Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  She switched it off. “I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.

  “The Sorrow Blade sings for my blood.” He turned her around, his hand briefly squeezing her shoulder. “Get to cover,” he said, his words as soft as a breath in the dark. “And no matter what occurs, stay hidden.”

  Chapter Seven

  They made no attempt at hiding their approach. The doors blew open on a gust of magic, the rusted hinges Jessa had mentioned screeching like a felled bird. All three had come, a move that struck him as unusual. Trolls typically sent one of their party to scout along the perimeter. Had the Fae spun such a believable tale?

  With his head lolled forward and his body slumped against the leg of the table, Simith kept his arms looped behind him as though bound. Through lowered lashes, he watched them stride in without hesitation. Moonlight drenched the entryway, marking their position clearly. They did not, as he’d expected, spread out or stalk along the side aisles. They tromped up the narrow lane leading to him, their thick builds forcing them to fall into single file. Simith tried not to question this luck. In another few moments, their strangely reckless behavior wouldn’t matter.

  Trailing their rearguard was the woman they’d abducted. Magical tethers pinned her arms to her sides and held her feet floating a handspan off the ground. She twisted and struggled, giving him hope she was uninjured. She said something to the nearest troll. With the gag in her mouth, the words were unintelligible, but from the snarled tone, the insult didn’t require interpretation. The one leading the group grumbled irritably under his breath. Simith wondered if she’d caused them some hassle during her captivity. What a wonderful thought.

  “Do you see him?” one growled.

  “I think that’s him by the wall?”

  “That’s a shovel, you idiot.”

  “It’s too blasted dark in here.”

  Simith just barely held off a frown. Too dark? He’d once seen a troll shoot down a fellow knight from fifty paces under a moonless sky.

  Their steps slowed, still not yet near enough to be certain of the trap. He let his wings hang slightly lopsided and issued a soft groan.

  “There, that’s him.”

  Their pace quickened again, confident now. Simith held himself still and forced his muscles to stay unclenched. The steps closed in.

  Now, Jessa.

  As if she heard his thought, latches snapped somewhere behind him, and blinding light flooded the room from above. The sudden illumination nearly made him echo the shout of alarm from the trolls. On instinct, he shifted into a crouch and scuttled one row over, shaking his head to clear his watering eyes. The trolls had gone silent. Had it worked? Still blinking, he rose up to his knees and squinted across the aisles, hoping to find figures of stone.

  What he saw turned his blood to ice. The green skin was gone; the lamplight eyes replaced with browns and blues. What were once hulking figures had become tall and lanky-limbed, dressed in dove-colored tunics. They rubbed their eyes, still muttering their surprise between them in voices no longer gruff, but high and musical. Simith dropped back down and gripped his brow.

  Fairies. They were fairies. Not trolls, but glamoured to look like them. For what possible reason?

  The answer came immediately. Simith tipped his head back and closed his eyes. The meeting with the troll king. Somehow, they’d discovered what he was up to and intercepted him before he could arrive. But why the deception? If they’d intended to kill him all along, why bother to trick him into thinking the trolls had betrayed him?

  “What is this magic?” one of them hissed. “We are revealed. Naught but daylight could have torn that disguise from us.”

  “Shoot a volley,” another ordered, and Simith’s eyes snapped back open. He knew that voice. He hadn’t recognized the others, but this fairy he knew. Helm Firo.

  He had to get out of here.

  There came a yelp and something clattered onto the tiles. “I can’t draw these iron arrows, not without the glamour shield.”

  “Use a knife, then.”

  Glass shattered above, debris scattering against the floor like crystalline raindrops. Simith used the sound to cover his movements toward the door. All Helms knew the true names of the pixies in the legion. With his name, Firo could compel him to do anything. He could compel him to carve out his own heart. Why he hadn’t done so from the beginning mattered less than putting as much distance between them as possible.

  “Those mages thought to trick us,” one sneered. “If we’d been trolls, we’d be stone and dead now.” The rasp of a knife leaving its sheath made Simith pause. “We should take the girl’s life for their duplicity.”

