“I’ve got you, princeling,” he murmured. “I can’t promise about the future. But right here, right now... I’ve got you.”
End of Book Two
Forsaken Fae: Book Three
By R. A. Steffan
ONE
“PERHAPS, IN the end, it does not matter.” The quiet words, spoken against the side of Len’s neck, broke the preternatural stillness inside the hollow tree trunk where he and Albigard were being held prisoner.
Len’s knees were screaming in protest after an hour or more spent awkwardly hunched around Albigard’s trembling body. They’d been dumped here after their audience with the Fae Court had gone spectacularly wrong, culminating in Albigard lying to his father to prevent Len from being used as a hostage against him.
Apparently, the Fae prohibition against intentionally misleading another was more than just some strange cultural code of conduct. When Oren had questioned him, Albigard insisted dismissively that Len was of no importance to him, and held no value beyond his potential utility in containing the Wild Hunt. The moment the lie had passed his lips, Albigard lost his magic—leaving him teetering on the verge of physical and emotional shock. He’d barely managed to hold himself together long enough for the guards to portal them back to this cell and restrain him against the wall with magical bonds.
Len had managed to calm him down enough to pry out of him exactly what had happened. Since then, he’d been plastered to Albigard’s side as tightly as he could manage... at a loss for what to do beyond holding him.
A Fae who intentionally misleads another is no longer Fae, Albigard had told him ages ago, when this mess had first started. Len had dismissed the words as some kind of stupid, old-fashioned proverb.
And—hey! Look where that had gotten him.
“Of course it matters,” Len told him, refusing to move or let go despite his imminent need for knee replacement surgery. “I told you. We’ll figure something out.”
The irony of spouting such blatant bullshit under the circumstances wasn’t lost on him. For one thing, Len had absolutely no idea how to reverse the loss of a Fae’s magic caused by lying. And for another, Albigard wasn’t wrong. If he ended up being sacrificed to the Hunt, whether or not he had magic when he died wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference to the end result.
Yet somehow, saying yeah, you’re probably right about that seemed like a dick move. Call it human cultural conditioning, but Len couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“What did your dad mean when he said you were keeping pets again?” he asked instead, because while that was probably a horrible choice of conversational gambit as well, it was still better than the alternative.
Albigard sagged in Len’s grip, as much as the invisible force pinning him to the wall allowed, anyway.
“Over the centuries, I have occasionally taken humans as vassals for various reasons,” he said.
“Yeah,” Len replied. “I’d kind of noticed.”
Fae held alarming amounts of power over human beings, simply by virtue of their magic. Human myths held repeated warnings against accepting gifts from the fair folk—and with good reason. As Len had learned firsthand, doing so gave the Fae in question a connection to your soul. Depending on their particular abilities, they could use that connection to track you, or to draw power from you to bolster their own.
Albigard already held such connections with both Zorah Bright and Vonnie Morgan—the first, a vampire who was currently deceased, and the second, a human with natural magic of her own. When Len had voluntarily accepted a gift from Albigard, it had been because that was the only way to power their escape from the Wild Hunt after they’d been cornered inside a dead pocket realm.
To date, Albigard hadn’t abused the bond or given Len cause to regret the decision. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that Len was an untrained necromancer, and utilizing the animus that he attracted from the dying was physical agony for a Fae who normally depended on living things for power. But even so—
“I don’t get the impression that collecting human vassals is all that unusual for your people,” Len said. “So that still doesn’t really explain the ‘pet’ remark.”
“It is not unusual, no,” Albigard agreed. “However, I have generally resisted using those humans as mindless foot-soldiers to increase my status and power on Earth. That part... is, in fact, somewhat unusual.”
Len’s stomach twisted as he took the words on board. He’d seen human military commanders grovel in front of Unseelie operatives who secretly pulled the strings of power on Earth. He’d felt the pull of Fae influence on his own thoughts, even though his necromancy gave him a measure of resistance to Fae magic.
“Oh,” he said. “Right.”
So, apparently Oren considered the fact that Albigard didn’t make a habit of using controlled human slaves as literal or metaphorical cannon fodder to be a source of contempt. The level of hatred Len was coming to feel for Albigard’s father probably should have alarmed him, since he wasn’t normally a hateful kind of person. Unfortunately, there were so many other things alarming Len these days that his fervent desire to pound Oren into the dirt was buried pretty far down the list right now.
“Quite,” Albigard said faintly.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Len told him, “I’m rather appreciative of your moral stance on the subject, under the circumstances.”
Albigard let out a harsh, stifled noise. “It’s a moot point now, anyway. With my magic gone, you’re as free as any human can be... while incarcerated in a jail cell in Dhuinne, at any rate.”
“And you’re still really bad at reassurance,” Len retorted. “But I’m keeping your stupid hair tie anyway, so there.”
Albigard’s gift—a little strip of cotton fabric torn from the prisoner’s garb he’d been wearing—had been clenched in Len’s fist when the Fae portaled them out of the dead pocket realm, whisking them away to safety in Chicago. Later, he’d stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans without giving the action too much thought. A meaningless gesture, probably—but it was still there, sharing space with the energy bars Vonnie had pressed on him when he and Albigard had left Earth and traveled through the gateway to the Fae realm.
