Caged: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 4)
Page 19
The little fae’s face screwed up with effort and she sent mental pictures—blood on snow, fallen bears, dead men. The black and gold banner of a southern prince she didn’t know. And then the face of someone she did know. Older, harder, and very determined. Bosco was leading an army, and it was headed straight into the heart of the Winter Queen’s demesne.
Her heart swelled with a fierce love for her baby brother. He wasn’t lost and he wasn’t in some prison. He’d come back. For her. And he’d brought an army.
She forgot about the portal and ran up the side of the mountain. Into the door, through the tunnels, until she emerged, panting for breath in the lair. “Doyle!” she shouted, searching through the rooms. But he wasn’t there. “Doyle, where are you?” She pounded on the dragon’s door, but there was no response and it was locked tight.
“Damn it!” She needed to explain to him why she was doing what she was going to do.
She’d come back with him to practice her magic, but she could open a portal now. And there was no time. Bosco was heading to the Winter Palace to save her, but she was safe. She had to get to Doyle and tell him, before it was too late.
He’d trusted her, and now she had no choice but to betray that trust.
She stuffed food into her mouth and gulped some water before heading back outside. She couldn’t portal to the battle site. She had no idea if the tiny fae’s images were correct. She had no clue where she’d end up. To Frosheth, everyone was huge and slightly distorted. But the Winter Palace, she knew.
She’d head there and then go to the battle. She’d intercept Bosco long before he got to the gates. She’d ski, walk, crawl if she had to, but she was going to stop him before he got there. And then together, they’d kill Maeve and stop her predations forever.
Chapter Thirty-two
Ardan bowed low and gestured for the queen to examine the results of Ringwold’s labor lying on the table in the tower. “My queen, the chains to hold the dragon.” The chains and net glowed a sickly yellow green and he had his shields cranked as high as he’d ever needed them.
The dwarf had done the impossible. He’d taken the bone and formed it into linked chain, etching each link with dwarven words in black iron that curled and flowed, cutting deep into the bone.
Maeve stepped forward, her shielding glowing bright in the presence of the iron. “My, my. You actually got it done. I didn’t think you would.” She leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek. A cool shiver passed over his skin and despite his best efforts, his cock got hard.
“The dwarf got it done.”
“Yes. You still owe me for making that deal. I wanted all of the dragon bones. A cage would be ideal, but I won’t have enough for that now.”
Ardan held his tongue. She’d nearly taken his head for giving away the rest of the bones, but he could tell by the way her eyes gleamed that she was pleased. She really hadn’t thought he could do it. He wondered what she would have done to him had he failed.
She walked around the table, leaning over and examining the bones as she went. “How do we know it will fit the dragon? They don’t look big enough. And I might want to use them on a different dragon.” She winked at him. “One never knows.”
“The dwarf put a spell on them so they’ll fit, no matter what size dragon you put them on.”
“And where is this dwarf.” A wicked smile crossed her lips. “I want to show him my...appreciation.”
Ardan shook at the gleam in her eye. “He’s gone, Your Majesty. He took his pay and left the moment the job was done.”
“You let him go?” The air turned cold.
“It was the deal.”
The truth was he’d had no choice. The dwarf had taken his pay and left muttering about stone cold bitches. Ardan had been relieved he hadn’t had to present Ringwold to the queen. Danu only knew what would have happened. But now, looking at the queen’s anger, it might have been better to have him stay.
Maeve stared at him and the temperature in the room dropped even farther and frost climbed up the stone walls. He held his breath. This was it. He’d done his best, but she’d found something to kill him over. He’d known this was coming. So why did he feel so betrayed?
The frost crawled out from the walls, over the floor. But before it reached him, it paused. A thoughtful look crossed the queen’s face and she stared at him. Finally, she shook her head and the frost withdrew.
He let out his breath.
