“Stop!”
For a moment, Molly thought the voice was her own. But it wasn’t. She found the source of the command, staring back at her with the same shocked, fearful expression she wore herself.
She was a small, striking woman, but mirrored Molly in only age and stature. Her hair was dark, her eyes lush green. There was something about her that wasn’t quite human, Molly thought. And then, she realized the force with which the very large, very strong elf was holding the woman back. Molly’s gaze fell on his face then, as he stared down at the dark beauty. His jaw was tight, he nearly seemed to be in pain. And then he nodded. Molly recognized it as a command to one of the other elves, and she steadied herself for her assured fate. The breeze picked up again, a gust of wind hitting her square in the face, stealing her last breath.
She thought she heard a whispered “no” as she closed her eyes.
And then nothing happened. It may have only been moments, she’d lost all track of time since Riven had started running, but she opened her eyes to find the pair again. His eyes searched the woman’s face, and she seemed to be asking him for something. Begging.
After a long instant, he turned from the woman, face hard, and gestured to one of the others. Calling off the order.
Molly gasped in air, her knees weak, her hands trembling. Her frantic gaze fell back to the woman just in time to see her flushed skin go pale, her eyes roll back into her head. Dimly, she recognized the woman was having a seizure, or maybe fainting, and thought the same might come of her shortly. She lowered herself to the ground, shaking, but couldn’t keep her eyes off the band of elves. They surrounded the woman, a wild redhead and the elf that had held her back earlier were holding the woman, easing her violently quaking body to the ground. No, definitely not fainting, Molly thought. The redhead looked worried, but the other, the elf whose expression had been so severe before, his face melted into pain as he stared at the woman. He pulled her from the redhead, cradling her trembling body in his arms to calm her. It was a restraint. It was an embrace.
Molly’s breath caught. She realized she was crying.
She realized she was alive.
It was some time before Molly’s brain began to operate properly again. She knew she had been moved, she was mildly aware of the goings on around her, but the passage of time had become fuzzy. When she’d rested, been settled onto a blanket, been given a canteen, that was when things started to clear up again. She couldn’t say it was a sense of security. After weeks with Asher’s guard, she wasn’t that naive. But she didn’t think they planned to kill her. Not immediately, anyway.
The elves had assembled a camp, built a fire, and paced around. A lot. Molly had been watching them without realizing she’d been doing so, slowly grasping what was happening around her. The tall, white-haired elves were no longer in the camp. The rest, the large, frightening one, the wiry one that seemed to be always moving, and the handsome, cheerful one, appeared to be doing what Molly’s father had called “busy work.” The other handsome, definitely not cheerful one and the redhead were sitting by the dark-haired woman, who had yet to recover. Those two had barely spared Molly a glance, except when the redhead occasionally shot her an accusatory glance, though Molly couldn’t understand exactly what she was being accused of.
She knew they’d killed one of Asher’s head guards. She didn’t dare let on her purpose, why she’d been with Riven, or that it had been voluntary. But they hadn’t asked, either. In fact, they had barely spoken to her at all.
A grumbled complaint came from the bundle at Molly’s side. She pulled the last of the dried meat from her pocket and slid it toward the pouch. The pup’s head poked out, anxiously sniffing until it located the source in Molly's hand.
She started when someone approached her. She looked up from her spot on the blanket to see the tall, handsome elf. The cheerful one.
As he stared down at her, or rather at her pup, Molly realized maybe cheerful had been a stretch. He was indeed smiling, but a slow, sexy smile. She glanced quickly to the other handsome one, the one watching the dark-haired woman, and decided she’d have to stick with Cheerful and Not Cheerful, as both were exceedingly, unnaturally, attractive. The group spoke little and had yet to call each other by name. She wasn’t about to ask.
A low laugh escaped the elf beside her and her eyes automatically returned to him. She would have to try to quit gawking.
