The Frey Saga Book VI Read online

  The heat in my palms went cold. He thought I would let them die, and apparently, that someone might have a chance to actually destroy him. “You’ve found the spellcaster?”

  He frowned, shifting another step closer. “No. They’ve hidden themselves well.”

  “They,” I echoed.

  His gaze returned to mine, allowing me to see the truth in it.

  I felt myself deflate. This was bad. I ran a hand over my face. As much as I wanted to punish Veil for the trespass, for the time being, we shared an enemy who was a danger to far more than either of us.

  There was a sound at the door, and I turned to look, startled for a moment at the expression that came over Chevelle’s face. And then I remembered I was standing with an intruder of the worst possible sort.

  Chevelle was moving before I had a chance to get a command out, though I wasn’t certain even what it would be. I’d only just threatened Veil, myself. Chevelle slammed into Veil just as the fey lord raised his palms, and the two went flying toward the outer wall in a riotous spin. Veil’s wings went wide, blocking Chevelle’s strike, and the fey lord pressed hands against my Second’s skin. Chevelle was in his guard attire, which left only half his neck and the flesh of his face exposed, but Veil had managed decent contact, anyway. I was fairly certain they would not actually kill one another.

  “I wouldn’t,” I cautioned, but they were beyond listening to me. The heat of Veil’s power swam through the room, and Chevelle’s expression went hard. His hand shifted between them, his mouth moving in a whisper of ancient words, and then darkness clouded the space.

  “Enough!” I shot out.

  The commotion had apparently alerted the guards at the end of the corridor, because footfalls echoed down the hall. “Wonderful,” I muttered. “We’ve an audience now.”

  When two guards burst through the half-opened door, I waved them away. Then, because they’d seen a cloud of smoke and writhing forms, I had to order them back with a command. They waited out of sight in the hallway, weapons drawn and still.

  “Enough,” I said again, but the forms inside the darkened cloud had also stilled. The smoke dissipated, and Chevelle stepped back, straightening his breastplate and the neck of his shirt. A claw mark ran from the base of his ear into his collar, and he had a bit of something orange smudged across his cheek. He kept his gaze on Veil, who seemed unable to free himself from the blackened vines crawling up the thighs of his pants.

  I stepped forward, staring. My voice was a whisper. “What did you do?”

  Chevelle didn’t answer. Clearly, it was spellcasting, and clearly, he felt justified in tying a fey lord to the stones of our bedroom floor.

  I couldn’t say I disagreed.

  I crossed my arms, glancing from the vines to Veil’s face. I had to swallow a hiccup of hysterical laughter. I cleared my throat.

  “Your vow you will never again trespass,” I said.

  Veil stared at me, plainly both incredulous and incensed.

  I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “He’s done no wrong. You are in his bedroom, after all, and have trespassed against his lord.” I sighed. “To be honest, his duty as my Second would really put this into his hands. I suppose I should just let him decide your fate.”

  Veil’s look turned to betrayal. I let him see the quirk to the corner of my mouth. He went pale. It was not a good color on him. “I vow to never again enter this room,” he said coldly.

  “Oddly specific, wouldn’t you say?”

  Veil’s mouth was a hard line. He would never agree to vow that he wouldn’t trespass at all, as it would be too difficult for him to uphold. “Without permission,” he added, which seemed to imply something Chevelle probably would not like. I didn’t glance at my Second to confirm.

  “And to cause Chevelle no harm,” I said.

  Veil glared sidelong at me.

  I uncrossed my arms to lay a hand on my hip where my sword might have rested, had I not foolishly tossed it away before checking the room. “Surely, you do not believe I will trust you not to repay this without a vow.”

  “I stand here, bound. This is hardly a fair bargain.”

  “You speak as if you’ve never trapped a lord into a bargain. Say it.”

  His glare narrowed. “I vow to not repay him this offense.”

  “Do we still have a dungeon?” My words were for Chevelle, but I kept my gaze on Veil.

