The Frey Saga Book V

by Melissa Wright

  I threw him a grin until the fey whisked Chevelle and me off the ground. Rhys and Rider waited farther back, in the thick of the trees, and a few dozen of the guard were scattered between. I felt the minds of some of Junnie’s wolves nearby but little else in the shadows beyond.

  The fey deposited us onto the glass floor of Veil’s home, its surface like crystal, heated into being long ago by the fire of a powerful fey. I had a sudden, sickening flash of a memory of the last time I was there, and then the urge to snap my staff onto the glass and let it all fall to the forest floor shook me.

  “Lord Freya,” Veil purred as if he’d read my thoughts.

  I gritted my teeth and took a breath. This is not before. I am no longer trapped between bad and worse.

  Veil was the one in that position, and I only needed to do what I could to stop the spread of the deadened energy, preferably in a way that didn’t involve slaughtering an entire population of beings.

  He watched me but not in the way the others had so many times before when I was bound and they feared I might crack at any moment. I met his gaze.

  “Juniper awaits.” Veil gestured toward the tall amber windows that separated the space. The glass was a haze of color, providing at least some semblance of privacy between rooms, but the rest was made of open, windowed walls that stared out over the canopy of trees. Veil’s kingdom stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Chevelle’s arm brushed mine, a reminder to stay focused. I had him, and I had the staff, but a bout of temper could do more than a little damage. I straightened, securing my grip on my staff as we followed Veil into the next room.

  Junnie stood near the far wall, decidedly avoiding the view and its staggering drop. Beside her waited several of her new Council guard, resplendent in their formal uniforms. Kneeling on the floor before her was the changeling, Pitt, his arms bound behind his back and a metal lash securing his head to stay bowed. I resisted the urge to glance at Chevelle. He’d bound the changeling with spells, and Pitt wouldn’t be able to shift forms. It seemed a cruel device, and I had to remind myself that the changeling had tried to end not just a handful of us but apparently also a kingdom of fey.

  Veil’s warriors lined the other walls, and at some unseen command, they exited the room. He sauntered to a small table laden with crystal goblets and decanters to pour himself a glass of wine. The fey lord turned, lifting the bottle in invitation, but I only looked at him. No one would accept a fey offering of food or drink. It didn’t factor that if he’d wanted to poison us, it was only a matter of brushing a toxin on our skin—it was the principle of it.

  Junnie and four of her guard were the only ones present outside of Chevelle, Veil, Pitt, and me, and I turned to her. “Let’s have it.”

  Junnie nodded. “The changeling is guilty of high crimes. The fey lord can have him back.”

  Veil swirled the wine in his glass, his mouth a steady line.

  “We have been able to extract no vital information from him directly,” she said, “but the humans have provided evidence of intrusion by his kind.”

  “Intrusion,” I repeated.

  “They have been journeying into human territory for an unknown amount of time, stealing children, terrorizing entire populations into scattering and resettling again and again.”

  Veil’s swirling stilled.

  Junnie took a long breath. “The changelings have been herding them toward fey lands for a generation or more.”

  The room went silent before the swell of heat warmed my bones. There was a strange sort of tingling in my palm, where I tightly gripped the ironwood staff.

  “There is no direct indication that Pitt was solely at fault, but no other changeling holds sway over so many of his kind, and we are confident that none could keep it secret for this long otherwise.” She tapped a long finger on the woven belt at her hip. “He was the only one with a contingency plan in place. If nothing else, he was aware of the deceit and put the fey lands at risk, as well as our own.” She glanced at Veil. “I no longer have use for him.”

  At her words, Veil moved, by all appearances ready to unleash a righteous fury, but before he’d crossed the space, a sharp crack snapped through the building. I stepped back automatically, bracing my footing, but nothing was there.

