His heart beat quicker, the pangs coming fast and sharp.
If this was death, he’d not have it. Not now.
The giant turned, his eyes huge in his broad face. “Rori? What are ye doin’ here?”
Rori? Therron’s mind spun, playing the deck of cards through his thoughts like a dealer at one of the pleasure houses. Rori MacNair. Daughter to Labhruinn and Hagan; sister to Cian. Employed by Queen Eirlys as a spy and assassin. He knew this girl—as much as anyone could know someone from records and secondhand accounts. Yet there was more. He knew her from a vision, a child who once told him his destiny was tied to Faerie in the form of a woman who would alter the course of the worlds. He’d never known her name, or what she looked like, but now, as he stared at the young woman who was helped to stand by the giant, he knew her in his heart.
Therron Mistwalker, First Son to King Thane of the Elves, heir to the Forest Throne, thief, murderer, and sometime employee to Queen Midna of the Unseelie Court, felt, for what might’ve been the first time in his life, absolute dread.
4
Dirt mixed with blood in her mouth, making a silty metallic paste that choked what little breath she had left. Her nails scraped against the ground as she dragged her body up to rest on bloodied palms and knees. The last of her energy stores depleted, she crumpled. It was then, when she was facedown in the dirt, that she heard Tug’s deep baritone.
“Rori? What are ye doin’ here?”
A strong hand gripped her arm and she was pulled upward. Fresh pins of pain tormented her and she whimpered.
He held her up, a hand on each of her shoulders, supporting her. She blinked at Tug in confusion. Her sight and hearing were stunted and his words sounded like gnats buzzing. She looked at the stalls and shoppers, all normal size. She looked from Tug to herself and could’ve cried that he was the same giant friend she’d always known. Splotches of his breakfast stained the simple beige tunic he wore. Her sweet Tug.
She turned to take in the market and something delicate crunched beneath her boot. Splinters of glass glittered in the morning sun. Fragments of green stuffs were strewn a foot in diameter. To her right, she spied a velvet-lined casket with several pendants tucked into place. No bigger than her thumb, some looked like vials she would use for potions, surrounded by a slim twig, with tiny petals tucked into crevices. Looping and scrolling metalwork held everything in place. Lovely beaded chains attached to the tops.
Amulets.
She peered closer at the glass. Inside each was a miniature forest.
In another casket were crystals, also secured with beautiful twisted and twirling wires. Deep in the heart of the crystal, a soft glow emanated. The churning of her belly matched the tightening of her heart. She checked her pocket for the sleeping fae, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw a pale shimmering against the dark fabric. At least this faerie was safe. She scanned the pretty pendants, looking for signs of life she knew wouldn’t be seen.
A woman with golden hair darted to the back of the stall and Rori sprang after her. Regretting the movement instantly, she ignored the torrent of pain.
“Where ye goin’?” Tug called, but Rori sped on.
The woman’s scarlet gown darted between bright swathes of fabric, making Rori dizzy with its speed. Her legs cramped and begged her to stop, but she continued, down one alley, through another. The longer she followed the woman, the clearer her sight and hearing became. At the crossing between New Town and the market square, the woman vanished. Not disappeared into a crowd, but just…vanished. One second, she was there; the next, she was gone. Empty air. No dress, no sunlit hair, nothing.
Rori raised her face and bellowed at the sky. A stream of curses left her lips as she kicked the dirt, with a silent wish that it was the stupid woman’s face beneath her boot.
“What’s gotten into ye?” Tug wheezed at her side. “First, ye abandon us at the pub, then ye turn up bloodied and whatnot in the market three days later. Ye’ve done some crazy things afore, but nothing like this.”
“Three days? I was gone three days?” Rori bent over and placed her hands on her knees. Breathing in deep drags, she waited for the roaring in her ears to die down before attempting to stand.
