by Amy Bearce
With a burst of adrenaline, she slapped her hand over her mark and, for once, truly rejoiced in the heat that seared through her. She called to Queenie without hesitation. The fairy wasn’t there yet, but she was nearby. Sierra made her decision: no matter if it was right or wrong, she wouldn’t risk her sister―or her friends.
Bring the queens, she told her fairy. All of them. Sierra could always change her mind at the last moment, but she needed them there, just in case. Bring them, Queenie! The queen’s agreement hummed through her mark, then Micah’s hand touched her shoulder.
“I will go to him, as you cannot,” he said.
The words didn’t make sense.
He explained, “Your Corbin. I will go seek him and the warrior woman for you. You must get your sister.”
“He’s not my Corbin,” was all she could think to say. It wasn’t enough. She wanted Micah to understand no one else had ever drawn her heart. They stared at each other for a long moment, a thousand days in a heartbeat, her mind full of Micah’s deep chocolate brown eyes. She found herself wishing for the impossible. But she knew better than to believe in true love. He only wanted to fulfill his life-debt. This risk was a big one―it would do.
“If you do this for me, you will be free of any debt you owe.” Sierra wanted to be clear.
“Do you wish me gone, then?” His voice was wistful, sad.
Her heart lurched. She wanted to yell Of course I want you to stay, you idiot! She felt like pulling out her hair, because the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. Fear was too strong, the fear long ago instilled in her by her father’s hands. Don’t love and you couldn’t be hurt. Only, it turned out, trying not to love hurt horribly.
She didn’t have time for this conversation. She couldn’t. Her sister was being tortured, Corbin might be dying, and she didn’t know if anything had happened to Nell.
Sierra managed to say, “No, I don’t want you to go away forever, but I need you to go now. Get them, please.”
He nodded and then started to turn but paused, picked up her hand, still damp from the sea, and kissed it ever so gently on the back like gentlemen of old. His lips were as soft as rose petals. His eyes held hers, sending sparks dancing through her veins, until he turned to run down the lane. She didn’t even think to ask how she’d find him. Some kind of hero she was turning out to be.
She had no real choice but to go forward and trust her friends to do their jobs. If she didn’t find Phoebe, everyone had wasted their lives for nothing. She carefully placed one foot in front of the other, pressing so close to the wall along the path that it kept catching on her wet sleeve. The salty wind blew hard, funneled by the walls on either side, chilling her. She shivered. Hopefully, she wouldn’t start sneezing or coughing.
Low murmurs drifted on the wind from around the next corner, and she stopped to listen. Two guards, she decided, at the door of the basement “training rooms.” Usually by this point in the proceedings, the trainees were so broken it didn’t take many guards to keep them in. And where would they go? Unless they knew how to call a merman, they were fresh out of luck, on the far side of the peninsula, right next to the sea.
Sierra took a moment to assess her odds. She might not be an enforcer, but as the daughter of a dark alchemist, she had seen her fair share of violence and could fight dirty if she had to. Sending one more call to her fairy queen in hopes she would arrive soon, Sierra picked up a pebble from the ground and tossed it down the path. Then she touched the handle of her knife, the one Nell gave her. It was in place and secure. Being Nell’s, it was as long as Sierra’s forearm and sharper than broken glass. She’d only use it in case of emergency, though. Phoebe would be horrified to know even men like these had died during her rescue.
The hushed voices stopped, and Sierra prepared herself. One of them walked near the corner. She hoped he didn’t peek first, or it would all be over. She was sneaky and fast, but she wasn’t two hundred pounds. Hurriedly, she tossed a second pebble farther down the path, making him think his prey was escaping. It worked.
The guard picked up his lumbering pace, and Sierra pressed herself against the side of the wall as he barreled around the corner. She gave him two seconds to keep running, and then she ran up behind him and jumped. Hooking her right arm around his neck, she pulled back hard and quick, clasping her opposite shoulder. Quickly, she bent her left arm up and over the back of his neck, pushing his head down to keep the pressure on his throat. Cutting the air off from his windpipe with a chokehold was a slow way to knock someone out, but it was fairly silent. With the adrenaline rushing through her, Sierra was strong enough to hold on tight.