  “Too dangerous. This world is strange and its magic stranger,” Firo said. “We swore not to harm her, and foreswearing ourselves here is to take a risk we don’t understand.”

  They didn’t know the half of it. If they realized the bargain had been struck with Fae, no one would speak of harming their hostage. Nightmare tales were still told around the fire of the Fae’s savagery against those who broke agreements.

  While they argued, Simith darted beneath the table beside the front door. He gazed out at Jessa’s garden, its leaves and petals iron-grey beneath the night sky. In a moment the fairies would notice his absence. This was his moment to escape.

  His shoulders drooped. Escape to what? He didn’t understand their motives behind this elaborate scheme, but clearly his commanders had discovered his dealings with the trolls, and they wanted him dead. And what of Jessa and her friend? If he left, would that mean the bargain was off? Jessa wouldn’t do anything brash like trying to save her friend herself, would she? He thought of Rimthea, and what he’d have done to save her if given the chance. Even outnumbered, even without magic or weapons, he’d have damned the odds for his best friend.

  But perhaps he didn’t need to here, not if he wagered his luck on a risky plan.

  “Hey,” one of the fairies snapped. “Where has he gone?”

  Simith ducked out from the table and stood. “Helm Firo, I am here.”

  The others whirled and drew their knives. Firo turned with more calm and kept his crystal blade sheathed. The wrath in his hard, blue eyes belied his serene posture.

  He gave no greeting before he spoke. “Simith Safflower Sun.”

  Simith stiffened, his true name wrapping him in a tight grip. He’d anticipated this, but not quite so soon.

  “Yes, Commander,” he managed.

  “Come away from the door and join us here.”

  His limbs moved under the order, as separate from his will as a tree branch caught in the wind.

  “If I had known it was you who followed me, I would not have run,” he said, attempting to direct himself to arrive near Katie. His body thankfully deemed the action to be one that still complied with the command.

  “Would you.” Firo’s baleful gaze watched him approach. “That is an interesting claim, given the treachery you were about tonight.”

  “I only meant to speak with the troll king for the sake of peace.”

  “You’ve no authority to offer that, even if you had the will of the court.”

  “Peace must begin somewhere. I merely wished to open the door.”

  Firo’s lip curled. “They are ungrateful, undeserving beasts. It was fairy kind who defeated the Fae. By rights and by honor, the trolls should have given us those caves long ago.” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Our enemy is close to defeat. Peace will come when our legion has vanquished them.”

  And by vanquished, he meant slaughtered. Simith had already imagined that battle, seeing himself at the front, cleaving through what fighters the trolls still had. Then the arrival to the Twilight Grotto, to homes and children and elders, and a handful of young ones left to defend it. He imagined the other pixie knights, watching him for direction. Follow the order and slay every life inside, or defy it?

  Simith had made his choice long before that moment ever arrived.

  He drew even with Kati
e where she hovered in her tethers and flexed his mind to stop his legs. They took two steps past her before complying.

  “Defeating the Fae was meant to make us free,” Simith said. “A century of war and countless deaths. All have suffered. Why dwell in blood if there’s a chance for truce?”

  The others moved back as Firo stepped close, violence shimmering in his gaze.

  “Did you hope to change your legacy? Become a peacemaker at the last gasp? You, Sun Fury, who counted his glory in the number of trolls slain by his blade?”

  He had no answer to that. Snickers filled his silence.

  “What is this world you’ve brought us to?” Firo said. “What allies have you here?”

  “I came upon the doorway by accident.” He winced, the order tugging more information from his tongue. “I was told it’s called the Michigan.”

  “Told by the mages we bartered with?”

  “No.”

  “Who then?”

  The name shoved itself from his mouth. “Jessa.”

  Katie made a quiet sound behind him. Firo glanced at her and Simith took the moment to shift back a half-step.

  The Helm’s gaze returned to him. “Where is she now?”

  He tried not to speak. He clamped his mouth shut, reaching for some way to dodge the question.

