Realms of Mist and Ash: Fae Witch Chronicles Book 2

by J. S. Malcom

  Helen glances briefly at Lily, who now sits drooping on a stool beside the prep table. She appears just barely aware of what we're saying.

  “Right, well it's not like we can keep you out of sight forever,” Helen says.

  Her words make me remember Lily's original confusion at why I'd been brought here. Have Helen and Lily been trying to keep me hidden for some other reason?

  All the same, I soon bear a tray laden with bowls, plates and brimming cups as I make my way upstairs for the first time. All of it can’t possibly be for one child, and I suspect what’s discarded is meant for the nanny I haven’t met. At least, I hope so.

  I navigate using the landmarks Helen told me to watch for. The dragon painting in one hall, the statue of a kelpie in another. I'm almost there, I tell myself. Just a few more halls and corners to watch for. Hopefully, by now Raakel has joined her wretched husband and it’ll merely be a matter of delivering this tray. I’ve no sooner had the thought when a figure rounds a corner, heading toward me. He looks down as he lopes along. Still, I have no doubt who it is, even though I’ve seen him just once before.

  Maybe, just maybe, he'll disappear into a room, or keep his head down in thought as I pass by unobserved. An invisible servant, not worth noticing. Please, please, please. My concentration breaks and my tray rattles. Weylar looks up, and his eyes lock on mine.

  I cast my gaze down and try to keep walking, as I think of all the women throughout the ages who've suffered being in this position. Frightened, helpless, nearly defenseless. I never thought I'd be one of them. When Weylar blocks my path, I stop, weighing what to do. I glance up to see a grin spread across his face. My instinct is to defiantly stare back, but I tell myself to pick my battles, that there’s a war to win. I stare down at the floor.

  Then I feel his fingers as he lifts a strand of my hair. He speaks with a mocking tone. “Well, don't you look lovely today. I was wondering when I’d see you again, half-breed.”

  I grit my teeth and say nothing.

  His fingers trail down my neck to my shoulder, and it takes everything I have not to shudder. “Did you come up here looking for me?”

  I stare down at the tray of food, willing myself not to let it rattle. Yes, I’m starting to tremble, but not with fear.

  He run his fingers down my bicep, then slowly over to my ribcage. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

  If he touches my breast, this tray is going in his face. And I know exactly where my knee is going too.

  His fingers trail slowly up again, as his breathing deepens. “I’ve been thinking about you too. I keep picturing—”

  “Weylar! Where are you?” It’s his younger brother, calling from down the hall.

  I’m white-knuckling the tray, my fingers clenched so hard that pain shoots up my arms.

  “Weylar, come on! You said we’d go hunting!”

  Weylar withdraws his hand. He speaks barely above a whisper, his voice close to my ear. “Soon, half-breed. Very soon.”

  I remain frozen as he walks away, listening as his footsteps fade. I force myself to take, deep measured breaths. Yeah, very soon sounds good. But not for what you’re thinking, asshole. I have something else in mind entirely.

  I lift my head and start walking again. I’m out of danger. For now, I’m okay. I think of Fashenan and what she showed me. I think of that woman I saw and heard, and how I knew she was a witch. I think of hearing the ley line call out to me. There’s way more going on here to think about than that creep. I’ll deal with him later, and I add that to my list of promises.

  Finally, I spot the doorway Helen told me to watch for, arched and two doors wide. Above it, there’s a scrolling pattern of inlaid gold depicting sunrays, butterflies and birds in flight. Cheerful things to make children happy. And to think this is the same wing of the house within which Weylar was raised. I enter and, as Helen directed me to do, I keep going past the foyer and then through an expansive play area, where toys and stuffed animals are left strewn about. I announce my presence, as Helen said I should. “Lady Ferndelm. It’s Megan. I’ve brought breakfast.”

  This, in case “her ladyship” happens to be present. No one calls back, but I hear a child’s sing-song voice echoing my way from deeper into the wing.

  Little elf and piskie.

  Beware the cu sith hunting.

  Where you go is much too risky.

