by Layla Harper
“You talk too much, orc.”
My lips quirk. Despite the centuries of hatred between our races, I like this norn. In a perfect world, we might have been friends. Allies.
My cut is quick and efficient.
Rowena closes her fist and begins chanting the words that will seal our oath. Magic builds in the air, rippling between us before snapping in place.
“There. It is done,” she spits.
Fighting the urge to shudder or rub the slimy feel of her magic off my skin, I step back and release her.
Confident, her vibrant red hair blowing in the wind, Rowena walks to Gerd’s side. The troll seethes from my treatment of his mistress. She faces me, her stance proud. “Well played, Rogar, king of the orcs. I will abide by my oath, and you yours, but we do not have to be nice about it, now do we?”
Smirking, she grabs hold of Gerd’s hand and drops a transportation charm at her feet.
Damn witch!
I roar and bolt across the short distance to find myself running through the disappearing visage of the grinning norn and her sneering second-in-command.
Chapter Two
Kyra
Ouch.
I raise a cool fingertip to my temple. My head feels like I’ve tangoed with one too many margaritas—and lost—while the rest of me is uncomfortably raw and tender, like someone peeled away a layer of flesh from my limbs to reveal the jumble of throbbing muscles beneath.
Grimacing, I open my eyes and squint at the wood-beamed ceiling overhead, the stone walls, the lack of windows, the dirt floor, and the locked door that comprise my surroundings.
Yep, I’m definitely no longer in the Forest of Night.
Where am I?
“It’s about time you woke.”
Aelinor.
Ugh.
Of all the elves to be locked up with, it has to be her?
“Can you not scream, please?” My tongue is thick in my mouth. I manage to lift myself into a sitting position without groaning. If only my brain would stop trying to spin off its axis. Of course, the scowling she-elf doesn’t help my cause. “This isn’t my fault, you know.”
“It was an illusion. You were ordered to stay by my king’s side.” Her condescending screech reaches the rafters.
“How was I supposed to believe a swarm of centipedes was an illusion when nothing else changed? They crept over the terrain. We all saw that. They ate you, for fuck’s sake.”
“Centipedes?”
“Yeah. Fucking centipedes. Jesus. They swarmed all over the ground. And then…” A shiver rakes up my spine and grates my scalp. I resist the urge to scratch my head like a madwoman. “So the troll choking your king was an illusion too?”
Aelinor purses her mouth and slowly folds her slender arms across her chest. “The illusions were unexpected.” Her melodious voice is anything but kind.
“That must have hurt to admit.” My head pounds. I will my heart to slow. Losing my temper accomplishes nothing, for her or for me. “They got to you too, didn’t they?”
She snorts. “Trust me. It would take more than a swarm of insects to deter me from my king’s command.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Vindication sweetens the foul taste in my mouth.
Wait. She said “it would take,” implying it hadn’t. Were we hit with different illusions?
I shake the thought. I’ve got more important things to worry about right now than what we each saw in the woods.
Balancing one palm on the wooden bench and the other on my thigh, I push myself off the pew. “Where are we? Why isn’t Rogar here? And Gauron. Is he…?” I can’t bring myself to finish the question. The last time I saw Rogar’s second, he was injured. But that didn’t stop him from raising his sword in the air and fighting like the brave and honorable orc he is.
And Rogar…
Please let him be okay.
Aelinor’s cool brown irises are glued to my face, scouring my flesh like acid burning through metal, pushing every one of my buttons.
I rise to my full height. “I get it. You don’t like me. Guess what? I don’t like you either.”
Her body shimmers, the glow so subtle I almost miss it. To any non-fae—i.e. human—the lithe, silver-haired shaman looks frail and barely capable of lifting a four-liter water jug. But appearances are deceiving in faerie. I watched her haul an injured three-hundred-pound orc right off his horse with one hand.
And that’s not all I’ve seen her do.
A prudent woman would heed the warning and back off. Good thing I’m not prudent.
“We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to work together. Tell me where they’ve taken Rogar. And what happened to us anyway?”
“Rogar was captured, no thanks to you. I have yet to discover where he’s being held. As for Gauron, they’re tending to his wounds. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. And you—” She throws me one last look before turning her caramel-eyed gaze to the stone wall. “—collapsed.”
I sit back down on the pew and rub the slave mark burning my hand. “We can’t just sit here. We have to do something.”
“We remain here until the ransom is served. Rogar is too powerful and too important a figure to be killed.” She flicks her delicate fingers in my direction dismissively. “Settle that fragile mind of yours before it’s harmed. I will not be blamed for your demise should you give yourself an aneurysm.”
I run my hands through the knotted mess of dark hair poking from my braid. I hadn’t outright asked Rogar for his help, but aiding and abetting an outlaw came with consequences. Consequences that risked his and Gauron’s lives.
Aelinor too.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask to be in this situation, and although I don’t agree with your realm’s stupid laws, I feel responsible for Rogar and Gauron. I never wanted to see them hurt because of me. Or you, for that matter.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Why would the Hunt go through the trouble of throwing up illusions anyway? I figured they would simply overpower us and kill me. What they did today—imprisoning us, taking Rogar, helping Gauron—doesn’t align with what I’d expect from a band of merciless executioners.”