He lowered himself to squat, and reached out to roll a hand over the pup’s head. This caused the young dog to feign back and then bounce excitedly. He was playing with her pup. A nervous laugh bubbled up from Molly’s chest and she nearly choked on it.
“What do you call him?” The elf’s eyes connected with her own as he spoke and she lost her voice, her breath, for a moment.
“I... Uh, I don’t have... Haven’t named him yet.” There. She’d gotten it out. She’d been in the company of elves for weeks, had grown accustomed to at least those of Asher’s guard who didn’t outwardly show their distaste toward her, but she’d been certain this new group would cut her down as they had Riven. It had taken a toll on her confidence.
Cheerful was watching her.
His smile had the slightest twist to it, just one side, and she wondered if he was amused. “Well, it seems he should have a name. Do you think?”
Molly nodded, still not quite able to return a grin.
“We shall work on that,” he said confidently.
She decided that did not sound like something someone would say if they were planning to kill her and the tension in her chest released with a long sigh.
He noticed. But, before he had a chance to comment, Molly’s attention was drawn once more across the camp to the other woman.
Molly realized then that she’d heard Not Cheerful and the redhead talking to the dark-haired woman in low tones, just about since when Cheerful had settled beside her. Just about when the others had stationed themselves closer to her. The woman had woken and, apparently, wasn’t very happy about something. There was a bit of commotion, and then, suddenly, the redhead had a hold of the woman’s wrists as she and Not Cheerful glared at each other. At this point, Molly considered renaming Not Cheerful “Murderous Rage.”
Cheerful cleared his throat, a decidedly un-elf-like noise from what Molly had gathered, and spoke again, as if to distract her. “He will be quite large,” he said as he raised one of the puppy’s heavy paws. Molly had noticed this before, as well as the dog’s ravenous appetite. When his paw was released, the pup raised both again in an attempt to regain the elf’s attention. Cheerful rolled easily to his hip, kicking a bent leg out and leaning over to an elbow beside the pup, who took this action as a great victory and leapt toward the elf’s outstretched hand for more play.
Molly laughed, familiar with the pup’s antics.
“How does Rollo fit?” Cheerful asked, almost to himself. “No, no. Fredrik.”
Molly scrunched her nose.
Cheerful laughed. “Not Fredrik, then. Dranson?”
The pup snuffed, as if he held great disdain for the name.
He tried again. “Flufferby?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Molly giggled.
He smiled. “You should call him Giggles, he seems to have that effect on you.”
She shook her head. “Snickers.”
The elf smirked and she suddenly had the oddest suspicion. None of the elves she’d met had been so casual. And here he sat, creating silly names for her pet. Not even asking her name. Not giving his own. Not any of theirs.
She looked toward the others. Something about each of them seemed to push Molly’s gaze to fall on the woman. The woman with constant protectors. It reminded her of Asher. His guard.
The next day, the group was quiet as they departed camp. The horse Molly had been given was calm and steady, so, though she hadn’t spent much time ahorse, she was able to relax and take in her surroundings. She didn’t recognize anything. The ground was damp, but too peppered with rock to be muddy. T
he air was chill, the mountain looming behind them, black and ominous. A heavy fog hung near its top, clouding the sun and adding to the air of threat. Molly pulled her cloak tighter around her and shifted the pouch to cradle the pup in front of her.
She realized the wiry elf was watching her. Being watched wasn’t unusual for her as of late, but it was generally Cheerful, not the others, none of whom seemed to like her. At all. She looked back at the elf for a moment, lean and handsome, an inexplicable quickness about him, even in stillness. His skin was flawless, his eyes as dark and rich as the bark of the roca pine. He wore a wary expression, saturated with distaste, and Molly averted her gaze. She knew he had an easy smile, she’d seen it. But it was only for the redhead.
Cheerful rode up beside Molly just then, acknowledging her with a nod. She beamed back at him. She couldn’t help it.