“Here, lemme help ye.” Tug took her arm and wrapped it around his thick waist. He half carried, half dragged her back to the stall where the woman had run off. “Ye said ye had to use the ladies, that yur tummy was feelin’ kinda strange. When ye didn’t come back, well, we all thought maybe ye went home to sleep it off. Then I checked on ye the next day and ye weren’t at the cottage. Looked all over for ye, I did. Didn’t find ye until just now.”
Warmth spread from her chest across her body. Good old Tug. He wasn’t the brightest spark in the sky, but he had a good soul.
“Thanks be for that, my friend. I’m not really sure where I was, but I have a feeling these little trinkets hold a clue.” She indicated the velvet-lined boxes. “Do you have a bag? I want to take all of these back to my cottage.”
“Isn’t that stealing? Ye chased the woman off who was selling ’em.”
Stealing? After what she’d been through, he was worried about her stealing? She almost laughed but for the tears that stung her eyes. How could she explain to him where she’d been when she wasn’t even sure herself?
“Please, Tug. I’ll explain everything when we get to my place.”
They put the caskets into Tug’s bag, making sure not to break any of the pendants. The soft shimmering emanating from the center of the crystals nearly broke her heart. If they contained what Rori thought they did, she couldn’t risk endangering the contents. That someone would trap fae in the crystals—to what end? Simmering rage kept her pulse heightened.
As they made their way down the high street, Rori stayed alert to danger. The woman in the scarlet dress could be anywhere and she’d be damned if she was captured ever again. The fact the woman got the jump on her once already stung, but now Rori had others to protect. Tug as well as the those in the pendants he carried.
The wide cobblestoned streets, the buildings that her ancestors had built—hell, even the sky—looked the same as before. It was as if no one even noticed that she was gone. But then, why would they? Rori often came and went with zero fanfare. She’d spend months at a time in the human realm. Most of the folks she saw on the way to her cottage had never even traveled beyond the town’s wall. They liked the sameness of their lives, believed in the safety of the sturdy bricks that enclosed the town.
Rori had once believed in those ancient stones, too. But now? Now everything had changed. The question she’d dared not ask loomed over her thoughts. Who was capable of drugging her, in a public place no less? And how had Rori let herself be captured? Some spy she was. Cian would be mortified to know she’d failed him this spectacularly. No, it wasn’t Cian she was worried about disappointing. It was her queen. Eirlys had put her trust in Rori and now, someone had not only drugged her, but was able to trap her inside a tiny glass amulet. And not just Rori—if there was even one fae in each of the amulets, that meant dozens more fae.
This was magic she’d never known existed and she was determined to find who was responsible.
“Ye look like a mama bear protectin’ her young. What’s goin’ on, Aurora?”
Of all her friends, only Tug was brave enough to use her formal name. She stifled the tart reply that flew to her lips and forced a smile. “I don’t know, but I plan to find out.” Rori glared up at his innocent face. “This could be dangerous. Are you sure you want to help?”
His big shoulders rose nearly to his ears and dropped again. “Ain’t got nothin’ else to do this mornin’.”
Rori put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. She knew she could trust him with anything, including her life, but she also knew he abhorred violence of any kind. With his size, he easily overpowered others and it was his deepest fear that someday he’d accidentally hurt someone. She had to make sure whatever was going on in Faerie, Tug wasn’t caught i
n the crossfire, which wouldn’t be easy considering he was a huge target.
She sighed and shook her head. “I can’t promise it won’t get dirty. As in, there might be people trying to kill me by the end of this, whatever this is.” She eyed the bag holding the amulets.
Tug shifted the bag to his front and wrapped his arms protectively around it. “I know.”
They turned onto her street and Rori scanned the buildings on either side. No movement and no shadows indicated they’d been followed, but the hairs on the back of her neck rose menacingly. As they rounded the corner, she chanced a glance behind them. Aside from town folk going about their day, nothing unusual caught her attention. Still, there was a settling discomfort in the shadows, a sense of being watched that she couldn’t shake.
The two daggers secure in their sheaths brought her some comfort. She unlocked the door to her cottage and again swept the street and hillside while Tug folded his body to fit through the doorway. At just five and a half feet tall, even Rori had to duck to get inside. Poor Tug. He was half again her height. At least the interior was high enough he could stand with comfort.
