Grimm studied me suspiciously. I stared right back, having no idea what I had done that might be construed as suspicious.
He sighed. “Dude. You randomly decided to start taking your clothes off—without giving us a word of warning.” He jerked his chin to my other side where I noticed a pile of old clothes sitting in the snow. “You hadn’t even pulled your shirt over your head before she noticed and ran away as fast as she could. She tossed her sketchbook into the igloo, snatched up her basket, and then ran that way,” he explained jerking his chin behind me.
I frowned, looking over my shoulder at the igloo pressed up against the wall of the mountain—our little home. I saw Alice’s sketchbook on the ground, halfway into the doorway, corroborating Grimm’s story.
I glanced down to see that he was right about another thing. I was definitely naked. Luckily, the letters from the queens concealed most of my dangerous bits.
“You don’t remember any of that either?” he asked, sounding mildly concerned.
Instead of answering, I focused on the letters, scratching at the stubble on my chin with two fingers. “You should probably go check on her. I’ll put some pants on,” I said woodenly.
He didn’t move for a few moments, but I pretended not to notice, turning each letter over as if inspecting them for magical traps. The truth was, I vaguely remembered doing exactly as Grimm said. But only after he’d mentioned it. Part of me found nothing wrong with my decision to strip down to my skin, but I was beginning to sense an altogether different voice in my head. It was muffled and distant, but it carried a lot of emotional baggage with it. And that voice was growing louder, and closer to the forefront of my thoughts with each passing second.
“Go. Get. Alice!” I snapped. I had to consciously focus on my words, feeling a sudden migraine coming on—a splitting tension in the base of my skull that threatened to knock me unconscious. And it had all started with that abstract voice.
My tone must have given Grimm cause for alarm, because he was already galloping away from me as fast as he could.
I let out a shuddering breath, relieved to have relative privacy, even if only for a few moments. Long enough to work out this problem in my mind.
“What the hell is happening to me, and where is that voice coming from?” I whispered out loud. And I realized I sounded afraid.
Chapter 2
Instead of approaching the problem head on, I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. Almost instantly, my migraine began to subside. I glanced back out over the ledge, acknowledging the rings of clouds circling my mountain. With a bored flick of my wrist, I morphed them into something more tangible and aesthetically pleasing—an exotic, nude woman lying on her side, smiling at me with a suggestive smolder. It was a flawless rendition of that beautiful, white-haired woman who had visited me here long ago—a familiar face but somehow a stranger. She, too, had been hunting for power—and she’d found quite a lot of it, actually.
I’d offered her more power, but she’d declined. I couldn’t currently recall what I had offered her, though. I studied her face and her smile, feeling my pulse quickening, and the muscles below my waist abruptly clenched in a strange manner—and they did so alarmingly fast.
With a sudden, harsh slash of my hand, the figure dissipated, and I let out a soft, shuddering breath. That…had almost given me an emotion—and something else entirely inappropriate.
I couldn’t afford one of those again. Not here.
Not wanting to risk looking at the clouds any longer, I glanced down, focusing on the the staff in my lap rather than the two letters. It was as long as I was tall and formed from a stone-like substance. Similar to quartz, with gems of every color embedded deep within so that it shone like a rainbow when the sunlight hit it just right.
I’d been annoyed at frequent—too frequent, for my taste—lightning storms plaguing my camp at the peak of the mountain. I’d used my newfound control of power to set up traps to catch them and solidify them into spires. They’d littered the snow like spears cast down from the heavens—spears originally intended to kill me.
And they had featured a familiar rainbow tint that tickled my memory, hinting at the offender. For some reason, I knew I hated and feared this asshole. I couldn’t quite recall why, or who he was, but he was the cause of most of my emotions.
So I kept one of the solidified, rainbow bolts as a reminder. That I would soon need to respond to the motherfucker—
I took a deep breath, walling off the sudden emotion before it could fully ripen.
