Rhys and Rider stood, removing what ornaments they could from their own uniforms. They did not seem anxious, but I couldn’t say whether it was owing to bravery or something else.
The ice lands were populated with creatures far larger and more dangerous than our own. The vicious spikes and deadly flames might intimidate the rest of us, but when one had been up against a beast three times the dragon’s size, with razor talons and spitting flesh-melting venom, our creature might not have had the same effect.
The brothers dropped the last of their metal onto the table and nodded, ready to depart.
I gave them a short nod in return. “To the top of the keep.”
I felt for the dragon’s mind, as I’d done nearly constantly since the creature’s arrival, and found it sleepily watching birds in the light of the early dawn. As we made our way to the top of the keep, the dragon seemed to sense us, rousing from that relaxed state into something more aware. I held him fast, but I wondered if he would truly attack us otherwise. I wished I’d paid more attention to my studies from long before, because dragon lore tended toward repeating the most out-of-the-ordinary tales, not their normal habits and tendencies. I quickened my pace, and none of my guard challenged the decision that I go up first.
We climbed the last few steps as the keep opened to the sky in a wide platform of dark stone, a few wide columns, and very little else. As a child, I had wondered at its purpose, but once the idea of bringing a dragon back to the castle arose, so did my memories of the scars among the stone beneath my feet. Long grooves cut into the floor, weathered with age. The dragons had once lived among the fey, sourcing their energy from those lands, but that did not mean they had been held within the ancients’ boundaries.
It was those boundaries of woven spellwork, metal, and running water that kept the fey mostly on their own lands. But the dragons were not tied in the same way as the fey, and airborne creatures who did not need to recharge the energy inside themselves for decades at a time were undeterred by such protections.
I drew in a long breath of the cool morning air, unable to keep a smile from crawling across my lips. There, sitting steadily and waiting for our action, was a creature who hadn’t been seen near the Northern territory in years. I reached out with my mind, feeling the low and heavy pulse of energy that lived within him.
I had never before been in the mind of an animal who held magic. I had never felt another being’s power so intimately, but the thought brought me up short as I glanced at Chevelle. He watched the dragon with a hand on his waist, where there waited no sword.
“It’s safe,” I told the others. “Just stay clear of his snout.”
The dragon’s sulfurous breath was scalding, but nothing else without its fire. I would hold it steady. I would have the creature within my control despite the intimidating size of his body and his power. I was smaller, but I was not weaker.
Rhys and Rider walked around me toward the dragon, and Chevelle stepped forward at my side. “I can feel his energy,” I said. “There is so much about him that is unexpected.”
Chevelle was silent, a steady presence as I studied the being on the other side of the connection. It was warm and dense and not like anything I’d touched before. My voice was quiet, but Rhys and Rider were close enough to hear. “Veil’s energy feels warm to me, but there is a lightness to it I do not feel here. Veil’s seems softer, more pliable, and capable of an easier flow.”
Rider looked back at me, his examination of the creature’s dark scales paused. “I cannot feel it. There is nothing here that feels tangible, though I imagine I would be able to sense it during a strike.”
I laughed. “Probably not something we should try just yet.”
Rider smiled. “And what of our energy?” He gestured between himself and his brother. “What does it feel like to you?”
I drew my brows together. “Cold, or at least cool. I might have once said a bit dead, but there’s something…” I frowned, unable to bring it to mind. “I’m not certain. Your connection is different than Chevelle’s and mine, but so is that energy. It’s hard to pin down.”
Chevelle’s voice was low. “And what of mine?”
“I don’t have anything to compare it with. Our bond has been in place for so long, and it’s not as if I can reach anyone else in the same way.” I shook my head. “I can’t put it into words.”
“Try.”
I sighed. “Warm, I guess. But not torrid in the way of the fey. Tingly at its edges.” At his raised brow, I added, “Darker. Deeper, somehow.” He nodded, and I asked, “What does mine feel like to you?”