  “Only the pit,” he said from beside me. “But I think it will do.” Chevelle’s answer was quiet but smooth. He was not afraid of Veil. He did not need the vow. It was for me, my own peace of mind, and a bit of reckoning.

  “Underground,” I murmured. “I like it.”

  “Are you quite done playing games?” Veil sounded defeated, but I wondered if he truly was. Surely, he could break through the spell. He carried enough power for that.

  “Are you healed?”

  He flinched at my tone, and I wondered, too, what the ordeal at Hollow Forest had cost him. “I’m touched you’re concerned for my well-being, Lord Freya. Now, would you kindly remove this vile curse from its hold?”

  I did not smile at his use of the appeal. It was too serious a situation for fey games. “Release him.”

  Chevelle tossed sulfurous powder at Veil’s feet and spoke two clipped words. The vines melted into something tarry, pooling slowly over the stone.

  “Get out,” I said.

  Veil gave me one long look before turning to go. I was grateful he’d not taken the time to leave a parting look with Chevelle. The fey lord strolled through the doorway into the corridor, and I heard the shifting and swords of two startled guards. I released an irritated breath.

  Chevelle waited beside me, too still. He was angry, and Veil had likely done some damage beyond a scratch to his skin. The fey lord was blisteringly powerful, even off his own land, injured, and away from the base energy. My fingers trembled. I wanted nothing more than to sit down on the stone floor and cry. Instead, I curled my hands into fists and said, “Bring me Anvil.”

  6

  Junnie

  Junnie stared down at the missive before examining the small scrap of flesh inside the glass vial. It was gray and brittle, something that seemed not quite fey. Aster and Ivy waited beside her in a narrow chamber deep within the largest of the new Council buildings. Its walls were cool and smooth, bare of the warmth and growth each of them so desperately needed. But it was not a task to leave to the forward rooms, where there was light and windows. The vial contained a secret that could get them all killed.

  “Bury it,” Junnie said. “We will ride out at dawn to inspect the full corpse.”

  Ivy stared up at her.

  “Speak your piece,” Junnie snapped.

  Aster replied instead. “Surely, it would be best to go nowhere near the thing.”

  Junnie glanced between the two. It was clear that neither wanted anything to do with even the vial. “I don’t want it coming for us. I want whatever this plague is nowhere near this village—any of our villages.” She bit the inside of her lip, gesturing toward Aster. “Pack supplies to give us protection for the trip. I’ve no idea what Ruby will have left on hand.” Junnie frowned.

  She’d helped restore Ruby’s stock after the fey attack, but the changeling Liana’d had access to everything in Ruby’s rooms since then. Junnie motioned for her sentries to hurry but noticed Ivy’s narrow brow still drawn down. The girl’s long hair was knotted into a mass of braids at the nape of her neck, two shades brighter than the gilt threads of ivy trailing down her robe. Junnie had entrusted her with the task because she knew Ivy was cautious, but she needed her to see it through. “If you cannot do this, tell me now.”

  Ivy’s mouth went into a flat line. “It is my honor to serve.” She glanced at the vial then back at Junnie. “It is only that this seems unwise.” Unsafe.

  Junnie nodded. “It is. Very much so.”

  The girl sighed and, apparently appeased that the head of Council agreed with her assessment, leaned fo
rward to carefully retrieve the vial from Junnie. She would bury it and complete their task.

  “I’ll have the horses readied,” Junnie said. “Meet me in the stables as soon as it’s done.”

  7

  Steed

  A boot kicked solidly into the side of Steed’s cot, and he crossed his arms to roll toward the stable wall. “Leave off, you brute. I’ve at least another hour of rest before duty calls.”

  Anvil snorted, leaning over to peer down at the side of Steed’s face, at his single, slitted eye. “Not anymore,” Anvil reported.

  Steed opened the eye fully to glance at the other man.

