Fae of the North (Court of Crown and Compass Book 1)

by E Hall

  He grunts. “If by my side you mean she’d defend me with one hand and run a blade through me with the other, then yes.”

  “Did you love each other?” I ask boldly this time, practically choking on the question that bolted from my lips without permission.

  He trips over a rut in the road and catches himself. “Full of questions, tonight, huh? No, we didn’t or if we did, not enough.”

  “She doesn’t seem superstitious, but she had ashes on her cheeks.”

  “She’s probably up to no good, like us.” He winks.

  I melt a little bit inside and the taunt of jealousy dissipates.

  Soren ducks into a shop and returns with a glass bottle filled with golden liquid. “I’m a few dukhs lighter, but—” He takes a swig, wipes his mouth, and passes it to me. “I hope it’s worth it.”

  It smells like the drink Britta offered me—like golden grain baking in the sun, but then when I swallow, my throat burns.

  “What is this?” I ask, spitting it out and returning the bottle.

  “Cider. Our solution if we run into trouble.”

  We skulk along the eastern wall like Nadya instructed, sticking to the shadows. Footfalls pound above as the guards patrol. My pulse races, but my steps are as sure as Soren’s are thanks to my years of karate practice. When we reach the opening in the wall, we slip inside and a nasty odor makes my stomach pinch. I cover my mouth to stop from retching.

  Soren whispers, “Wastewater. You don’t suppose Nadya could have seen another way in for us?” His voice echoes hauntingly through the tunnel as we chase it along the shallow, slimy ground.

  “What did you mean when you said to Nadya that you only know the way out of Bearsden?”

  His jaw tenses. “I, uh, once enlisted in the guard. Thought I could overthrow the king from the inside out. Couldn’t hack it. Not proud of it. Let’s forget it.”

  “Then you know your way around?”

  “Somewhat. More importantly, I know a thing or two about the guards. Strengths, weaknesses, that kind of thing.” His voice falls into silence as we continue.

  When we reach the opening at the end of the tunnel, Soren abruptly bars my progress with his arm.

  I lean over to see that the wall drops steeply and into the waves crashing against sharp rocks below.

  He glances up at the sheer face of the wall. The space between where we are and the walkway at the top is about as tall as he is. He leans farther out and then ducks back inside, exhaling. “Really? She couldn’t have found another way?”

  “I don’t suppose the patrol would invite us in if we knocked on the front door.”

  He stifles a laugh and leans out of the opening for a few seconds, surveying the situation. “We’re in luck. There’s a groove in the wall. About an arm’s length up. Not afraid of heights are you?” he asks.

  I shake my head, listening for the patrols. “Not afraid of anything, remember? My mother told me never to fear anything...except fear. She said fear is the only thing that could stop me and not the thing I was afraid of.”

  “Wise woman, but I’m afraid,” he says. “It keeps me on my toes.” However, his legs soon disappear, and I hear the slap of his boots on the stone walkway above.

  I follow and have to stretch to reach the groove he mentioned. From the top, he holds his hand out, and I vault over the side.

  This part of the wall connects the haunches of two stone buildings adjacent to the base of the castle, but it’s around the backside and not visible from town. Torches burn along the wall, keeping away the demons and lighting our way.

  “Nadya said to take a right,” he says.

  “Three doors then two,” I say, repeating her directions.

  The low murmur of voices accompanies the approach of heavy footsteps. Without hesitating, Soren and I hasten to hide, suspending ourselves back over the raging water below. Our fingers grip the stone as our legs dangle.

  “Still not afraid?” he asks.

  “Nope.” I swallow hard.

  “You think she could have prepared us for this?” he asks.

  “No, because we wouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m not so sure that would stop you,” Soren says.

  “Fair point.” I wink and wonder if it has the same effect on him as his wink had on me.

  Chapter 12

  Soren

  As light as a spider on a web, Kiki grabs the bottle of cider from my bag and vaults back over the wall. She wedges it under her arm as I scramble after her, lugging myself up.

  “Where’d you learn that?” I ask.

