“The bargain,” Pitt said. Ruby snapped to attention, torn from her ruminations to stare at the changeling fey. They’d walked clear of the boneyard, closer to the dark-winged guards who waited low in the sky.
“Name your price,” she answered.
“You,” Pitt said simply.
“I would rather die.”
Pitt nodded, expecting as much. “I might have settled for the book, but it is out of your possession and so you have nothing left to offer.”
She wasn’t sure how he knew it wasn’t in her custody, and could only hope it didn’t mean he’d found Steed. She didn’t flinch, though, playing on. “I do not need the pages. I had it memorized before my tenth season.”
Pitt lowered a brow.
“‘Power Studies and Magics, A Journal. Page one: six tonics for the healing of a broken wing. Gather these ingredients outside of the dark night: six grain weight of freshly cut black horehound, the shed bark of an ironwood tree, three leaves of nightshade, the plumage of the summer wrentit, a gill of houndstooth oil, amaranth, and wormwood, a palm of poppy seed—’”
“Enough.”
Pitt moved closer, close enough she could have kissed his neck with a spiked metal tip—had she a whip.
“While I trust you’ve had time to memorize it, you know I would not make the trade without seeing the fire fey’s mark.”
No one said her name aloud, not even Ruby.
“We make the trade,” he continued, “when you secure the book from its place.”
They didn’t have Steed. Her brother was safe.
Until he came after her, she supposed.
She would buy time. She would do what she had to.
Pitt was a fool.
“She was more powerful than you,” Ruby told him. “What makes you think you can pull off her magic and live?”
Pitt smiled. “I’ll have you.”
26
Steed
Steed watched Junnie stare across the boundary to the wreckage and knew she’d been nothing but truthful. She hadn’t known. Trees lay scattered throughout the clearing, piled in heaps and sprinkled with ash. They appeared to have been uprooted, some tossed and others crushed, and then forgotten. A smear of black crossed the silted ground on the far side of the boundary, something deadly enough to not have been washed away by weather.
Junnie’s soldiers walked carefully across, stepping gingerly over stones and around bits of metal or cloth. One bent down, running a fingertip through the lightest bit of residue before bringing it up to sniff. “Spellcast,” he said, glancing at the others who spread farther through the clearing.
“Fey blood,” called another, this one standing near a large ring of dark red rocks. “And powders—some sort of protection spell, I’d wager.”
They surveyed the area, glancing high and low, scenting out fey traps as best they could. Steed turned to Junnie. “We don’t have time for this, do we? Shouldn’t we just chance it, cross and see—”
Junnie looked at him then, and Steed’s words cut short. She was worried, and not simply about Frey.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The boundary,” Junnie told him. “It’s been altered.” She breathed deep, glancing at the rocks beneath their feet. “More than that, I think. Stripped down to the barest of protection.”
Steed stared at her. “I don’t understand, how can you—” And then her look cut him off again. It wasn’t fear this time, it was a furtive glance.
At the girl. Isa.
Steed stepped beside Junnie and knelt, ostensibly examining the rock. But he watched the girl as well, seeing her pick up stones that should have been cemented to the earth, running small fingers through the moving water, catching bits of floating things before bringing them up to inspect in the morning sun.
She shouldn’t have been able to do that. “How?” he said.
“She is more human,” Junnie answered. “There is less of our blood, and more of something… other.”
Isa tossed a pebble into the deepest part of the stream, turning back to them, and Steed stood. Thea and his sentries were waiting on the grass before the boundary, unmoving as Junnie’s trackers scanned the field. But no, they weren’t trackers, were they? These were Junnie’s warriors, trained not to search for those who opposed her, but to protect their new Council leader.
His head still ached.
Junnie handed him a canteen. “On the far side of this ravine are some elderberries. I’ll have a scout pick some up on our way through.”
“Thank you,” he told her. “But I believe I can make do.”
She nodded. “I would imagine. Liana may be a changeling, but she’d never do more than temporary harm to someone who might increase her bargaining power.”
Steed’s brow drew down. He knew Thea and his men would not have told a light elf anything, regardless of whether she was a current ally. In any case, only a handful of them had been aware the changeling had been the one who’d ministered to him. She hadn’t heard about Freya or Ruby, but this she was aware of. “How would you know that?”
Junnie shrugged. “It’s been a long time coming, Summit. You fell into this mess just when it helped a…” Her voice trailed off, head tilting toward the trees behind them. Listening.
“The wolves,” she finally said.
Steed turned with her to watch, waiting less time than he expected before Finn and Keaton burst through the low limbs and leapt over brush. They were fast, and they were graceful, even clearly exhausted as they were. A chill ran through Steed. Something was wrong. They were in a hurry, they were not with his Seven or Freya, and it appeared they were looking for Junnie.
Isa moved between Junnie and Steed, keeping near Junnie’s back, but not clinging to her. Steed could not tell if she was scared or had merely been taught to protect herself in this way. He didn’t think she was afraid; why would she be? These were wolves, the very creature Junnie had used to greet them in the forest. But beside Junnie, the girl was so small, thin and fragile, no more than a child.