“You’ve done well, Ardan. You’ve proved your worth again. Now it’s time to reward you.” She clapped her hands and one of her servants ran up with a small box. The queen reached inside and withdrew a pin in the shape of a snowflake and handed it to him. He felt a sharp pain as the unsecured pin jabbed into his palm. “Congratulations, General Ardan. You are now in charge of not just the palace guard, but also that ragged army I have slowing Bosco and his troops down. You’ve done so well here, I’m sure you’ll succeed at killing the nuisance.”
She turned, her long white dress making a shushing sound across the stones, and left the room.
Ardan stared at the pin.
Now it all made sense. He’d been right—she didn’t care about him at all. She’d keep using him and using him until he failed at this job, or another, and then she’d have the pleasure of making him an example. It was as plain as the bloody snowflake sparkling on his palm.
Chapter Thirty-three
Once again Doyle approached the Winter Palace, a thick glamour wrapped around his being. Defenses were even tighter than his last visit and while the drawbridge was down, the sharp barbs of the portcullis gate were closed, leaving no way in.
“Halloo!” He waved his basket of rare fruits through the blowing snow at the guard glowering over the fortifications. “I’m here to see the kitchen master.”
“Go away. We’re not letting anyone in.”
“But I have an appointment and it’s cold out here.”
“Screw your appointment.” The man turned away. Doyle darted a testing bit of magic at the man and was pleased to find he wasn’t very Gifted. Typical defensive positioning: they’d put a weak magic user with lots of brawn at the gate, not thinking anyone would be brazen enough to try this. But he was.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean that.”
Cautiously, unwilling to attract the attention of the more powerful Tuathan Lords he knew were inside the palace, Doyle extended a tiny bit of magic and lassoed the man’s attention. The guard scowled down at him. Once he had a toe-hold into the man’s Gift, Doyle fed a little bit more of his own magic into the link.
“If you could just open the postern door, I’ll be inside and on my way to the kitchens before anyone notices.” Figuring a little extra enticement never hurt, he plucked an apricot from the basket and waved it up. Giving the ripe, warm scent a lift with his magic, he sent it wafting to the man’s nose.
“Fine. Stay there.” The man’s face disappeared. A minute later, there were some clinks and groans and the small door on the side of the portcullis opened a grudging amount. Doyle pushed his way in, garnering a splinter in his hand as he did so. The guard slammed it shut behind him, anchoring the heavy wooden board that kept it secure with additional chains and locks. “You need to be out by sunset, or the guard will oust you with a spear in your ass. And if they do, I’ll be denying I ever gave you leave to enter.”
Doyle slipped him the apricot, lacing it with a forgetting spell even as he passed the fruit into the man’s hand. “No worries, my friend. My business will be quick.”
He moved into the main courtyard, heading for the side passages as soon as he was able, aiming for the back of the palace. With the blizzard, there were few people outside, and the ones that were had their heads down and well protected under cloaks. Despite the addition of the snow’s protection it was too risky now to access Maeve’s apartments directly. The palace almost crackled with extra magical defenses, and he was sure that her rooms would have even stronger defenses than before. He couldn’t
afford to tip his hand.
He wound his way in and found exactly what he was looking for. Behind Maeve’s rooms was a set of servant’s quarters. He made a small tsking sound. She was sloppy in her defenses, very sloppy. Just as she’d posted a weaker Gifted man at the gate and despite the fact that the servant’s rooms formed the back wall of her quarters, her guardian spells were weaker here than around the front door.
He slipped into the one closest to the room with the pool and nearly ran face first into the occupant.
The maid’s mouth opened to scream and he grabbed her, slamming his hand to her mouth and capturing her scream with a quick burst of magic. She struggled. With no finesse whatsoever he took her over and pushed sleep into her brain. She collapsed. He glanced side to side for witnesses and dragged her into the room, pushing the door closed with his foot.
He dropped her into a corner and waited, but no one came. Once again, his luck had held.
