The Autumn Fairy (The Autumn Fairy Trilogy Book 1)

by Brittany Fichter

  “Peter!” Katy shrieked. “Peter, help! Atharo, let him hear me!” Fear made it difficult to breathe, and again, she tried to push her power out against his, but it was no use. His winds were strong and steady, and her power came in short, uneven bursts, wild and unmanageable as rabbits.

  As she cried out, she pictured Peter in her head. Of all the memories she feared losing, his was the greatest. So in her last moments, she chose to see him. Not the muscled, stalwart warrior in armor that confused and affected her so, but the boy. The boy who never remembered to brush his hair and whose tailor-made clothes were always rumpled. The boy who teased and tormented her to no end when they were alone but had suffered a bloody nose on her behalf on more than one occasion. The only one who could calm her with just the touch of his hands, and the one who had risked everything when he promised to save her from the darkness within.

  Suddenly, Katy understood why Peter insisted on living in the past. The present was confusing, terrifying. But their days together were simple. Difficult, but steady. Never had she doubted his care for her nor hers for him. They were an anchor while the rest of the world tossed and turned around them.

  How she wanted those days back. What she wouldn’t give to have it all one more time. One more chance to take his hand and not be afraid.

  Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as the miniature sun in Tearlach’s hand grew brighter and hotter. “Peter, you promised,” she sobbed.

  “You don’t need him to save you,” Tearlach said, slowly lowering his hand and holding the ball of sunlight before her face. “You just need to close your eyes and let go. Soon you will be loved, and you’ll never know any different.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just let go.”

  An overwhelming sense of sleepy calm arrested her senses as he placed his hand against her head, and Katy found herself unable to speak. And in her last moment of consciousness, she imagined herself kissing Peter goodbye.

  48

  Wise Words

  Peter, Domnhall, Carey, and Tomas were silent as they walked through the cavern. Their steps echoed on the hard cavern floor, their boots making splashing sounds in unseen puddles every few feet. Though his eyes had adjusted to the dark, Peter could only see enough to know in which direction to walk. Holes in the cave roof and walls of the cavern provided brief pools of light now and then, but only enough to continue on without running into the cave wall. Their last torch had burned out several hours before. But the four of them were experienced enough to know that complaining would do them no good.

  Still, the silence was loud in the wake of their band’s latest departure. For they had awakened that morning to find their youngest member gone.

  “Must’ve slipped by me last night when I heard another disturbance outside the cavern,” Domnhall had growled when they’d realized Benjamin was missing.

  “A disturbance he caused, no doubt.” Peter had shaken his head. “Don’t blame yourself, Dom. This is my doing.” He’d rubbed his unshaven face and sighed. “I should have waited until we were back at the castle to cut him loose.”

  “He’d have found some way to cause trouble there, too,” Tomas had muttered as they’d gathered their supplies and readied their horses to venture deeper into the cave.

  “Yes,” Peter had said, “but his father would have been there to keep him in line without jeopardizing our quest.”

  “His father couldn’t keep him in line either. Why do you think he sent him off to be a page the day he was old enough?” Tomas had asked.

  But there was no use in sulking, so Peter and the others had simply continued on their path.

  Of course, refusing to sulk only freed Peter’s mind to wonder about even more distressing thoughts, such as what to do about Katy and Saraid.

  In the slight likelihood that they were somehow successful, and Peter prevented Katy’s manifestation, what then? Saraid had been announced to the kingdom as the next queen. He had proposed to her himself before leaving, albeit without all the pomp and fuss he knew she would have preferred. Though there had been no actual oath taken, which would have caused even more grief, it felt dishonorable to break such an agreement. Even if, upon reflection, Saraid was turning out to be everything Muirin had complained about over the years. Manipulating. Scheming. Ambitious, and not at all the kind of woman he wanted ruling the kingdom beside him. Still, he had been the one to propose.

  But then, it also felt dishonorable to marry one woman while loving another.

  “Here.”

  Peter turned eagerly toward the distraction of Carey’s voice, anything to avoid thinking about the future beyond the next week. He walked faster, leading his horse until he and the others had all rounded another bend in the cavern and were momentarily blinded by the sunlight filtering through a hole as large as a window on the right side of the cavern wall.

  The hole looked down upon a broken old stone fort, one Peter guessed had been used before the Olc War. Though the cave they were inside was higher than the fort, it wasn’t by a great amount, and they were close enough to make out two figures standing on one of the lower balconies.

  “Sire, isn’t that—” Tomas began.

  “Yes,” Peter said in a tight voice.

  “Didn’t we leave her back at the castle?”

  Peter stared down at the two figures. Though he didn’t know the first figure, a man wearing a dark cloak, the second figure was far too familiar to mistake. “We did.”

  “She doesn’t look like she’s being held against her will,” Domnhall said softly.

  Peter didn’t respond. He couldn’t as he watched the man reach out and take Katy’s hand. And to his horror, she intertwined her fingers with his.

  The same icy rage that had filled his chest at Benjamin’s crude insinuations the night before now froze his veins and kept him from breathing. How dare that creature touch her?

