The Frey Saga Book V Read online

  8

  Thea

  The next few days carried on with long rides, late nights, and Thea collecting items from Ruby’s list. When they finally neared the village that housed the new Council, the bags of plants, seeds, and supplies were stuffed to full and smelled strongly of sap and decomposition. Thea suspected she might be beginning to as well. She would wait for a bath and a change of clothes, though, because the woodlands were thick there, the trees too close. Even in the clearings, those wide grass fields dotted with bright summer blooms, Thea felt overwhelmed by the greenery, the growth, the suffocating proximity of it all.

  She and the others had been raised on the mountain, with stone and packed earth beneath their feet. The trees had been tall and thin, narrow enough to embrace and to see past and know what was coming. The trunks of the trees near the village, even the wild growth not aided by the hands of elves, were massive things, dark and misshapen. It felt as if creatures and beasts surrounded them, towering high and twisting to block out the sun like the dragons of old fey lore. Thea didn’t like it one bit.

  The sun shone brightly in those fields, though, the open space becoming frequent enough that Thea had to pull at the material of her shirt just to get enough air and relief from the warmth. Eventually, the trees became less threatening but no less bizarre. Squat trunks as wide as ten horses had been carved into homes with smooth, bark-edged windows and arched doors, moss-covered stones, and ivy entangled into the designs. Thea had always heard the light elves did not approve of the lavish constructions of the North, but she did not believe these were any less excessive. They might be able to claim their structures were not as flashy, but it ended there. They were plainly meant to impress, the details so extreme and unnecessary on one in particular that she nearly hadn’t noticed the man peering from beneath its moss-coated shutters, glaring at them.

  Unnerved, Thea glanced at Steed. He rode on, his gaze ahead, but he held that rigid posture again, the High Guard bearing that they all seemed to have, as though he was aware of the slight but above it. Duer apparently had no such compunction—he stared directly back at the man. Thea smiled, satisfied with both Duer’s and Steed’s responses, and watched as the dwelling’s shutters snapped closed.

  There were more structures along the way, some deep within the earth and camouflaged beneath fern and briar, and some high in tree boughs, with ladders and bridges grown between their doors. Others were built within massive root systems, tall enough to stable horses and wide enough for their entire group. The majority were ordinary trees, though, adorned with only hangings and quilts, flowering plants vining prettily up their bases to taper into nothing at about mid-waist. Thea saw that the showy structures in the forests surrounding the village were outliers. The village itself was a bright, open pathway with homes that were not much more than what was needed for shelter, and the overgrowth hadn’t taken over the community’s layout.

  It was not until they were at the village center and she’d seen the buildings of the Council that Thea understood what true grandeur the light elves were capable of. Anyone who’d been in range of the buildings would never have given stock to the idea that light elves were humble. Marbled columns and carved archways rose over a low-walled structure, ivies woven into a delicate canopy shading it all. Narrow windows looked out into the village, and movement inside indicated that the building was not short but buried half beneath the earth. Thea remembered, then, the stories she’d heard the season Freya had reclaimed her throne.

  The Council villages had all been burned, razed to the ground by the other in Freya and Junnie’s line. Francine, the child whom lord Asher had thought ungifted, shunned for her dull features and apparent lack of magic, had gone into a rage and destroyed the homes of High Council, Grand Council, and nearly everyone in between. Those who were in power had taken flight, gathering at a temple farther north. It had not saved them, though, for that was where they’d met with Lord Freya and the others and where the fighters of the North finally took their stand. The North had crushed them. Freya, a small, half-human girl so rich with power it had nearly broken her, had taken command.

  Thea glanced at Barris where he rode with the others, sitting tall and proudly in the new uniform of that same elven lord. It seemed an unfriendly gesture, she thought, to send the boy whose parents had fought those councilmen, whose parents had died in that battle, along with them. It might not have been the same Council, but its subjects had buried their families, loved ones who had died at the hands of the men Thea rode with into their village, unescorted, to meet with their new Council head.

  It had not been Junnie’s decision which men would accompany their party, but Thea doubted she would approve of the message it sent. Or maybe she would, because it was a reminder of why they needed to partner with the new Northern lord and of what Junnie’s allies could do. Thea felt ill. She was fairly certain it was the politics of it all and not the hasty breakfast she’d gulped down while collecting ratweed.

  Steed drew his horse to a stop before the new Council building’s grand entrance, and Thea and Duer came up on either side. She felt suddenly out of place there, despite having traveled at Steed’s side when they’d last come to find Junnie before riding brazenly into fey lands.

  Something had shifted during Thea’s time at the castle, and she understood the training and organization of the guard. She didn’t flinch, though, because regardless of her rank, Thea had been sent as emissary by one of the Seven, and there was no higher order among her company aside from the Lord herself.

  “Steed,” Junnie said, appearing not from within the doors of the Council building but from somewhere beside them, a half-dozen assistants in tow. She gestured for him to dismount, and first Steed then Duer did so. Thea followed suit, though the remainder of the guard waited on horseback. One of Junnie’s men led their horses away to be brushed and watered, and Thea stood alone as Steed and Duer moved forward to meet with Junnie.

