by Gwynn White
Her heart broke into a gallop. Quickly, she knelt to look out.
The restless sea heaved back and forth on a white beach just a few feet below the bars. At spring tide, the waves would crash into this opening.
Surely a lifetime of that pounding, combined with the salty air, would have weakened the bars?
She snatched at the closest one. Masonry crumbled, both top and bottom, which held the bars in place.
“Move,” Zandor commanded, as he strained at his bar.
She skittered back, giving him space.
Face red, he grunted as he tugged and tugged. The perished metal squealed, then cracked at the base. He pulled it away, tossed it onto the floor and started on the next bar. With the mortar crumbling, it came away more easily. He tossed that one down, too.
She could have hugged him—and Peckle for leading them here. Was there any secret in the palazzo the cat didn’t know?
Instead, she grabbed a bar and was about to start working it when Zandor’s third one popped free. The fourth quickly followed. He was about to start on the fifth when she whispered, “Let’s not waste more time. I can get through that, and I’m sure you can, too, if you squeeze.”
He shuffled aside and made space for her. “Go.”
Before she could move, Peckle jumped out and vanished from view.
“Damned cat,” she muttered as she eased herself through the ragged opening after him.
Her feet alighted onto dry sand. The beach, deserted despite the beauty of the setting sun, opened before her. At the far end, the mermaid Guardian turned on her spindle.
Although hidden by shadows, Aurora hugged the crenulated palazzo wall that loomed behind her in case an archer looked down and saw or heard her.
Zandor shoved his feet through the opening. Back arched, they dangled onto the sand. He wriggled more of his torso out then stopped. A groan, followed by a curse.
“I’m stuck,” he hissed.
Heart thumping, she stepped into the open and grabbed his feet. She tugged with all her strength, while he wriggled his top half.
The rip of clothing.
She tugged harder—and then he was out, tumbling onto the sand. He leaped to his feet, grabbed her hand, and started running down the beach.
The mermaid had to be about five hundred yards away.
Too far for the musketeers, but just in range of the archers.
She tried not to think of arrows raining down on them as they crossed that exposed stretch of sand.
Her heart sank. Even if they got to the mermaid, what did it help when there was no sight of Jorah’s caravel in the bay?
With nowhere else to go, she half-ran, half-stumbled toward the Guardian. Peckle raced along on her other side.
Bells clanged.
She almost tripped over her feet. Someone had discovered that they had gone.
FORTY-ONE
Jorah
Jorah gritted his teeth against pain that brought tears to his eyes as Keahr urged their horses forward. It was worse the farther they moved from the Guardian as his senses returned. The best he could do was focus on the brisk clip of his horse’s hooves as it clattered down a rutted path.
They passed the two-mile marker. A cobbled road that led to the dock replaced the track.
They had not gone more than twenty strides when a discordant clanging jarred the air.
“The bells!” Niing wailed. “They know she’s gone.”
Jorah shouted to Keahr, “Can you get any more speed out of these things?”
Keahr urged her horse—and therefore his—into a canter.
Hands white with tension, Jorah hung on, moaning softly with each jarring step.
The one-mile marker slipped by in a blur of brown and green. The same spring-oak-leaf color of Aurora’s eyes.
A roar erupted from his chest, one he hadn’t known was coming. His horse whinnied and surged forward. The gray mare, egged on by his gelding, bucked.
Keahr brought it under control, then turned back to shout at him, “Managing?”
“Yes.” The wind whipped the word from his mouth. He shouted louder. “Don’t slow.”
The half-mile mark.
They mounted a rise, and then the road dropped down sharply. Below them, the turquoise sea gleamed gold and pink in the sunset.
He barely noticed the beauty. He only had eyes for the harbor—and the promise of sliding off this horse before the bones in his leg were ground into powder.
The docks were crowded with traffic. People selling their wares; men with fishing poles, baskets and nets, sitting with their legs hanging off the side of the pier; fishing boats coming back in from the small stretch of sea surrounded by the hideous Guardians. A few small boats dotted the bay. Best of all, his caravel, The Nautilus Spray, was tied to the dock with his crew onboard waiting for him.
A spit, spread out like fanned playing cards, circled the left side of the bay. At one end, where the high, ugly wall that divided Ryferia from the rest of the world ended, a winged fae turned on her spindle. On the other, about a mile away as the crow flew, a mermaid stood guard. That was where he was to meet Aurora and Zandor.
Between the two, some five miles from the coast, wound a line of chain mail hung from smaller Guardians mounted on buoys. The barrier hung some fifteen feet into the sea.
He, Keahr, and Niing raced onto the docks. Their horses’ hooves clattered onto the wooden pier as they careened to the berth where The Nautilus Spray waited.
A few people raised their heads in alarm. Others darted out of the way.
When they reached the caravel, Keahr pulled on the reins. Her mare whinnied as she slowed. His horse shot right past hers and dug its hooves into the ground to stop. He almost pitched right over its head before he managed to grip the pommel.
The fae dismounted in a mess of limbs. She pulled Niing off his horse, leaving bloody streaks on his clothes, and dropped him unceremoniously next to the caravel’s gangplank. Looking older than Jorah could ever imagine, Niing dithered between the ship and his horse.
