Adrian

by Heather Grothaus

  “Your concern for him is touching,” Felsteppe sneered breathlessly near her ear. “I was wise enough to notice the way you cared for each other in the hall. It should please you, then, that I fully intend on leaving the island with you both. It shall be most beneficial to my agenda to torture one against the other until I have the information I seek. So, you see, I most certainly do need him.”

  “Adrian will never tell you anything, you cowardly pig,” she gasped. “And neither will I.”

  “We shall see,” was all Felsteppe said, and Maisie was dismayed to hear the wicked smile in his voice.

  What wouldn’t she do or tell or reveal to save Adrian from further suffering? Her blood ran cold when she could not answer her own question.

  Felsteppe could not be allowed to leave the island with both of them.

  Indeed, if Glayer Felsteppe was lucky enough to depart Wyldonna at all, Maisie determined then and there that neither she nor Adrian would be accompanying the bastard.

  They came upon the rocky slope above the beach then, and from the corner of her eye, Maisie could see the tall wooden constructs Malcolm had kept secreted away from her in the mountain. The island folk crowded together on either side of the path she traversed in Felsteppe’s clutches. As she was pushed through the living corridor, the folk bowed.

  “My queen.”

  “My . . .”

  “. . . queen.”

  “My queen.”

  Hundreds of voices acknowledged her as she was forced toward the dock, but not one hand was raised to stop Felsteppe.

  After all, Wyldonna’s folk obeyed the laws of the island.

  Maisie squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that swelled there. When she opened them, she saw the pointed bow of her crawler jutting up from the sand before the dock at a sharp angle. She knew it was resting upon a long, half-buried rock that infringed upon the path just enough.

  Turning her foot inward beneath her already bruised ankle caused an authentic cry of pain from her and she stumbled to the left, feeling Felsteppe’s blade slice just under her chin, where it sent forth a warm rivulet of blood down her throat. But he lost his grip on her hair as he flung out both arms to break his fall, stumbling over Maisie’s body and then the rock as her own hands reached out to catch herself on the bow of the crawler.

  She hung there for precious seconds while Felsteppe struggled and cursed her just at her back, and as his fist twisted into her locks again, she lifted the fingers of her right hand and tapped the smooth pale wood twice. She felt the vessel tremble as he lifted her away from the crawler and to her feet once more. Maisie screamed and instinctively brought her hands to her scalp.

  “Keep your feet beneath you, you clumsy bitch,” he hissed in her ear with a vicious shake, his dagger point once more dimpling her skin beneath her chin. And then their footsteps echoed on the wood of the pier.

  He shoved her up the gangway, and as they came to the deck of Felsteppe’s ship, Maisie could just see the pale line of dawn drawing a horizon between sea and sky. The sun would rise very soon—in moments, perhaps—and although Maisie had desperate hope that the dawn would bring with it the help Wyldonna needed, she knew she had no choice in what she planned to do.

  Wyldonna must stand or fall on its own now.

  “Take up the plank,” Felsteppe commanded his crew. “Send over a rope instead. Hailsworth shall not bring any companions with him, nor shall he have a ready means of retreat once he is aboard. Untether all but the minimum of lashings. We will need to be away with the dawn.”

  Then he placed a hand between Maisie’s shoulder blades and shoved, sending her to her hands on the deck.

  “Stay down,” he commanded unnecessarily, placing his booted foot on the back of her neck. “Rope! Bring rope!”

  “We had an intruder while you were ashore, General,” one of the soldiers muttered low behind Maisie’s head as her hands and feet were bound together. “Tried to free the freak.”

  “What?” Felsteppe hissed. “Where is he?”

  “There.” A pause. “We resolved it. None on the shore were aware.”

  “Good.” Felsteppe’s hands returned to her hair, pulling her awkwardly to sway on her feet. “Don’t move,” he said solemnly, and then a grin broke over his ugly countenance at his own humor.

