Silver Hollow

by Jennifer Silverwood

  So when the attack finally came from the Exiled factions, with golem and demons at their backs, the only thing she could think of doing was protecting Jessamiene.

  Emrys disappeared three beats of a hummingbird’s heart before the attack, leaving Morcant to help Jessamiene’s Unseelie protector fend off assassination attempts.

  Would be of grand use if the child would simply look around and notice time has not stopped for her! Why does she give pause now, of all times?

  Jessamiene was clutching her chest and glimmering from the inside out, her features contorted in a semblance of pain. The weight of the magic surrounding her was affecting the other nearby guests enough to distract them from who she truly was. Had Morcant been looking any other way, she would have missed the discharge of energy sent her way by a familiar Unseelie.

  Beauregard! How did I not foresee his betrayal?

  Had she hesitated, she would have been too late to stop the next explosion. She barely managed to throw herself over the girl and urge her to safety. Meanwhile, she was reeling with this newest revelation. Beauregard had insisted he come tonight, instead of her most trusted hobgoblin servant. She had been pleased to see her nephew seemingly care about his rightful place in society. So it was with a heavy heart she was forced to fight against him.

  Morcant had rarely used her peculiar gifts in the last century. Manipulation and vanity had been her forte much longer than fighting wars. But her perfectly pitched voice also happened to have a talent for turning songs into weapons. Unseelie couldn’t handle the song of the pure.

  She never expected to save the life of a female who had made insinuations about her age and fashion sense. But she was in a forgiving mood, if only because the lass had Drustan’s eyes. She screeched with the wail he had once dubbed her “banshee.” The darkness receded and their enemy collapsed, momentarily stunned.

  I forgot how talented I am at that.

  After making certain that Jessamiene had fled and would make it to safety, Morcant returned to the ruined ballroom. Tempestuous fury supplied her energy and strength now. The desecration meeting her eyes as she reentered the ballroom brought tears to her eyes. She leapt over fallen figures she had been laughing with moments before, spirits she had known her entire life.

  “Henry!” she screamed upon discovering him motionless beneath a fallen beam. Stray nixy blasts collided overhead, raining sparkling colors contrasting light and dark. Raising a hand, she deflected a curse aimed at the Master of the House, then glanced balefully at the coward. A white-skinned, gray-eyed greyling had sent the blast and was now running the other direction. Morcant screeched, the shockwave force of sound throwing the creature back down onto the bloody ground.

  Morcant paused to catch her breath, then turned to see the noble families trying to rescue their fallen elders. In the near distance the beasts, their ancient guardians, were fighting a losing battle.

  No time remains.

  Where the glass wall had fallen in, Morcant erected a temporary shield, her own special creation. It took the form of opaque shingles tiled over one another in blues, purples and bright green shades, like stained glass. Except when the enemy came, they would quickly learn to touch it meant they received an even greater shockwave than they were expecting.

  How have I come to this? It all should have gone so differently…

  Tears blurred her vision when she pulled Henry from the rubble, cringing at the sound of his weak, incoherent groans. His wounds were severe, but she mustn’t think on them now. “Come, my love,” she whispered to his ear while helping him stand upright. With a wave of her hand she covered his belly with her nixy, this time to contain his flesh until it could be properly mended. He gasped when she wrapped his arm securely around her shoulders. He was much taller than she was, but she had always been strong.

  “Morcant? Where is Jessamiene?”

  She stumbled when Henry lost his footing, barely managing to keep them upright. “She’s safe, my love. Hurry, there is little time!”

  “No! Not without my Jessie!” He sighed, turning his bold gaze to hers. Morcant sucked in a sharp breath to see those ageless silvery eyes she fell in love with centering the beauty of his golden form.

  “Master!” the maid screamed as she rushed over to them. Morcant cringed at the sight of the hobgoblin Henry trusted more than she. She had taken a particular delight in making Underhill’s life miserable when the opportunity arose. A servant should act precisely as the station they were born into. This was the way it had been done for thousands of years, and was the reason they yet survived. Only at Wenderdowne did the King abstain from such traditions, to her never-ending consternation. She did not like how closely the maid was clutching her superior’s hand now either.