  The floor had fallen away from my feet. I was plummeting with shattered bits of glass as the entirety of the floor exploded into fragments and dust, and then I was jerked to a stop as Veil grabbed the straps crossing my back. Something brushed my leg, but I was swung away from it as Veil moved. Junnie dangled from a tree limb at some distance, with two of her men farther down. Heart racing, I searched for Chevelle, but Veil still had hold of me, and we were diving toward the ground. We burst through leaves and limbs, splinters of broken wood spraying my skin.

  He slammed to a stop a short distance from the ground, tossing me to land on my feet as he spun to find Pitt. I scrambled forward to find my staff, too harried to be sick at the thought of whatever might have happened to Chevelle or Junnie. I huffed and turned again but could see nothing but the destruction of glass and trees. A snap of power blasted into me, knocking me off my feet and clearing away the bulk of the debris. Trees crashed into their brethren, heedless of what elf or fey stood in their way. I could see figures moving in the distance, Anvil and the sentries and what appeared to be wolves, which meant Junnie was alive.

  I shot a glare at the nearest of Veil’s men. “Get Juniper Fountain safely to the ground.”

  He obeyed without hesitation, and I turned again, searching for Chevelle. The scent of wildfire and spice filled the forest, amber glass and amber skin flashing with the late-day sun. I looked up, horrified to see open sky. Nothing was left of the structure but bits of frame and limbs. Winged creatures circled overhead but none that I could use. They were fey, not animals, and I could see no more than with my own eyes.

  I screamed, “Chevelle,” but he did not respond. Veil was gone, chasing after the changeling, and his fey were plucking Junnie and her men from the trees above. I cursed violently and crudely, and a light, tinkling snigger rang through the trees.

  I spun, furious, and found the sweet face of a changeling fey, smiling as she held my ironwood staff gingerly between two fingers.

  “Liana,” I hissed.

  She only shrugged.

  “Where is Chevelle?”

  “Snared, I’m afraid. Taken in your stead, as it seems the fey lord took you safely in hand before they could do so themselves.”

  My insides turned to ice, my voice a whisper. “Who is they?”

  She frowned. “Why, Pitt’s men, of course.” She handed me the staff as if she were eager to be rid of it, and when I touched the wood, I could feel that the cold had come from its stone. Liana said, “Tell me you didn’t think he would leave his capture unanswered.”

  “He’s bound.”

  Liana sighed, the sound spelled out of her with a wisp of frosty air. “Only by his body and magic. No one tied the hands of his network.”

  “Where is my Second?” My words cut through the forest, and Liana’s pretense of an easy mood fell away.

  “They’ll take him to Hollow Forest. The changeling will want him alive.”

  26

  Thea

  Thea stood in the narrow corridor of the upper levels of the castle, working to still her trembling hands as she read a missive from the Lord of the North. She had barely managed the standing, the stilling, or the reading when she understood. “This cannot be real,” she had whispered, afraid to even speak aloud. But it had been true and done before she’d even held it in her hand. The parchment she’d been given, which still rested in her pocket, had been merely a copy, Kieran had said. The first had been sent to Camber, where it would have been delivered to her mother and her father.

  It would tell them of the great deeds she had done, protecting the kingdom, serving with honor, and aiding the Lord.

  Thea sighed again, running a hand over the horse at her side. The trembling had
settled, the shock of it gone. Nothing was left but relief. It hadn’t stopped her from needing fresh air and time to herself.

  What the Lord of the North had done for Thea and for her family would ease every burden they would ever face. They’d been given favor, certainly, but the included reward had given them reprieve. Her father would be able to cease his worry, and her mother could spend less time tending to her work and more time helping him heal. It was enough, and if they decided to do so, they might even share their good fortune with her sister.

  It was enough that they needed never to worry about their survival again.

  Thea felt Steed’s presence in the stable long before she realized she’d become aware of it. When she did, she let him watch her and decide whether or not he would approach. It wasn’t that he was a wild thing or that she thought he might balk. It was that she did not need to rush him.

