by Tara Grayce
When she’d married him, she’d told herself her happiness didn’t depend on him.
But it did. Oh, how it did. Love was painful like that.
She had to tell him something. “I’ll try.”
“I know.” He kissed her hair again. “These past few months have been the best of my life.”
It would’ve been sweet. Romantic. If he wasn’t saying it because he thought he would die when this train got to where it was going.
Though, perhaps that made it all the sweeter.
“They were pretty amazing.” Essie snuggled closer, tracing the end of a scar visible at the collar of Farrendel’s shirt. “But far too short.”
“If I had known, I would have skipped the months our brothers spent negotiating that meeting and offered to marry you right away.”
That brought a smile. A small laugh, even. Not something she’d thought she’d manage right then. Making him laugh was her job. She hadn’t expected he’d do it for her. Was it possible to love him more because of it?
She needed to follow his example. Did she want to spend her last moments with him crying? She could gift him this. Laughter. Smiles. Tears could come later.
She forced a lightness to her tone, a contrast to the weight in her chest. “It wouldn’t have done you any good. I probably would have refused, suspicious why the youngest elf prince had suddenly decided he wanted to marry me. The whole arranged marriage thing only sounds like a good idea if it’s my idea.”
That earned her a rumbling, almost like a chuckle, inside his chest.
She curled tighter against him. In her flat dancing slippers, her toes were growing cold. Her fingers too. A silk dress would not have been her first choice of outfits to be kidnapped in.
“I would offer you my coat, but it is stuck.” Farrendel rested his head on hers. “Is there a story of your childhood you have not told me yet?”
Essie had to think a few minutes before she thought of one.
They spent hours like that. Telling stories and chatting. Mostly about little things. Her favorite flower. His favorite spot in Estyra to watch the sunrise.
She must have dozed off at some point. She woke when the boxcar shuddered while the brakes squealed. She rubbed at her face and forced herself to sit up, away from Farrendel’s warmth. “We’re stopping.”
“Yes.” Farrendel’s voice was steady. “We need to prepare.”
Essie tucked the bandages around the shackles, both to continue to halt the bleeding and hide the bandages from sight. Once done, she handed Farrendel his knife, which he gripped in a fist beneath the tailcoat.
For her part, she tied back her hair using the ribbon that had been in Farrendel’s hair since her hair had fallen from its pins.
Once her hair was out of her face, she pulled the train of her dress between her legs, then tied it around her waist, turning her dress into trousers. Very floppy trousers that bunched at her knees and exposed her ankles, but at this point, she didn’t care. Hopefully Lord Bletchly and Mark Hadley would just assume she wanted to keep her long dress off the ground and not that she was preparing to escape.
Since having her dress hiked to her knees showed off her derringer strapped to her calf, she removed the holster and secured the derringer beneath where her dress was tied around her waist. It would be easier to draw from there anyway.
Beneath them, the boxcar shuddered again, this time accompanied by a louder squeal of brakes and the grind of metal on metal.
So little time.
Essie staggered back to Farrendel’s side and curled against him, ignoring the cold of the wooden floor against her legs and the prickle of splinters against her knees. She rested her hands on his chest, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to say goodbye. That would be giving up hope too soon.
There was still a chance. A chance Farrendel could fight long enough for her to fetch help. A chance he’d be captured, and they could rescue him. A chance he could defeat all his enemies and escape.
All chances she clung to with every beat of her heart.
She gripped the front of his shirt. “I love you, Farrendel. Don’t forget that.”
“Essie, shynafir.” Her elven title fierce heart turned into an endearment. Farrendel kissed her, long and slow, a lingering farewell. He moved his kiss from her mouth to her cheek, then whispered in her ear, “You, my love, are fierce enough to survive this.”
She would’ve said something. Kissed him again. Burst into tears.
But with a squeak and the clatter of the rolling door, cool air blasted inside.
She spun to face the door but didn’t release Farrendel’s shirt. Couldn’t force her fingers to let him go.
