The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “You knew that when you told her she could go home if she wanted to.” Little John’s voice was almost a whisper, his sudden understanding stealing the usual confidence from his tone. “When you promised her you would find a way to make it happen if that’s what she wanted.”

  “Yes, such an arrogant braggart I am.” Robin laughed then, but there was more cruelty than humor in the sound. “I was so sure. So absolutely certain that she would stay, that she would never leave. That it would never come to this.”

  “You love her,” Will said softly.

  “Your observation is as unwanted as it is ill-timed.”

  “She loves you back.”

  The bow was in his hand, the string screaming with the tension of the arrow nocked and ready to fly at the spriggan’s throat.

  Will stared at him down the shaft of that arrow, his glamoured eyes calm. “Let me kill him, Robin.”

  The bow dipped, his heartbeat so loud in his ears he was certain he’d heard wrong. “What?”

  The half-spriggan, half-goblin crouched down, the position looking stranger with the human glamour he wore, wrong somehow without his thin, spindly legs. He looked up at Robin, and he had the uncomfortable sensation of a king looking down at a begging peasant.

  “You are not a killer, Robin. I’ve seen you conjure glamours that made even my blood run cold, heard you elicit screams from humans and other creatures that would be at home in any nightmare, witnessed creativity that would make your foster mother swell with pride. But you don’t kill. It is a line you drew yourself, not because you can’t, but because you choose not to.” Will smiled. “As in all things, you made the choice for yourself and you rejoice in it, are confident in it. It is part of what makes you who you are. A big part of the reason we follow you.”

  He grew serious then, and some of the light leaked from his eyes. “Let me kill the sheriff. It would be nothing for me. But I think… I think it will change you. You may not be the man she loves afterward.”

  Robin sank to the ground, unable to bear looking down at his friend, even in a purely physical sense, not right now. He replaced his bow and the arrow on his back and put his hands on the spriggan’s shoulders.

  “Will, you are such a good man, and I don’t think you believe it. Someday I will prove it to you, but until then, I can only thank you. Thank you for your friendship and your willingness to be the friend I need.” He shook his head. “But I must do this. Do you understand? I gave her my word.”

  “She wouldn’t want you to keep it this way,” Little John insisted.

  Robin looked back at the shifter, but this time he felt no anger. Just a deep…sadness. And resignation. “If I don’t do this, then I’ll never know.”

  “Never know what?”

  “Why she stayed,” he whispered. “If she stays—when she stays—I need to know it’s because she wanted to. I need to know…” He shook his head. “I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if she would have left me if she could.”

  It wasn’t until after the words had left him that he realized what he’d said. What he’d meant. A minute dragged by, heavy with silence. Slowly Will stood and by some silent understanding, they all started forward again. None of them spoke the rest of the way.

  If it hadn’t already been a certain thing that the sheriff was up to something, it would have become crystal clear as they arrived at the area designated for the contest. Instead of holding it in the main county where such festivities were usually held, the sheriff had ordered everything to be set up in a large meadow. The grass was knee high, and the entire area was surrounded by thick forest. The targets were mounted higher than normal, propped up on bales of hay to make them visible over the reaching blades of grass and wildflowers. A few benches had been set up for spectators—what few had braved the wild to watch, and the meadow was trying to swallow them whole. Still, the prize was of ridiculous value, and there were hundreds of contestants turning the meadow into a mob.

  “Is no one questioning why he arranged for the tournament to be held in the middle of the woods?”

  Will’s question hung in the air, seeming awkward after the long silence between them.

  Robin ran his thumb under the strap of his quiver, settling it more firmly on his back. “No one will question him. No one will want to draw his attention.”

  “And who could blame them?”

  Little John spoke under his breath, managing to gesture at the sheriff without looking in his direction. Robin pretended to inspect his bow, raising it to give him an excuse to look where Little John had indicated. His throat went dry.

  The sheriff was not a well man. His black hair was unwashed, greasy and twisted into thick tendrils that suggested he’d been pulling at it. His eyes were too bright, darting about the meadow like a cat searching for an injured mouse that had somehow limped off. A thick cloak—far too thick for the warm day—hid his body completely. Something about the way the material hung spoke of things hidden beneath the folds, as if the good sheriff was carrying more than his usual sword with him. He turned and the cloak gaped at the chest, something shiny catching the sunlight, throwing it into Robin’s eyes.

  Robin hissed. “He’s still wearing the iron.”

  Will pulled his hood down, hiding more of his face. “I thought you said that wouldn’t be a problem as long as he didn’t touch you with it? Since the glamour isn’t on him?”

  “That’s not the point.” The bile that seemed to have only just settled in his stomach bubbled up again, splashing his tongue with acrid bitterness.

  “Being forced to experience death—even just mentally—is not a small thing. Our psyches are not meant to deal with that kind of trauma, that kind of harsh reality—certainly not more than once.”

  He’s gone mad.

  Little John leaned on his walking stick, putting his mouth closer to Robin and away from the surrounding contestants. “The sheriff was touched by a curse—a curse with fey origins. He should not be wearing iron.”

