I had to remind myself that he despised me.
By late afternoon, our path opened to look down on the village nestled in the rocks of a narrow valley ahead. Chevelle stopped on a ridge to allow us a better view. I didn’t think I would have called it a village—I couldn’t count the structures from our vantage point but it must have been ten times the size of home. The buildings were the dull stone of the mountain. None were trees. There was really no vegetation at all, no greens, no browns. The entire layout was dark, ashen stones and aged wood that seemed to melt right in to the blue-gray of the mountain. The cloudy mist filtered the sun. I decided it was beautiful.
“Where are we?” I asked. Chevelle nodded toward my hands as he started down the path.
The map on my palms was gone. My skin was unmarked, no indication whatsoever it had even been burned. Is this our destination? My gaze shot up to find the village, and then I hastily clicked my heels when I realized I was being left behind.
As we advanced, I could see movement amongst the elves. There was much activity, but it was nothing like home. No flags of quilts and rugs blowing in the breeze, no bright sunlight on a rainbow of colors, no dancing in the village center. A raucous sound traveled up to us and Chevelle waved a hand, his magic bringing the hood of my cloak up to cover my head and then his own. At once, my stomach was a knot again.
We rode into town at a walk; Chevelle was sitting straight and tall in his saddle but his arm hung casually, hand resting on his leg. I was more comfortable watching him, looking for a reaction, than the passing elves.
Two men walked by in the opposite direction, their dark eyes on us. My cape blew back, exposing the shape of my leg, and they hissed indecent comments. I gasped, shocked, and my horse picked up its pace to ride beside Chevelle. Chevelle held up two fingers slightly to silence me.
We hadn’t ridden more than a quarter of the way into town when he turned the horses to a medium-sized structure, stopping before a water trough. He dismounted effortlessly and pulled me from my horse and into the building in a few quick steps, closing the door behind us.
It was dark inside, his fingers lingering on my arm. I felt him shift, waving a hand as several lanterns around the main room lit, giving off a soft glow. He indicated a door on the rear wall. “Your room.”
I drew back my hood, nodding.
“I have some business to take care of before we move on.”
Move on? So this wasn’t our destination. Or did he mean back to the village?
He continued, apparently not noticing my perplexed expression as my mind ran through a list of possible scenarios. “The pouch from the vault. There was a stone in it.”
It was clear he was asking for the ruby, but I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t think I had much choice in the matter, given that I was a criminal, but could come up with no real reason to fight it. Standing in the center of this strange room, in the middle of a mountain, had me thinking through fog. I was going to be returned to the village for punishment—or worse, now that I was being tracked by Grand Council. I was completely ignorant of where I was. I had apparently lost part of my memories and magic because I had been bound, was still bound.
I realized Chevelle was watching me, waiting for the stone. Shaking free of the thoughts, I removed the pouch from my pack to untie the lacing.
I reached inside, wondering momentarily what else might be written in the ancient language on the scroll. I handed the dark red stone to Chevelle, who only nodded as he took it from me, not examining it before he slipped it into a pocket to hide it away. There was a sound at the door and his fingers slid over my lower back, urging me into my room. I was closed in just as the main door opened, giving me no more than a glimpse of deep red curls.
I tried not to be annoyed about being closed in a room. I was a prisoner after all. Chevelle’s voice was barely audible as he spoke to his visitor in a formal tone. “Ruby.”
Ruby? Before I could stop myself, I was at the door peering through the frame. A tiny crack of light allowed me about three-quarters of Chevelle’s back and all of his guest. Ruby. She looked to be a little shorter than me, a little smaller, but seemed larger somehow. I thought I knew why. Around her petite face, by some means both wicked and charming, was a mane of deep crimson hair flowing in curls.
I considered her name, given that mass of hair, but any sympathy disappeared as she reached out a hand toward Chevelle. There was something sinful about it, the way her hand turned seductively in the simple task of retrieving the stone from him. My stone.