  It was then that Maisie saw the large heaps of fur against the railing of the ship. Two beasts, it seemed, were curled together motionless on the deck. One had the size and deep brown pelt of a bear, its fur dark and matted in its side, where a wash of blood had flowed. The other claimed the bristly, spotted coat of a hyena, its neck bulging above and below a metal collar. The hyena’s tongue lolled from its open mouth, fat and purple, its eyes dull and staring. The bear’s muzzle was hidden beneath one of the hyena’s forelegs, buried under its elbow as if in fear.

  “Jagger,” Maisie whispered. Then she looked to the beach, where the long arms of the wooden machines were being pulled back to the sand and carts of rock were being wheeled nearby. And in the midst of the commotion, Maisie saw Adrian walking toward the dock, Reid and Malcolm to either side of him.

  Perhaps she could stop him now. Maisie drew a deep breath.

  “Jagger and Ossal are dead!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “Felsteppe’s men have kill—”

  The blow to the side of her face silenced her words, but as Maisie blinked to clear her vision, she thought she saw several faces turn toward her. She looked back to Adrian; he had reached the dock now, leaving Reid and Malcolm behind on the beach, where a dwarf was speaking to the king and pointing to the ship.

  The deck was growing lighter, and a glance behind her confirmed to Maisie that dawn was only moments away. She looked over her other shoulder and saw Felsteppe’s ships in the harbor.

  She must do this correctly. There was no room for rash mistakes.

  “Six of you, at the ready for when he emerges over the rail,” Felsteppe ordered the men nearest him. “Go, go! Have a care that you don’t get too close; he has honed his skills since the time I knew him. Six of you, yes, good—weapons drawn. Once he is aboard, stand between him and the railing. Four more of you now; bring the chains and a manacle.”

  Then Felsteppe leaned over the railing. “Stop right there, Hailsworth. Let’s have a turn-around so that I can be assured you carry no weapons. All right, up the rope.”

  “I want to see that Maighread still lives,” Adrian shouted up.

  “Oh, fine,” Felsteppe huffed. He marched to her and seized her arms, dragging her along the splintery deck until her head was over the railing. “There you are. Happy?”

  “I’m here—let her go,” Adrian said.

  “The deal was you must first be aboard the ship,” Felsteppe reiterated angrily, shoving her behind him. “Now do get on with it lest you wish for me to cast off with her!”

  Felsteppe was apparently satisfied with what he saw on the side of the ship, for he rejoined Maisie with a sly smile. He straightened his tunic, brushed at a blood splatter, its failure to disappear bringing a slight frown. Then he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath and glanced at Maisie.

  “Wonderfully exciting, isn’t it?” he offered.

  She only stared at him, feeling the swelling in her face, the shooting pains in her ankles and feet, the throbbing of her hands where they were bound, her sore scalp where the patches of missing hair seemed to crawl and sting.

  “No?” he said with a pout. “Ah, well . . . perhaps you will be a bit more lively when I set you afire once we are out to sea. That’s what is done with witches, you know. I’m not certain who will talk first, but I’d wager one of you will.”

  Then he directed a broad smile toward the bow of the ship as Adrian’s head appeared over the railing. “Ah, the guest of honor. Welcome aboard, Hailsworth.”

  Adrian set his boots on the deck and straightened, his path of escape cut off by the crowd of soldiers that moved immediately behind him, urging him forward with their swordpoints.

&nbs
p; “Release her,” he said, but his eyes would not meet Maisie’s as the first rays of true dawn moved over his face, turning his skin to beautiful gold.

  The equinox had come.

  Maisie’s head whipped around to look over her shoulder again, almost in the same moment that one of Felsteppe’s soldiers called out in a worried voice.

  “Ah, General? Were you expecting reinforcements?”

  Out of the dawn light, the prows of no fewer than six ships appeared through the sparkling mist, coursing through the waves and separating Felsteppe’s mercenary vessels from one another. And the decks of the arriving ships were full of eager beings pressed to the railings facing Wyldonna—impossibly tall men, marvelously small ones, beasts with hair and cloven hooves, women with long gossamer wings. Common-looking folk, too, mingled with the magical, both men and women, their gifts unseen, and yet Maisie knew that each being upon the ships carried a piece of Wyldonna in their hearts.

