Tearloch was prepared to stand there, to maintain his own rigid posture as a future member of the guard. As the future captain. He had been groomed for the role since birth, and its obligations came easily through habit.
But then his mother swept into the hall, a lady in waiting to the queen who wore pretty frocks and flowers in her hair. All it took was a warm smile, and the captain bent to her every will.
“Go,” she said, leaning down to Tearloch as she untied the sash that declared him a guardsman-in-training. “Have fun this night.”
He flicked a glance at his father, who—after but a moment’s hesitation—nodded.
Tearloch had not waited for further response. He dashed into the ballroom, not to find his friends, not to find the resident prince, but to find the visiting princess. He kept his distance, pretending to be interested in sugary-sour lemon water and tiny cakes, to be enjoying the music and watching others dance. But all the while he watched her.
When he saw her sneak out the french doors that led to the patio and the gardens beyond, he couldn’t help but follow.
He watched her enter the hedge maze, knew that the twists and turns within were difficult enough to manage during full daylight, let alone in the dark of night. He waited until she was in long enough that he knew she had to be lost, and then he found her.
As he guided her out, felt the trusting pressure of her hand on his arm, he finally knew the true reward of duty, the true meaning of becoming a protector. It was in that moment that he truly embraced the purpose of his future.
And why it could never include her.
For she was a high princess, a royal fae destined to lead and to rule and to wed another of equal birth. He was a born warrior, bred and trained to protect his kin and kingdom. It was his honor to do so, even if that duty came at a price.
He allowed himself one moment of weakness. Gave her the Moraine talisman from around his neck, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. And vowed to never think of her again.
He had thought of her for countless nights since. Seeing that silver fox had brought all of those memories. He had felt the overwhelming urge to reach out to her, to take her hand in his and tell her that, once again, he would see them through this maze and they would come out together at the other end. A silly, childish fantasy.
Princess Arianne, however, had no such fantasies. Clearly she did not recognize him as the boy who found her in the hedge maze.
It was better that way. Easier.
He moved around the camp, gathering their supplies as quietly as possibly. The princess had not had his same trouble sleeping. She lay facing the fire, her cheeks flush from the heat. Dark lashes swept low.
The fire had held through the night because he fed more branches into the flames each time they threatened to go out. He did not want to risk it dying, risk seeing her very nearly blue with cold as she had been on the trail.
Why could she not heat the air around her? All fae had at least some level of control over the elements around them. An ability to manipulate them to varying extents. Even at their weakest, the ability to maintain temperature was one of the most basic fae powers.
He knew the Deachair suffered from weakened powers, much like the Moraine. But to not even possess so basic an ability? Had her entire clan fallen so far, or was it only the princess’s powers that were so weak?
It was not his place to wonder. And if the quelling look she had cut him when she confessed the fact was any indication, she did not welcome his intrusion.
Which was just as well. He had no business worrying about another clan’s princess. As captain of the royal guard had no business worrying about a princess at all.
Her arms reached out from under her blanket and she stretched them over her head.
She groaned. “How is it morning already? I feel like I haven’t slept at all.”
“The sun waits for no fae.”
She jerked upright, as if she’d forgotten she was not alone. Her dark chocolate gaze swept around the campsite before landing on him.
“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I just…”
“Forgot where you were?” he finished.
She smiled sheepishly. “Apparently.”
He stuffed his blanket into his pack and then held his hand out for hers. “No point in delaying. If we hurry, perhaps we can be back here before sunset.”
She pushed stiffly to her feet. “Oh joy.”
She handed him her blankets, and in return he gave her a breakfast bun from the provisions. It was the palace cook’s specialty. The size of a man’s fist, filled with ground raisins and dates, and painted on top with sugary icing.
She held the prize to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Mmmmmm.”
He wanted to groan at the look of pure pleasure on her face.
Instead, he barked, “Let’s move. You can eat while you walk.”
He couldn’t be certain, but as he turned away he thought he saw her stick out her tongue. He bit back a smile and threw his pack over his shoulders.
She did the same, carefully protecting the breakfast bun in the process.
Tearloch took the lead, no longer worried that she might run off at the first opportunity. There was nowhere for her to go.
Besides, he had a feeling that she wanted to see her sister for more reasons than just her bargain with the Moraine. She would see this journey through.
He walked in silence. At first because she was busy eating, and then… well, he wasn’t certain why. It just seemed easier to focus on the path ahead than to try to control his thoughts and his words with her.
Halfway through the morning, they reached a wider stretch of the path. The princess took the opportunity to move up next to him.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
He kept his gaze straight ahead. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I have been nothing but nice to you,” she said, and he could feel her eyes studying him, “and now you’re acting like a jerk.”
“Nothing but nice?” he echoed with a snort.