  Will scratched at his temple under his hood. “If it will hurt him, then isn’t it good for us that he’s wearing it?”

  “No.” Robin turned his back to the sheriff, unable to bear looking at him anymore, knowing that he’d simultaneously driven the sheriff mad and brought Marian to his attention. “The iron won’t hurt him, not like it would if he were fey. It’s more…” He waved a hand in the air, searching for the right way to explain it. “The iron will eat at the edges of his consciousness. A buzzing in the ears, a slight itching on the skin. Little things that are meaningless in small doses, but if one is exposed to them for too long they can take a toll on one’s sanity.” He pulled an arrow from his quiver, needing something to occupy his hands. “Imagine trying to concentrate with a pixie on your shoulder, rambling nonstop for hours, days.”

  Will recoiled with a hiss. “Why would he do that to himself?”

  “Because I’ve pushed him too far.” Robin ran a finger over the head of his arrow, testing its sharpness even as his mind drifted far away. His plan weighed heavily on him, pressing down with the added weight of the sheriff’s condition. Until now he had held out hope that the sheriff’s death would not be necessary. Once he’d returned Marian’s property to her, he’d hoped to find some way to escape, to wait until the full three days had passed, until she’d made her choice. He could have looked her in the eye and promised it would be possible to return to her old life, and he would only have had to go through with the murder if she chose to return. But now…

  “Robin…”

  “I know, Little John.” He rested a finger on the tip of his arrow, watching a bead of blood well up around the tip. “I know.”

  “Um, I think we might have a bigger problem.” Will sidled closer to Robin and Little John, taking the arrow from Robin as if sharing in the inspection. “The sheriff should be looking for you or Marian, trying to find you in the crowd. But he’s not.” He leaned in as if he would lick the drop of blood from the arrow, then seemed to re
member himself and stopped, twirling the shaft in his fingers and eyeing the feathers with a discerning squint. “He is searching the forest.”

  Little John angled himself to face the sheriff’s direction so he could look at him without turning his head. “He’s right. He’s trying not to, but something is drawing his eye.” The shifter met Robin’s eyes. “Perhaps we should return to the question of why the good sheriff decided to hold the contest here?”

  “It is strange.” Will bent his legs, then bounced up, obviously fighting the urge to resume his customary crouch. “If his plan is to capture you or Marian, then why hold the contest here where you’ll have the advantage?”

  “What advantage could he be giving himself holding it here?” Little John asked. “His wolves could not have healed this quickly, so he couldn’t have chosen this spot to hide them.”

  “Not to mention, there’s a field full of archers here, so bringing his wolves would just be begging to get them shot again,” Will added.

  “Perhaps he has guards hidden around here, a sort of trap for you, Robin.”

  The hairs on the back of Robin’s neck rose, a thought coming to him from the darker corners of his mind. “No, not humans. If he wanted to surround me with guards, he could have done that in the village—or he could have them dressed as any other archer surrounding me now. No, if he’s using the forest then…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought even as he grew more and more certain he was right.

  Little John’s grip tightened on his walking stick. “You don’t think he’s recruited help from the otherworld, do you?”

  “Yes, I do.” Robin rolled one shoulder. He suddenly had the feeling of cobwebs on his skin, an unmistakable sensation that he would have noticed much sooner if he hadn’t been stupid enough to let himself be distracted. “We’re being watched. Something is wrong, something is very wrong.”

  “We’ve been played for fools.” Little John straightened, abandoning his pretense of leaning on the walking stick. His voice dropped to the gravelly base that often preceded a shift to his other form. “He forced us to act rashly, to come here without planning.”

  “Calm yourself and don’t give us away,” Robin hissed. “This changes nothing. Saving Marian’s land is still our number one priority.”

  Little John’s eyes flashed, a bare glimmer of amber through his glamoured disguise. “Robin…”

  “Will, search the forest. See if you can find any unpleasant surprises waiting for us. Report back when you’ve swept the perimeter—any hiding places that would let someone watch the archery tournament.”

  The spriggan nodded. With his hood still pulled down low over his eyes, he melted into the crowd, just one more body in the mass of people milling about waiting for the contest to begin. Robin held his breath, part of him waiting for someone to shout, to chase him, as if a bright beacon had been painted on him. But no such cry came, and the spriggan disappeared to see to his mission.

  “Robin, we should leave. Something is wrong, you know something is wrong.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I will not say this again. I am not leaving without that deed.”

  A man’s voice broke over the crowd, announcing the start of the tournament. The organizers began to make their way into the throng of people, pulling men and women into lines to have their first shot at the targets. A woman with pixie-like features and short hair that couldn’t decide if it was red or brown smiled at Robin and Little John, gesturing for them to get in line behind the third target.

  Little John waited for her to move out of earshot before leaning closer to Robin. “The deed will do you no good if you do not live long enough to sign it over.” His nostrils flared, and the breath coming from his broad chest grew noisier, rattled in his lungs before being forced out on an exhale. “Robin, what about Marian’s dream? What if it wasn’t a dream, what if it was a vision? She saw your death.”