Anger swelled in me. I wasn’t sure if I had given it to Chevelle because I’d trusted him, or because he was my captor, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. I couldn’t fathom why he would be giving my family heirloom to this woman. The ruby had been in the vault with my mother’s possessions, along with the map that had brought us here, and now he was giving this Ruby my ruby. I shook my head; there must be a connection, some reason it would end here.
Ruby drew a package from her cape and handed it to Chevelle, smiling a temptress’s smile. It was about two hands in size, wrapped in light brown cloth. He slid it under his cloak and it disappeared from my view. I couldn’t imagine what she had given him, but it must have been in trade for my stone.
As I peered through the gap in the doorframe, the stranger’s eyes flicked to mine and I was sure she somehow saw me. I held my breath and jerked away from view, plastering myself against the wall. When she didn’t speak up to expose me, my pulse began to slow. But I wasn’t brave enough to look again.
I stared into the room, the space relatively large and ornate compared to my bedroom at home. There was a stone-framed bed wide enough for two, dark olive blankets in layers on top. A side table held a few trinkets and a decanter set, and there was a hickorywood wardrobe in the corner. A full mirror lined the east wall.
I took a few steps forward, staring in disbelief as my figure came into view. I had seen the reflection in the water, had known my hair was dark, my eyes a strange shade of green. But as I gazed at the woman in my reflection, I could not reconcile the two. The dark silhouette, her figure emphasized by fitted clothes, black cape draped behind her—this woman was breathtaking. I moved closer to examine her, nearly reaching out to touch the windblown sable hair. Her eyes—my eyes—were dark. That muddy fog was gone now and under my black lashes waited deep emerald jewels, flecked with the darkest of browns. Chevelle had been right, this did suit me. The image in the mirror was stunning.
It felt odd to marvel over my own reflection, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t like it. The changes were still unnerving though, and I tried to remember what I looked like in my oldest memories, to see before, to see my mother’s face.
The door opened behind me.
“Ah, yes,” Ruby purred as she looked me over. “Lovely.”
Her inflection left no doubt the word was not a compliment, only that she found it lovely she’d discovered me here. I could see Chevelle through the open door behind her, still in the main room and evidently annoyed.
“I, of course, am Ruby,” she said. “I’m pleased you’ll be staying with me during your visit.”
Staying with her? This was her house? I was sure I was wearing the same irritated look as Chevelle now. I was also certain, by the way she watched me, that Ruby had seen me spying. Her mouth was twisted in a smile, loaded with false honey. I noticed her eyes then, looking past the heavy paint they wore, to dark green jewels… emeralds. They were so like those I had just examined in the mirror that I had to look away.
“Frey,” I replied softly. “Thank you for the room.”
She seemed disappointed I had no further comment. She flitted her hand in dismissal as she swirled out of the room and back to Chevelle, the metal bracelets around her wrists tinkling like chimes.
“I’m off to town then. You know, a handsome hunk of horsemeat was asking about you this morning.”
My ears perked up. Someone was asking about Chevelle? That must have been wh
y we were here. And then I realized she had called someone a hunk of horsemeat and I had to stifle a giggle.
Chevelle nodded, but made no remark on the inquirer. Ruby winked at him on her way out and the gesture lit a burn in my chest. I turned back to my room and climbed into bed, angry at myself more than anything else, and determined not to let him see. I covered my head with a corner of the blanket, suffocating my fractured thoughts with the absence of light.
I was unsure how long I’d slept. The house was quiet when I slipped from bed, trying not to make a sound. I peeked into the main room, finding Chevelle sitting against the front wall, a small window over his head. He leaned over, working on something in the palm of his hand, a steady scratching accompanying the movement of his wrist. I started forward and my boot scuffed the floor, alerting him to my presence. As he glanced up, he slid whatever he’d been working on into a pocket at his hip.