  “Oh, Master! Whatever shall we do! Alastair is fending them off in the hall as we speak. And I glimpsed that codfish Emrys barricading the doors earlier, rushing off into the shadows, the blithering wight.”

  “You’ve done well, lass,” Henry rasped as he struggled for breath. “Morcant, we must reach the haven.”

  Morcant chewed her lip thoughtfully, but did not hesitate to obey. Had it truly come to this? The haven was the literal foundations of Wenderdowne, where the first structure had been built in antiquity. For Henry to retreat there would mean their deaths.

  “But Master, there is no such place, is there? Tis only myth!” Underhill’s voice squeaked annoyingly and she tripped on multiple occasions. Morcant fought the urge to blast her to smithereens.

  If the little goblin gets us killed tonight…

  “Master! Rachel!” Alastair Dearborne rushed to them once they had reached the bottom of the staircase facing the main entrance hall, saving Henry from answering any more nonsensical questions. He stopped short, catching sight of his master wrapped in Morcant’s arms, she smiled happily back at him.

  I should much prefer to see you fed to the wolves as well, Dearborne.

  “Master, we saw the little mistress escape, but them brutes do be begging for a good fight. Knocked in three beastly heads already, meself.” He chuckled.

  Morcant rolled her eyes. “Can you not see he is severely injured and we are wasting time with your incessant chatter? Carry him, Cook!”

  Underhill narrowed her eyes, shifting her bodice in effort to look more menacing, but was stilled by Cook’s hand. He did not acknowledge Morcant, only nodded to their master. “It’ll be all right, lass. Give ’em over, then.”

  Finally free of his weight, she was at last free to lead them. She threw up a few more traps behind them for their cursed cousins, just in case. Deeper and deeper into the castle’s bowels they tread, through passages that had not been disturbed in centuries. Morcant repressed the onslaught of tears more than on one occasion. They had played hide and seek here countless hours as children. Nothing but ghosts remained here, wights and spirits, Morcant and Henry.

  Henry was required to sit up a bit to lift his hand and press against the handprint engraved into the wall. Instantly the ancient door began to creak as gears grinded together. A fire was already lit at the center of the room, and everything inside reminded Morcant of their origins. Here was where the truth had been long kept, if anyone had a mind to seek it.

  Such knowledge would be true power.

  Fighting the urge to plunder the rows of scrolls backed against one wall, she sank to Henry’s side and grasped his hand. Underhill was pacing in front of the door to the fire pit, rubbing her hands together while Cook tried to reassure his female.

  “Alastair! We should nay have left her. Should have snatched her up and brought her with us!”

  “And what good would that do, love, if they make it past these walls? Our only hope is if she survives. They can nay blight us as long as she’s left to come smash them back to human-land.”

  Underhill at last turned into his ready embrace with a sigh. “Oh Alastair, what a brimbled snap-dragon I’ve been!”

  Morcant returned her focus on the broken Sidhe with his head
in her lap. As the goblins embellished their fears, she had been hard at work finding a water source and ripping pieces of her favorite dress away. It was no surprise to her to find a small well at the bottom of a castle. There was an entire world beneath its foundations, a world they had once inhabited. Human legend remembered this realm as the Underground.

  Now that her attention was on Henry, she tried to ignore the fact she had been listening in on the goblin’s chatter. It was none of her concern what they said or thought. But she was envious of the closeness they so obviously shared. Staring through tear-veiled eyes, Morcant couldn’t help the pangs of regret she felt, or wistfully praying to the Creator she had turned her back on, that after this, she and Henry might at last find true love with one another.

  “Wasn’t strong enough…” Henry choked on his own tearless sobs, wretched in his sorrow. His blood ran so fast, struggling to push away her nixy bindings.

