Caged: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 4)

by Jessica Aspen

A meal of cold chicken, cheese, and fruit sat on a side table. She dove into the food, devouring it in minutes. This was her third meal and she still felt like she was never going to get enough. Was it dinner or breakfast? Without any daylight coming into the room, she had no idea. A deep longing to see the sun washed over her. Maybe, if she stood in the sun’s weak winter rays, she’d be able to get warm.

  She had to get out of here. She needed to see the sun. And then there were the other reasons, the deeper reasons. Things she didn’t know if she could do anything about, but she knew she had to try.

  Her parents, her village. She had to know if what she’d done over a hundred years ago had threatened those she loved. And Bosco might be in danger. He might be heading toward the queen’s palace even now, thinking she was still alive and imprisoned.

  Boots, knapsack, and sword all in place, she left the room. Doyle had impressed upon her the dangers that lay within Cairngloss. It didn’t hurt to take everything with her, just in case.

  Glowing lights lit up the empty hall. “Doyle?” she called. But there was no answer.

  To the right lay the maze of tunnels he’d shown her yesterday. She was sure there was an exit to the outside down one of them, but which one? The only sure way to the outside was to the left, and into the area he’d said was occupied by the dragon.

  She turned left and went around the corner to where there was only a single door. Heavy dark wood carved with an ocean scene. Tall slender gnomes sailing on a boat and wielding narrow curved blades and long skinny axes against what she was sure was a sea monster.

  “Beyond this point, there be monsters.” A small laugh with no humor behind it came out of her mouth, and she shook her head at her own fear. She’d faced the Winter Queen, spent a hundred years in ice, and been carried here by a dragon. What did she have to fear?

  Swallowing her nerves down, she lifted the latch and eased it open, nearly jerking it shut at the sight inside.

  The room beyond was an enormous cave, lit only by two torches and filled with shining piles of treasure. Coins and jewels were piled everywhere. Shining silver cups and necklaces, and even a golden shield studded with rubies lay abandoned in a corner. And curled on top of the largest pile was the sleeping dragon.

  He was beautiful, with the kind of dangerous beauty only a predator at rest could have. His white hide gleamed with blue highlights made deeper by the flickering of the torchlight. His eyes were closed and his body rose and fell with an even, quiet breathing.

  She had an insane desire to sneak up and touch him—to see if his skin was soft or scaly to the touch. But she pulled herself back at the last second. Blessed Danu, what was she thinking? This was a dragon and he’d already threatened to kill her.

  Doyle had told her not to come in here for a reason.

  Siobhan eased the door shut and tiptoed away, not breathing easily until she was around the bend and safely in her own section of the lair. She hadn’t even seen another door and unless she was much mistaken there was no way out past the dragon that wouldn’t entail waking him. A deep shudder went through her. She definitely wasn’t going to do that.

  She’d just let sleeping dragons lie and see what the other tunnels held.

  She went back into her room looking for the lantern, but not finding it. “Where the hell did you put it, Doyle?” It could be anywhere, in any one of the cabinets that filled this space. Or he might have put it into one of the other rooms. Or it might be in with the dragon.

  Doyle might return at any time and she wanted to find a way out before then. So, she wasn’t going to waste time looking. Instead she grabbed a candelabra with three branches off of the table. She was bound to stay here by her own oath, but having an exit that didn’t have either a dragon or black magic guarding it seemed like a good idea.

  She left the room and headed for the dark end of the hallway. She opened the door that kept the chill of the tunnels from the living quarters. It was pitch black beyond the glow of lights. She blew out two of the candles, only leaving one small flame lit.

  One candle to head out. One to head back. And one candle—just in case she couldn’t make it back. She wrapped her hand tightly around her only source of light and headed into the dark.

  Chapter Six

  Nerves buzzing, Siobhan went the short way down the tunnel and took the left-hand path Doyle had ignored yesterday. Almost as soon as she’d left the central hallway, the ceiling dipped lower, the rock walls seeming to squeeze in. She could still stand upright but with each step she felt the press of the mountain above her. Her breath tightened in her chest.

