Ridiculous notions, of course. He’d never see her again, but the fantasy had warmed the despair in his heart. Even the plaguing chill had lessened when he’d awoken. He hoped she wouldn’t mind the juvenile longings of a condemned knight.
Drums began in the distance, a resonant thunder like the boom of his pulse. The arena was prepared. They’d come to lead him off as soon as the attendants finished. He inhaled deeply, readying himself. Night had fallen, full of stars. Simith stared up at them. He had not prayed to the cloak of souls since his home was burned. It was easier that way than to imagine Cirrus among them, looking down at the ugliness growing inside his younger brother. It would be a terrible hypocrisy to bother any of them with a last-minute appeal on the eventide of his death. This was a fate of his own making, and he would bear it alone.
Simith cast his eyes back to the ground while they strapped a wooden shield to his forearm. An ivory belt with a silver blade went around his waist. How he longed to draw that sword and fight his way free, but bound by his name, he couldn’t move. Such a deserved reversal of circumstances, especially when he recalled watching the execution of prisoners other contingents had captured in battle. Yes, it had disgusted him to see trolls bound on their knees, forced to watch as the sun rose to turn their skin to stone, but he’d done nothing to stop it. His inaction was as good as complicity, no matter that the sight of his enemy dying like that lessened his sense of victory. He had muttered as much to Rimthea whose appeal against it had already been refused by the Helms. Her anger had lashed out like a whip.
“You whisper when you ought to shout,” she’d seethed at him.
“If it were your choice, shouting is all anyone would do. The Helms already made their decision. What would it gain us to continue the argument?”
“More than our silence ever has. Holding our peace in the face of open cruelty brings not triumph, but defeat.”
It had become a common argument between them and he hadn’t been in the mood. He’d turned away, but Rim had grabbed his arm. “Don’t shout then, if that’s your wish.” She’d yanked him around, eyes blazing. “But speak when it counts, Simith. That’s all I ask.”
Now, here he stood, both his will and his voice taken from him.
But I will speak, Rimthea. His gaze sought the sky once more. Friend. Sister. I will be silent no longer.
Horns blew across the camp. The triad emerged from the tent behind him.
“Let us proceed,” Lady Florian said to the fairies that had prepared Simith. “Send the order to deploy the legion once the fight begins.”
The pair bowed and departed. The triad took positions around him, forming an arrowhead.
“Come, Sun Fury,” Lord Jarrah said at his side. “It’s time to defend your honor.”
Pale banners fluttered in the evening wind, harbingers of temporary truce ringing the knee-high circle of stones that would serve as their battlefield.
The rules of combat were simple: No magic and no iron. Simith’s wings were held down beneath his armor, and King Drokeh would wear a sheer band of fabric over his eyes to inhibit his night vision. It would be as fair a fight as could be arranged—at least, so it appeared outwardly. When the moon set, Simith was ordered to die upon the blow that followed. He eyed its position. Less than an hour.
The crowd was already gathered around the arena, though far fewer than Simith expected. To one side stood a small contingent of fairies, chatting amongst themselves in low voices that nonetheless shimmered with excitement. Torches burned brightly on this end compared to the darkness shrouding the other. Lamplight eyes glowed in the shadows on that side. Simith searched among them, but he couldn’t be sure which pair belonged to King Drokeh.
There were no pixies anywhere.
The horns rang out again as the fairies parted to allow Simith and the triad access to the wall. Simith’s body moved of its own volition with the first of his commands. Leaping atop arena stones, he faced the fairies and drew his silver sword, jabbing its point toward the sky and baring his teeth in a silent snarl. They roared with cheers. Yes, this was how they truly saw him. A beast they could set loose. A weapon of flesh. He’d never postured like this, neither before a battle nor afterward, but they watched him as if it were his custom. He’d always been careful to hide the dark satisfaction he derived from felling his enemies, the thrill of power boiling in his chest with each swing of the blade…
Simith jumped down into the arena, and waited as a messenger from each side strode to the center of the ring. “Sun Fury! Sun Fury!” came the fairies’ bellowed chant, and shame settled into the hollows of his stomach. He’d succeeded at hiding nothing. Led by the twisted fury that’d consumed him after they’d buried Cirrus half-burned, half cut to pieces, he’d cast his own heart in the ground with him. The righteous flame of revenge had felt preferable than the damp ache of loss. If only he had recognized that moment of reckoning. Had he been too grief-stricken to see the diverging path before him, or willfully blind? Perhaps that too was a choice. It was far easier to believe that the wrong choice could later be undone, or that one rash decision wouldn’t indict all the days thereafter.
