Holly
of the Land of Five and the city of Talamh Cúig,” the man says in his deep, rasping voice, a perfect match for his beastly size and fierce demeanor. “Do you still claim this place was not your intended destination?”
So, the man who is about to strangle me and wears a giant vulture on his shoulders like a well-worn cloak is a soldier or a guard.
“Of course, I claim it because it is the truth. I’ve never seen nor heard of this land until I woke up under this tree with a mouthful of red dirt and an insufferable headache.”
Keeping my eyes on the bird whose sharp beak hovers far too close, I tug the man’s wrist again, but I might as well be attempting to move a stone statue’s hand from my throat for all that it moves, which is not a bit.
The male’s striking eyes of deep sapphire narrow, but he doesn’t speak a word.
“In all honesty, I cannot say it’s a pleasure to meet you. However, a name for a name is a fair exchange, and as I mentioned earlier, mine is Holly.”
“I don’t care what you’re called.” He grimaces and looks off to the side, cocking his head as if listening to some distant noise. Then he growls, causing my head to jolt back and hit the tree.
“No,” he says, his gaze focused on the red dirt. “I cannot wait. Why should I take such a risk?”
The bird screeches and flaps its large wings in a disgruntled fashion. Perhaps it’s the one the man converses with. In appearance, the creature is similar to a sea eagle, only larger, with beautiful iridescent feathers of black and gold shimmering in the harsh light.
An enormous sun burns low in the teal-colored sky behind the prince. Therefore, it must be late afternoon in this strange land—Talamh Cúig, I believe he called the city. I shift my gaze sideways but don’t find any buildings.
I clear my dry throat as well as I can while in the middle of being strangled. “Did you give me the true name of your home?”
Gem-bright eyes narrow as he shifts his weight from one heavy black boot to the other. “My kind cannot lie. But you already know that, don’t you?”
I do now thanks to him declaring it so.
Attempting to calm my trembling, I take slow, shallow breaths and ponder what he might mean by his kind—surely he’s only a human who’s mastered the dark art of sorcery. Is he a warlock or a druid?
Other than the sharp, crystal-covered tree that currently bruises my spine, as far as the eye can see, the land is a dazzling wash of red, yellow, and orange, the landscape as barren as a desert.
On first inspection, the kingdom this man guards is not particularly attractive.
Where are all the plants and flowers?
Despite the lack of greenery, a herb and citrus scent cuts through the overpowering note of leather and horse, teasing my senses. Plant aromas are intoxicating to me, and this man’s body smells like the deepest part of the forest.
I inspect his long, shiny dark hair, the strong and strikingly handsome features, his muscled body dressed in the gold-embellished, molded leather of a warrior, and decide that the beauty of his people likely makes up for the plainness of their land.
“Will you let me go? It’s clear I’m no threat to someone of your size who possesses a deadly weapon.” Plus, there are the strong, callused fingers poised to snap my neck.
He glowers. “Enough. Be quiet.”
His gaze drops away, and he mutters at the ground, then nods sharply. Unless he can communicate silently with his eagle, he must be addressing an unseen entity. Or he’s insane. I’m not sure which option I prefer.
“Who… who are you talking to?” I ask, swallowing twice to moisten my throat.
Gritting his teeth, he presses his flawless face and eyes of blue wildfire even closer. His skin is a marvel, fluctuating with his emotions from tanned to the polished white of marble. Never before have I seen such breathtaking angular perfection in a man’s features. And never have I been so frightened and, at the same time, determined to hide it.
“I’m battling with the chaos of my mind, witch. Isn’t it obvious I am mad?”
I would like to agree, but think it’s best to humor him instead.
“Well, I hope you aren’t because it might be hard to talk an irrational person out of murder.”
“You’re out of luck. I have a sickness in the blood, a poison. If my suspicions are correct and you’re in league with the wind sorceress, you will be familiar with the likes of curses and hexes.”
My pulse roars in my ears. Why does he think I’m in partnership with the sorceresses who dragged me into his world? Or even more ludicrous, believe me to be a witch?
Iolite eyes search my face. “This poison I bear rots my mind. It darkens my heart and soul and brings constant cravings for violence and death.”
The eagle shifts its weight from talon to talon on Gade’s broad shoulders, chirping softly in his ear as though to calm him. I wish the beast great success in the endeavor.
“That is unfortunate for you,” I say, trying not to squirm under the bite of his blade. “But I swear I’ve never met those ladies until today.” I gesture helplessly at the sky. “If indeed, it is still today. Who knows how long I’ve been lying under this tree? Do you know, Gade?”
