The Autumn Fairy of Ages (The Autumn Fairy Trilogy Book 2)

by Brittany Fichter

  There was no answer from Atharo. But just as Katy was about to turn and head back for Aisling’s, a low moan caught her attention.

  She looked around, but it was hard to see in the dark. The moon wasn't high enough to paint the field with light. Still, the area looked familiar. Had she wandered into Summer?

  Then she realized the voice was familiar. She tried to blink away the blur from her tears. Her heart pounded hard, and she wasn't sure if she should investigate or flee.

  Another low moan, then a strange laugh answered her silent question.

  “Jagan?” Katy flew over the hill and peered down the other side. She stayed tensed up to bolt in case someone attacked, but as soon as she saw him, she knew that wasn't going to be a problem. “Are you drunk?”

  In response, the other fairy took another swig from his wineskin and let out another cackle. He was sprawled out over several smooth boulders just over the top of the hill. His wings were bent at strange angles beneath him, and he seemed barely able to lift his head. His red hair was dirty and unruly.

  He said something else, but his words were so slurred she couldn’t understand them. He swung his head over to look at her and gave her a goofy grin while tears streamed down his unshaven face.

  “Jagan, what are you doing here?” Katy descended cautiously. This could be a trap, of course. But something in Jagan’s desperate cackle made her think otherwise.

  He ignored her question and instead pushed himself into a half-sitting position, sloshing the contents of his wineskin on himself in the process. Still, he didn't seem to even notice.

  “She said that I didn’t have a choice!” He stuck his thumb into his chest. “But…everyone has a…choice. And my choice was blood! Blood everywhere!” His eyes grew round, and he sat up and stared at Katy. “Blood of the rhin! All on my hands!” He held his hands out in front of him, sloshing the contents of the wineskin on himself again.

  Katy didn't stay to hear anything else. She whirled around and pushed herself back toward Autumn faster than she’d ever gone before.

  “Aisling!” she cried as she neared Aisling’s tree. For once, she didn't care who or what kind of terrifying creature heard her. Tonight, she would be far more terrifying than any of them would ever be.

  Aisling appeared in the doorway of the house, warm light from the hearth spilling out around her.

  “Aisling!” Katy landed and immediately tripped. But she kept going. “Something’s happened to Peter!”

  It was another moment of incoherent babble before Aisling was able to understand what Katy was saying, but as soon as she did, she rushed Katy inside. As soon as Katy had been shoved into a seat, Aisling darted to the back and returned with a small bag and was wearing into a dark cloak. “Stay here! I’ll go see what’s happened.”

  “But I’m coming—”

  “No. You're staying here! If they truly did something, they’re desperate, and they’ll use him in whatever way they can to get you!”

  Katy glared at Aisling for a long moment. Every muscle in her body ached to go to him, to fly until she had found him and dragged him away, and he was safe in his arms. Of course, if he was already…

  Katy had enough sense left to know what would happen if that were the case. She had lost control enough times before to know exactly how her power would react. She also knew there were a fair number of children in the village nearby. If she lost control at or near the palace, there would be casualties for sure.

  “Just promise me you’ll find him,” she pleaded, grabbing Aisling’s hand. Ordered, rather.

  But Aisling only nodded before disappearing down the dark forest path. And as soon as the door slammed shut, Katy was left waiting. Again.

  34

  The Wrong Firin

  Peter sat in the corner of his little cell, staring at the food the guard had brought. It didn’t look any different than usual, but upon his first sniff, Peter was sure it had been poisoned.

  Not that he could tell what kind of poison, of course. He wasn’t as keen on scents as his knight, Carey, but he could detect a faint whiff of something that was most definitely not bread. His stomach rumbled as he continued to stare at the food. Part of him wondered if it would be better to die from poison or starvation, for he was sure after his conversation with Donella the day before that he wasn’t going to make it out of the palace alive if she had anything to say about it. And she, probably knowing he would pick up the trace of poison, hadn’t bothered to even try covering the smell. And as she also probably guessed that he would rather starve to death than accept death by poison, she had done a good job of covering her tracks. If he died from starvation, she could tell everyone he’d simply been too stubborn to eat and had starved himself, and she could be free of any consequences William or Shauna might try to bring down.

  The cup of water looked so good.

  But no, he couldn't think of that. One thought too long and he might reach for the cup when he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. With a heavy sigh, Peter dumped his cup of water on the floor, then let the bread fall there was well. He might as well remove all temptation while he was at it. It had only been a day, and he was dangerously close to drinking. What would his thirst be like tomorrow? Or the next morning?

  Atharo, I know you have this all under your control, but… Peter rubbed his eyes. If you could send someone soon, I would be more than a little grateful.

  Think of something else. He had to think about something else.

  Peter stared down at the corner of the room. It was surprisingly clean for a prison. His mattress, a sack stuffed with straw and feathers, was nicer than those many of his subjects slept on in their homes. At least he would die comfortably.