She huffed out a breath. “You know I was only teasing,” she insisted. “You didn’t take any of it personally.”
He scowled. She was right, of course she was.
But he couldn’t admit as much without also having to admit what caused his change of attitude.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” she said. “Last night, by the fire…” She ran her hands nervously over the straps of her pack. “I thought we were… I don’t know, getting along.”
He snorted at the thought. He’d been doing more than getting along. He’d been ready to knock down all of his walls.
“And then, poof, you shut down.” Her hands fisted around the straps until her knuckles turned white.
They took several steps in tense silence and he thought—hoped—she would let the subject lie.
She did not.
“Is this about the fox?” she asked.
“What?” he blurted, looking at her with what he was certain was a horrified expression. Horrified that she came so close to the truth.
She released one strap and pulled the fox out from under her coat. “You reacted strangely when you saw this.” She looked down at it, her smile sad. “Do you want me to take it off?”
He didn’t reply. Couldn’t.
Then she started to lift the chain over her head. He reached out to stop her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist and guiding her hand back down.
“No,” he said quietly. “Don’t.”
“Don’t?” she echoed, her gaze glued to the spot where his skin touched hers.
He released his grip.
“You don’t have to.” He forced an uninterested shrug. “I don’t care if you wear the sign of my clan.”
He felt her glare, felt her eyes bore into his temple as he determinedly avoided her gaze.
Apparently fed up, she huffed out a frustrated sigh and then picked up her pace. He let her go. He k
new he was being confusing and frustrating, but he also knew he couldn’t be any other way.
From the moment he had first seen young Princess Arianne of the Deachair, she a mere seven years old and he a bold boy of ten, she had held a small corner of his heart. A corner that could never be unlocked. A soldier did not dream of the princess. Especially not a princess who had very nearly wed his best friend.
He closed his eyes for a few steps. Shook his head as he walked, hoping to rattle some sense into his mind. Surely he could act like a normal fae without opening his entire heart to her.
He opened his eyes, ready to apologize. Only she wasn’t there.
“Princess?” he called out as he picked up his pace. “Arianne?”
His heart had only just started to race when she reappeared around the corner ahead of him. “Yes?”
Struggling to get his fear under control, he said, “Don’t get so far ahead. Stay in my line of sight.”
She frowned at him. “Then try to keep up.” She turned and kept walking, calling back over her shoulder, “The sooner we get this done the better.”
Tearloch winced at her tone. He deserved that. With any luck, he could go the rest of the journey without doing anything more he would need to apologize for when it was over.
As he hurried to catch up with Arianne, he had a feeling that was going to be next to impossible.
Chapter 11
The absolute quiet was her first clue. Since their… whatever it was, she and Tearloch hadn’t spoken a word. But as Arianne led the way up the path, she suddenly realized that more than her companion had fallen quiet. Nature was silent around her. Not a bird sang, not an insect chirped, not a tree rustled. Even the wind had fallen. The entire natural world was still.
It was unnatural.
The realization so stunned her that she stopped dead in her tracks.
Tearloch did not stop so quickly, crashing into her from behind.
“What the—“
She whirled around and slapped a hand over his mouth before he violated the silence further. His silver eyes burned, a clear indication of exactly what he thought of her forcibly quieting him.
Slowly, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and he tugged her hand away. But he did not speak. Instead, he lifted his brows in question.
Arianne raised up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “The silence. Do you hear it?”
He nodded.
“We are near,” she finished.
But she did not immediately lower back to her heels. Without conscious thought, in an effort to keep her whisper as quiet as possible, to get her mouth as close to his ear as possible, her entire body had pressed close to his. Beneath her palms, his shoulders were strong and firm. His chest rose and fell with steady breath—far steadier than her own. And the heat from his body… it filled her with a greater warmth than she could ever remember feeling.
She had not been this close to any other in years. None in the palace would dare to presume such intimacy. Her mother had been gone so long she could barely remember her touch, and even before her father disappeared the madness had stolen his affections from her.
She felt, at once, the simultaneous urge to pull Tearloch even closer and to shove him as far away as possible.
She did neither.
“You need to wait here,” she told him. When he opened his mouth to argue, she added, “I must approach first. It will be safer.”
She could see the battle in his eyes. Still he did not trust her—why should he when she had given him no reason?—but his obvious fear of the witch won out. He nodded.
He leaned down and this time he whispered in her ear. “I shall not be far. Do not think to double-cross me.”
Arianne rolled her eyes. She’d had plenty of opportunities to escape on the long trek up the mountain. Opportunities to grab the sword that hung from his belt and use it against him. Her abilities with a blade rivaled those of any soldier. She could have killed him twenty times over at least.
She long ago learned how to take advantage of being underestimated.
