The Frey Saga Book IV

by Melissa Wright

  “Changeling,” Keane warned, but his argument was cut short when Liana flicked a gaze beside him.

  “Not today,” she repeated, her words stronger now as several tall, olive-skinned high fey in decorative leather armor weaved among those waiting. They positioned themselves nearer Keane, crossing arms and sharing glances. They didn’t move to touch the fire fey, but the intention was plain enough: they might die in the process, but given the chance they would knock him from his protections and into the mercy of an elven lord and a changeling fey skilled in the art of killing.

  Liana had put high fey in place.

  Liana had known.

  “Take the Second,” Keane said, glancing sidelong at Liana’s fey, wordlessly promising a slow death before his eyes came back to Liana, “and I shall take a higher prize.”

  His meaning was clear. The only one of us a bigger prize than my Second was me. I stepped forward, feeling the pull on my magic, knowing every high fey in that field understood the full extent of what was happening. “I will not be bartered like a common stone. I come to see the lord of your high court, and if you think I would be so easily taken you are all fools.”

  They weren’t fools—they had strung out an endless array of traps and snares, magic and spellcasting. This was not some minor trick, this was not that they’d knocked us from our horses and muddied our faces. They’d used serious magic to get us here, they’d planned and plotted for the series of events that would throw us off our normal response. How long had they been preparing for this—since I’d been restored to the throne? Before that? Before Asher even; before the massacre? My stomach turned.

  I walked forward, unsure what would happen when I crossed the boundary still tied within the grasp of countless fey, my magic tethered by both. It was possible the protections set would sever the tie, release my power to me and allow me to reach Chevelle and retaliate without risk. It was more likely that the fey had thought of this and my plan would backfire, releasing untold power to Keane and his underlings, who, with that kind of unchecked strength, would eventually end up destroying the entirety of both the fey and elven lands.

  My confidence wavered at the thought, and I looked to the others. Liana stilled me with a glance, her smile opposing the warning meant only for me. She brushed some invisible dust from her dress, the shade flickering briefly to green. Beyond her, Chevelle watched Keane, which was possibly more telling than Liana’s response. My feet were frozen to the earth. I hated being trapped.

  I hated not being able to help them.

  I glanced at the lowering sun in a sky full of red. “Keane, you’ve wasted enough of my time. Carry on before I have my guard dispatch you.”

  He leaned forward, ready with a response. It was going to hurt.

  Liana smiled and flicked her wrist. A half-dozen of the olive-skinned fey lunged, their long fingers digging into Keane’s armor as they spun around him in tandem, pulling to knock him from his feet. The air exploded into flame, whirling through the fey and overhead as a hundred others looked on. Did they have so much confidence in him? Or was it lack of devotion that kept them rooted in place?

  A fire fey let loose a high-pitched howl, the sound screaming through the open field and inciting action. The rest of the line writhed and thrashed, clearly wanting to join in, but something was stopping them. It was as if they were tethered to their spots.

  Like me.

  The wind fell and Keane shoved a fierce blast of power out from his position, Liana’s fey collapsing into hissing, bubbling heaps. The anger on his face was hotter than that fire, and Liana laughed. It was a full-on cackle, complete with bending and pressing a hand to her chest. Keane’s eyes narrowed, still hot with flame, and the line of fey stared on at the broken men surrounding their chief.

  Liana wiped at her cheek, brushing away phantom tears as her laughter died to a broken chuckle. “Priceless,” she said. “And so easily won.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but Chevelle’s gaze shot to her, apparently at least suspicious of another plot. What she had warned me of—spilling the blood of the high fey—was that a clue for this as well, or was it another secret, some trickery of a changeling fey?

  “Your flesh will shroud this stone, Liana, before three solid moons. That I can swear to you.” His tone had gone serious, but Liana’s chin only tilted down, her gaze targeted on his. She was making promises of her own.

  Chevelle straightened, sliding his belt into place but keeping his sword in hand. He could not come back to me, could not retreat over the barrier without it being an open win for the fey, an invitation to come at him full-force without regard to their own rules, but it was clear he was done with this. That he meant no more fooling with the lot of them. Grey had sidled beside him, edging out the few remaining fey who still waited amongst my guard, and I could finally see Rider, his scuffed black boots still against the stone and clay. Anvil’s form blocked the rest of him from view, but he remained close, the toe of his own boots resting against his downed comrade’s side.

  I took a deep breath, ready to make my bargain with little hope I could get us all out alive. “So,” Liana said, cutting me off with a casual gesture toward the trees. “Let us go now, before the nightthings come calling.” She turned to Keane, giving him a small nod. “Until then.”

  I hadn’t the slightest idea how she meant to gather me, given that she’d just warned me about moving forward and the others could not move back, but Keane’s reply stilled the shifting field once more.

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” he called to her. She caught my eye before glancing over her shoulder at her opponent, who remained in his small patch of land. Protected from spellcasting. Protected from magic.

  “I don’t believe that was ever the case,” she purred.

  He laughed mirthlessly before pointing to the ground at my guards’ feet. “Then you are doubly mistaken, young one, because the blood that was spilled was not merely from those you owned.”

