She didn’t give him the satisfaction of appearing affronted. She waited calmly for him to elaborate.
“I am the best archer in seven realms,” he said.
“My father was better.”
“I hear he was good, at swordplay especially. But I doubt he had my eye for precision with a bow. It’s no mere quirk of fate I’ve earned the reputation as an ‘Ace of Arrows’.”
“Is there a reason why you’re here, Ace?” she asked sharply.
Something long and narrow poked out from behind the huntsman – a bow. An arrow tipped with a raven feather shaft dangled from his hands.
“I was about to go hunting,” he said.
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll find no sport here.”
“Oh, I beg to differ, my Lady.”
He raised the bow, notched the arrow, and aimed it straight for her.
She couldn’t move. Her body was paralyzed, her round eyes frozen on the arrowhead.
“Please know this isn’t personal,” he said soothingly. “Business is business.”
Her eyes flashed to his. “She sent you, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
“You know who. The Queen.”
He smirked. “First rule of business: Never give away a client’s name.”
“You didn’t – your arrow did. I’ve never seen anyone wear so many raven feathers as she does.”
Silence.
“It won’t work, you know,” Natalia said. “I cannot die.” At least she sounded surer than she felt.
This did not seem to deter the huntsman. “I know of the spell. What I bet you don’t know is that all spells have loopholes and eventually come to an end. I’m a Barren, and even I know that.”
She frowned. “Loopholes?”
He smiled. “What do you say we test my theory?”
She stared at him, not comprehending. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“The object in your bucket speaks otherwise.”
“What?”
She glanced down. The bucket was little more than half-full. Something shined up from within, but the water was too murky to tell what it was.
“Go ahead.”
She looked up. The huntsman gestured with his head. “See for yourself,” he said.
Slowly removing her eyes from his, she knelt and ducked her hand into the slimy, cool water. A cold, metal chain brushed her fingertips, and a jolt ran through her.
It can’t be.
She lifted the necklace from the bucket. Drops of water dripped off the red crystal. “My mother’s necklace? But how – when – I didn’t –”
“None of that is important,” he said quietly.
She looked at him sharply, her eyes rounding as her mind worked quickly. “This is a setup, to make it look like you’re executing me for thievery.”
The blank expression on his face was all the confirmation she needed.
“The day Rose found this in the hall…” Her voice trailed off as chills broke out over her skin. “It was meant for me.” Her chest hurt, like someone had punched her.
“Lucky for us your baby sister found it instead,” he said, sounding bored. “Execution was on the menu, since the age of accountability is thirteen, and the Queen doesn’t tolerate thieves. Then we found out your eighteenth birthday was the next day, meaning you still had the protection spell on you. I suppose a hammer is as good a punishment as any. You got off easy, if you ask me.”
The chain dug into her palm as she fisted her fingers around the necklace. “‘Got off easy’? Breaking my hand to bits because you couldn’t kill me for a crime I didn’t commit is ‘getting off easy’?”
“Oh, don’t get so worked up about it, sweetheart. It’s justice.”
“It’s madness! Rose is eleven, a child. You’re telling me your queen’s idea of justice is breaking an innocent child’s hand without even giving her a fair trial?”
“Be thankful she wasn’t thirteen, or her head would have rolled on the spot.”
Natalia contemplated charging him but thought better of it. He would have an arrow through her heart before she could get close. But even then, the spell would protect her from death.
Wouldn’t it?
“… you still had the protection spell on you.”
“Had,” as in past tense. Was this one of the loopholes he spoke of? Had the spell somehow worn off?
She chewed on her lip and took a step back. The back of her knees bumped against the rim of the fountain, nearly toppling her backward into the pool.
“My client will wonder why I’m taking so long.” He shut one eye, focusing down the length of the arrow, and narrowed his sight on her. “Farewell, my Lady.”
She sucked in half a breath before the arrow was released, whistling through the air in slow motion. Bending her knees, she ducked as it sailed through the space her heart had been in precious seconds before. It ripped the sleeve of her dress instead and embedded itself in the fountain with a twang. The huntsman was already notching another arrow when she looked up, regaining enough of her senses to fling herself to the side as a second arrow struck the ground in front of the fountain, narrowly missing her right calf. Light footsteps sauntered forward as she scrambled behind a tomb, peering around the corner as the tip of a black boot came into view.
“You cannot hide, little mouse,” Ace said. “I will find you.” He stepped forward, and she scuttled to the other side, out of view.
“Why make this more difficult than it already is?” Ace continued. “As I said, it’s nothing personal. I’m just a businessman.”
Her breath was making too much noise. She hastily lifted the necklace over her head, tucked the pendant inside her neckline, and clamped a hand over her nose and mouth to stifle the sound of her breathing. Her heart was pounding so hard that it was making her chest hurt. A few feet away, the end of something long and brown poked out from behind a tomb.
The broom.
She crawled forward on her elbows and knees, shuffling her weight around like a snake. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she held her breath and reached for the broom.
“There you are.”
