Molly Read online

  Silence.

  Molly nearly raised up then, but she heard one more comment. “It is right. You know that well.”

  She heard the clink of metal and stood, hastily straightening her skirts, to find the redhead walking toward her. Behind her were the shadows of three large figures moving toward the horses. Molly looked up, speculating whether she was crazy for thinking the redhead had dropped from the trees into their conversation.

  Their conversation about dead weight.

  “Come.”

  The redhead gestured and Molly nodded, her mouth dry. She swallowed hard and stepped through the brush. He would come for her. For his child. He would.

  They rode on. When they stopped for the day, she numbly took a seat on her blanket.

  Some time passed before Cheerful spoke. “You are quiet this evening.”

  He made a comment about her wicked pup and grinned. She tried a smile but faltered. She felt a little ill.

  “Are you well?” Cheerful asked, reaching up to lightly stroke her cheek, checking for heat.

  In spite of it all, there was heat; a flush tore through her at his touch. He grinned wickedly at her response.

  Suddenly, she lost all sense of balance. Her eyes floated for a moment before coming back to Steed. She swayed. Wait, who was Steed? Her eyes closed tight against the dizziness. And then she blacked out.

  When Molly woke, they surrounded her. They helped her up to sitting, seeming to care whether she was sound. It would have made her feel better, except they seemed exceedingly concerned with her condition. Unnaturally so. But Molly didn’t know what to do with that. She didn’t know what to do with any of it.

  Something was wrong.

  The feeling stuck with her. They left her be for some time and then, later, Cheerful returned to his place beside her. He’d been toying with the pup, but without warning came nearer.

  His proximity brought Molly from her daze, his tone this new, odd distress. “Feeling well, Sunshine?”

  Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips while searching for words.

  “Something to drink, then?”

  Unintentionally, Molly’s eyes found the dark-haired woman’s across the camp, met those dark emeralds and caught in their violent depths. Cheerful murmured something as he leaned forward to reach the canteen on the blanket behind her.

  Molly knew it wasn’t an advance. She absolutely understood what was happening. She thought. But, for some reason, seeming of its own accord, her arm swung full force as she slapped him across the face. She thought him an ass for one moment, and then swayed.

  Her vision fluttered and she squeezed her eyes shut, determined to control it. When she was certain she’d regained herself, she opened them again. She found him. Staring at her. Not going to be calling him Cheerful now, she thought. He didn’t look like he was going to kill her. Not that they ever did, she reminded herself.

  She quickly opened her mouth to apologize, and then saw the puffy red welt and the offending hand flew up to cover her mouth. Had she hit him that hard? Molly was no maid, she had slapped men before. But playfully, she had never struck with such force, her hand had never followed through as she'd seen the boys do when they came to blows. Her palm still tingled from the contact, stung even.

  “Are you well?” her victim asked in a level tone.

  Her hand fell from her mouth but she was yet unable to find words. He waited, staring into her eyes as if examining her.

  Once, Molly had slipped from her room to walk in the moonlight after a fine spring storm and found a field of freshly turned soil, dark with damp. She thought his eyes were richer than that brown; she thought she might get lost in them. They narrowed on her.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she croaked. “Yes, I think I am well.” She tried to appear remorseful.

  He nodded, and then stood to join Wiry.

  Molly was quiet after that. They all were. They rode several more days and she silently prayed for Asher. Come for me, she thought, come for me now. Something is wrong.

  She had been sick twice. The first day, without inquiry, the redhead had offered her a preparation, but Molly only slid the powder into her pocket. She was wearing down, though, and when they passed a pond late one afternoon, Molly’s stomach revolted against the scents.

  The redhead appeared to notice her discomfort and gestured to Wiry, who suggested they stop for camp. Cheerful helped her from her horse and she leaned heavily against him for a moment, breathing deep against his chest. He felt sorry for her, she thought, for no real reason. And then she steadied herself and nodded, determined to overcome it.

  But her resolve could only get her so far. It wasn’t long after, she was hands and knees in the cool grass as the redhead stood over her, watching her retch with neither sympathy nor distaste. She must have seen it coming, for she had practically dragged Molly from the camp only shortly before the convulsive heaving started.

  After some time, there was nothing left. Molly cautiously raised to her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. The redhead waited as Molly ran her fingers through her hair and smoothed her bodice, and then helped her to her feet, not releasing her arm until she was certain the girl could stand.

  Molly took a deep breath and then nodded, shaking her skirts out but not daring to bend over to straighten them properly. The redhead offered her a tonic but she waved it away. She took a deep breath and indicated she was ready.