It dawned on me then that the main room had only the entrance and two other doors. If we were staying with Ruby then the second room must be hers. I meant to offer Chevelle my room to sleep in, but the look on his face was so unnerving I could not stop myself from offering something else. “You don’t… you don’t have to protect me.” I hoped it was true. “I can turn myself in, take myself to the village, or…” I was trying to say Grand Council, but the words stuck in my throat. No part of me wanted to surrender to my mother’s killers, but I could not make Chevelle suffer more than he already had.
My hands trembled and I tightened them into fists. He was my watcher; he must have felt he needed to fulfill his duties, to keep his honor. He would finish our journey and return me to the village.
“Freya.” He said my name as if it were tearing at him and my chest ached. “You don’t understand.” His eyes closed for a long moment before they found me again. “You can’t submit to Grand Council. You can never submit.”
He was right, I didn’t understand. Did he intend to return me to the village, to High Council? To keep me safe from the others?
“You remembered what they did to your mother?”
I felt my face pale. I’d known they were dangerous, but did he mean to submit was to accept her fate? The image of flames and a circle of cloaks surrounding her was there again and I had to force it away before it turned to an image of me. Protection, he’d kept saying as we worked on magic. They’re going to burn me.
“They would kill me because of the pendant, the library?”
“No, Frey. You have broken some of your bonds. They will not risk trying to bind you again.”
I struggled with an intake of breath. He stood and started toward me, about to speak again—just as the door swung open. Chevelle’s face flushed with anger.
“Elfreda!” Steed was through the door and to me in three long strides. He grabbed me at the waist, picking me up and spinning me so that my cloak swirled behind. The shock and exuberance of his greeting was too much and I couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh. He put me down but kept me close, his hands still at my waist.
“Steed,” I said, very nearly winded. “What are you doing here?”
He glanced at Chevelle, who was still plainly annoyed, and his carefree smile dissolved. “I was heading to Bray and ran across some trackers.” Chevelle’s eyes flicked to my face and then back to Steed. Steed dropped his hands from my waist as he winked at me. “I saw the horses out front and couldn’t resist. Knew you’d be missing me.”
I tried to smile, but the thought of trackers had taken the thrill off the unexpected visit. The vision of flames was threatening again and I swallowed hard.
Chevelle threw on his cloak, hood up. “Stay here,” he ordered me. He gestured toward Steed, who turned to follow him outside.
I wasn’t sure how long they’d be gone; I went to one of the narrow windows on the front wall and peered cautiously out. They were nowhere to be seen, but the sights of the village distracted me quickly enough.
It was so unlike home. Night gave the gray stones an even darker appearance, the firelight glinting off their ragged edges like polished onyx. Torches lit each walkway and building. It seemed late, but several villagers were still outside, loud and boisterous. Nearly everyone dressed in black, a few of the men bearing large silver breastplates or wrist cuffs. Most wore leather, laced tight against thick, muscled frames. Few were thin or as petite as the elves I was used to seeing. These were strong, like Chevelle and Steed. All had dark hair as well. And then there was red hair. Ruby.
I cursed. She was approaching the house and I was alone. Part of me wondered if I was fast enough to get to my room before she came in.
I hadn’t made up my mind before the door opened beside me.
She purred. “Well, well. Alone, are we?” She smiled wickedly as she neared, coming uncomfortably close. “Let’s talk…” She leaned in further and something glistened in the air between us. I froze, unable to move away.
“Stop.” Chevelle’s voice was sharp as the redhead was whisked away from me, laughing. Her curls brushed my face on their way past, taking my head on a dizzying spin.
“Just having a little fun, Vattier,” she said.
It sounded too far away. Or as if I were in a tunnel. Chevelle was reprimanding her, and then at once they were gone. My head swirled and I felt off balance. I started to stumble, but a strong hand caught my arm.
“Easy there, honeysuckle.” Steed’s voice beside me drew me from the stupor.
“What happened?” I asked, confused. My mouth tingled.
“A little fairy dust. Breath of the siren.”
“Wha’?” My tongue was thick.
Steed chuckled. “Intoxicating, isn’t it?” I could hear the smile in his voice. My nose tingled and I scrunched it up, giggling at the feeling.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Fairy breath?”