  “Simith. Safflower. Sun,” Firo repeated. “Where is she?”

  He shook with the strain, swallowing down his voice, but his body would not heed him. It knew a single command, nothing more or less until it was obeyed. His lips parted, the very air in his lungs pressing out a whispered reply. “She is here. At the back.”

  Katie made a garbled protest of fear and outrage. Firo nodded at two of his soldiers. They sped to the far wall.

  “She has no part in any of this,” Simith told him urgently. “She helped me as a kindness, nothing more. She’s no danger to any of you.”

  Pottery crashed and one of them spit out a curse. Simith ignored Firo’s dark glare, trying to catch a glimpse of what occurred, but he couldn’t see beyond the tower of objects he’d stacked on the table. There were sounds of struggle. Jessa cried out.

  He lunged forward, shoving Firo aside, but a fairy emerged from behind the table with Jessa in his grip. With one arm looped across her ribs, he held a knife to her throat. Blood seeped from a split on her lip.

  His fingers curled into a fist. “Let her go.”

  “No allies, yet you concern yourself with her fate?” Firo’s eyes narrowed.

  “She’s innocent of any treachery that you believe I’ve committed.”

  “Believe. Perhaps you think you’re innocent as well.”

  “Why did you come here like this?” he demanded. “Why glamour yourselves to look like trolls if you knew of my dealings? Why not arrest me outright?”

  Firo scoffed. “How would that look to the other pixies if even the Sun Fury questions our methods? We are at the precipice of victory. Executing you for treason would incite doubt among the ranks, especially given the pacifist nature of your kind.” He unsheathed a dagger from his side. No, not a dagger, he saw with a jolt to his innards. The Sorrow Blade. The ice-blue metal shimmered beneath the bright lights, rippling as it caught him in its reflection. It sang a sharp, shrill melody, like a scream trapped at its highest note.

  “No,” Firo told him. “You will be a noble sacrifice, the one who was sent to offer mercy to the troll king, only to be betrayed and murdered by a Sorrow Blade. That,” he said, advancing with the weapon, “will be the end of any talk of peace.”

  Simith retreated, but another fairy grabbed him from behind. Magic pulsed from his captor’s grip, holding him in place with unnatural strength. He glanced back. Katie hovered just behind. So close. If he could break free for even a moment to enact his plan, they might have a chance.

  But Firo was already there, pulling open his leathers, and Simith knew it was too late for hope. The blade brushed his skin, the metal shivering in its eagerness to drink his cries.

  Only, the cry that erupted wasn’t his. It came from behind Firo. The Helm turned at the sound. The fairy that restrained Jessa had toppled to the ground, grabbing a bloody nose while Jessa herself held the back of her head, wincing. She searched the ground. What was she doing? The fairies would recapture her if she didn’t move.

  “Jessa, run!” Simith shouted, but she didn’t. She bent down and retrieved a slender stick from the tiles. His eyes widened. It was the iron arrow that had been dropped earlier. She held it uncertainly, as though she’d never touched one before in her life. Clearly, not a fighter. Then the fairy she’d head butted stirred and she jabbed his arm with the arrowhead. He fell back with a howl. Simith almost laughed in astonishment. Maybe she was a fighter after all.

  Using the distraction, he stomped hard on his captor’s instep. The fairy cried out, stumbling, and the grip on Simith’s arms loosened. He tore one side free and drove an elbow into his foe’s ribs, feeling one snap under the force. The fairy dropped to his knees, wheezing, but Firo was already turning back. Simith aimed a desperate kick at the Helm’s hand and sent the Sorrow Blade spinning from his grip. With a snarl, Firo lunged forward, fist raised. Simith grabbed Katie.

  “Forgive me for this,” he told her and swung her in front of the incoming blow. She let out a muffled shriek, magical tethers preventing her from blocking it.

  Realization filled Firo’s eyes, but it was too late to draw back. The strike connected with her cheek and sent her reeling into Simith. He caught her to him, easing her to the ground. She had her eyes squeezed shut, groaning from behind the gag, but still conscious.

