Chapter 5

VALLON

I lowered us vertically through the top branches of the old oak I'd made my home these past few months. I'd trimmed only a few of the thicker ones so that I could come and go easily enough and see the stars when I fell asleep.

From down below, no one would ever suspect there was a fae aerie stretching across one side of the tree. We were too far up and too many leaf-covered branches hid my makeshift camp.

I set Murgha on her feet and her small bag next to her. I'd scooped it up off the forest floor along with her when I was finally done arguing. Truthfully, I needed to cool off, and going airborne was the best way to find inner balance.

Murgha unsettled me, and not for the reasons I'd taken her away from that so-called father.

She instantly backed away, gripping a branch for support. The thick, leafy branches cradled my pallet, almost like a nest. The pallet was bare except for the layers of furs that was my bed near the trunk and the satchel I had hanging on the end of a broken branch that acted like a hook.

She stared, wide-eyed, her pulse beginning to beat faster again. Strange, the flight in the sky had calmed her when I knew it had been her first time in the air. It was only when the reality that she was in the hands of a stranger had settled in that her fear had returned.

I lifted one of the deerskin hides and spread it out on the other side of the pallet near her. "Have a seat."

She remained very still, staring at me warily.

"I won't hurt you, Murgha."

She held my gaze for a moment longer, then seemed to believe me. For the moment, at least.

After opening my satchel, I pulled out a portable fire-pit. With a twist at the bottom, the bowl opened up like flower petals, sealing into place. I set it on the flat stones beneath the opening in the branches. The stones kept the pallet from catching fire. Then I found the blue-coal in my satchel that I'd managed to barter from some wraith fae at the Borderlands.

"You have blue coal?" she asked curiously, knowing what it was as I lit them with a match and dropped three coals into the metal pit.

"You've seen it before?" I asked.

She shook her head and scooted closer to peer into the bowl, reaching out her palms to feel the heat. A small smile lifted her mouth and brightened her face.

I rubbed at my sternum.

"My sister, Tessa, and I heard about it from one of our clansmen after he'd gone traveling to the Borderlands." She peered even closer. "It really doesn't give off any smoke?"

"No."

"But how?" she asked, seeming both fascinated and disbelieving.

I couldn't help but smile at her keen curiosity. "Something about the properties of Vixet Krone make it the perfect element to provide warmth while never producing smoke. Just like the black steel that comes from there as well. It is the strongest metal on earth." I unbuckled my belt and set my blade aside.

"Vix's magick then."

"Mm," I agreed wordlessly.

"Why was Vixet Krone so special?" she asked.

Watching the blue light from the coal-fire gild her soft features, I shifted to wrap my arms at my knees, flaring my wings for balance. Her gaze skimmed over my wings then returned to me.

"Vixet Krone was once a volcano that covered a vast territory of Northgall. Legends say the god Vix lived beneath it with his mate, Mizrah."

"I've heard of her. That's what they call the wraith king's concubine, is it not?"

"Past wraith kings, yes." I remembered that last meeting with the new wraith king and that look in his gaze he set upon his Mizrah Una. "However, King Gollaya has become a different kind of wraith king."

"Really?" Her brow raised in surprise. "The ambassador had only brought us news that the war was over and how our people were faring back in Lumeria."

It figured he wouldn't bother to tell them the more important news, that King Goll was changing the world of both the light and the dark fae with his new regime.

"Tell me more about the volcano," she urged.

"When Mizrah died, it was said he was filled with such grief and torment that when he wailed and cried for her, it erupted the volcano where he'd once lived."

She watched as I unlaced the vambraces at my arms and the armor plates at my shoulders, setting the pieces aside. I didn't wear full armor, only the basics that were necessary when traveling outside of Gadlizel. We were enemies to everyone except other shadow fae, so it was always important to be on guard.

"And so the wraith fae built their home there."

"They did," I agreed.

"Why didn't the shadow fae and the beast fae? Why was it only the wraiths that claimed that place as their home?"

I huffed a laugh. "I don't know how that happened since it was thousands of years ago and never recorded by scribes. But beast fae are nomadic. They prefer to keep their clan moving throughout the year."

She seemed to think on that for a moment and then asked, "And what about you? The shadow fae?"

A strange thread of pleasure wound through me when she asked about my kind, even something as small as this.

"Shadow fae prefer to live up high. It's only natural that our home is in the mountains."

Her gaze returned to my wings, and then her brow pursed. "You're bleeding," she said on a gulp and pointed over my left shoulder.

When I looked, I could just see a trickle of blue from the cut the guard's sword had made. Rising, I went to my satchel again and removed a vial of antiseptic that our healers in Gadlizel made. I poured some on a clean cloth and stretched out my left wing.

I could barely reach the cut, but I could see that the guard's blade hadn't gone to the bone. Still, it was wide enough to cause infection.

"Damn," I muttered, reaching back to try and wipe the blue blood still streaming lightly from the wound.

"Let me."

I actually startled, finding Murgha standing right next to me. Without a word, I handed her the cloth.

"You'll need to sit down. I can't reach."

She was quite small, even for a light fae. I sat on the pallet and spread my wing. She stood eye level with the top of my wing. Then she dabbed at the cut, the sting of the medicine sharp, but I didn't move a muscle.

"This needs to be stitched," she said softly.

I looked up at her. "I don't suppose you know how to stitch wounds."

She swallowed nervously. "I do, actually. I sew all my own clothes, and Papa has needed cuts treated in the past. My sister was always too squeamish to do it."