  And all of them were armed. A shaking smile broke over Maisie’s face and tears spilled down her cheeks at the poignant sight of the ships.

  The piece bloods, the deserters—even the exiles—had come home to Wyldonna at last.

  Felsteppe’s next hurried commands caused Maisie to whip her head back around.

  “Cast off! Cast off!” he shouted. “Secure Hailsworth!”

  Adrian rushed forward and was seized by no fewer than four men, who hung on his arms and shoulders, struggling to attach chains.

  “Let her go, Felsteppe! You swore you would let her go!”

  “Sorry.” Felsteppe arched one red brow. “I lied.”

  The time was now, Maisie realized.

  “Adrian! Adrian!” she called to him, gaining his attention at last. His dark brows furrowed as his eyes took in her assuredly dreadful appearance.

  “It’s all right! It’s going to be all right now!” She tried to smile at him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the first of the piece-blood ships drawing alongside Felsteppe’s, and a familiar-looking blond man climbed upon the railing to somehow balance there on his feet, his arm raised high in the air toward the shore.

  “Hamish!” a young voice echoed down from the cliff.

  Hamish waved his arm in a wide arc. “Edel, me brother! I’ve come for ye!” And then he turned toward the ship on which Maisie stood. He saw her and bowed. “My queen.”

  All the figures on the deck behind the blond man echoed both his gesture and his sentiment. Beyond the craggy slopes of Wyldonna, the castle glowed blue and gold in the dawn.

  Maisie drew a deep breath and blinked at the tears in her eyes, letting them flow freely. This was to be her finest moment as queen, as a woman. The occasion deserved her full depth of emotion.

  She spoke as loudly and clearly as she could.

  Chapter 22

  Maisie Lindsey’s vibrant red curls swirled in the morning breeze, her beauty luminous despite the bruise on her face, the splotchy tracks of her tears cutting through the drying blood on her graceful neck. Adrian felt the chains locking around his arms, but this time he did not feel imprisoned. Nay, the only things that held him helplessly captive were the clear, strong words coming from the mouth of the woman he loved as her eyes scanned the shore beyond Adrian’s back.

  “I shall protect the people of Wyldonna, the kingdom, and its wisdom.

  “I shall forever preserve the ancient tribes, and abide by their traditions.

  “I shall honor—” she choked a bit here but cleared her throat and then swallowed before continuing, even more loudly than before—“I shall honor the blood of all my kin, be they of like tribe or nay.

  “By accepting this charge, I shall forsake all power gifted to me. For the good of all living things, both in spirit and in flesh.”

  “Maisie?” Adrian asked, hearing his own voice as if in a dream. The air held such stillness, the simple sound of her voice seemed to vibrate in the golden light.

  Her eyes at last found his and she smiled. “Thank you, Adrian, for coming for me. I love you.”

  “Glayer Felsteppe!”

  Adrian’s attention was drawn by the sound of the blond man’s voice. Hamish, who was no simple criminal but of Wyldonna blood. Adrian thought he should have guessed; Valentine Alesander could know no humble thief.

  The keeper of the Queen’s Inn pointed a finger across the water separating the two ships, his other arm holding an object down by his thigh. “You flaggin’ devil’s spawn! Prepare your goats for slaughter, bastard, for hell is opening to you this day!”

  A roar went up behind Hamish, and also behind Adrian, from the shore; and from the sea before him, as the passengers on the approaching vessels gained the railings, bows drawn, swords waving, beastly screams filling the air.

  Hamish himself brought up his bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back. He knocked it, and all the soldiers on Felsteppe’s boat crouched as the blond man pointed his weapon toward the sky.

  “Save the queen!” Hamish shouted and then let his arrow fly.

  Two successive crashes echoed over the water, and then a heartbeat later the nearest enemy ship suffered a devastating blow to its mast and the sea lurched forth with foam.

  Adrian’s eyes flew back to Maisie. Her hands were somehow freed now, as Felsteppe turned in frantic circles, ordering his crew to return fire, and the whip-whip of arrows cut the air over the ship.

  “I love you, Adrian,” Maisie said again and then raised her hands.