I climbed to my feet and snatched up my clothes Grimm had pointed out, using the motions of dressing to keep my mind occupied. I tugged on a worn, faded pair of jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. I didn’t see any shoes, so I sat down on a nearby rock so as not to get my jeans any wetter than they already were. The cold didn’t bother me, despite being barefoot.
I stared at the two letters in my hand, feeling anxious for some strange reason. Then, with trembling hands, I cracked open the yellow seal and unfolded the parchment.
I cleared my throat, wanting to read it out loud.
“I, Queen Summer, request your assistance in the extermination of Mordred Pendragon. All past grievances will be expunged in exchange for an alliance with Master Wylde Fae.”
The words centered me, slightly, as I struggled to comprehend their meaning. Mordred…that was another asshole I wanted to impale on a frozen lightning bolt. How had I forgotten about him?
A noise drew my attention, and I glanced over towards the igloo to see Alice riding on top of Grimm. The two of them watched me cautiously as they slowly approached. Alice was a young, towheaded, slip of a girl, and she was wearing a blue dress with white polka dots. White stockings covered her skinny little legs, and her yellow shoes bobbed back and forth in time with Grimm’s gait.
She was Fae, and my responsibility. She was also my instructor in the dance of power. Her mother had died trying to help me, leaving her an orphan. Which was incredibly sad, but you wouldn’t sense that from talking with her.
Because she was a Seer, and she had seen her mother’s death long before it had actually happened. Alice hadn’t forewarned anyone about what she had seen, choosing instead to spend her penultimate moments with her mother in a time-capsule devoid of any looming shadows.
Which meant she had chosen to accept those shadows for herself, refusing to let anyone else help her. Alice was deceptively dangerous, and the wisdom behind those young eyes had tasted a lifetime of the harsh, poisonous bite of truth.
Her mother, Alvara, had tried getting me a very important book and had paid for it with her life. Even worse, she hadn’t succeeded. Because—
I took a calming breath, closing my eyes for a three-count, banishing the sudden visual memory.
The sudden emotion.
Alvara wasn’t the only one to have died to help me.
Pan—
I staggered to my feet, my eyes dancing wildly as I gripped my staff like it was the nearest flotation device in a turbulent sea. That name…
How could three letters cause so much pain?
I squeezed my staff desperately—like it was the last vine on a crumbling cliff—
I gasped suddenly, stars exploding across my vision as I felt an unseen fist squeeze my heart. I ground my teeth at the strength and unimaginable pain of the seemingly innocent metaphor. It had been entirely too close to…something.
So, I smothered it, hoping that I would overcome this episode, this abrupt torrent of emotions threatening to devour my soul and send me into a rampage. But I felt my grip, my control, loosening.
Grimm had paused a safe distance away, sensing that something was wrong. I focused on counting the rocks in my immediate vicinity—anything to distract me from those three letters.
I panted hoarsely, the snow around me swiftly melting into puddles as I struggled to harness the foreign emotions roiling deep within me, thrashing about in their eagerness to rise up to the surface.
&nbs
p; The other letter, I thought to myself. Maybe that will distract me.
I cracked the blue seal, almost ripping the paper in my haste.
“I, Queen Winter, offer you a gift of your choosing in hopes that you lead the Armies of Fae against the Usurper, Mordred Pendragon and his Black Knights. Gift granted upon successful eradication of the False King and Black Knights. Time is of the essence, Lord Wylde Fae.”
I grunted, and my shoulders tensed and quivered as the words echoed in the dusty halls of my mind—halls that hadn’t heard a verbal discussion in some time. Not one that had done more than ricochet off the exterior walls.
I stumbled, gripping the staff for support.
Wylde Fae…
That was my name.
No.
My Name.
And, like an avalanche, more memories came crashing down upon me, drowning me, slaughtering the defenses of my instinct-only mentality.
