He'd told her to meet him downstairs, so she wrapped the cloak around herself and tiptoed into the hallway. The manor had been cleaned while she slept, and was free of dust and grime, though still cold and dark, like the captain had never known what it meant to have a real home.
When she came to the top of the stone staircase, she paused, voices drifting up to her.
“—more complaints. I will not have them on my land, killing—”
“It's the Host, Killian,” the captain answered coolly. “I cannot raise them against vagrants—”
“Can't? Or won't?”
Silence fell between them as the captain did not deign to answer.
Then, the stranger, Killian, said, “And who is here with us?”
Something slammed down around her, some kind of shield she could feel but not see.
Killian laughed but it wasn’t a joyous sound. “Oh, it's too late for that.”
The shield lifted hesitantly, reluctantly, like a weight lifting from her shoulders. She felt him push against her just as he had tried to tug her forward in the clearing.
Go away, he seemed to be telling her this time. She did not like this bond between them, and she would not be ordered around by him because of it. Maybe this Killian was her savior, and the captain didn't want her to meet him, didn't want her to find a way out.
Instead of retreating back to her room like a good little human, Nilsa took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart, and moved to the top of the stairs. In the foyer below, the captain stood across from a man who was his complete opposite, the light to the captain's dark. White feathered wings were tucked against golden armor, and his hair, paler even than hers, was loose around his fine-featured face.
He looked up at her and smiled radiantly. “Ah, a human. I thought I smelled mortality.” Then, he held a hand up, beckoning her forward.
She hesitated. The captain was also looking at her, his gaze dark and unwelcoming, his mouth turned down in a frown. But when she felt him push against her again, trying to hold her in place, it made her more determined to defy him. She took the stairs slowly, and at the bottom, allowed the new arrival to take her hand and raise it to his lips.
“Sir Killian, this is my newest recruit,” the captain said, his tone dull and bored.
The man still had her hand in his as he looked between the two of them, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is that so? Do all your new recruits get to stay in your private residence?”
The captain straightened, his back going more rigid if that were even possible. “We must be going while the night is still young.” This time, he put a hand on Nilsa's back and drew her subtly away from him. Her hand slipped from Killian's and she saw her chance at escaping the Host drawing away.
“So should I. I cannot leave Bellmare too long or risk having the Court of Stars overrun by—”
“I will consider your request,” the captain interrupted. “Goodbye, Sir Killian.”
Behind him, Jock heaved open the heavy wooden door. They all passed through it, and once outside, the golden male dipped his head to her, smiling as if they shared a secret. Nilsa longed to know what it was.
“If you need me, dear girl, just follow the stars.” Then, he took two running steps and leaped, his wings stretching and lifting him into the air.
While the captain readied the horse, Nilsa watched Killian until he disappeared into the unmoving gray clouds.
“The Court of Stars . . .” Nilsa said to his back, looking pointedly around the drab grounds. “It sounds lovely.”
Before mounting the horse, the captain turned to her. “Stay away from Killian.”
She lifted her chin. “Why should I?”
His hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders. He pulled her close, close enough that she could see her terrified face reflected in his black eyes. “Do not—” He caught his breath, releasing her and stepping away as if remembering himself. “Do not defy me in this.”
She forced herself not to tremble. “You do not own me.”
He grabbed her hand, showing her the cuff around her wrist. “This says otherwise.”
This time, when she tried to jerk her hand away, he held on. She remembered what he'd said to her in the clearing, the words that had been meant just for her. You. Are. Mine. He believed it, and she refused to.
She bared her teeth at him. “I belong to no one.”
For a long time, they stood like that, neither of them willing to give. She hated him so much, and yet her skin burned where he touched it and her heart raced. How was it possible that she felt more alive here, in this dead place, than she ever had hiding from the fae in Aramore?
Finally, he released her and stepped away, and she could breathe again. When they mounted the horse, he tucked her against him without a hint of gentleness and spurred the horse into the night sky.
Chapter Five
Nilsa did not know how she recognized the sounds of battle, but she did. The clanging of metal, the guttural screams—they stirred some deep-seeded, primal instinct inside of her. Aramore had never known war, not in her lifetime. This was some far away land, some far away people. The strangest part was, that while part of her wanted to flee, another part of her was drawn to the chaos and the death. Was that the part that belonged to the captain?