Before Albigard could come up with any sort of reply to Len’s outburst of sentimentality, a large patch of the tree-trunk wall to their right began to glow orange.
“What the hell?” Len breathed, instinctively turning to place his body between the unknown danger and the helpless man behind him. A subsonic vibration hummed through the air, setting Len’s teeth on edge.
“I do not know,” Albigard replied, in the tone of someone who was already running close to capacity when it came to unexpected plot twists.
Len pressed his back against Albigard’s front as the vibration became bone rattling, steadying himself with a palm against the rough surface of the wall. The wood shuddered and creaked beneath his hand. Meanwhile, the glow intensified until it was hard to look at, and he was forced to turn his face away.
A second later, the affected section of the tree trunk exploded inward, peppering them with bits of wood. Normally, Len would have yelped in shock, but at this point his shock receptors seemed to be pretty thoroughly burned out. When a figure in silhouette stepped through the brand new, person-sized hole in the side of the tree, Len wasn’t nearly as surprised as he should have been to recognize the dreadlocked female Fae who’d slipped out of the Court hearing just as he and Albigard were being dragged away.
“Oh,” he said stupidly. “It’s you. Um... hello.”
A second, taller figure stepped through the gap—male, but wearing the same kind of rough, primitive clothing as the woman. The pair was the polar opposite of the other bejeweled and buttoned-up Fae Len had seen since arriving here. They looked wild. Uncivilized.
The woman gave Albigard a quick onceover, not sparing Len much more than a fleeting glance.
“He’s bound,” she said to her companion. “Free him qui
ckly; guards will be coming.”
“Wait—you’re busting us out of here?” Len asked. “Why?”
“Stand aside, human,” said the male Fae.
Len didn’t move from his protective crouch. “Albigard?” he asked. “It’s your call. Yes or no?”
“I have no doubt that if you do not move out of the way voluntarily, they will remove you by force,” Albigard replied dryly. “And in fairness, I’m not certain our circumstances can really get any worse than they currently are.”
Len winced. “You know, one of these days you and I need to have a talk about the concept of tempting fate.” Even so, he moved out of the way beneath the male Fae’s severe look before making another attempt to get information. “At least tell us who you are before you kidnap us?”
The male crouched, running his hands over the space a few inches from Albigard’s body. After a few moments of concentration, he clapped one hand to Albigard’s forehead and the other to his chest. Coils of light flared across Albigard’s body. He jerked as though he’d been shocked, and slumped forward when the light disappeared—free of his bonds.
Well... free except for the iron collar and shackles, anyway.
Len hurried to catch him before he could land face-first in the dirt. He helped Albigard stagger to his feet, even though Len’s own legs weren’t feeling much steadier than his companion’s appeared to be.
“Seriously,” Len said. “Answer the question, damn it! Who are you?”
The woman gave him a tight smile that came nowhere near her eyes.
“We are the Forsaken,” she said. “And we must leave before guards descend on the Dead Forest in force.”
TWO
LEN GAPED AT her, aware that Albigard was wearing an identical open-mouthed expression as Len steadied him with a hand around his upper arm.
“Move,” hissed the male Fae. Swirls of fiery magic twisted around his raised right hand.
Len snapped his jaw shut and moved, dragging Albigard along with him. Before they’d completed their awkward sideways shuffle through the shattered hole in the tree trunk, the sound of crackling flames heralded multiple Fae portals opening around them. There were more of the ragged Forsaken arrayed outside, and they turned toward the incoming threats with clutched weapons and hands sparking magic, ready to cast.
Guards poured through the open portals, and suddenly blasts of magic were flying all around them. Len’s breath caught in his throat as he debated lunging for cover inside the tree they’d just escaped—but there were noises of battle coming from that direction, too.
An invisible force slammed into the thick bark inches from Albigard’s head. Before Len could properly start to panic, the woman with the moss-colored hair slipped past them and threw up a hand in a blocking gesture. A wavering glow shimmered into existence in front of them, bolts of magic impacting it and sizzling into uselessness as she strained to hold the barrier steady.
Len chanced a look over his shoulder, trying to see what was happening inside the destroyed tree cell, since there was nothing protecting them against an attack coming from that direction. A flash of light burned his retinas and a guard fell through the opening with a grunt. Next to him, Albigard jerked his arm free of Len’s hold and pulled a dagger from the female Forsaken’s belt—hunching awkwardly to accommodate the chains shackling his wrists to the iron collar encircling his neck.
He fell to his knees next to the writhing guard and plunged the blade through the left fifth intercostal gap near the man’s mid-clavicular line. Len’s chest jolted as though he were the one who’d just been knifed through the heart—but before his brain could settle on some kind of a coherent reaction to the fact that Albigard had murdered someone right in front of him, a whoosh of icy cold power exploded outward from the dying guard and settled around Len’s shoulders like a cloak of lead.
He staggered, catching himself clumsily against the side of the tree—the breath catching in his lungs. “Fuck,” he choked, as Albigard looked up with hard green eyes to gauge his reaction.
