Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
HORNHALL
L egion jumped from her shoulder and onto the floor the second Katarra entered her chamber. She stilled, inhaled deeply, and closed the door behind her. “Come on out.”
Legion stopped his awkward loping pursuit of an apple core and cocked his head at her.
“I can smell the stolen cherry pie on your unwashed hands,” Katarra added.
Legion dropped low, extended his long neck and flared his nostrils. The armoire door creaked open. The wyvern squawked and padded toward it.
Two citrine-colored eyes peaked out from behind a ball gown. “I was afraid to go anywhere else with the castle being searched.”
“And you thought my rooms were safe?” Katarra arched a brow.
“Where better to hide than a dragon’s lair?” Oakley dared to step out.
Legion immediately went for her feet in an all-out assault on the worn leather shoes. The child giggled.
“Are you referring to the actual dragon?” Katarra asked. “Or me? ”
“Both, I suppose.” Oakley dropped down to look at the tiny monster. “I was hoping you’d have him with you.”
Legion stopped attacking long enough to look up at the girl. Then he jumped on her shoulder. More delighted laughter.
Katarra rolled her eyes. Her reputation might never recover if word of this ever got out. She walked to the bed and fell back on it. “There’s leftover pastries on the dresser.”
“I might have eaten them already.”
“Are you still hungry?” She stared at the ceiling. As if on cue, Oakley’s stomach growled. Katarra lifted a hand and pointed to the bell pull. “Ring that. Hide when the servant comes to the door.”
She heard the shuffling of little feet, then the sound of the rope being pulled. Katarra’s gaze mapped out the intricate carvings on the medallion around the chandelier hanging over her bed. She’d start her hunt in the underground tunnels beneath the castle.
The group that attacked hadn’t come through the front gates or over the walls. They’d come from under the city. There was no other way to enter and exit as quickly as they had.
That meant one of two things were certain. Either Hornhall didn’t have guards patrolling wherever those tunnels let out. Or, they just gravely underestimated their enemy. The latter would never occur in Gerra.
Sadly, Ventus was unlike her homeland in many annoying regards. The main one being their shared rule with Windsong. Too many cooks in the kitchen, as the saying went. There would always be instability without absolute dominance.
Earth was the perfect example of that. The only realm of the four to be in a constant state of war since its conception. Mortals with their limited lives just couldn’t establish a lasting monarchy. Their time alive was too fleeting, their memories too short.
“There’s a lot of blood out there,” Oakley muttered.
Katarra turned her head. The girl was looking out the window toward the gardens where the ambush had occurred. The wyvern still perched on her shoulder. “Did they take the king?” she asked .
“What would make you ask that?” Katarra pushed herself up onto her elbows.
Oakley remained facing the window. “I heard someone say that’s why they were coming.”
Katarra sat all the way up. “Who said they were coming?” The child didn’t respond. “Oakley?”
“I don’t know.” She blew onto the windowpane, fogging it with her breath, then traced a shape on the glass. “Did they take him?”
“They did.” Katarra tried to make out the drawing over the girl’s shoulder. “When did you hear this discussion?”
“Last night.”
“I see,” Katarra said. There was no point grilling her further. The girl wasn’t even supposed to be in Hornhall. She had no obligation or loyalty to these fae. She was only here to spy on her sister. “Have you discovered if your sister is High-fae?”
“She isn’t.” Oakley turned from the window. “I’m going to leave tomorrow.”
Katarra nodded. “Where will you tell them you’ve been?”
She shrugged, looking around the room. “I got lost in the forest.”
“Are you not scared to go back alone? Knowing whoever took the king is likely in those woods?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’re not in the forest.”
Legion craned his head toward the door, indicating the called servant was on their way. Katarra studied the child carefully. “Where are they, Oakley?”
Bright gold eyes met hers. “In the catacombs, under the city.”
E irik blinked, the light a piercing abomination searing his retinas. It wasn’t the only discomfort. The ringing in his ears was akin to the bagpipes being played by an enthusiastic novice at a Scottish Highland Games.
His head felt like it had been split open with a meat cleaver. He tried to lift his hand, his vision still fuzzy, just to realize he couldn’t. It was bound tightly at his side. Same as his right one. And his powers…
Locked!
Panic swept in and his magic stirred awake as the realization became clear. Someone, or something, had rendered him helpless.
He willed the mounting hysteria to heel, submitting to the situation. He needed to find a measure of control. That meant accepting the confines and parameters of his current state. Only then could he find a way to break free.
Eirik took a calming breath. Rosemary washed over his senses. Rosemary , and something pungent, like moss. A poultice of some kind.
To keep him alive? Or to hinder his healing?
Without moving, he did a mental evaluation of the rest of his body. Other than a tenderness in his ribs, his blurred vision, and the chafing of the cold metal around his wrists and ankles, his head was the worst of it.
He splayed his fingers at his side. A soft fabric was beneath him, filled with feathers. A rougher type of wool laid over him. A bed.
He blinked again and focused on the grayish color above him. Slowly the outlines of the ceiling became clearer. Plaster, cracked so deep in places its structural soundness was compromised.
Not gray . The ceiling was faded and marred by time, but under the dirt and age was a painting. Similar to the murals that adorned his childhood home. This wasn’t just any old room. It had been lavish and well-loved once upon a time.