“Your words sound soft and laced with sweetness, but your pretend innocence doesn’t fool me. All you need to know is this is the day you’ll meet your end. And—”
A high-pitched screech followed by a rumbling growl sounds behind us, growing louder as it comes closer. The eagle swivels its head, then crouches low before launching into the air in the direction of the horrid noise.
“No, Lleu!” Gade releases me, stalking several paces behind the tree to peer after the bird. I look around the trunk and see a large red-skinned boar disappearing over a hill; the eagle flying above it.
Seizing my arm and dragging me along in a trail of dust, the man says, “You have a reprieve, witch. Your life has been saved by a wild pig.”
“Where are we going? Somewhere terrifying no doubt.”
“To the northern section of Ithalah Forest.”
Well that means nothing to me. “Is it far? And don’t you have a horse?”
“Yes, and that is precisely where we shall find him, somewhere in the forest making himself sick on birch bark. He’s a glutton for it. We’ll follow my eagle, Lleu. He has a vendetta against the sacred boar and hopes to kill it. I must follow and stop him from doing something foolish.”
We crest the hill, and the man stops and scowls toward a distant line of trees, while I pant and wipe sweat from my brow.
His eyes fix on me. “What ails you? You sound close to death.”
I fan my face with the hood of my cape. “I’m half-strangled and thirsty. Humans can’t survive in intense heat for long without water.”
He huffs and holds out his right hand, the strange tattoo on the back of it glowing brightly before he flips it over. “Here,” he says gruffly as water spins in a tiny vortex on his palm.
I stumble backward. “How did you do that?”
“Magic, as you guessed earlier. How else?”
Sweat beads my lip as a shocking realization settles in my chest. This man isn’t a human warlock. He’s a monster. A devil from the old tales. My limbs tremble, and I force them to still. “Is this safe to drink?”
“Of course. Do it now before I take it away to punish your ingratitude.”
“But how do I—”
He looks to the heavens. “Simply bend and take a sip! Do witches need special devices in order to complete basic tasks?”
“Are you deaf? I’m not a witch. Stop repeating that ridiculous idea.”
“Whatever you are,” he growls out, leaning close, “you’d do well to stop telling me what to do.”
The thought of drinking from his palm appalls me, but raging thirst soon overrides my disgust. I cup my hands around his, a jolt of energy sparking over my skin, and I drink and drink and drink under the scorching heat of his focused attention.
“That’s enough,” he says gruffly, ripping his hand away as the water vanishes. “You’ll make yourself sick if you guzzle it like a dying kelpie.”
A kelpie? He speaks of the mythical water horses I’ve heard spoken of in village tales as if he rode one only yesterday. “Are you a man or a magical creature?” I ask.
He gives me a strange look, then tugs me up the barren hillside. “Surely you’ve heard of the sidhe, the Tuatha de Dannan.”
I know what he speaks of—those devious beings made of magic and mischief—and I shudder to think one of their kind might hold my life in his hands.
He takes my silence as a sign of ignorance. “No? Then mayhap you know of us as the Fair Folk or the Good People.” He laughs. “Of course, the second description is absurd. We are anything but good.”
“So, then you’re a… faery?”
He looks sideways, studying me with suspicion. “For a witch, you appear to know very little. What else did you think I might be? A leprechaun?”
“Certainly not. For one, you’re far too large to be one of those.”
His gaze lingers on my mouth, then with a sneer, he dismisses me and strides ahead, clouds of red dirt exploding under his heavy, knee-high boots. I have no choice but to follow in his wake, stumbling to keep up, my skirts dragging in the dust as I go.
We walk until my feet ache, blisters swelling on my skin, the distant trees growing ever closer. Even trailing about ten paces behind the man, I can hear him muttering to himself.
I run to catch up. “What does your bird have against the boar?” I ask, hoping to distract him from the dark thoughts that enrage him. I need this supposed faery guard calm so he doesn’t swing his sword back and slice my head from my shoulders.
The leather-crossed muscles of his upper-back stiffen, then a long silence passes. Curses are spat out, then, finally, he says, “Many years ago, the red boar shook my eagle’s fledglings from their nest, killing his mate in the fight that ensued. Lleu yearns for revenge, but the boar is sacred, and if Lleu murders the beast, our laws decree he must be put to death. And that, I cannot allow.”
Before the birch and ash trees of the forest swallow us, the squeals and screeches of a battle assault my ears. The self-declared faery darts off, leaping over logs, pushing through brambles and branches, and I stumble through the undergrowth, trying my best not to lose sight of him instead of running in the opposite direction.
This man has vowed to kill me, but even so, he might be my only chance to survive in this strange land I know little about.
Finally, I come out into a small, mossy clearing to a horrifying sight.