Drums began anew. The messengers exchanged banners, a gesture of ceasefire for the duration of the fight, and departed the ring.
“Return with your honor restored,” Lady Carraway said with a deft push against his shoulder. “Or not all.”
In his throat, the geas burned away all the words he wished he could say in reply. Simith brought his sword and shield forward, and advanced. The dirt gave a little beneath his feet, the soil soft enough that it marked his footsteps. Good. He worried it would be too dry for what he had in mind. With the pommel of his sword, Simith banged his shield three times to call his opponent forth.
Amid the pack of glowing eyes at the far end, King Drokeh emerged from the darkness. Unlike the grace of fairies or the speed of pixies, trolls embodied unstoppable force. They were the plunge of great stones from high on the mountain, crushing any who stood in their path.
Broad-shouldered, thickly muscled, and stout limbed like his kinsman, the king wore the typical battle dress of trolls. Leather breeches clad his legs, his feet shod in spiked-toed boots. Otherwise bare-chested, straps held in place a single, round breastplate that covered his heart, both front and back. Troll skin proved difficult to split with even the keenest blade, but they were vulnerable over their hearts. Simith had found ways around such protections, however. The eyes. The inside of the mouth.
He shook himself, appalled at how his soured mind fell into its murderous pattern. Today he was not meant to take a life. He was meant to give his own—a life he wouldn’t even have if not for the kindness of another. It bolstered him somehow to think of it, that a maker of verse had looked at him and seen something worth defending.
They came within half a dozen paces of each other, and slowed. King Drokeh stood only slightly taller than Simith, middling height for a troll, but the weight of his presence made his stature grow to Simith’s eye. The king’s gaze locked onto him, a veiled torch burning through the sheer fabric. No, there was nothing at all middling about the troll king.
“Well, now, Simith of Drifthorn,” King Drokeh rumbled. “Sun Fury. Accursed bane of my race. It has taken much effort to bring you here.” He stretched his neck to one side, then the other, muscles bulging. In his clawed hands gleamed a vicious hatchet and a long-bladed dagger. “Let us waste no time with formalities. You had an offer of peace in mind. I will hear it.”
Simith blinked in confusion, but kept his shield up. What did he mean by that? Was it a ploy to throw him off his guard? He’d be disappointed if that were so.
“Do I have you speechless?” Drokeh said, moving forward aggressively. Simith backed up. “I was much the same when my lookouts reported seeing you attacked by trolls on your way to our meeting.” He swung his hatchet, a broad stroke easily dodged.
“Imagine my fury,” the king continued, “to think my own would make me break my oath. But o
f course, they weren’t trolls attacking you, were they?” His hatchet came down hard on Simith’s shield. He stepped in close, stabbing with his dagger. Simith grasped his arm, meeting the glow of Drokeh’s gaze. “They were fairies.”
Drokeh shoved back, separating them. Hope crept into Simith’s heart as they circled each other. This was no ploy. The troll king knew of the fairies’ deception. But did he know how Simith was being used now? Did he know the legion was on its way to surround his army at this very moment? Without thinking, he opened his mouth to tell him.
Nothing came out. To Drokeh’s view, Simith must have appeared stunned into stillness.
The king exhaled impatiently. “Don’t just stand there, pixie, or your fairy tyrants will suspect something.”
He swung again. Simith side-stepped the move, adding a return thrust that Drokeh deflected with his hatchet.