“Red. She’s a half-breed. How do you feel?” Steed asked.
“Weird.”
“Yes, that’s normal.”
“Hot,” I said, unclasping my cloak and tossing it off behind me. I swayed.
“Maybe you should sit down,” he warned.
That sounded like a good idea. “Half-breed?” I asked, unable to form full sentences.
“Half fairy, half elf.” He sat in a chair as he started to answer and I kept moving past the bench where I intended to land and crawled onto his lap, curling my feet up, knees to my chest. His voice seemed mesmerizing as he continued, “Her mother was a fairy from the West. Fiery one, her.”
I wrapped my arms around my legs, holding my knees tight, and placed my chin there to rest my head. “Tell me more.” It was all I could do to pay attention to his words, but I was fascinated by their sound.
“Her father was a dark elf. When her mother died during childbirth, he left her here in the village. I suppose it was for the best, really, since she can’t fly. The fairies would have tormented her. She’s still a bit of an outcast though.” He was still talking as I struggled to catch up in my head.
I interrupted him, unable to stop myself. “My mother died.” I had no idea why I was speaking. I batted my eyes and tried to shake it off, concentrating on Steed again.
He seemed to notice I was back and continued his story. I leaned my head on his chest, snuggling into his warmth. My face felt numb.
Somewhere in the distance, the door opened and the vibration in Steed’s chest quieted as his words cut off. My head turned dazedly toward the door, keeping it steady against Steed. Chevelle’s furious gaze flicked to my cloak piled on the floor before returning to us. Us. I was curled in Steed’s lap.
Chevelle stormed toward us. The arm wrapped around my back loosened but Steed’s body didn’t seem to tense. His body. I giggled a little for no apparent reason and then tried to straighten myself so I wasn’t cuddling with him. Chevelle held his arm out and I wondered foggily if he intended to strike one of us, which made me laugh again. He shook his head, plainly disapproving, and a flagon landed in his open palm. He knelt in front of us. “
Drink.”
Yes, I was thirsty. So thirsty. I took a long pull and then another. I couldn’t seem to quench the thirst. He took the container from my hand. “Enough.”
My stomach roiled and I realized what I had drunk. “Ugh, cat pee.” I thought I might hurl. How much of that healing crap had I drunk? I heaved once and Steed shook beneath me with laughter. I glanced up to find him looking at Chevelle. For some reason it angered me, even though I knew Steed wasn’t laughing at him.
I was talking again, without regard to thought. “His mother died, too. We killed her.” It sounded so matter-of-fact, my head bobbing along with the words. I couldn’t seem to stop. My mouth opened to speak once more but I was suddenly swept up, off Steed’s lap and into Chevelle’s arms. I managed fear for half a second but then lost the feeling to dizziness, followed quickly by only dull numbness.
Chevelle was laying me on my bed. “Stay here. It will pass.” His words were gentle now, the anger gone.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. He didn’t respond. He leaned over me to straighten the bedding, his face close to mine. I stared at his mouth, wondering briefly what it might taste like.
I felt a sharp pain and realized I was biting my lip. The thought made me giggle again, but Chevelle’s eyes shot to my face and all amusement ceased.
He stroked my cheek lightly with the back of his hand. “Sleep.”
And I did.
My dreams were vivid. Crimson curls brushing my cheek and bouncing as a slender fairy danced across the floor, flitting her painted fingers. Stone houses in the night, the glare of fire glinting off the rock. Massive stones rising high above. Dark leather, tight against my skin. Cloaks flowing in the wind, forming a circle and then massing together, threatening. Black hair glistening with sweat in the moonlight and rolling in rhythm as the horse ran, its mane rocking hypnotically with the motion. Its heavy equine smell, so unlike any other. I clung to Chevelle’s strong back as we rode at full speed. The wind and rain cut at my face, my eyes sore, cheeks streaked with tears and ash.
[2018] Reign of Queens Page 40