Gade stands with his chest pumping, fists clenched at his sides, watching the eagle and boar tumble in a blur of feathers and talons, tusks and drooling fangs.
“Wait,” I call as he dives into the fray with a guttural battle cry.
I lurch backward and hide behind a silver birch trunk, my heart pounding, unsure whether to run for my life or wait to see the outcome of the brawl.
Three creatures roll and roar before my eyes, smashing across the forest floor as they attempt to tear each other apart—one a faery beset by madness, the other two, raging wild creatures. There is a sudden explosion of heat, and a wall of flames leaps high, then the eagle bursts through the blaze into the trees above.
When the flames clear, Gade has his arm locked around the squealing boar’s neck. Struggling to his feet, he throws the animal into the air, and it lands in the distance with a crack then a loud thud.
The eagle screeches from a branch, crouching low as if preparing to take flight, and the fae whips around, glaring at it.
“Stop,” he yells, clutching his side as he lies on the ground, thick blood dripping between his fingers. The eagle turns his yellow eyes on the fae, its tawny head canting to the side.
“Lleu, do not forget you have bound yourself in my service. Have we not been companions and the best of friends since childhood? I forbid you from chasing the boar, vile creature though it is. It has done you and yours the greatest of harm; I know this. But vengeance will only bring about your death, and I cannot face life with this curse without you by my side.”
The eagle bows its head, the great glossy wings drooping.
“Please, my friend, don’t go after the boar. Look—my lifeblood drips from me. The wound is deep. Take word to the castle. Bring help.”
For long moments, the bird watches the fae pant, then in a loud rustle of leaves, he launches into the sky.
“Come,” grunts Gade, beckoning me toward him. “Lleu won’t forsake us.”
When exactly did he and I become an us?
Standing in front of him, I wring my skirts with my hands. Should I help this unhinged man who not long ago held a blade to my throat? Or is this the perfect opportunity to escape him?
If I run, I might get eaten by a wild animal. Or worse, be captured by a fae who’s hale, instead of weak and injured, strong enough to torture me for all eternity.
I’ve heard the stories about beautiful faery monsters who capture humans for their own evil devices, exchanging our newborn babes for misshapen changelings. Even though I never believed the tales, they captivated and terrified me. And now, here I am… trapped in Faery with a real-life fae who is bleeding out before my eyes.
This is my last chance to run.
Right now.
With a loud sigh, I kneel beside him, the rough ground scraping my skin as I unstrap a panel of his armor. I inspect the wound, and he hisses out a breath. A gash as long as my hand runs across the lower left side of his belly where the boar’s tusk gouged through a slit in the layered leather, the edges of the wound a ragged, bloody mess. His vital organs appear to be healing slowly with magic, but infection could be his undoing.
“Can your power heal me, witch? I’ve used my reserves of magic to mend the worst of the damage and can summon no more.” Narrowed with pain, his eyes search my face. “If you choose to heal rather than harm, I vow that when I’m able, I shall take you to my kingdom. There, you can plead your case of innocence and seek assistance. Fae cannot lie, so you must know I speak the truth.”
All the tales about his kind agree. Fae cannot lie. I believe he speaks the truth. My chances of surviving in this place without him are slim. I glance around the forest floor carpeted in thick moss, perfect for dressing a wound.
I will help him. It’s my best chance of finding a way home.
“As I’ve been trying to tell you, I have no magic to call upon. But luckily for you, I do know plants and herbs and will do my best to assist you.”
Brushing off my skirts, I make my way over to a pale-green cushion of moss. I extract two large plants, pluck debris from the layers of withered stems, then return to the wounded faery.
“Lie back,” I tell him, ripping a strip of thin muslin from my underskirt to wrap the moss in.
“Swear you’ll do your best to heal my wound, and we will call a truce until we arrive at Castle Black.”
Does he not know how little most humans’ vows are worth? Not mine, though. I’m a woman of honor, and I keep my promises. “I swear it. Every move I make will be to help you and never to harm.”
“On your ailing mother’s life?”
My heart pounds. “Yes. I will do as I’ve promised. I swear it on my mother’s life.”
He nods, and I quickly pack the wound, then bandage his torso with more strips of material from my skirts. As I work, his warm breath pants against my ear. Magical tattoos bloom over his skin, flaring blood red one moment, then disappearing.
“This will staunch the bleeding and disinfect your wound. How long before your eagle will bring assistance?”
“A few days, not many more. Soon it will be dark, and we need somewhere safe to sleep. I’ll use the last of my powers to find my horse.” He winces, pushing dark hair off his brow. “There’s an abandoned shepherd’s hut nearby, kept stocked with wood and some dried food. We’ll go there.”
