Redeemed: Bitter Harvest Book Five

by Ann Gimpel

  “Aye, and also the same. Don’t try too hard to make sense of it. Just accept the magic same as you do with power you’re familiar with.”

  “Solid advice. I understand how you ended up alpha.”

  “Save the compliments for after we get back. Hold your magical center open. I’ll join with you, and we’ll be on our way.”

  He drew familiar power and let it sheet through him, feeling his molecules separate yet remain together. It was an odd sensation, one that took getting used to. He was amazed any of the land Shifters could teleport at all, but they did it clumsily, inserting a surfeit of power in spots where delicacy would have served them better.

  The ship’s familiar deck fell away, replaced by the chill, airless void that flowed between worlds. First stop would be an uninhabited borderworld where they could bounce their energy, reflecting and augmenting it to send them winging for northern Scotland. Because the space-time continuum was flexible, their trip would happen between motes of time. At least in theory, they could return before they’d left, but he’d never had things happen that way.

  Moira wasn’t fighting him. She’d listened and was doing exactly as he’d instructed. Her trust pleased him beyond words. He longed for her, ached to open his heart to her, but it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  Their trajectory slowed as they neared the borderworld. The air thickened, but not by much. “Breathe as deep as you can,” he instructed, “and then we’ll be off again.”

  “Fascinating,” she managed through shallow, panting breaths.

  “What’s fascinating?” He bound the borderworld’s energy to his bidding and sent them flying back into the void.

  “Watching you manipulate magic. Feels like I’m back in Shifter school.” Her last words were lost in a rasping cough as breath eluded her.

  “Don’t talk.” He switched to telepathy and tightened his grip on her arms. “We’ll be there soon.”

  The enchantment of the British Isles drew him like a beacon. Home. With its rich greenery and nurturing waters. He could show Moira where he’d grown up—

  Leif redirected himself fast. They’d locate the faeries, pitch their case, and determine how to proceed. No room for anything beyond planning for the upcoming battle. None at all.

  Breathing became easier, the air piquant with smells from perpetually damp greenery. This part had been easy. Now, if they could just get the faeries to cooperate…

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Moira murmured.

  “You’ve been inside my thoughts?” He winced and brought them down lightly on a muddy moor.

  Her face split into a shy smile. “You were joined with my magic. It creates a two-way street.” She reached up and placed her hands over where his still rested on her shoulders. Her skin was warm, silky, enticing. “We shared a kiss. It was wonderful, and I care about you, but kisses aren’t contracts. We have a job to do. Let’s get Aura her supernatural work crew.”

  Maybe it was a mistake, but he bent forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead before he raised his mind voice and called the faeries.

  “Is that all it takes to lure them?” Moira was still smiling.

  He shrugged. “We’re about to find out.” He let go of her, taking his time moving his hands from beneath hers, and upped the ante on his magic.

  14

  The Fair Folk

  Moira fought against happiness that threatened to overrun her. Being with Leif soothed her soul and inflamed her by turns. He exuded a quiet competence that made her believe good would prevail in the end. She could not let her guard down, though. Not for more than a few seconds, anyway. It would be far too easy to lose her focus, and she needed every angstrom of perceptiveness she’d cultivated over the years.

  Others among the dozen Shifters she’d been trapped in Ushuaia with had their roots in the U.K. Not her. She’d passed through here a time or two, mostly lecturing on various aspects of her trade. Her long-ago Shifter kin had hailed from more southern climes in the Carpathian Alps where the mountains spanned Central and Eastern Europe. Prime hunting territory for vultures. She’d always realized her family tree was an anomaly. Most Shifter groups sported various animal bondmates, but all her relatives had been bonded with vultures.

  Maybe that was another reason she’d never looked back when her bondmate appeared in her dreams.

  Her magic was still joined with Leif’s. What she’d gleaned from his thoughts was that he was drawn to her and ambivalent as hell. It was why she’d made it clear the kiss they shared didn’t mean she expected a lifelong commitment from him. Magic hummed along her nerves, and the air thickened with the scent of honey and flowers. It took her a moment to recognize it as the smell of mead.