  “Started tumbling class when I was two, karate when I was six, and training for the Police Force when I was twelve—junior academy after school,” she answers, brushing off her hands.

  Two guards are only a few paces away with their backs to us. Their laughter slurs in the patches of light and dark.

  She brazenly casts a, “Psst,” into the night.

  Neither of the guards wears their helmets and when they spin around, violet splotches color the space beneath their eyes, indicating working in the king’s service doesn’t offer them much rest. The tall guard on the right tilts leeward, while the short one catches him by the leather hem on his plain jacket, keeping him from falling over the edge. They’re off duty.

  “Don’t go the way of Mason, head over tosspot and down into the water,” says Short Guard. His voice reveals a long night of drinking, but not long enough for them to ignore Kiki and me standing where we shouldn’t be.

  Tall Guard laughs overly loud.

  “What’s this?” Short Guard, obviously the less drunk of the two, stifles a startle and reflexively taps his waist, but his blade isn’t there.

  “Intruders?” Tall Guard laughs again and coils comically as though he’s going to lunge at us.

  I stiffen and my fists clench.

  “Shhh,” Kiki shushes with her finger pressed to her lips. “I’m not an intruder. I came with a message.”

  “Ooh, a message?” asks Short Guard, his expression balances on the edge of amusement and menace.

  “Glad tidings or ill?” Tall Guard staggers forward.

  “A secret. For a friend, um, Tinkerbell. She just goes by Tink. She fancies—” Kiki glances at me. “Henry…and she’s hoping he’ll meet her at the bonfire tonight.”

  “Henry?” Short Guard chortles.

  “Henry?” the tall one echoes.

  “Not possible.” Then as if just realizing that I’m standing there, Short Guard snaps his attention to me. “Who’s this?”

  “I brought her cousin, Peter Pan,” she stutters and steps backward slightly.

  A sweet and sour stench wafts from the pair of guards along with the sharp tang of sweat.

  “We only wanted to let Henry know that she likes him,” Kiki says.

  “Maybe we were wrong about him,” the short guard offers with a shrug. “‘Ole Henry has himself a girl. Wonders never cease.”

  “They’ve been meeting,” I say in a conspiratorial tone. “But it’s a secret.” She holds a slender finger to her lips.

  I raise both of my eyebrows suggestively, not having any idea who Henry is or how Kiki came across him.

  “Why should we believe you and not throw you off the wall or bring you to the king?”

  Kiki steps forward again and puts her hand on her hip. “Why else would we be up here?”

  “Sneaky reasons,” says Short Guard.

  “Foolish reasons,” adds Tall Guard.

  The short guard shakes his head. “They’d be idiots to come to Bearsden if not for this stupid love story. Fine, we’ll tell Henry, but—” He belches. “What’s in it for us?”

  They look at each other in agreement and one takes a swig from a brown ceramic bottle, holding it just above his open mouth as the last drops land on his tongue.

  I take the bottle from Kiki, drink a long sip, and reluctantly part with it. “For your service to Fjallhold,” I say with false enthusiasm. “And for keeping this litt
le love rendezvous to yourself.”

  “I’m surprised a big guy like you isn’t among our ranks,” says Short Guard, barely reaching my chest.

  “I’m inked,” I say, gazing at my shoes. I keep my thoughts as clear as the night sky. I don’t think about the danger we’re in or that my shame at being inked is somewhat false. I’d rather not have the king’s marks upon my skin, but to the guards, it’s the lowest sign of weakness and my faux humility should pacify them. Little do they know I was once among them.

  Teasing and laughter ensue as the pair passes the bottle between them, still barring our progress. I engage with their stories of Henry’s idiocy and close scrapes around town. Meanwhile, Kiki slips away as quiet as a mouse, and I continue to distract them. I learn the tall guard is Heath and the short one is Moss. As the minutes pass, they become very dowsy.

  “Come on, give it your best shot,” says Heath, patting his chest. “Do it. You’re up for it.”

  “Am not,” I say with the beginning of a modest slur myself.

  “Alright, then I’ll pop you and see what you come back with,” Heath answers, raising his fists.

  “It’s forbidden to strike a guard,” I counter.