Aelinor cocks her head and seems to study a section of the wall over the door. “You make a valid point, human.” She begins pacing from one end of the tiny room to the other, twisting the tip of her silver braid in her hand. “We were lost in the illusion for longer than we imagined. From the time we crossed Kolmarden all the way to Lithyr, we played into their hands, oblivious to the magic manipulating our actions.” Fangs peek through angry lips. “The norns are clearly involved. I will stake your life on it.”
Well, gee, thanks.
Scrunching my face, I try to think back to the moments prior to passing out, but it’s all a blur. “I don’t remember much after the magic cleared. A field. Bright sun. That weird bridge—”
She makes a grunting sound. “We’re lucky you didn’t veer off the path and fall to your death when we crossed the real bridge into Lithyr.”
“They lured us into the city?” I lower my face into my hands and rub my eyes. “So the troll was real but the centipedes weren’t?” Aelinor nods, and I’m grateful she doesn’t add to the guilt I’m already feeling. “Did the drows take him, then? Rogar. Is that what happened?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know who was involved. We battled a squad comprised of multiple races of fae. After Rogar was pulled into the transport charm, we were brought here.”
“What on earth is a transport charm?”
“A portal spell. Rogar could be anywhere.”
Oh crap. This is bad.
Gray’s sad howl sounds from somewhere outside, echoing the turmoil beating within my rib cage. The giant warg had gone missing, but I realize he must have been with us all along, helpless to stop the insidious scheme. And now it all makes sense. The illusion was the real reason the mist couldn’t follow me across the swamp, not some imperceptible boundary.
“Is there any way out o
f this jail cell?” I ask.
“Do you think I’d be wasting my time talking to you if there were?”
I want to sock my fist into her holier-than-thou face, but without Rogar here to restrain her, she’d probably kill me. Literally. “Have you tried breaking down the door with magic?”
Her alabaster skin goes tight, and I swear the room’s temperature drops several degrees. “Who told you of my magic?”
Invisible red flags pop up in my head. I haven’t told anyone about the magical orbs Aelinor had whipped up the night I spied her in the Forest of Night. Besides, how much damage could a light orb do to a solid wood door?
“No one told me about your magic, per se. Rogar mentioned—”
“His Lordship to you,” she admonishes.
Fine. Formal it is. “Your Lordship imparted a general understanding of your world. He told me your land influences the abilities your people wield. You hail from autumn, correct?”
“Regnir.”
“What?”
“My kingdom. Autumn is… what your kind call an epithet.”
Huh? “So what magic would beings from Regnir wield? Anything we can use to weaken the door?”
She considers me long and hard. “Are you goading me?” The unearthly brown of her irises flares bright, affirming her nonhuman state. “Would I be locked inside this filthy room with my king in peril if I had the means to escape?”
“I can’t sit here and do nothing.” Standing, I carefully stretch my body side to side. A dull ache throbs at my lower back.
“Believe me, human, there is no greater hell than spending time with you on this miserable bench.” Aelinor passes me, close enough that I jerk my shoulder to avoid a direct hit when she lowers herself onto the bench. “By all means, amuse yourself.”
“Fine, sit down and get comfy. This lowly human is going to get our asses out of here.” I pivot and examine the room with a clinical eye, and damn, there’s not much here in the way of escape tools. The windows are girded with massive iron bars, so no getting through those. I might be able to dig through the dirt floor to get under the door using… my hands?
Yeah, no. That would take a decade.
Or more.
The bench doesn’t appear to be bolted. Theoretically, we could smash it against the medieval handle and break the lock. I mean, I can’t lift the thing, but my cellmate can. But the noise would destroy our chances of ambushing the unseen guards.
I refuse to admit defeat. There has to be a way out of this shithole.
Chewing the inside of my lip, I stare at the door, willing the answer to materialize across the wood grain. If we can’t force the door open from our end, then our only option is to persuade someone on the other side to enter the room. That, I can do. Aelinor will do the rest.
Rubbing my hands together, I say, “Okay, when the door opens, be ready to do your thing.”
“My thing?”
“Yeah. Magic or your awesome fighting skills. Your choice. Just take the guy down.”
“Ah. So I’m to sit here until the door opens and then do my thing? Go on, then.” Smiling, Aelinor settles back against the wall and folds her model-thin arms across her chest, looking pretty darn comfy. “I’ll wait here to do my thing.”
Freaking elf has no faith in humanity.
Clearing my throat, I stride to the door. “In fifth grade, I fostered with a kid named Dennis. Nice kid but a pain in the ass.” I run my hands over the wooden frame, carefully inspecting the ironclad hinges. I don’t know what I’m searching for; if the warrior-shaman didn’t find a weakness, I certainly won’t. “We lived with strict rules in that house. Assigned bathroom times. Specific forms of address. Butts in your chair for dinner at exactly six o’clock. And if you were late, oh well… sucks to be you.”