The room was small with barely turning around space next to the bed. He locked the door, sealing it with another spell, and turned his attention to the next step in his plan.
Bosco would be here in a few days and he had to be ready to get in to the palace and steal the egg while Maeve was distracted.
He lay down on the maid’s bed and raised a protective shield, just a small one, that held tight to his body. He didn’t want to rouse anyone’s suspicions. This was recon only, and he didn’t dare get caught.
Once the shield was in place he placed a single strand of warning from the door to his body, something small to call him back if someone came looking for the maid. Then he put himself into a trance. His astral form rose, leaving his physical body behind on the bed. Another cloaking shield for his astral form, then he moved through the wall and into the queen’s rooms.
The four pillars he’d raised over a thousand years ago on an empty frozen plain were still there. As was the pool of magic he’d set up to disguise the queen’s hiding place below. It all glowed with the magic of Underhill, pulling power from the intersecting nodes of magic that were why he’d chosen the spot. And exactly what had attracted Maeve and caused her to take it over in his absence.
In this form the physical world was fuzzy and the lines of magic stood out. He could see Maeve’s own personal strands woven into the pillars themselves, like ice vines clinging to rocks, their tiny roots digging in and sucking out the minerals. She was pulling so much power it pulsed in waves. Bosco was going to have his work cut out for him with this much magic protecting the palace. Doyle wasn’t even sure that the oncoming army stood a chance.
It didn’t matter to him though. What mattered was under the pool. He stepped in and sank below the surface, letting his incorporeal form drift down into the solid stone beneath as he sought the hidden chamber of the queen. But even here Maeve’s magic was everywhere. He had to make his being thin in order to slide between the crystallized structure covering the bottom of the pool. Deep underground he went and still her magic was there. Finally he reached the egg’s chamber and his own strongest magical defenses.
The pale blue glow of the eggshell was marred by icy crustaceans of Maeve’s magic, covering the delicate blue glow of the shell and latching into it, just like it had the stone pillars.
His focus shattered. He lost his hold on his form and was snapped back into his body. He struggled for air, the repercussions of entering the physical too fast nearly making him black out. Finally the air came and he sucked it in.
“Fuck!” He lashed out, his fist slamming into the wall by his head. Plaster flew, pieces cutting into the face of the sleeping maid. She stirred, and he shoved more magic in her direction, brutally forcing her back under and ignoring the tiny flecks of blood on her skin.
He sat up. He’d left it too long. Way too long. Maeve’s magic had found its way into the structure of the egg itself. Maeve was sucking the little queen’s egg dry of the life-sustaining magic. He’d been close enough to feel the life pulse of the dragon within the shell. She was still alive. But there was no way she’d have the strength to hatch. And he wasn’t sure that he could extract her without killing her.
Fury had him moving fast. He had enough presence of mind to wipe the maid’s memory and put her in the bed, but after that he was an uncaring blur down the palace halls. He had to get back to his lair. He had to call Carrig for backup. There was no time to wait for Bosco to arrive. He needed a distraction now—his baby queen was dying.
SIOBHAN STOOD OUTSIDE the back door to the lair and gathered her Gift. The tiny biting flakes had become fat flurries and she was ready to leave. Again. Only this time she wasn’t starting tired from fighting her own vow. And now she understood how to form a portal. She only hoped that the lack of the northern lights in the sky would let her get all the way to the Winter Palace and not lose her somewhere in between.
She took a deep breath, shoving all her doubts down, and pictured the gates to the Winter Palace. She hadn’t seen them in a hundred years, not since the disastrous night she’d gone to rescue Bosco, and she prayed they still looked the same. The tinkling sound of the small fae distracted her.
“Hey, ladies. I appreciate you trying to help, but I need to focus here.”
Frosheth flew in front of her face, her little wings working double time.