  The big cat will come running.

  Another voice comes from farther away. “That’s very good, Erdella. Very good!”

  That must be Beth, and I call out softly. “Hello?”

  She must not hear me, but the child calls back. “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” I say. “Cas—Megan. I brought your breakfast.”

  I cringe at my mistake, but the little girl says, “I’m in here!”

  I follow her voice through another room, this one arranged with miniature, brightly colored furniture, and into the next where the girl I saw that first night sits at a table. The table is large in diameter, but knee high to me. Erdella beams as I approach.

  “I’m very hungry,” she says. “Thank you for bringing food.”

  For all the bad experiences I’ve had in this house, she almost makes up for it in being adorable. She’s not much more than a toddler, with pointy ears poking through bright white hair, and vivid violet eyes. If she remembers her mother bringing me to my knees, it doesn’t show in her beaming smile.

  I bring the tray to the table and set it down. “Well, then it’s a good thing I brought breakfast. Is Beth here?”

  Erdella lifts a lid from one of the bowls. “She’s in the other room folding my clothes while I read to her.”

  “I heard you reading,” I say. “You read very well.”

  Erdella claims one of Helen’s scones, but smiles at me again. “Thank you.”

  Suddenly, I hear a young woman’s voice. “Oh, hello. You must be Meg—”

  I look up when her voice stops. Her eyes grow wide as she stares at me. It takes everything I have to keep my mouth from dropping open.

  Erdella breaks the silence. “Do you know each other?”

  I answer quickly, out of gut instinct, my eyes locked on Beth’s. “No. We haven’t met.”

  The girl across from me is confused and curious, I can tell, but she understands what I’m trying to silently communicate. Please don’t give me away. She hesitates for just a moment more, and then holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says. “I’m Beth.”

  Which is short for Elizabeth, of course. But her parents call her Ellie.

  CHAPTER 29

  Hours pass as I perform my duties distractedly, my thoughts continuing to churn. Finally, we reach the break before starting our evening duties, and Helen suggests that Lily go downstairs for a bath. “Maybe you can catch a brief nap,” she says. “Go on, love, Megan and I will be fine.” Helen’s eyes meet mine as she adds, “Won’t we, dear?”

  “Of course.” I say it absently, my mind still reeling. Last night left me enough confused and distracted, but now the entire landscape has shifted.

  At first, I thought the odds against finding Ellie this way had to be astronomical. But then I thought about how Helen told me I'd been brought on because she was getting older. Could that actually be true, and my other fears just my imagination? And, until recently, someone named Simone looked after the children. Ellie and me both landing here only a few weeks apart might be a simple matter of a need being filled. And I doubt that any needs in this house go ignored for long. I also think about how Lily acted nervous that day when I asked about Beth. I thought she just didn’t want to talk about Simone, but could it have been because Beth is a changeling? Are they forbidden to talk about it?

  “What's got you so lost in thought?”

  I snap out of it at the sound of Helen's voice, only then realizing I haven't spoken a word since Lily went downstairs. I've been scrubbing the counters in a complete fog.

  “I was just thinking about the past,” I say, even thou
gh it’s not true.

  I really want to ask about Ellie, but I'm afraid I'll give myself away. I trust Helen, but I can’t risk it. Not after what I heard Lord Ferndelm say about someone named Vintain.

  Helen sighs and joins me at the counter. “Ah, love. The past is something you're better off not dwelling on.” She picks up a cloth and starts drying where I've washed. “But it's hard not to get blue sometimes. I know all too well.”

  I stop scrubbing and turn to face her. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Don't you ever think about trying to escape?”

  She glances around, then lowers her voice even more. “I used to, all the time. But I guess I never had the guts. And part of me kept hanging onto the same stupid dream that brought me here to begin with. What a silly thing I once was. A proper fool.”

  I hesitate, but I want to know. Without our stories, our pasts, we're reduced to being the objects we've become. “What was your dream?”