He opened his mouth for an instant then quickly pressed his lips together again. I wasn’t certain whether he didn’t want to discuss our bond in front of the others, or if he didn’t want to discuss the energy that Asher had spelled into me. I realized I didn’t truly want to discuss either matter.
The power I’d had before was manageable, even as heir to the throne. But what Asher had thrust upon me tended more toward an uncontrollable trembling of earth and stones, the foundations of everything. It was not the same as what had been spelled into Chevelle. His magic was separate from that darkness, the murky thing that was his connection to the energy required for spellcasting.
He was nothing like the fey. Veil’s energy swelled up from beneath the earth, a fountain of warmth rising through him and into his command. It was not like the elves, either, neither light nor dark.
“It’s that conduit that the spellcasters are after,” I said, “that connection to the base energy they cannot reach on their own.”
Rider nodded. “Asher’s castings upon those children did not work in every case. Only the strongest bloodlines survived, and even then, their magic was volatile.”
A chill wind cut across the platform, hitting my face and tugging at the length of my cape. I did not want to think of the boy who could pull silver from the air or the cackle of the fey who’d rained ice upon us from his place in the sky. Those threats were gone. “So we find the connection, and we figure out a way to cut it off. We sever it or block it however we can.”
Rhys and Rider stepped back, allowing me space to maneuver the dragon as I saw fit. I did not know precisely how its energy worked, so I supposed it would be best to test it outside our small circle to prevent any accidents.
I closed my eyes, feeling myself fall deep into the dragon in a way that was not possible with other beasts. He rose to his full height, stretching his wings up and out, pressing his claws to the stones of the top of the keep. The creature rolled his head, snapped his jaw, then pushed off in a slow and solid wingbeat that thrust a gust of air across us. I opened my eyes to watch him sail off the central tower and swoop low over the castle walls before swinging wide. I took him down the hillside, just far enough that we could see him clearly over the walls. I had been afraid of losing him with distance, but I had yet to feel even a strain on our connection.
I glanced at the others beside me, who stood in a line, watching the beast. I closed my eyes to sink fully into the dragon’s mind, feeling out the connections to the animal’s power. It was a sleepy sort of thing, deeply hidden and slow to respond. Dragons didn’t need their energy for daily life. They had wings to fly and fire to fight and teeth to cut and tear. Dragons were capable of flight faster than even the f
ey, but this one’s magic felt ancient and lumbering.
The creature seemed so near, already so familiar. I wondered if that connection could be strengthened even further over time, the way it had with my birds. I felt Chevelle’s hand on my back and realized how far I’d slipped away. I let him steady me and reached again for the energy inside the dragon. Heavy as it was, I was able to call it to rise, slow and dreamlike, and when I released it into the atmosphere, the rocks around the creature split into broken halves with an echoing crack.
I opened my eyes, staring not through those of the dragon at the pieces of rock severed in two, but through my own, at a massive scaled creature, spiked and dark and so in its element among those broken stones.
I frowned. The thought was strange, but not inaccurate. The dragon did seem more fit to life among the dark rock of the mountain than in the thick fey forests.
“What’s wrong?” Chevelle asked.
His words brought me back to the present, and I turned. “Nothing. It worked far better than I expected.”
His expression was solemn. “Do you think you can prevent him from cracking the stones of the keep, or should we try this from out there?”
I chuckled. “Afraid I’ll drop us through a dozen levels?”
He did not laugh, and I recalled nearly losing Ruby through the practice room floors with my new, unwieldy powers, and Chevelle falling through the shattered glass floor of Veil’s home.
“It’s fine,” I promised of the dragon. “I have him.”
And I did. Once the dragon was back on the keep, I held him there and used trace amounts of magic so that Rhys and Rider could attempt to examine how it worked. But it was not the brothers who had drawn the magic free, and once I’d felt the energy move, sensed its flow and the impression it left, I could not deny its similarities to the movement of other energies I’d felt in the past.
The Frey Saga Book VI Page 8