  Robin drew his bow, tested the tension of the string. Little John’s words drilled down through his psyche, touching on a thought he’d already had himself. Before he’d seen the sheriff, he would have scoffed at the idea of the man doing anything so rash as to shoot him in front of a crowd of people, but now… He gave his bow far more attention than it warranted, trying to distract himself from the dread rising like a noxious cloud inside him. “It was not a vision.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t even know what she is, she could have the sight.”

  The bow sagged in his arms, his hands trembling as every nerve in his body danced in the wind of Little John’s growing agitation. “Quiet and let me think!”

  Little John stepped closer, pressing harder. “Aren’t you the one that keeps going on about how she needs to break ties with that land anyway? How much happier she would be if she would just leave it all behind?”

  Anger flared anew, chasing back his fear for a few blessed seconds. His voice dropped to a snarl and he glared at Little John. “I told you, it has to be her choice.”

  “Oh, now you want me to have a choice.”

  Robin and Little John both whirled around to face an all-too-familiar voice. Robin’s jaw dropped.

  “Marian.”

  The huntress stood in front of him, tall and proud, without so much as a spot of dirt to mar her identity. She wore the dress she’d come to him in, a green velvet creation edged in ruffles of gold around the elbows, shoulders, and neck. The hood of her matching cloak was cast back so the wild red curls of her hair waved like a beacon to all. Already the crowd was buzzing with conversation, everyone shocked to see the woman whose absence had set this tournament in motion.

  She leaned in. “You really should speak with Will about his posture. All the glamour in the world won’t hide him if he keeps squatting like that.”

  “Damn you, woman, what have you done?” Robin grabbed her arm, shook her once, hard.

  Marian’s face tightened and she ripped her arm from his grasp. “I am here to win my land back—as I told you I planned to do this morning. A better question would be what are you doing here?”

  Robin looked back at the sheriff, unable to help himself. The madman was smiling. Not the small half-smile Robin had seen so often, but a wide, beaming smile that would have been more at home on Will’s face. His blood ran cold and he groped for Marian’s arm again.

  “I am here to fulfill my promise to you. I told you that if you wanted to return to this life, then I would make it happen. This is merely a task I must complete to assure I am able to keep that promise.” He tried to work up a smile for her, but even glamour wouldn’t hide the desperation he knew was etched all across his face. “Marian, please, run. Leave, trust me to save your land.”

  Again she stepped back, pulling her arm free from his weakening grasp. “No. You need to leave and I will save my land.” For a moment her face softened, a plea in her light green eyes. “Robin, go. You know if you stay, the sheriff will have your head.”

  “No, I will have his.”

  The words squeezed past clenched teeth, a fear unlike any he had ever felt before wrapping cold claws around his heart and squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You were right, I should have left you alone. I should have let you be, let you live the life you wanted, let you have your choice.” He grabbed her hands, held them to his chest as if he could keep her here even as he begged her to run away. “If I had known then… If I had realized what I was bringing down on you, I never would have—”

  She pulled her hands from his, but instead of stepping away from him, she cupped his cheeks in her hands. The touch was so gentle, so loving that it stole the words from his tongue, left him speechless and staring. She smiled at him and the sight took his breath away, chased away his fear for just a few precious moments.

  “I would have chosen you.”

  Her words were clear, spoken with calm confidence, but somehow he must have misheard. He drew back, eyebrows knitting together. “What?”

  Marian traced his cheekbones
with her thumbs, raising one hand to stroke his hair. “I would have chosen you. I want you to know that. I don’t need the three days. I knew after one—less than that, if I would have been honest with myself.”

  He leaned in to her touch, chasing it when she drew her hand away. He reached for her, tried to pull her back, but she sidestepped him, stopped him with a sad smile.

  “I’m going to win this contest, and I’m going to sign my land over to Ermentrude. I think…I think my parents would like that. She loves that land as much as they did, she’ll take good care of it.” She took a deep breath and nodded, almost to herself. “Once that’s done, I’m going to live my life. The life I want.”

  “With me?” Robin whispered the words, unable to make his voice any louder for fear it would break.

  A pink tint colored Marian’s cheeks, but she smiled. “If I can.”

  The blush was as becoming as it was unexpected. It was also distracting, so it took Robin a moment to register what she’d said. He tensed, barely resisting the urge to grab her again. “What does that mean, ‘if you can?’”

  Marian’s smile wilted. “You’ll see.”

  “Marian—”

  The rest of his sentence was swallowed by her kiss. He didn’t even see her move. One moment she was standing there, with that unbearably sad smile on her face, and the next she was pressed against him, arms around his neck, pulling him down. Soft lips sliding over his, their breath mingling into one. Rational thought slid away, melted under the heat of her mouth, the sweet passion of her kiss.

  Before he could gather himself enough to react, it was over and she was pulling away. Her eyes shone, lit from within, and now it was his turn to have a vision. He saw Marian lying in the grass, her red hair spread out like the rays of a setting sun. Her pale skin bared to the evening sky, cradled by tender green blades of grass. A soft moan spilling from her lips, a moan he swallowed when he bent to kiss her, his body sliding over hers…