She didn’t turn around, because she knew if she paused that long, she would be dead. The bowstring twanged, propelling another arrow forward. She sprang out of the way, grasping the broom in her hands and rolling upright along her shoulders. She whirled, bringing the broom up parallel to the ground and using it to catch the arrow meant for her heart.
The huntsman cursed, firing again.
She knocked the arrow to the side with the broom.
Another arrow flew.
The broom’s weight was skewed by the clump of bristles on one end, and she overshot her block, skimming the arrow but not deflecting it completely. The tip of the arrowhead scraped her left shoulder again, and she hissed.
Damnable broom. Her father hadn’t passed on much knowledge of fighting with a staff. What she needed was –
“A sword,” she breathed.
In front of her, about twenty feet away, was a tomb with a statue depicting the person within. In its marble hands was a sword.
The huntsman stepped in front of the tomb, blocking her view. Anger boiled on his face.
It was her only hope.
She charged, running straight for the huntsman. He shot at her, and she sidestepped, bringing the broom up and above her head, and swinging it around with a cry. It struck the huntsman in the temple, and he staggered forward from the momentum of the blow. She took her chance, dropping the broom and yanking the sword from the statue’s grasp. The hilt felt at home in her hands as all the hours of sword lessons with her father kicked in. She ran forward, slashing at the huntsman’s ribcage while his arms flailed, but he whipped out a dagger from his belt and knocked her sword away. Instantly, she came back, slashing on the other side. He cursed, pitching the bow to the side and blocking her again, following up with a gouge straight for her heart. Knocking his hand upward, she kicked him square in his c
hest. He bent forward with a choked gasp. She made a fist, pummeling it straight into his face, which he managed to turn at the last second but not before she firmly clipped his lip.
He swiped at his mouth, blood smearing his fingers, and rolled his neck. “To hell with making it a clean kill. You’ll regret that, bitch.”
He came at her, gouging swiftly, one attack immediately following the last. She kept the sword in front of her, knocking his blows to the side as he drove her backward. His attacks were a flurry of movement. She saw his knee coming up from the bottom of her vision, but her eyes were too focused on his upper body attacks. She reacted too late. Pain blossomed through her abdomen, buckling her over. Something caught her behind the knees, and she went down backward into the fountain.
Cool water rushed in, completely burying her beneath the surface of the pool, with both of her arms outstretched to either side. The cold shocked her. The sword was wrested from her grasp, right before two hands wrapped around her throat, both choking and trying to hold her under at the same time. She kicked and his grip loosened for a few seconds until he shoved harder, forcing the rest of her body underwater. He stepped into the pool, straddling her and pushing her head against the bottom. She bucked, but he didn’t budge.
Stars fired before her eyes. The huntsman’s white toothy grin was the only feature she could make out on the blurry shape above the water’s surface.
She felt it slithering in, a cold mist wrapping around her like a snake. Even when she had slit her wrist, she had not felt this.
Death. It was finally coming for her.
The huntsman’s words rang loud in her head. “All spells end eventually.”
She opened her mouth. “Rose!” she gurgled. Water filled her throat and she gagged, trying to spit it back up, but it was already filling her lungs. The stars in her eyes were fading to black, her strength siphoned away by the cold prickling her skin.
And all she could think about was Rose, and how she hadn’t expected to die so soon.
Chapter Five
Into the Silver Forest
She was sinking farther into the void.
Against her will, all the fight in her faded away as her body became heavier and heavier. Curiously, there was no more pressure on her throat. She couldn’t even feel the bottom of the pool grinding against the back of her skull. Soft tendrils, like plants, tickled her palms, and she opened her eyes.
Before her stretched an endless expanse of deep blue. Tall plants rose in columns all around her, and a street of pebbles and shells lay below her feet, which were suspended in the blue air like she was flying. Something glowed violet; the tattoo on her wrist was lit up. The burning should have hurt but it didn’t. She couldn’t feel much of anything. She couldn’t even summon the strength to be panicked.
The voice of a haunting choir filled the air, and her lids drooped. It was sweet, their foreign words sorrowful but soothing. Beams of pure white light shone through the water, bringing the water Fey into view. They floated toward her out of the depths, young faces with impish cheeks and wide, fish-like eyes. Hair tangled with shells and plants floated beside their heads as they drifted closer, smiling at her with rows of tiny, sharp teeth.
She closed her eyes, the burning in her lungs fading as she sank deeper, while the voices of the Fey filled her head with the promise of safety.
Was this what it was like to die? If so, she didn’t mind so much. It was so peaceful, nothing at all like living.
Something began glowing with a vibrant red light, and she cracked her eyes open wide enough to see the pendant floating in front of her face, burning from within its core. She gasped, sucking in cold water, and immediately tried to spit it back out. That only caused more water to rush in, so she clamped her mouth shut. The Fey hissed at the crystal as the light grew, wrapping the pendant in an orb of red light. One of the creatures tried grabbing the necklace, but the creature’s arm turned to golden embers the moment it penetrated the orb. It swam away with a shriek, leaving a trail of bubbles and golden ash in its wake. The others hissed but kept their distance.
