The Blood Forest (The Tree of Ages Series Book 3)

by Sara C. Roethle

  Its attention caught by her hisses and groans, the unicorn ambled over to where she sat. Its breath fogged near her face as it lowered its muzzle to examine her. It took a few steps behind her, then lowered to the ground.

  Feeling unbearably weary, Finn unfurled her bedroll and covered herself, then leaned back against the unicorn’s soft belly. She instantly began to doze off. As she rested, she thought she could hear soft whispers around her. Her subconscious convinced her that the whispers were part of her fervent dreams, and she slipped into oblivion, sandwiched between the warmth of the unicorn and the fire.

  ANDERS COULDN’T BREATHE. He was sure his lungs would pop at any moment. He thrust his arm upward, flailing for the next handhold. His palm scraped against rough basalt, setting his already raw skin on fire. With a final burst of effort, he pulled himself upward. He rolled across the edge to fully plant his body on top of the cliff face.

  He stared upward as a flock of sparrows flew across the cheery blue sky, then a white, bald head hovered into his vision.

  “It’s about time,” Niklas teased, not out of breath, nor scraped nor bruised in the slightest.

  Anders coughed, bumping the back of his head against the rocky earth, his lungs still burning from the long climb. “How did you get up here so quickly?” he rasped.

  Niklas shrugged, his shapeless robes minimizing the gesture. “My people are well suited to traveling great distances.”

  Anders huffed, then forced himself to a seated position. Standing would have to wait a few moments more.

  “Are we at least almost there?” he groaned.

  “Take a look behind you, my lad.”

  Though Anders didn’t appreciate the condescending tone Niklas added to the word lad, he craned his neck to look over his shoulder. In the distance behind him was a massive castle, or perhaps the better term was fortress. This was not the fancy home of a lord or lady in the Gray City, this was the dwelling of someone expecting war at any moment. The high walls were topped with ballistas and massive metal pots ready to be filled with hot oil. Anders squinted, trying to make out the men positioned every ten paces, but he could not see if they wore uniforms, nor could he see any banners flying above the spires.

  “Is this where that angry woman lives?” he questioned, still staring at the fortress.

  “Now you can see why I wanted her guarantee of a warm welcome,” Niklas explained.

  Anders staggered to his feet. “To what lord does she belong? Surely none of the great cities would allow such a fortress to stand without its mistress declaring fealty.”

  Niklas snickered. “How little you know of politics. This woman has no allegiances . . . although she did spend some time as the Lady of Migris.”

  Anders shook his head in disbelief. As the Lady of Migris? He supposed it was possible. No one had seen the Lady in years. There were rumors that she was actually a man, a Reiver, or perhaps one of the Faie.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.

  Nodding, Niklas started forward. Anders staggered after him, hoping this would be his final task. Surely he’d earned his sister back after all he’d endured? He eyed the fortress ahead warily. Perhaps instead, he’d soon be joining his sister on the other side.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bedelia woke with a start, then leaned forward to rub her sore back. She’d been leaning against a cold stone wall, somewhere dark, though her internal clock sensed that it was daytime. She jolted as she tried to move her shoulder, quickly remembering the bandaged arrow wound. Soon the rest of her memories returned, and she realized she was back in a cell within Oighear’s compound.

  She remembered taking off on horseback with the others, then the blizzard hit, blinding her. She was attacked and knocked from her mount. Her head slammed into something hard on the ground, and she’d been carried back to the compound as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

  She lifted the hand of her uninjured arm to the back of her head, finding her hair snarled with congealed blood. Lovely. She’d expected Keiren to kill her, or perhaps Iseult. It seemed wrong that she’d now die in a dungeon alone, her conscience uncleared of her secrets.

  “Did you see what happened to the others?” a male voice asked from across the cell she was in.

  She strained her eyes in the darkness, but could not make out the man’s form. “Iseult?” she questioned.

  “Yes. Did you see what happened to the others?”