He slid forward against the wall, thankfully not crashing to the ground, and clawed at her arms as he tried and failed to give his friend a warning. You can’t scream without any air. Sierra kept her head tucked down behind his so he couldn’t get to her eyes. When he finally passed out, she took out the knife and gave him a good rap on the head to make sure he stayed out long enough. She needed to get ready for the second guard.
But before she reached her previous position, the other guard came around the corner, saying, “Hey, Tom, you get lost or something?”
He stopped short at the sight of his unconscious friend and Sierra standing there with a knife. The fact that there was no blood on it seemed to be a fact missed by him.
“Murderer!” he cried, while pulling out his sword.
Even a knife as long as her forearm wasn’t going to be a match for a broadsword and body armor. Sierra dodged and jumped as he slashed at her. He was clumsier than he should have been, sword missing by a hands-width. Must have been drinking or dosing himself with some elixir, maybe even Flight. Ironic. Good thing, too, or he would have stabbed her right away. She was fast, but he was still a professional mercenary, even if not in top form. Sierra dodged past his lumbering steps in a way that would have made Jack proud. The angry man turned again and ran at her like a crazed bull.
Backed into a corner, Sierra did the only thing she could think of to avoid dying. She used his momentum to slice across the man’s forehead and push past him. Blood gushed over his eyes and he bellowed, unable to see. If he didn’t shut up, he’d draw reinforcements and she’d never get Phoebe out of there.
Queenie, Sierra screamed in her mind, and her fairy queen was there, a golden light, next to the man.
“Stop him,” Sierra shouted.
Without a second’s hesitation, Queenie stung him. She didn’t bite him, as if she didn’t want the rank taste of him in her mouth. She aimed her delicate little stinger and stabbed it right in his fleshy neck. The result was immediate.
The guard froze. One hand reached up to clamp the side of his neck, much like the way his partner had tried to grab his throat to breathe. There was no blood here. Just fairy magic, a toxin in its pure state for most humans, racing through his veins, speeding forward with every beat of his too-rapid heart. Sierra held her breath, stumbling two steps back, looking around to see if anyone had heard, but the path remained clear. The guard fell to the ground, twitching like a man having a seizure. She wondered if he’d start prophesying, too, but the answer to that question was apparently no, because blue suffused his face, and soon his chest stopped moving. This was a bad way to die, but she couldn’t regret their choice, hers and Queenie’s.
Sierra held her hand to her fairy queen and thought at her, Thank you, thank you.
Queenie flew over and kissed her cheek. Sierra’s answering smile quickly faded as she stared at the dead man and then past him to the door where her sister waited.
Time to rescue Phoebe.
he door to the “trainees” was blocked from the outside. Sierra tried to lift the heavy wooden board preventing anyone from escaping and realized it was chained into place. A heavy iron lock clasped through the center of the thick links. Of course. She shook her head at her own foolishness.
Finding the keys on the dead guard was easy enough, but her hands shook as she walked back to the door
. Killing a man―using Queenie as a weapon―had left Sierra with a sick feeling she hadn’t expected. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to a crowd of people like that. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to make that decision. She twisted the key into the lock, lifted it from the door and took a deep breath.
Would Phoebe still be in here? What if they’d moved her? What if… what if it was too late and she was dead or sent to be a runner somewhere else? Sierra pushed all the bad thoughts from her mind and focused on her task: to find Phoebe and get her out of here. That was all. One step at a time.
Setting aside the board, she pushed the door open, wincing at the loud creak. Light fell across five pale faces inside, not just the one Sierra expected. Bentwood had been busy. The people squinted against the light, throwing their arms up over their eyes. Only one did not move. Sierra saw her sitting against the far wall. Her hair was matted and darker than the last time Sierra saw her, as if her lightness had been stolen. Then Phoebe looked up, and something flickered in her expression. Confusion, hope, and fear raced across her face one after another. She blinked slowly, and Sierra wanted to run to her, but she couldn’t move. Her feet were glued to the stone floor. What if Phoebe was too hurt to move? Sierra hadn’t allowed the thought to cross her mind until now.