A spatter of crimson blood painted one perfect cheekbone, looming in Len’s wavering vision as the chill of the Fae guard’s death animus sank beneath Len’s skin and disappeared.
He’d barely recovered his equilibrium when a second wave hit him, an instant before a headless body fell across the first guard’s corpse like a sack of potatoes, with blood pouring from the stump of its neck. Albigard staggered upright and grabbed Len before he could crumple to the ground, an ironic reversal from mere moments ago.
The male Forsaken emerged from the tree, stepping over the bodies without sparing them a glance.
“Portal,” the female Forsaken snapped, bracing the magical barrier in front of them with both hands, as more attacks from the guards burst against it.
The male Fae whistled sharply. In his peripheral vision, Len saw him make a curt gesture with one hand. A moment later, a portal flamed into existence, and he stepped through it. Albigard dragged Len through after him, the pair of them collapsing onto the vine-choked ground as soon as they reached the other side. The woman followed a moment later, still with her hands raised to hold the shield in place on the other side of the tunnel in reality. She let her arms fall to her sides as the portal snapped shut.
Len lay in a tangle with Albigard and tried to breathe past the heavy block of ice crushing his chest. The seconds ticked by, and more portals opened in the overgrown clearing where they’d ended up. Wild Fae came through in ones and twos, some of them supporting injured comrades.
“That’s everyone,” said the male Fae who’d freed Albigard and presumably blown the head off a guard.
“No sign of pursuit?” asked the female Fae who’d held the shield for them. “Good, let’s get back to camp and figure out our next steps.”
She cast another portal, and strong hands pulled Len and Albigard to their feet. After another moment of dizzying dislocation, Len found himself in a rocky landscape overgrown with the ever-present massive flowering vines. The place seemed to be a narrow canyon between two cliff walls, with a fast-moving river tumbling along the middle. The shadowed entrances of caves half-hidden by vegetation loomed on either side.
And there were people here. Dozens of them, including children—all with the same ragged and unkempt look as their rescuers. Or were they kidnappers?
At this point, Len was almost beyond caring.
Thankfully, he was also starting to feel slightly less like he’d just inhaled an iceberg... though there was a definite buzz of energy surrounding him that was both similar to, and different from, the presence of his old, familiar specters.
This is your brain on dead Fae animus, a little voice in the back of his skull offered helpfully. He shook his head to dislodge it.
Next to him, Albigard wasn’t faring quite so well. He looked as though his burst of activity during the brief battle had drained whatever paltry reserves of strength he’d had left, and the Fae holding him by the arm might be the only thing keeping him upright. Len moved to take his other arm, somewhat reassured by the fact that the Forsaken who’d pulled him to his feet and dragged him through the portal let him go without a fuss.
“We have injured,” called the moss-haired woman, who seemed to be one of the leaders.
Most of the activity in the camp had ceased upon their arrival, as all eyes focused on them—but at that prompting, several people hurried forward to assist with the wounded Forsaken being supported by their comrades. When all of them had been led off toward the entrance to a cave, the man and woman who’d taken the lead during the battle turned to regard Albigard intently.
“Are we your prisoners?” Albigard asked without preamble, his exhaustion clear in his voice.
Len held his breath as he awaited the answer, since it was blatantly obvious that they were both outnumbered and outclassed by the group around them. If the Forsaken wished them ill, they were pretty much screwed.
“That rather depends,” said the woman. Her tone was pensiv
e as she paced a circle around them, studying them with a direct green gaze.
“On what?” Len pressed, when she didn’t elaborate.
“On whether your companion is willing to assist in rescuing Dhuinne from its imminent dissolution and destruction,” she clarified.
Len’s gaze flew to Albigard, as the sense of the words penetrated.
“You’re aware of the Wild Hunt’s forays into the other realms, then,” Albigard said, sounding almost relieved. “And the state of the veil separating Dhuinne from the human world?”
“Of course we are,” snapped one of the male Forsaken who’d been supporting an injured comrade earlier. “Do you think we risked our lives to free you on a whim, Unseelie?”
“That’s enough, Ruvik,” said the woman, before returning her attention to Albigard. “As my clansmen says, we are indeed aware of the damage. Probably in more detail than you are. However, that does not answer my question.”
Albigard’s shoulders sagged. “The Hunt is tracking me across realms. I am already resigned to my own death”—Len’s fingers tightened around his arm involuntarily—“but I have lacked any strategy that would give that death meaning, by stopping the damage being done to Dhuinne and the other realms.”
The woman exchanged a long glance with her male counterpart, and nodded. “A good answer. In which case, you are our guests rather than our prisoners.”
Len briefly considered feeling offended by the fact that his human opinion hadn’t been consulted. Fortunately or unfortunately, he didn’t have the energy to spare for offense right now.
“Great,” he said, and gestured at Albigard’s shackles. “In that case, can we please get this iron off him?”
The male Fae gave the heavy chains an uncertain look. “We have a few blacksmithing tools...”
Len sighed. “If someone can find a dagger with a narrow tip and a thin piece of metal like a pin or a length of wire, I’ll pick the locks. Again.”
Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3 (Last Vampire World) Page 37