  Bedelia shook her head, then cringed in pain. Realizing he probably couldn’t see her regardless, she explained, “I lost sight of everyone in the blizzard. I have not seen them since.”

  He did not reply.

  She resituated herself, gasping at the pain in her shoulder. Cursed injuries. “You’re the last person I expected to be captured,” she commented, then instantly regretted it. She could make such a comment to Kai or Anna, but saying such things to Iseult might prove dangerous.

  He was silent for several moments in which she imagined him creeping closer to kill her, then he sighed, “I actually thought I was dead at first, until you arrived. Death would have been preferable to this entrapment.”

  Bedelia agreed, given the horrible fate that likely awaited them both. “So what do we do now?”

  “We wait,” he replied. “Our wounds were tended for a reason. Likely so the Aos Sí can torture information out of us.” He was silent for a moment. “If you tell them anything about Finn, I will kill you myself.”

  So he’d been wounded, then bandaged? Hopefully that meant her head wound wasn’t severe, since it had been left unattended. “I wouldn’t do that,” she assured, thinking of Finn and where she might be. “I’m quite sure she’s the only friend I’ve ever had.”

  “And yet, you have not been honest with her.” There was no hint of accusation in his tone, he was simply stating a fact.

  “I had my reasons,” she sighed. “Though at this point, they do not seem important.”

  The silence stretched out until Iseult said, “Tell me. You should express them at least once before you die.”

  She snorted. “Then you’ll tell me yours?”

  “No.”

  Her soft chuckle hurt her chest. Perhaps she took a rock to the ribs during her fall, not that another injury mattered among the others. “I suppose I should start from the beginning.” She took a steadying breath. “I had been traveling with a mercenary group, longing for freedom, when I met the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I gave her my heart. Little did I know, she had no heart to give me in return . . . ”

  FINN WOKE to the sound of hushed whispers. Her unicorn was a solid, warm weight behind her head and upper shoulders. Tired and confused, she slowly opened her eyes. Countless brightly colored shapes flitted around her face. They seemed to glow with a gentle light that would have likely been much stronger had it still been dark outside.

  She blinked several times, focusing on the shapes. The glitter of wings, beating impossibly fast, became apparent. She tried to jump back, but instead just thunked the back of her head against the unicorn as one of the shapes darted in to hover right before her nose. A tiny woman, draped in purple gauze that perfectly matched her wings and hair, hovered before her.

  “G-greetings,” Finn stammered, curiosity and caution warring within her.

  “Greetings, my lady,” the little woman buzzed back, her voice a lovely high pitch like tinkling bells. “We did not mean to wake you. We simply hoped to learn what one of the Aonbheannach was doing this close to the lands of man.”

  “Ah-von-ash?” Finn questioned, slowly sounding out the word.

  “The horned creature you are so rudely lying upon,” the little woman explained. Her fellow winged friends continued to flit about, glittering in the sunlight.

  Finn sat up with a start, forcing the little woman to dart out of the way. She looked back at the unicorn, horrified that she’d somehow offended the rare creature.

  The unicorn stared back at her with glittering blue eyes, not s
eeming to mind.

  “Her name is Loinnir,” the little woman buzzed next to Finn’s ear. “You have been granted a great gift by her presence. She once belonged to the Snow Queen.”

  Finn gasped. Did she mean Oighear? So not only had Finn escaped imprisonment, she’d stolen Oighear’s personal unicorn?

  She turned wide eyes to the tiny woman. “And who are you, that knows so much about ah-vooh-nash?”

  “Aonbheannach,” the woman corrected. “I am Corcra, den mother to my pixie clan.”

  “Corcra,” Finn began hesitantly as Loinnir rose up behind her, “could you please tell me where I am?”

  Corcra sighed, though it sounded more like a high-pitched whine. “How in the tattered wings should I know? We’re in the middle of nothing. I’m leading my clan on our migration, somewhere far from the Snow Queen’s ice. We die in that sort of cold.”

  Finn stood, kicking away the bedroll still tangled around her boots. “Could you perhaps point me in the direction of the nearest road?” she asked distantly, her attention once again caught by the dazzling, colorful display of pixies.