  He did come to her, slowly and quietly with his steady gait. She closed her eyes as he fell to a stop behind her, so close that it hurt. He reached to place his hand behind hers and they moved. He ran a palm over the shoulder of the mare in tandem with Thea’s, not touching her but moving with her.

  Thea’s hair was in a complicated braid piled at the crown of her head, compliments of Ruby, and the cool air brushed her heated skin. Steed leaned down, pressing his lips to the spot below her jaw, where her pulse pounded in a steady beat. She raised her hand to touch him, to hold him there against her, and his face turned to press another kiss onto the delicate skin inside her wrist. She sighed, leaning into him, letting the feel of him settle her further. He was greatly preferable to a mare for that.

  “There are options better suited,” Steed said quietly, “and men who would not allow you to be dragged into such troubles.” Thea’s eyes snapped open, her mouth flattening into a thin line. She withdrew from his embrace, turning to glower at him, at the man who… What? Intended to be strong and… whatever he thought it was to sacrifice himself for my sake?

  She was having none of it.

  “Have you any idea how absolutely insulting that is?”

  He stared at her, clearly not having any idea.

  His mouth parted to speak, but she went on. “I make my own decisions, and aside from my duties as a guard, I’ll not be told what should be done.”

  He moved to shake his head, to argue that was not his intention.

  She crossed her arms. “For you to say to me that you do not want me... that I am not well-suited enough…”

  The color drained from his face, and Thea knew she had him. Whatever noble gesture he’d intended was gone. She’d trapped him between being a brute and forcing her to accept his advice to seek someone—what, milder? She didn’t know. Maybe he would explain that she wasn’t what he wanted.

  Thea knew that was a lie. He did want her. He only understood that being with him was not the smartest, safest choice for her.

  She didn’t care.

  There was a sound in the distance, somewhere over the pasture wall. Their eyes went to it, both of them on alert. Thea had not meant to leave her argument hanging like that, but the cry in the distance had sounded bad. She drew her knife and followed Steed across the grass toward the gate.

  They were through the gate before the cry sounded again, and then they were running full pelt.

  Light flashed across the sky, scenting the air with the electric charge of a storm. A tingle raced over Thea’s skin, and then a too-warm wind brought the scent of amaranth and violets. She cursed, shoving her blade into its sheath and darting away from Steed to duck into a watch station. She grabbed a bow, nearly knocking into another guard, and then was back, running through the passages and archways toward the main gate. There was a burst of shouting, a mass of guards falling into rank, and then the shush-shush of their arrows cutting through the sky. Thea stopped, searching the crowd, and a solid thump sounded beside her as a fey fell to the ground.

  She stared for an instant at the steel-tipped shaft jutting brokenly from the fey man’s side, and then was knocked back as someone rushing past brushed into her. She shook herself, running not toward the gate but back inside the castle walls. Thea was no true warrior, and she could not be of immediate help, but if the fey were coming for battle, she needed to get her supplies. She sprinted through the corridors toward Ruby’s rooms. They had left the supplies there, all of them waiting to be sorted and stored, to be prepped for tonics and medicines.

  When she turned the corner of Ruby’s hall, she found Steed, white-faced and still. Her chase fell to a stop in front of him, her chest heaving in a breath.

  Steed’s eyes left the open doorway of Ruby’s room, a trickle of blood running from the crown of his head and over his cheek. “They’re gone,” he whispered, his voice low and rasping. “Both of them.”

  And then he fell, crashing into Thea and shoving them both against a wall. She shouted out, but more guards were already coming, and they grabbed Steed’s limp form to settle him onto the ground.

  She smelled it right away. “Poison!” Thea shouted, covering her face with an arm. “Get back, all of you!”

  The guards dragged Steed down the corridor, his leather boots scuffing limply against the stone. She cursed, kicked the wall, and cursed again because of the pain. The antidote she needed was inside. Thea tore the fabric of her sleeve, tied a strip of it around her face to cover her mouth and nose, and then, wincing at the light through watery eyes, ran into the space that had been blasted with toxin by the fey.

