Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  Beautiful.

  Galan said, closing his eyes, “The Central forest’s aflame. Haerold’s set the Forest on fire. She is Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy, Lady of the Forest. She feels it, every tree, every life within it, like a thousand small cuts.”

  One blow after another rocked Kyri. Morgan. A part of her soul cried out for him. Was he safe? And Galan? She sensed Galan’s alarm, Morgan’s fury. They were under attack… And then the trees screamed. A flash of weakness hit her, a keening need. Fire! The forest was ablaze. Trees were dying. As the flames spread, she sent those she could to help, yet it rocked her.

  She was Lady of the Forest and the trees were her children, too. Their deaths hurt her, the fire among them grew and spread.

  Haerold had set the Great Central Forest ablaze.

  Morgan. Galan.

  Kyri staggered…

  “Or come down before me, Kyriay of the Fairy, bend your knee to me and accept me as your rightful lord and King. If you do I will spare you and your people,” Haerold said.

  “So, it comes to that, does it?”

  She looked down at him.

  Lifting her chin, standing straight and regal, she declared, “I am Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy and I bend my knee to no one.”

  “So be it,” Haerold answered. “It’s on your own head then. I declare you, Kyriay of the Fairy, an enemy of this Kingdom, outlaw, to be captured, preferably alive, and brought to justice. As for your people, your lands, your forests, they are subject now to me.”

  The wizard raised her hands…gestured.

  A small burst of fire raced for the sky, too small and too far away to be a danger.

  A signal then, but for what?

  From above a burst of alarm, horror, came far too late.

  Behind her, Kyri heard a sound, a rustling, even as she turned her head, even as her wings stroked to take her out of danger, it struck.

  Something punched her in low in the back, impaled her completely, piercing her, deep, sharp and sudden. The impact drove her forward a step. Her back arched as it plunged into her, forced a cry from her as it speared deep…and through…

  Morgan.

  For a second she closed her eyes, seeing his strong, square and handsome face sharp in her mind. Those clear, distinctive blue eyes. His strong solid body.

  There were times when she would look at him, just look at him and the sight had made her breath catch….and her heart.

  Morgan. I’m so sorry, love….

  They hadn’t used magic…

  They’d used a bow.

  A very big bow. With a very long arrow.

  Morgan knew the moment disaster struck. He saw it in Kyri’s body, in her bearing, in her distant face, in the way her eyes widened, her lips parted. The shock on Kyri’s face told him everything and then the red stain spread across her stomach.

  She was jerked backward a step.

  Morgan could picture what they had done all too clearly. They had gaffed her like a fish.

  And now they reeled her in.

  “Kyri,” he shouted.

  In shock and disbelief, Kyri looked down at the wooden shaft and barbed arrowhead that pierced her, sticking out of her stomach between her ribs. Blood stained the pretty white lace. Her fingers fluttered near it in astonishment. There was no pain – not yet – save that she could feel it there inside her. Invading her. There was only the shock of it. Of seeing it there, impaling her.

  A collective gasp echoed from the crowd below, cries of horrified dismay, outrage and sorrow.

  Below her Kyri could see Haerold and his wizard looking up, smiling.

  “It looks as if we’ve caught us a pretty little bird. If you live, I’m going to clip those pretty wings and put you in a cage,” Haerold cried. “We’ll see how proud you are then, Queen of the Fairy.”

  NO.

  The wizard nodded.

  “Bring her down,” the woman snapped.

  A rough jerk dug the barbs of the arrow into Kyri’s skin and nearly pulled her off her feet.

  Turning her head, to her horror Kyri could see a long, taut rope stringing out behind her. It was tied to the arrow inside her.

  She wouldn’t die this way. She would not.

  Desperately, Kyri pulled her sword and slashed at it.

  The thick rope parted before sharp Fairy steel and the yanking ceased.

  Kyri stumbled as weakness rushed through her. Each breath was agony. She panted shallowly.