Without waiting for Keahr to help him, Jorah slipped off his gelding, careful not to place too much weight on his injured leg. Still, the bones groaned in complaint, willing him to stay still. He ignored them—and his pride—as Keahr flung his arm over her shoulder once more and pulled him up the gangplank.
His crew rushed to their aid.
Arwan, his captain and friend—a silver-haired fae with power over air, just like Keahr—levered him away from Keahr’s possessive grasp and half-carried him onto the deck of his ship.
Jorah didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “We need to get to the mermaid Guardian. Fast.”
Arwan set him down on an upturned barrel. “Consider it done.” He shouted to the crew, “All hands on deck!”
Arwan raced to the wheelhouse to guide them out of the harbor. If Arwan had access to his magic, he would have called up a wind to stiffen their sails.
As it was, they had to rely on the gentle breeze that cooled the sweat on Jorah’s face. With their Guardians, the Untalented blocked something so natural as breathing. Jorah groaned in frustration at the insanity.
The minutes dragged as the crew edged them beyond the harbor wall. Once in the bay, the wind stiffened the three lateen sails. Sleek and agile, The Nautilus Spray responded with a surge of speed as it cut through the waves.
“Relax, my friend!” Arwan yelled at him from the wheelhouse. “I’m on this. We’ll be at the mermaid before you know it.”
There was nothing for Jorah to do but wait.
FORTY-TWO
Aurora
Aurora sped up. It still wasn’t fast enough.
“Damn it.” The lines on Zandor’s face deepened with alarm. “It won’t be long before they find us.”
If she hadn’t been so painfully out of breath, her body beating against her will to run, she might have snapped back a fearful retort.
Her ankle buckled.
Zandor’s hands flew to catch her, pu
lling her back upright. “We can’t stop. We have to go.”
She gulped down a breath, hiking her dress up to her knees.
The bells chimed louder.
“There they are!” A shout from behind them.
She risked a glance back.
Musketeers lined the walls of the palazzo, armed with bows and arrows. She couldn’t see Artemis.
“Open fire!” Artemis’s voice carried clear over the walls and across the beach. “They do not leave this beach alive!”
The first assault found its mark in the sand around her. One glowed bright orange right where she had been only moments before.
She moaned through gritted teeth as she pushed all the energy she had left into her numbing legs.
It didn’t improve her speed.
Zandor and Peckle remained by her side. They could go faster, could escape, if it weren’t for her. She opened her mouth to say so, just as another hailstorm of arrows rained down around them.
Blood spewed as an arrow ripped through Zandor’s leather coat and lodged in his back. His hand ripped from hers.
Her eyes widened in horror.
He stumbled forward only to fall face first on the sand.
She flung herself down next him just as another shower of arrows rained down around them.
None met their mark.
It didn’t matter.
An arrow in Zandor’s back was no different than an arrow in hers. She would never leave him, just as he would never leave her.
He turned his face to her. “Go. Save yourself.”
She slapped the back of his head. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Please.” His voice was desperate. “I don’t want you harmed.”
“Shut up so I can think.”
His head dropped back onto the sand, and then he struggled to rise.
Peckle meowed and, every hair standing, sprinted to the mermaid.
The little traitor was leaving them to their fate! Peckle turned to hiss at her, and then he was off again, headed down the beach.
No, he was showing her what to do. The best—the only thing—to do was to brave the arrows and to get Zandor to the safety of the Guardian. She understood, and Peckle was right.
Heart threatening to explode, she gripped Zandor under his arms and helped him stand. Ignoring his groans of pain, she tossed her arm around his shoulder and started to run for the mermaid.
FORTY-THREE
Raith
Raith shook his head to clear his thoughts, still unable to believe that Aurora had been led away for murdering her brother.
Shock. That was the word.
Surely, no one could be stupid enough to believe it? The Intelligentsia just couldn’t stand the idea of an Infirm woman in government.
Worse, they had stolen his feast from him.
He stomped through the woods away from the Guardian, ignoring Carian following him through the trees.
Tired, angry, and craving blood, he slumped down on a rock ledge that dipped sharply down to the sea.
He had lost. Even when he had beaten Jorah, he had still lost.
“So that’s it?” Carian growled behind him. “You’re just going to give up?”
Raith spun. “What do you expect me to do now, Carian?” he snarled. “She’s gone.”
“Get up,” Carian seethed. “We are not done. Not by half.”
Raith turned back to stare at the sea. Below him, another of those hateful Guardians turned—this one, a mermaid.
“Get up, you piece of filth!” Carian grabbed Raith by the collar and yanked him to his feet. “You don’t give up. You don’t sit down until we have what we want.”
Raith gagged under the pressure on his neck. He flailed his arms to swat Carian off. Finally, a lucky punch caught Carian on the nose. The psychopath jumped back and let him go.
“I’m not going to marry her! I have no power in Ryferia! Artemis and the Intelligentsia hate me almost as much as they hate her! I have nothing! That means you have nothing! Get used to it!”
