11. Keira

Chapter 11

Keira

I am the prisoner of the high fae. Terror squeezes my heart in an iron fist.

They have tied me to a kelpie as it gallops through the woods and I bounce around on its back. My legs straddle its horse half, and vines are looped around both our torsos, pinning my stomach and chest against its bare human back.

The position is too intimate. The creature too human.

I grip my arms tightly around his waist anyway, too afraid to let go. I have never ridden without a saddle or stirrups and have no idea how to remain on otherwise.

Tree trunks whip past at an impossible speed and the woods are a blur of deep green and brown. Branches narrowly miss my arms, and every so often the insane kelpie makes a massive leap over depressions in the landscape, flying over the air and scrambling for purchase on the opposite side, but never slowing its galloping pace.

I cannot breathe for fear. My throat is so tight that dragging in each gulp is a struggle.

I lost Caitlin.

We hardly made it two steps into the Otherworld and I lost her. Our greatest enemy surrounds us, has us each captured, and I don’t know how to find my way back to her. I don’t care what these fae have planned for me, I will not be their slave or consort.

The kelpie skids to a stop in a large clearing between immense trees. The high fae crash through the woods and join us.

Those restricting vines fall from me and I slide from the kelpie’s body, landing on my feet then staggering on the spongy grass. I take three wobbly steps away from it and throw up bile in the bushes. My stomach keeps heaving and heaving until there is nothing left and my throat burns with acid.

“By the gods, Kai! Did you have to make the poor girl sick? You were galloping like you had the wild hunt on your tail,” a female yells out.

“The spirits had overtaken me. I could not resist their call,” a low, lisping voice replies, one that sounds like it's not meant for this language.

“Kelpie spirits,” the woman curses.

“I am not surprised she is throwing up.” A man cuts in. “Considering how much magic she used. I would have thought our magic lost from the human realm after all these years of separation between our races.”

I heave again, despite how every inch of my soul screams at me to run. To get away from these high fae who bound me and could kill me with hardly a look over their shoulder.

My arms shake as they support me on hands and knees. A bone-deep fatigue washes over me. Twigs crunch as footsteps approach from behind and I swing rapidly around, landing on my bottom.

That huge fae man approaches me, the one I was enchanted by as I came through the portal. He is as terrifying as he is beautiful, as though every hard plane of his face was sculpted by an artist. High cheekbones, sharp jaw, perfectly straight nose and amber eyes with a simmering intensity.

His russet armor is splattered with gore and a deep wound in his shoulder has a stream of dried blood soaking his leather. He is tall, so impossibly tall and his shoulders are made even broader by the spikes at the tips of his plate armor. At least the horns and war paint seem to be gone.

A deep frown occupies his face, pinching his dark eyebrows, but that gaze softens as it meets mine.

A wave of intense fear ripples through me at the sight of my hunkering captor. I scurry in the dirt, kicking my feet out and finding purchase to push myself backward, away from him. The blood freezes in my veins as my eyes dart across all the swords and daggers strapped to the different parts of his body.

He holds up his large hands. I bet he could crush my windpipe with a single one. “No one is going to hurt you.” He crouches a few strides away.

“Let me go!” I gasp. “I have to find my sister.”

“No one is holding you against your will.” He sighs. “And I apologize for Kai’s treatment of you. Kelpies are not known for politeness…or great intelligence.”

“I heard that.” The strange, gravelly voice snickers. “I got her away from the battle, did I not?”

I stare at the high fae before me. There is even blood in his dark brown hair, tied in a knot but with loose strands escaping to hang over his face. Through the gaping neckline of his undershirt, defined pectorals are visible and the muscles of his arms bulge.

I saw him throw multiple fae in the air with a flick of the wrist.

Everything about him screams death and slaughter and power.

I’m too scared senseless to move, to run from this enemy.

“What are you doing here? In this realm?” He doesn’t take that intense gaze from me.

“I - we just wandered in. We were picking wild berries growing around a gate, and when we reached through and—were transported.” I stumble over my thoughts.

“Liar,” he says simply. “It takes great magic to open a portal. Not every fae has enough power to do it. I suspect a dozen human druids at least would be needed. I will ask again. How did you get here?”