  “Aye,” Corcra replied, dipping down to once again hover in front of Finn’s face. “We’ll have to cross it on our way to the coast. In return, perhaps you could provide a distraction for us. It is in our best interest to stay out of sight from the world of men, and the world of the Snow Queen alike.”

  Another of the pixies, a tiny man with pale green wings and hair, flitted near Finn’s injured arm. “I smell blood,” he buzzed, his voice only a few octaves lower than Corcra’s.

  “You have already eaten today,” Corcra hissed.

  Finn’s pulse raised a few notches as she took a deliberate step away from Corcra and her kin.

  Not seeming to notice, Corcra flew in Loinnir’s direction, then turned to face Finn. “Let us depart. She says you may ride her again.”

  Finn scowled at the heavy saddle, still on the ground where she’d left it with the bridle. She would have trouble lifting the saddle onto the tall unicorn any day, let alone with an injured arm. Dismissing the idea, she instead rolled up her bedroll, tied the two satchels from the saddle around it, and carried the bundle toward Loinnir.

  Once again, she looked at the tall unicorn doubtfully.

  As if understanding the issue, Loinnir knelt on her front legs, allowing Finn to drape her bundle across her shoulders, before climbing up behind it. Having respectfully forgone the bridle in favor of allowing the unicorn to lead the way, she intertwined her fingers with Loinnir’s silky mane, then Loinnir raised herself.

  A fluttering sound announced Corcra, seconds before she landed on Finn’s should.

  She shivered. “Don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgotten that blood comment.”

  Corcra chuckled. “Do not fear, we are mostly carrion eaters. We’re not likely to taste your blood until you’re dead.”

  Her shoulder’s stiffened. “That’s not terribly comforting.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” Corcra replied. “Still, our small hands are more than capable of stitching your wound, and Loinnir will carry you as far as she can, though I doubt she will remain in the land of men with you. I’m not sure why you would want to travel one of their roads.”

  “How do you know I’m not one of them?” Finn inquired, beginning to relax. She still needed to find her friends, but for the moment, it was nice to have conversation, and an offer to tend her wound.

  Corcra chuckled. “Loinnir once carried the Queen of the Aos Sí. She would only willingly leave her mistress for a more fitting queen, and not a simple human one.”

  Finn chewed on her lip, wondering how much she should divulge to Corcra. “I am no queen,” she said simply. “I am no one at all.”

  “Many women have said such a thing,” Corcra replied, “only to later move entire nations.”

  Finn smiled softly, though she knew Corcra was wrong about her. She was tangled in a web with spiders approaching on all sides, not the queen, but the prey. Queens might be capable of moving mountains, but her only business was staying out of their way.

  “WHAT DO THE DAIR PLAN?” the female Aos Sí demanded.

  Iseult barely even noted her graceful features, her black hair, or the black tunic and breeches she wore. They did not matter. If he could not escape, at the very least, he would not speak. He would die with honor. It didn’t matter that he had no idea what the Dair were planning. He would give the Aos Sí nothing.

  The Aos Sí woman growled, and Iseult braced himself for the pain of a hot poker, or perhaps a blade, but the pain never came. The woman stalked past him until her footsteps faded out of hearing range, only to be replaced by new footsteps heading toward him.

  He tried to keep the surprise off his face as Oighear moved around his chair to peer down at him. She blinked intelligent, lilac eyes, as if she were reading his thoughts.

  “You are very loyal,” she said finally.

  She began to pace, the long train of her glittering white gown hissing across the stone floor.

  “Normally, loyalty is a trait which I highly reward,” she continued. She laced her pure white hands together and turned toward him. “Unfortunately, yours seems to be misguided. The Dair stole my magic once, and I will not allow it to happen again. Lead me to my shroud, and we shall defeat them together.”

  Iseult was almost tempted by her offer. If they could defeat the other Dair, perhaps Finn would be safe, but he had a feeling Oighear would lump her in with the others.