  How could she touch him?

  Peter shook his head. “Something’s wrong.”

  “And how do you know that for certain?” Domnhall gave him a look that was more sympathetic than Peter would have liked.

  Tomas scratched his head. “Pardon my noticing, sire, but Miss Katrin looks more than a bit comfortable.”

  Peter wanted to make a short retort, but unfortunately, Tomas was right. Katy was a vision, and a radiant one at that. Her dark hair was drawn up into a mass of curls at the top of her head, and she wore a long dress of silvery green that draped her petite frame like a waterfall. She had never looked so much like a spirit from another world, nor had she ever looked so beautiful.

  And she was smiling at the other man with the brightness of a thousand suns.

  “You’re sure something is amiss?” Domnhall was still frowning down at the scene below them.

  Peter bit his tongue at the curses he wanted desperately to shout at the older knight. But really, what could he say? It seemed petty and weak to claim that she’d only ever loved him, though she’d as much said so herself the night before he’d left. Even without her admission to him, however, Katy was too steady, too controlled to have fallen in love with a stranger so quickly. At least, Peter desperately hoped so.

  “From the curve of that cloak, I’d bet one hundred ergid that he’s our olc,” Tomas muttered.

  “Well then,” Peter turned sharply and began walking again, “that means we’re close. Let’s keep going.”

  “With all due respect, sire,” Tomas hurried to catch up, “if he already has her, doesn’t that change plans?”

  They turned a corner and Peter walked even faster. He could see the barest hint of light up ahead.

  “He has a point,” Domnhall called. “What reason could he have now to help us if he’s found the one thing in the world that he could want?”

  “He doesn’t have everything.”

  “What more could he possibly want than the one woman on the isle who is like him?”

  “Me.” Peter stared ahead at the cavern as he walked, but Tomas ran in front of him and blo
cked his path.

  49

  None

  “Hold now! You’re planning on giving him what?” Tomas balked.

  But Peter kept walking. “He and I are going to talk like two civilized beings. And for the first time in four hundred years, the crown is going to listen.”

  “Not by yourself, you’re not!”

  The end of the tunnel glowed up ahead with sunlight. But as usual, something was blocking his way. Peter stopped and glared at Tomas. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “He means,” Carey joined them, “that we’re going with you.”

  “I need to do this alone. Showing up with my best knights is going to seem threatening. And making the olc feel threatened is the last thing I need.” Peter looked at Domnhall for help.

  But Domnhall just shook his head sadly. “We swore on our lives to keep you safe.” He shrugged helplessly. “I simply couldn’t face your uncle if I knowingly let you walk into a lion’s den on your own.”

  Peter turned and stalked toward the end of the cave. “I should have just escaped with Benjamin,” he muttered to himself as the others followed in silence.

  The daylight had never been so welcoming as when they emerged from the cavern, but Peter’s joy at being reunited with it was marred by his frustration. How could they not understand? If he didn’t get this olc to talk, he would fail, which would mean he and the rest of the isle would be cursed. Surely that ought to be incentive enough to let him go.

  His dark mood was made even worse by the strangely dead forest that towered above them. The forest they’d passed through earlier had been anything but healthy. And yet this part of the woods screamed death in a whole new way. Instead of healthy green boughs filled with birds and squirrels, every tree was dead, or nearly so. The entire wood looked as though one strong wind might snap every tree in two.

  He stopped to get his bearings, and the others stopped behind him. His anger was quickly chased away, however, by the overwhelming sensation of magic.

  “Do you feel that?” Peter called softly to the others.

  “Feel what?” Tomas asked.

  “That.” Peter nearly jumped as his skin prickled, much in the same way his hair stood on end when lightning struck too close. “The air feels like it’s on fire.”

  The others glanced at each other, confusion on their faces, so Peter looked down at his arm instead. Goosebumps were raised, and with them, his spirits were tempted to soar. Perhaps this was the magic in his ancestors’ blood, especially as no one else could feel it!

  Bolstered by the new confidence that surged through him, Peter pulled his sword from his sheath and studied it. But to his great disappointment, he found no shimmering green lighting its edges. In fact, there was nothing different about the weapon at all.

  “What if we went back to the cavern and climbed down through the hole in the cavern wall?” Tomas suggested.

  “It was too high. We would have landed in a creek full of sharp rocks.” Carey shook his head.

  “Well, it has to be here somewhere,” Tomas snapped. Just as they rounded the bend, though, and Peter was considering telling them all to shut up, they found themselves face to face with an ancient ivy-covered wall.

  Tomas whistled. “I didn’t know we’d ever settled land this far south.”

  “We held all of it before the war,” Peter said. “Now stay here. If I’m not back in a few hours, go back to the castle and tell my uncle.” He hopped off his horse and began to check his saddle. But as he led his horse forward, the others followed.

  “I told you,” Peter shook his head. “I need to go in myself. He’s most likely to talk to me alone.”

  “And how do you know this?” Domnhall frowned.

  “Let’s just say that I have practice.”

  This time it was Carey who dismounted and walked up to Peter. “Not alone.”