He followed the delicate pastel brushstrokes to where the ceiling met the walls. Wisteria and ivy shared space with brick and mortar, creating their own artwork, climbing the stone walls like threads in a tapestry.
Abandoned . This place had been left to nature. His gaze continued downward. As the fog of his vision lifted, he cataloged more details.
Creamy petals floated past a glassless window, a hint at the beauty that surrounded these ruins. To the left was a balcony. Beyond that, the tops of trees. The longest boughs arched over the crumbling stone railing, bearing the full weight of eternal fall upon them.
Water moved in the near distance, gentle and bubbling in places, frothing and angry in others. A stream. It let him see with its song. They were on hill or mountain, the water cascading over rocks and edges, around bends and into still pools.
He licked his lips. Dry and cracked, they were abrasive against his tongue and tasted of dried blood.
A shadow in the corner caught his eye. “You heal quicker than us.” The voice was soft, lilting, the sound of a lullaby.
“Does that hinder, or aid, your plans for me?” Eirik rasped, the sound as rough as his throat.
A light chuckle. “I suppose that depends on you.”
“Great! I always excel at tests.” He smiled. Because…why not? He couldn’t fight his way out of this situation. The only weapon he still possessed was charm. “When shall we begin?”
The female stepped from the shadow. The light of the open window streamed through her voluminous red hair, weaving in and around spiraling curls that dwarfed her slender shoulders in a mane of fire.
Eirik’s mind skipped backward in time. Had one of the fae in the clearing had such distinguishing hair? He hadn’t had time to take notice. He’d been too in awe of the damn pegasus.
The female slowly approached, picking up a pitcher of water and a cup off a stand. She poured a glass as she walked. More of her features became clear. She was lovely. Skin like porcelain, eyes the color of acorns .
Bastian would have taken note of a female such as this. And his brother would taunt him mercilessly for not doing so himself. Why the fuck hadn’t he?
She extended the cup, though stopped short of his mouth. “Let’s begin with why you were spying on us?”
There was no point in lying. He had never mastered it. Besides, she likely knew already. “I was sent by the King of Windsong to find the rebel queen.”
She pressed the cup to his chapped lips. Eirik drank greedily, the cool water a balm down his ragged throat. She withdrew the cup when he laid his head back.
She asked, “Why?”
“Fae are mysteriously disappearing. He wants to know why.”
“How would the queen know?”
“I don’t know. I was sent on a mission. I am only following orders.”
“Why?”
“I swore an oath. I am–”
“A member of the Warborn,” she finished for him. “I know who you are, Eirik LaGoryen. What I want to know is why one of the Chosen Ones is taking orders from a fae king.”
“I came here to better my craft, to establish connections, and to observe how Ventus is run.”
“Is it your plan to visit Hornhall next? Spend a year of your life observing their court? Working off the directive of the child-king’s mother and royal advisor? Perhaps join their prestigious King’s Knights?” The questions weren’t laced with spite or judgment, just a straightforward need to know. “Will you also spend time at the Temple? As your brother has done?”
Eirik studied her more closely. This female had made him her prisoner and knew vastly more about him than he did her. She wore fighting leathers that hugged her like a glove, the pants cut low, secured by a wide belt, outfitted with twin short blades on either hip. There were multiple places along the thighs and calves of the pants to hold weapons too, and on the sleeveless vest she wore cropped above the navel. The only finery that adorned her was a thin gold necklace that looped tightly around her throat, then fell into the V of the vest. Whatever charm might be on it was concealed from sight.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” he said. “I don’t even know your name, or where I am.”
“Would you think that has anything to do with your education at Windsong?”
“Are you implying my time at Windsong has been an inadequate teacher?”
“Only you can answer that.” She refilled the cup. He shook his head, and she set it and the pitcher down on a side table. “Now…” She fixed her large brown eyes back on him. “Care to answer my questions?”
Eirik sucked on a tooth. “Will you tell me who you are if I do?”
“I won’t kill you in the next hour if you do.” She stated deadpan.
“Fair.” Eirik started at the top. “I have yet to be invited to Hornhall. If I were, I would go to learn the order of things in their court. As for the Temple; that would be a discussion I would have with my mentors back on Earth first.”
“Do you think the wizards have anything to offer you?”
“It’s not that simple. I was given specific orders when I came here. My objective was to learn from Calian and his court. They wanted something different for my brother.”
She tilted her head, glossy curls tumbling to one side. “Have you? Learned from the king of Windsong?”
“Working with the Warborn has taught me a lot.”
“Has it prepared you to lead?”
The question threw a harder punch than the others for some reason. He didn’t like the implications. Or the knot it tied in his gut.
“Everything I do prepares me,” he replied honestly. “I do not put an end goal on the lessons.”
She wordlessly considered him. After a few seconds, she said, “You killed a valuable warrior today. ”
He considered his response carefully. “Was he a favorite of your queen?”
The first hint of emotion crept into her face and her lip curled up on one side. “No.”
She turned and walked away. Eirik craned his head to see where she was going, but his chains held him in place. “Where are you going?” he called after her, his heartrate quickening.
Her footsteps didn’t falter. “To get you an audience with the queen.”