I glare at him. He is insane if he thinks I’m going to give him any information on my realm. That I would betray my people to the enemy.

“Why are you here? Who sent you?” His tone has become more urgent.

“Why do you care?” I bite off the words.

“Why do I care?” He echoes. “These are my lands. If the humans plan to return to them, I want to know.”

“I can assure you; humans do not want to return to slavery at high fae hands.” I spit.

My entire body trembles, with fear for Caitlin, with terror for myself. I did not travel all this way, I did not fight Finan, to become another man’s plaything.

“And yet, you are here! Prejudice and all.” Frustration pitches his tone, as he spreads out an arm. “Did they force you through the portal? You look like a virgin sacrifice, with flowers in your hair.”

My hand trails up to my hair before I realize it, touching the bruised ruins of those flowers.

A man in the camp laughs, drawing my attention. He sits on a large stone a few paces away from us, leaning forward in his seat as though he is watching a show.

A woman with lilac hair cleans a bloody wound on his arm.

He is a peculiar-looking man, with skin so bronze it is almost red in tone and hair shaved almost to the scalp, but it is the tattoo of an immense tree across his face that captures the attention. The faint silvery lines start as roots reaching across his chin, the trunk a thin line up his lips and nose, and the branches of the canopy expanding over his forehead and under his eyes. It all accentuates the sharpness of his pointed fae ears.

I stare at him wide-eyed.

“Oh those were the days!” he says.

“Not helping, Drake.” My captor throws a glance over his shoulder.

“What? The virgins were willing. They chose to migrate to our realm,” the man called Drake retorts.

“I don’t think humans remember that part of their history,” the woman mutters at Drake’s side .

“I am NOT a virgin sacrifice!” I stand. Boiling rage simmers through me. I have endured too much over the last few hours.

“Did you hear that Aldrin? Not a virgin.” Drake raises an eyebrow, then laughs again.

“Will you shut up!” We both roar at Drake, at the same time. The man shrugs.

The warrior before me, the one called Aldrin, gives me an examining look. “I will make you a bargain human girl: I will free your sister from Cyprien and give her back to you. Both of you will answer all of my questions and then return home immediately through the portal.”

A cocky half-smile curls on his face and he holds out a hand to me, bridging the distance, as though he offers an olive branch and not a curse.

I will not fall for this trickery. A bargain is how they bind humans.

“You expect me to trust a high fae with secrets from my land? To be used against my people? I know better than to make a bargain with your kind.” I cannot help the venom that spews from me. This anger is the only thing keeping me together.

“Fine.” He drops his hand. “But I will toss you and your sister back through that portal. Maybe I will send a message with you to your rulers. These are harsh, dangerous lands. I will not have naive girls wandering freely through the forest and getting themselves killed, then having the humans blame us high fae for it.”

Aldrin stomps away, but glances back. “And for the record, we do not take humans as slaves.”

I have no words.

Be wary of the high fae, they will out maneuver you at every turn , my grandmother’s voice rings through my head.

He might not call me a slave, but I am his prisoner, and there is an invisible line between the two.

“Klara, heal her wounds next. Humans bleed out stupidly quick.” Aldrin bites out before leaving.

As soon as he disappears, I become a shaking mess, all the fight draining out of me. Bile rises in my throat, but I manage to keep it down. Bone-deep fatigue rushes through me and I sway on my feet.

I finally notice blood smeared across my skin, and the abundance of cuts crisscrossing my arms. Most are shallow, but some are deep gashes, still seeping blood. When I shattered those vines, the fragments cut me too. I had hardly felt the pain.

What if I hurt Caitlin? Injured her badly? A sickness rolls through my stomach at the thought. I didn’t know I had power like that.

I look at the fae woman. What was her name again? Klara. My vision doubles and her form becomes a lavender blur.

I am taken over by a sinking feeling, and even though my body is still upright it is like my mind is toppling head over heels, falling and falling down a rabbit hole. My steps falter, but strong hands catch me under the arms and I am lowered slowly to a thick moss carpet.

“Damn they are fragile.” Drake’s voice cuts across my sensors.

Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe.