  Adrian saw a faint golden glow growing between her palms. It was a ball of light, much the same as she had shown him in the turret room, only this time there was no green, no fear. The ball rose from her hands and hung suspended for a moment. And then Maisie held her right palm behind it, as if readying to push it.

  Adrian’s heart stuttered.

  Its effects should be turned back upon me equally.

  “No!” he cried out. “Maisie, don’t!”

  “Go,” she said softly and thrust the light toward him.

  The ball hit him, seemed to absorb him. Adrian felt the hard metal of the manacles fall from his wrists as he was lifted off his feet and shoved backward through the air.

  He caught the briefest sight of a green gown, red curls flying above the deck in much the same manner, only in the direction opposite from Adrian. He plunged over the railing of the ship, arrows whizzing past his body yet not touching him. Down, down he went, although he wasn’t so much falling as being pulled.

  He landed hard on his back, smooth yellow wood beneath him that immediately began to lurch. He got to his feet as quickly as his shocked limbs would allow, struggling to stand against the wind and the movement of the crawler, its oars rising and cutting through the air with a whoosh before sinking beneath the waves.

  “Maisie!” he cried out, looking about him frantically for where she had landed as another pair of crashes from the trebuchets on shore heralded their volleys.

  Then he saw her. Lying much as he himself had landed on the crawler, only her resting place was no wooden deck of a magical ship. She was draped over the jagged peak of a rock emerging from the surf, her red hair black from the waves buffeting her limp body, the foamy water licking at the stream of red pouring from beneath her head.

  Adrian rushed to the side of the deck where the cabin’s roof sloped, for the first time in his adult life praying to something—anything—that he could reach her before the waves took her. As the ship drew near, he realized it was picking up speed.

  “No! Slow down!” he commanded, pounding on the cabin roof.

  He saw that one of her legs was bent up beneath her gown, her now slipperless foot pointing in the wrong direction. Her right arm lolled in the waves, and when the water swept her hair back from her face and pulled her head against the rocks, Adrian saw Maisie’s eyes.

  Open, wide, still.

  “No!” he screamed, leaning out over the water.

  Beware the Painted Man, my child,

  Who trades the death of
the Queen . . .

  And then a white-green hand, seaweed clinging to the webbed skin between its fingers, emerged from the water and slapped onto the rock. Then another, and another, until a trio of grotesque sirens were scaling the rock, singing their gruesome song. They gathered the body of the queen against their fish bellies, turning her, wrapping her in shrouds of seaweed with incredible speed as the arrows sang overhead, the roar of fire erupting, the clang and shouts of steel on steel ringing out, the trebuchets firing.

  “Maisie!” Adrian sobbed as the sea monsters wrapped the last of the long slimy strands over her face, hiding his last glimpse of her unseeing eyes.

  Then they slipped back into the water, pulling their package beneath the waves.

  Adrian stood aright and held his arms out from his sides, screaming into the tempest created by the passing ships, the increasing speed of the crawler.

  “Maisie!”

  And then the sky seemed to go black in an instant, filled with white-hot stars that streaked past his body, and with an echoing, sucking sound that Adrian vaguely recognized as seeming to come from inside his own head, he was pulled backward into darkness and a door slammed shut.

  Adrian didn’t know how long he slept, only that in his long, long dreams, Maisie was once more in his arms.

  They embraced beneath the waves, the deep water muffling their kisses, their caresses, into silence. Her skin was warm against his as the cold water buoyed them along in their secret haven, where there was no need for words. Her hair was long, dark, tangled silk over his shoulder, the sunlight far above rippling over her face.

  And then she was gone, and there was nothing but the blackness behind his eyes, the quiet not of the ocean’s depths but of an empty room. Adrian didn’t want to open his eyes; he wanted to return to the sea, where his Maisie lay somewhere far below.

  But the dream was gone and his eyes opened at last to behold the pale wooden planks above his head. Adrian found that he was lying on his back on the floor of the cabin, near the cauldron which hissed quietly with flame. He sat up slowly, his body creaking—how long he’d been lying there he didn’t know.