I shuddered, seeing Alice staring back at me. They were only ten feet away from me now, having closed the distance at some point. They both looked nervous, but also resolved to stand beside me—figuratively. Even though Alice was shivering.
She…never shivered, even with all this snow. Something about her blood making her immune to the extreme temperature of my mountain.
No. I shook my head stubbornly.
This mountain, not my mountain.
“I…” Clearing my throat was an effort in pain. “I am Wylde Fae,” I finally managed.
Alice nodded very slowly, staring deep into my eyes, her shivering slowly receding. “What else?” she asked, gently. Oh, so gently. And…was that excitement in her voice?
I struggled, grimacing as I sifted through the influx of memories—each scalding my soul like a white-hot brand. Without the staff for support, I might have slipped and tumbled down the mountain.
“I am…Nate Temple,” I finally rasped, feeling like I’d finally shoved off the blanket threatening to suffocate me—the blanket of memories—of why I was really here on this mountain, of what had happened, of who had died…
Of who I needed to kill.
And an entirely new level of stress, weighing more than a mountain, threatened to flatten me. Because he—Mordred Pendragon—wanted to kill all the people I loved. All the people I had forgotten about in my quest for power. My quest for answers in Fae.
I grunted, gaining some measure of internal strength to hold up the mountain of responsibilities slowly settling onto my shoulders. The mountain of responsibilities I had entirely forgotten.
The people I had entirely neglected.
I stared down at my toes, feeling ashamed and confused as it all came back to me.
But one memory hit me hardest of all.
Pan…was dead. Mallory, a man I had grown to love more than my own father, despite his lies.
He had willingly sacrificed himself for me, in hopes that he could help me regain my memories of my life in Fae.
I gritted my teeth defiantly. And I was not going to disrespect that memory any longer. I would honor him with Mordred’s blood on my bare hands.
I forced my breathing back under control, knowing I was still a little wild around the edges, and that I needed to keep a clear head.
After a few moments of self-reflection, I slowly looked back up, staring at Grimm and Alice. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Alice flashed me a bright smile and clapped her hands. “You did it!” she cheered. “You went all the way down the rabbit hole and clawed your way back out!”
I felt a faint smile splitting my cheeks, knowing what she had meant. I had needed to spend time here in Fae to regain my memories, to master my origins, my legend. I hadn’t known what that would entail, but I definitely hadn’t anticipated losing myself in the process.
Alice, on the other hand, had apparently known all along.
But her words rang true. Despite my sudden stress, I felt whole—able to recall everything from my childhood in Fae as well as my childhood in St. Louis. There was no more contradictions preventing me from using either power.
Which meant…
“It’s time to get to work,” I told them. Another thought hit me, making me frown. Time between Fae and the Earthly realm was not a reliably measurable relationship. Sometimes, a week in Fae could only be an hour back on Earth.
Other times…
A week in Fae could be months on Earth.
“How long have we been on this mountain?” I asked anxiously, fearing the worst.
Chapter 3
Before either of them could answer, we were interrupted by a strange metallic sound coming from the edge of the cliff. I turned to look but the sound had stopped, and I saw nothing alarming. I frowned warily, waiting to hear it again. A moment later, it continued.
Clunk. Scraaaape. Clunk. Scraaaape.
An icy chill rolled down my spine, and I turned to lock eyes with Grimm. I jerked my chin in a silent command.
Grimm nodded, slowly backing away. “I’ll keep her safe.”
Alice opened her mouth to protest and then her eyes widened as she pointed over my shoulder at the cliff. I spun back around, instinctively shifting into a fighting stance. I saw a single, black gauntlet clutching the edge of the cliff. I blinked incredulously.
“That’s our cue,” Grimm muttered, and I heard Alice grunt in protest as Grimm turned and galloped away. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder to see a frustrated and concerned Alice craning her neck to stare at me—wanting to help, but knowing she wasn’t a fighter.
I shook my head sternly.
