A House of Cloaks & Daggers (The Gift War #1)

14. Get Your Own Horse

Chapter fourteen

Get Your Own Horse

I was going to kill him.

If I ever saw Wren’s smug, beautiful face again, I was going to kill him in some creative way that would leave him speechless and awestruck before he met his end.

And then I might very well have gone into hiding for the rest of my life out of shame for allowing him to trick me again.

As I traipsed down the road with absolutely no idea where I was going or how long it would take me to get there, I went over and over the exchange in my head.

Wren offered to take me into Faerie. He never said anything about escorting me to see the High King . Foolishly, I’d assumed that all on my own. I thought that he would take me to some medieval castle where the High King would ask me to swear allegiance to him in exchange for information about my bloodline and heritage—which I would gladly do in order to render myself and my scent useless to the Malum. And then I would figure out my next move: either find a way to free the prisoner from his dungeon, and free myself forever from the nightmares at the same time, or steal some fancy faerie weapons and go back home.

The latter option required Wren’s assistance because I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him what he’d made my mother and sister believe about my existence before he’d abandoned me. So, I amended my plans.

If I saw him again, I would bleed him for information first, and then I would kill him.

Because I would go home one day. I wanted to, and one day…I would .

Plotting and scheming my way down the unpaved road, I walked until my rage simmered down into smouldering embers, burning the last of my energy along with it.

Without a sun in the sky, I couldn’t discern the time of day. I had no sense of time passing or the world orbiting in Faerie, and as far as my mortal eyes could see, there was nothing but more of those infernal empty fields for miles and miles.

Taking a seat against a roadside tree, I smacked the back of my head into the trunk until its bark came off in my hair.

Fool .

I was a fool for following Wren out of Belgrave, for having given it absolutely no thought whatsoever, and for not asking any of the right questions, even though I’d read enough books about faeries to know better.

They are tricksters and thieves.

I should have known better .

I should have stayed at home and mulled over my predicament overnight like any logical and sane person would do .

My mother likely wouldn’t have agreed to any plans I made to keep us safe—like moving to a different town—but I was an adult, so I could have found a way to convince her. With some better weapons and a little more research, we could have found safety somewhere far away from any of the gateways into Faerie, and I could have lived out the rest of my life in peace.

But instead, I ran.

I quite literally bolted like a horse out of the gates. I had abandoned Brynn like Wren had abandoned me, and the reason was horrible. It was horrible, and it made me horrible, and everything was horrible.

Folding myself in half against the tree, I bent my forehead to my knees and began to cry. I had time for it now that I was alone, worlds away from any of my responsibilities.

Hours might have passed before my well of tears finally dried up and I lifted my head again, my neck cramping in protest, my eyes blurred by despair. The sky was still bright with colour, the fields of grass still swaying in the breeze, and the road spanned for miles and miles.

But—

There . A dot on the horizon, right in the middle of the road.

I scrambled to get to my feet, shielding my eyes with a hand as I squinted ahead, trying to discern the approaching figure. I took five hasty steps forward before I realised it wasn’t Wren and a deathly warning in my head chilled my blood.

Not the caenim.

Something worse.

Better keep your wits about you, bookworm.

Well, I hadn’t. I’d stared at the flame for too long when I was six years old and no longer had any wits to keep anywhere. John had tried to warn me.

Running felt futile, but I sprinted away from the creature nonetheless because that’s what I did: I fought when I should flee, and I fled when I should have stayed to fight.

I ran until my lungs burned, until my knees buckled, until sweat stung my eyes.

And then I kept going.

Over the sandy, uneven road sprinkled with small stones and rocks that seemed hellbent on tripping me up, I ran until I came to another crossroads, and the berry trees lining the path stopped.

Three possible directions were laid out in front of me because turning back was not an option anymore. I had no idea which way was which, but I’d followed a fairly straight line of direction with Wren. The ocean had to be somewhere to my left, and the coastline straight ahead. In most human lands, the cities were built around the sea and close to large bodies of water. But with cannibalistic Merfolk dwelling below the surface in Faerie, I had a feeling the High Fae might have built their civilisations further inland.

I turned right, and I glanced over my shoulder as I did, only to find that there was nobody on the road anymore.

Skidding to a halt, I circled around to double-check that the Court of Light was not playing tricks on my eyes. I was certain I had seen a dark, hooded figure walking down the lane. I had felt their ominous presence, and the warning bells in my head had gone off like a defence siren.