“My lookouts lost track of you and the fairies in the Jaded Grove. Disappeared, is what they told me, just before a contingent of those tricksters attacked our camp.” He grunted. “By then we were already on alert. What a twisted tale to hear the Thistle Court announce you dead, and then not dead, within the space of a night.”
Simith clenched his teeth. He had so much to relay and too little time to do it. He dared not waste a single moment. When Drokeh feigned a strike with his long dagger, Simith stepped into it instead of dodging. The blade sliced his side. He ignored the sparks of pain, grabbing hold of Drokeh’s wrist and wedging his shield between them to pretend at grappling. Jeers and shouts came from the spectators.
“What are you doing?” the king hissed. His lips curled back at Simith’s continued silence. “Why do you not speak?”
Simith let his knee buckle, pushing up with his shield to propel Drokeh back. The king followed the move, inserting a pace of distance. He lifted his hatchet high, as though he triumphantly allowed his opponent a moment to recover. The jeers from the watching crowd intensified.
Using the shield for cover, Simith swiped his hand over his bleeding side and wet the dirt at his knee. Then he carved into the bloodied mud. His fingers moved quickly and deftly. When he rose, he charged King Drokeh who, under the pretense of evasion, shifted around Simith, edging close to the place where he had kneeled. The troll’s bright eyes flicked to the ground.
Yes, Simith willed him. See it. Understand it.
Drokeh’s gaze met his, the set of his mouth grim around his fangs. He stepped forward, erasing what was there beneath the heel of his boot.
Geas. Trap.
“Ration your blood, Sun Fury,” he said gravely. “I’ll need more than this.”
Chapter Six
Glamour made her skin itch.
Crouched in the tall grasses of a meadow just outside the Jaded Grove, Jessa gripped Simith’s blade tighter and forced herself to remain still. Beside her, Katie did the same as they gazed in apprehension to the west.
“It’s getting louder,” Katie said, the white bunny ears and whiskers of the pooka glamour twitching with her nerves. Jessa wondered if hers did the same.
They listened another moment to the distant rumbling.
“Maybe it’s a herd of deer?” Jessa suggested.
“No.” Katie gestured at the clear night sky. “Thunder without clouds. It’s horses running.”
As the rancher between them, Jessa deferred to her wisdom.
“Maybe they’re wild.”
“Maybe,” Katie said, but didn’t sound convinced. “It’s hard to tell which direction they’re heading, but we’ll know soon. I’d say they’re a couple miles off.”
“Should we go back by the trees?” she asked, though she didn’t relish the idea of returning there now that the sun had set. The forest unnerved her. It held the same trappings as any other woods—birds, grass, and small creatures scurrying along the branches—but Jessa felt watched the entire time. The doorway had led to the highest branches of a tree, disorienting her terribly after slipping into a hole in the ground. Every time she touched the bark on the long descent, she could swear it moved.
“Relle said to wait here,” Katie answered her question.
“That was half an hour ago.”
“She was pretty intense about it. We should probably follow directions.”
“Or go check on her.”
Dizziness had afflicted Relle when they came through. If not for Katie’s quick grab, she might have plummeted from the treetop. She’d claimed it passed quickly, but after Ionia’s gruesome description of the curse, Jessa worried.
“She’ll be all right,” Katie said, eyes trained on the distance.
The feigned absence of concern had Jessa eyeing her friend sidelong. “Are you really mad at her? I understand if you are, but she can’t help what she is. She has to be careful who she tells.”
“That’s not why I’m mad.” She ripped out a few blades of grass. “Relle’s lived with Ionia for two years. We know each other. I’m mad that she thought I wouldn’t like her if I knew the truth. I’m mad she didn’t trust me.”
Jessa shook her head. “It’s a dangerous secret. Trust doesn’t work the same in every situation.”
“And you’re the expert on trust?” Katie retorted. “You, who wanted to come here on your own even though you’re winded after a few steps?”
“It’s gotten better since we arrived,” Jessa said, stung by the harsh reply.
With a scoff, Katie grabbed and released Jessa’s hand. “Uh-huh. That’s why you’re still cold even though it’s so hot my deodorant’s about to fail.”