  Did that mean the faery folk were about to show up? Or would it be the Fae instead with their clouds of fair hair, silver eyes, and robed elegance? Up until her stint on the borderworld linked to Malaita Island, Moira had never laid eyes on faeries or Fae. They’d only existed in the realm of magical history books.

  The air took on a glistening, shimmery aspect, and beings popped from a series of gleaming gateways. They all glowed as if lit from within. Moira counted two dozen or more, tiny with quick-beating wings and wands and swirls of hair in pastel shades. She hunted for the green-haired female who’d claimed Daide but didn’t see her. Nor did she locate the redheaded male from before.

  “Looks like a different group,” she murmured. “Hope they’ve spoken among themselves.”

  Leif looked askance at her. “There are thousands of them. The odds aren’t good, but perhaps some of the Fae will materialize. They number far fewer.”

  As if his words were prophetic, regal creatures floated through portals that shimmered in the still air. Two, a male and a female, walked purposefully toward where she and Leif stood. Silver hair reached their knees, and each wore a slender golden circlet around their brow. Robes the color of old cream were embroidered with runic markings in a bevy of colors and sashed with pure white.

  Leif bowed low. Moira mirrored his actions, wondering if perhaps a curtsey wouldn’t be in order—if she could figure out how to execute one without falling over her own feet. Her vulture cooed, sounding more like a morning dove than a raptor. Who the hell were this pair? Not much would bring her bondmate to heel.

  Leif straightened but kept his gaze downcast. “Oberon. Titania. You honor my humble presence.”

  “I remember ye.” Oberon’s expression didn’t let on how he felt about the memory.

  “Of course you would. I stole fish from your royal pools.” Leif spread his hands in front of him. “Can’t we ever move beyond that? I wasn’t much more than sixteen. I apologized. I worked for you for a full year to repay my folly.”

  “Aye,” Titania spoke up, her voice reminiscent of silvery chimes. “All has long since been forgiven. The world has turned into a far harsher place than ’twas then.”

  Oberon pinned his consort with a pointed glance. “The answer is still no. Shifters are not our concern. Our own people require our attention.”

  A faery flew toward them, his lower lip stuck out in disapproval. “Amithra made a bargain. She is very irritated ye stand in the way of us honoring it.” Before the king or queen could chastise him, the faery went on. “Evil that attacks any magic will eventually hurt us too. If we do not assist those on the front battle lines, who will be left to fight for us?”

  “We will fight for ye,” Oberon replied in a stern tone.

  The faery shook his head until waves of iridescent hair shrouded his form. “Won’t be enough,” he intoned. “By then, wickedness will have established an unshakeable toehold.”

  “It may happen anyway.” The chimes shading Titania’s words darkened to a minor key, bringing to mind every sad thing in the world.

  “Aye.” Another faery flew near. “No one to fault but us if we walk away.”

  “Ye already helped the Shifters,” Oberon said in the same tone he might have adopted to humor a child. “Ye made
certain the wolf found her human body again.” He dusted his long-fingered hands together. “Ye did a good thing. Nothing further is needed.”

  “We do not agree,” the faeries said in unison, sounding like a hive of angry bees.

  “Furthermore”—the faery with the iridescent hair flew in a tight circle—“we don’t report to ye. Ye only think we do.”

  Moira looked sidelong at Leif. How would he finesse his way through this? On the surface, it appeared impossible to accept aid from the faeries without angering the king and queen—and probably the remainder of the Fae as well. She wasn’t clear if the dark and light halves of Faery even spoke to one another, but that wasn’t particularly important at the moment.

  She moved closer to him, offering silent support for whatever lead-in he selected.

  Leif spread his arms wide; faeries settled along their length, starting with his shoulders. “I am touched you stand willing to help. Let me tell all of you—Oberon and Titania as well—what we have in mind. We will not place you in any danger. All we need is a channel similar to the one your kinfolk built for Ceridwen—”

  “That upstart bitch,” Oberon snarled.