But there was no one there.

Staring back in the direction I’d come, I took a moment to settle my ragged breathing into something more sustainable, and then I turned around to reassess my position.

“The High King.”

The creature’s breath hit my nose before my eyes registered its presence, barely an inch away from my face; rancid, hot breath, like a draught coming up from a sewer.

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt the blood draining from my cheeks as the air was pushed out of my lungs.

“Where is the High King?”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t find the strength to answer it.

Humanoid in its warped and twisted form, the creature would have stood at my height were it not for the massive hunch in its back. Naked beneath a tattered black robe, it had large breasts, thick thighs and long-nailed hands honed down into claws. Colourless eyes bulged out of its head, without lashes, as it stared up at me like it was seeing into my soul and the secrets hiding out within it were confusing.

“Where is the High King?” it repeated, hissing through a small mouth without any visible teeth.

“I—I don’t know,” I stammered, fumbling for something—anything—in the pockets of my jeans. They were empty. Where did I lose my bag?

I sucked in a breath to scream, though I knew that no one would hear me.

Or care.

“Liar,” the creature seethed. “Little human liar. I must see the High King.”

At that point, I would have liked to have seen the High King, too.

“Why?” I asked innocently, a pathetic attempt to prolong my inevitable death at the hands of the foul thing. “What’s so urgent?”

“None of your concern.” It spat curdled raisin-coloured bile at my feet. “Tell me where he is, human, and I might let you live.”

“Okay.” I held my hands up in submission, though I doubted that the creature normally let its prey live long enough to recognise the gesture. “I’m looking for him too, so maybe we can go and find him together.”

The creature’s lips curved up into a smile that might have been a show of amusement, or perhaps the practice of stretching its mouth out in order to fit my head inside it. “You don’t need to find him,” it whispered menacingly. “You need to tell me where he is.”

I shook my head, backing up a step. “I can’t tell you where he is until I find him. And,” I added, throwing caution to the wind with my attempt at bargaining for my life, “I’m probably better use to you alive so I have a chance of doing that. Before you eat me. Let’s find him first, and then you can eat me. Okay?”

The creature threw back its head and howled at the colourful sky. Laughter . A fit of absurdly menacing giggles.

I swallowed the ball of fear in my throat. Maybe if I can amuse it long enough…

“The High King must pay, one way or another,” it told me, shucking off its robe.

I noticed that its faintly purple skin was translucent in full light right as the creature lunged for my throat.

Panic seized control of my body. My natural-born instinct was to fight, which had never served me well in the past, but that was what forced my fist into the air with enough time to smack into the creature’s jaw before it closed around my throat.

Hissing and snarling, it swung back to me with its claws out, a razor-sharp barrier between my fists and any soft part of the creature’s body. I backed away, and it matched my movements. Claws extending towards me, the monster advanced, kicking up the dust on the road beneath its predatory steps as I contemplated turning around again and running for my life. It saw my hesitation as the thoughts churned over in my mind and sprang, knife-sharp nails slicing through the forearm I instinctively raised to protect my head.

The pain cut through my thoughts. Through my throat. Through everything.

My balance wavered as blood trickled down to my wrist, leaving me open and exposed for the next attack.

Lunging at me again, the creature tackled me to the ground face-first and landed on my back, blowing its hot and rancid breath right into my ear. Saliva drizzled down my cheek from its open mouth as it held me down against the dirt, claws around my neck, and jerked its head back to let out a triumphant, wolf-like cry before it killed me.

My soul left my body with a wild, final release of my breath.

Shrieking sounded in my ears—a high-pitched, tortured exclamation that shook the very ground beneath me—followed by an equally loud and very final thud.

But I felt no impact.

Like I’d left my body behind.

Panting against the road, still somehow feeling the stones digging into my cheek, I lay there in silence for a few moments to gather my thoughts. I strained to view the sky from the corner of my eye, which was still a glittering rainbow. The field around me remained a landscape of gold.

If I’d died, I’d made my way into hell—because I was still in fucking Faerie.

“That was very nicely done, though perhaps next time you could do that before the Banshee knocks you to the ground.”

Wren’s voice came from behind me. I flipped onto my back so fast that my spine twinged, and an oversized rock jammed into my shoulder. Sitting on top of Elera, whose furry lips were pulled back in disgust as she surveyed the body in front of her, Wren was grinning down at me.

