The Fellowship: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  But Faith didn’t argue. She only wanted the chest out of her face, so she nodded along like a good little girl. One of the guards heaved the body over his shoulder, spear in his other hand. He was the first to leave. The guards shuffled out after Frey and Ophelia. Faith met Frey’s scowl, never once looking away as they left. Once the Elves were gone and the door shut, the room descended into darkness.

  “Well,” Jag spoke first, “I realize I can’t speak for you all, but I plan on not getting a wink of sleep the rest of the night.”

  Finn did not address the comment, instead muttering, “I suppose I should stay here…in case.”

  Faith felt Light touch her back, his hand a welcome warmth compared to Ophelia’s lips. “You will be fine,” he sought to assure her. But she didn’t need assurance. She knew the truth—that a lot of people wanted her dead, wanted the Dread King to win. She knew the whole truth, too: she was destined to die for this stupid war.

  Needless to say, Faith and her gang did not sleep well that night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Light spent the night wondering many things. Who hired the assassin, why they used an Orc-made blade, why they wanted Faith dead. Yes, she was against the norm as Harbingers went, but to go so far as to want her dead simply because she was a female? Did they not realize how terrible it would be if the Dread King won? Though when he was younger, he idolized the Dread King’s ideals; but now he was older, wiser, and he knew. The Dread King would conquer everything, and probably seek to conquer the Middleworld, too. No one would be safe.

  He also wondered who trained the assassin. Was there a secret order of them somewhere, one that he had never heard of? To sneak into a room with an Ulen and a Malus and wake no one was impossible. Next to impossible, clearly, for he’d done it. And that face—the assassin was not an Elf he recognized. Not that he knew every Elf’s face, but it was not an Elf who spent his time near Springsweet.

  And, lastly, he wondered about Faith. Of course he saw that both she and Jag were wet when they came back, and they had been gone a while. He could not stop the jealousy that grew in his body like a weed, but he could blame neither of them for it. His jealousy was something he would have to wrestle with himself, for he had agreed to this thing, this arrangement, whatever this was.

  Did he make a mistake by agreeing to it? He could not help but wonder that, for each time he thought of Faith with anyone else, Light became upset. Would such feelings pass as time went on and this became his new normal? He would have to wait and find out.

  Their sendoff from Springsweet was as odd as the night before. After dawn broke and they packed up what little things they would take—they had to travel light, after all—they were sent off only by two Court members. Ophelia and Frey. Bul’ara was, apparently, still indisposed, which did not sit well with Light. An Elf was only indisposed if they were mating, which would not take all night, or they were dying, but Bul’ara was fine hours earlier. Light was confused, though he did not address it while in front of the two.

  “Be fast and safe,” Ophelia spoke, holding her hands across her flat stomach. Today she wore a thin, pink gown whose train sparkled in the sunlight. Her chest was covered in white jewels, her hair split evenly on each shoulder. Her bright eyes lingered on Faith. “We shall be awaiting your return with bated breath. It would be a joyous occasion to stop the Dread King from rising.” She smiled widely, revealing her flawless, white teeth. “Then we could focus on the celebration.”

  Yes, because even though Human students were lost, the gatherings were not something Elves could give up. Light never understood the fascination with sex, drink and community. The sex part, well, he understood that part now. The others? Not so much.

  Frey frowned as he muttered, “Do hurry back.”

  Faith gave him a glare as she said, “We’ll go at our own pace, and while we’re gone, I hope that you find whoever’s trying to kill me. I’d love to meet him.” As she spoke, she never once tore her gaze from Frey, which earned her a deep scowl. Did that mean she thought Frey was behind it all?

  Preposterous. Utterly improbable. He was an Elf of the Court, the highest station any Elf could hope to achieve. He wouldn’t possibly put it on the line to help the Dread King, would he? He had no motive.

  Cam adjusted the strap slung across his chest, his sack full of blankets and the cloak. He looked at the ground as he said, “Shall we go?” His expression said he did not want to linger here any more than he had to, which Light thought was understandable, given his history.