“So you lost the bitch—big whoop!” Carian shouted right back. “There are thousands of Magical people in Ryferia you can suck on.”
Raith threw his hands up for emphasis. “None will be as powerful as her. People with Aurora’s power only come around once every few decades, if not centuries. If I can’t have her, right now, I don’t want anyone.”
That wasn’t entirely true; the craving was killing him. But his psychotic brother—no one—would ever understand his craving for Aurora. For days now, he had courted her, smelling her skin, dreaming of her blood.
And now, to be denied, was devastating.
Carian took a deep breath—then smiled. “Okay. Let’s look at this logically.” His tone was placatory. He patted the rocks. “Let’s sit.”
Exhaustion made Raith sink down next to him.
Carian draped an arm around his shoulders. “You have done well, Raith. Really you have. But don’t give up now. We can go into town—find one of those brothels that bastard Artemis was talking about. We can use it as a base. I will make the potion, and then you can go out and feed. Soon you will be so strong that—” The psychopath broke off as bells began to peal.
Raith and Carian both turned toward the sound.
And then Raith saw her . . . and his breath snagged in his throat.
Aurora, hemmed in by Zandor and that hated cat, tore down the beach toward the mermaid.
Even without his powers, this would be his last chance to sink his teeth into Aurora’s neck. Perhaps that alone would be enough to still his cravings.
He shot to his feet and burst into a run.
Carian called to him, but he ignored the cry and scrambled to a gully on the side of the ledge. Filled with loose stones and exposed roots, it would be a treacherous path down the hill.
The prize was worth it.
He jumped off the ledge and landed on the shale just as a storm of fiery arrows rained down around Aurora and her friends.
One of them hit Zandor in the back.
At last! Something was going his way. He threw his fist up into the air in a victory salute.
With the centaur gone, Aurora was defenseless. If he moved fast, he might even have time to get her through that confounded mermaid before the musketeers arrived.
Excitement lent speed to his helter-skelter slide down the hill.
FORTY-FOUR
Jorah
The Nautilus Spray drew parallel to the mermaid when Jorah spotted Aurora, Zandor, and Peckle.
Wild locks blowing like sails in the wind, Aurora half-carried, half-dragged her stumbling bodyguard. Zandor was trying to help her, but he was pale and weak—and with an arrow protruding from his back.
Around them, more arrows thudded—how they missed Aurora, only Maleficent knew.
His heart skipped a beat, and he almost dropped the broom he had commandeered to use as a crutch. He shouted, “Aurora!”
The sound was swallowed by the wind and the crash of the waves on the beach.
He doubted that she’d even seen them riding parallel to her.
Peckle looked his way. The cat skidded to a stop and then spun to dart in front of Aurora. She almost fell over him. From her flailing hand, she had to be cursing the cat. Peckle darted back across her feet, this time in the direction of the breakers.
Aurora’s head followed him—to the caravel. Her shoulders sagged, and she almost dropped Zandor.
Jorah was just as thrilled to see her. He waved.
She gave him a furious one-handed wave in return.
He gripped his broom tighter and hobbled into the wheelhouse. Niing and Keahr sat on the floor behind Arwan at the wheel.
Jorah yelled, “Arwan, get in closer. The centaur’s down, and Aurora isn’t strong enough for this.”
“Can’t,” Arwan snapped. “There’s a reef just off the breakers. It’ll rip us apart.”
Niing and Keahr sprang to their feet to look over the railing.
Jorah swore,
then yelled at his lieutenant, a powerful sea-snake shape-shifter, “Baylon, drop a boat. Get the princess and her people here, now.” He cursed his leg, wishing he could do it himself. “And then take the boat and open the chain mail.”
Baylon and two fae, Simeon and Asher, rushed across the deck to obey. Skilled hands quickly lowered a rowing boat into the wind-whipped water. Weapons strapped across their backs, the men paddled with strong strokes to the shore.
Jorah couldn’t rip his eyes from Aurora. Filthy, hair a tangled mess, face red and gleaming with sweat, she had never been more beautiful.
More powerful, even without her magic restored.
Someone on The Nautilus Spray screamed. It was followed by a thud of something—a body?—hitting the deck.
Jorah swore as he spun on his broom. One of his crew sprawled on the deck with an arrow through the eye. Another clutched an arrow in his belly. Two dangled from the rigging, both dead. Another hung with his head over the railing. The inertia proved too much, and he slid off and splashed into the sea.
Five men out of his crew of fifteen.
They may have been too far from the beach to help Aurora but clearly not too far from the battlements encircling the outer rim of the palazzo, where Artemis’s archers swarmed.
“Archers!” Jorah bellowed.
Every man, except Arwan, who was needed in the wheelhouse, nocked arrows and pulled bowstrings taut. A mess of twangs as each arrow was released. They whistled through the air.
Without the height of the battlements and the wind on their side, most fell short of the mark. The one or two that did breach the honey-colored stone crenulations shot true.
It was too much to hope that Artemis was there to receive his due.
Another shower of arrows hit the ship. Some stuck to the masts. Others ripped holes in the sails.
A few even cut down some of his precious crew, leaving the deck slick with blood.