Lord Bletchly and Mark Hadley stood there with two men dressed in workers’ garb, dull brown shirt and sturdy trousers.
Lord Bletchly’s mouth curled. “I was feeling sorry I had to sacrifice you, princess. But it’s clear you’ve actually fallen in love with the elf.”
He spat out elf with the same venom someone might say beast or monster.
How had he managed to fool them so completely? He’d seemed supportive of the new treaty with the elves. He’d been pleasant to both her and Farrendel at Winstead Palace.
All just to get close enough to betray them.
Essie lifted her chin and stared right back. She wasn’t going to dignify that comment with a response.
The two workers leveled muskets at Essie and Farrendel. Mark motioned. “Get down from there, unless you want us to drag you out.”
There was no point to resisting. They needed to bide their time until the right moment, and Essie trusted Farrendel to judge when that moment would be.
She climbed to her feet and gripped Farrendel’s elbow, steadying him as he staggered upright.
Was that stagger real or feigned? Even Essie wasn’t entirely sure, and she knew how graceful Farrendel was normally. He could balance on a four-inch-wide branch without wobbling. Surely having his hands bound behind his back wouldn’t affect him that much.
Except that the shackles contained troll magic.
At the door, she hopped out, falling to her knees as she landed. None of the men standing around her reached a hand to help.
Farrendel prepared to jump, but Mark grabbed his arm and yanked, sending Farrendel tumbling from the boxcar.
Farrendel landed on his shoulder, rolled, then lay on the ground as if stunned.
Essie scrambled to reach his side, but hands gripped her arms, holding her back. She wrenched, trying to break free, but they were too strong.
Farrendel’s gaze met hers, and he tipped his head in a nod so slight no one would notice if they hadn’t spent months living with the elves learning to look for such subtle expressions.
He was fine. Not as stunned and helpless as he appeared to be.
These men would expect her to be terrified. Hysterical. Helpless.
That’s exactly what she would give them. Right up until the moment she drew her derringer.
“Unhand me.” It didn’t take too much effort to add a screeching sob to her voice. “I am your princess. My brother will hear about this.”
“Oh, he will. When your murdered body is found across the border in Tarenhiel, the public outcry against the elves will be all he’ll hear.” Mark sent a sneer her way as he kicked Farrendel in the ribs before yanking him to his feet.
With one of the armed men leading the way, Mark and the other workman shoved Farrendel in front of them. That left only Lord Bletchly guarding her. He gripped her arm, hard enough her muscles ground against her bones. “Come along, Your Highness.”
Even though she was trying to appear helpless and weak, Essie swallowed back the gasp of pain. She didn’t want Farrendel to feel like he had to act sooner than he should on her account.
Instead, as Lord Bletchly marched her past the engine house where the train was currently being turned around, she did what she did best.
Talk.
“Why are you doing this? What
do you have to gain?” Essie tried to remember everything she knew about Lord Bletchly. “You had a son who died fighting the elves, didn’t you? Please don’t tell me you betrayed your country merely out of revenge.”
Lord Bletchly snorted as they strode past a large, wooden warehouse. “Revenge is just the topping on the cake. You see, I have invested in many companies, especially weapons manufacturers. War is profitable. Even the threat of war is very profitable.”
“But the new treaty with the elves would cut into their profits and thus your dividends.” Essie nodded toward Mark ahead, using the motion to peer into a doorway to the warehouse as they passed. Boxes were stacked along the wall, marked with the army’s symbol.
Weapons then. A warehouse filled with weapons all waiting to be shipped to the trolls.
Essie snapped her gaze away before Lord Bletchly would notice her looking. “I suppose that’s why Mark is in on this. As the army’s main supplier, his company has the most to lose. Is his father a part of this?”
Mark glanced over his shoulder, scowling. “My father is too patriotic for that. No, he intends to retire, taking all his money with him. Sure, he plans to leave me the company. But not a dime of all the money he’s earned over the years. Says it’s up to me to keep the business profitable and earn my own money. Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Money. Farrendel could end up dead just for money.
