CHAPTER 17
o one seems to notice my awkward tumble out of the train.
I push myself up on the stone platform, putting my weight on myN good leg, and dust myself off. The train station is made of glass, like a greenhouse, and lit with golden lamps. A clocktower rises from it, and I mark the time as five minutes past one. The large clock face is cracked, maybe from the war fifteen years ago. No wonder most humans abandoned this place.
Up ahead, a few people hurry through the station’s open archway to carriages waiting on the other side. I hop on my good foot, one hand on the glass as I exit the station.
The town built up around the train station is small, with a cobbled road that passes between shops and shuttered homes on either side. The shops are closed for the night, the windows dark, but down the street, I see the lights of a tavern, the sign hanging above the door creaking forlornly in the wind.
A few soldiers linger by the station, and my spine stiffens at the sight of their blue coats. I try to disguise my limp as I walk. Clenching my teeth, I mask the pain racing up my ankle.
When I glance to my right, my breath catches. Between two shops is a view of dark, empty fields, and deep in the fields stands a gallows. Five silhouettes swing from ropes under the light of the moon. Fear settles into my bones. This is the true face of the Fey occupation, these bodies swaying above the grass.
For a moment, I wonder if one of them is Freya and dismiss the notion.
These bodies have been there for a while. They look stiff, and the faint scent of death carries on the wind.
I shiver and hurry on. Based on the time, the others should be here soon, coming from the other side of the town square, not from the station.
Slowly, I make my way to the tavern, where warm lights beam from the windows. The outside is painted black with golden stars, and the creaking sign depicts a painting of a headless woman. This must be the meeting spot.
I’d heard them saying the name of the location was a place called The Silent Woman.
As I get closer, I survey the layout. An agent should always have an escape route. The tavern has two arched wooden doors inset into a stone building. Oak trees grow around the side door, twining together above the entrance. I wonder if it’s a kitchen door. Behind the tavern is a stable.
Passing by, I glance at the tavern’s warmly lit window. A black cat sits on a stack of books, flicking her tail back and forth. I don’t notice much else because I’m not stopping to linger. Mentally, I’m racking my brain for every detail of the map I memorized during the briefing.
I’m fairly certain they’ll be coming from the southwest. Once I get past the town square, I take a left onto a dirt road with nothing but a few scattered homes and fields stretching into the darkness. I move slowly to avoid putting weight on my left foot. At last, I leave the houses and the village behind. Out here, stone walls surround patches of farmland, and wildflowers line the dirt road.
Fear crawls into my stomach, worries that I’m too late, that they already got here before I arrived. That they’ve been ambushed, taken. Desperate, I search for a sign of them in the darkness. Minutes crawl by.
Then I see them at last—a trio riding toward me. Relief washes over me as I recognize Freya’s auburn hair, and as they ride closer, Raphael and Arzel’s bright white shirts stand out from the shadows.
Raphael leads the way. In the shadows, his pale eyes pierce the dark.
When he’s only twenty feet away, his horse slows, and his jaw drops. He dismounts and strides toward me. “Pixie princess.” A line forms between his eyebrows as he stares at me. “Nia, what are you doing here?”
“I had to warn you. I think you might be stepping into an ambush.”
Freya and Arzel move their horses closer.
“How did you get here before us? And how did you end up in this dress?”
Freya asks. “What the fuck is happening?”
“Did I hear the word ambush?” asks Arzel.
I look back at the main road but don’t see anyone. “I heard someone talking about an ambush in Allevur. And since there’s nothing else around here but The Silent Woman, I thought the ambush might be meant for you.”
Raphael frowns at me. “What do you mean, you overheard someone?
Who were you listening in on when you were waiting for us in the woods?”
I swallow hard. “It’s tough to explain.”
“Try.”
“It’s just something I overheard,” I say firmly. “That’s all you need to know, but if it’s true, your life could be in danger.”
The hilt of Raphael’s sword gleams in the darkness. “Fine. We should at least check what we’re walking into. Freya, can you slip ahead to check the tavern’s stable? Arzel, circle around the building. Have a look in the windows, the roofs, the shadows. Search for anything that doesn’t quite seem right, and make sure no one sees you.”
