by Lily Archer
Dammit all to the Spires!
3
Beth
We pass through the side streets and avoid most of the fray. I hold onto Gareth’s fur, keeping low against him as Parnon leads us. I’m weak, my body worn out, but Gareth’s strength is undeniable. His feral form is powerful, each muscle honed in his enormous, lethal body. He’s fluffy to me. Deadly to all others.
Parnon stops and grunts as a slave leads a handful of high fae children from the back of a stately home.
The elderly changeling drops to her knees in front of us. “Please. They’re all I have. They’re innocents.” She wraps her arms around the children, keeping them huddled against her. They’re dressed in finery, silver and gold thread running through every bit of cloth on them, but their eyes are hollow and terrified.
“Parnon, we have to help them.” I move to slide off Gareth, but the great cat shifts, keeping me on his back.
Parnon harrumphs, his eyebrows almost touching.
“Come on.” I point at the young ones. “You think Silmaran would want them to get hurt?”
He grumbles some more, then mutters, “Fine. Go.” He points down the smoke-darkened lane. “The house of Chastain will keep all of you safe. Tell others. Innocents will never be harmed. Silmaran sees all.”
“Thank you.” She dips her chin in gratitude, then ushers the children through the side street and away.
“Parnon’s a softy.” I relax against Gareth’s soft fur. “Thank the Ancestors.”
The sand man grunts and gives me a hard look. “I’m covered in blood, changeling. None of it is mine.”
I swallow hard. “Point made. Let’s go.”
Gareth picks up his pace, urgency in his steps as he takes the lead toward Chastain’s villa. Parnon stomps along behind us. I press my cheek to Gareth’s warm fur. Something in me resonates to the rhythm of his walk, his paws soft on the cobblestones as we leave the pandemonium of the slavers’ mansions. The streets are still filled with shocked faces, but the screams are fading, the smoke no longer a choking haze.
We turn a corner, and Gareth freezes, a low growl rising from him as his entire body tenses.
Parnon raises his fists. “Come out.”
“I’m looking for Gareth,” a male voice calls down from one of the low rooftops along the narrow lane.
Gareth inhales, then lets out a long breath and trots ahead, his big, golden eyes locked on one rooftop in particular.
“Who is it?” I can’t see anyone.
Gareth stops, his nose pointed at the spot where two smaller homes have overlapping roofs.
“Changeling, we’ve met.” A fae materializes from the shadowy cleft and drops down to the street, though he keeps a wary eye on the enormous cat beneath me.
I tense, the hair on my arms standing on end. The Catcher. Oh, yes, this is perfect. I’m going to enjoy watching Gareth rip his throat out.
“Oh, we’ve met all right.” I squeeze Gareth’s ruff. “Tear him apart, Fluffy!”
Gareth moves closer to the bastard, then swats at him. The move is … playful?
The Catcher holds his hands up in surrender. “Nice kitty.”
“Hey.” I pull on Gareth’s velvety ear. “Kill him. Eat him up. Come on.”
Gareth chuffs.
Parnon stomps ahead, his fists like boulders. “I’ll handle it if the kitten is too scared.”
“No, it’s me!” The Catcher pulls down his face covering. “Phin.”
Parnon rears back.
“Wait!” I peer at Phin. “He’s one of us.”
Gareth mews and circles around Phin.
The sand man keeps his fist cocked. “He’s the Catcher.”
“No. He’s not. He pretends to be the Catcher, but he actually frees slaves.”
Parnon looks at me, his brow wrinkled. “The Catcher isn’t real?”
“Well, yes, there’s a Catcher, but Phin impersonates him.”
“She’s telling the truth.” Phin circles away from Parnon’s looming fist. “I’m here for Gareth. Leander sent me. And now it seems I’m embroiled in some sort of slave rebellion.” He grins. “Perfect timing.”
“Should I pound him or what?” Parnon’s frown doesn’t abate.
“No.” I scratch behind Gareth’s ear. “He’s a friend.”
“The Catcher!” someone behind us yells, and the thundering sound of dozens of feet echoes off the buildings.