  “Aye, she had no right to any of our people’s magic, yet she shanghaied Fae and faeries, using them for her own nefarious purposes,” Titania broke in.

  “The only reason ye got us back is because of this Shifter and his companions,” the faery who appeared to be their spokesperson pointed out, bouncing up and down on Leif’s outstretched arm.

  “’Tis true!” another faery piped up. “I was there. Both these Shifters were too. They were part of the larger group that freed us.”

  “Ye should be grateful.” Yet a third faery shook a finger beneath Oberon’s nose.

  “And ye should keep a civil tongue in your head even though I’m not technically your liege,” Oberon retorted.

  Moira wasn’t certain, but the king of Faery seemed to be struggling to maintain a straight face. He was fond of the little folk; that shone through loud and clear.

  “We may have assisted a single wolf Shifter,” the spokesman said, “yet ’twas a small boon in comparison to what the animals from their borderworld offered us in return. Our freedom.”

  Moira schooled herself to hang onto a neutral expression. It wasn’t easy since she wanted to cheer. Events had developed a decidedly rosy turn, and she considered nudging the flow along with a wee bit of subtle magic. A tempting notion, but not a smart one. If Oberon and Titania felt protective of the faeries—and it appeared they did—best to let this play out on its own.

  To reduce the temptation to intervene, she focused on Leif. Damn but he looked even more appealing with a dozen faeries balanced along the lengths of his arms. He’d be an amazing father, with just the right combination of tender and tough to keep his children in line.

  His children, she chided herself. His. Not ours.

  Moira gave herself a firm mental slap. This wasn’t a world to add children to, not unless a whole lot changed. What had Leif said about not encouraging his pod to procreate? He’d been afraid the younglings wouldn’t survive.

  “Ye can’t stop us from helping,” one of the faeries was saying.

  “Ye should be there too,” another cut in.

  “Aye.” A female with violet hair flew close to Titania. “Ye’ll never forgive yourself if ye miss the decisive battle. The one that finally ousted evil from Earth and allowed us to take it back for our children and our children’s children.”

  Titania smiled faintly. “That was a pretty big speech.”

  The faery puffed out her chest. “I’m only small in stature. Nothing wrong with my brain.”

  Oberon swept a hand downward; a gleaming curtain shading from blue to violet to gold and then silver formed a barrier around him and his queen.

  “Could be good,” Leif whispered near Moira’s ear. “They’re conferring.”

  A whirr of wings caught her attention. Moira glanced up to see the green faery headed their way. “Sorry, sorry,” she panted once she’d drawn even with them. “I was clear across the land near the sea on the other side.”

  Moira held out her arm, and the faery landed lightly, wings beating so fast they were a blur. “My name is Moira. I’m guessing you’re Amithra. We never got around to formal introductions last time.”

  The green-haired faery smiled. “Aye. ’Tis my name indeed.” Her expression turned serious. “Names hold power, Shifter. Ye must never speak mine where an enemy might hear.”

  “I’ll take great care that doesn’t happen,” Moira assured her.

  “Did I get here in time?” Amithra asked the faeries, her brow drawn into a mass of worried creases.

  “Time isn’t relevant. We do not require permission to offer our aid,” the male with iridescent hair said.

  “Of course we don’t.” Greenie shot him an annoyed look. “But even ye have to admit it makes things easier.”

  The faery’s wings had slowed. Intricate patterns were inscribed on each, the left different from the right. Moira wanted to stroke them but refrained. For all she knew, wing touching was off limits.

  “How long have they been like that?” Greenie angled her head toward the colorful barrier surrounding the king and queen of Faery.

  Another faery shrugged. “Not long. Ye know how they are. It could be days afore they surface.”

  “We don’t have days,” Leif said.

  “Tell us everything,” the green faery urged. “Maybe by the time ye’re done, they will be too.”

  “Isn’t this something they need to hear as well?” Moira asked.

  “Oh they’ll hear ye, right enough,” another faery piped up.