She shook her head at the trio. “No, I’m not taking you.” A hundred years ago she’d made the mistake of taking her fairy friends with her, and they’d paid the price. “Now scoot out of the way and let me open the portal. I’m not very good at it and I don’t want any of you to get scooped up.”
Once again she gathered her Gift, holding the palace gates in her mind, but the three fae wouldn’t go away. Chrystal sat on her left shoulder, winding her thin fingers into Siobhan’s braid, and Icene grabbed hold of the straps of her knapsack.
“It’s too dangerous.”
Frosheth landed on her right shoulder. Her thin arms wrapped around Siobhan’s neck like bands of steel.
Siobhan sighed. “Alright, you’re going. Now can you be quiet and let me concentrate?”
They chimed their happiness, then settled down.
She closed her eyes and focused. The snow was falling fast now, the fat flakes sticking to her eyelashes. Once again she pictured the gates. The slick sides formed of the most pure ice imaginable. Snow falling. The faded light of a stormy afternoon. This was not the day to get lost in time.
She opened the portal and stepped into the screaming maelstrom. And then back out. But she wasn’t anywhere close to the palace. She was in a wide clearing, surrounded by tall skinny pines. She heard a growl behind her and reached for her sword while she spun on her heel.
A white tiger gathered on its haunches, springing at her. It opened its jaws wide and she felt its hot breath. The fairies flew off of her in an explosion of light and sound. She drew her sword, bracing for impact. The point dove deep, sinking through fur and flesh before skidding off of bone and sliding to the side. The animal screamed, and moved back, blood pouring from the deep gash splitting its chest.
She bent her knees and got ready for the next move, but it snarled and ran off into the night.
The night. It slowly dawned on her that the stars were out and it was much later than when she’d entered the portal. “Damn it, where and when am I?”
It wasn’t afternoon anymore, hours had passed. The snow had stopped falling and the clearing was a deep blanket of white streaked with smears of scarlet.
The fae had taken shelter in the bare branches of a tree and she took a look around. The area looked familiar. She used her Gift, like she had in the days when she’d gone hunting with her father, and reached for a location.
This was where she’d raised the igloo and spent the night with Doyle. She’d screwed up. She wasn’t anywhere near the palace.
“How could I go so far off?” Time, location, it was all wrong. “Come on, girls, we’re going to try again,” she called and the frost fairies flew down and took their positions.
She extended her Gift, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. She caught the faint spidery traces of a spell, the glittering blue strands fading into the night even as she tried to catch them.
“It’s not me. It’s not me!”
She danced around, kicking up snow in celebration. Icene, Frosheth and Chrystal flew in circles, flitting around her head, excited for her even as they bombarded her with questions.
“I thought it was my fault, that I’d failed again, but I succeeded. I opened the portal and it should have worked, but it’s not my fault. It’s just the queen’s spell.” Her euphoria died away. “But now what do I do?” Her shoulders slumped. “I’ll never make it to the palace before Bosco now. The battle has to be well over and I’m sure he’s put miles between him and the border. By the time I walk north he’ll have attacked the queen.”
The fairies chattered away to themselves while Siobhan evaluated her choices. She could head back to the dragon’s cave, where no doubt Atavantador would strip her of her powers after this incident. She could walk on and hope she found a means of getting north in time. Or...her shoulders slumped. There was no or. Those were her choices.
“Thanks anyway, ladies. I guess we’re not heading to the fight after all.” But the trio flew to her side, talking over each other so fast she couldn’t understand any of the chiming. “Slow down. One at a time. Frosheth, you start.” As the little fae chimed at her, understanding began to dawn. “Can it be done? Can you do it?”
They nodded at her, their narrow little faces serious.
“Okay, girls. We’re heading north.” They took up their stations, one on each shoulder, and the third gripping her belt. They began to work their wings, slowly. Too slowly. She put out a magical link and Frosheth took it eagerly, linking in turn to her fellow fae. Siobhan fed them power from the dragon tattoo and they lifted into the sky.