  She leaped, her wings stroking for the sky, a keening cry tearing from her as each beat shifted the thing inside her.

  Launching herself into the air she strove for as much height as she could bear, clinging desperately to consciousness, hoping to glide, seeking distance…

  If she could get close enough, if Morgan could reach her, Galan….

  Morgan watched as she leaped, took flight, her crystal wings shimmered in the light, but he could see by the way she flew that she was hurt, and badly. And weakening fast.

  The first buffet of wind struck her, driving her aside. She fought it gamely, but he could see her pull her strokes, trying to flatten her wings to glide.

  Kyri fought the battering wind, tried to rise, to find the thermals and soar, she needed range, distance, if she were to have any hope Morgan could get to her in time, help her. Wind struck her again and she was forced to fly. Each stroke of her wings tore at her inside, the pain making her swoon, wearing her down.

  She was weakening, darkness hazed her vision.

  Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to keep fighting, keep trying… She could almost hear Morgan shouting and that galvanized her, another stroke….another…

  And she was falling.

  Desperately she pulled up out of the dive, but not quite in time….

  Morgan watched as Kyri fell out of the sky, her wings loose, fluttering, and his heart was in his throat.

  He couldn’t bear to watch her die.

  At the last minute she shook her head, pulling up to tumble through the long grasses.

  Worse still, in the distance he could see those grasses part to form three tracks. All of them moving toward Kyri. With more behind them.

  Hunters.

  The Fairy made a strafing run, trying to save their Queen, pulling up to fire, but the Hunters dodged the arrows.

  Four. One of the Hunters was in the trail of another.

  It did slow them, though.

  Would they make it in time?

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Kyri tried to fight to her feet but only made it to one knee, her sword out when the first of the Hunters burst out of the tall grass. The leader smiled, his wolfish jaws gaped to taste her on the wind, his discolored teeth gleaming in his pink and black mouth, tongue lolling.

  “My Lord King wants you alive,” he growled. “We’ll try, but we’re very hungry.”

  It was meant to frighten her and it succeeded.

  It was meant to make her panic and it failed.

  Kyri looked at him, waited….watched his yellow eyes. They shifted.

  He leaped and she ducked, rammed her sword up into him, his momentum pulling her over even as she twisted to avoid jostling the bolt that pierced her.

  Blood spattered her as he howled in pain and fury.

  Tumbling away, she thrust her sword in front of her desperately as the others circled.

  Against her will, she staggered and the next leaped. She slashed with her sword and drove it back. Another dove in, claws lashing at her legs, another at her side…

  They savaged her.

  She screamed defiance as they darted in, one after another, forced her to turn, to fight, trying to wear her down, succeeding, each movement causing the thing inside her to shift and move, the pain blinding, terrible.

  A little longer, a little longer…

  Suddenly arrows rained down on them and something burst past them, sending them tumbling, bowling them over. With yelps and snarls they scrambled to their feet.

  Horses, men and swords,
her own Fairy, wings sparkling, the Marshals, all of them battled the Hunters away from her, forced them back as the Marshals formed a defensive circle around her. One of the riders leaped off his horse and strode toward her to gather her up, his eyes so blue.

  Morgan.

  Her heart leaped, with hope and with fear for him. He shouldn’t be off his horse, it was too dangerous down here, he was vulnerable.

  Her dazed eyes met his, her sword dropping from her suddenly strengthless fingers as she went to her knees.

  Morgan caught her as she fell and eased her into the crook of his arm, her face whiter than white. He’d never seen her so pale. There was so much blood.

  It had been terrible to watch, racing to her aid as they harried her, her courage and determination heartbreaking as the Hunters bit and tore at her as she fought to drive them off.

  To see her like this, covered in blood, the bolt an obscene invasion, horrific, the slashes on her arms, her legs, bleeding through the silk and lace so what had once been silver and gold was now scarlet, nearly destroyed him.

  Weakness shivered through her, even as she fixed her eyes on him, her knees crumpling.