“By the Spires, they’ll tear me apart.” Phin stares down the alley.
“We have to move.” Parnon lowers his fist and takes off at a clipped pace, his heavy footfalls shaking dust from the eaves overhead.
Phin falls in beside us and peers down at the magnificent beast between my thighs. His eyes widen as we dart across a bigger road, then melt back into the shadowy alleys.
“Gareth. It’s you. Your feral.” Phin slows, almost forgetting the mob at our back. When a blade whizzes past his head and embeds in a sandy wall, he picks back up.
Gareth pants and eyes an abandoned fountain as we pass.
“It’s him.” I pat his head. “Isn’t he the cutest?”
Gareth growls and lopes ahead. I hold on as we hurry into Chastain’s villa. The front door is wide open, the door still a mess of splinters from where Gareth burst through it. That wasn’t so long ago, but it feels like ages.
Inside, slaves are laid out while others tend to their wounds. Toward the back, the fae from the Ocean of Storms lounges in the fountain as Chastain works on an unconscious Silmaran.
“Oh no.” I slide off Gareth’s silky side. He steps in front of me.
“You!” Something sparkles at the back of the room—its light brighter than the blinding day. “You took everything from me!”
Gareth hisses and presses against me.
“You will pay!” The sparkling materializes into Raywen. Her hair floats on a phantom wind, and her eyes glow a brilliant turquoise, but she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is fixed on Phin as she conjures a magical storm between her palms. “Dartinian. Liar. Deceiver. Foul pig!”
Oh, shit. “No!” I hold up a hand, but Gareth backs me away, his large body pressing against my legs. “Raywen, it’s not the Catcher. It’s—”
The blast from her hands lights up the villa, blinding me even as I turn away from the glare. Thunder crackles, and the ground shakes. When I open my eyes, the tall, dark fae is gone.
In his place, a pink pig stands and snorts indignantly.
“Are you sure it isn’t Dartinian?” Raywen’s sparkle is dim now, just a dusting of the glow she had earlier.
We sit around the dining table, though there’s no food on it. Silmaran is laid out, poultices all over her wounded body. She’s breathing. But she won’t wake.
“I’m sure. Like I told you, Phin frees slaves. Sort of like Silmaran. He makes a mockery of the Catcher every chance he gets.”
She presses her palms to her cheeks. “Oh, dear.”
“You sure you can’t reverse the spell?” I shoot a glance at Phin, his piggy tail bouncing jauntily as he paces back and forth between some of the injured slaves.
“I’ve never done that sort of magic. I mean, I’ve done glamours. Changed hair colors, granted beauty, things of that nature. But I’ve never transformed someone. Not like that.” She bites her lip. “What if I can’t change him back?”
“The spell will wear off.” Parnon uses his enormous mitt to gently wipe a bit of blood-crusted hair from Silmaran’s forehead. He’s almost as doting as Chastain. To make matters worse, Eldra and Nemar never returned from the fight. I silently send my pleas for their safety to the Ancestors.
“I don’t know if the spell will dissipate.” Raywen clenches her eyes shut. “Maybe that’s right. Maybe it’ll go away.”
“Is he ready yet?” Chastain hovers at Parnon’s elbow. The high fae hasn’t left Silmaran’s side. “She shouted down the streets, rallying everyone until she finally gave out.” He strokes her hair, pride in his eyes, but sadness, too. “My fighter. What have they
done to you?”
I lean back and blink away the threatening tears, then scratch under Gareth’s chin. He purrs. I can’t tell if he can’t change back, or won’t. Maybe it’s easier to stay in his feral form. “I think Gareth used all he had to save me. I was almost gone. So it took a lot.” I hate to say it out loud. It sounds selfish.
Thunderous booms sound from somewhere nearby, and a wild cheer goes up into the falling night.
“If we don’t get her fixed up and out in the streets, we may not survive until tomorrow.” Parnon rocks back and forth on his feet. “They’re attacking the alchemist shops. Those explosions are just the beginning. If they unleash—”
“She’ll wake up.” Chastain’s voice cracks, but he clears his throat and continues, “She’s going to wake up. We need her. She knows how bad we need her, and she’s so much tougher than anyone else I know.”