  Peter gawked for a moment before taking a step closer. “And what are you going to do about it?” he growled.

  Before Carey could say anything else, however, a new voice came from the gate. “How about you walk through my front gate like the civilized creatures you claim to be, and we’ll start there.”

  Tomas muttered an oath as they all whirled about to see the lone figure standing at the broken gate, but Peter led his horse to the front of the group.

  “What are the terms?” he called out.

  “Sire,” Tomas whispered, his eyes large with alarm. “This isn’t what we—”

  “This is exactly what we came for!”

  “What say you?” the figure called out again, clasping his hands behind his back. He wasn’t a tall man, but his shoulders were far wider than Peter’s, and he held himself with confidence. From the lines and edges on his square face, he looked to be older than Peter but younger than Antony. And even though he held no weapon, the wings folded neatly on his back made it clear that he didn’t have to.

  “We’re coming,” Peter called back.

  But the man put up a hand. “As there are only two of us in the castle, I think it would be prudent of me not to invite all of you. I’m sure you understand. That way, in case our discussions don’t end in a…civil manner, we’ll be more evenly matched.” His mouth, the only visible part of his face, turned up into a smile.

  Peter didn’t want to think about the fact that there were two of them, or his insinuation that Katy would be there to fight with him, provided she was the other body he was referring to.

  Before he could think about it too much, however, wind began to whip around them. Peter lifted his sword and tried to cut through it. Again, he delved inside. But every time he reached his heart, he felt as though he hit a wall. There was power within him. He could feel it! For the shortest of moments, he felt a flicker. But every time he tried to reach it, to pull more out, he fell short.

  In just seconds, the wind had pulled his sword from his hand, and so much dust had been blown up from the ground that Peter could no longer see his arm. It was only a moment before he was all alone.

  50

  Confession

  Peter awoke with a start and a shout. Every part of him felt like he was being stabbed over and over again. When he was finally able to pry his eyes open, he could see little for the flashes of light that danced in his vision.

  He shook his head and tried again to take stock, to remember how he had come to be...wherever he was. Both of his wrists were shackled to rings hanging from the ceiling.

  From what he could make out through his still-spinning vision, he was in an empty stone room with one window and a fire in the hearth. But it was hard to recall what had happened as the pain held his body and mind in a vice grip. The chains dug into his wrists, cutting into flesh where his gloves should have been. His armor was gone, and so were his boots.

  The door opened, letting in enough light to blind him.

  “Feeling better?” a man’s voice asked.

  “What did you do to me?” Peter twisted, trying to see past the door.

  “It was only a bit of lightning. Nothing lethal. I just needed to get you up here without a fight. And your friends are safe for now, as long as you act nicely.”

  Peter squinted at the source of the voice. He couldn’t make out details, but the figure appeared to be a male of average height. And he had wings. Then he remembered the olc they’d met at the gate.

  “Of course, I thought it might be more of a fight, now that you carry the sword of your fathers.” The olc shook his head. “But to be fair, you never were quite as bloodthirsty as your predecessors.”

  “If you had been honorable in allowing me to speak earlier—” Peter growled, but the olc leaned forward.

  “First of all, my name is Tearlach. Second, you will not find an individual, olc or human, more concerned with honor and justice than myself,” he said, his face solemn. “Now, you wanted to talk. Let’s talk. But let me warn you.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Inappropriate comments or questions will be met with quick punishment.�
� As he spoke, his green eyes gleamed, and Peter got the distinct feeling that there were two sides to this man.

  “Where is Katy?” Peter tried to see through the small opening in the door.

  “I’m glad you started with a worthwhile question. She’s safe.”

  “But where—”

  “Next.”

  Peter studied his captor warily. The olc’s dark hair was tidy, and his wings were tucked neatly beneath his cloak. “What do you want with me?”

  “We’ll discuss that later. For now, I want to lay out a few facts I’ve gathered over the years.” He held out his hand and opened it palm up. A miniature thunderstorm, one fitting for mice, began to rain and crackle above it. “You are Prince Peter, son of Christopher, younger brother to the king. Correct?”

  Peter glared at him.

  In an instant, Tearlach had grabbed one of the fire pokers leaning beside the hearth. Peter felt his back explode in pain as the olc brought it down upon his spine.

  “Let’s try that again. Am I right?”

  Peter was tempted to remain silent again but thought better of it. Perhaps feigning humility would win him information. And he needed all he could get.

  “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Good.” Tearlach spoke easily, as if he were continuing a civilized conversation over tea. “That means that you’re a rhin.”

  “A what?”

  “Sorry. I forgot how much your line likes to keep secrets. I suppose your uncle didn’t tell you. Or maybe he doesn’t know either. Anyhow, a rhin is a direct descendent of the first High King and Queen. On most isles, this is an honor. If you’re here, unfortunately, it means you belong to a line of bloodthirsty cowards.” He paused. “You don’t disagree?”

  “No.”

  Tearlach stared for a moment, then nodded. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye on that. I’m curious, though, what you think ought to happen to a line like that. What should the punishment be?”