“She is wounded. And used more magic than any human should have a claim to. The girl is drained. AND you and Aldrin terrified her.” Klara says as she approaches me.

“Me?” Drake’s tone is high-pitched. “I was being friendly.”

“Well. Go be friendly somewhere else.” Klara rolls her eyes at me. They are the most vibrant shade of violet.

I blink, then really look at her. Lilac hair elaborately styled in many thin braids, pinned and pulled back from her face into a large knot, but the long tresses erupt from it and drape down her back. Small feathers and gold bands are woven into it. There is a scatter of the palest pink freckles over the tanned skin of her sharp cheekbones.

Her ears have that pointed tip that makes dread roll within my stomach.

Despite the prettiness of her features, there is no softness within them.

“I’m going to heal your cuts,” Klara murmurs. “It will sting as the flesh mends, especially the deeper gashes.”

I nod, completely lost for words, as she grabs hold of my shoulders .

I am not prepared for the searing pain that bites all over my body, like being attacked by a hundred gnats. A gasp flies from my lips and I try to pull away, but she holds me tight. The burning sensation intensifies to a crescendo, before quickly ebbing away.

Slick sweat covers me and panted breaths escape my chest. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not this.

“See. Not so bad.” She pulls away from me.

I blink at her, gingerly sitting up.

“Hungry?” she asks.

“Yeah.” It is all I can manage. I hardly ate before the crossing and now only the silvery light of dust penetrates the canopy of the trees.

Klara helps me to my feet and leads me through the small clearing between huge ancient trees. She keeps those strange eyes focused on me, and I don’t know if she expects me to run or collapse or perhaps both.

The spongy moss carpet is dotted with flowers and completely undisturbed. There is no sign of a military camp here or other fae. Something is not right, but I cannot put my finger on it.

“How far away is the camp?” I ask.

Klara smiles at me and reaches a hand forward, touching an invisible barrier that ripples and distorts the air. The whole forest in front of us bucks unnaturally beneath her touch. I take a step back as a primal horror fills me, but she grabs my wrist and forces me forward with her.

We step through an illusion and out the other side of the barrier. The world transforms from a tranquil and undisturbed space to a loud and chaotic camp, filled with people and their voices. It is like swimming to the bottom of a still lake, then breaking the surface for air and suddenly being bombarded with sound again. Behind me, the same sight of the peaceful forest is laid out again.

A ward hides this camp and restricts who can pass through. These are the bars on my prison.

A fire pit roars in the middle of the space and multiple fae sit around it on stumps of wood. A couple of cauldrons hang over the flames with steam billowing off them and a couple of frypans sit in the coals with flatbread baking within it. My mouth waters at the foreign aromas of spices.

My eyes are dragged to Aldrin, where he sits around a sprawled map with a handful of other warriors. He points a finger at a location on it, shoving flatbread into his mouth while deep in conversation. Behind him, a pair of female soldiers play a board game with colored stones, while one of them is being treated with a herb poultice by a healer.

It is such a normal scene. One I have been a part of many times when we have taken extended hunts. None of the high fae even take notice of me, where I stand awkwardly. They don’t taunt me or hurt me or even try to throw me in a cell.

I jump violently as the kelpies thunder past. They randomly gallop around the camp, wrestling when they catch each other, with hooves flying in the air and bodies that are half-humanoid and half horse rolling on the ground.

I take it all, scanning from one cozy scene to another, trying to find the threat I am not seeing.

At first I look for tents, then I notice the trees. I stare in awe, my arm falling out of Klara’s grasp.

Houses are built into those impossibly huge trees, where the trunk’s interior is hollowed out close to the ground. Narrow doorways are built between the grooves of ancient roots taller than any man and small leadlight windows dot the bark of the trunk. Chimneys breach the woody surface at odd angles and glowing orbs of lanterns hang from the lowest branches of the trees.

These homes are like the apartment buildings of the cities of my realm.

Boxy huts with peaked roofs jut out of the sides of the tree, the structures climbing up its height and supported on top of immense branches. Many have platform balconies that ring around the entire trunk, with railings of thick vines in bloom with giant bluebells.

I turn in almost a full circle to take it all in.

