Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set

by Box Set

  The broomstick pieces come flying back at us, and we duck out of the way. Savyon vanishes the same way his mother did, then reappears right beside Ryn. He jabs my knife at Ryn, but I push Ryn out of the way and the knife slices across the top of my right arm.

  Great, that won’t be healing for a while.

  Ryn spins around and lands a punch to Savyon’s stomach, then gets forced back by a giant bat conjured up by a single word from Savyon. The bat flaps wildly around Ryn’s head as Savyon comes after me. He pins my arms to my sides just as I bring my knee up as hard as I can. His face contorts and he groans in agony, but doesn’t let go of me. He twists me around so my back is against his chest. He loops one arm around my neck.

  “Mother thinks you must be important somehow, so I’m not allowed to kill you,” he breathes into my ear. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun with you. Shall we spend some time in my bedroom when we get back to the palace?”

  “You’re disgusting,” Ryn growls, appearing suddenly beside us. “And if you’re looking for your magical bat, it’s currently crammed inside a clay jar.” And with that he brings his fist up to meet Savyon’s chin.

  The Unseelie Prince loses his grip on me as his head snaps back. He stumbles away, regains his footing, and levels his gaze at us. “You know you can’t defeat me without magic,” he says with a maniacal laugh. He points his right hand at Ryn; the gesture is almost lazy, but the black sparks that shoot toward Ryn are powerful enough to knock him off his feet and into the air. When he hits the ground, he doesn’t move.

  Crap. I need to check if he’s okay, but Savyon has set a new whirlwind into motion. Broken items lift off the ground and begin to swirl around me, trapping me in their funnel. I grab onto a stray piece of vine, then force my way out of the mini tornado, shielding my face with my arms. Tiny cuts sting my skin. My hand burns where the vine leaves touch it, but I’m not letting go of my only weapon. I lash out at Savyon, using the vine like a whip. The end catches him across the cheek. He grunts in anger as I snap the makeshift whip a second time. His hand flashes out and grabs the end of the vine. He tugs me forward, but I let go just in time.

  “Come here!” he shouts. He reaches into the air with fingernails painted black. Against my will, I find myself skidding over the floor toward him. I try to fight it, but I end up falling over. I see light glimmering off a sharp edge and grab onto the shard of blue glass as I slide past it. The jagged edge slices into my already burning palm. But I can’t think about the pain right now. As I crash into Savyon’s booted feet, I raise my arm to stab the glass into his leg. He kicks my arm aside, and the glass goes flying. I throw myself after it, but he grabs my legs and yanks me back. My scrabbling fingers reach desperately for the glass, but I’m already being pulled away. Savyon drags me across the floor and flings me around so that my body slams into the side of the couch.

  Pain!

  I try desperately to suck some air into my lungs as I look around for something, anything, I can use as a weapon. Then I see it—the handle end of the broken broomstick. With all the strength I can muster, I reach out and wrap my blood-covered fingers around the wood. Savyon grabs my waist, flings me over onto my back—and I shove the splintered end deep into his abdomen, just below his ribcage.

  He gurgles and chokes as I kick him away from me. Still gasping for air, I get to my feet and stumble over to Ryn. I shake him, then slap his cheek a few times with my non-bloodied hand. “Get … up,” I manage to say as my breath returns to me. I shake him some more, accidently spreading blood across his white shirt. “Come on, Ryn, we have to get out of here.”

  Nothing.

  I lean over and speak right into his ear. “Please, please, please get up. I can’t leave without you.”

  Nothing.

  Then I see movement behind his eyelids, and he suddenly jerks awake. “What—how did—” He blinks as his gaze travels over me. “You look awful. Are you okay?”

  I feel pretty awful. In fact, little sparks of light that I’m pretty sure aren’t real are beginning to dance in front of my eyes. “I’m fine.” I blink a few times as I stand up and tug his arm. “We have to run. Now!”

  He jumps up and heads for the passage, pulling me after him. I hear Savyon shouting behind us, and I run as fast as my injured body will allow. I should be in a lot of pain, but adrenaline seems to be masking most of it—for now.