Then they disappeared entirely from view, galloping back down the path where Alice had gone to pick berries.
I turned back to my uninvited guest.
A second gauntlet snatched onto the ledge, and then a black helmet rose over the lip of the cliff. The armored Knight stared at me, his visor firmly clamped down so that I couldn’t see his actual face. Then he laboriously pulled himself the rest of the way up and over the edge.
I let him, too impressed to move.
The Knight finally climbed to his feet and, judging by the steady rise and fall of his breastplate, he was panting with exhaustion.
His armor was dented, scratched, and looked beaten to hell, but a large bloody symbol painted his chest, and it was perfectly unscathed. If not for all the wear and tear, the armor would have been breathtaking. Whoever had made it had put their heart and soul into the artistry rather than just connecting thick, bulky plates of metal. I caught hints of beauty here and there, designs etched into the surface, but it was hard to tell with how dark and scuffed the armor now was.
Other than the heavy breathing, he didn’t appear to be handicapped in any noticeable way. He still had some fight left in him, the crazy bastard.
“Did you just climb my goddamn mountain?” I asked incredulously. “In armor?”
The Knight glanced back over the edge of the cliff, and then stepped a safe distance away before turning back to me. “Nate Temple,” he growled from within his helmet, sounding like Darth Vader. “Now I’ve got you.” And then he drew a sword from his back that was longer than my freaking leg.
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. I even had to lower my hands to my knees to support my weight as I doubled over. Because all I could think about was the Black Knight fighting King Arthur in that scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The knight with infinite spunk who kept on fighting no matter how many limbs King Arthur chopped off his body.
The Knight growled at me, lifting his sword into a ready stance, and a faint thought drifted up through my fog of laughter. He wasn’t a Knight.
He was a Knightmare.
A Knight was what he had once been under the service of King Arthur. But Mordred had used some form of blood magic to basically brain-wash the Knights—as seen by the bloody symbol painted on my foe’s breastplate—turning them all into ferocious, powerful hounds who could do nothing but obey their new master. Whether they wanted to or not. I’d helplessl
y watched Mordred’s spell settle over them—watched as the magic corrupted their souls.
Long story short, the once-noble Knights were no longer chivalrous, good, or merciful.
Which pretty much burned up the last of my laughter. I took a deep breath, straightened my body, and then I smiled at him. “I’ve been waiting for you all day, sweetheart. Come give daddy an iron kiss.”
The Knightmare snarled, pounding towards me much faster than his armor should have permitted. Having faced one of these assholes before, I had anticipated his enhanced abilities. Even with all my newfound Fae powers, I wasn’t entirely sure how this fight was going to play out.
Knight takes King, or King takes Knight?
At least Grimm had gotten Alice to safety.
And I was very glad I’d put my pants back on.
Remembering how magic had reflected right off the first Knightmare I had fought, I spread my arms—and my magic—wide.
My power picked up every foreign object within fifty feet. Stones, logs, blocks of ice, and small trees jumped up from the ground all around us. I loudly clapped my hands together, and every one of those objects flew towards the Knightmare like metal filings to a magnet.
He cursed, managing to swing his sword and bat down a few of the closer, larger projectiles as he tried to bob and weave away from the rest.
So I flung my hand down at the ground, turning the area of melted snow into a sheet of dirty ice beneath him. He slipped and skated, suddenly off balance, right as the majority of the objects hammered into him in a satisfying chorus of thuds and dings, leaving him kneeling on the ice, panting raggedly.
I clutched my staff as I watched him, wondering if I’d achieved anything beyond pissing him off.
He slowly lifted his head to stare at me, and I almost took an instinctive step back. He definitely wasn’t down for the count.
I thumped my staff into the ground, and it suddenly blazed with multi-colored light. I gathered that power, condensed it into a tight beam, and sent it screaming at the Knightmare’s helmet.
Knightmare: Nate Temple Series Book 12 Page 2