Jessa wanted to point out that she’d improved a lot from the moment they entered Simith’s world but didn’t. The cold and the fatigue continued to worsen, just not as fast. She did feel winded, even standing still. And Katie was right. Despite her condition, she’d have preferred to come alone. She hadn’t meant that preference to seem hurtful though.
“Katie.” Her tone went brittle. “I do trust you.”
Katie looked at her. Her face softened. “You’re my best friend, and I love you, but you keep even me at arm’s length. You always think something bad will happen to me.”
“Something bad did happen to you.”
“And I came through it because you helped me.” She touched her arm. “Now, something’s happening to you, Jessa. Let me help you. That’s the trust I mean.” She sighed. “As for Relle, maybe you’re right. It’s not like I’m entitled to know all her secr—”
The distant thunder rose to a sudden roar. The horses had turned into the meadow. Jessa tugged on Katie to signal her to back up toward the trees. Katie made an urgent gesture to wait, extending a finger to point upward. Under the sheen of moonlight, winged shapes flitted through the sky.
Pixies.
Riders on horseback followed beneath them. Jessa tried to get a glimpse as they galloped past, but it was too dark to catch many details beyond the clink of armor and the arch of bows strapped to their backs. They had to be fairies. This was the legion Simith told her about, the fighting force he’d been a part of for ten years. Was he among them now? She focused on his blade in her hand but felt no pull toward the droves rumbling past. An urge to go in the direction from which they’d come beckoned her instead.
The minutes stretched on, and still their numbers swelled. Dread weighed in Jessa’s stomach. Where would a force this large be going in the dead of night? With all this cavalry and weapons, she doubted their mission was one of peace. Maybe Simith had failed to convince the troll king to meet with him again.
Movement in her side vision made Jessa wheel around. Kneeling behind them, Relle clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Her silver eyes looked bloodshot as she gazed past them at the soldiers.
She put a finger to her lips, waving for them to follow. “Stay low,” she mouthed.
Back under the trees they went, hustling in a stoop to avoid being seen. Jessa did her best not to flinch at any fluttering leaves or creaking branches, the sensation of being watched skating over her skin.
She almost preferred to travel crouched in the meadow, though her legs were wobbly enough without adding further strain. Relle, in contrast, looked utterly at ease here, brushing her fingers gracefully across the shadowy bark of the trunks she passed. Despite the pooka glamour, her Fae side seemed to shine through, as though the magic in her blood could scarcely be hidden.
The sounds of the legion’s passing faded away as they headed deeper into the wood. Jessa kept close to Katie, debating whether to ask where they were going or keep silent. She’d just made up her mind to speak when they stepped into a clearing in the woods. There, two saddled horses stood.
“We’ll be able to move faster on these,” Relle said, gliding up to them.
Katie laughed in surprise. “Where did you get them?”
Jessa approached slowly. The animals didn’t look right. Their skin fluttered in the breeze. The closer she came, the more she saw these weren’t horses at all. They had the shape of one, four legs and a long, sturdy frame, but their flesh was made of leaves. Vines bound their green sinew together, with grassy manes, and a saddle of roots and twigs resting on their backs. They had no eyes.
“What in the name of all that is holy, are these things?” Katie voiced the unsettling sight perfectly.
Relle’s excited smile had a child-like quality. “I made them. Can you believe it?” She plucked a dandelion off one’s neck. “It was so easy, too, and these will go much faster than a regular horse. I already used one to gather information we need. That’s why I was gone a while.”
Katie exchanged a concerned look with Jessa. “Relle, you’re only supposed to use a little magic, remember? No big displays.”
“This?” She dismissed it with a wave. “This isn’t a big display. I only made two figuring Jessa could go with you since she’s less experienced at riding, but it would’ve been a snap to make a dozen more. You have no idea how much power there is here.” She gazed at her hands. “My blood feels supercharged. Trust me, compared to what I could do, the curse won’t notice this at all.”
Wayward Magic Page 66
