Chapter 31

31

The weakest dawn light filtered into the courtyard and already, their party was mounting up, preparing to leave. Molly sat astride Bellarand, trying not to fidget. She’d already gotten one nip of reprimand for it and didn’t want another. So she chewed her cheeks as she anxiously awaited the others to be ready to ride out.

A big paw reached out for her.

Molly startled, looking down into the golden, leonine face of Balar. He and all his brothers had come, along with the dragon Theron, Maritza and her harpy sisters, and a handful of half-orcs. Nearly the entire otherly village, it seemed.

The sight of them there, showing their support and solidarity, had more emotion clogging her nose.

“Don’t despair, lovely,” Balar told her gently. “We’ll sort out your man before noon.”

Molly forced a stiff smile. “Thank you.”

She took the hand he offered, the rough pads of his paw rasping against her skin. His eyes were soft with sympathy and his expression sincere, but his golden wings fluttered and that scaled whip of a tail undulated behind him, giving away his excitement. Molly was sure he wanted to help, but he also looked forward to a good fight.

That didn’t matter to her—so long as he fought off Allarion’s enemies.

Finally, Lord Hakon climbed up into an uncovered cart full of other half-orcs, all bristling with weapons. “We make all haste for the Scarborough estate,” said Hakon, “to render aid to our friend Allarion.”

The captain of the castle guard, Aodhan, came alongside them on his horse. “There are three known fae combatants, all riding unicorn mounts,” he announced to the gathered force, “so keep sharp and stay in formation.”

And with a loud Ho! they lurched forward, leaving behind a waving Lady Aislinn and Princess Isolde on the castle steps.

You’re sure you can make it? Molly asked Bellarand, not for the first time.

She didn’t mean to pester him, for once—she just wouldn’t soon forget the sight of him utterly spent yesterday, foaming and sweating and trembling. He’d looked about ready to keel over onto the cobblestones, and seeing the big unicorn so affected had rattled Molly terribly.

Yes, he grumbled back , stop asking .

Well, he couldn’t be too poorly if he’d got his attitude back. It was a relief to walk into the stables to fetch him earlier and receive the gruff greeting of, Where have you been? Let’s go.

Their party formed a neat column as they passed through the city at a more respectable trot than her and Bellarand’s clattering flight yesterday. Despite the early hour, curious heads poked out of doors and windows to watch them go.

Once they’d passed under the north gate, the pace picked up into a canter. Molly pulled up the scarf she’d thrown over her shoulders, blocking the worst of the dust and cold.

They rode across the countryside in formation, the single riders on the flanks while two carts of warriors trundled along. Above swooped the manticores, harpies, and Theron, easily keeping pace. Molly had to bite her tongue to keep from urging them ahead, to get there as quickly as they could.

It wasn’t fair—they didn’t know what they raced toward, only that they intended to render aid. Molly was grateful for it, for all of them, but she couldn’t help wanting to get to Allarion faster .

You’ve done your part, titmouse, Bellarand told her, now let them do theirs.

Quit being nice to me, it’s unnerving.

I know, I don’t like it, either.

Listening to Bellarand’s grumpy tone in her head strangely soothed her, and so Molly did all she could—she put her head down and moved with the unicorn as he galloped.

Their journey took forever and no time at all, the trees narrowing her vision in a green blur. The path lay before them in a dusty, snaking line, but Molly sensed when they neared Scarborough. The hairs on her arms stood up, and she swore the trees began to bend toward them, as if leaning down to whisper their news.

Heart jumping into her throat, Molly leaned even further down on Bellarand’s withers as the unicorn broke formation, thundering onto the estate. She heard someone calling out to them, probably Captain Aodhan reminding them to keep formation, but neither Molly nor Bellarand listened.

Gravel flew from under his black hooves as they pounded the ground, racing up the drive toward the house. Despite the cold but clear winter day, the lampposts all came blazing to life as they passed, burning with an eerie blue flame.

Bellarand flew into the front courtyard of the house, gravel spattering the steps up to the front doors. His nostrils flared as he heaved for breath, and he tossed his mane.

No Allarion to greet them.

He should be here.

Standing up in the stirrups, Molly pulled down her scarf, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, “ALLARION!”

Her entreaty echoed through the quiet trees into the empty sky.

The house shuddered, its shingles clacking.

Soon, the sound of the others coming up behind them filled the silence, but Molly could hardly hear. She looked around desperately for her fae, as if he might materialize from the shadows or come strutting out the front door.

“Is Allarion here?” Molly called out to the house.

Nothing.

Her stomach dropped.

“Has he returned at all?”

Silence.

“Miss Molly, who do you talk to?” asked Lord Hakon.

“The house,” she replied, not stopping to explain. There wasn’t time. “Is he somewhere on the estate?”

The shingles clapped softly. Not a confident answer.

Do you feel him?

Molly frowned at the back of Bellarand’s head, but before she could grumble that no, of course she didn’t if he wasn’t here, she stopped to really feel .

She drew in a deep breath, feeling the air around her, how it rustled through the pine needles and cedar leaves. The tree limbs swayed and the berry bushes rustled—all northward.

And Molly knew, as surely as she’d known anything, although not sure how but not really caring either, that He’s to the north.

Bellarand shook out his mane, and Molly swore his horn began to glow purple. That’s what I thought. Hold on!

She’d just enough time to grab onto his mane before he leapt back into motion.

“He’s this way!” Molly called over her shoulder.