“Put those on the table.” Rori pointed to the large wooden planks she used for a dining table and went to the kitchen to make tea. It was then she remembered the clover she’d picked from the forest. “Tug, what can you tell me about this?” She thrust a handful at him, smothering a grimace with a look of innocent curiosity.
Tug retrieved a bowl from her cupboard and placed the clover inside, then buried his face in the green leaves. After several grunts and long, whistling sniffs, he shook his head. “Dunno. Looks like clover, smells like clover, but it ain’t clover.” He pinched a leaf from the bunch and tested it with his tongue before sliding it into his mouth. For several agonizing seconds, he chewed and swished, all the while his face perplexed.
Rori put the kettle on and kept watch of her friend while he investigated the questionable plant. She’d only eaten a few leaves, and even Tug had taken a bite. It couldn’t be poisoned or she’d be dead. But still, he said it wasn’t clover. Then what was it?
Her stomach growled loud enough to wake an ogre. Tug cast her a withering look and she shrugged her answer. “I haven’t eaten since you saw me at the pub.” Her legs wobbled and she swooned against the counter.
Tug went into maternal mode and shooed her from the kitchen. The couch looked inviting, but instead of curling up and crashing, she staggered upstairs to her room. The sounds of pots rattling and the kettle hissing were a comfort to her. These were sounds she knew, sounds of home.
While Tug cooked, she stripped off her soiled clothes and stepped gingerly into the shower. Gods bless magic and all it enabled. The human world could have their machines and factories. Faerie had magic. Just because she herself didn’t use it, that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the gifts it gave. Hot water rained down, soaking her hair, cleansing her skin of debris and blood. Several cuts marred her face and hands, with a particularly nasty gash on her forehead.
Rori scrubbed shampoo into her hair, luxuriating in the contraband item. Strict rules were put in place of what they could and could not bring back from the human realm. On the whole, soaps and cleansers weren’t forbidden, just those that contained chemicals not friendly to the fauna and flora of Faerie. But Rori had found a shampoo made of natural ingredients that kept her hair silky and shiny. Fashion wasn’t her thing, nor were fancy jewels or flashy cars, but her hair—that was the only part of herself she allowed any vanity.
As she turned off the water, she said a silent thanks to the Elders for their wise decision centuries ago to embrace modernization. Streetlamps continued to be lit with drossfire, while kitchens and homes were powered not just by wind and water, but a collective gathering of power found all throughout Faerie. In many ways the human realm lagged behind Faerie, except for technology. That was one discussion neither queen was willing to have. Computers, mobile phones, televisions—these were banned, and not for any reason Rori found acceptable. They had their usefulness, certainly. But in her heart, she knew something of Faerie would be lost if that kind of technology were introduced.
Someday the laws might change, but for now, she was grateful she didn’t have to heat water in the kitchen and lug it to a bathing basin like days of old. She’d heard all the stories from her mum and gran about how hard life used to be.
She quickly braided her hair and did her best to salve the many cuts breaking through the glass had given her. With each, she winced as she used a tincture the old healer Meg had insisted she take after her last outing to the human realm.
That time, she’d been hit by a bullet intended for someone else. Meg hadn’t asked any questions as she removed the metal from Rori’s body, but the look of disgust told Rori what the healer had been thinking. Whatever was in the tincture had worked miracles, healing the wound in a few hours instead of days. As Rori applied it to the last of her injuries, she made a mental note to pick up more—just in case.
Tug’s gentle voice called her down for breakfast. She finished plastering the nasty gash on her forehead and went downstairs. Tug stood proudly beside her table, where plates of food covered nearly the whole thing. He wore a sheet tucked around his belly like a chef’s apron, his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A giggle tickled her insides, but she dared not laugh at her friend. Not after he’d made all this glorious food for her. He’d made enough to feed the entire Seelie court. A cup of steaming tea beckoned her to sit and eat.