  Liana didn’t look where he gestured, only at Keane. “Those were direct attacks; I wouldn’t count them so eagerly.”

  He smirked, knowing her men had attacked him as well. “We simply intended capture, by my word.”

  Anvil stiffened at the mocking tone the fire fey had taken, the phrase ‘by my word’ stolen from elven lands and bantered about like children at play. Anvil knew the word of the fey held no honor. He glanced back at me, and then leaned down to grip Rider by the belts crossing his waist and chest. I stared on as the large man lifted his friend, heaving him in one try across a shoulder.

  “As I was saying,” Liana said. “We shall go now.”

  The waiting fey grew restless, fire and wind igniting their line. She flipped a hand at them, but their magic only flickered.

  They were going to move on us. There must have been some edict set forth, some warning about spilling the blood of the high fey, and it must have been on fey lands, not the ones we’d encountered in the castle.

  Chevelle and the others had indeed spilled blood here, but so had Keane. I felt the tension growing wild inside me, the need to act and the fear at those tethers tied beneath the earth. They would have to let go to attack me. At least some of them would have to let go.

  Liana kept moving, without worry by all outward appearance, but her shade had gone darker, tinged with hints of her own true hue.

  “Kill them,” Keane ordered, and though I couldn’t be sure precisely who they counted as targets, there was an immediate pull on the power within me. For an instant, I thought it was mine, a reaction to his words and a desire to fight. But it wasn’t. It was them. The long line of fey standing before us, drawing my power through a sieve, tugging and tearing and willing it to them through the barrier to use against my own men. I fought it, clawing helplessly at the air and drawing every part of myself in. Someone called to me, but my ears were a roar of magic and power, the screaming wind, the fire, the shattering rock beneath my skin.

  I was on the ground.r />
  “I said halt,” the voice commanded. A burst of power laced with the scent of leaves and the warmth of the summer sun shot through me. My teeth were gritted so hard they ached, my leather-covered knees pressed into the shards of broken stone among water that had turned to ice. My hands shook, fingers crooked into hooks as they still fought an invisible battle.

  But the tearing had stopped. No one was pulling on the ties, the clearing was silent.

  I breathed.

  “Veil.” His name came automatic, falling from my lips of its own accord as he stood suddenly in the clearing, golden wings and golden skin, shining like the sun in the lowering sky. His chest heaved, breath coming faster than I thought I’d ever seen it. I wondered what he’d done to still this field, these two hundred fey. My eyes found Chevelle. Grey. Anvil. Rider.

  Keane roared from his spot on the sidelines, several of the younger fey retreating at the sound. “You’ve no right to enter this quarrel!”

  Veil straightened, his gaze finally leaving me, making me aware that my hands remained frozen, outstretched and struggling to not release my power. He knew that, didn’t he? He had to understand what was happening.

  He had warned me.

  “Elfreda, Lord of the North and the Dark Elves’ Kingdom, is my guest, Keane. I assure you it is entirely my right and I dare you to extend this quarrel one single beat of your darkened heart.”

  Veil’s words were not the quiet warning I was used to. This speech was filled with danger and the charge of electricity crawled up my skin, even over the barrier that separated us. It was the first time I’d noticed the heliotropes, Flora and Virtue, hovering outside the circle of blood and ash. They could control this if they wanted to. They could regain order if it were at Veil’s hand.

  Keane glared. “You count me as a fool? She does not cross unguarded upon your invitation.”

  Veil stepped forward, his shoulders and wings glistening not just with sun, but something damp. It covered his heliotropes as well. “Lord Freya is here upon my invitation.”

  Liana giggled, her thin hand smacking over an open grin at the turn of events. Everyone knew it wasn’t an accident; the sound had been purposefully spelled from her. Veil gave the changeling a sidelong glance, and then gestured at me. “Come, Elfreda, we have business to attend.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Liana’s gaze flicked between Veil and me. I couldn’t let go of the power.

  “I insist on safe passage,” I answered after a moment, “for my guard.” My heart tightened in my chest, but I refused to allow it hope. “And retribution for our injured. Upon my crown.”

  Veil looked at Rider where he lay strung over Anvil’s shoulder. He pressed his lips together. Liana jerked her head toward the fallen fey at Keane’s feet, but I could see only her back now, and wasn’t certain what other clue she might have given.

  Keane didn’t wait for Veil’s reply. “If the Lord of the Dark Elves claims retribution, then so do I.”

  There were more than a few high fey scattered about the battlefield that centered my guard, but I doubted Keane truly cared for their fate. What he was worried about, what I was worried about, was the release of my power from his other high fey.

  Veil sighed. “What is your price?”

  Keane and I spoke at the same time and though I said only, “Keane,” he listed the names of my Seven. I did not miss that he’d excluded Ruby. I refused to let myself think it could be because they had already taken her head.

  Liana raised a finger, her skin ethereal in its new glow. “Pardon the interruption, but that one”—her finger purposefully moved to point out Chevelle—“is mine.” She smiled. “Legal and binding and bargained prior to the return of the North.”

  Veil shook his head. “How long do you need him?”

