He tilted his head, meeting her gaze. Though she was far from him, he could feel, could hear her body exhale and shudder before she hurried away, tucking tail like an animal. Like prey instead of the hunter the Harbinger should be.
This game would be a fun one. This would be the game that he would win, and Dracyrus would rejoice, revel in her death and parade her corpse from kingdom to kingdom as it rotted, proudly display his trophy.
The horn she had touched tingled, and he closed his eyes, recalling the sensation of her tiny, smooth fingers curling around it. A ragged breath came from him, and he was slow to realize that perhaps it would not be so easy after all. Perhaps he would have to do certain other things to the Harbinger before ending her.
He sighed.
First thing’s first, though. He had to find clothes.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Faith should’ve known. The hero’s first plan never panned out. They always ran away and licked their wounds and came up with another, better plan. The only problem here was…she wasn’t so sure there was a Plan B. Plan A was pretty much the only plan they had, the only plan that might’ve gotten her out of this alive. Now that the Dread King was risen and very much alive, Plan A was trashed.
She fought her headache as they hurried through Springstone. The room that previously held all that treasure was now a gloomy, stench-filled room. Bodies of the Elven guards laid, strewn about haphazardly. Must’ve been what Faith tripped on, before.
“Just as I thought,” Cam whispered, “it was all an illusion.”
“Impossible.” Light spoke, the first out of Springstone. He reached for Faith, pulling her along, faster.
“Not impossible,” Jag said. “That was a Fae by the altar.”
“You’re saying a Fae killed all those guards?” Light was not having any of it as they hurried away, hopefully faster than Dracyrus was following them. Would he follow them, or would he let them go for now? He’d wait a little, probably, toy with Faith more before killing her.
That sucked.
“You saw how well she was able to conjure those illusions,” Jag said. “Those skeletons packed a punch. They even felt real. Anyone with that amount of skill could easily use them to best a few guards.”
“Why would a Fae want to raise the Dread King? Their entire race was decimated by him millennia ago,” Cam muttered, shaking his head softly. As they ran, his cloudy gaze met Faith’s, and she could see the worry in them. To know that even a powerful Ulen was worried did not make her feel any better.
It made her feel worse, actually.
Faith felt her lungs threatening to burst. She couldn’t keep up with this running for long. She found herself glancing back at Finn, who was oddly silent. During the fighting with the skeletons—or the fake skeletons—he’d been using his rope Victi left and right like a lasso, along with his fists. He was able to smash the skeletons apart with a few punches…and then the skeletons molded back together. Still, he was impressive.
“You’re being quiet,” she said, huffing as she ran. “What do you have to say about this?”
Finn was silent for a while. The I.D. hunter’s mask hung on his hip, a useless accessory. “I’m not surprised at our failure. I apparently was the only one who expected it.” After she shot him a glare, he added, “And not because you’re the Harbinger.”
“Then why—”
“Sounds like he always rises. It was a fool’s errand, but the only option we had.”
Oh. Faith bit her lip. That made a little sense, and at least he wasn’t blaming her for everything, which she was anticipating. Finn hadn’t played nice so far, hadn’t pulled any verbal punches, but she was thankful he wasn’t saying it was all her fault.
Honestly, she really shouldn’t have expected this to turn out any other way. Her luck was awful, and it ran in the family. What previously used to account for any man’s interaction with her family now accounted for the current state of her entire life.
Light muttered to himself, “Still. A Fae murdering the Elven guard? The Court must be told. We must try to make better time back than we did here.”
And so they did. They walked deeper into the night, woke earlier in the day. Faith kept her complaining to a minimum, always throwing looks over her shoulder as if she expected Dracyrus to be right there, suddenly, ready to kill her and be done with it. Surely he was cursing himself for letting her escape once. He would not let her run away again, and she knew the next time they met would be the time she died.
She was not looking forward to that.
The nights that passed, she hardly slept. She hardly ate whatever Light or Jag caught. Faith withdrew into herself, for the first time in her life, completely and utterly scared. She didn’t want to die. There were too many things left to do, and she never really said goodbye to her mother or her grandma, or Cara. God, Cara. She never even sent a text to her, did she? Did Christine call her and tell her that Faith went to save another world?
She was a terrible person. A terrible person who was going to die.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Enough time had passed. She wished she could say she felt the world shift after his rise, but she did not. The world felt as it always did—empty, cruel, and lonely. Ophelia wasn’t truly alone, but she might as well have been. Surrounded by other Elves, even at the nightly gatherings, her heart felt cold and vacant, though no one around her knew how distant she was. No one would’ve guessed how long she’d planned this. No one knew that it formed in her head when Reed was viciously taken and murdered by the Ulen.
Vince Reed was supposed to be her freedom. Together, they were supposed to change it all. Every kingdom, every village. After defeating the Dread King in an effortless display at Furen Ere and scattering those few who were still loyal to Dracyrus, Reed was supposed to be hers and she was to be his. Forever. They were supposed to rule together, as a King and Queen, lording over every race in the realm. They had planned on capturing Ulen, studying them, finding a way to prolong his life so that he could live with her longer than his simple Human lifespan would allow.
