Chapter 33
“Unseelie women are more dangerous than wolves.”
— Nia Quill, An Observation
The fae has another arrow notched, the gleaming black tip aimed at my heart.
Maddox raises his good arm in surrender, and I do the same, slowly, to keep from spooking her. He snaps three sharp words in a language I’ve never heard before.
Is this how the Unseelie converse with each other?
The way the woman’s head slowly tilts reminds me of the wolves when they heard that whistle.
She barks something in response, gradually lowering her weapon. With sharp, efficient movements, the arrow is returned to the quiver at her back and the bow slung over her shoulder.
I’m still not sure if that means she’s friend or foe, but at least she’s not trying to kill us at present.
She stalks forward, closing the distance swiftly with her endless legs.
I reach for Maddox, only to be shoved aside by the newcomer.
The Unseelie catches his hand and draws him upright, the toned muscles in her arm flexing under his significant weight.
Her dark eyes sweep down his blood-drenched body before she steps closer and touches a finger to his wounded shoulder.
His stomach flexes as he hisses out a harsh breath, but he makes no move to stop her. Can’t she see that she’s hurting him?
“Stop that,” I hiss.
Her black eyes swing toward me, narrowing into slits.
The hair at the back of my neck lifts the same way it did when the wolves showed up. I’ve a sinking feeling we might’ve had a better chance of defeating them.
The only clothes she wears are a pair of trousers like the ones Maddox has on and a pair of leather boots.
They converse in that language I don’t know, while I stand around like a child waiting for Mother and Father to stop arguing and tell me what’s happening.
I poke Maddox’s back. “What’s she saying?”
Maddox blinks down at me, like he forgot I was standing next to him. I feel so small and lacking in the face of this Unseelie woman’s fierce expression and terrifying beauty.
Are all their women this stunning? It’s a wonder Maddox even noticed me at all.
He says something to her, which earns a sharp nod. Only then does he respond to my question. “Raven says there is an Unseelie village nearby.”
There’s an entire bloody village down here? What in the hell is going on?
“This trail is dangerous,” he goes on, “but she will show us how to safely reach the top of the canyon.”
While I’m thrilled we won’t be subjected to the treacherous climb along the wolf’s path, I’m not entirely convinced Raven’s will be much better.
Also—and this shouldn’t matter at all—he didn’t use Raven’s last name.
Was that because she didn’t offer it to him, or could there be another reason?
“Do you know her?” Maybe she’s from his village and ended up falling into the canyon herself. Although, from the agile way she stalks through the brush, I’d say the woman hasn’t fallen a day in her life. She could probably scale the cliff walls without a bother.
Maddox shakes his head. “She is a stranger to me.”
A stranger who can’t seem to stop glancing over her shoulder at him. Maddox appears equally fascinated, his gaze never straying too far from her bare green back.
Meanwhile, I’m left to trail along like a dog.
To make matters worse, I left my slippers behind, which means I’m barefoot as well. Thankfully, the mud has caked over the soles of my feet, which keeps the sharpest debris away, but it’s still damned uncomfortable.
Speaking of discomfort, isn’t Raven cold? I can let her borrow my dress if she wants. Not that her chest would fit into it. Didn’t Maddox say Unseelie women wear bands over their breasts? Where is Raven’s band?
We walk in silence for what feels like ages, until finally the low hum of voices floats on the cool breeze. The brush thins, revealing a wide, sloping shore filled with people.
The first thing I notice are the caves carved into the cliff face, connected through a network of wooden ladders and stone stairs.
The second thing I notice: They’re all women.
Every last one.
Heavens, there must be at least fifty. All tall and made of slender muscle.
Thankfully, only a few are dressed like our escort.
Or not dressed, I suppose one could say.
The others wear plain brown and green dresses or trousers and strips of cloth over their chests.
Some are cooking over fires—whatever they’re making smells delicious.
Others work clay on the riverbank, stacks of rusty orange bowls by their feet.
A few more weave fabric on small looms. They stare from their fires and kilns and looms, but not at me.
I might as well be a bloomin’ ghost for all the attention they pay me.
They watch Maddox like he’s the most fascinating creature they’ve ever seen, smiling with their sharp teeth as he passes by. No bones ring their necks, only stones.
None of them are as striking as the one who found us, but they’re each intriguing in their own right.
I take a few quick steps to catch up to Maddox, muttering under my breath, “Where are all the men?” Maybe they’re out on a hunt. Yes. That must be it.
“They have only three males,” he says without turning to face me. “There were more, but they were killed not long ago.”
Raven starts talking before I can comment, pointing to things around the camp while Maddox nods and responds in kind. The others gather closer, knocking me out of the way in their haste to speak with him. Stepping on my toes. Ouch! Elbowing me in the bloody chest.
Tugging my hair—
I whirl to find an elderly woman inspecting my curls like I’m a cow for purchase. Despite my glower, she doesn’t release my hair. Instead, she uses her other hand to poke my chest with her knobby finger.