  “Come,” Junnie told them, moving with a grace and ease that suggested either comfort—a surety in her safety—or the desperation caused by knowing she had to appear as such. She wore long, decorative robes, each inlaid with the finest stitching. Her hair was startlingly blond, pulled back into loose braids with a little wisp that had come free to curl beside her bright-blue eyes.

  These people all had the look of polished jewels, dazzling, vivid, and sharp. Thea had heard the sort of words the light elves used when speaking of her own kind: dark, dirty, and cold, and the words didn’t refer to the stone of their mountain home. The light elves disdained everything about the dark, as if they were purer, their magic cleaner. They seemed to assume that their rules and codes occupied a moral high ground.

  Thea knew about honor and principles. It was clear to her which side was truly corrupt.

  “Thea,” Junnie called to her. For an instant, Thea worried that her thoughts had shown on her face, but Junnie’s expression was, by all outward appearances, warm, genuine, and kind. Junnie gestured toward a thin girl at her side. “This is Aster. She will assist you in your task.”

  The girl stepped forward, bobbing in a sort of curtsey, and Thea inclined her head in response.

  “I’ve had them cull what could be readied beforehand, but Ruby was quite adamant in her missive that several items were to be cut and kept as fresh as possible. Please do let me know if there’s anything else you might need.”

  “Thank you,” Thea told her. “I’m certain it’s greatly appreciated.”

  Junnie smiled. “So I’ve been assured.” She led Steed and Duer away, and Thea stared blankly at them as they departed, still not entering the grand building before them.

  “Dame Thea,” the girl said.

  “Thea will do.” The girl’s bright eyes fell, and Thea added, “If you please.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, finding Barris and the others still ahorse, lined up in a simple formation, clearly suffering in the terrible heat. She looked back to Aster, wondering if the girl had ju
st taken her first big charge as well. “Shall we?”

  The girl’s hands were long and graceful, gesturing ahead of them as she led the way. “Our gardens have been prepared by the most capable hands in the realm, tended to night and day to develop only the best of each variety. The main gardens house over a hundred species alone, and three other grounds have been set aside for specialties…”

  No, Thea thought as the girl continued, not her first big charge. She eyed the girl’s straight shoulders and easy pace. Thea didn’t think she even rated as interesting in Aster’s book.

  They passed through several ivory columns draped with delicate flowering vines, the posts signifying the entry to the gardens, according to her host. Aster led them farther, her thin-soled shoes padding lightly over a natural path. The greenery became thicker as the foliage built up higher and higher before falling again to reveal a set of towering ivory walls. The garden, Aster explained, was as protected as any of the precious documents and scrolls.

  “But they are seeds,” Thea said. “As renewable in your hands as any—”

  The girl’s cold look cut her short. It was wrong, that expression on such a sweet little face, but Thea could see the ice there was true. “Dark magic,” Aster said, “can make even the strongest seed no more than ash.”

  Fire. She’d meant Francine’s fire, the burning of the villages. Questions flared in Thea’s mind, but she bit her tongue. It was clearly a sore subject for the girl, and there was no doubt where she placed the blame.

  Thea followed silently as Aster took them through an exquisite gateway. “This is our new garden,” Aster said, pride warring in her tone with what might have been loss. Or Thea might have been imagining things again.

  “It is the loveliest I have ever seen,” Thea told her, and she meant it, not simply because she’d never seen a Council garden but because the entire space before them was designed as a labyrinth of beautiful flora. Woven lattices stretched skyward, balanced with blooms. Carved archways loomed overhead, dripping with green moss that shaded ferns and delicate blossoms below. As they moved through the twisting pathways, pools came into view, seemingly watched over by shaped brush in the forms of everything from dragons to butterflies.

  Thea had never seen so much variety in her life, let alone in a single day. She stared, awestruck by variations she’d not known possible—red honeysuckle, freesia buds as big as her fist, leaves with white-tipped spikes, and thorns that dripped a black-violet slime. Her fingers drew in reflexively as she remembered the warnings she’d heard when she was younger. The light elves did not just possess the capacity for beauty. They created poisons as well.

  She glanced up from the splendor and found Aster watching her with a thin smile. Thea had a momentary image of Isa, the young halfling girl who was strong and wild enough to keep the humans at bay, and made a vow to remember something else: Don’t underestimate anyone.

  9

  Ruby

  Ruby’s time with Willa had proven fruitful. The girl had been able to focus her power to a precise point right away, and with only the slightest guidance from Ruby, she began to understand the ways in which it could be manipulated further, twisted around and through the root of her energy for a more solid strike. Ruby could tell she would not be simply deadly but unswerving in both endurance and calm.

  “Now, then,” Ruby offered, “shall we break for mess?”

  Willa stepped from her ready stance into a straighter posture and inclined her head.

  It seemed she was a girl of few words. Ruby liked that too. She grinned at Willa, indicating for her to follow as Ruby spun toward the door. “Something special tonight, I think,” she said to no one, her pace steady on the cold stone floor. After a brief stop at the kitchen to get a satchel of meat and breads, Ruby tossed Willa one bright-red apple and bit the other between her teeth. She winked at the girl, gesturing again as they made their way through the corridors. Silent, as she’d requested, and the girl’s slim boots were no louder than a light summer breeze.