  “Finding my father,” Helen says. “Like I said, I was a fool. But my mother and I had hit a rough patch, same as happens to all teenagers, but of course I didn't know that. What I did know was that I was different, a half-blood, and I couldn't understand why she'd lied to me all those years.”

  “Did she know?”

  Helen nods. “Pretty sure she did, yeah. I found some things she'd written, about a man named Jofarel. As if a name like that isn't enough of a clue, right?” Despite the sad look in her eyes, Helen cracks a smile and shakes her head. “Those damned fae names get me every time. Anyway, one night we got into it and I marched right out of there. All in a huff, I was. And by then I'd already found Silvermist, like most of us do. So, I went there and found myself a pub. I don't know if things have changed there, but back then no one had a problem serving a young girl a few beers.”

  “I think it might be the same,” I say.

  “Right. Not a whole lot of rules in Silvermist. Anyway, the pub closed and I started walking, at first thinking I'd be going back home. But then this little voice said, ‘Helen, there's nothing there for you, is there?’ I should have ignored that voice, obviously.”

  I speak softly. “So, you came here thinking you'd find your father.”

  Helen folds her towel and sets in on the counter. “I sure did. And here I've remained. Although, I guess there wouldn't be much to go back to now anyway. Would there?”

  I rinse my brush at the sink, partly because it has to be done, but mostly to hide my eyes. It won't do Helen any good to see that I'm trying not to cry.

  “I don't know,” I say. “You could still start over. You could build a new life.”

  Helen nudges me on the shoulder. “You're a sweet thing, aren't you? You know the best thing to do when you're feeling glum?” She nods toward the back window. “Get outside and take a walk. Go on. It'll do you good. I'll go down and check on Lily.”

  *

  I take Helen’s advice and head outside. Maybe she’s right, and some fresh air will do me good. At very least, maybe it will help me to clear my head so I can start to sort things out. As it stands, there’s been too much coming at me too quickly. I’m overwhelmed and overwrought. I can barely think straight.

  I walk a straight line at first, putting some distance between myself, the house and everything it holds. The cruelty, the secrets, the painful past and gloomy present. It’s a vast, beautifully gilded vault of sadness, that place, where even magic is held against its will. My heart breaks for Helen and Lily, but also for little Erdella and her spoiled brother. How much will their future twist them? Will that little girl soon transform into a monster, or will she rebel like the sister she’ll never know? Fashenan, whose very death didn’t stop the wrongs being perpetrated.

  Stop, I tell myself. Stop. Think of what Helen said. Let being out here refresh you. Of course, I’m not surprised to find that it’s perfect outside. The sky clear and bluish violet, the afternoon sun casting its glow upon the grounds and gardens. A gentle breeze tickles my skin, drying my sweat as I walk across the grass and then onto one of the garden paths. The vivid flowers make me feel like I’ve stepped into an otherworldly painting. No, not a painting, a dream. A nightmare from which I can’t wake up.

  Breathe, just breathe, I tell myself. There’s a reason I came here. There must be. I didn’t just stumble into it. This realm came to me.

  I reach the end of the garden to find a field of tall grass I haven’t seen before. There’s a ridge in the distance, leading toward a gentle slope of undulating green. It seems so surreal, that just beyond the house behind me, lies this paradise. Such beauty juxtaposed against such ugliness.

  No. Don’t think about what’s back there. Be here now. Be present.

  But the back of my neck suddenly prickles, a warning rippling through my veins. I spin around just as he comes at me and I hit the ground hard, the air getting sucked out of my lungs. Weylar straddles me, his hands like iron clamps pinning my wrists to the earth. He leers and says, “I told you it wouldn’t be long.”

  “Get off me!” My words come out weak and desperate, as I struggle to breathe.

  His grin widens. I feel him pressing into me as he grinds his hips. “Oh, come on. You wanted this. You know you did.”

  I buck beneath him, twisting my hips as I try to force him off. My struggle only arouses him more.

  “That’s right,” he says. “Put up a fight. I like it that way.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Fuck you.”