  “Wish us luck,” Faith muttered, and together, they headed off.

  After walking through Springsweet, doing their best to ignore the wide eyes of all the Elves lining the streets and whispering to each other, they reached the edge of the city, where the forest began, its trees towering over everything, blocking out most of the sun.

  “Here goes nothing,” Faith said, earning her a glare from Finn.

  “What do you mean, here goes nothing? Everything should be going—everything is riding on this,” Finn said, and to his chagrin, she shrugged him off. “If I don’t bring you back with me—”

  She gave him a look. “Finn, everything will be fine. We’ll be fine. We’ll beat the bad guy because the good guy always wins. We’ll all get our happy endings because that’s what we deserve. Everything will be a-okay.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Finn asked quietly.

  It was a beat before she replied, “Does it matter?”

  It didn’t. Light knew it didn’t, just like he knew it would never happen. This was not a tale of old. The good ones did not always win. With each Harbinger, the Dread King had a chance to win where he did not before. The thought of losing Faith to his scaled hands made Light’s stomach roll. It was not a good feeling, one that he could not shake off even as they traversed through the forest.

  Once they were farther from Springsweet, Faith broke the silence of their group by saying, “I think it’s them.” There was a pause as she climbed atop a root and jumped off it. “Frey. Obviously he doesn’t like me.”

  Behind her, Finn harrumphed. “Not everyone has to like you. And just because someone hates you doesn’t mean they want you dead.”

  The Human, Light was pressed to admit, wasn’t wrong. He turned his head to his right, meeting Camden’s gaze. His brother had been silent nearly the whole time, refusing to meet anyone’s stare. It was more than obvious he was ashamed of his actions the previous night, ashamed that Faith had seen that side of him so quickly. Light understood, for he would feel the same way if it were him. Camden was no longer the quiet, soft-spoken Ulen who could hardly make eye contact; she knew what he was capable of. What all Ulen were capable of. A dangerous race, though they kept hidden in Crystal Cove.

  Faith tossed Finn a harsh glare. “Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?”

  “Not in the last hour, no,” Finn muttered.

  Well, at least Light would not be jealous of him. Of their shared past, yes, but he was without a doubt never going to join their group. Not in the way that mattered, which was fine with him.

  “Frey knows that with your death, the Dread King will win,” Light spoke, heaving himself over a fallen branch. The branch itself was thicker than his entire body, the trees around them so tall and wide that they blocked out the sky and the sun.

  They traveled in the opposite direction of Ironfey, and it was a good thing, too, for the forest was a sprawling thing. It went on and on until it suddenly stopped, as most things did eventually. No, fortunate for them and their safety at night, they headed where the forest would thin. Where the ever-large trees would shrink to more manageable sizes, where their bark was not as tough and their branches no thicker than an arm or a leg. Once they were out of the forest, many dangers would be behind them. Many more would lay in front of them, too.

  Springstone.

  It was an area that was off-limits to those who did not have business there. An old place that the Elven Court had filled with ancie
nt trinkets and artifacts they did not want anyone else to have. A treasure horde that they guarded well and constantly. The afternoon before, the Court had sent a bird with an attached letter explaining Faith and her group, and why they were coming. They should be expected by the time they got there.

  “Even Frey would not wish that,” Light added.

  “Of course you would think that,” Faith said, slowing down so she was beside him as she spoke. “But I get a bad vibe from him.”

  A bad vibe? What in all the kingdoms was a vibe?

  Finn smirked. “Tell me you did not just say the word vibe seriously.”

  Ah, there it was again—jealousy rearing its ugly, hideous, deformed head. Light shot Finn a glare the Human failed to notice, but Jag saw it and cracked up. Would he ever get over the fact that Finn was Human, like her, and therefore knew things he didn’t, like what the word vibe meant? He knew he should do his best not to dwell on it, for no matter how long he thought about it, things would not change. Finn would still be here, with them, with Faith, and he would always know things Light did not.