The pendant’s light grew, so intense it hurt her eyes, while the burning in her hand spread. Never had the tattoo burned like this before. Her bones were surely liquefying; she would be lucky if she had a wrist left.
The light faded abruptly, taking the pain along with it. The tattoo was gone. A faint, ashy outline remained, the only evidence it had ever been there.
Her vision faded in and out of focus; she couldn’t hold on any longer. Closing her eyes, she blacked in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of someone’s fingers wrapping around her forearm and pulling her upward.
Everything faded to black. She floated along in darkness for a few precious seconds before she began to wake again.
Rocks dug into her back, and cold air chilled her wet clothes and skin. Two hands were pressed against her chest, pumping in rhythmic intervals. Someone was breathing into her mouth, while two fingers pinched her nose shut. Water erupted from her lungs, coming up her throat and out of her mouth. A hand gently turned her head to the side, letting the water run onto the rocks. She coughed, darkness dancing along her mind, but this time she did not succumb to it completely. Shivering, she lay there, dazed and half-awake.
Someone was muttering something to her, but her ears were too plugged to get any clarity out of what the stranger was saying. Exhausted, she passed out, Rose’s name escaping from her lips.
***
There was a blue sheen behind her eyelids.
The air smelled foreign. It had a crispness to it that left an odd taste on her tongue, like rain and metal. She cracked her eyes open. Pale silver light shined into her eyes, and she hastily shut them again, groaning and rolling onto her side. Her body hurt all over. There was a buzzing sensation in her ears, like her brain had shut off for too long and it was remembering how to work again. Rocks poked her stomach and scraped her elbows.
She was lying on the embankment. A river at least fifty feet wide flowed like molten silver a few feet away, its surface catching the beams of white light poking through the thick foliage above. On either side of the river stretched thick, tangled trees and overgrown brush, wild and feral looking. Everything was cast in silver; from the bark to the leaves, to the tall grass and the rocks she now rested on.
The forest shone, beautiful and captivating.
She sat up slowly, closing her eyes and trying to make sense of her confusion. Before she blacked out, she was drowning in a fountain. When she opened her eyes, she was at the bottom of the river. Then out of nowhere, a hand reached down and pulled her onto the riverbank.
A line from a fairy tale drifted across her mind, and she latched onto it, hearing her mother’s voice as she told her about fantastic portals known as Magic Mirrors.
Magic Mirrors were about as old a fable as they got. Rumored to be scattered throughout the realm, they were “doorways” that would show you whatever you wanted to see. Some were so powerful they could take you to an entirely different location. They were also supposed to only reveal themselves to Charmed.
So how had she been able to activate it?
She glanced around, water dripping from her chin. “Hello?”
Silence.
The forest of metal glinted back at her, smiling with teeth made up of metal leaves and thorns.
Tentatively, she reached out and plucked a pebble from the ground, rolling it over in her hand and wondering if she were dreaming. It was smooth and cool – and real.
A leaf clattered to the ground in front of her, dropping straight down rather than lazily drifting along like a normal leaf. It was also solid silver, with serrated edges similar to one of Maxime’s butcher knives.
A long time ago, if Natalia remembered correctly, the leaves used to be a rich green color. The only reason the Silver Forest had its name was because the leaves were merely outlined in silver, as were the veins, and though the bark took on a silver hue, it was never so shiny and cold
as the metallic plates coating the trees like armor.
Something red swayed below her chin. She looked down, seeing her mother’s necklace. In the river, it had glowed red right before the Mark vanished. Or maybe she had imagined it. It was hard to be sure of what was happening when you were drowning.
She looked at her wrist.
The Mark was gone, leaving only its faint gray outline under her skin, like a bruise.
She shuddered, knowing she should be happy, because if the tattoo was gone, it meant she was finally free. But the huntsman had nearly won in the process.
It wasn’t so much that she had almost died that bothered her; it was how it had been possible that did.
She raked her memory, which was fuzzy, at best. The huntsman had mentioned loopholes and how spells were never meant to last forever. If the protection spell had indeed somehow worn off, then she was now vulnerable. Which meant –
She gasped. If her spell had worn off, could that mean Rose was now open to attack, as well? Sweet, gentle Rose was all alone in the castle with no one to protect her.
Natalia staggered to her feet, stumbling when she took a step because her legs felt like jelly. Panic crept into her limbs, making her already wobbly path that much more frantic.
Rose could already be dead. If the huntsman came for Natalia, then he might go for her sister next.
“Oh god,” Natalia whispered. She had to get back.
She stumbled into the undergrowth, plowing through as best she could. Vines and briars cut her legs, catching around her ankles and threatening to throw her. There was hardly any space to move, as the plants had grown wild and unchecked for years. Branches grabbed at her dress and hair. Her skin burned every time she brushed against a tree or bush, and she felt something hot and wet dribble down her arms. She glanced down for only a second when her foot caught on a rock, and she pitched headfirst into a rose bush.
Briars burrowed into her already tender flesh as the vines wrapped around her limbs, ensnaring her. She cried out as she fought to pry herself free. A beam of moonlight broke through the canopy, catching the petals of several enormous roses blooming in the bush.
A White So Red Page 5