  “Shh,” Morcant urged, wiping the sheen of sweat on his forehead with another ripped piece of her dress. “Never admit defeat, my love. This is what makes us stronger than them.” Henry shook his head, unwilling to give into her ministrations.

  Seeing the despondency in his gray orbs made her grab his face between her palms. Firmly, but gentle as a unicorn’s kiss, she pressed her lips to his and willed him to share in her determination. “You listen well to my words, Iudicael Oberon Wenderdowne. I have not fought so long and so hard, have not worn masks I detest, done all this and more for us, to see ye give into despair now! You are mine, I say, and I shall ever be yours.”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he reached up a surprisingly strong hand to cover hers against his cheek, his tears wetting their palms. A roar shook the foundations of the house, so deep and penetrating, instantly instilling fear. There was only one possible source. They all froze, Morcant and Henry holding one another now as the beast’s voice rose up again.

  “You know I forgave ye years ago, for telling Drustan about Dameri and I,” Henry said in a rasping voice.

  Morcant choked back a sob, squeezing her eyes shut, burying her face in his neck and determined never to forget this moment.

  Dear Creator, forgive me for what I’ve done to her, to them, to myself. Let the child be safe.

  Chapter 43

  Weaker Apart

  Moments in a person’s life seemed have been built up by everything leading up to it. Amie knew whatever came next was going to shape the rest of her existence. The one comfort she took was that soon she would be in Dearg’s arms, in the sanity his warmth and calming nature provided. If she didn’t reach the stables soon she knew she might black out from fighting off the will of the ring and inherently the castle. Air was harder to come by the faster she ran, even with her heightened senses.

  Eyes watched her from the forest in the form of glowing red lights blinking in and out of existence, darker creatures come to reclaim what Amie took back from them. A sound akin to the crackle of lightning was the only evidence of the enemy’s attack on Wenderdowne’s defenses. The Exiled waited still on the other side, their battle cries dimmed. The skies seemed coated by blackness adverse to light. Still the moon pierced through the haze of dark energy, casting enough light for her escape.

  Her feet ached in her heeled shoes as she pounded down the trail. Halfway to the stables she nearly tripped and paused to catch her breath and strip her feet of the heels from hell. She frowned when the sky blackened completely then.

  Cries of terror came from enemy lines, adding to her confusion. Peering through the darkness she watched them begin to retreat from the castle, though some maintained their nixing of Amie’s defenses.

  “What the heck are they…” Her jaw dropped when she looked up at the covered moon. The shadow was moving rapidly, picking up speed the closer to earth it glided. When it stretched its wings out fully she laughed. “Dragons? Are they freaking kidding me?”

  The beast was not only the epitome of every single one of Amie’s expectations, gargantuan, rusty scales, claws, horns and spiked tail between its bat-like wings, but ten times as terrifying. After all it was one thing to imagine such a creature and another to see in real life. She clutched the scar on her chest, a deep settled heat rising to the surface and burning all the skin around it. Amie felt as if she were choking on smoke, as if she too were on fire.

  A light built at the center of the beast’s armored chest and then it spat a steady stream of fire over the enemy. Cutting a sudden turn on the wind, it glided low to snatch a handful of the enemy in its massive claws, flapped higher and unhinged them to fall to the earth.

  “Amie!” A voice was calling her name, growling in the near distance and soon closer, desperate for her attention. She cried out when a rope of flames wrapped around her wrist and began to drag her forwards, sending her crashing into Dearg’s strong arms. His eyes were yellow as the sun, his skin bright as hot coals and still it did not burn her.

  “Can you run or do I have to carry you?”

  “Is that a dragon?” she shouted as they raced for the stable door. She turned for one last glimpse of the ancient creature, but it was already retreating to protect the house. When she blinked again, she could see the house’s first defense crumble. Whoever was fighting with the enemy was powerful as Ben warned her they would be.