Lord Bletchly’s grip on her arm squeezed tighter. “Selling to the trolls has helped boost the profit margins, but war will be astronomically more profitable if the company is selling weapons to both Escarland and Kostaria. If the elves that killed my son are wiped out in the process, so much the better.”
Essie’s stomach churned. Didn’t he care about the lives that would be lost? The Escarlish soldiers who could go into a war started for money. The elven warriors fighting just to protect their homeland. “Don’t you see how wrong this is? You’ve turned the army into your own personal money-making machine. It’s not supposed to work like that. The army exists to protect the people, and their weapons are manufactured to give them that ability. It is a duty, a heavy burden. Not...not this.”
“Are you truly so naïve, princess, that you think the world works like that? The world runs on money, nothing more. Ideals are just wishful thinking.”
Maybe they were. But she refused to believe goodness didn’t exist. That honor didn’t exist. Maybe it wasn’t in people’s hearts. Maybe people were nothing but greed and evil.
But there was still family. Friendship. Love. They were real. They existed. And they were worth fighting for.
They cleared the end of the warehouse, finally catching a glimpse of the Hydalla River ahead. A wharf extended into the river, a steamboat puffing smoke tied to it. Figures hauled crates up the gangplank, all but their forms obscured by the steamboat’s smoke billowing between them and Essie.
Six figures strolled down the wharf toward Essie, Farrendel, and their captors while others still moved by the boat, loading crates. Four of the figures were trolls, with their white-blue skin and hair cropped short, revealing their slightly tapered ears.
But the two people behind them were willowy, with long hair flowing around their shoulders. Elves. One was a male elf with golden blond hair darker than Farrendel’s that Essie vaguely recognized. Had she seen him around Estyra? Wandering the tree branches of Ellonahshinel?
It didn’t matter. Not when her gaze snagged on the second elf, with her long black hair blowing in the breeze and her dark eyes focused on Farrendel.
Farrendel went stock still, causing Mark and the other man to crash into his back. His expression twisted, pained, as if he’d been stabbed. “Melantha?”
Farrendel’s sister Melantha stared back at him, her mouth twisted in a sneer. Her gaze left Farrendel, as if dismissing him, as she turned to the troll next to her. “Here is Laesornysh, delivered as requested. I will provide you safe passage across Tarenhiel as long as you uphold your end of the bargain.”
“Of course. We always honor our promises.” The troll next to her dipped a small bow in her direction. He spoke with a thick dialect that shortened the vowels and came down harder on the consonants than the way the elves spoke.
“What bargain?” Essie succeeded in wrenching herself free of Lord Bletchly’s grip and reached Farrendel’s side, resting a hand on his arm.
Farrendel was shaking. His gaze remained focused on Melantha. “You are my sister.”
That snapped her flashing eyes back to him. “You are not my brother.”
Essie felt Farrendel break piece by piece. She glared at Melantha. It would be so satisfying to march over there and yank Melantha’s hair right from her scalp.
The four trolls were moving forward, probably to take custody of Farrendel. Or to pay Lord Bletchly and Mark Hadley for their weapons and betrayal. Two more of the trolls, who had been loading the steamboat, strode down the jetty. More reinforcements.
“Why?” Farrendel’s voice was low, hoarse. “I have done everything I could to earn my place in the family. What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” Essie whispered, tightening her grip on his arm. A family’s love wasn’t earned, and there was something so very wrong that Farrendel felt he’d had to earn his. How had Essie not seen it? She’d caught glimpses, but never put together how deep it ran.
“Father never should have brought you to Estyra. You ruined everything. You destroyed Father’s reign and legacy. You soiled our family.” Melantha’s voice shook, her eyes glassy as if she were close to tears.
“I am sorry.” Farrendel stated it quietly, as if he truly thought he was to blame.