And then…nothing.
Then it had been taken from her before their plans could even take hold. All that conniving and scheming for nothing. Ophelia never was one to love wasting time, even though time was about the only thing she had plenty of.
So she had to begin anew. Ophelia had to think up another plan that would get her to where she desired to be: atop everyone and everything. Of course, there was only one other being with whom she could rise with, and that being was one who hadn’t been so fortunate in the past, and she would use every tool and person she had to to get to him, especially a little Fae witch who thought herself an up-and-coming Countess.
Dracyrus had fallen again and again, despite his nature and his will for vengeance. The Harbinger was the lucky one. The Harbinger had the numbers backing him up every single time. The Dread King seemed to be fated to lose.
Ophelia remembered seeing Faith during that first gathering. She remembered taking her palm and tracing the lines on it, declaring boldly that she would have deep love in her life. Ophelia’s own palms did not read so, regardless of what she did. At that time, she hadn’t a clue that Faith was indeed the very same Harbinger she had pledged herself to all those years ago.
Who would’ve thought that, suddenly, the Harbinger would be nothing but a girl? A young, naive, innocent female who knew nothing of the horrors of war. With each group of Academy students brought into her realm, Ophelia was amazed at how young they all acted. Faith was only another Human child, cradled from the world.
That was why Ophelia was so inquisitive when she sat and ate with Faith after the hunter had brought her back from the ruins of Ironfey. Two dagger Victi that were begotten around the laws of her world. Training in hand-to-hand combat, but nowhere near enough to be called proficient. Oh, yes—if there was any Harbinger that Dracyrus could beat, it was this one.
He was a monster of a man, a beast of a Dracon. A
little girl should be no challenge at all, right?
It was just as well that Frey did not believe in Faith. Even better that the Ageless Blade had gone missing. That sword, imbued with ancient Fae magic, was possibly the reason why Dracyrus never won. The Harbinger always had that sword, and from what Reed said of it, it filled him with a sense of purpose, a sense of knowing, gave him strength and courage where he before had none. The Ageless Blade had something to do with Dracyrus’s inability to succeed, Ophelia was certain.
Truly, it was almost strangely coincidental that the Ageless Blade went missing just as she sent her scouts ahead of the Court’s own to fetch it. She found it exceedingly odd, but then again she could not dwell on it, for if she did, she would waste too much time.
So she let it go, smiled to herself when the Division had marched through the gateway and demanded that their sojourn into their world was over, that Faith had to return with the woman who was apparently her mother. Ophelia was thrilled at the prospect of a Harbinger who was unable to return to this world. If Faith stayed away, Ophelia’s plans for the Dread King could go on uninterrupted.
Alas, that was not how it would be. The hunter had hatched a plan that, on a normal occasion, would’ve landed him in rough waters with the Court, but since Lightfoot was correct in his beliefs that Faith was the Harbinger, there would be no repercussions for conspiring with his allies and opening an unauthorized portal into the Human world. He had somehow managed to bring Faith back, along with contacting an Elf-turned-Ulen, his brother.
Camden had been turned in the same attack that Ophelia lost Reed in. The wounds were fresh each time she looked at the Ulen. She was constantly reminded of it, of her failed plans.
This time, she would not fail.
She had sent her scouts ahead of Faith and her pathetic fellowship, instructed them on what to do. The guards that were stationed at Springstone were an unfortunate consequence of what must be done. She had her scouts bring his bones up to the burial site—for there was nothing more intrinsically magical than a site of death. There, he would rise. It mattered not if Faith and her group arrived before or after. Faith was no match for the Dread King.
Ophelia sat in her chambers, waiting, staring out her windows as the daylight faded. A thin smile grew on her lips, for the mere thought of Faith falling to Dracyrus was a sweet one. She did not wish Faith death, not specifically. If anyone else had been the Harbinger, she would relish the thought of their failing, too.
Though, if the foolish assassin hadn’t botched it up, there would be no Faith for Dracyrus to kill. Ophelia had hoped the assassin would do the Dread King’s job for him, so that she could commence her ultimate plan.
Ophelia hadn’t thought to warn the assassin that they were sleeping in the same room. She didn’t think they would be. They were still strangers to Faith at that point, so why were they together? Perhaps, if they’d been separate like any normal creatures, the assassin would’ve done his hired duty and he wouldn’t have ended up so dead. There was no way Faith, a semi-trained Academy student, was skilled enough to take on an assassin. They were trained since birth, given up by their families. Killing was what they did for a living. To fail in such a horrible way was unheard of.
Still. She kept the dagger close by as a reminder: if she wanted something done right, Ophelia must do it herself. Clearly, counting on others was what got her into this mess to begin with, after Reed’s untimely death. She may have trusted some things to that finicky Fae girl, but this was something she’d have to do on her own.
There was a slight knock on her door and the sliding of parchment below it. Ophelia turned her head and saw a tiny, folded envelope. She gathered her long sleeves and stood, retrieving it from the clean, crisp floor. Her delicate fingers opened it, and her blue eyes scanned its report.