  We run up the stairs and into Mr. Hart’s study, which looks like a hurricane hit it. The window has been shattered, and torn books and broken furniture litter the floor. Smoke catches in my throat, and I can hear screaming coming from the rest of the house. “Oh crap, what have they done?” I whisper. A group of coughing, choking people run past the open door. We step into the smoky corridor as a shoeless Mrs. Hart comes running in the opposite direction.

  “The children are upstairs!” she screams, heading into the smoky darkness.

  Ryn runs after her and grabs her by the arm. “Get her outside, V,” he shouts. “I’ll get the children.” He forces a struggling Mrs. Hart into my arms. “I promise I’ll get them,” he says to her. Then he turns and disappears into the smoke.

  I drag Mrs. Hart down the corridor, through various rooms, and out the front door. Terrified guests are congregated in the driveway, their faces reflecting the orange glow of the burning house as they stare up at it.

  “Get back!” I shout. “Get away from the house!”

  They stumble further back just as an explosion causes the ground to shudder.

  “No!” Mrs. Hart screams. She covers her face with her hands as she begins wailing. Her whole body shakes.

  “It’ll be okay,” I say to her, patting her back as I try to ignore the growing pain in just about every part of my body. “I’m sure he’ll get the children—”A second explosion rends the air with a force that almost knocks us off our feet.

  Oh flipping hell. For a few terrifying moments, I consider the possibility that Ryn might actually be dead. My brain rejects the thought almost as soon as I allow it in, though. It’s too foreign a concept. Ryn has always been in my life, whether as a friend or a giant-ass thorn in my side. He can’t just be gone.

  And he isn’t. Instead of emerging miraculously from the burning house, I see him running around the side, the two Hart grandchildren in tow. “Look!” I say to Mrs. Hart, pointing at the three running figures. She makes a sound halfway between a wail and a laugh. She tries to run toward them, but I hold her back until they reach us. The two dripping wet children fall into her arms.

  I refrain from throwing my arms around Ryn because that would be weird. Instead I ask, “Why are you wet?”

  “Swimming pool,” he gasps, still catching his breath. “We had a few flaming clothes by the time we got out the house.”

  “Edgar,” Mrs. Hart whimpers as she clings to her grandchildren. “David. Where are they?”

  “We need to go,” Ryn says quietly as he takes my arm, which is a good thing because I feel a little bit like I might fall over. “I didn’t see the Queen or Zell anywhere, but they might be nearby.” Sirens echo in the distance as we slip away from the crowd. We run down the driveway, through the open gate, and onto the road.

  “How are we going to get back?” I ask. I’m struggling to keep up with Ryn. Every inch of my body aches from being slammed against that couch, and my skin is on fire wherever the ivy touched it. Blood trickles down my arm and drips off my fingertips. Nausea creeps over me. I wish I had my boots on. I wish I didn’t have a dress slapping around my ankles. And why is everything starting to look white?

  I don’t know how I wind up on my knees on the pavement with my stomach heaving, but that’s where I seem to be. I think Ryn is saying something, but I can’t hear him over the weird rushing in my ears. And everything seems to be getting whiter. Or blacker. Or white fading into black.

  I try to fight it because that’s what I’m meant to do, right? But it’s such hard work, and Ryn is right beside me, ready to catch me, so why not give i
n?

  I let the blackness take me.

  Ten

  I wake up with my back on something soft and my legs on something prickly. My head doesn’t feel weird and woozy anymore, but the rest of my body still aches. I blink a few times and the moon comes into focus behind a silhouette of tree branches.

  “Damn, I was hoping you’d stay knocked out a little longer,” Ryn says from somewhere beside me.

  I push myself up, wincing at the pain in my hands. “And why is that? Were you enjoying the quiet?”

  “No, I’m about to break into a house and steal stuff, and I figured you wouldn’t approve.”

  I look past the tree I’m sitting beneath and see a house. “Are we in someone’s garden?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to steal from whoever lives in there?”