  She was a child of the open north where even in summer not much grew except for wide expanses of grass and the occasional scrubby bush or and tree. Her people stayed well away from the dark southern Forest of Pines, too crowded with trees. And too close to Cairngloss. Close to dangers, like the keep of the troll-kin, renegade dwarves, and the big white-and-lavender-striped tigers that skulked in the branches ready to pounce.

  Staying in the open was safe. Walking in the dark under a mile of heavy stone made her heart pound like a sledgehammer on ice.

  She had no idea how long she walked, but just as she was beginning to despair she came to an area where it widened out and she could stand upright. A trail of water leaked down the wall, running from a tiny crack in the ceiling to form a small puddle before leaching away into the ground. This was as good a place as any to see if her magic worked beneath the weight of all the other magics Doyle said lurked under Cairngloss.

  She gathered her Gift and pulled dampness from the air. She blew, combining her breath and her magic with the moisture, forming large fluffy snowflakes that danced in the air before gliding gently to the ground and melting away. A bit of her tension eased. Okay. She could at least make some snow. What about ice?

  Kneeling by the small puddle on the tunnel floor she willed the surface to harden and freeze. A sort of slush formed, hardening into a thin sheet of ice. She pointed at it and drew the tip of her finger to across the muddy looking surface. Lovely white flowers burst into being, skating across the puddle, as if the feet of the tiny fae themselves had left the patterns.

  She smiled, even as tears filled her eyes. Freelana had been gone for a hundred years, but to her it had happened yesterday. Even as she mourned her friends, the water warmed and the pictures she’d drawn melted away, leaving nothing but a puddle.

  Her Gift wasn’t strong enough to produce ice on command. She needed water to perform her magic. Not that she could use it to do anything other than decorate the walls. The tears she’d shoved back earlier rose up and she slumped against the wall.

  What use was she?

  She’d barely saved Bosco. She hadn’t been able to do anything when Freelana and her sisters had died, and there had been cold and snow aplenty in the Winter Palace. She squeezed her eyes shut to push away the tears. Something brushed her feet. She jumped, opening her eyes and reaching for her sword. A flash of white appeared at her feet, and then was gone. Startled, she pulled her sword from its sheath, ready to defend herself. But in the flickering of her candle, nothing moved, except a sigh of air through the empty tunnel.

  Panting heavily, she picked up the candelabra and held it high, shining it up and down the tunnel. She was alone. She swallowed down her nerves and continued moving down the tunnel. Doyle had said the mountain was haunted. She hadn’t really believed him, but now? She could turn back, but she’d come so far now. She looked at the candle. Halfway gone. She still had time to move forward.

  A few feet on, the hallway narrowed again, pressing in on her. There was another flash of white at her feet, flitting down the tunnel into the darkness. Something pressed on her ankle. She stabbed with her sword, her blade hitting the floor, skittering across the stone.

  Once again her small circle of light showed her she was alone. But something had touched her. Something was out there, in the dark. Out where her candle couldn’t shine its light.

  Slower now, checking
every step she made and blade at the ready, she continued on. She reached another tunnel branching off down into the dark. Left or right? She lifted her candle up and looked down the left-hand path. It seemed to get even narrower. She started down the right. A ghastly face leapt in front of her, huge and white with black holes for eyes. It leered at her, its rubbery white lips pulling down into a grin. She struck, but before her sword could reach it, it was gone, her blade slicing down into the empty air.

  “Left it is.” She backed up and went the other way.

  Sword bobbling in the thin flickering light, Siobhan tried to still her shaking, repeating out loud as she walked down the narrowing passage, “That was not a ghost. That was not a ghost.”

  Visions of will-o-the-wisps and bansidhe raced through her head. Underhill was a world of magic, where any horror you could conceive could grow in the mists, and with enough belief, it could become real. Down here in these twisted corridors, how many men’s imaginations had gone wild, creating their own doom?