“Is there no one else? No healers?” I survey the slaves tending to each other, several high fae children huddled in the back of the room—all of them feeling the same unease growing inside the city. So much anger and pain was bottled up for too long. Now the cork is gone.
“Everyone’s used up. The healers are spent.” Chastain waves at the injured slaves. “This is just a tiny fraction of those in need of help, and we don’t even have a count of the dead yet.”
“I can help her.” A trilling sibilant voice, one that might haunt my dreams, hisses through the room.
We all turn to the fountain.
“Yes, please.” Chastain steps forward.
“But I need something in return.” The sea fae blinks, her slit pupils narrowing, then popping wide again.
Parnon’s hands turn into fists as he stomps to her, water pouring along her silky hair and making her scales glisten. “Heal her now.”
Another creepy fish blink. “I will, if you will make me a promise.”
“Anything,” Chastain presses.
“Not you. Dry is your land. Dry is what you know.” She opens her mouth as if tasting the air, the rows of sharp teeth drawing a low growl from Gareth. “I need someone who has felt the rolling waters, the fresh streams, the salty tides, the stormy nights.” She turns her eyes on Raywen. “You, pixie. You will do. You smell of snow and night and frozen lakes full of delights. But you’ve also been on the sea, your body sparkling in the deep. Promise to me that you will return me to the Ocean of Storms, and I will heal Silmaran.”
“Me?” Raywen looks as surprised as I feel.
I puff out my chest. “I’ve been in the ocean, you know.” Okay, I’m a braggart. Everyone knows this.
“Almost food for a kelpie, you were.” She turns away, her gills opening and closing under the flashing water. “The pixie. That is who must return me to the sea.”
The pig—err, Phin—snorts and prances up. His hooves tip-tap on the tile in an adorable way.
The sea fae eyes him and clacks her teeth. “Piggy wants to volunteer. I’m afraid I’d have you as a snack before we even left the city.”
Phin snorts with verve, but it doesn’t change the sea fae’s mind, because she turns her predatory gaze back to Raywen.
The pixie stands and presses her palms together. “I swear to the magic that I will return you to the Ocean of Storms if you heal Silmaran.”
The tang of a deal well sealed fills the air, and the sea fae smiles. “Thank you, sweet pixie. Now, everyone, cover your ears. My song can heal, but only those in dire straits. If you listen yet have no need of it, the tune will bring you to me. Perhaps not now, but one day you will come to the sea. To the deep, deep water. Into my arms. To the teeth that bite. And the nails that scratch. And once you’re mine, you can’t go back.”
Gareth doesn’t seem to like her creepy warning, because he grabs the side of my shirt with his fangs and yanks me away from the table.
I try to hold my ground. “But I want to see what the scary sea fae can—”
His growl brooks no argument as he pulls me down the hall.
“Oh, come on.” I try to smack his flank but can’t get around to it with the side of my shirt in his mouth, so I manage to pelt his side with a firm swat.
Another growl, this one warmer, rolls from him.
“You like it rough, eh?” I grin.
He barely fits through the door to our room, and once inside, he slams it shut with his tail.
“Gareth, it’s okay. I’m not going to be fish food. I just wanted to see, is all.”
He pulls me to the bed, knocks me over with his broad side, then jumps up with ease. Settling next to me, he presses his head to one of my ears and uses his tail to cover the other one.
“You’re ridiculous.” I sigh, but I cover his big, soft ears with my palms.
We lie like that for a while. I could swear I almost hear the sweetest tune, the lilting notes of a song unlike any I’ve ever heard. But Gareth presses his tail tighter against me, and the sound disappears in the fluff.
“You think she’s done?” I try to turn my head.
His tail whacks me in the ear.
“Hey!”
He puts a huge paw on my chest, locking me in place.
“Fine.” I hum a tune of my own. A bawdy one. About a tavern wench named Erlach who spent all her time on her back. I enjoy myself so much that I break out in song at the end. “Her ass was so wide she could control the tiiiiiiide, and that’s where she stored her cooooiiinnnnn.”