Without another word, the pair ride off into the darkness.
Once we’re alone, Raphael folds his arms, his penetrating silver gaze searing me. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”
As the wind rushes over the grass, I breathe in the faint scent of woodsmoke and wild roses that grow along the field’s edges. “Sometimes, I hear voices,” I say at last. “I used to assume they were nonsense. But occasionally, the things the voices say come true.”
He lets that sentence float between us for a few seconds, the silence broken only by the grass rustling in the breeze and a loud snort from his horse. At last, he says, “Okay. Tell me more.”
“When I was waiting for you, the sergeant cornered me in the forest.”
Raphael’s expression hardens, and he shifts closer. “He what? What happened?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. He was easy enough to get rid of. But as it happened, I heard a voice in my mind, a voice that mentioned an ambush in Allevur. And I also heard a sentence just before the sergeant said it out loud, like I was hearing the future, maybe? I don’t know that the bit about the ambush was accurate, but I didn’t want to take the risk of ignoring it.”
“A disembodied voice in your head warned you about an ambush in Allevur,” he says levelly.
Frustration tightens my chest. “And he mentioned a traitor. Someone called Varris.”
Raphael’s eyes open wider. “How did you hear that name?”
“I literally just told you how I heard it.”
He studies me. “His name is confidential. Only I know it. Not even Arzel and Freya know it. Varris is the person we’re supposed to be meeting.”
I could hear the future, then.
“The sergeant’s thoughts said, ‘Allevur will be a bloodbath again tonight after the ambush, if that traitor Varris can be believed,’” I tell him. “It doesn’t seem like a good sign, does it?”
“No.” His gaze slides down my body. “What happened to your leg? You were limping when I first saw you, and you’re favoring your right leg.”
“I sprained my ankle jumping into a train car from the roof.”
“You did what?”
“That’s how I got here,” I say. “I took the Gobannos train. It was the only way I could make it here on time. But I didn’t have a ticket, so I had to board the train through the roof.”
“Why do I feel like you’ll be the death of me?” he mutters, and kneels
down.
“What are you doing?”
“Healing you. The left one, right?” He brushes the back of his knuckles over my ankle where it hurts the most. How does he know exactly where I need him to heal me?
The heat of his magic whispers over my skin, a glowing caress that makes my eyes flutter. He slides his hand around my ankle, but the sensation of his magic doesn’t stop there. It’s a faint kiss of velvet stroking up my thigh. As his magic sweeps over my skin, the pain dissolves, leaving only a throbbing heat in its wake. I lick my lips, my breath growing shallow.
“Are you nearly finished?” I ask sharply, trying not to think about how it would feel if his hand moved higher up my leg.
He pulls his hand away like he’s been burned. “I’m helping you,” he says, looking up at me in surprise.
“It’s fine now, thank you,” I say crisply, smoothing my dress to disguise my filthy thoughts.
He stands, and I breathe in his earthy, masculine scent. “Glad it’s fine now,” he says quietly. “You’re rather tightly wound, you know that?”
Because I’ve been played by you before. “Well, we are on a dangerous mission.”
His gaze moves past my shoulder, and I turn to see Freya galloping
toward us, with Arzel close behind.
When Freya reaches us, she’s still catching her breath. “Nothing in the
stable…” She draws out the last word.
“But?” Raphael says.
“I mean absolutely nothing. No other horses. Doesn’t that seem odd?”
“Something seems off,” Arzel says quietly. “I peered in the tavern windows, and no one looked relaxed. It’s the middle of the night, and they should be drunk off their arses on mead. Instead, they look stiff and tense. It looks like a funeral, not a party. And there are no musicians. Whenever I came here before, there was always music.”
Raphael stares at me for several beats. “Okay. We’re not going in. It’s a trap. Everyone on your horses. Nia, you’re riding with me.”
The hem of my dress hikes up to my hips as I climb into the saddle. I shift forward, gripping the horse’s pommel, the cool night air sweeping over my bare thighs.