  “Kick me then, come on, as hard as you can.” He demonstrates, thrusting the air with his tall, polished boots.

  I’d take great pleasure in kicking a guard for the many times they’ve kicked me. “Not tonight,” I answer, stalling and hoping Kiki found the tapestry and is on her way back.

  “Then let’s see who can win a tussle,” he suggests, flexing his muscles and wearing an earnest smile.

  Moss says, “The man is honorable. He’s learned his lesson getting inked. He’s not going to wrestle you, Heath. Remember what happened when you took on that behemoth down in the Basin.”

  Ha. I choke on actual laughter. That behemoth would be me. I thought I’d recognized him. My lip curls at the memory of Heath stopping me at a checkpoint and how my fist landed on his cheek after he’d shoved me into a window, shattering the glass. A faint, kidney-shaped bruise on Heath’s face confirms the memory. I still find the occasional shard of glass in the folds of my coat.

  “Anyway, if you fight, one of you is likely to go over the edge,” says Moss.

  Heath sips from the bottle and trips, his arms windmilling backward, demonstrating Moss’s point.

  The bottle flies from his hand, and I race for it, afraid if it smashes, it’ll attract more attention. With one arm extended, I grab it while catching myself on the metal pole supporting a torch. The light dances from the sudden movement. I’m shocked another set of patrol hasn’t come by or Heath and Moss haven’t noticed Kiki isn’t loitering in the shadows. I thank the Hallowtide revelry and take another long sip and pass it back to them. The ground tilts away from me for a split second. I bark a loud laugh at the unlikelihood of where I am, but then check myself, having to keep my wits long enough to make it out of here.

  In the silence, Heath asks, “Where’s your friend?” Suspicion stripes his voice.

  My mind bobs from the cider. I might like to be more than friends with her. I’d like her to name me sweetly.

  Kiki’s voice carries from the torch next to the entry Nadya indicated we use. “I’m right here.” She quickly approaches, her coat more padded than I recall. “I’m not interested in falling off the wall. Just over here enjoying the views.”

  Heath steps closer to her and asks, “What was your message again?”

  She clears her throat. “Tink wants to meet Henry under the pier.”

  “Ooh, under the pier,” he singsongs suggestively. “How about we don’t tell Henry and meet Tink ourselves.”

  This wild improvisation is moments from falling apart.

  Kiki swallows. “She’s not that kind of girl.”

  I shake my head. “No, an ogre, really. Warts, missing teeth. Have you smelled her breath?” I ask Kiki, keeping up the charade.

  She picks up my meaning, waving her hand in front of her face, but more than likely wafting away Heath’s breath. “It’s awful. I’ve suggested she brush, but she said Henry doesn’t mind.”

  Their laughter echoes. “That explains it. In this case, Henry is the beauty.”

  “And that’s saying something because I’d rather not look at him even if I was blind in one eye and couldn’t see out of the other,” Moss says.

  “Shall we escort you out or would you rather leave the way you came?” Heath asks with dark eyes.

  Kiki jumps over the wall and calls, “I wouldn’t give Henry a hard time if I were you. I have a feeling he’s going to get the last laugh.” Her own laughter follows her over the edge.

  I lift my arm in farewell before dropping over the wall. My other hand scrambles when I miscalculate the location for my feet. I slide down, grasping for a hold.

  A small rope flies by as I pass the opening to the tunnel and drop perilously toward the rushing water. I grab the very end of it before plugging my oversized feet into a small crevasse to one side of the opening where Kiki waits, holding the thin, knotted rope that doesn’t look like it could carry the weight of a raven. Then again, they have wings. Maybe Kiki does too.

  “It’s stronger than it looks,” she answers. Her glittered eyes glint in the low torchlight.

  So is she.

  She holds the rope stable, beckoning me up.

  I grip it, thankful for the four knots as I climb, hand over hand. When I pull myself into the tunnel, I crash against her and we both fall to the ground.

  I don’t mind being this close to her, not at all, except for the stench rising from the wastewater as the rising tide washes over the entrance.

  Her eyes are wide and her cheeks pink.