A child who could break through the ancient boundary, pull stones from its path without notice. It had been altered, Junnie had said. Stripped to the barest protection. That might be why the girl had been able, if not for the look on Junnie’s face. There had been more to it. Much more.
And now, the wolves.
He glanced at his men, the sentries who knew these beasts as allies, and at Thea, new to her post and everything that entailed. She appeared uneasy at the arrival, but Steed supposed no more than those who knew how out of place it might have been to see Finn and Keaton running toward them, toward an ancient border put into place when they had been men instead of wolves.
This could not be good.
The wolves raced on, leaping forward and bounding against one another through the grass and sand and stones to a hard stop before Junnie. Finn pulled up, pebbles sliding beneath his massive paws, mouth agape and teeth on display as Keaton skidded on all fours and then shook as if he’d been caught in the rain. But there was no dampness upon their fur, only bits of forest and twisted briars. They panted and whined, settling after moments to stare up at Junnie, intelligence and light in their wide wolf eyes.
She stared back at them. Unspeaking. Steed stepped forward. Isa moved further behind her protector.
He watched them, the strange lot of wolves and elves, and the other became more evident. The little girl was not reaching out to the wolves. She did not feel more at ease or trust in her control of what might otherwise be wild beasts. These were not wild, these were ancients, only transformed into beasts after living past their age, but Isa was apparently not aware of that. She didn’t watch them the way Frey and Junnie watched animals; she watched them with a purpose, alert and cautious, the way Thea would. Living with Junnie, the girl would have been around animals enough to have grown accustomed, and this was her response. She could not connect with beasts, that was clear.
And there was something else, something Steed had
n’t entirely realized until he watched them here. There was a quietness about the girl, at odds with her wide eyes and fly-away hair. Something that felt more hollow than the other half-breeds he’d known.
Thea shifted across the empty grass between them, and Steed glanced her direction. He’d been watching the child, finally noticing these small things through the clearing haze of his treatments, but that was not where the sentries’ focus was aimed. They were watching Junnie. The wolves.
His unease had been nipping at him, tugging here and there with things that were not quite right, things that should not be happening. Things that had nothing to do with the disappearance of his sister and the Lord of the North. But a new realization dawned, and it was no small concern.
Junnie could communicate with the wolves. Not simply control them, not the suggestion of movement and action and direction. She was speaking with them, through her mind, hearing them speak back. Something Freya had never done.
Something Freya had never known.
Steed waited, unsure for a moment if it would even matter. But it would, he knew it would. This was another secret, another important piece of the puzzle withheld from Frey.
Junnie straightened, taking in a shallow gulp of air. She nodded, looked immediately to Steed. “We will have to restore the boundary, but that must wait. Keane and the changeling Pitt have taken Ruby. They also have possession of Rhys. And Freya is in the hands of fate.” She glanced at the sky. “We need to go to her now, taking all the help we can get.”
Steed’s hands came out, palms up. He’d brought everyone he could. Castle sentries were all he had. There was no one near and the rest of his Seven had already moved into the fey lands.
“Not more men,” she told him. The sun caught Junnie’s pale blonde braids as she turned to scan the far trees. “More wolves.”
27
Frey
The high fey court in sunlight was a different sort of beast. Magnificent flowers draped the newly-constructed dais, its birchwood frame painted in intricate patterns of gold and white. Light streamed into the clearing, catching on every size and color blossom and every shape and shade of greenery. Wide, dew-covered leaves bordered a stair-step arena where fey of all kind gathered to watch. Each in turn appeared in their own form of finery. Heavy jewels and a long sheer gown ornamented a slender wood nymph, while fresh moss waistcloths and snapped-twig headpieces adorned a pair of tiny timber pixies. A few of the more powerful fey dressed in armor, likely knowing they would be targets as the festivities progressed.
No matter the wardrobe though, all wore their best gems, for the power would flow and ebb throughout this day until the fates’ dance. There would be a change to the proceedings then, a darker, more sinister energy emanating from these same fey in a larger gathering.
We walked through it all to cross the court floor, Veil’s men clearing a great swath before us amid the crowd of fey. The multitude was of all shapes and sizes, but I could not help but feel small. There were so many, and with each breath more and more.
My steps were steady on the flat stone pathway, my eyes straight ahead. Chatter rose and swelled, breaking off as we passed and fey bowed, or nodded, or simply stood staring. This was the way of the fey court—each kind had their own rituals, their own laws, even if one cause did unite them. I followed at Veil’s back, the high fey lord’s costume seeming grander still in this gathering of creatures. Their deference in his presence was a clear sign of just how powerful he was.
Veil was strong, and he held sway among each of them. He’d been head of this court since I was a child.
I wouldn’t think about what had happened to his predecessor.
We passed in front of the stone sculptures where they stood scattered, each reaching skyward with the sun upon their would-be faces. They did not seem to be creatures here in the light of day, only indistinguishable forms. It was the shadows that transformed them, that made them appear the terrifying objects they truly were.