  Firo stared down at them, his expression caught somewhere between bewildered and appalled.

  “You bargained my life in exchange for your hostage,” Simith explained. “A hostage you promised not to harm. You’ve foresworn yourself.”

  “Because of you,” Firo spat. “Striking her was no intention of mine.”

  “Did you stipulate that in the agreement, or did you swear no harm at all?”

  “It doesn’t matter. No one would hand me the blame for a trap like that.”

  “Except the Fae.”

  Their mention stumbled him for only the slightest moment. “There are no Fae. They no longer exist.”

  “It seems some escaped to other realms. Like this one.”

  Firo paled. “I don’t believe you.”

  A swift wind gusted through the front door. The sky beyond it crackled with lightning. The lights overhead flickered.

  Firo unsheathed his crystal blade. “You allied yourself with the Fae? Has your race no memory of their savagery?”

  Simith settled Katie beneath the nearest table. Her eyes seemed clearer, but she was still bound. He needed to stall for time until the Fae arrived.

  He stood and faced his commander. “Fairy kind may have defeated their immortal cousins, but you studied well at their feet. Loyalty in exchange for peace, that was your promise, yet all we have known is death.”

  “And you shall know it now,” Firo answered softly, drawing his crystal sword. “For if I’m to die, you will join me.”

  He swung his blade, a blindingly fast stroke to cleave him from shoulder to hip. Simith flexed his wings, turning swiftly to catch the wind coming through the doors. It launched him past the slash of Firo’s sword, but he quickly lost control of his flight in the rising gale. He rolled once in midair, flaring his wings like sails to boost him upward. He caught hold of the rectangular edge of a quad of lights, still blinking erratically. Through the glass panes of the ceiling, lightning streaked the sky.

  A scream turned his attention downward. The fairy Jessa escaped had regained his feet and grabbed for her. Both struggled in the wind, but Jessa more so as she tried to evade his grasp. Clay planters flew across the room like leaves in a storm. One smashed into Firo as he made his way to them, and he staggered. Jessa made a run for the side entrance, but a table shifted suddenly, clipping her. She fell. The fairy advanced, dagger drawn. Jes
sa skittered back on her elbows.

  Simith let go of his perch, straining wings and muscle still sore from injury. He had no magic to lend to the attack, only the speed of his descent. He crashed into the fairy like a bird of prey and took him to the ground. Clamping one arm around his foe, he knocked the weapon from his grasp with the other. The fairy bucked in his grip. They grappled across the floor. For a heartbeat, Simith had the upper hand.

  The tingle of magic forewarned his loss. One moment, he had the fairy pinned, the next a pulse of power hurled him into a glass pane of the greenhouse wall. It cracked, the impact ripping the air from his lungs. The world spun and he shook his head roughly. The fairy had located his dagger. Only a handful of paces separated them. Simith reached back to pull himself up.

  A hand caught his instead. Jessa crouched beside him. The wind thrashed her midnight hair around her face, her dark eyes huge with fear. A knowing calm lingered in them too, as though she had seen death before and long expected it to come again. He did not wish her to see it. He did not want her to die. He’d been unmade by violence, and some irrational place in his heart promised if he could save a life—this life, hers—perhaps he too could be saved.

  Simith kept hold of her hand and stood, the wind so fierce he had to brace against its pull. He cast his gaze upward, testing his wings in the relentless gale. It flattened them painfully against his back. He didn’t dare try to fly them to the rafters in this. The atmosphere was heavy with magic. The Fae would soon arrive. Jessa tugged on his hand in warning.

  Firo had joined his comrade, his mouth moving in what was surely Simith’s true name, but the wind swallowed the sound. They rushed forward to attack, barely hindered by the wind with the aid of their magic. Simith pulled Jessa behind him. The side entrance door wasn’t far. If he held their attention, she could escape. They’d cut him down quickly, but it might be enough time.

  He pushed her toward the door. “Go,” he shouted, and ran toward his enemies, a battle cry rattling from his throat.