“Stop that.” I yank my curls from her fist and fold my arms to keep her hands off me. By the time I turn back around, I can barely see Maddox’s head through the growing crowd.
Was this how he felt when he first crossed The Divide? Like an oddity at a bloomin’ fair? It’s a wonder he crossed at all. I don’t blame the rest of the Unseelie for keeping to their own lands. I wouldn’t want to put up with this sort of treatment on a daily basis.
Although, I don’t know any Seelie brave enough to pull an Unseelie’s hair.
I force my way through the horde of Unseelie to where Maddox has stopped.
His large hand catches mine. “Are you all right?”
No. I’m not.
I’m frightened and irritated and feeling wholly inadequate.
Unfortunately, all of the above are my burdens to bear. Maddox doesn’t need to worry about me. He needs to get his wounds cleaned and stitched so that we can return home on this safe path Raven promised us.
Instead of voicing my insecurities, I force a smile and tell him I’m fine.
I’ll be better when we escape this awful place.
The stooped woman who touched my hair gestures at me, then has a quick exchange with Maddox that leaves him chuckling.
“What did she say?” I hate having to rely on him for communication, but there’s no other choice.
“She is asking if you wear . . .” His brow furrows as he lifts his eyes toward the clouds so far above us. “What is this word? Fake hair?”
“A wig?”
He clicks his fingers with a grin. “That is the one.”
No, my hair isn’t a bloody wig.
He says something else I don’t understand, and the women laugh.
Why does he have to be so damn charming all the time?
“There is good news this day. Riverglade has a healer with water for my wounds.”
“Who is Riverglade?” If she’s anything like Raven, I hate her already.
“Riverglade is not a who. It is a place. This place. I will go with Raven to be healed. Fern has promised to take care of you.”
All right, first, I don’t want him going anywhere alone with Raven. I don’t trust the woman at all. Second, who the hell is Fern?
Tell me it’s not the one who thinks I’m wearing a wig.
His smile fades, his mouth flattening. “I can stay if you would prefer?”
“No, no. You need to find the healer.” I’ll take a page out of the Unseelie’s book and scowl at everyone to ensure they leave me alone.
“You are certain?”
“Absolutely.”
A nod. “I will ask Fern to bring you something to eat.”
There are only two things I want from these people, and that’s for them to heal Maddox’s wounds and then point us in the right direction.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
I’ll just be better when he comes back.
Maddox follows a smiling Raven through the crowd, leaving me on my own with a whole slew of Unseelie women glowering at me like I’m the enemy.
If only I knew how to tell them that I have absolutely no desire to be here either.
A woman wearing trousers like Raven’s stomps over and shoves a bowl at me.
Fern, I presume.
Her features are rounder, not as striking as Raven’s, but she’s attractive in her own way. At least she’s wearing a band across her chest.
I like to think I’m fairly adventurous with my eating, but whatever is slopping around inside the bowl looks like the mud we just traversed and smells even worse.
Still, I don’t want them to take offense if I don’t eat it.
Since I don’t know how to ask for a spoon, I tilt the bowl directly into my mouth. The slop doesn’t taste like much, but the growling in my stomach eventually fades once the bowl is empty.
How much longer will Maddox be gone?
When I stand, so do the two women on either side of me, too quickly to be a coincidence. Are they concerned with keeping me safe . . . or keeping me here?
Turning toward the closest one, I force a smile. Her chin jerks back like I screamed, but then she gets closer. Too close. So close, I can smell the sweat on her skin and see each individual lash surrounding her black eyes.
“Do you mind?”
She catches my chin and forehead, prying my mouth open to stare down my throat. I try to pull back, but her grip is too bloody strong. She sticks her dirty fingers in my mouth, dragging them along my teeth.
I finally manage to extricate myself, stumbling back into a solid wall.
Not a wall.
It’s an Unseelie man with hair as white as mine whose bloated stomach distends over his worn trousers. The nails on his bare feet are as brown as the mud beneath them. Two others emerge from the hole in the cliff, each more wrinkled than the one before.
Maddox said there were only three men in the whole clan.
Surely he didn’t mean these men. They’re so old.
Three women waddle out of the same cavern, their bellies round with pregnancy. They all kiss the same man on the cheek and then continue past me toward the women stripping the fur from some animal I cannot even begin to identify.
What is happening in this bizarre place?
“Where is Maddox?” I say to the woman who brought me food.
Please tell me someone speaks my language.
All the question earns me are blank stares and scowls.
“My friend,” I try again, holding my hand above my head to indicate his impressive height. A few heads tilt, and those closest mutter under their breath before resuming what they had been doing when we arrived, as if I’m not standing in the middle of their village begging for help.
One of the men leans a skinny arm against the cliff, his gaze raking down to my own bare feet, which I’ve yet to wash.
The man sucks on his teeth and waggles his brows.
My stomach roils. He can take that look and choke on it. If he so much as touches me, I’ll knee him in the groin.
Where is Maddox?
What if they’ve stolen him from me?
What if they decide not to let him go?
And what if he’s a willing captive?