"Would you stitch the wound for me?" I asked gently, wondering what she would do.

I could get Gwenda to do it. She'd been hiding in the upper branches watching us since we arrived. But I sincerely doubted she'd help me after I'd essentially abducted Murgha from her home. She was very fond of the fae female.

Murgha dabbed a few more times then asked, "Do you have a suture kit with you?"

My own pulse galloped a little faster. "It's in the front pocket of my bag."

She found it quickly and then returned to me. When she unwound the thread, she paused and observed it closely. "What kind of thread is this? It's much thicker than I'm used to."

"It's made in Gadlizel, specifically for wounds. The material we use comes from a plant called dellabore."

She threaded the needle and stepped close to my wing, her fingers light and gentle as she pinched the skin close to make the first stitch. "I've never heard of dellabore."

"It only grows in the mountains."

"Not in fields, though," she stated, as if she knew for a fact. "Where does it grow exactly?"

She'd seemed to forget that I was the enemy, her curiosity about the plant getting the better of her. One thing Gwenda had reported the most about Murgha was her deep love of plants. She spent countless hours foraging in the woods and cultivating her own in a garden. I could probably get her full cooperation from now on by simply listing the properties of all of the exotic plants in Solgavia.

"Dellabore is a delicate shrub that grows in the lower elevation of the Solgavia Mountains. It cannot grow in the higher elevation where the temperatures are too cold. This time of year, it will be sprouting everywhere, especially near the streams that trickle through the foothills."

She continued stitching, but I could feel her burning to ask another question. I waited.

"What does it look like?"

Smiling to myself as she made another stitch, I replied. "The leaves are as big as your hand. The flowers have six spiky petals."

She paused to open her hand and looked at her palm.

"But it's the flower that's the most fascinating," I continued. "It blooms with thousands of tiny black thistles with a pink stamen at its center."

She tied off the stitch and leaned forward to bite the end, her warm breath coasting over my wing. I clamped my jaw tight and closed my eyes, forcing myself not to make a sound at the pleasure of it.

Most fae didn't realize that our wings were highly sensitive. Though the skin was a tough hide, there was a sensitive web of nerves running just beneath.

"You use the thistles to create the thread?" she asked, walking to my bag and tucking the thread and needle back in the front pocket.

"Yes. It's a lengthy process of grinding the thistles with a binding mixture then flattening it thin before pulling it apart in tufts and spinning it into thread."

She returned to her place on the other side of the coal-fire and knelt on her knees, tucking her skirt around her. I frowned. She needed better clothes. Trousers, for one. Her legs would be exposed when we flew into colder climes.

"You know a lot about making thread. Is that one of the jobs of a shadow fae priest?" She blinked innocently but her eyes were mocking. She was teasing me? Another wave of warmth filled my chest.

"My mother was a spinner," I told her, not knowing why I wanted to share this with her, but I did. "That is what we call those who work on the looms creating dellabore thread and those who create the fabric from it."

Her eyes widened, her gaze flicking to my horns. "But you're a noble."

She understood that demon fae with four horns were noble-born.

"Was your mother common-born?" she asked.

I smiled. "In Gadlizel, there is no shame in work. Even the high-born work."

She seemed to want to say more but didn't.

"When I was small," I continued, "I'd sit at my mother's feet and play in the black tufts of dellabore, tossing them in the air."

"She wouldn't get angry?" she asked.

"No." I shook my head, smiling. "I was her only child, and she spoiled me."

Murgha smiled, and pleasure spread warmly through me.

"She made all my clothes, even this shirt." I tugged at the black sleeve.

She leaned forward but didn't ask to see it up close. Of course, she was still wary of me. She was an intelligent female and still had no idea why I'd taken her from that hovel of a home.

"Your mother? She is still living?" she asked tentatively.

"Very much. Strong as a Meer-wolf, she is." My smile softened. "But she doesn't spin or sew as much as she used to. Quite frankly, my father"—a twist of grief made me falter—"when he was alive, he fussed all the time that she should be relaxing and enjoying a life of leisure. But she would always tell him that sewing was what gave her the most enjoyment."

Murgha's violet eyes sparkled brightly by the coal-fire. "Your mother and father, they sound like very kind fae." She said this with a frown creasing her pretty brow.

She didn't understand why I'd taken her and what our connection was, but she was beginning to see I wasn't her enemy. I could never be.

As if she read my thoughts, she asked hesitantly, "Why did you take me from my home? How do you know who I am?"

I gave her a stiff nod then stood and whistled up to the boughs above us. "First, you need food."

Gwendazelle zipped down and settled on the leather strap of my satchel, blinking wide eyes at Murgha.

"It's you!" exclaimed Murgha, jumping to her feet.

Gwenda hid shyly behind a leafy twig, peaking her head out to watch Murgha.

"She's been watching me for months," said Murgha, her smile suddenly faltering. "She's your wood sprite? You sent her?"

"I don't own her." When I held out my palm, Gwenda instantly flew to me and curled her talons lightly around the edge of my hand. "She's my friend. And yes, I sent her to watch out for you. That's how I knew you were in trouble this afternoon."

Murgha blinked in surprise, not knowing what to say.

"Gwendazelle, this is Murgha." Gwenda opened a wing in greeting but Murgha simply stared in shock. "She will keep you company while I'm gone. I won't be long."

Gwenda flew off my palm and landed on a branch closer to Murgha. Knowing she couldn't run away from the top of this tree and that Gwenda would find and warn me if danger approached, I buckled my belt back on, sword at my hip, then flew up through the opening, the stars just beginning to shine.