He appeared to bite back a smirk. “Are you faring alright with the mount?”
“Oh, yes,” Molly gushed. “He is a handsome steed. My father would pay a pretty coin for such a stud.”
Abruptly, Wiry choked on a laugh and kicked his horse to pick up the pace. Molly looked to Cheerful, who seemed to be openly laughing at her. She didn’t appreciate being made fun of, though she had no idea what she’d said wrong. And the memory of her father caused a stab of guilt. With this, her feathers were ruffled and she purposely guided her horse away from Cheerful, impatiently willing Asher to finally come for her. For his child.
It was the one thing she clung to. He would come for her. He had to come for her.
And then, early one evening, things changed. They had stopped well before nightfall, as they often did, to make camp. Molly had a suspicion the group was worried about the dark-haired woman. She seemed to need so much rest, she seemed... unwell. Not that she looked it. Truth be told, Molly was quite envious of her unnatural beauty. But there was something not quite right about her. And the others hovered around her surreptitiously, as if they expected a catastrophe at any moment. The woman didn’t appear exactly graceless to Molly, but in comparison to the agility of their company, she might possibly understand their concern.
The woman sat across the fire from Molly, and, as usual, Cheerful settled in beside Molly, angled between her and the others. As a general rule, Molly tried to avoid looking directly at the woman. But, every now and again, she caught sight of her face and recognized some of her own emotion there. A fierce determination. A confidence that belied her size. Only this woman carried more. Behind her eyes was chaos and fury.
The redhead noticed Molly’s attention had fallen on the woman and intervened. She stepped before the fire, circling the flame as she spoke. She told of fairies, great tales of wondrous places, and Molly was mesmerized.
Every eye was on the redhead, and she clearly relished the attention. Her gaze fell in succession to each in her audience as she moved, a clink of metal, a wisp of material accenting every passage. The fire licked at the air behind her, as if dancing to the melody of her words, as if even the flames were entranced by her story.
Molly was enchanted, the yarn a dull thrum as her gaze fixed on the slither of the blaze. Sudden raucous laughter broke her trance, and she blinked, her eyes dry. Coming back to herself, she glanced around again at the elves.
Cheerful was watching her. He smiled, and this time Molly could believe it was genuine.
“She has a way with words,” he said.
“Yes,” Molly sighed. Her eyes roamed the camp again, in wonder at the world she had stepped into. A world right out of her books. A world to which she had only dreamed of belonging. Her gaze fell unintentionally on the dark-haired woman, and she considered what her role could be in all of this. She clearly mattered to the group. Could there be some reason other than her own purpose for being involved?
“And where’s your pup, Sunshine?”
Molly smiled absently at him before starting to turn back to her contemplation of the woman. She jumped when he reached for her.
He leaned in as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, whispering conspiratorially. “Don’t see much blonde around here.”
For the first time in years, Molly blushed.
And then the fire exploded. For a moment, Molly thought the dark-haired woman was burning, that the explosion had thrown flames onto her. But, as everyone in the camp stared at the woman, waiting, Molly realized it was nothing of the sort.
Molly’s mouth opened for a moment, closed, opened as she struggled for words. The woman. Flames had burst from her hands. She was unharmed by them. The woman had magic.
She was no mere woman, Molly realized, staring after the dark beauty as she and her male companion walked from the camp. When they were nearly out of sight, Molly turned to Cheerful, who was still watching the couple. She couldn’t quite make out the emotion on his face, but he seemed to snap out of it, suddenly turning to Molly. She knew the questions were clear in her expression, and she saw the same signs of displeasure appear on Cheerful’s face that her father had worn in all the years since she’d turned eight. It made her smile.
Something in his eyes gave her the courage to ask her questions. “She isn’t human.”
He stiffened slightly, answer enough for Molly.
“You protect her,” she continued.