  Her eyes seem to blaze against the paleness of her skin, even as she lifted shaking fingers to touch his face.

  “Morgan.” Her voice was a whisper as her eyes fluttered.

  Heartsick, desperate, Galan dropped to his knees beside them, catching Morgan’s hands as he started to pull the barbed arrow from her.

  The sight of it in her was sacrilege to him, defiling her.

  It offended Galan, too, but Healing told him a far more frightening story. Shock went through him. There was so much damage. Fear flashed like lightning.

  “Hold, Morgan,” Galan cried, “pull it now and she dies.”

  Looking into Galan’s eyes, Morgan could see the truth of it. .

  “There’s not much time,” Morgan said.

  The rest of their people were buying them this small fraction of it.

  Nodding, Galan set his hands around the wound, sinking into Healing as fast as he dared, enough to buy them a little more time.

  “On my count,” Galan said. “One, two, three…Pull it now.”

  Morgan pulled and Kyri cried out, her body arching, her aquamarine eyes opening wide as pain exploded through her…The cry was thin, weak.

  The pain was rough and blunt, shattering.

  Galan blasted healing through her, enough to hold, at least for a little while.

  Her body arched, her blue-green eyes, hazed and shadowed, cleared enough for her to see for a moment…the staggering pain giving her that much at least.

  “Morgan…” Her voice was a whisper.

  His heart ached, as his eyes ran over the rest of her, seeing the slashes and bites from the Hunters, the cuts and tears over her lovely body. As always, she had fought, hard and valiantly.

  “We’ll get you home, Kyri.”

  “Love you,” she breathed.

  Bending his head down to her ear, he whispered, “I love you, too.”

  Those aquamarine eyes shifted to Galan.

  He shook his head. “Don’t speak, my Kyri.”

  She was too weak.

  Galan already had the horse down and Morgan nodded gratefully as he lifted her gently into his arms and stepped onto it. The horse surged to his feet, Kyri safe for the moment in his arms, her weight light against his thighs. It reminded him strongly of the day they’d first made love. Of her laughing face looking up at him. His heart twisted as his arms tightened.

  She wasn’t Healed yet, though and they were a long way and a long fight, from home.

  Handing Morgan his sword, Galan nodded and then turned for his own horse.

  “Let’s go,” Morgan shouted, as their people surrounded them, as Haerold’s troops closed.

  Galan, looking washed out and strained himself said, “We have more problems. Our people with the rebels on both sides are tracking soldiers closing in a pincer movement.”

  They’d taken no chances, Haerold and his wizard Queen.

  “Will they cut us off?” Morgan asked.

  His eyes unfocused, Galan tilted his head, listening. A small frown flickered and then he smiled.

  “They vow no. Even now they push the pace to try to catch them up.”

  If Kyri survived.

  At the thought, Galan’s pleasure sobered. He wasn’t the Healer Kyri was and she couldn’t help him in this.

  It would be a near thing. On all counts.

  Morgan kept Kyri in his arms from the moment they found refuge in one of their safe houses and Galan struggled to Heal her, fighting for her life. And that was clearly what it was. A fight, a battle. The white dress had turned scarlet. It went on for hours, Galan muttering to himself worriedly as he tried to Heal her, clearly stretching himself to his limits.

  All Morgan could do was hold her, keep her warm.

  ”Help me, my Kyri,” Galan whispered, once.

  In his mind Galan went over and over everything she’d ever taught him, every step, seeing her in his mind’s eye so patient, so steady, smiling.

  Exhausted, he finally looked up at Morgan, who looked no less battled and bruised than he probably did.

  “She’ll live,” he said, sagging back against the wall weakly.

  “Go rest,” Morgan said, “I’ll take care of her now.”

  The Fairy Healer was clearly exhausted.

  Through all the long night Morgan held her as she tossed restlessly now and then, as if fighting off the Hunters again in her dreams. He would hold her, whisper in her ear, reassuring her until she calmed again. Finally, as the first blush of dawn was touching the sky, she settled into sleep and after a time so did he.