  The redhead looked skeptical. But before she had a chance to say anything, her head cocked a fraction and she went still. The action reminded Molly oddly of a dog. And then the redhead’s posture changed suddenly, and it only added to the effect.

  It caused Molly to recall her pup and she glanced down to find him at her skirts, sniffing what she hoped was only earth.

  She didn’t feel like carrying him, but the redhead had scooped him up, pushed him into the pouch, and slung it over Molly’s shoulder before she had any opportunity to protest. Shortly, she was being pressed quite forcibly out of the trees and into the clearing where they had camped.

  Instantly, Molly knew something was wrong. The clearing was silent as Cheerful and Wiry stood near the center, backs to her. They were standing in front of the dark-haired woman, protecting her. The woman stared on between them and Molly’s gaze followed.

  Her heart skipped as she saw a cloaked figure in the distance with Not Cheerful. Asher, she thought, come for me. Her knees gave a fraction but she caught herself. The redhead didn’t seem to notice, only holding her firm grip on Molly’s arm.

  And then the cloaked figure turned and Molly could see golden curls from under the hood. It was a woman. Not Asher.

  She felt sick. Her hand automatically fell to her stomach. He had not come for her, for his child.

  The newcomer’s head flicked toward Molly then, her eyes hard. Molly stared on and could see the dark-haired woman between them turn to look at what had the newcomer’s attention. There was confusion in her gaze, and then Molly heard a low voice, a muttered curse, she thought, before the woman’s eyes unfocused and rolled back into her head.

  Molly was still watching the woman as she fell back and was caught by the two that protected her, when the cloaked figure appeared before her, speaking two more words and sending Molly into blackness.

  She was confident she’d been out for days when she finally came to. Her limbs were weak, her mouth parched, her stomach hollow...

  Molly jerked upright despite the fatigue, her hand instinctively finding her stomach.

  “There, there,” a soothing voice purred from beside her. She jumped and cursed, curving her arm protectively around her middle. “No harm will come to you, child,” the woman assured her.

  Molly stared, working to clear the muddle of her mind. The woman waited patiently as Molly took in her surroundings, the small room with makeshift cot, blankets, supplies, food, all doing their part to calm her. She took a deep breath and continued to scan, her eyes finally focusing on the wo
man, falling over her light cloth pants, her deep brown shirt, narrowing on the golden wisps that fell around her face.

  “What did you do to me?” Molly seethed when she recognized the woman as the cloaked figure from the camp.

  “I have not harmed you,” the woman replied coolly.

  Molly felt her eyebrows raise.

  The woman remained composed, merely shaking her head.

  Molly took stock. She guessed she wasn’t hurt, only ill as she had been before the incident. But she was pissed. Her mouth opened to hurl accusations at her captor, but before she could speak, a sharp pain sliced through her side.

  She cried out, clutching a hand to the source. The woman reached toward her and Molly wrenched away.

  “It is not I who cause you this pain,” she said, indicating Molly’s stomach.

  Molly could not respond, only breathe through clenched teeth as she waited for it to pass. The woman tried again, but Molly didn’t fight her.

  “How long?” she asked as she slid a warm hand against the curve of Molly’s waist.

  Molly didn’t answer.

  “You are only hurting yourself, child.” She pressed two fingers below Molly’s ribs and the pain dulled and then subsided.

  Molly’s panting quieted and she lay back against the pillows. She would not trust this woman.

  She lay still, her breathing settled, as the woman sat silently beside her.

  “Why did you take me?” Molly eventually asked.

  “Many reasons, child.”

  Molly sat up, angry again. “Stop calling me child.”

  The woman looked doubtful. There was a slight twist to the corner of her mouth but Molly couldn’t tell if she was mocking her. She had a gorgeous smirk, if that was what it was. Her lips were the same flushed pink as her cheeks and her eyes seemed to sparkle. Like shattered glass in the sun. Like light catching ripples in water...

  Molly shook herself, unsettled.

  The woman smiled then and the change in her face took Molly’s breath. She was a vision, ethereal and strong.

  “Who are you?” Molly whispered.

  “Juniper Fountain, daughter of Elerias.”

  “Are you,” Molly swallowed, “a fairy?”

  Juniper snorted. It was very peculiar.

  Molly was suddenly embarrassed. “You’re just how they described them is all. And you’re so different than the others. And, well, I’ve never met one, so how would I know?” she huffed.

  Juniper’s smile faded. “Yes.” She was silent for a moment, and then recalled herself. She'd never get what she needed like this. She forced a mild smile. “Ahh, but dear, I saw you with the fire fairy.”

  Molly stared at her blankly. A fire fairy? She recalled the illustrations from her books, remembered the descriptions of the wicked red ones, the flicker of the flames. The redhead. How could she have been so oblivious?