Everything was set. All the Dread King needed was to reawaken and remind this world why the Dracon were feared so. Her lips curved into a deeper smile as she sauntered to the group of candles sitting on her nightstand, their flames flickering gently. Within a minute, the paper was burnt to ashes.
Her long legs returned to the door, and she made sure it was locked before reaching beneath her pillow. Her fingers curled around a crystal ball that fit easily in her palm, its depths a clear, light white. Ophelia went to the armoire on the opposite wall as her bed, where a giant mirror sat near all her jewels. Her eyes locked with her reflection.
Her yellow hair was down, so she took the time to meticulously braid it around her head. Her hand danced over the numerous sparkling necklaces until she found one she liked, one that suited her mood: an emerald and ruby encrusted choker. Not her usual style, but today was a momentous day.
The crystal ball sat before her, beckoning. Ophelia was not concerned with someone looking into her windows and seeing what she was doing; her room was on the highest level of the palace. No one would be able to see inside.
She ran her hands over the smooth surface of the crystal. A chill ran through her, one of excitement. Inside the clothes she had her agents leave him, there was another ball much like this. Hopefully Dracyrus had enough sense not to leave it or destroy it. She would find out shortly.
With her fingertips on the crystal ball, Ophelia closed her eyes and muttered the phrase that would incite the magic dwelling inside the polished gem. A jolt touched her senses, and as she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in her bedchambers. In a technical sense she was, but she was also in the forest where he was, still near Springstone.
His backside was to her, his white hair long down the middle of his back. And what an impressive back it was. Wider than Reed’s. More solid, muscular. Ophelia wasn’t so much a fan of the horns that curled and sprouted from his head, but she’d learn to make do. If there was anything she was good at, it was adapting. He wore the clothes she’d chosen for him—she did pretty well in guessing his size, though his shirt was a bit too snug. Black clothing which only highlighted his hair and the smattering of scales that dotted his flesh.
“Dracyrus,” Ophelia spoke, watching as he whirled around, more angry than startled. She wouldn’t expect one such as him to be startled by anything anymore. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Elf,” he hissed, sending her a frown. He was not as impressed with her beauty, not nearly the amount he should be. Reed practically fell at her feet anytime she sent him a look. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Her lips curved into a smile, but he was, as he said, unimpressed. “Have you done it?” Ophelia stepped toward him, aware that any being would love to be in his place. “You must’ve. There’s something about you that’s…hungry for more.” She set a flat palm on his chest. He was a head taller than her, which said much. Such a towering figure. Such an imposing man. She circled him, continuing to trail her hand around his upper torso.
The muscles.
“I wondered who left me these clothes and this projection crystal,” Dracyrus muttered, his expression one of disdain, even as he looked upon her. Her beauty should make him more pliable, and yet…he seemed rather furious. As she finished circling him, he added, “Why should you care if it’s done? You are an Elf. You side with the Harbinger time and time again.”
“We’ve never before met,” she started.
He cut in, “Not you, but others like you. You connive and you plot. You are no better than the Fae.” Dracyrus harshly stepped away from her, the scowl on his face intense.
“I am Ophelia, member of the Elven Court. I am much better than whatever Fae drudge you are used to.”
“No,” Dracyrus stated, his voice low and strong. Despite herself, she found she could not argue with it. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected such a cold reception. He slowly wandered to the crystal ball that sat in the grass, picking it up with hands that were covered in scales. “You are no better. Your scheming and your machinations—I have had enough of others using me as they see fit. Whatever you hoped to gain here, Elf,” he paused, meeting her eyes, “you will not gain.
You will get nothing from me.”
What in all the kingdoms was he talking about? Ophelia was too stunned to react as his strong hand tightened around the crystal ball, shattering it effortlessly. Jolted back into her body in her bedchambers, she nearly fell out of her seat. Her well-manicured nails gripped the armoire, and the eyes in the reflection of the mirror were incensed.
How dare he.
This wasn’t something Ophelia planned for. Perhaps it was because she was so vain, but not once did it cross her mind that Dracyrus would deny her so quickly and tear her down. She anticipated having to prove to him that it would be worthwhile in every sense to ally with her, and she was fine with that, because bedding a Dracon was something she was curious about. But to be outright denied as if she were no better than a lowly servant? As if she wasn’t worth the air she breathed?
To say Ophelia was upset would be the biggest understatement one could possibly make.
All she wanted was power. More power than she already had. Was that so wrong? She certainly did not think so.
With an emotionless face, Ophelia grabbed the sphere before her and returned it to its hiding place beneath her pillow.
This was rather unfortunate, wasn’t it?
It was a good thing she had a backup plan, but rather infelicitous for Bul’ara.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Faith’s legs were dead. If legs could die while the rest of the body lived on, she was sure hers died way back near Springstone. That wasn’t to say they literally ran the entire way back to Springsweet, but they didn’t exactly take a meandering walk through the forest, either.
They were so close to their destination, the palace, so close they could see the forest break, the giant trees dwindle and give way to city streets and houses that had their own freshwater springs. But something was so very wrong.
The Fellowship: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 2) Page 17