I had so many things I wanted to say to him—most of them filthy, prolific curses and threats upon his life—but as I sat upright, wincing at the dirt-crusted cuts on my forearm, I could only vocalise one thing.

“Banshee. Not a Witch?”

He eyed the carcass, the corners of his mouth turning down. “No. Similar, but this one’s a Banshee. Witches are much prettier. Less intent on fighting everyone, too. Keep to themselves mostly.”

“What does a Banshee want with the High King?”

Wren’s gaze whipped to my face so quickly that I almost heard a cracking sound slap the air between us. “What?”

Awkwardly climbing to my feet, I brushed as much of the dust off my clothes as I could using the hand on my uninjured arm and then stepped over to examine the creature again. “It was asking me to tell it where the High King is…” I trailed off as my eyes fell upon the cause of the Banshee’s death.

A hole had been blasted right through its abdomen, large and clean-edged as if heat had melded the circumference of its wound back together after blowing out the Banshee’s vital organs. I couldn’t be certain if the same thing that had created the hole had also created the smoky shadows now licking at the remainder of the body, appearing like mist on a lake.

“What else did it tell you about the High King?” he enquired stiffly.

“Nothing.” I raised my eyebrows, sucking in a deep breath through my nose as I nodded in undeniable awe at the killing blow. “Thank you, I suppose,” I said, looking up at him.

Wren fought off a smile. “Bookworm, that wasn’t me.”

“What?” I blinked at him. “Who?”

He shrugged, casting his gaze around the empty fields. “Some annoying little human thing.”

Try as I might, I could not fathom the implication. I did not —

“I knew you could do it,” he went on casually, stroking Elera’s mane. “Apparently, you just needed a rather foul-smelling, homicidal push.”

Any relief or gratitude I had felt for him moments ago winked out of existence. “This was a test ? You left me here for some dumb, wicked, godawful faerie test ?”

Wren rolled his eyes. “First of all, I did not leave you. I simply went quite a long way ahead of you because, like I told you before, I’m sick of walking. You’re slow and clumsy, and Elera and I needed to feel the wind on our faces,” he declared matter-of-factly, lifting his chin.

The horse nodded in agreement, and I thought about poking my tongue out at her.

“Second of all, I had no idea that you’d take it upon yourself to pick a fight with a Banshee while I was off frolicking ahead of you.” He gestured to the mutilated body on the ground. “Banshees are exiled from the Court of Light—and all of the Faerie Courts under the High King’s command—because they don’t follow the rules, so one shouldn’t have even been here.”

I was so angry, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was shout wordlessly and stomp my foot on the ground like a child having a tantrum under his smug, feline gaze.

“Your wounds have clotted,” he noted, tilting his head to better examine my arm. “They’ll need to be healed to prevent infection. I dread to think where that Banshee’s hands have been.”

I held my arm up and looked at the cuts, trying not to feel the sting or the way the sight of my own blood made my stomach churn. I also tried not to ponder the seemingly accelerated healing process I was displaying. With the depth of the wounds, I knew I should still be bleeding out and unable to stand.

“Can you…?” I extended my arm towards him, flinching as the cuts stretched open again.

Wren let out a long-suffering sigh. “Must I do everything for you? I’m really not your father.”

My teeth cut into my lower lip to hold back my retort, and the saliva that was pooling in my mouth, ready to aim and fire at him. I held his gaze firmly, a prisoner of my own.

“ Fine .”

Light encircled my arm, warm and bright, and filled my nose with the scent of musk and ink and—

It was gone. Abruptly, as if Wren had yanked it back at the earliest possible moment. The pain in my arm disappeared, along with the wounds, without leaving so much as a scar.

“Let’s go.” He clicked his tongue, and Elera began to plod along the road in the same direction I had chosen earlier.

I was right .

The tiniest bloom of pride expanded in my chest at that thought, although fatigue quickly snuffed it out.

“Can I just rest for a minute?” I begged. I was exhausted. Gravity had come back in full swing, intent on squashing me upon the road.

“No.”

Scuffing my feet along the dirt, I jogged to catch up with them, shoulders slumping so far forward that I thought I might trip and fall head over heels onto the ground. “Can we at least take turns on the horse?”

“No.” Wren didn’t look at me.

“Why not?” I complained. I was keenly aware that I was sounding more and more like a whining child caught in a bad mood, but I didn’t have the energy to spare on caring.

“She’s a unicorn, and she’s mine. Get your own horse.”