  “Shit,” she said, startling the woman. All her life she’d wanted to meet a fairy. This one had watched her pee.

  Molly realized she’d gotten sidetracked. “So, you’re an elf?”

  Juniper nodded. “I am of the Order of the Light Elves.”

  “And the others?” Molly asked timidly.

  “Dark, of the North.” She could see the question in Molly’s eyes. “You should be glad I have taken you. They would have disposed of you.”

  Molly nodded absently. She’d expected as much. But now it seemed she was further from Asher, for he was Lord of the North. “And what will you do with me?” she asked.

  “Help you,” Juniper answered.

  The days turned to weeks and Juniper did help her. But there was only so much to be done, and Molly’s condition deteriorated quickly. Molly had seen women ill while carrying before, she had helped with some of the villagers when needed. She knew this was not such an illness. This was something else. Something was wrong.

  She had been suffering from tremors, plagued with strange sensations, once as if she were floating, occasionally as if she were afire. Juniper had eased the pains for the most part, but these odd impressions were unsettling. And they were getting worse.

  Juniper had stopped leaving her alone, though. At first, she’d depart for one or two days, leaving Molly with supplies and powders, tonics and instructions. It had taken Molly a few weeks to realize the trips would come after questions of her travels, details of her captors, particulars of surroundings she’d remembered.

  But she hadn’t gone lately. Molly couldn’t be sure whether it was because of her state, or because Juniper had accepted that Molly had no idea where to find Asher. It couldn’t be called trust, the bond she had developed with Juniper, but she had no other option but to rely on the woman. Molly knew there was more, so much that she did not understand, but she had to stay alive for Asher. For her son.

  “Drink,” Juniper insisted. “The fevers are burning your fluids off.”

  “I’m not being stubborn,” Molly maintained, “you know I will not keep it down.”

  “Drink,” she repeated.

  Molly scowled.

  Juniper laughed, a sound that had been noticeably absent of late.

  “What’s so funny?” Molly asked, piqued.

  “Nothing, child. You simply remind me of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Only someone I used to care for. Someone of your age.”

  Molly saw a shadow pass over Juniper’s face. “Where is she now?”

  A kind of hum escaped Juniper. “She is in between at the moment.”

  Molly assumed that must have been an elf term.

  “Ah, Freya,” Juniper mumbled absently as she refilled her own glass.

  Molly froze. The action caught Juniper’s eye and her gaze narrowed on Molly.

  “I know of her,” Molly whispered. The words came of their own accord. “She is his.”

  Juniper’s jaw went tight, her eyes to ice. “You know nothing.”

  Molly jerked up, ready to fight, but the action caused a tremor.

  It was a bad one. Her throat constricted for a moment, and then her skin began to burn.

  Juniper grabbed her arms. “Calm yourself. Breathe. Remain still.”

  Molly felt her head shaking. No, no, no. This was wrong. It shouldn’t be like this. Something was wrong. Fire and razors tore through her midsection, her hands went numb. Panic-stricken, she looked to Juniper.

  “I cannot help you, child. There is nothing to be done.” Every word was sincere, sympathetic.

  Molly only had one question, and it was clear.

  “The child will live,” Juniper answered.

  But you will not.

  Pain ripped through Molly, her body convulsed, and then she was granted one moment of reprieve to gasp for air. She was suddenly soaked with sweat and began to shudder violently before the cold turned back to fire. Every inch of skin was ablaze, every hair a needle, every breath an ache so severe to not breathe would have been relief. But she could not give.

  She forced each breath, thankful for the pain. The pain meant she had not surrendered.

  Her chest rose from the cot in a spasm and then she fell back, grinding and twisting uncontrollably against the torture. Tears flowed from her eyes and her mouth tasted of copper. Her fingers clutched at the blanket beneath her, searching for purchase, something to pull herself up.

  Juniper pressed her back. “Be still, child, be still,” she murmured.

  Molly convulsed again, gagged, and then bore down as the knife pain cut through her once more.

  He’s not coming, she thought. He’s not coming and it will be too late.

  Her hands found her midsection and she pulled air through her nose, biting down on the agony to force words through clenched teeth. “You have to find him.”

  Juniper brushed the damp strands of hair off Molly’s face without responding.

  “You have to find him,” she repeated. “Take my son to him.”

  Juniper did not answer, but Molly could see her doubt through the haze of t
ears.

  “He will not come in time,” she explained. “I am his favorite. His chosen. My son will be king.”

  Juniper stared down at her. His favorite. How long had this been going on? How many more were there?

  Mother save you, Freya, she thought, there will be an army of them.

  ###

  Please look for book three in the Frey Saga, to be released 2012

  Melissa Wright