The other prisoners staggered up and pushed past her into the light, roughly shoving her shoulder, but she kept her eyes fastened on her sister. The distant splashing behind her suggested some were jumping into the freezing water, but she couldn’t spare them any energy.
“Phoebe, it’s me. Little Bug, are you okay?” Two trembling steps turned into a quick run that brought her to her sister’s side.
She touched Phoebe’s arms as if the softest contact might crush her. Sierra could barely hear over the roar of her heart beating. Would Phoebe be okay? Her little sister, her sweet Phoebe.
“Sierra?” her voice sounded rusty like an unoiled hinge, and she began to cry. Huge tears poured down her cheeks, and she wrapped too-thin arms around Sierra’s neck and held her tighter than a lifeline.
Staggered by the embrace, Sierra smelled sweat and mustiness, but also the special scent that was all her little sister. She crushed Phoebe in a hug of her own, flooded with relief, knees weak. But the hourglass sands never stopped flowing. They had to get out of here. As much as Sierra wished she could hold her sister forever, they had to go, or she wouldn’t get to hold Phoebe again, ever.
“Can you stand?” Sierra asked, holding one elbow.
Phoebe’s right knee was grossly swollen, but she managed to limp slowly. They stepped out into the light, and she took a wavering breath, as if tasting the sunlight for the first time in months. Maybe Phoebe had only arrived in Port Iona two days ago, but even a day in a dungeon was too long for Sierra’s girl to be there.
Phoebe stopped short at the sight of the obviously dead guard. The death, unwanted though it was, was uglier with her seeing it, too.
“I’m sorry,” Sierra started to tell her tenderhearted sister, praying she wouldn’t start crying for the man. Sierra wasn’t ashamed, but she regretted this would hurt Phoebe more.
She asked, tone flat, “Did you kill him?”
Sierra nodded. She hated to upset Phoebe, but Sierra couldn’t lie to her. Asking Queenie to sting him was the same as if Sierra stabbed him herself.
“Good,” Phoebe replied.
Sierra’s jaw dropped. That response, more than anything, told her how badly they must have treated Phoebe. Sierra gazed down at the top of her sister’s head and wondered what kind of damage had happened that she couldn’t see.
There was no time to ask, not now. They had to rendezvous with Corbin, Micah, and Nell. Getting from here to the main square without getting caught seemed impossible, but there were still surprisingly few people around. In fact, as Sierra glanced at the empty walls above, a chill crept up her spine as she thought of what could be drawing all the people from this end of the peninsula. It would have to be something big. She called Queenie again, who floated over.
Sierra allowed herself to gaze into Queenie’s eyes and said, “We need to find the others.”
Queenie bobbed for a minute and then zipped off with only the speed a queen fairy could have.
Phoebe stared and said, “That’s different.”
Sierra sighed as she led her back through the winding passages to the little opening to the water. Phoebe didn’t know the half of it.
The seawee was gone, of course. Sierra slapped at the water, hoping maybe he was waiting for them beneath the surface.
Phoebe sank to the ground next to Sierra. “We’re never going to get out of here.”
Sierra stopped her fruitless search for the little merman and grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “I will get you out of here. You’re going to be fine. Just fine!”
They had to be. She kneeled and pulled Phoebe close. She was always thin, but now her shoulder bones pressed against her shirt in sharp relief.
Warmth dripped against Sierra’s neck, and she realized Phoebe was crying again. It was good Phoebe was able to show her true feelings, but watching her sister’s grief made Sierra wild with anger. She made a silent pledge: Bentwood would never get near them again.
Phoebe shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of some horrible memory.
“I want to go home,” she said, voice tiny and pathetic. Some of her tears splashed into the icy water beside them, spreading tiny ripples across the water.