“Does this stroll into your pathetic life history have any bearing on our escape or my capacity to do my thing, human?”
“What’s with you guys and your inability to call a being by his or her name?” I scoff. “Anyway, Dennis would get around house rules by whining. Or crying. Neither of which got him dinner, poor kid. But it did get Mr. Carvalho into his room.” Belt in hand. I leave out that last bit.
“So your plan is to be more annoying than you already are?”
“Exactly. Never underestimate the power of a whiny voice.”
Aelinor suppresses a laugh. “Then by all means, human, continue.”
Pounding my fist against the door, I yell, “I’m not feeling so good.” Can I get any more cliché? “I hurt. Everywhere. Please help me.” I follow with extreme sound effects. Gagging. A few choked gasps. A couple of wails and moans. After a half hour of begging, pleading, and pounding, the side of my hand is numb, and my voice is hoarse.
“Don’t.” I turn around and wave Aelinor off before the “I told you so” hits my ears.
“What?” She shrugs. “I’m just sitting here patiently, waiting to do my thing.”
Have I mentioned how bad I want to punch this smug elf right now?
Aelinor’s expression changes, shifting from pompous to… sympathetic? “The room is sealed in magic.”
Oh geez. Kill me now. “And you couldn’t tell me this earlier?”
“I will admit, I was curious to see what that small mind of yours would conjure.” Aelinor whips her hand at the door. Magic bursts from her palm and shoots into the wood panel, dissipating upon contact. “They can’t hear us. Nor we them. Escape is impossible.”
With her hand extended, she stands and rotates her wrist, fingers twirling in a circular motion. The dirt floor begins to shift, soil hurling beside the crater forming in the center of the floor. The minute she lowers her hand, the stream of magic fades from her palm and every granule of soil is magically sucked back into the hole.
Dang.
“Now do you believe me?”
I groan and then wince from the soreness in my throat. “You could have said something a half hour ago.
“What? And miss out on that charming performance? Never. Besides, I had no idea your species could be so… vexatious.”
The slave mark on my right hand starts itching like crazy. I’m tired, hungry, sore, and angry.
“I hate you.”
“The feeling is mutual, human.”
Chapter Three
Rogar
Blasted norn.
Silence surrounds me, deep and mournful like a freshly dug tomb. I whip the rock held in my hand and yell my frustration into the wind. Ulda help anyone who gets in my way when I finally track down the wretched witch.
Running a hand through my hair, I suck in a breath. Where in Alfhemir has she hidden my mate? I should be thinking about Gauron and Aelinor, but my mind keeps snapping back to the frightened look on Kyra’s face. She is at the mercy of a band of half-bloods who hate her race above all others, including orcs. And worse, I gave my oath to protect her. To keep her safe.
I have done neither.
The wildness inside me roars and rages until all I hear is the static of my anger ringing in my ears. In this state, I am moments away from shifting into my battle form. Red clouds my vision. My claws lengthen. Bones creak as muscles and ligaments stretch to accommodate my growing size. Allowing my emotions to rule my head will only bring more danger to Kyra. For my mate, I must think, not react. Her life depends on my ability to reason.
Inhaling deeply, I force my body to submit to my mind’s control and funnel my concentration to the crumbling structure listing ten feet from where I stand. A flattened piece of stone from the foundation of the apothecary rises several feet off the ground behind me. I sit and lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, my hands loosely clasped. It takes effort to slow the pushing and pulling of air out of my nose and mouth.
I take a good look at what remains of Lithyr and shake my head at the senseless destruction. No building is unscathed. The tavern. Rowena’s shop. The thatched roof homes that had stretched up and down these cobblestoned streets.
All gone.
This whole scheme reeks of subterfuge, but it is a problem to think upon another day. Right now, finding Kyra and the others is my primary concern. My senses, although keen, are useless, and my link to Gray is still blocked.
I retract my claws and crack my neck. The key to unraveling this mystery is to get inside my enemy’s head.
Where would an arrogant norn with a transportation charm hide?
Transportation charm?
A norn’s magic is tied to illusion. The ability to create a portal charm falls under a wizard’s domain.
Jatta.
Either Rowena has a wizard in her ranks, or she is purchasing charms from someone who does.
Urgency forces me from my perch. After the Reckoning, elves hunted wizards with the same vehemence they employed to implement our annihilation. After all, it was the dark wizard, Myrkur, who used the mate bond against us, compelling orcs to do his bidding, which ultimately led to the war of all wars. I have not seen or heard whisper of a wizard in centuries. Ancestors help me, the last thing I need now is the threat of a dark one’s power rising on the horizon.
Pacing the short width of the street, I review what little information Rowena let slip. The goblins attacked four days past. Given the extent of the damage, Lithyr’s citizens would have escaped with only the clothes on their backs. The city is leveled, yet I see no bodies in the rubble. When the norn captured me, her appearance had been immaculate. She did not resemble a female driven from her home. She may have been glamoured, or…
I clench my fist. The wily witch has a shelter nearby.
But where?