But now was not the time to disabuse him of his arrogance. Now was the time… to see her sister. Her hands shook as she walked away from him, a mixture of a fear and nerves and thrill and anger—so much anger—coursing through her blood.
Arianne followed a barely discernible trail through the slice of forest. The further she went, the lighter the world around her got. The trees were thinning.
Then, in a single step, she was out of the woods. Crossing into an open glade. It was, in a word, beautiful. An oasis of vibrant green in the wintry gray world of the White Mountains.
Was this where her sister had been hiding? It seemed like a paradise compared to the bleak, powerless existence her kin had suffered over the years.
Then she saw it. At the other end of the glade… sat a small wooden hut. The only habitable structure—if it could be called habitable.
Her breath caught.
It was the saddest little hut, not much larger than Arianne’s wardrobe, perhaps two paces square. The roof sat at an odd angle and several of the siding boards hung from a single nail, providing no protection at all.
Arianne’s heart crept into her throat. This was where her sister lived?
All this time, all these years she had spent angry at Callie. Cursing her for leaving their people so helpless, cursing her for leaving period.
Over time Arianne had built up an imaginary world that Callie inhabited. What great things she would produce with her practically unlimited powers… Sweet-meade fountains and candy-coated cottages. Herds of unicorns. Riches and abundance.
Nothing like this.
No one should have to live like this.
“I neither want nor need your pity.”
Arianne spun around at the sound of a voice she had not heard since they were both young girls. And yet she recognized it instantly.
“Callie,” she gasped.
It took every ounce of restraint not to rush toward her sister, older by mere months, and wrap her in a hug, make her promise that everything would be all right.
Callie was a shell. Her hair—long and dark like Arianne’s, but with looser curls—looked like a knotted mess, as if she had not seen fit to brush it once since leaving home. Not in ten years. Her clothes, an ankle-length dress made of thin black cotton with long sleeves and a front-lace, was torn in several places, worn through in several others.
Arianne took a step toward her. “You must be freezing.”
Callie laughed. Not the joyous laugh of the long-lost sister, but a maniacal cackle that sent shivers down Arianne’s spine. She stepped back.
“The cold does not touch me.”
“I see,” Arianne said in a small voice.
Callie’s tone sent shivers down Arianne’s spine. This was the dark-hearted witch she imagined her sister had become, but it felt hollow. Like it was a show, a shield.
Arianne was at a loss for words. She wanted to say something—to reassure Callie that things would be better now or ask her what happened to make her like this—but she couldn’t form the sounds. The proud tilt of her sister’s chin, the dangerous glint in her eyes warned Arianne that to speak those thoughts would be the end of whatever conversation they might have.
She closed her eyes for a second, drew in a fortifying breath. There would be time for sisterly things later. First, she needed to get to her primary purpose in seeking Callie out. Tearloch would not wait indefinitely. She needed to say what needed to be said before his patience vanished.
Arianne opened her eyes and asked, “Did you get my message?”
Callie squinted, twisted her head, like a wild dog listening for a sound on the wind. When she looked back at Arianne, the expression on her face could have cooled the sun itself. “You are not alone.”
Callie started in the direction from which Arianne had entered.
Arianne shouted.
Then the entire glade exploded in a flash of light.
Chapter 12
When Arianne screamed, Tearloch did not stop to think. He burst through the edge of the trees, into the open glade the princess had entered just minutes before.
He did not get two steps into the clearing before a blinding light filled the air.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could only hear muffled sounds. His vision blurred through a thick layer of… something.
He could make out the shapes of the two sisters. Arianne advanced on the witch. There was a struggle. Muffled screams and shouts penetrated the thick fog.
He clearly heard, “No,” and “Let him go!”
The sisters struggled for a few moments longer and then suddenly his world cleared. His frozen motion continued, propelling him forward, and he stumbled into the clearing.
Arianne rushed toward him.
“Are you all right?” she demanded, her palms pressing into his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest.
There was true panic in her voice. He did not know how to react to such sincere concern—not from her, not from anyone. He was a solider, a warrior. He cared for and protected others, not the other way around.
As he let her concern wash over him, seep inside, he found that he quite liked it.
“Why princess,” he teased, “I didn’t know you cared.”
She rolled her eyes and smacked him on the shoulder. “It’s self-protection, I assure you,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion that her aloof response could not hide. “Wouldn’t want to give your clan a reason to be out for blood. Again.”
He didn’t suppress his smile, and was rewarded with a sunny one in return. In that shared moment, a brief connection, Tearloch felt his heart thud heavily against his chest. There was something more between them this quest. He believed he had been fighting that feeling alone. Now he had reason to hope he had not.
Dark movement caught his eye, and he remembered where they were. And why they were there.
Arianne’s face fell into a scowl and she whirled away.
Darkly Fae: The Moraine Cycle Page 12