They dropped out of the sky and the battlefield spread out below them. It was a mass of bodies, of trampled earth and churned mud, of swords and spears and flying arrows. And the Host. Nilsa could see them, though it didn't seem the soldiers could. They screeched overhead, swiping bright souls from fallen men, stealing them away from their next lives.
The captain brought them down on a hill overlooking the fight. Nilsa dropped to the ground, stumbling away, afraid of her own visceral reaction to the carnage.
“You said I did not have to hunt.”
When he looked at her, she could see the hunger on his face, the excitement. “You don't.”
“Then why am I here?”
He was checking the straps on his weapons. “Because you are a part of the Host.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and fell to her knees, looking away. Over her shoulder, she spat at him, “I will never be a soul thief.”
There was a whipping noise, like the sound of a sail catching the wind. “You will be, when you find the right soul.” And then he was gone, leaving her alone on the hilltop.
What had he meant by that? Maybe she was bound to him by her bargain, but she would not do his bidding and would not steal any souls. She'd spent her life protecting herself from the fae, and had no plans of giving in now, no matter which soul presented itself to her.
It felt like an eternity before the sounds of the battle died down and she dared to peek over the edge. The field was so thick with bodies that the ground beneath them was barely visible. And the smell—it had been easier to ignore when she hadn't been looking, but now, the tang of blood and even fouler odors reached her. Nilsa gagged, covering her mouth and nose with the neck of her shirt.
The only thing that moved were the shadows. They crept between the bodies, ignoring the finery and the weapons. Instead, they were checking for signs of life—a faint pulse, a ragged breath. That was how they took their payment.
The captain landed before her with a thud that shook the ground, blocking her view of the battlefield and the reaping. His cheeks were ruddy and his chest heaved. She backed away from the dark intensity in the look he gave her. It wasn't that she was afraid of him, but afraid of the wild freedom in his eyes. For all that he seemed human, there was something else inside of him, and it called to her, even as she tampered down her answering darkness.
Without a word to her, he pulled himself onto the horse and reached back for her.
“Where are we going?” Nilsa asked, her voice strained and more uncertain than she would have liked.
He paused, his hand still outstretched. “I promised you a meal.”
“You're going to take more souls.” Her hand went to the
iron at her neck.
“Yes.”
“I'm not going.” She planted her feet in the grass, trying to channel her sister and the very stubbornness that Nilsa had been fighting against her whole life.
But it didn't matter how stubborn she was, not with the bond that flowed between them. He yanked on it with his mind and jerked her forward. She could not fight it, could not stop her feet from moving. When she was in his reach, she turned her face away, angry tears threatening to spill over.
“I do not want to have to do that,” he hissed, “but I do not have time for your petty human emotions.”
She laughed mirthlessly but did not speak, still not looking at him.
His hand found her chin and forced her eyes to his. “Obey, or spend the rest of your existence as my puppet.”
Her eyes burned but she would not, could not, blink.
He released her chin and pulled her up in front of him, the horse taking to the sky in just a few leaps.
The battlefield faded away but her anger did not. In the first two towns they visited—all of them on the edge of a dark forest, just as Aramore was—he did not even make her get off the horse while he hunted, like she wasn't even worth his time. In the third, they landed outside of town and followed a dirt path at a slow, casual walk. Other than the grumbling of her stomach and the occasional snort from the horse, they were quiet, the bond between them dormant.
Eventually, they came upon a quaint cottage in the woods illuminated by the nearly full moon through the trees. It had once been beautiful but was now in disrepair, the paint peeling from the walls and the garden overgrown with weeds. Unlike all the houses she'd known, this one did not have any wards against the fae. No iron horseshoe hung over the door, no pail of milk sat on the stoop, no salt ring encircled the garden.
“Where are we?” Nilsa asked.
The captain swung off of the horse and looked up at her. “Where we are supposed to be.” Then he held his arms up to her to help her down.
She leaned away. “I'm not going, I told you.”
“There's food inside,” he explained. “I'll not have you starve. Whether you feast on it or souls is up to you, at least for now.”
“Fine.” She knocked his hands away and slid off the horse without his help.
They picked their way up the path. The front door creaked open under the captain's hand. The interior was just as bleak as the exterior, and it smelled like . . . like . . . She couldn't quite put her finger on it.
“Death,” the captain answered in a whisper as if reading her mind. “It is creeping up on her.”
“Who?”
He shook his head, moving deeper into the house. “You find food. I'll meet you back outside.”