Without warning, the largest of the elves was standing in front of them, the abrupt halt of his boot throwing small chunks of dirt onto Molly’s blanket and skirt. She looked up uneasily to find he was staring not at her, but at Cheerful. He stood slowly, casually, and Molly found herself staring up at them, Cheerful’s substantial frame suddenly dwarfed by this massive one. She felt a tingle run up her arms.
And then the wiry one was there. “We should discuss this elsewhere, I believe.”
Molly was momentarily lost, she’d not seen a discussion. The giant didn’t spare a look at her before turning from Cheerful and leaving the camp with Wiry.
Molly watched them. They were heading in the direction of the dark-haired woman and the other, the one who, no matter where he stood, watched her. The one who wore the tortured expression each time she slept. Her watcher. Her protector.
Yes, Molly thought, this will be what awaits my son. He will be powerful. He will be protected. He will rule.
The idea stopped Molly cold. Why were they protecting this woman? Asher was the ruler of the North. He had told her so himself. These elves had killed Riven. Asher’s guard. And they surrounded this woman as if she were a treasure of highest consequence.
At first sight, Molly had almost thought the woman human. But she wasn’t. She had magic.
She had a guard.
Molly started when Cheerful spoke beside her and had to tuck away the implications for later. “Pardon?”
“Dinner,” he repeated, gesturing with a small hunk of meat.
The pup launched himself toward it, quick as a whip, but too slow for the reflexes of an elf. Molly laughed, not only at the attempt, but the absurdity of her situation.
“Yes,” Cheerful said, “Snickers is an apt name for the tiny beast.”
They sat in companionable silence as they ate, and the others returned. The woman was rubbing circles on her temples, her gaze trailing the ground. Molly stole the opportunity to examine her face.
She would have said her features were sharp, if she’d never seen an elf. And she was unearthly, her beauty dreamlike, even in pain. Molly categorized this as well; she hadn’t seen any sign of ache from any other elf in all her time with them. With the exception of torture, she amended, but she didn’t like to think of those incidents. And then there was the look the woman’s watcher wore. Though it was much like torture, Molly thought.
Her gaze automatically flicked to him, and her chest clenched as she realized he was staring at her now, not the woman. Not Cheerful, indeed. She immediately bowed her head, staring at her lap as her fingers curled tightly into the blanket beneath her. Not today, she thought, don’t kill me today.
Asher would come for her. For his chi
ld. He had to.
The dark-haired woman slept fitfully that night, but Molly did not think of her. She gave the fire her back and stared into the trees, watching the flames throw shadows like demons. She would live. Her son would live.
By dawn, Molly had slept little. The others were awake, nearly always awake, waiting for the woman. Molly didn’t miss that the massive elf and the wiry elf had positioned themselves near, and seemed to remain so afterward.
They rode further, the portentous darkness of the mountain a constant backdrop. She was never allowed alone, but the redhead did escort her from the group each day for some privacy.
It was on one of these occasions she knew for certain.
The redhead stayed near her, and though she gave Molly a few lengths’ retreat, there was no question she’d be caught if she intended escape. Molly’s skirts were gathered as she walked through tangled brush and she saw the redhead become slightly distracted, staring into a copse. Molly might have been more interested in what she saw next if they hadn’t made her wait so long for this break. The redhead deftly scaled one of the trees, disappearing into the foliage.
Molly had known the elves were fast, nimble... not human, but she was always surprised to see it demonstrated. She shook her head as she raised her skirts higher and lowered herself behind the brush. She heard voices and froze, afraid of someone walking up on her.
But they hadn’t known she was there.
“The girl is dead weight.” It was a deep voice, strong and low.
“It won’t matter once she’s back, none of this will matter.”
Molly couldn’t be sure who was speaking... Massive and Wiry? It couldn’t be Cheerful, he’d never spoken with such loathing.
“He gives her too much. She does not have the capacity for this decision now.”
There was a muffled thump, almost imperceptible, but it caused their conversation to halt.
Molly Page 2