  “Aye,” Anvil said. “You’ve gone and run your trap, and now we’ve a mission. Some wild quest to far-off lands.” Steed raised a brow, but Anvil only glowered back down, as if maybe he was deciding whether to overturn the cot. “Why do you sleep in the stables when you’ve a suite fit for a lord inside?” He smirked, tilting his head as if leering under the edge of the cot. “Or ’ave you a lass under there—”

  Steed’s glare cut off the other man’s words, but only because they were broken into a chuckle. “Where are we going?” he muttered.

  Anvil crossed his arms. “You’re not going to like it, but it’s your own fault.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” Steed ran a hand over his face, wondering exactly how many hours before dawn it truly was.

  Anvil kicked a bag toward the cot, its contents clinking steel against steel. “So you remember whose fault it is when we’re in the thick of it, that’s why. Gather a team. I want Barris and whomever he deems fit. You can choose the rest.”

  Steed sat up, kicking his boot heels to the stone. He’d let muck dry on them despite his resolve to keep himself appropriately attired for one of his station. “How many? What’s the task?”

  “Aye,” Anvil muttered. “I suppose you’ll want breakfast before you hear that. And maybe a strong drink.”

  Steed frowned.

  Anvil shook his head. “We’re going to the wild. In search of beasties.” As he turned to walk from the room, he called over his shoulder, “Better bring your sword.”

  “You’re kidding,” Steed said flatly, not for the first time since he’d sat at the table to breakfast with his longtime friend.

  Anvil stared back at him, his expression making clear that he was not jesting in the least. “And how does she propose we pull this feat off? By what means?”

  “Aye,” Anvil agreed. “I suppose that’s up to us now.”

  Steed blinked.

  Anvil tore a hunk of bread into two.

  They stared at each other.

  “Merek,” Steed said. “He’s one of our best riders.”

  “Fast,” Anvil agreed, “but not as quick as what he’ll be chasing.”

  Steed frowned. “And what is it that Barris has, then? He’s no faster than the rest of us.”

  “He knows the men.” Anvil gestured with his bread, which dripped with whatever brown liquid he’d dipped it in. Steed hadn’t bothered to look. Food was the last thing on his mind.

  “I know the men,” Steed said, “and none of them are equipped for this.”

  “Adventure, then.” Anvil shrugged. “We sell them on the adventure. A name for themselves.”

  Steed scoffed. “Seems a poor legend to walk into your own death willingly.”

  “Honor,” Anvil corrected with a slant to his brow. “I thought you were good at this sort of thing.”

  “This is no trade,” Steed complained. “It’s a give, and you know it. We’ll be lucky to come back with half—” Steed cut himself off as Duer and Edan walked by. He gave them a small nod, then returned his gaze to his plate, untouched and unappealing. He pushed it away.

  “We’ve no choice,” Anvil said. “You know as well as the rest of us. If we don’t find a cure for this”—he glanced around the room then returned his eyes to Steed—“whatever happens will be better than sitting in wait. Nothing good will come of the fey losing their source.”

  Steed knew it was true. The fey would spill onto elven territory, light and dark and then farther out, destroying everything in their path until the hunger for their absent energy was sated. It would be a slow, torturous death for as far as he had ever ridden on the land and for its inhabitants. “Barris,” he said. “And Merek. We keep it small. I’ll take on the risk myself if need be.”

  Anvil made a sound like a grunt, sliding Steed’s plate into the place of his emptied one. “Barris and whoever Barris deems fit. I’ve no energy to go off leaping toward the sky. I like it here on the ground these days.”

  Steed closed his eyes for a long moment, hating the images that flashed through his mind. “Aye, Merek, Barris, and whoever he deems fit.” The images went bad, so he opened his eyes again, training them on the other man. “We give them the choice. No one will walk into this without the option to have stayed.”

  Anvil smirked. “There’s the infamous tradesman I’ve heard so much about.” He gave a curt nod. “Agreed. They come on of their own will.”

  8

  Frey

  I was in the study when the body showed up. I crossed my arms over my chest, running a thumb over the cold ridge of the scar left by the teeth of the changeling’s spellcast beasts on my forearm. “Seal the room,” I commanded. I had already summoned Rhys and Rider, and Chevelle stood at my side.