Sierra wanted to sit patiently, but her back felt exposed. Corbin must be making his speech in the square right now, which was the only explanation for why no one had noticed Sierra’s intrusion yet.
“Come on, Phoebes,” Sierra said. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we’ve got to go. We have to find Corbin and Nell.”
Phoebe’s red-rimmed eyes flashed up to Sierra as she reared back. “Corbin’s here? And Nell?”
Sierra breathed a sigh of relief. Here was her Phoebe, thinking and reacting.
“Long story. But yes. So let’s go.” Sierra tried not to consider that their chances of making it all the way through the winding tunnels to the courtyard were nil, but desperation drove her beyond logic. As they stood, a wet hand gripped Sierra’s ankle. She squawked at the icy grip but realized it was Tristan, the seawee from before.
He waved them forward with quick, sharp gestures.
“Do you trust me?” Sierra asked Phoebe.
She looked confused and replied, “Of course.”
“Good.” Sierra pushed Phoebe into the water.
ierra dove into the water. The shock of the cold stole her breath, but her panic only stirred a little. Her sister was in Tristan’s arms, cheeks puffed with held air.
“It’s okay, milady. You are safe here. I heard your call.”
That was strange. He was looking right at Phoebe, but she hadn’t called him. Hmm. Well, he must have heard her say she wanted to go home. Whatever. Sierra would take it.
She swam over to them. “He allows us to breath, Phoebe.”
Breathing underwater was pretty wonderful, an unexpected miracle in a time of trouble. Sierra did a backflip for her sister’s amusement, and it worked. Phoebe laughed and lost half her air. The little merman held her tightly still. If Sierra’s friends weren’t in such danger, she’d play all day under the waves. Phoebe eventually squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath. Her eyes opened wide when nothing bad happened.
Sierra wished she could give her more time to adjust, but there wasn’t any left. Sierra wrapped her arms around them both and said, “We’ve got to get to the main entrance.”
“Is stealth an issue?” asked Tristan.
“Not anymore. I think they’re distracted by our friends.”
He nodded, then they were off like a shot. Phoebe’s eyes opened wide as they flew through the currents, making the darting fish around them look slow. Sierra gave Phoebe a fast run-down on why Corbin and Nell were in danger. Even a skeleton of an explanation contained plenty of news.
They reached the shore of the peninsula within minutes. Sierra stumbled out of the water, soaked once again, teeth chattering, but realized her sister had stopped.
Phoebe still stood knee-deep in the water. She and Tristan were staring at each other with a strange intensity, gazes locked, saying nothing. Phoebe slowly lifted a hand to say farewell, and the seawee saluted her and then disappeared into the depths.
“What was that?” Sierra asked, pulling on Phoebe’s arm to make her move.
“I have no idea,” she mused, speaking as if waking from a dream. “But it’s like knowing something important I can’t quite remember.”
Sierra would worry later about what one of the merfolk might want with her sister. There was no time to figure out what the mysterious salute meant, or even how he had known they were waiting. Their feet smacked the ground as they took off running, Phoebe leaning heavily on Sierra.
The paths were all but vacant. Only homeless people who lived along the alleys meandered down the cobbled pathways. The shops were closed. Even the guards were absent. That did not bode well. They put on another burst of speed, as fast as Phoebe could stand with her knee, and Sierra only hoped they were not too late.
Unlike the streets leading to it, the main square was full to bursting. Every person in the peninsula had to be there. The two girls entered at the back, far from the upraised platform that occupied the center of the space. Four heavy chairs sat prominently on the stage in a row, where the elders of the port sat. Bentwood was up there, a small smile playing on his lips as Corbin finished his speech. The girls were too far to hear, but Corbin was so earnest with his flourishing hand gestures, it bruised Sierra’s already pounding heart. Nell stood to one side of him without her weapons.
The hair rose on the back of Sierra’s neck. They were defenseless up there. No one could speak to the port’s elders while armed. Sierra clutched the guard’s knife tighter. In this crowd, it could easily get knocked out of her hand, and she feared she was going to need it.