The kitchen was on the left. An empty pot hung over the cold hearth. In the cabinets, Nilsa found jars of peaches and a loaf of stale bread. Strips of jerky hung in the pantry. She ate her fill standing in the kitchen, even cracking open a second jar of the sweet fruit. The rest of the house was silent.
Finally, her stomach full, her curiosity got the better of her and she followed the hall down which the captain had disappeared. At first, she did not see anyone, but then she saw the last door was cracked open and low, quiet voices filtered out to her.
“—hurt?” It was a woman's voice, frail and weak, bringing to mind a wrinkled face and stooped back.
“No. No, it doesn't hurt.” This was the captain, his voice gentle like Nilsa hadn't heard before. “You will be free of your mortal confines.”
“And I can live among the fair folk as I did when I was young?” She did not sound afraid or seem like she was facing down some great and terrible beast.
“Yes. And at night, we fly the skies and search for souls like yours.”
“I have always wanted to fly.”
“We can go together. If you want. Just like when you were young.”
Silence fell after that, but Nilsa didn't move. She felt like she was intruding on some private moment. The reaping hadn't been violent and bloody. He had been kind and gentle, caring even. Stranger still, the women seemed to welcome it. When it was done and he emerged to find her in the hall, he looked subdued and peaceful, not crazed and bloodthirsty as he had on the battlefield.
He stared at her for a long second in the dark hallway. Then, “Every reaping is different.”
She scurried after him as he retreated back down the hallway to the door. “Why?” she asked. “Death is death.”
Holding the door open for her, he said, “It all depends on how the soul approaches death.”
“She knew you.”
A whisper of a smile crossed his lips and was gone in a blink. “Some mortals are closer to the fae than others. They do not spend their lives trying to keep us out.”
Nilsa bit her lip, trying to sort through the strange emotions that warred inside of her. “That was nice. What you did for her.”
“It wasn't nice. It was my job.”
The house suddenly felt too small. Unable to stand the weight of his gaze any longer, she turned and walked back down the hallway to the open door. “I've always heard that the Host was cruel and tricksy.”
“We can be.” He followed her outside.
The night was cool and crisp, and smelled like the peaches she had just devoured. The captain boosted her onto the horse.
“Like you were with me.”
His hands lingered on her waist and he studied her face from where he still stood on the ground. “Maybe a little. But you summoned me, after all.”
He pulled himself up behind her and pressed her against him, shifting on the horse's back to make sure they were both secure. Even when she was mad at him, which she usually was, being this close to him made her heart race. She wondered if he could feel it against him.
To distract herself, Nilsa thought back to the rhyme that Eberlyn had recited, going over it in her head.
Cursed to fly the skies at night
Feasting on the souls' delight
Captain of the Host take flight
Freed only by a willing life.
They had been foolish to think them just words. Aramore was a place for caution, where words had power and someone was always listening.
“How did you end up as Captain of the Host? Is it really a curse?”
“My father was High Fae, like Sir Killian.” He squeezed the horse's sides and turned it back to the path. “He was meant to marry the Unseelie Queen, but then he met my mother. She was lesser fae, a banshee.”
“A harbinger of death,” Nilsa whispered, not meaning to say it aloud. But banshees were well-known in Aramore, their wails often heard just before the passing of a resident. While some feared it, Nilsa had always found the sound comforting, to know that humans weren't the only ones who suffered and mourned.
“Do you see where this is going?” Even though they'd passed the place where they'd landed and left the town behind, he made no move to spur the horse into the sky.
“I think so.” She peeked over her shoulder, catching him out of the corner of her eye. “But tell me anyway.”
“When the queen found out that my father had betrayed her, she cursed their union and declared that their first-born child would be doomed to lead the Host for the rest of his days, always chasing death, a monster like his mother.”
Nilsa was quiet, her eyes on the back of the horse's head. Its ears twitched, catching sounds she couldn't hear. “Do you think you're a monster?” she asked finally.
He hesitated. “Do you?”
She shifted against him, felt the hard planes of his chest, the warmth of his arms. He was a man, but more. Fae, but not. “No. Not anymore.”
“Because you pity me.”
“No.” She put a hand over his and let them rest on her thigh. “Because I see you. All of you. We are all good and bad. We are all monsters and men.” For all of her precautions against the fae, she had never thought them inherently evil.
His hand tightened beneath hers but he did
n't pull it away. “You're not bad.”
She laughed. “I'm terrible.”
“Tell me about it.”
Dreams of Darkness Page 33
