Chapter 30

30

By the time night fell across the forest, Allarion had successfully worked his way further toward the estate, although it hadn’t been as much progress as he wished. Traveling through the treetops was slow, dangerous work, yet even away from Scarborough, Allarion found the trees worked to aid him.

They extended their limbs when the distance was too great to jump, and those still with their leaves shielded him from the keen sight of his foes. Logs rolled in their way, and roots lifted to trip their dread-mounts.

But still, the triad pursued him.

At first it was just the two he occupied on the road, but it was with some relief he noticed around dusk that they were three once again. From the snatches of faethling that echoed up to him, he was viciously pleased to hear that Bellarand and Molly had made their escape.

The triad turned their full focus on trying to catch him, and so he played an arduous cat-and-mouse game with them, working his way steadily southwest toward the border of the estate. He could feel it nearing, his magic a siren’s call. Within the border, he could activate the wards. A protective shell of magic would keep out the warriors, and he could mount a proper defense.

Getting there was the sticky bit.

Hunger gnawed at his insides, his empty stomach complaining. Allarion didn’t dare use magic to soothe it, either. That was likely how his ancestors had started all this, a little here, a little there, solving small things. Molly had broken the cycle for him, and he wasn’t about to undo her gift. Even if it meant chewing on tree bark.

His wounds, though, were another matter.

Having lost his pursuers for the moment, Allarion found a sturdy branch to hunker down. Setting his back against the thick trunk, he gritted his teeth and prepared for the pain.

The broken arrow shaft sticking out of his shoulder screamed agony through him when he wrapped his hand round it. It’d be better to leave the arrowhead in, but he was losing strength in his left arm, strength he needed for climbing.

Best deal with it now.

In one swift motion, he pulled the shaft and head from his shoulder. His magic rushed in to fill the puncture left behind, stoppering the blood and soothing the edges of his broken skin. The magic dulled the worst of the pain as it got to work meshing him back together.

Allarion rested his head against the trunk, letting the magic do its work. Already, it’d healed numerous little cuts and scrapes on his hands, arms, and knees from clambering through the forest, as well as a deeper gash from one of the triad’s blades. It was a lucky blow, one that still annoyed him hours later.

Had he been smarter, more cautious, he’d have worn his armor whenever he left the grounds of Scarborough. And fashioned Molly a set, too.

He didn’t let the magic take away all of his pain, not when it kept him alert and…he felt he deserved some of it. He’d been negligent, complacent, in the one thing that mattered most—the safety of his mate. The only thing that soothed his wounded pride was knowing that she wasn’t the target, that he could remedy the threat to her by leading their enemies off.

Goddesses, that didn’t take much of the sting out of his shame, though. Life had been too good, too easy. The signs had been there. The earthquakes were strange, and he should have inquired in Mullon sooner. Too enraptured with Molly and his transformation, Allarion had let his defenses slip.

But he’d be damned if anyone other than him faced the consequences.

Placing his hand over the wound to add pressure, he took a little heart in knowing that Molly and Bellarand were safe. Much as he’d underestimated Amaranthe’s reach and spite, even she wouldn’t dare attack a large human stronghold.

She didn’t want war—or Molly. She wanted Ravenna.

“She won’t have her.” Maxim’s words rang in Allarion’s ears. “Promise me.”

“I swear it.”

Anger, hotter than the blood that pooled at his wound, scorched through him. How dare Amaranthe destroy everything that was good? How dare she abuse what she was meant to protect? To corrupt her own people, slay her own family, desecrate her own line—all for what? Power? A few more centuries of debauchery? It all seemed so…cheap.

There would be no forgiveness for what she’d done to Maxim and Aine. For what she took away from Ravenna. And now, for her attack on his home.

No provocation, no justification. Her rotten fingers reached across the land searching for him like a plague—no wonder the native magic shuddered in horror to feel her putrid touch.

And yet, angry as this attack made him, that the triad was even here, that Amaranthe even bothered to search for him did offer a bit of relief. She hadn’t discovered Ravenna. Coming after him, after years of nothing, boded ill for her efforts to find Ravenna herself. Knowing that Maxim’s wards and plan had worked so well gave Allarion a vicious kind of pleasure.