  Moira felt Leif’s particular brand of power as he built a ward encompassing them, the faery folk, and Oberon and Titania. She scanned with magic and didn’t pick up any fell forces, but it paid to be cautious. Once he was satisfied, he began speaking.

  “None of us knows what the next few days will bring. A seer amongst us foretold a portal in the northlands.”

  “Do ye mean the one allowing bad things access to Earth?” Amithra raised an eyebrow.

  Leif nodded. “The same. How is it you know about it?”

  “We can feel it,” a crimson-haired male faery perched on Leif’s wrist said. “It showed up suddenly, out of nowhere, and has been growing.”

  A sensation like a lock and key finding one another skated across Moira’s mind. The faeries already knew about the fissure and recognized it as a threat, which made things easier.

  Leif scanned the gathering of small, earnest faces. “The Shifters some of you met on Malaita plan to close the gateway once and forever. Our biggest problem is demonkind has guessed what we’re up to, and they’ve had time to plan for our arrival.”

  “Ye must surprise them,” Greenie said.

  “Our assessment as well,” Moira agreed.

  “One huge problem is we’re all aboard a ship. It’s a good-sized vessel, not one where we can sneak up on the gateway unnoticed,” Leif said.

  “Ye could swim,” the iridescent faery pointed out.

  “And ye can fly.” Greenie turned to look Moira in the eye.

  “True enough,” Moira replied.

  “That strategy works for fourteen sea Shifters and the two land Shifters who take bird forms,” Leif clarified. “Thirteen other land Shifters take forms that don’t lend themselves to either flying or swimming long distances in polar waters.”

  “If we’re to have any hope of success, all of us must join our magic right next to the portal at the same time,” Moira added.

  “Oh.” The crimson-haired faery’s mouth rounded into understanding. “Which would explain the need for a passageway.”

  “What passage?” Greenie demanded. “What’d ye talk about before I got here?”

  “Our thought was to anchor the boat near one of northeastern Siberia’s deserted towns and travel to the gateway via a channel like the one you constructed for Ceridwen.”

&n
bsp; Moira waited, barely breathing.

  Was such a thing possible? She’d thought it would be simpler since a borderworld wasn’t part of the equation, but that might make it harder—or impossible—if the faeries required some element of a borderworld’s magic to finesse their tunnel-building.

  The undulating curtain around the king and queen of faery fell away. Oberon stepped forward. “We offer aid freely and willingly, without expectation of a boon in return.”

  “Aye, we are agreed.” Titania stood tall and regal.

  “We shall bring an army of Fae with us,” Oberon said.

  Cheers broke out among the faeries, all of whom took to the air zipping and diving as they whooped and hollered in Gaelic.

  Leif dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Thank you. All of you. If I survive this battle, I shall devote myself to repaying your generosity.”

  “Nonsense,” Titania retorted. “In the name of all that’s holy, man, get up off your knees. If ye survive, ye’ll live the life ye were meant to.”

  “You have my thanks as well,” Moira murmured.

  “We must leave.” Oberon sounded almost cheerful. “We’ve an army to raise.”

  “Do you know where—?” Moira began.

  “Aye. Do ye think us deaf and dumb?” Titania rounded on her, silver eyes blazing with indignation. “Ye’d have to be naught but a mortal not to feel poison pumping though the ripped place.”

  “Apologies. I just wanted to make certain—”

  “Young Shifter—for ye are indeed young,” Titania said, “trust we will request information if any is required.”

  Moira’s vulture chose that moment to commandeer her vocal chords. Squawks mingled with cooing as the vulture heaped praise on the queen of faery.

  Titania smiled and patted Moira’s hand. “Your bond animal is wise. Ye’ll grow into its wisdom given a few more years.”

  Moira smiled back through gritted teeth. The only other option was telling Titania to piss up a rope, which wasn’t wise. Never antagonize a brand-new ally.

  “Hurry along, dear,” Oberon said. “Ye can correct the young Shifter later.” He drew a glowing doorway next to him and stepped through. Titania leapt after him.