  Ruby wrapped the satchel over an arm and shoulder, glancing back to be certain no one else was near. She bit harder into what was left of the apple, lifting her booted foot high onto the windowsill. She didn’t have to question whether the girl would follow—she could tell by the look in her eyes. There was no fear, only eagerness and a thirst for more.

  Ruby crawled hand over fist past the carved stone of the castle tower. She could feel Willa behind her, keeping pace without a sound. Ruby reached from stone to stone and drew herself over the final ledge. She turned to find the shorn-haired girl determinedly climbing onto the same small ledge.

  Ruby let her do it herself. The wind was biting so high up but not unbearable, as it had been in previous seasons. She unlaced the strap of the satchel from around her arm and drew the bag open to grab two pieces of bread. Ruby set her apple on the ledge between them as she settled to sit with her legs over the ledge. She stared out into the western sky.

  Willa followed suit, setting her apple core beside Ruby’s, the bite impressions noticeably dissimilar. Ruby tapped her own apple, looking at the girl to be sure she was understood. “Never eat after me. Never touch the tips of my arrows or blades.”

  The girl looked back, and though Ruby could be certain the request was understood, she could not tell whether Willa had truly known, had heard the stories.

  They each took a bite of their bread and looked toward the sky, clouded as it was with patches of fog.

  They sat for nearly an hour, eating their fill in companionable silence.

  Then Ruby heard the whispered warning—the purr and swish of a pixie—and she knew she’d made a mistake.

  10

  Thea

  Thea had collected seedlings and cuttings with Aster for the remainder of the day and neatly packed and sorted each one before Aster showed her to her quarters. The building was on the outskirts of the village and appeared to be set up similarly to their castle barracks. Aster had explained that it was where she and the rest of the guard would stay, but Thea understood she’d meant they were expected to remain there. They weren’t under lock and key, but they were evidently unwelcome elsewhere.

  “Thank you,” she’d told the girl, not for the first time, then Aster had curtsied and walked away.

  Thea stood outside the squat building made of earth and stone, staring not toward the village but at the darkening woods beyond. The village fires were far behind her, their flickering light barely illuminating the leaves and trees. The narrow spaces between those massive trunks were dark as pitch, depthless doorways into a thick forest devoid of sky. Thea had never felt so far from home.

  Something moved within the shadows, and the glint of fire caught on metal, momentarily lighting a thin strip of steel orange before it was gone.

  Thea’s hand slid to her belt, and she wrapped her fingers tightly around the handle of one of her short blades. She should have felt safe and protected there, but she was moving toward the trees, her feet light as she stepped over the rocks and moss at the base of their houses.

  There were tangled briars between the back of their building and the tree line, so she went wide, her pace quick until she was behind the cover of a large oak tree. The scent of the forest was heavy as she held her knife close, remaining still to listen. Sounds echoed through the trees but only those of natural fauna. Maybe not natural, Thea thought, because there seemed to be an unnatural quantity of the little creatures, squirrels and birds and everything small without fear of attack. It was if they knew they were safe from the light elves who lived there, knew that no beast would be unnecessarily harmed.

  She stared into the darkness, searching, then leaned forward to see around the tree. A hand slipped suddenly over her mouth, and before she could so much as gasp, it was covered, and a second hand closed over her empty fist and pulled it tightly against her chest.

  She’d been disarmed, captured as quickly as a breath. She jerked, thrusting her other elbow backward, and was rewarded by
being pressed harder against the tree. Thea raised her foot as high as she could and went to push off the tree.

  “Hush,” a voice whispered against her ear. “You’ll rouse the guard.”

  Steed. It was Steed. With her heart thundering, Thea relaxed into his grip, sucking a much-needed lungful of air in through her nose. Steed released his hold on her mouth but stayed pressed behind her. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  “I just”—Thea swallowed—“I was following a strange figure into a darkened wood.”

  He moved back from her. “With no more than a short knife at your hip.”

  She started to argue that, in fact, she had two short knives, but she thought better of it. She caught her breath, leaning against the tree as Steed bent down to pick up her discarded knife. Even in the darkness, she could see the narrow-eyed look he gave her.

  “I know,” she told him. “I’m not in Camber anymore. I’m a member of the guard.”

  “Curiosity does not fare well—”

  “I wasn’t curious,” she whispered, not meaning to interrupt him but apparently unable to stop herself. “I had a bad feeling is all.”

  Steed leaned close to her, his voice still low. “Then you signal your guard.”

  She crossed her arms. “You’re out here alone.”

  “I can use a sword.” He gestured toward the darkness. “And I’m not alone.”

  Thea felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Someone had seen her mistake, someone other than Steed, who didn’t tend to tell everyone when he saw a person act the fool.

  Steed nodded. “Duer and I are handling Council business. So if you’d like to return to your quarters…”

  Thea felt sick. “Of course. I’m sorry.” She turned, rushing toward the distant lights.