  DOYLE WOKE FROM THE dream state of astral travel, the cold fire of his anger burning deep inside his belly. How dare they? Had they all forgotten their vow to save the queens?

  He rose and paced back and forth across the wide cavern, his tail lashing from side to side, coins sliding and slipping with each step.

  Seven queens, one each for the seven types of dragons. Fire, ice, earth, air, crystalline, freshwater and sea water. Seven males to guard them for the thousand years until they hatched, and then the short launch into adulthood.

  Dragons were not team players. And now, instead of banding together as they had when their world had been falling into war and ruin, now they were split. Maybe it had been folly to expect their liaison to last.

  But he’d counted on them. What was he to do now?

  His head and tail drooped. It had been the last chance. They’d brought their eggs here and gone back to save their world. And failed.

  When he’d first come to this world it had a small population of elvatians, the Fir Bolg, who were at war with another group, called the Tuathan De Dannan. They’d been so concerned with their fighting, neither he nor his brethren had worried about them. He’d left his egg buried in a remote frozen location—no one but a few villagers struggling to survive, reindeer, and frost fae and mist for miles. He’d made it safe, anchored the treacherous mists with a series of standing stones.

  He’d thought to fly in at the last minute and have his brethren distract Maeve while he used his magic to help the little dragon queen get out of what had now become her prison. But he and his charge had been abandoned.

  He snorted. His pacing was getting nothing done. He had to get out of here. Maybe fly somewhere and hunt. Maybe fly over the palace and see if he could come up with a better plan. But before he left he’d better check on his new charge.

  The scent of his guest drifted down the corridor and his dragon sensitive nose picked it up. She smelled deliciously female. A wondrous bouquet that caught him in this form and promised him pleasure once he’d shifted.

  He shifted to humanoid, got dressed in the jeans and t-shirts he’d discovered he loved, and headed for what had been his room, but was now Siobhan’s.

  The Tuathan maid fascinated him. This female was one of the weaker elvatians he’d come across, and yet she’d dared to defy Maeve, a queen who held the right to rule by her own power. He’d sat and watched the girl sleep for hours, wishing he had the Gift to speed her healing. She was lovely, despite the sharp bones of near starvation. Her long white blond hair spread out across the pillows. And when she’d opened her eyes they’d been the color of sharply faceted black diamonds—rare and exquisite.

  What balls she had. She’d had the audacity to try to manipulate him into creating a bond of fealty. He smiled to himself as he stared at the door. Imagine what kind of power she’d have if she’d been Gifted with more magic. She would have been able to take on Maeve herself.

  She was smart, gutsy, and, not only that—this form thought her body was immensely desirable. As a dragon he hadn’t given much thought to the scrawny woman he’d carried here, but as a man? Soon her bones would be softened by curves. His smile widened to a grin. Yes, this form found her immensely desirable.

  His knock on the door was met with only silence. “Siobhan?”

  He frowned and knocked again. She should have slept enough. He’d left her for hours. He lifted the latch and opened the door. The room was empty.

  All the rage at his brethren, Maeve, and his impossible situation coalesced into a hot ball in the pit of his stomach, reemerging as a roar. “Where the hell is she?”

  Chapter Seven

  Finally outside the caves, Siobhan blinked in the bright light of an early winter’s afternoon. The ledge she was on was only a few inches wide and stretched from the cave’s mouth along a sheer ravine. She moved one foot at a time until she was able to step fully onto the snowy surface of the steep mountain, and let out the breath she’d been holding in.

  Here, the slope was manageable with scrawny pine trees and bushes clinging to life between the rocks. She waded through deep drifts of snow, looking as far down the hill where she could see more trees than she’d ever seen in her life.

  “The Forest of Pines.”

  Her people told stories of the forest far to the south of the Winter Palace and the treeless north, where she lived. White tigers and large winter wolves hunted there, and there were pitfalls for unwary travelers. It was haunted by strange spirits from long ago, before the elvatians had left their home world and come here to fight over the riches of Underhill.