  I’m frozen, unable to move, captivated by her beauty, her eyes, her lips.

  She groans. “You’re crushing me.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I apologize, getting to my feet and offering her a hand.

  Kiki splashes ahead of me through the tunnel, not looking back.

  We race along the lower wall as laughter and festivities sound from above. I don’t trust the alarms not to blare, alerting a company of guards to chase us down, but the cider dulls the concern, leaving me bold enough to laugh at breaking into Bearsden—one of the few schemes I’d yet to pull in Raven’s Landing.

  The Hallowtide festivities continue in the harbor and the bonfire roars against the waves carrying the candles out to sea. Temptation pulls me toward the firelight until Kiki stops me at a crossroads. My head swims with cider and the ground rises and falls in the near darkness. The laughter, flames, and the hundreds of candles floating on the water spin and distort.

  “It’s beautiful,” she says. The firelight doesn’t quite reach us, but she glows as the moon illuminates the smooth curves of her features.

  “Enchanting,” I say, tilting my head toward her.

  “Are you okay?” Kiki asks, looking up and resting her hand on my arm.

  I stagger backward. “Definitely maybe.”

  Sparks from the bonfire crackle skyward, but disappear before they reach the stars, taking the moment with them.

  The Roost is uncommonly quiet and relatively dark with everyone at the Hallowtide celebration as we turn up the hill in our own bubble of silence.

  Back at the Roost, I warm water and Kiki bathes behind a screen in the corner, washing away the filth from the tunnel. Afterward, I do the same and then spread my clothes out to dry. We huddle under blankets.

  “Henry?” I ask.

  She smirks. “Blame the cider.” Her soft laugh is like the trill of birdsong. “I overheard some of the patrol talking about what an oaf he was...” She shrugs. “I took a chance.”

  “And if his name wasn’t Henry and you misheard or if one of them was Henry instead of Heath or Moss—?” I ask as the risk of what we did catches up with me.

  “Did you have a better plan? Drinking all the cider?” she teases.

  I hiccup, scolding myself for not being more civilized.

&nb
sp; Once we’re warm and dressed, Kiki lays the tapestry on my bed. I kneel next to her and she doesn’t object when our arms brush and remain pressed together.

  “I got the map,” she says triumphantly.

  “If you didn’t, we’d either be in the ashpit or Hargrave.” I indicate a place off the tapestry where the dead are laid to rest and then take in the rest of the outerlands.

  The possibility of what lies beyond the borders sobers me. “Raven’s Landing is a peninsula. You came in from here.” I sweep my hand along the northern region bordering the sea and then point to where we’re going. “If we make it out, first we have to cross the I’s.”

  “The eyes?” she asks.

  “Because you never know who’s watching you. The innerlands: Inneveldt then Inismoore—the moorland,—and Inverness—the forest.”

  She traces her finger along the thin threads of the tapestry leading to a blank space. “What’s here?”

  “That’s the Royal Road that leads to Nine Days. It was once called Innsbruck if I remember correctly. They used to say that passage between here and the Morgorthian Mountains took nine days, but no one in recent memory has stayed alive here,” I point to what was once Innsbruck, “for longer than nine days. It’s now a ghost town. Then we head up this way to Briar Knoll, the Bogs, Landsdowne, and at last the mountains.”

  “That’s a lot of places.”

  “It’ll take us a bit of time.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “Sunrise.” I rub my hand down my face. I need to sleep off the cider because her words, her lips, and her sugar snow scent spin circles around me. She shifts in and out of focus. I collapse onto the bed and my eyes immediately close.

  I dream of Kiki. Of course, I dream of her as I’ve been doing since I found her in that tree in the hills.

  When the haze of a foggy morning wakes me, Kiki isn’t in the bed or seated in the chair. The fire is nothing more than a thin curl of smoke, and I bolt to sitting. The tapestry is folded neatly on the edge of my bed. I worry that she rushed off to the castle again.

  I get to my feet, swaying slightly, and pull on my coat against the chill. The coins jingle softly in my pocket. Half are gone. A stone plummets in my stomach. She left.