“It looks great. Thank you, Tug.” She hugged him on her way to the table. His grip stopped her movement.
“Rori, yer like a sister to me. I know yer work is dangerous, but it’s never followed ye home afore. I’m worried.”
“I appreciate your concern, Tug. I really do, but I’ll be fine.”
Tug turned her to face him. His gaze roved over the several cuts and plasters. “I’m worried for ye, sure, but I’m worried for Faerie too. That clover, or whatever it is, it’s not right. And those pendants, and ye turning up out of nowhere…something’s goin’ on that I don’t got a good feelin’ about. Then there was that man—” A giant hand flew to his mouth and he shook his head.
Rori affected her best stern mother look and stared hard at her friend. “What man? Tell me now, Tug. What man?”
Again, Tug shook his head and muffled, “I can’t. He’ll kill ye if I do.”
“He’ll kill me if you tell me about him?” Rori rubbed her temples and sank into a chair. Smells, divine food scents, assaulted her and she grabbed her mug with shaking hands. “Is that what you said? He’ll kill me?”
Tug took a seat opposite and nodded slowly. “He was at the pub the night ye—well, we thought ye was ill, but then ye disappeared.” His eyes rounded to huge saucers and watered with tears. “Do you think he’s the one who did this to ye?” His gaze swept to the end of the table where a dozen caskets sat in neat rows. Each one held six amulets. That meant seventy-two, possibly more, victims.
“I don’t know. All I do know is I woke up in a strange, silent forest.” The pang of her empty stomach was too much and she scooped sausages, eggs, and beans on her plate. After several unladylike forkfuls, she slowed her pace and took a gulp of tea.
Between bites, she told Tug of her time in the forest. Of marking every third tree, of finding the sleeping faerie, whom Rori again checked to make sure she was safe in her pocket and hadn’t been crushed. By the end of her tale, tears streamed down Tug’s face, making two pale tracks over his rosy skin.
“That’s like one of ’em human stories me mum used to tell me when I was a lad. She always talked about the human realm like it was a scary, mythical place I should never need venture.”
“The humans tell bedtime tales of Faerie, you know.” Again, his eyes grew wide. “But this isn’t a story. This happened to me.” She placed a hand over her heart. “And others. We have to find out who’s behind this and why.”
Tug nodded enthusiastically. “If that man at t
he pub is respon—” A loud knock silenced him. He looked first at the front door, then to Rori.
She slid a dagger from its holder and gripped the hilt tight as she stepped to the door. “Who is it?”
“There’s something you and I need to discuss,” a male replied.
Not recognizing the voice, she turned to Tug and froze at his expression. “What is it?” she mouthed.
“The man, from the pub,” he whispered and pointed to the door.
“The man who said he’d kill me?” She stared at the door, not sure she was ready to welcome a confessed would-be murderer into her home.
“Rori,” the voice—smooth, in control—came through the wood, “let me through.”
Dagger in hand, Rori flipped the lock and took a step sideways. If he was going to kill her, he’d have to work for it.
5
The door handle twisted slow enough she almost shouted for him to get on with it. Instead, she rested on the balls of her feet. Her mind spun with every option available. The back door led to a garden, then the hill beyond. A cave of sorts was half a mile away, too far to sprint, but would do if they needed to recover. Weapons of every imaginable size and shape lined the walls and ceiling of her cottage. Some obvious, some not. Swords, maces, and hammers hung on hooks like decorative pieces. Dishware, heavy vases, and lamps were placed around the cottage to always be within two paces.
Being a spy had its advantages, but also its pitfalls. As evidenced by the man behind the now creaking open door. His frame filled the small space and he crouched, wary, as he entered her cottage. All she could see from beneath his hood was a handsome face shadowed by a days’ worth of stubble. A ragged scar snaked from the corner of his lip to just below his eye. A few strands of blond hair—a shade that reminded her of summers spent in the meadows with Cian, laughing and giggling until their sides hurt—peeked from beneath the black fabric. Her instinct told her to trust this man.
Relics and Runes Anthology Page 32