  Dearg didn’t answer, only glanced briefly at her before blowing out the lantern light and pulling her through the back entrance to the caves. “I know you’ve been through the seventh hell and back,” he said. “But we still have a long way to go and I can nay carry you. Understand? We need you, Amie.”

  Amie nodded. “What about Faye and Ben?” She took the pack he handed her and followed him to the bridge crossing the cavern his cottage bordered.

  “You just worry about your pretty little neck, lass.” He twisted the latch on the other side slowly so she could see how it worked.

  “Didn’t know my neck was such a turn on for you,” she teased.

  Rushing to catch up to her, he snatched her by the waist and pressed his lips to the uppermost tip of her spine. “I do be rather fond of it.” He urged them past his underground cottage and onto the long bridge crossing the abyss below. She clutched her skirts and Grim’s parchment in either hand before following. In the distance the beasts Amie had only ever heard and never seen were growling and shuffling against their chains.

  “The wall broke but I didn’t stop it,” she said brokenly. Her words stuck to the back of her throat but she allowed him to lace their fingers, careful to keep the parchment in her other hand. Forcing her bare feet to race across the wood with him, Amie clutched the wrinkled paper tighter.

  “I know. Don’t worry, Slaine can take care of them for now.”

  “What do you mean, Slaine can take care of it? I haven’t seen him all night.” She blanched when he twisted his head to meet her eye and his round black iris narrowed into a cat-like slit. “What the crap, Dearg?”

  His voice was raspier when he answered her, “You so sure you did nay see him?” Smoke escaped with his breath and the puzzle at last came together.

  “You mean Slaine was the dragon? This is too much…”

  “Just focus on breathing for now, aye?”

  …

  Together they ran deeper and farther than Amie had ever been. The caves were lined with the same glowing spheres of light Emrys had taught her how to make, save these seemed to emanate an eternal fire. They were different, like the Cutterworthys, if it was indeed their true name.

  I can’t believe I’ve been this stupid…

  Answers had been laid right in front of her the entire time. Feather had tried to allude to this every time she visited his library. So she began to ponder, if the truth about Dearg and Slaine had been there all along, what about the rest of the missing pieces? Every time Amie found a revelation she ended up with more questions than answers.

  Is that the aim of this place? To make people go crazy?

  Eventually they stopped running, because the twists and turns
grew narrower and deeper. “Stay close to me,” Dearg cautioned as they came to an even blacker section of the tunnels. Amie watched in awe as first his skin began to give off a brighter ruby light, then flooded his light through her skin. Holding up her fisted hand she watched the silver blood flow through her veins in detail.

  With the roar of the cave’s inhabitants growing fainter by the second, her ease returned, along with a pressing weight of the night and what she had done. Her eyes flickered to Dearg, the words on the tip of her tongue. How much could she reveal to him? He obviously had reason to keep his true nature a secret. From what she remembered reading their kind was supposed to be extinct. Of everyone in the Hollow, he made her feel most at ease about her human nature. He was the fire and her calming effect, her solace and comfort.

  The narrowed path opened into a room accompanied by the rush of an underground river. As they hugged the edge, Amie glanced into the stream and the lights that swam beneath its surface. Once, she imagined she saw a pair of luminous emerald eyes peek up at her from below the current. When she lifted her chin and turned she realized they had stopped.

  “Everything worked the way we planned it,” she said, determined to speak before he asked her. Though he said nothing his fingertips pressed deeper and his patience encouraged her candor.

  “We shall rest a moment here.”

  “Shouldn’t we keep going? The others are going to worry about us.”

  But when she tried to pass him he clasped her waist and whispered, “Please wait.”

  Heat rushed up and clawed its way through every one of her nerves and Amie couldn’t say no. He hung his head so his nose brushed the top of her forehead and a shudder racked his composure. She pulled back, longing to feed the fire inside her, needing the assurance of his touch. Instead Amie choked on her words and gasped, “What’s wrong with your eyes?” A dark liquid was slowly collecting and pooling in tiny trickles along the bridge of his nose.