  A pang of sadness hit him as he thought of his bed back at home. The mattress itself he couldn't care less about. But the room…

  The king’s chambers had been dark and depressing when his uncle had died, covered in heavy reds, browns, and blues. Thick, rich carpets of every dark color imaginable had concealed the floor. Dark everything. Katy had mentioned such once when she’d seen the room in passing after the door had been left open. But with Muirin’s help, Peter had changed the tapestries, rugs, bedcovers, the window coverings, even the pillow coverings. Slowly, the room had begun to look less like a dungeon and more like somewhere his future wife might wish to sleep without waking up in fear for her life.

  She would keep her own chambers, of course, the ones he’d given her that his mother had long ago occupied. But Peter had rather hoped that she might not want to stay by herself most nights. So many nights he had lain awake wishing she was at his side, imagining what it might feel like to have her next to him, breathing softly in and out, her warmth radiating under the covers. And in the back of his mind, he had hoped they would one day wake up surrounded by little ones after they’d been frightened by a thunderstorm.

  Think of something else.

  She slept all curled up like a little cat. He knew that thanks to all the times she’d fallen asleep in the sun when they were children playing outside. There was hardly a sunny afternoon in which she hadn’t stopped and curled up on some warm flat boulder or bridge or bank to take a little nap. He had teased her about it back then, of course, making her mad by telling her that only babies took naps, but now he wanted nothing more than to see that again. She had always looked so peaceful when she slept.

  “We’re here to see the prisoner.”

  Peter looked up in surprise. He shouldn’t be receiving another meal until the next morning, and the voice at the door wasn’t one he recognized.

  “I haven’t been notified of any visitors,” the guard replied.

  “That’s because Firin Irven chose to see him,” the stranger snapped. “Firins owe allegiance to no one but Atharo. And this firin wishes to see the prisoner to inquire as to the state of his soul before the poor rhin passes into eternity.”

  Peter stood to try and see through the little square hole in the door, but the lock clicke
d and the door opened before he could see anyone outside. Peter stumbled backward as two men, one in a firin’s robe, entered. As soon as the door was shut, the man without the robe leaned over for a short bow. Instead of straightening, however, he stayed bent until Peter leaned over close enough to hear him whisper.

  “Follow along.”

  Meanwhile, the firin pulled a heavy sack from his back and let the cloth slide to the floor. Inside was a sword and several knives. Even more interesting, however, was Peter’s quick realization that Firin Irven was definitely not Firin Irven. This man was at least six feet tall and would have towered over the short, grouchy firin in the annals. Not that Peter was complaining. The man in the annals looked as though he hadn’t smiled a day in his life.

  “We have just above three minutes to reach the upper levels before the alarm is sounded,” the robed man whispered as Peter began to tuck the knives into his boots and belt. “Then we’ll have five minutes at most to escape the premise completely. There will be two horses waiting for us just inside the nearest woods.”

  “Only two?” Peter whispered back.

  The one with the robe nodded. “Zed here has to go back to his family in the village or he’ll become a suspect. You and I will make it the rest of the way. If we’re attacked, though…” He paused. “If we’re stopped, you are to go on by yourself.”

  “We can both fight—”

  “No.” The man shook his head. “You are the third rhin, and you don’t have your sword. You must get back to your isle. You must marry your beloved and kneel before the tree.”

  Peter didn’t even have time to agree or disagree before the robed man knocked on the door. “We’re ready now.”

  As the door began to swing open, Zed shoved it as hard as he could. The guard let out a cry.

  “Run!” Zed hissed.

  Peter didn’t have to be told twice. His legs and feet ached from stiffness as he followed the robed man down the hall past more wood and metal doors. He could hear the guard’s cries from behind him cut off, but before they reached the stairs at the end of the hall that spiraled upward, their path was blocked by more guards.

  “If you happen to…change,” the man said as he and Peter fell into a defensive position, “is there any chance I might be spared?”

  Peter gave him a dark smile. “Just stay out of my way, and you should be fine.” He hoped. That he could tell, the monster had never had never attacked an innocent bystander, but he didn’t trust that nature any more than he could rid himself of it. Even as he spoke, he could feel the creature rising up within him.

  Every time the creature had come, Peter had balked. He recoiled from the feral nature that fought like an injured animal. The idea that something inside of him had changed, however small that part of him might be, haunted him to the core. It had taken all of his willpower to keep the creature at bay every time before, fighting its natural inclination to kill. But this time, as the poisoned food lay behind him and the open door in front, he didn’t try to stop it.

  Disarming and knocking the guards unconscious was simple, and to his relief, Peter found it slightly easier this time to distinguish between the enemy and the robed man who stood behind him. What was different, he couldn’t say. He could only thank Atharo as soon as the way was clear and they could sprint up the stairs.

  When they had reached the top, they came to a split in the hall. The robed man pointed to the right, and they took off again, not stopping until they reached the great palace courtyard and found an assembly of fairies and men. The men brandishing weapons, and the fairies held out their wands. All watched him warily. The fairies hovered above them, their hands raised, and the men created an arc, cutting off every way of escape.

  “Please reconsider this, Peter,” Donella called from the edge where she hovered ten or so feet in the air. “Don’t make us shed the blood of a rhin here. This is sacred ground.” Ethemu, who stood beneath her, his own rhin sword drawn, nodded.