  When she shifted a little to curl more deeply into his arms, he woke, tightening his arms around her.

  Looking down at her fine-boned face, to him she still looked too pale, too fragile, with blue shadows beneath her eyes. He brushed the backs of his fingers across the softness of her cheek, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The feverish warmth was gone, as was the coldness that had preceded it. He brushed her hair back from her lovely face with gentle fingers.

  Her eyes fluttered a moment, opened, looking up at him in near disbelief and then in wonder. A slender hand reached up to touch his face once again with unsteady fingers, tracing down it.

  Her voice was little more than a whisper. A breath. “Morgan?”

  “I’m here,” he said, “you’re safe.”

  Kyri looked up into his face, into those brilliant blue eyes, the firm square jaw, the strong lines of his face, his solid body so reassuring against hers, something that she could hold on to when the winds of fate buffeted her.

  Taking a long, painless breath, she pressed her face against his throat and simply breathed in the scent of him, taking comfort in the simple physical presence of him.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said, softly.

  Tears glimmered in her eyes, spilled over…

  Morgan had feared much the same thing and cupped her cheek to press her against his chest.

  Rubbing his cheek against her hair, he said, “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

  Her hand went to her stomach.

  There was a scar there on that once smooth skin that rarely scarred. One day Haerold would pay for that, Morgan vowed.

  But it was the healing she wanted to know about. Her eyes looked a question at him.

  “Galan,” Morgan said.

  “Where?”

  Her voice was so weak.

  “Resting,” he said.

  Her gaze turned inward. She was so tired.

  “Tell him I said he did well,” she said. “Where are we?”

  Pressing a finger to her lips, seeing what it cost her to speak, he said, “Safe. Stop talking.”

  She took another breath, painlessly, filled her lungs with the scent of Morgan. He smelled wonderful, rich…and alive.

  “Tired,” she whispered.

/>   “Sleep then, for a little while,” Morgan said, cradling her head in his hand against his shoulder.

  That had been too close. Entirely too close.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  The grim look on Oryan’s face as they entered the tent was enough to warn them. He held another broadside in his hand. By his expression the news wasn’t good. Morgan braced himself, Kyri going still and watchful as Oryan gestured them inside, his eyes mainly on Kyri.

  They had just arrived, walking into Oryan’s tent without even taking the time to unsaddle their horses, Caleb taking care of that chore for them.

  Looking at his face, she steeled herself, grateful for Morgan’s supportive arm at her waist.

  She took a breath and nodded. “Say it, Oryan. I take it that Haerold has responded?”

  His jaw tightened even as his throat locked.

  They had only just returned and Kyri still looked far too pale to Oryan’s eyes. She was Queen of the Fairy, though and her sea-foam eyes were steady and level on his. It took incredible courage to face such news after being so badly hurt. They each faced such every day these days.

  Oryan nodded.

  Beneath Morgan’s hand, Kyri straightened.

  If Morgan had ever admired her strength before, he did so even more now in the face of what she’d just been through. She said nothing, but put her hand over his on her waist, drawing on him for support. Which he gave and gladly.

  “It’s even worse than we anticipated,” Oryan said. “Haerold has declared all Fairy lands forfeit to the Crown, to do with as it pleases. Any and all Fairy caught aiding the Rebellion are to be caught – preferably alive – for return to the King’s Court and the justice there. The remainder will bow to Haerold as King.”

  Oryan let the paper fall to the table. “There’s a bounty on Fairy and it’s large, but not as large as the one on you, Kyri.”

  Kyri took a breath and nodded. “It was always and ever his plan to bring the Fair to heel, Oryan. Witness his attack on my embassy that night in Caernarvon when he attacked your castle. This is no surprise. Harsh, but no surprise. He’ll cut down the Forests, on the pretense of rooting us out. That will tie up our resources, as we must try to save what we can – the Forests are our lives. ”