“Farrendel couldn’t help being born. None of the blame rests on him.” Essie glared at the approaching trolls, the crowding Escarlish thugs. Couldn’t they see this needed to be talked out?
“Just when I thought things were getting better, you went and married a human. As if you needed to remind everyone just how flawed you are. Look at you. You even dress like one of them.” Melantha’s mouth curled. “If Jalissa and I are to have any chance of happiness, then I have to get rid of you.”
Farrendel hunched, as if every word was a punch. Perhaps a physical beating would have hurt him less.
“By handing him over to the trolls? You know they are just going to overrun Tarenhiel once Farrendel is out of the way.” Essie was shaking now too. But it wasn’t pain or fear. She’d never felt heat quite this intense inside her chest before. Was this the anger people always implied she should have because of her red hair? Right now, she embraced it.
“All they want is Laesornysh to punish him for assassinating their late king. They have promised Tarenhiel will have peace if I turn him over to them. That is the bargain.” Melantha waved from Farrendel to the trolls encircling them.
How gullible was Melantha? “And that ambush? I was there. They were trying to kill all of us.”
“The only people they were under orders to kill were you and him.” Melantha sniffed, not even looking at Farrendel. As if he was dog poop she couldn’t wait to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.
Essie glanced at the trolls, catching the way they were looking at each other. The flick of their eyes, the smirks flashing, then gone.
There would be no peace for Tarenhiel. Melantha, the betrayer, was about to find herself betrayed.
Maybe later Essie would dredge up some sympathy. But she couldn’t manage it right then, not with Farrendel’s pain trembling through her touch on his arm.
“And the guns from Escarland? If their intentions were peaceful, why would they ask you to help transport guns for them?” Essie gestured at the crates stacked around them.
For the first time, Melantha shifted, as if uncomfortable having to face a truth she had been willingly ignoring. “They just needed the weapons to take out Laesornysh. Most of the crates have been food since they can grow so little in Kostaria.”
The blond-haired elf behind her glanced toward the trolls. Something ab
out his demeanor made Essie think that he knew more about the transport of the weapons than Melantha did. Was Melantha perhaps the traitor behind the information leaks about Farrendel, but this other elf the traitor behind moving the weapons and trolls across Tarenhiel?
Both Escarland and Tarenhiel had several traitors. It was an infestation.
Behind Melantha, Lord Bletchly and a troll who seemed to be the leader shook hands, exchanging a pouch that probably contained money. The troll turned and nodded.
The troll nearest Essie huffed. “Enough talk.” He grabbed Essie, yanking her away from Farrendel.
Farrendel’s head snapped up, his body going deadly still. His silver-blue eyes focused on the troll gripping Essie. Blue light flared at Farrendel’s fingertips. “Let. Her. Go.”
Bolts of power slithered up Farrendel’s hands to his wrists. A crack split the air, pieces of shackle and black tailcoat peppering the ground around Farrendel. He dropped into a fighting stance, knife gripped in his hand.
Essie stomped down as hard as she could on the arch of the troll’s foot. His boot protected him, and her soft dancing slipper made it hard to get a good strike in. But it must have startled him enough. When his grip lessened, she wrenched free.
The troll scrambled for the knife strapped to his belt as he reached for Essie with his other hand. Just as he was drawing the knife, a bolt of Farrendel’s magic blasted into him.
The knife landed at Essie’s feet. She swiped it from the ground, then looked back.
Farrendel stood in the center of a circle of trolls, bolts of his magic crackling around him. He was panting, sweat beading on his forehead.
His gaze locked on hers. One last, silent farewell.
Then, she turned and ran.
FARRENDEL’S sizzled around him as he faced the oncoming trolls. His wrists burned with agony where his magic touched the troll magic lingering in his wounds. A few remnants of the stone remained buried underneath his skin, pulsing with pain even as he forced his magic free.
He needed to provide Essie time to escape. No matter how much it hurt, he must survive long enough to give her time.