The twang of a bowstring pierced his ears, and a moment later, splinters burst across his thigh, an arrow glancing off the thick branch he sat upon.

Ah, there they were.

“Yield, sworn-sword!” called up one of the triad. “We know you are wounded.”

“It will take more than pinpricks to bring me back to that hoary hag.”

“You dare insult the Queen?”

Allarion laughed without mirth. “She is no Queen of mine.” And she was nothing compared to the woman he worshipped. “You know in your hearts as well as I that she is nothing more than a usurper. She poisons our people with her rot.”

“You defile her name and your own honor!”

“I assure you, my honor is hale and hearty.” His pride a little less so, but that was for another day—one when he reunited with his mate and made his apologies through kisses and caresses. He knew that wicked mouth of hers would heal him more than any magic or tincture.

“Yield,” they called again, “there is no honor in this.”

“I agree, there is no honor in chasing a man and his mate and threatening his home.”

“You are a fugitive, convicted in the rule of our law, by order of our Queen.”

“Without trial, I suppose. And we aren’t in the faelands; your Queen’s laws mean nothing here.” Leaning to his left, Allarion spied down to the forest floor below.

The knight he spoke with sat mounted near the base of his tree; the other two had fanned further afield. They were trying to box him in, a clever if uninspired tactic. Time to move.

Still, Allarion did try one last time to reason with them.

“You’ve seen my face, sworn-sword,” he declared loudly, for all of them to hear. “You’ve seen the red of my blood. Do you not wonder at it? I have escaped the curse of our people. Amaranthe is killing us all with her corrosion.”

“Being away from the faelands has clouded your mind, Meringor. You are sick.”

A solitary bark of laughter escaped Allarion as he heaved himself back up onto his feet.

“I am right, sworn-sword. And you shall know it by your end. Now, shall we continue?”

Another arrow whizzed past where he’d just stood, but Allarion leapt to the next tree.

A great cracking filled the forest, and he turned to watch the branch he’d sat on go crashing down to the ground. The dread-mounts screamed and scattered as Allarion pushed on, his sights set on Scarborough.

Just a little farther. A little more. And then he would see her again.

Although given the room she’d shared with Allarion not long ago, Molly didn’t sleep. She couldn’t.

It was so strange being there without him. There was where he’d first undressed her. There was where he’d held her all night long. Here was where she’d sucked his cock and there was where he’d broken a lamp with his magic seeing her bruised jaw.

Really, though, everything about this was strange.

Molly paced the room, arms folded tightly around her middle—she needed something to keep herself from completely falling to pieces.

There was no hope of getting any sleep, not when all she could think of was where Allarion was, if he was safe, if he’d outrun those fae. She might’ve stayed in the stables with Bellarand if he hadn’t sent her off with Lady Aislinn and Lord Hakon. Far more gently than he’d ever spoken to her, he’d said, Make a good plan and then get some rest, titmouse. Try not to worry, Allarion can take care of himself.

That the overgrown pony was trying to be sensitive only worried her more.

After hours of hasty plans, she’d scraped all the loose skin off her lips and bitten all her nails down to the quicks.

That Bellarand was being nice and they had a plan that wouldn’t happen until morning kept Molly pacing. Lady Aislinn and Princess Isolde had tried to coax her into eating a small dinner, but she hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of food.

Was Allarion hungry? They hadn’t taken luncheon in Mullon like they’d planned before leaving. He was always hungry at dinnertime, but what could he eat out in the forest? He didn’t know what plants were edible or poisonous. What if he was felled by a bad mushroom rather than a fae blade? What if—

A swift knock rapped against her door before Lady Aislinn’s golden head poked inside. She offered a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Stepping quietly inside, she proffered a fine linen nightgown, laying it out on the bed. “This should fit nicely,” she said, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.

Molly’s throat closed at the simple kindness. She wanted to thank Lady Aislinn. She wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, she wouldn’t sleep anyway. She wanted to demand they leave now.

What she managed to get past her clenched teeth was, “Everything’s ready?”