  “Yes. There are things we need if we’re hoping to get home alive, and we need to make do without magic until we get there.”

  Remembering the deep gash across my right arm, I look down. The wound is hidden beneath a tightly-wrapped piece of fabric that looks suspiciously like my dress. Moving my gaze further down, I notice the dress is shorter than the last time I looked at it. “I see you’ve been busy tearing up my clothes.”

  “You’re not healing,” he says quietly. “I needed to try and stop the bleeding with something.”

  “It’s because of this.” I point to the narrow strip of metal wrapped around my right wrist. It’s in pretty much the same position as the first metal band Zell slapped onto me. I suppose I should be grateful I’ll only have one scar when this is all over. “Our magic won’t heal us while we have these bands on, and I don’t know how to remove them.”

  “That seems unlike you. I thought you knew everything.”

  “Well, I don’t know this spell, and I don’t have the special instrument, so bite me,” I say feebly as I lie down again. Weakness isn’t a feeling I’m particularly enjoying.

  “Okay, I’m going into the house,” Ryn says. “Just … don’t go anywhere.”

  Like I have somewhere to go. “For once, I’m happy not to argue with you.”

  His footsteps are barely audible as he treads away. I try to get comfortable, but it’s difficult when it feels like the whole of my back is covered in bruises. I turn onto my left side and look down at the soft thing I’m lying on. It’s Ryn’s jacket. It smells like smoke, but it also smells like him. Weird. Not the smell, but the fact that I recognize it. It’s a nice scent, kind of woodsy and citrusy. I hold the sleeve to my nose and breathe deeply.

  Violet Fairdale, would you stop being weird?

  I drop the sleeve and close my eyes.

  I’m not sure, but I think I sleep for a while because it feels like only seconds later when a hand touches my arm and I open my eyes with a start. “It’s me,” Ryn says. He sits down beside me and places a backpack on the grass in front of him. “Turns out I’m an excellent burglar.”

  “No surprise there.” I turn carefully onto my back. “What did you get?”

  “Some food, a blanket, a map book, and their entire first aid kit.”

  “Ryn,” I groan. “You don’t think they’ll need their first aid kit at some point?”

  “Not as much as you need it right now.”

  “And it’s human stuff,” I add. “It probably won’t even work on me.”

  “Your magic’s blocked,” Ryn says. “Right now you’re as close to being human as you’ll ever get, so this stuff might just work.” He pulls out a white plastic box with a red cross on it and begins sifting through the contents. “Antiseptic,” he reads. “Sounds good.” He leans over and begins dabbing the cream onto the many small cuts scattered across my arms. “Can you sit up?” he asks. “I saw some cuts on your back.”

  The prospect of sitting up doesn’t seem that appealing, but I do it anyway. Ryn’s fingers move carefully across my back, applying the cream that will probably have no effect on me whatsoever. “I’m having a weird sense of déjà vu right now,” I say quietly. “Except last time it was me fixing something on your back.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he says. “The poisoned glass.” He moves to my side and carefully unties the black fabric around my upper arm. Blood starts oozing from the wound again.

  “I think humans get stitches for cuts this deep,” I say.

  “Yes, well, we’ll have to make a plan without stitches.” Ryn digs around inside the plastic box and removes a few things. After wiping some liquid over the wound—which stings like hell and makes tears spring up in my eyes—he closes it up by sticking a line of tiny plasters over it. He then wraps a bandage around my arm. “Anything else?” he asks.

  “Um, my hands,” I say weakly. I’m still a little shaky after the sudden spike of pain caused by the liquid antiseptic. This whole experience is making me feel vulnerable in a way I’m not used to at all—and that I do not like one bit.

  “Are they burnt?” Ryn asks, taking a closer look at my hands.

  “I think so. It was those vines she tied me up with.”

  Ryn reads the labels on a few more tubes before selecting one. He takes my right hand and squirts some clear gel onto my palm. I brace myself for more pain, but instead I feel relief. I breathe out a sigh as he gently rubs the gel into my palm, across my fingers, and up my wrist, moving carefully around the metal band. It feels strangely intimate. I’m suddenly aware of how close he’s sitting to me. I’m aware of his knee touching my thigh, and his hand carefully holding mine. I watch his face as he works, his beautiful blue eyes intent as he moves to my left hand and concentrates on smoothing the gel over it. My gaze falls on his lips. I wonder what it would feel like to—

  Stop it!

