13. Elera
Chapter thirteen
Elera
I didn’t know if Wren ever truly intended to sleep outdoors because I woke up the next morning to find him lying sprawled across the green rug on the floor beside my bed.
I kicked him awake, and we ate breakfast together in brooding silence.
Shortly afterwards, we left the cottage and continued our walk further into the Court of Light and closer to the dungeon where Wren was almost certainly holding somebody prisoner.
He gave no indication of whether he realised that I knew who he was—that I knew he tortured people, though if it was for his own depraved pleasure or by the order of the High King of Faerie, I wasn’t yet sure.
The only thing he said to me was that if I was going to scream like I was being murdered again, I should at least have the decency not to shatter his eardrums a second time when he comes in to shut me up.
Very faintly, I remembered fighting free of his arms and yelling at the top of my lungs for him to let me go. Even less clearly, I had a memory of his face being flattened by complete and utter shock for a brief moment before he obeyed and abruptly dropped me onto the floor with a thud.
The bruise forming on my hip served as confirmation that my recollections were accurate.
Any remnants of trust I felt for Wren from the previous day were long gone, but I made an effort to conceal that truth from him. I didn’t know who the man in my dreams really was, but Wren was my best option for finding him—and finding out his identity.
It was the most bizarre notion, but something told me that the prisoner was my friend. Would be my friend. More than that, even. Perhaps the only person I could trust in Faerie.
So, I trailed along behind Wren as I had done the day before and as I would continue to do until he brought me before the High King.
When he made his first stop, I noticed that the cottage was no longer visible behind us.
We were travelling along the same dirt road lined with fruitful trees, cutting through a vast expanse of sloping, golden-grassed hills. Wren looked towards a small thicket to one side of the road and whistled with his fingers.
Moments later, a beautiful dappled mare trotted out from behind one of those trees, whinnying softly as she broke into a canter towards him. I had to do a double-take because she had three pearlescent, twisted horns descending down her snout from the top of her head, gradually shrinking in size.
I couldn’t believe it. Even the fucking horses are faeries.
She was without a saddle or reins, but she was unmistakably his as she nudged her muzzle into his open hand and snorted in greeting.
“Elera,” Wren crooned, stroking her mane. “I’ve brought you some lunch. She’s got plenty of meat on her bones, just as you like them.”
If I hadn’t been in Faerie, I would have thought his words to be ludicrous. Insult aside, the implication should have sounded impossible.
But I was in Faerie, so I took a measured step backwards as the creature looked up at me with wide, depthless eyes and arguable weapons growing out of her face. Wren gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, and she lurched for me, swiping her slippery tongue right up the side of my face from my jawline to my temple before I had a chance to duck and roll away.
And then she smiled at me.
The horse—or maybe she preferred the word unicorn— smiled at me.
Wren burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “You should have seen the look on your face!”
Elera seemed to laugh too, letting out a high-pitched whinny as she turned and trotted back to him, long silver tail swishing back and forth with glee.
“Bastard,” I muttered, wiping away his beast’s slobber with the sleeve of my favourite cardigan. I pointed at Elera, cheeks flaming red, and glared at the golden-eyed fiend beside her. “Do you want me to think that everything in this bloody place plans to devour me?”
His broad grin of amusement simmered down into a suggestive smirk, and he trailed his fiery eyes from the top of my head down to my boots with deliberate slowness. “Yes,” he answered, meeting my furious stare. He winked. “Better keep your wits about you, bookworm.”
And with those parting words, Wren promptly mounted his unicorn-horse, hands knitting in her ashy-grey mane. They broke into a gallop down the lane, leaving me to be swallowed by the cloud of dust they left in their wake.