Lady Aislinn nodded, her eyes heavy with sympathy as she gazed upon Molly. “Hakon just arrived back with Balar, Theron, and several others from the village. Captain Aodhan has already found a dozen volunteers to ride out with you tomorrow, too.”

Molly swallowed hard, wishing the news would calm her roiling stomach. Nothing helped, of course, but she rationally knew this was all good news.

If she’d had her way, it’d be the entire castle garrison riding out, but Molly understood that all this put Lady Aislinn in a precarious position. They couldn’t confirm it, but the fae knights had no doubt been sent by the Fae Queen. Doing battle with a foreign queen’s warriors could be flirting with a declaration of war, which Lady Aislinn couldn’t have. However, as she put it, “The otherly folk are a different matter. As your Allarion has found, they inhabit a gray area of fealty. That includes my husband, and I of course won’t send him off without proper protection.”

At first, she hadn’t wanted to hear that they couldn’t leave immediately with every available knight to help Allarion. It’d taken a good hour of calm, sensible arguments from Lady Aislinn and Lord Hakon—they had to gather their allies, they were losing the sun already, they couldn’t walk into a dangerous unknown—to finally sway her.

“There’s also been word…” Lady Aislinn delicately cleared her throat. “Mayor Doherty sent word that your cousins have asked after you. The city is already humming about your ride through the streets. I hope I haven’t overstepped, but I sent word back that you are well and will send word when you can.”

Chest seizing, Molly nodded. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I don’t want the girls to see me like this.” She didn’t mean to say it aloud, but it was the truth. Seeing the girls, feeling their alarm and worry, might break her.

Lady Aislinn bowed her head in understanding. The two women gazed at each other for a long moment, Molly sensing the heiress wished to say something else.

“I know this will feel like the longest night of your life,” Lady Aislinn said softly, taking Molly by surprise, “but do try to rest. Allarion is strong and capable, I’m sure he will handle himself.”

Another tear spilled down Molly’s cheek. “Thank you,” she croaked, “for all of this.”

“Of course. Allarion is a friend. You both are. A threat to you is a threat to all of us.” Offering another kind look, if not quite a smile, Lady Aislinn asked, “Do you wish to have company tonight or would you rather be alone?”

More tears welled, making Molly’s nose burn. Her immediate instinct swung from wanting to be alone to desperately wanting distraction and back again.

“I’ll be all right,” she said, for her benefit as much as the heiress’s, “but thank you.”

Nodding, Lady Aislinn stepped toward the door. “All right, then. Try to rest. Hakon and the others will ride out with you at dawn.”

Molly thanked her again and managed to hold in the tears until after the door shut softly behind her. The day, the ride, the plan, the kindness, all of it bore down on her in a wave of heartache.

So insulated in their little bubble of magic, the outside world seemed so far away. Allarion had sounded so sure that nothing fae could reach them here.

She was angry that he’d been wrong.

Angry at him.

Angry at Amaranthe, a nameless hag who meant to destroy the little life Molly was just beginning to build.

Well, she couldn’t have it. It wasn’t hers to take.

She would ride out with reinforcements tomorrow—and yell at Allarion good and proper when she had the chance. Because she would have the chance, she’d accept nothing else.

Molly didn’t know what to do with all of her anger and heartache. There was nowhere for it to go, nothing for it to do. The hours of night stood in her way, and there was nothing to do but wait it out. It was an interminable task, and although she paced, although she plotted, nothing helped.

Were feelings supposed to be this big? This brutal? Her utter terror for him threatened to consume her from the inside out. With her lips abused and nails bleeding, all that was left was to start tearing at her hair, so Molly shoved her hands beneath the opposite arm. All this needed out, but there was nothing she could do—except accept it.

That taste sat bitter on her tongue.

Exhausted from her tears, heartsick with her worries, Molly finally unlaced her boots and climbed into bed. She didn’t bother with the nightgown, wanting to be ready in a moment to leave.

Curling up in the first bed they’d shared, Molly imagined it retained a little of his scent, his presence. Clutching a pillow to her chest, she wrapped arms and legs around it. Behind the safety of closed eyes, she could pretend it was him.

“Just hold on,” she murmured into the down. “Just hold on a little longer.”