  Ruby’s rooms were a disaster of overturned furniture and burned fabric, her floor littered with the bodies of fey. Thea stepped over one, his wide brow covered in thorned tattoos. She hurried toward the broken table, stumbled, knocked into the wall, and then righted herself to grab blindly at the mixes covering the floor. She prayed she’d gathered the right ones and that her supply had not been tainted with something worse then ran back for the door.

  She got two steps through it before she crashed to the ground. She gasped, sucking air through the thick cloth covering her face, and a pair of sentries dragged her farther down the hall. She shoved her hand at them, the leaves and powder sticking to her palm. The face above her only stared, but the hand of another reached across him to take the offering while she coughed and pressed her cheek to the cool stone floor. Her knees ached from where she’d crashed into it before, and she could feel the wetness of blood.

  She lost a few moments to darkness then felt the rag jerked from her face. The sharp scents of plateroot and marigold burned her nose. She coughed again, pushing herself up so that she might smack whoever was shoving it into her face. She reached out blindly and took hold of the root, breaking a piece in half to chew. It was horrid. She gagged, her eyes and mouth watering, and waved the broken half toward the sentries. “Steed.” She managed the single hoarse word before she gagged again.

  There was a rustling sound, shouting, and rushing footfalls in the distance as Thea tried to blink away the tears. Someone handled her a flagon of water. She splashed it over her face. When her gaze cleared, she took a swig to wash down the vile taste, and said, “Ruby. They’ve got Ruby and Grey.”

  The sentry knelt before her, his skin seeming a shade too green. Thea rubbed her eyes and blinked. The sentry stared back at her, his gaze dark and depthless. She wiped a palm over her leg, sliding it carefully up to her belt, but her blade was gone. The sentry smiled, showing a row of sharpened teeth, and his hands came up, his fingers lengthening into claws.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but there was a sudden hollow smack as a bat landed solidly against the side of his head. The sentry—the changeling—slammed into the wall of the corridor, its body going limp for a moment before it bounded up, giggling, to race down the hall. Two actual sentries stared after it then drew their swords and gave chase.

  Thea gaped down the corridor after them until Steed fell abruptly on top of her. She grunted and rolled him onto her lap. He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. His other hand fell limply, and th
e busted wood of a table leg he’d used as a bat rolled free. She turned his head toward her as he took another breath. He held up a finger as if indicating he needed just a moment, and a cough wracked his chest. She winced, dabbing at the blood that trickled down his cheek. He would need stitches, but that would have to wait.

  Thea passed him what was left of the water, and after a drink, she helped him to his feet. “Ready?”

  He stared down at her, appearing about as unready as she felt, and drew a dagger from his belt. He pressed it into her palm, curling her fingers around it with his own. He held it there for a moment. He didn’t speak, but she understood. She took a deep, steadying breath then followed Steed as they ran down the hall.

  27

  Ruby

  Ruby screamed with every part of her being. Fire shot through her hands and over her skin, energy pulsing from her and into the beings who dragged her away. Venom pooled in her mouth as she twisted, biting hard through leather and flesh. It did no good. She was caught again, and it had not been a willing sentry who was dragged along with her. It was Grey, fighting and bleeding and drawn from his castle rooms, as she had been. He’d been ordered to protect her, to take down any fey who tried to reach Ruby ever again. He’d done that well enough, she guessed, as a half dozen of them had littered the dark stone floor. But they had been outnumbered, and the protections she’d set had been lost to spells stronger than hers.

  Pitt had been coming for her all along, and she had known it, but it hadn’t made a difference.

  The spiders threw her onto the flat earth of a small clearing in Hollow Forest, an open space that had once been littered with stone but had turned to no more than dust, the keystones shattered in every part of the realm when Veil and Pitt had faced off during the fates’ dance. Some had thought the energy had destroyed the stones, others that they had been torn to dust when Pitt’s magic was no longer holding them in place. Ruby knew better. Ruby understood that it had all been part of his plan.