  Ignoring Finn’s remark, Faith asked, “How do you explain the weapon then?”

  “All they said was that it was Orc-made,” Light stated. The dagger in question was not with them, even though Light had campaigned for it. Not as if he would forget what it looked like; the sharp, jagged nature of the metal was forever imprinted in his mind. No matter how it touched skin, it would tear flesh and organs apart. If Faith hadn’t woken…he couldn’t even think it.

  “No,” Jag spoke, rolling his shoulders. The Malus still wore no shoes, his clawed feet leaving imprints in the ground as he walked. Fortuitously for his traveling companions, he did put on a shirt, which he constantly scratched at as though it were the worst thing to touch him in his life. “They said the blade was designed similar to Orcish weapons. The hilt was fancy and pretty in the way you Elves love. There are no Orc blacksmiths around, because there are no Orcs around. Whoever made that was not an Orc.”

  Light did not like the accusation. “That does not mean an Elf blacksmith made it.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Jag said, slowing to say, “but it doesn’t bode well that the assassin was an Elf, does it?” He did not accuse him, nor did he say it venomously. He simply said it, not needing to explain any more.

  Light quieted. “No, it doesn’t.” With the Elven assassin, the Ulen at the ruins of Ironfey and the Dracon Faith said she saw when she’d escaped, there was too much going on. Were they all connected somehow? Had small sects of each race forgone their ideologies and united in the hopes of rallying behind the Dread King? Or were they all separate, each their own entity with their own goals?

  Doubt rose in Light’s mind, for he had a feeling answers would not arrive soon enough.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Light was smiling. Grinning ear to ear as if he was the happiest Elf alive, even as he laughed, eyes crinkling as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. His bow and quiver sat nearby, resting on the satchel that Cam had for the whole of the journey slung on his back. In the satchel sat the cloak. After this ordeal, Cam would have to return it to his people.

  The Ulen. Because the Elven were his people no longer.

  They stopped for the night, and the sun vanished above them. The world plunged into darkness, and they barely made it to a small clearing, free of the giant trees that marked the area around Springsweet. All green grass, not a single rock or pebble or root sticking out of the ground. A flat space, an area that Light assured them the apex predators of the night would steer clear from, for there was not enough coverage, and there were too many of them. Most predators hunted singular prey, not liking to exert much energy in the hunt. Cam wished he knew what that felt like. A lazy hunter. Seemed sort of counterintuitive, didn’t it?

  Faith stood across from Light, shooting him a glare that Cam was certain was meant to be intimidating. The Human herself was the farthest thing from it. She was not large in the way the other Human was, not chiseled from stone. She was more like…a flower. A flower with wild auburn hair and hauntingly bright emerald eyes. And, just like an insect, Cam was drawn to her in spite of himself.

  In spite of everything, really.

  He should not be. Until last night, he thought he had control over it, over himself. But something inside of him had snapped when he saw the assassin, the dagger, how the attacker held it against her. As Faith had reacted in her own way, which was, admittedly, a much better reaction than the one he had, Cam did the same. He could not stop himself from lunging at him, tossing him to the floor and taking hold of his throat. He had squeezed and squeezed, not realizing how easy it was to smash his windpipe, to utterly kill him in a matter of seconds. And then, for a few seconds after, as Jag pulled him back and held him, all Cam saw was blood.

  Memories that were long-buried in his head rose to the forefront, dominating his mind until he could not think of anything else. Blood. So much blood. So much death. For what? What was all the violence for? At the time, Cam did not break free of Jag’s grasp, even though he quite easily could have.

  “You cheated,” Faith said with a frown. Behind her, a small campfire burned, cooking the hyll-sized rodent Light caught earlier. Jag sat on his feet, watching the two spar, while Finn remained near the fire, watching over the food with marked disinterest as he pretended not to watch Faith’s backside.