The crowd grew restless as we approached the dais, the power humming through them stirring the barely-under-control energy within me. I had to constantly work to contain it, to keep it from boiling up with the instinct to lash out, to protect me. To get away. It knew what was to come, and it wanted out of this as badly as I did. Now, it said.
A water sprite rolled through the air, screeching a hawk’s cry before suddenly dipping into the space between the sculpted figures and the walkway that had been cleared for Veil. A shot of power came from one of the shadow stalkers, so strong that it resonated all the way back to me, overpowering the other sense of it, the feel of it swimming around me. I watched as the magic connected with its target; it didn’t merely toss the thing back as I’d expected, but completely obliterated the fey’s slight form. The crowd exploded into cheers.
The ceremonies had officially begun.
I held my expression, my head, everything perfectly still except for my even stride. Veil had not missed a beat, and neither would I. We would maintain the semblance of control, if nothing else.
Veil sidestepped the remnants of the water sprite’s clothes, the fey lord’s silken wardrobe swaying against drawn-back wings. He paused at the first step onto the platform, holding a palm up for me to take as we ascended the short set of stairs. This was not because I was in danger of tripping. This was for the gratification of his audience.
This was the show.
I laid my fingers on his palm, each of us placing boot to step in tandem. When we reached the platform, Veil turned us both, keeping my hand over his as we stood before a row of seats. The center chair was throne-like, but only in that it held status above the others. A massive gnarled root system rose well above Veil’s back, braided and woven into patterns within patterns. Beside it was a low, wide bench of antler and birch, and, behind me, two thin chairs of alder and yew. I didn’t question which I had been assigned to, because upon the top of the chair to Veil’s left was a spiked, slaughtered bird. Its feathers had been spread wide, its wings decorated with dark, sandy pebbles and blackened string. A soft blue ribbon wove through its feathers, curling gently below head and beak to keep them in view. So everyone could clearly see the jewels set into those dead eyes.
I had to remember that. This was not home. These were not remotely the politics I was accustomed to, not the rules we all relied on. Beneath this current of power lay something sinister, itching to be freed.
“My people,” Veil said to the crowd, startling me into the moment in time to see him raise a hand. “We gather today in preparation of a great tradition, one created before the dawn of our kingdom, one put into place to satisfy the boundless forest, our earth and sky. I call to you, join me, and let us pay the fates their blood so that their spirits may dance!”
Veil’s wings burst open full sweep, stretching behind us all and leaving nothing visible to the crowd but the tip of his throne. It became a gilded crown of sorts, floating above his golden head. In that moment, he was more magnificent than the sun, and I held tight to the power within me for what would happen next.
I had felt great power before, but the earth didn’t tremble as it had when I used the ability Asher had gifted me; stones did not rattle, soil did not break. This instead was a slow, burning sort of buildup that swam and swelled beneath us until it rose to swallow my very breath.
This was Veil’s gift, and it was strong enough to change the seasons.
He harnessed the base energy, directing it up through his own form. I did not know how he could possibly contain it and remain whole, while even standing so near was a suffocating pressure that threatened to crush us all. Veil pushed it outward, blasting the energy above the rapt onlookers and into the atmosphere. The power that had been crushing me became biting hornets, the sting of ice, and the thrill of adrenaline all at once. It took to the sky, radiating heat and light and exploding into bursts of brightness that crackled and sparked, trailing smoke and embers in its path.
It was only a fraction of what he was cap
able of, and the crowd took it in for one silent moment before Veil dropped his hands. Spikes of power shot through us all, fragments of the power’s explosion, and I barely kept my feet. Veil smiled at the crowd.
The roar of applause was deafening.
28
Chevelle
The plan had been to seal the bargain at the boundary between lands. Given that the marked volume was in fact a ruse, there was no other way to protect it from being discovered. Chevelle had toyed with Liana’s idea to rewrite the pages of the diary into a fey journal, to make a clever forgery that would take longer to detect as a fake. But they didn’t have the time, and he couldn’t exactly trust her with the contents of this diary, even if they had to trust her with their lives.
She’d sent word ahead, requesting to meet with Keane and two other high fey. Chevelle wasn’t certain which of them had taken Ruby, or whose custody she might be in now, but he doubted Veil had been directly involved in her capture. Chevelle would never have been able to draw the fey high lord from his duty during the ceremonies in any case, but Veil had taken Frey at the fey trap on the boundary, had stepped in to remove her from a situation that could only have benefitted his kind if it had been allowed to play out.
It would have benefitted Keane more than the others, perhaps, and it was openly known Keane was Veil’s greatest adversary at the moment. The fire fey had been working to turn court against its current high lord, and by all accounts it was succeeding in the outer regions. The entire situation might have been enough to cause Chevelle hesitation, but he knew how fey politics worked. Someone devious had Ruby, and it was Keane, or it was one of the others Liana had called on. Veil was not a true participant in this game; Chevelle knew he had spared Frey.
The Frey Saga Book IV Page 13