“All right. I can see no better option. Hurry, call your horse.”
His eyes close, his breaths deepening. He whispers guttural words I can’t decipher. With a grunt, he falls backward against the ground, panting as if he expended great energy.
Several moments pass.
“Nothing’s happening,” I say, looking around us. Trees sway in a gentle breeze, and a few creatures scrabble through the brush.
“Shush,” he says. “I’m concentrating.”
After another moment, his glowing eyes open, and he smiles over my shoulder. A chestnut horse with the glossiest coat I’ve ever seen is silently picking its way over fallen branches toward us.
“How was the birch bark you abandoned me for, Wren?” the fae asks. “Tasty?”
The horse whinnies and bares its teeth as though laughing.
“Very funny. Now help me rise, my friend.”
The beast lowers its head. Gade wraps his arms around the muscled neck and staggers to his feet. With a grunt, he swings into the saddle. “Mount behind me,” he commands.
After a brief struggle with the difficult angles, I manage to haul myself up behind him, blood from his leather armor slick on my fingers. Wiping it on my skirt, I shudder at the sticky feel of it.
“Be at ease,” he tells me. “’Tis old blood. Your moss has stopped the flow for now.” He clicks his tongue, and the horse moves forward.
As the sun lowers, our pace is slow and steady, the sounds of creatures settling in their forest beds comforting. My nerves are rattled by my body’s proximity to this supernatural being—a ruthless fae creature who, even injured, if he set his mind to it, could finish me off with not much effort.
Everything about him disturbs me. The breadth of the chest I cling to, his heat, his heart’s thud against my palm, and the worst thing, his scent—metallic blood, musky leather, and the pungent tang of the woods.
I breathe slowly and concentrate on staying in the saddle as we head down a steep incline crossed with fallen trees and boulders.
I rack my brain for more knowledge of the Fair Folk. The tales told are varied and often contradictory. Are they petty, vengeful creatures who delight in causing crops to fail if a farmer displeases them? Fallen angels cast from heaven? Or devils forged in the fires of hell? Whatever the answer, I know I’m in grave danger and must stay alert to survive.
As the trees grow thicker, a solemn atmosphere thrums in the air, as if the dark mood of my injured companion affects the environment we travel through.
Questions plague my mind. If I can escape the fae, how will I find a way to return to my realm? What do my mother and sister think has happened to me? They must be beside themselves with worry.
“Why is the forest so quiet?” I ask to distract myself from my spiraling thoughts.
He sighs. “The creatures of mud and feather sense the taint in my blood and fear it. They fear me. But lo, the trees are not afraid and speak to us as we pass. Can you not hear them?”
“Of course not. How many times must I tell you I have no magical abilities for you to believe me?”
“Who knows? Five thousand times or ten,” he answers sulkily.
I snort. “What do the trees say to you?”
“Each one has its own tale, and they gladly tell it to any traveler who cares to listen. A mortal’s senses must be quite deficient if you can’t hear them.”
I bite my lip, swallowing my rude reply. I need to humor him and stay alive—find my way home to Mother before she passes to the Otherworld, which after today, I find myself believing in a little more. I must help her. I must say goodbye.
In the dimming light, we travel onward, the unnatural hush of the forest creating an uneasy sensation in my belly. Gade speaks to the horse every now and again but only grunts if I dare ask how much farther we have to travel or inquire about the plants I see, some of which I don’t recognize. The journey seems never-ending, and wounded or not, the faery guard proves to be an insufferable, intolerant companion.
After a time, we break through thick brush into a clearing, the golden dusk setting our skin aglow.
“We’re here,” says the fae.
Nestled halfway up the cleft of a shallow valley, a stone hut comes into view, a ring of fruit trees embracing it. It makes for a pretty scene to be sure, but the cottage looks tiny, and I shiver at the thought of being cooped up in there with the fae for even one night.
He brings the horse to a stop by a four-stall wooden stable at the side of the house.
“Get off,” he says in a low growl. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m injured and cannot dismount until you have done so.”
I slide to the ground and glare up at him. My eyes sweep over the structure that is soon to be our refuge. “How many rooms does this hut have?”
“Seventy-five,” he says, then winces and curses. “Actually, only one.” Throwing a leg over the horse, he groans and lands on the ground less than an arm’s length away from me.
Too close.
My heart kicks against my ribs. “How many beds?”
A wicked smirk plays over his lips. “There is a bed for each room.”
“So only one?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
By the maggots. How will I cope in such close confines with this maddening creature? Perhaps I’ll renege on my promise and let him die after all. Or hasten his end along.
Right now, I’m so glad I can lie and he can’t.
“Come,” he says, pushing through the vine-covered door.
Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath and follow.