  I look away from his face and down at the ground. Ryn is my friend. My friend. The idea of anything more than that is so utterly ridiculous I want to laugh out loud. And yet I can’t help imagining what it would be like if—No! I’m not imagining that at all. It’s absurd.

  Stop being absurd, Violet. I close my eyes and silently chant, Friend, friend, friend.

  “Are you okay?” Ryn asks.

  My eyelids spring apart and I pull my hand away. “Yes. That feels a lot better, thank you.” I force myself to look at him as though nothing has changed between us. Because it hasn’t, right? “Are you okay? You hit the floor so hard you didn’t wake up for a while.”

  Ryn rolls his shoulders. “I’m a bit banged up, I guess, but nothing serious. I’ll just have to put up with the bruises for longer than a few hours.” He packs away the medical kit.

  “And are you okay with … what we saw when the Queen knocked us out?” I know I don’t have to mention Reed’s name; Ryn will know exactly what I’m talking about.

  “Yeah. Of course.” Ryn turns his back to me as he pulls a blanket out of the backpack and closes the zipper. I know he’s lying.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know if I should bring it up. I just wanted to make sure—”

  “It’s fine, Violet. Don’t worry about it.” With a tight smile, he hands me the blanket. “We can sleep out here tonight and get moving when the sun rises.”

  I know he’s trying to change the subject, but I’m determined not to move on until I know he really is okay. “Reed didn’t feel that way in real life. You know that, right?” When Ryn doesn’t answer I decide to plough ahead with my theory. “I know what’s going on here. You’ve built up this crazy situation in your head where you think that if your brother had ever had to choose between the two of us, he’d have chosen me. And that’s just not true.”

  “How do you know?” Ryn takes the folded blanket from me, shakes it open, and throws it over me. “The night that he died, he did choose you over me. I know he cared about you a lot, V.” Ryn’s voice goes quiet as he lies down on my left. “Maybe he did love you more than he loved me, his own brother.”

  “No.” I lie carefully on my side, facing Ryn. “Not possible.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely possible.” Ryn stares up a
t the stars. “And don’t worry, I won’t hate you for it. It isn’t your fault if the brother I loved and admired so much didn’t feel the same way about me. But I’ve spent many hours considering the possibility that he would have chosen you over me, and I think it’s true.”

  “Many hours?” I ask in disbelief.

  He looks over at me. “What? I have plenty of thinking time.”

  Plenty of thinking time? What does he do, just sit around and think? What about assignments? Training, studying, friends?

  I prop myself up on one elbow, trying not to lean on any bruises or cuts. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Will it make a difference if I say ‘no’?”

  “Probably not.”

  He turns his gaze back to the sky. “Ask away, then.”

  “Do you spend a lot of time alone?”

  A beat of silence passes before he says, “Why would you ask that?”

  “Well, there’s the fact that you can quote poetry, which implies you spend a lot of time reading. You mentioned yesterday that you hang out in people’s houses watching TV when you’re not on assignment. And now you’ve just told me about all the ‘thinking time’ you have. So I was just wondering why you don’t hang out with your friends more often.”

  His expression is incredulous when he looks at me. “You’re wondering why I don’t hang out with friends?”

  “Look, we both know I have zero social life, but this conversation isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

  He hesitates, then says, “Can we add this to the off-limits territory?”

  “But—”

  “What, you think you’re the only one who gets to have off-limits territory?” He grins, obviously seeing his way out of any future awkward conversations. “No way. If there are things you don’t have to talk about, then there are things I don’t have to talk about.”

  “Fine.” I roll onto my back, completely forgetting that I’ve got cream smeared all over it. Oops. Well, the jacket is probably dirty already anyway. “Are we allowed to talk about how we’re going to find our way home?”