  Isa’s sentries waited, straight and still, but I could see in their eyes that they were ready to be on their way.

  “How many know of this?” I asked.

  The tall, slender one—Taryn, I thought—stepped forward. “The package was disguised sufficiently.”

  I let my gaze stay on her. She was well aware the fey would be able to sniff it out.

  She did not waver. “The details are in the missive.”

  “You know full well I’ve read it,” I said flatly. “I want to know if the fey know we have this body.”

  “The missive—”

  I tossed the scroll Isa had sent with her parcel onto the floor, the metal ring binding it clattering against the stone. “If you’ve no intention of helping us resolve this, then be on your way.”

  Taryn turned automatically, the sentries at her sides spinning to follow. When I called to her, her steps paused, but she only glanced over her shoulder.

  “Send our regards to Isa,” I said. “Please let her know that while we may have been lax of late in properly monitoring and supporting her in her task, we will be certain to rectify that shortly.”

  Taryn’s mouth tightened as she gave a short, single nod. When the door closed behind them, I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

  “The fey barriers will hold,” Chevelle said beside me.

  I didn’t bother reminding him that they had not held for the fey lord. “It doesn’t matter if they followed her sentries. It matters that she’s keeping it from us.”

  For Chevelle’s part, he did not remind me that the only alternative to Isa was to hold the humans at bay myself. He knew I wouldn’t be able to put a bargain sealed with a fey lord out of my mind for long. “This is beyond that concern,” Chevelle said. “None of that will matter if the two are tied.”

  If this body was linked to the deadening of the land, he meant.

  I blew out a breath, letting the energy making my palms itch crawl over my skin. I flicked my wrist, shaking out my hand before sliding it around the hilt of my sword. I missed the cold energy of my staff. Somehow, in less than a moon’s time, I’d become attached to the feel of it, the security of a place to constantly tie my power. The staff was another thing I’d lost to the fey. The stone that held its focus had burst during my battle with the changeling, Pitt. But I could not say I regretted that fight, because we’d come close to losing more than just a stone. We’d nearly lost one of our Seven.

  “Has someone checked on Ruby?”

  Chevelle shifted closer to me. “You know we have.”

  “And Liana?”

  “She’s been
sneaking off only briefly. It appears she still thinks we’ve no idea.”

  I nodded. “We will make them pay for this. You understand that.”

  Chevelle didn’t answer, but I could feel his support beside me. He would follow me into the pits of Hollow Forest to see this done. He would stay by my side, even if it cost us everything we held dear.

  I hoped it would not.

  Rhys and Rider were silent as they entered, but I felt Chevelle shift to acknowledge them. I drew another deep drink of air, irritated that I had to remind myself to breathe. They came to rest beside us, concern apparent in their gazes. The brothers had been still, so purposeful in their movements when I’d first met them. They’d been with us long enough that their manner had softened a bit, their formality eased maybe not to the level of Steed, but at least to that of the head of our guard.

  But the stillness had returned. Their shoulders were straight, their feet in a level line. They wore the black of the North, but their hair was as silver as ever. Rhys and Rider had been born of the ice lands, and when under stress, their responses—evidence to what they had been put through—swam to the surface.

  “What I ask of you will not be without considerable risk.” I let them see the truth in my gaze. Honesty was the only assurance I could give them. I would not hide the danger in what we were all about to undertake.

  “We are here but to serve you, Lord Freya,” Rhys said.

  Rider inclined his head in agreement, both apparently beyond doubt in their duty.

  I gestured Chevelle toward the table, where Isa’s gift, draped with a gilded cloth and a dozen layers of twine and herbage, waited. I did not truly want him to touch it, but I could not ask it of one of my Seven and not the others.

  As Chevelle drew the cloth free, it slid liquidly into a pile on the floor. Beneath it, suddenly bare, was the handiwork of Isa’s sentries, light elves who swore by the protections of soil and flora. Rider’s gaze slipped to mine then back to the table. On the base of the platform was a thin ridge of earth, but the wrappings over it did nothing to disguise the unmistakable shape of a body.