  He slaps me hard across the face. My ears ring as he does it again. He pulls my wrists further above my head, then pins them down with one hand, nearly breaking them as I cry out. He plunges his hand beneath my blouse, pain shooting through me as he grabs my breast. I thrust my hips up again to free myself. He moans, lowers his head, and reaches down to pull up my skirt.

  I grit my teeth and growl, “Not gonna happen, asshole.”

  His voice comes out guttural, full of lust. “Oh, yes it is.”

  I tear one wrist free and claw him across the face. He rears back in shock, then tries to pin me down again. I punch him in the ear and lift a knee into his balls. He howls in pain as I push him off and leap to my feet.

  Weylar picks himself up and stands facing me, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He narrows his eyes and says, “You’re going to pay for that, mongrel.”

  He runs at me and I drop to one knee, and then spring up, butting him with my head in the underside of his chin. Pain shoots through me, but apparently way more is visited upon Weylar, who staggers back, stumbling as blood runs from his mouth. He trips over a rock and falls to the ground, where he sits dazed for a moment before trying to get up again.

  Suddenly, I hear the sound of hoofbeats come thundering to a stop. Esras runs past me and grabs hold of his brother, both of his powerful arms locked around Weylar’s chest. Weylar’s legs drag along the ground as he screams out, “Let go of me!”

  Esras throws him back to the ground. When Weylar tries to get up again, Esras punches him in the face, driving him back down. “Get up again and I’ll kill you,” he says.

  He comes to where I stand, takes hold of my hand and leads me to his horse. He climbs up onto the saddle, then reaches down to pull me up. He flicks the reins and we take off galloping as Weylar stumbles to his feet. Blood streams from both his mouth and nose now. Weylar locks his gaze onto his brother’s and screams, “She's a halfling! What are you even mad about?”

  Esras veers the horse at his brother, whose eyes widen. He scrambles out of the way to keep from being trampled. Esras flicks the reins again and we go faster. I have no choice but to wrap my arms around his waist to keep from getting thrown off.

  Esras speaks over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  I nod but don't answer, as I watch to see where we're going, part of me wondering if I can trust him. How can I be sure he was protecting me rather than claiming me for himself? There’s nothing I’ve seen of the Seelie so far that inspires trust.

  Esras says nothing more as we ride toward the
same crest I was walking to before. It seemed far on foot, a destination worth aspiring to, but on horseback we reach the top in minutes. Esras guides the horse so we ride parallel to the ridge line, and I see the distant border of the property and beyond that the wasteland. The Barrens, Cade called it. Esras peers out, scanning the distance as if searching. I wonder if we'll ride down the other side of this hill, if he’ll take me to the border or even across the desolate plain. The feeling I get is that he's considering doing just that.

  Suddenly, he pulls back on the reins to slow the horse, and I see what he was searching for. A party of men on horseback themselves, little more than specks in the distance, but drawing closer. That's what Esras was trying to determine, I'm almost sure, whether there was time to cross before our path intersects with theirs. There isn't, I can tell. There's no way we wouldn't be seen.

  “They're under orders,” Esras says. “It doesn't matter who I am.”

  He doesn't have to tell me the rest. They might not kill me, but they'd definitely drag me right back again. Only then I'd be under their control, rather than Esras’s protection. And out in the middle of nowhere, who knows what might happen?

  Esras turns us around and starts back toward the house. There's no sign of Weylar now as we cross through the field, and then past the vibrant gardens and otherworldly topiaries. What took me fifteen minutes to walk feels like mere moments, as the wind whips through my hair and I keep my arms wrapped around Esras’s middle. I can't help but notice that his stomach is lean and hard, his back flaring out to broad shoulders. His arms are tan and rippled with muscles. I tell myself I shouldn't notice these things, especially after what nearly happened. Nonetheless, it seems I can't help it. In fact, I can’t deny that being close to him sends a rippling warmth through my body. It’s an inexplicably pleasant sensation, and not one I could have anticipated.

  We ride up behind the house, and Esras guides his horse to a stop. I don't wait for him to ask or help me. I jump off, then look back at him, squinting against the sun.

  I speak softly. “Thank you.”