  A cool breeze blew and she shivered. She was still weak from the stasis. Other than what had been in her pack years ago she hadn’t brought any supplies. Would her water bottle even be filled or her pemmican bars edible?

  The trees spread as far as she could see. Somewhere, east of Cairngloss, was Caer Bol, the stronghold of the troll-kin. A mixed race, as fierce as the trolls they sprang from, but smarter because of their elvatian blood. And vicious with hatred of the Tuatha De Dannan.

  She had her sword, but she was really an artist, not a fighter. She could get by, but it was a long journey to the Winter Palace and an even longer journey home. How long, she had no idea, but she knew her people rarely came down here, and the trip was dangerous, even in a group.

  She could sculpt flowers galore, but could she use her powers to find Bosco? She had to try. In a sheltered corner behind a rock she lay her sword beside her and hunkered down, blowing on a shallow pile of snow until it melted. She used her Gift to form a clear skim of ice on the top. Gathering her power, she called up an image of Bosco, as she’d last seen him. Scared and alone, floating off into the sky. She pulled her knowledge of his aura from this memory, and projected it onto the thin ice.

  Something formed, but it was covered with a haze. She tried again, and again, but it was no good. Bosco was out there. Somewhere. But something hid him. Something powerful.

  She stood up and brushed snow off of her legs.

  The queen had said Bosco was alive. Maybe Maeve knew where he was and what had happened to him. If that were true, weak or no, cold or no, she had to find out. She had no idea if she’d ever get this chance again. She had to go now. If she even could. She had no idea if the oath she’d sworn would let her leave the mountain, but she had to try.

  And once she’d fulfilled her duty to her brother she would come back and serve out her bond to the dragon. She sheathed her sword and took the first step onto the steep hillside, her boots sinking deep into the snow. Wouldn’t do any good to fall and skewer herself with her own weapon, now would it?

  With that cheerful thought, she slipped and slid down the steep slope, across fallen branches and piles of boulders, until she reached the spot where the side of the mountain flattened out and the trees thickened and she entered the edge of the Pine Forest.

  It was quiet in here. The weak winter sun was even weaker filtered through the heavy branches of the tr
ees. She wasn’t used to trees and the dark shadows they cast were threatening. Anything could hide in here and you’d never see it coming. Every step she made seemed loud in the silence. She looked back the way she’d come, but she couldn’t see anything but brooding dark branches and glimmers of sky.

  Siobhan squared her shoulders and went deeper into the trees, cracking tiny branches under her feet and jumping at each and every sound. The only way was forward and north. Making sure to keep what sun she could see on her left, she took the only trace of a trail that she could find, and made her way deeper and deeper into the woods.

  Something rustled the branches behind her and she jumped pulling her sword out and turning around. But she didn’t see anything. Something else moved in the other direction. She whipped around, sword out, and sucked in a gulp of air. At the edge of the trail, two glowing yellow eyes peered back at her. She held still, frozen at the sight. Like a ghost, the shape of a tall winter wolf emerged, lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

  She bent her knees and braced herself for its attack.

  Another grey shadow appeared beside it. And another, their yellow eyes gleaming with hunger. The first wolf gathered its muscles, ready to leap.

  Blessed Danu, she was screwed. One wolf, maybe. Three? No way. Not with her muscles tired from her short walk down the mountain and her belly once again screaming its need for food. She gave an ironic grin to the first wolf, her hand shaking in fear.

  A bolt of blue light shot from behind her, nipping the wolf on its shoulder. It yipped, flinching away. It snarled and gave her one last glare before all three wolves faded back into the shadows. Siobhan pivoted on her heel, stomach lurching but ready to defend against whatever scared three hungry wolves from their prey.

  In short sleeves with no hat or gloves, Doyle stood, a huge frown furrowing his handsome face. “You should be resting. What the hell are you doing out here?”

  “I should think it was obvious. I’m escaping.”