  “Because shedding my blood in secret would be preferable,” Peter called back.

  “Come quietly, please, so we can talk.” She gestured at the men and fae, each with a sword or crossbow or wand trained on him. “There’s no need for violence.”

  Peter glanced at those who stood in his way. There were the stone-faced guards, of course, and many of the summit attendees, as well as villagers and palace workers.

  Atharo, he prayed as he cringed, the creature inside as it yearned to lunge, Don’t let there be bloodshed here. He forced himself to stay still as he tried to come up with a way to escape unscathed. It was difficult, though, as the creature was straining to spring forward and push his way through, taking as many lives as possible with him while he went. And its pull was getting stronger.

  He paused briefly when he saw William and Sebastian. Both had their rhin swords out, swords edged with diamond just like Peter’s. But there was something grim about the set of Sebastian’s mouth that made Peter look again. The same emotion was echoed in William’s stern jaw. Shauna and Karel were nowhere to be seen. Peter hesitated for just a moment, weighing his options. Fighting with the rhins could prove deadly, if not for him, at least for his friend. But the continued glances between William and Sebastian made him wonder if he just might make it.

  “Do you think—” his companion began nervously, but Peter cut him off with a war cry as he sprinted toward the other rhins. To his satisfaction, his shout drove his foes back a step and cleared the way for he and his rescuer to penetrate the arc.

  “Now!” someone yelled.

  Peter expected the arc to converge. But the risk he had taken by running toward William and Sebastian paid off. When he had nearly reached them, both kings each stepped back, opening a hole in the line. Peter and his companion burst through the hole before they closed it up again. Donella screeched something about betrayal, but Peter didn’t pause to hear their responses.

  Instead, he bolted across the remainder of the road and into the field behind it. As soon as he was deep within the nearest patch of forest, he waited for his robed companion to join him. Apparently, his new form made him faster than usual as well. But when one minute went by, then three, he crept back to the edge of the trees to see outside.

  There was no sign of his rescuer. Instead, to his amazement, the line of men and fae that had awaited him at the entrance to the palace had erupted into fighting. And they were fighting one another. Dismay crept up his spine, and the monster inside began to melt away as he watched them fall, body after body hitting the cobblestones and not getting up. William and Sebastian faced off with Donella. He could hear her weeping and cries of anger.

  Why? he asked Atharo again and again as he waited. Why must there be so much bloodshed? Why were they so determined to see him dead that they would kill dozens of their own to find him? And even more importantly…

  Why are they giving their lives for me?

  Then a flash of brown caught his eye. The man in the robe had fallen just ten yards from where Peter hid. His robe was stained red, and he didn’t get up.

  “We need to go.”

  Peter turned to find Karel waiting in the shadows for him, sitting on a horse. The horse stamped impatiently as Karel beckoned to the two horses tied to a nearby tree.

  Peter pointed at the battle behind him. “The man who helped—”

  “Jorem is dead. Now let’s go before you render his death in vain.”

  Peter glared at him for a moment, but after another glance back, he mounted the horse and followed. But he knew, as they rode into the quiet of the forest, that the screams echoing in the courtyard would echo in his mind for years to come.

  35

  And We have Chosen You

  “You’re quiet,” Karel said as their horses waded through a little brook. “You’ve seen battle before.”

  Peter tried to ignore the way the man’s voice grated on him with its casual aloofness. As though so much spilled blood was a trifle annoyance. They’d been riding for hours now, and Pe
ter still saw the faces of the slain whenever he closed his eyes.

  “With soldiers and outlaws, yes. But not civilians.”

  “Welcome to our world.” Karel pulled out his sword and held back a long branch so Peter could move his horse up beside him. “As resources shrink, humans and fae find themselves at odds more and more. And when one is faced with the choice of keeping the peace or feeding one’s child by violent means, the child usually wins.”

  Peter frowned. “Where are we now?” Such wars were not what he currently wanted to think about.

  “We crossed into Spring an hour ago. We’ll be to the valley soon.”

  “The valley?”

  “You’ll see.” Karel nodded ahead of them. The part of the woods they traveled had no visible paths or markers, and Peter wondered how Karel knew where they were going. He could only see thick spruce trees wherever he turned. Sometimes the type of tree would change, but it was always some kind with budding, green foliage that was difficult to see past, and the farther in that they rode, the more crowded the forest became. Peter couldn’t tell what time of day it was for the incredible height of the spruce trees, but he guessed it to be about five hours past noon.

  “We didn’t mean to take so long to get you,” Karel said after some time. “But a lot of the supporters were from the village, and we thought it would be safer to get them to the valley before Donella decided to go door to door in search of traitors.”

  “I can respect that.” Peter paused. Then he said more slowly, “But I don’t understand why they were fighting for me. In the first place, I mean. It’s not as if they know me.” Peter had to guide his horse behind Karel’s again. The trees were growing too clustered for them to ride side-by-side. “I thought everyone wanted Katy.” It had only made sense for her. She had all the power. But for him?