Bellarand led the charge around the house, catching the rutted footpath past the garden up into the wilderness of the northern part of the estate. Molly had seen it only once, hiking through trees and foliage with Allarion just for the sake of some exercise and seeing what all the corners of Scarborough looked like.

Densely populated with berry bushes and a gurgling stream, it was a pastoral area, full of big, established trees and crisscrossed with deer paths. It was the wildest part of the estate, and the darkest, and Allarion admitted even he didn’t go there often.

The path leading north narrowed, and Molly thought she heard the carts screech to a stop. Shouts rang out, telling them to hold on, but Bellarand kept going. Neither sharp brambles nor fallen logs slowed or stopped the unicorn as he barreled through the forest, proving to one and all that he was its master.

She didn’t imagine his horn glowing a faint purple through the murky dark of the deep forest. The crevices between the spiraling sections of the horn burned a molten amethyst, casting shapes onto the heavy limbs above.

Molly ducked and twisted to keep her seat and avoid the lower branches. Leaves and twigs scratched at her cheeks and caught in her hair, but she only urged the unicorn faster.

They flew through the air as Bellarand leapt over the stream. More light filtered through the trees ahead, where the edge of the estate lay.

It was where they finally found their fae.

A noise of shock caught in Molly’s throat.

Allarion lay on the ground, his torso wrapped up in two coiling whips. Two mounted fae warriors held the other ends, pulling with all their might to drag Allarion back across the boundary. His fangs were bared in a flash of stark determination, hands reached out in front of him to claw and keep hold of the ground.

Roots strung around his forearms, holding on and pulling him back. The whips in one direction, the roots in the opposite—the strain made veins pop along his forehead and tendons push against his neck.

His clothes were torn and dirty, and the unmistakable stain of blood darkened his tunic, but that was all Molly could glean before Bellarand bore down on the enemy fae, a screaming whinny of rage on his lips.

Molly could only hold on as Bellarand’s horn clattered with one of the other unicorns’. The sound rang hollower than steel, yet purple sparks burst from the contact. The other unicorns reared back in surprise, and Bellarand slashed his horn on the whips, cutting them both.

Allarion lurched forward with an oof .

The fae warriors shouted at each other, one leaping from his mount to fall on Allarion’s legs.

She tried to call out—to Allarion, to Bellarand—but it took all her might to stay seated as the unicorn reared up on his hind legs, baring those horrifying pointed teeth. He came back down to the ground slashing and snarling, sharp hooves sending dirt flying.

The unicorns locked in a heated duel, their horns their blades as they parried and thrust. From her place plastered onto Bellarand’s back, she met the eyes of the fae mounted on the other unicorn. He sneered at her, showing a fang. He said something in their language, something low and probably insulting.

Molly flipped him the rudest hand gesture she knew. “Get the fuck off my land!”

The unicorns both reared up, their fangs and horns clashing as they came back down.

Molly yelped, nails digging into Bellarand’s coat.

She had to get out of the unicorn’s way.

When Bellarand danced to the right, looking for an opening, Molly stood in the stirrups and jumped for a low branch. Pulling herself up, she climbed to the next, then the next when she felt a hand grasping at the toe of her boot.

Bent over a branch, Molly saw another mounted fae stand in his own stirrups to reach for her.

Molly kicked at his hand, scrambling to get her other leg under her.

A cracking sound made her freeze—but it wasn’t a breaking limb. Her ankle stung as a whip lashed around it, and a heavy tug nearly brought her to the ground. A pained grunt punched from her chest as her vulnerable gut was squished into the branch.

“No!” she heard Allarion scream. “Molly!”

Sinking her nails into the tree bark, Molly held on for all she was worth, kicking and squirming to loosen the vice of the whip.

The fae pulled again, nearly wrenching her leg from its socket. Molly yelped in pain, clinging onto her branch.

It moved under her hands.

In awe, she watched as the limb curved upward, drawing her up with it. She felt the whip go taut, then from below, the heavy smack of bark hitting metal. After a deep grunt, she had slack and scrambled higher up, the whip falling away as she did.

Clambering onto a higher branch, Molly put her back against the trunk, breath heaving. She chanced a look down, only for her eyes to pop wide to see the fae who’d tried to grab her doing battle with the lower limbs.

He’d abandoned the whip for his sword, but all he could do was wave it blindly as branches bashed and battered him, their leaves scraping against his face. Roots sprung from the dirt, winding around his unicorn’s legs. The mount reared in alarm, horn slashing at the branches, and its rider went toppling to the ground.

Pulling her legs up to fold in front of her, Molly tried to catch her breath—and sight of Allarion.

She spotted his silver head bobbing as the other two fae, both on their feet now, tried to get hold of him.

They want him alive, she realized. Only he knew where Ravenna hid.

The bottom of her stomach opened up as she watched from her perch. Allarion expertly disabled and dodged their blows and attacks, keeping clear of their grasping hands, but it was still two against one.

The other two unicorns had managed to herd Bellarand further away into the brambles, taking turns stabbing their horns at him.

Desperation clogged her throat, and Molly looked around frantically for something to throw. But there was nothing, not even pinecones.

A whimper of frustration escaped her lips—just before the ground began to tremble.

Finally, reinforcements began hurtling over the stream. Balar and Theron led the charge, battle axes held high above their heads.

The small clearing filled with bodies and utter chaos. In the fray, Molly lost sight of her fae.