Every tree has living rope bridges connecting them. Each platform and jutting hut has external staircases and pathways between them. There are four ancient trees converted to fae homes, but within them there are enough buildings to support a small village.

“ This is your military camp?” I cannot hide my wonder.

“It is one of many abandoned places we visit,” Klara states.

“What happened to this place?” My head spins at the idea of this beautiful, peaceful town completely deserted.

The signs of neglect are clear, like a garden that was once sculptured but has since been forgotten and allowed to grow wild.

Lengths of untamed vines hang chaotically from many of the structures. A couple of thatched roofs have partially fallen away and heavy pockets of decaying leaf litter threaten to damage others. A few windows are cracked and all are splattered with dirt, and sparse curtains of foliage hang over some. Slick moss grows on many of the staircases and ladders.

“The same thing that happened to many of the villages in the woods and wilds. High fae abandoned their duties to the land in these parts, in favor for the comforts and thrills of the cities.” She spits on the ground, then walks past me, beckoning with a hand toward those cooking pots.

I stare at the apartment buildings grown into trees for a few more seconds, wondering if I could draw them. If my oath to the order of the priestesses would allow me to document it.

The scent of flatbread sizzling in butter drags me to the present and forces me to follow Klara numbly.

My eyes trail again over the amassed band of fae warriors, rippling with muscle and strapped with countless weapons, their hidden magic the most dangerous aspect of them. I should be terrified. I should run as far and fast as I can. My legs should buckle under me and my mind turn to a racing mess, but I am far too spent. None of this feels real as dissociation takes me hard and fast.

I find myself standing before the fire, with a metal plate of food in my hands, and I have no idea how I got to this moment. To one side, Klara sits on one of the many logs, back to me and facing another fae woman, deep in conversation. She uses the flatbread to collect the yellow and red curries from her plate and spoons them into her mouth. I deposit myself onto a smoothed stone and copy suit.

My entire existence narrows down to that plate of food, my brain unable to process everything else around me. Perhaps the heat of the bread burns my fingers. Maybe the curry is aromatic, an explosion of flavors on my tongue that is warmth and comfort all in one. I don’t know if even a small part of me registers these things, or if my mind expects this. My senses no longer belong to me.

There is a yelling inside my head, drowning out all of my thoughts. A clawing that rips through me with talons of fire, to my stomach, my chest, right to my extremities.

I am a prisoner of the fae.

Caitlin is a prisoner of the fae.

We are slaves to their whims and I don’t know if we will ever get out.

I stare into that fire, the orange and yellow tongues dancing and flickering, drying out my eyes and still I cannot blink. My limbs are leaden. My head is groggy and the world swims around me.

I shudder with a start. The people around me have changed and full dark has fallen. Klara is nowhere to be seen, or Aldrin, but that fae with the wicked humor now sits next to me, feet up and sipping from a goblet. He must be my sentinel. I rack my mind for his name. Drake. He notices me staring at him wide-eyed, and tips his head at me.

“Aldrin is a good lord. You will see that.” Drake half-smiles. “He is fair, and cares about all people; high and low fae. Humans too, despite what they think of us.”

So, he is lord. I tuck that bit of information away, even if I’m not capable of responding.

“I don’t think she can hear you. Still too drained from the magic she used, but I am flattered you think of me in that way.” That familiar masculine voice floats to me, but I can’t quite put a finger on who it belongs to. “She must be in shock. I wasn’t expecting her to crash like this.”

I sway in my seat, blackness encroaching at the edges of my vision .

“What do we know of humans?” That man I had been staring at says. What was his name? Drake.

Someone curses. It is followed by sharp orders I can’t grasp.

That handsome tanned face with those serious amber eyes appears right in front of me, frowning. “Can you walk?”

I stand as if commanded, but the world tilts. Did they drug my food? Enchant me? Make me vulnerable and incapacitated, so I cannot escape, so I am dependent on my captors?

More low curses follow, something about a fragile human, but that cannot be me. I have always been a fighter. Independent. One of the strongest.

I have always stood on my own two feet.

Except for right now, because two arms thick with muscle carry me through the darkness that encloses on all sides.