  She waited for his reply, but received none.

  She quirked an eyebrow at him, the fine white hairs barely visible against her matching skin. “I know of your people,” she stated casually. “So few left now,” she mused. “I wonder, what happens when you die without a soul?”

  Iseult once again schooled his expression to show nothing, though it was difficult. Few knew of his people’s curse. In fact, with the disappearance of the Cavari, and his lack of kin, for many years he believed himself the only one with the information.

  She began to pace again. “I can break your curse with the help of my shroud. It removes the barrier to the in between, where the souls of your people are trapped. Join me, and you will have everything you could ever hope for.”

  “If your deal were truly so sweet,” he replied, “you would have offered it from the start, instead of imprisoning us.”

  Ire flashed through her lilac eyes. “The girl is Cavari. She would see me returned to my eternal slumber. I learned my lesson centuries ago. One does not make treaties with enemies.”

  “Yet you seek out the Dair?” he questioned, hoping to keep her talking, though he wasn’t sure why. Any information he learned would do him little good once he was dead.

  She smirked. “Not all Dair are Cavari. The Cavari are twisted and evil, far from where their people originated. I had hoped to find the other Dair to band against the Cavari, along with the other Faie. Together, we would be unstoppable.”

  “And let me guess,” he taunted, “you would be the queen of all?”

  She tilted her head, cascading her silken hair over her bony shoulder. “Naturally.”

  “And if I join you,” he pressed, “declare you my new queen. What then?”

  “We find the shroud, kill the Cavari, and rule the earth.”

  Iseult shook his head and laughed. “That is the problem with queens. It’s never about saving your people, or bringing justice to wrong-doers. Your sole concern is power. You surely are no queen of mine.”

  “You have just as much reason to hate the Cavari as I,” she snapped.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  She frowned, then looked past him toward someone entering the room.

  “A large contingent of men has been spotted in the Western Woods,” the visitor explained.

  Oighear’s frown deepened. “Humans?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And why are they still alive?” she inquired.

  The informant stepped furth
er into the room, revealing himself to be one of the many armored Aos Sí. “They skirt the boundaries, my lady. A large force would need to be deployed, leaving those who remain vulnerable.”

  Oighear let out a throaty laugh. Iseult did not miss the way the Aos Sí warrior jumped. Perhaps Eywen and his associates were not the only ones who feared their queen.

  “Let us see if these men can withstand the wrath of Oighear the White,” she growled.

  Without another look at Iseult, Oighear swept out of the room with the Aos Sí. The door slammed shut behind them, then a lock slid into place, even though Iseult was already restrained in his chair.

  Ignoring the throbbing of his near-fatal wound, and the aching of his cold bones, he began to formulate his plan. Oighear might have been an ancient, magical being, but she was shortsighted, blinded by her own power and authority. Perhaps there was a way out of this situation yet, a way back to Finn. He wouldn’t get his hopes up, but if an opportunity presented itself, he’d be ready.

  ÓENGUS DREW his horse to a halt. Something felt odd. Even the winged creature at the end of his tether had lifted its head to scent the air, its spherical eyes intent on something in the distance. His men all came to a halt behind him, muttering to each other, but not daring to ask their Captain what was wrong.

  He inhaled deeply, tasting crisp moisture on the back of his tongue, yet the sky was clear. Then the first snowflake came drifting in, like a lazy fly fluttering up and down through the air. It landed on Óengus’ cheek. Before it could melt, more snow began to fall. The sky suddenly grew dark.

  Óengus stared upward. He’d seen sorcery many times, and knew this was no natural snowfall. A mighty gust came in, pelleting him and his men with snow. The creature tugged at its tether, making a nervous chittering sound in its throat.

  “Ride!” Óengus shouted, right before the sky closed in on them. He kicked his horse forward, suddenly blinded by the stinging white snow. Judging by the initial flakes it was coming from the southeast. To ride north would be backtracking, so that meant they must ride west. He veered his horse to the right and hunched over close to his saddle.