  Liana shrugged, waggled her hand.

  “Bring this to court,” Veil ordered, his gaze sweeping the line of high fey. “The fates will decide.”

  I choked on a gasp. Court. I might have rather died right here.

  “Freya,” Veil said. “With me.”

  No, I thought, that is the worst thing that could happen.

  Liana latched on to Chevelle, grinning wildly, but he had gone still. There was nothing we could do. We could not allow my power to go to Keane. We could not allow him, or any of the fey, control of the Seven. We had to save Rider, we had to save Ruby. We had to stay alive. This was a ball precariously perched on the end of a needle, and if not for Veil and his heliotropes, if not for Liana, we’d all be lost. But Chevelle did not move.

  His chest was frozen, eyes unblinking as they focused beyond me. He might have been considering a way out, might have been deciding how to destroy these problems, might have been contemplating anything. But I had known Chevelle all of my life, and if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that stillness was bad.

  I’m sorry, I wanted to tell him. I should have never let this come to be. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say anything.

  I couldn’t even move.

  “I—I will wait for safe passage,” I told Veil.

  His gaze rolled heavenward before addressing the line of high fey. “Disperse!” He flicked a warning glance at Keane, but I knew Keane wouldn’t move from his protections. Not until we were long gone.

  Flora and Virtue drew their swords, a threat to the line of high fey. The ties within my magic were plucked like lute strings, the power reverberating as each separate connection was pulled free.

  There had been more of them than I’d imaged.

  I watched Chevelle, the bile in my stomach rising as each of the high fey set me free, as the line turned to move away. Asher had given me all this power, too much to even wield safely, and on fey lands I could use none of it. I was powerless to help my family. To help my Second. “Come,” Liana whispered, pulling Chevelle with her in the opposite direction of Keane. I gestured for Anvil to follow; he and Grey would be safer with the changeling fey than with me.

  The last of the high fey released my power and it was drawn back into me, leaving every part of me exhausted and weak. Chevelle’s eyes stayed on me, even as the heliotropes took hold of me at each side. Don’t fight this, I willed him. It’s your only way out.

  He took a breath then, and my feet lifted from the ground. Above us, Veil waited, his golden wings turned a sickly hue in the setting sun. For the first time since I was a child, I was heading toward the fey court.

  Alone. In the dark night.

  14

  Frey

  The fey court was everything I remembered it to be. Narrow-trunked birch trees climbed high into the sky, their silver-white bark a wide ring arching around the center stage. They towered over the key stones, moonlight sparking off of both. If I was glad of anything, it was that we were not in the cover of the trees, under the canopy of the fey forests during the dark night. But I couldn’t be grateful, not given the shape of those stones and the way they reached, slender and sculpted, toward the moon above. I didn’t look at the points of their forms, the way the stone split like fingers, curling, pleading, at the sky in eternal agony. I only allowed myself to see the flowers, the fruited vines and thornless lianas trailing over and through the flat rocks that made up the arena’s floor.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I asked Veil, not turning to look at him. The heliotropes had given me my feet and moved back, but not out of earshot. They would need to protect me; beyond that ring of trees in a dense, unnatural forest waited countless fey, eager for blood.

  Veil shifted behind me, not close enough I could feel his heat, but enough that his scent mingled with the lush spectrum of flowers. “You know why.”

  Ceremony. Spectacle. The cornerstones of the fey court’s system. From the outside, it might not have seemed so different from our own, the need for order, for a show of power and to shut down those who might break its law. But the fey court was nothing like our land, and even Asher’s brutal rule paled in comparison to the displays put on here. “It’s too late for y
our tactics,” I told him. “You’ve sentenced us to death.”

  Veil stepped beside me, his amber wing brushing the metal that adorned my side. He wouldn’t do that with his bare skin—not even Veil would tolerate the burn voluntarily, not when it might negate even a modicum of his power. “You misjudge me, Lord Freya. All the more so when I’ve offered you a trade.”

  I glanced over at him, leaving the shadows to dance through the trees unobserved. “Why have they taken her?”

  Veil’s mouth tightened, his hand coming to my waist to spin me once more toward the center stones. It wasn’t for me. It was for those hidden within the darkness. “Court will come to session,” he called out, “in three days and upon the solid moon.”

  The trees erupted with lesser fey then, like a covey of partridge startled from brush. They took to the sky, swirling and screeching on their way through the open air. They cut hard and fast into the deeper parts of the forest, spreading the word to masters and foe alike. This was their purpose, an assembly of court the highest possible priority.

  This was the worst that could happen. In a matter of hours, this court would start filling with fey of all types. They would fight and drink and bring out their best potions and poisons to share. There would be trades. There would be killings. It would be the biggest event to happen in ages, for among these trials would be an elven lord and her power, free for the taking.

  “It’s going to be a massacre,” I told the empty arena.

  “Yes,” Veil answered. “But one under my hand.”

  I didn’t reply, because even though Veil held court, he would not have true control over the fey. He was merely at the helm, steering a ship among storm and sea.

  “Come,” he offered, guiding me by the elbow away from the arena’s telling stones. “We shall rest amid the comforts of my home.”