Raphael mounts behind me, pressing close against me, his body warm and firm. He reaches around me for the reins. I lean back against his chest.
Heat radiates from his body, warming mine.
“Let’s go,” he says. “Back the way we came.”
He whispers to the horse in Fey, and she takes off at a trot.
But we’ve hardly started when we hear the sound of pounding hooves behind us. Three riders are racing toward us.
“They’ve found us,” I breathe.
Raphael swears under his breath. “Let’s go!” He pulls the reins, and we take off at a gallop. “Hold on tightly.”
I cling to the saddle’s pommel, and he spurs the horse onto a dirt road carved between two fields. The horse pounds over the soil, its hooves splattering earth in all directions.
The twang of a bowstring rings out, and an arrow zooms by. I glance back. Freya and Arzel are keeping pace with us, but the three bowmen are closing in.
Our attackers loose another arrow, and Raphael hugs me closer, leaning to the left slightly just as the arrow zips past. Up ahead, something catches my eye—the glint of steel in the moonlight. A drumbeat of dread thumps in my chest. I can just about make out a group of Fey soldiers racing through the darkened fields, ready to block our path.
“Do you see them?” I shout into the wind.
“Yes.” But Raphael isn’t slowing.
In front of us, the Fey soldiers rush into the road, wielding spears and swords.
Raphael releases the reins with one hand and draws his sword. I want to pull out my knife, but it’s taking all my strength to stay on the horse. A Fey soldier swings for us, and a spear hurtles through the air. I clamp my eyes shut, the sound of metal scraping against metal setting my teeth on edge.
When I open my eyes again, we’re past the soldiers. A sharp throb on my arm alerts me that I’ve been cut, and blood drenches my shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Raphael shouts, his voice sharp.
“I’m fine.”
“Raphael, company!” Freya shouts.
Glancing behind, I see more riders in uniform racing after us. The one in front has long white hair, and his teeth are bared in a bloodthirsty snarl.
Our horses are tired from a day of traveling, and Raphael’s mount is carrying two riders. We can’t outrun them.
Raphael yanks the reins, and our horse veers sharply off the dirt road.
Across the field is an oak grove, silvered in the moonlight. We race toward it and leap over a fallen tree. I clench hard to the saddle. Another glance back tells me the riders have followed us. The one in the lead is a few yards away from Arzel, and the Fey soldier raises a sword.
Freya pulls her mount sideways to collide with the attacker. The soldier’s horse rears, toppling over. To my relief, Freya manages to keep her balance and catches up with us. With his crossbow in hand, Arzel turns. He shoots a
bolt toward the riders.
“Get down!” Raphael shouts.
We hurtle into the trees, the boughs arching above our path. I bend over the saddle, and Raphael leans closer. His body pressed to mine, we ride through the foliage, the earth and the gnarled roots beneath us dappled with moonlight. A shout rings out from behind until we break out of the grove and race into a field of berry bushes.
The breeze whips over me, and we straighten again. Two soldiers follow us now, but Arzel is lagging behind. There is an arrow lodged in his side.
“Arzel has been hit!” I shout.
Raphael slows his horse to turn back.
“I’ve got them!” Arzel shouts. Nocking an arrow, he aims at the Fey soldier with the crossbow. “Keep going. I’ll hold them off!”
He looses the arrow as he rides, and it pierces a soldier’s throat. Raphael curses in Fey and spurs his horse ahead. I turn, eyes wide, as the second rider catches up to Arzel. He’s still trying to reload, and the soldier has closed the distance. Fear screams through my nerve endings.
“Arzel!” Freya shouts, as the Fey soldier swings his sword.
I shut my eyes and cling to the pommel. Behind me, I feel the solid wall of Raphael’s chest. When I open my eyes at last, I see Freya fire at the final rider. Her arrow hits him in the eye, and he screams and falls off the horse.
But Arzel is no longer with us.
I can’t see him where he fell—just the silhouette of his horse, riderless.
Freya rides at our side, her eyes glassy with tears.
Arzel is gone.