Gareth chuffs, his huge cat laughter shaking the bed, and he finally lets up on my ears. I don’t hear anything, no eerie tune from the songstress of the sea.
I scoot to get out of the bed, but that big paw pushes me back down. “I need to check on Silmaran.” I speak into golden cat eyes that are easily the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.
He licks my face, his rough tongue tickly-verging-on-painful.
“You can change back. I know you can.” I kiss his big black nose.
He looks away, and one of his ears twitches.
“Then again, maybe it’s better for you to stay like this. No temptation to mate when you’re a big tiger.” I sigh and close my eyes. “I’m perfectly safe from any sort of sexual shenani—”
The bed shifts, and when I open my eyes, a pair of familiar green ones are looking back at me.
“About that mating.” He leans down and kisses me, his mouth so much softer than the tiger tongue.
I run my hands through his dark hair as he slides between my thighs. Wanting him this badly is some sort of curse. One I put on myself. But I can’t give in. Not when he’d whisk me back to the winter realm if I agreed to his claim. Even so, I open my mouth and give him access, his tongue caressing mine as he rests one palm at my throat. His fangs are long, almost as vicious as the tiger’s, but I don’t fear him. I never could. He’s the only one in this entire world who has ever cared so much about me.
“You saved my life.” I pull back and press my palm to his cheek. “You saved me.”
“I will always save you, my beloved. There is nothing I value more, no one I will ever put above you. You are the queen of my life, the one I was made for.”
My heart seems to have melted into a puddle of warm happiness.
I realize it’s leaking out my eyes when he wipes a tear away. “But you must promise me that you will never do such a thing again.” His stern voice is even more of a turn-on. How can I survive this male?
“Do what?” I bat my lashes.
“You pushed yourself onto that blade.”
“What?” I make a pfft noise. “That’s crazy. Why would I—”
“Your life is too precious to ever be thrown away.” His eyes are hard, his tone even more so. “Not for me. Do you understand? I will gladly go to the Glowing Lands and wait for you if that means you are safe.”
“You’d wait?”
“I’d wait forever for you.” The finality in his tone is more than I can bear. My heart leaks from my eyes some more, but he wipes my tears.
I love this male. I love him. I’ve been tryin
g to avoid it. But there it is—this scarred changeling with a dim past and so-so future is in love with a winter realm high fae. And I will never give him up.
He is mine.
And when he claims me, I’m going to stake my claim right back.
4
Beth
Despite Gareth’s best efforts at seduction, I manage to hold him off and coax him back to the main hall. When we get there, Silmaran is sitting up as Chastain looks her over.
“I’m fine.” She bats him away. “Truly.”
“No, you’re not.” He shakes his head. “I should never have agreed to let you—”
She grabs his shirt and pulls him to her. “If I remember correctly, you didn’t agree at all. I fought you.”
“You did.” He sighs and leans down. “You always have.”
“I always will.” She meets his lips, the two of them embracing, lovers whose souls are already entwined too deeply to separate.
Parnon leans against the sand-colored wall, his clothing the only change to the palette. But even I can see the slight smile to his lips, the clearness of his eyes. He’s relieved. Silmaran is back.
Despite her words—and her tongue war with Chastain—I know her wounds cut deep, the memories that will wake her on a scream, the pain that comes and goes, the anguish that threatens to well up and drown her. We share all this and more. Her sacrifices started a rebellion. I only hope she finds the cost was worth it when she’s alone, in the dark, her thoughts like a funeral shroud, and her scars in sharp relief.
Gareth shifts closer, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. Can he sense my thoughts? One look in his eyes tells me he feels something. His first instinct is to protect. I lean into his side, taking comfort in his strength.
Silmaran finally comes up for air, and the room cheers, the sound erupting so quickly I jump.
She gets to her feet, standing on the table as she looks out at the slaves amassed inside Chastain’s fine house. Holding her hands out to quiet them down, she says, “This is just the beginning. We must gather—”