  What a terrible liar he was. Even without the Ulen sense, Cam would be able to see that Finn did have a thing for her. He was surprised to see that no one else saw it, or at the very least no one else mentioned it. Perhaps Jag and Light did not want yet another suitor in their partnership. Either way, it did not change the fact that Finn was here with them, and that his green gaze always seemed to be on Faith, even when he mocked her.

  “I did not cheat,” Light said, straightening his legs.

  “You tripped me,” Faith told him in a huff, pouting like a child. “I said no legs.”

  Light’s face twisted as he pretended to think. “I don’t remember agreeing to such a rule.” They sparred, Faith declared, because it was a way to pass the time, but Cam knew the real reason: she was worried about her destiny. She did not want to sit down in fear that if she did, she would waste away and lose even faster to the Dread King.

  With a playful smack to his chest, Faith whispered, “You’re bad.”

  “I could be badder,” Light replied quietly, which earned him a pair of risen eyebrows from Jag and a scowl from Finn. Cam simply smiled to himself, glad that his brother was letting loose a little.

  Faith gave him a long look before she finally said, “Again—and this time, no cheating.” She spread her feet and lifted her arms, fingers curled into fists. Two bands sat on her wrists, hiding her magical tattoos. Victi, she called them. Finn had one too, and he had expressed concern over the fact that she had two. Too young for them, he had muttered after finding out. Faith was not a follower of the rules, clearly.

  Cam sluggishly moved his gaze from Faith and Light. He moved to the outskirts of the clearing, staring into the dark depths of the forest they came through. He felt queasy, uneasy, like he was still caught in the past. That time when he thought he would die, the time he saw nothing but blood in a clearing much like this one.

  It all came to his head forcefully, the memories stronger than his will…

  A yawn and a stretch, Cam sat as he blinked awake, the previous night’s dreams fading fast from his mind. He could not recall what he dreamt of, but regardless of what it was, he’d rather be there than here.

  A squad of five others sat around him in the grass. They packed up their bedrolls, attaching them to their packs. A pair of the men went off to the side to relieve themselves, while the other two Elves covered the firepit. They wore the thin, shiny armor of the Court, for they were the Court’s emissary to the other kingdoms. They and their tagalong. Well, perhaps he wasn’t so much a tagalong as he was the reason they were all there, alive and breathing after the batt
le at Furen Ere. Cam himself hadn’t been there, but he did hear stories from the surviving soldiers. It was a bloodbath, but at least it went in the Harbinger’s favor.

  Cam still was stunned at the events that transpired after the battle. The Harbinger returned to the Springsweet, the dead Dracon in tow, his Elven army filling the streets of Alyna’s capital. The cloak went to the Ulen, the sword to the Malus, and the body would be locked up in Springstone. The Dracon would get nothing, for they deserved nothing for their allegiance to their king. But that was not the reason Cam was so stunned.

  The gateways. The gateways that until now only let through the Harbinger himself had been opened to allow anyone the ability to walk through. Elves could go to the Middleworld if they wished, and Humans could come here, though Cam knew the Court would do its best to regulate such trips.

  How did the Harbinger do such a thing? In all of history, only the Harbinger had walked through. Now, things would surely change.

  A solid presence near him caused Cam to glance to his side, where the Harbinger stood, gazing out into the forest. His light eyes scanned the area, his wide body clad in leather. On his hip, the Ageless Blade sat, shimmering in the sunlight. His black hair was slicked back, a shadow of it lining his jaw. It was a fairly common thing for Human males, the Harbinger had told him, but he still could not imagine growing something like that on his face. He was no Dwarf.

  “I will never accept the fact that these trees are so large,” the Harbinger spoke, crossing his arms. His voice was smooth, singsong in a way that made everything he said like a joke, even when he was serious. “Trees are not half that size on Earth.”

  Cam turned to look at him, golden eyebrows lifting. He could feel the sun on his face in the clearing; he was getting a decent bit of color to his usually pallid cheeks. “The Middleworld sounds awful.”