Chapter Twenty-Six
Dante
The way back to the castle takes hours, though it’s definitely a faster journey than the way we took there. The fae who helped us sneak away from the cell—Tormod—loads us onto a rickety wagon, whispering that we should keep low, then shifts into the biggest Shire horse I’ve ever seen.
I don’t think they usually run as fast as this one either.
We cling to the wagon sides as he gallops through fields and valleys and up hills that I’m sure should slow him down but seem to cause no trouble at all. Grant turns green and groans, pushing his head between his knees. Ophelia swears every time her hip bangs against the wagon’s side.
I’m not feeling great either, but some of the uncomfortable feeling fades the closer we get to the castle. Is it Lark’s and my bond? I know that happens with wolves sometimes. My magic was being drained, though, and I don’t know if that’s stopped.
Tormod slows as we get close. Some way from the town, he stops and transforms back into a more humanoid form.
Grant leaps down first, taking a few steps on wobbly legs, and then reaches up to help Ophelia down.
I lever myself up from my position lying on the wagon floor, and Tormod helps me.
His hand is rougher than I expect. When I have my feet on the ground, he peers into my face.
“Oh,” he murmurs. “It is taking you, too.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I reply. Not like there’s anything I can do. I’ve had enough time to think about it on the way here, and now we’re inching closer to daybreak.
“Are you going to be okay?” Grant asks Tormod as we move away from the wagon. “You could come with us.”
Tormod’s eyes go wide. “No! No. I will return to the others.”
“But you helped us escape,” Ophelia says. “Will you be safe?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I can go elsewhere if need be. There are plenty of places for See—for fae like me to hide.”
Grant nods, though he still looks uneasy about it, and when Tormod transforms back into his horse form, he helps him adjust the wagon. It rattles away, surprisingly loud in the early hours of the morning.
“Come on,” Grant says. “Keep low. I think I know the best way in.”
He leads us deeper into the town, but we stay close to the squat buildings, all of which shimmer with magic.
I can still feel that, even if my own magic is slipping away.
Will that kill me? Maybe. Probably. I huff and shake my head.
Not enough magic to be a truly powerful witch, but more than enough for it to be drained by a fae crown. Great.
We slip around the side of the castle and to a door that swings open at Grant’s touch. Ophelia sneaks in ahead of him, leaving him to watch our backs as we tiptoe through the halls. It’s quiet in here, too, which I’m somehow not expecting.
Then again, with magic at your disposal, I suppose you don’t have to wake up so early to get things done. Maybe I should mention that to Drew. If I can. Not that he minds his early wake-ups with his mates around.
We’re up on the first floor when we hear voices. Grant hears them first, of course, and tightens his hand on the back of my jumper, pulling me to a quick stop. I grab Ophelia’s arm and she stops too, glancing back at us.
I hear the voices then, too. They’re coming closer.
Grant moves faster than either of us, darting back for a door hardly visible even in the latent glow of the walls.
It doesn’t open when he sets his hand to it, and the voices are even closer, about to come around the corner.
His eyes widen and his magic flares. One of the fae approaching speaks to the other quickly. Do they know we’re here?
It doesn’t matter. Grant beckons frantically and we rush over, stumbling into the room as he shuts the door behind us. He stays pressed up against it, breathing steadily.
“—someone was here,” a voice says. Aodhan. I can feel a rush of fae magic, but it’s hard to recognise who it belongs to now, and sick fear rises in my throat. I’m really that far gone already?
“I sense some trace of the vampire’s magic.”
Grant bares his fangs and glances back at me. The witch. Seems like we were at least partly right then. But if she reaches out, she’ll sense us. She’s too powerful not to.
Grant must realise that, too. His magic settles over us in a cool wave, and Ophelia grips my hand, squeezing tight. There’s nothing we can do.
“They are contained,” Aodhan says. Low-banked fury simmers in his voice. “Unless you believe they are in here?”
He must touch the door because Grant tenses, hands curling into fists.
“No,” the witch snaps. “Do not test my patience, Aodhan.” The growl in her voice makes me shiver. She seemed so benevolent before. So regretful that Lark and I might suffer because of what other fae had done.
Except she caused it all. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry, or at least not as impotently so. I can’t charge out of here and confront her. She’ll kill me at best.
It’s a few tense moments before they move on, and none of us move a muscle until Grant’s shoulders relax; he can no longer hear their voices. He waves a hand and a candle on a table flares into light.
“Where are we?” Ophelia asks, and Grant’s eyes go wide.
“These are Iagan’s rooms.”
“You can tell?”
He nods quickly and darts off before we can tell him not to. I itch with the desire to move. Lark is here, metres away. I want to get to him. I want to see if he’s well, even if I’m already scared that he’s not.
“Interesting,” Grant says when he returns. “Sorry, just wanted to get a feel for it.”
“Find anything good?” Ophelia asks sardonically, and Grant only shrugs in reply.
“Think they’ve left the castle now, at least,” he says. “Makes sense the witch could get here so fast; we already knew she could manipulate space.”
“We did?” Ophelia asks.
“The forest. When we got here. The twins did that kind of thing, too.”
“Do you think she’ll come back?” Ophelia whispers.
Grant shrugs. Best not to dwell on that, really; not until we’ve got back to Lark and Oisin.
He checks the corridor before ushering us out of the room. We pass Ronan’s old rooms and the flare of a ward makes me wrinkle my nose. It’s in tatters, which might explain why Aodhan was here.
“He attacked,” Ophelia murmurs. I glance at her, and she’s looking at me. Does she know I can’t pick apart their magics now? “Aodhan. He attacked Oisin.”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
She nods quickly. “Yeah. He is.”
I hope Lark is, too. I think he is, but I can’t trust that I’ll know if he isn’t. What if he’s died—if they just came from killing him—and I don’t know? The thought makes me breathless, and I hurry to catch up with Grant, who is making his way down the corridor.
Lark’s door is heavily warded. “I’ll go first,” Grant says.
“It will let me in,” I reply.
“Dante,” he growls. His magic is already snapping out, pressing against the wards. “I said I’d bring you back. I’m taking you back.”
So don’t get yourself killed now. I set my jaw but nod, and he slashes through the wards and reaches for the door. When he shoves it open, Oisin is only a foot away, and he stumbles back in surprise.
“Miss us?” Grant asks, smile far too wide for the occasion.
And far too wide when I get my first look at Lark. There’s no shimmer to his fae skin, dark grey smudges under each black eye. They widen when he sees me standing there, and he lets out a gasping breath I might liken to a sob.
When he pushes to his feet, he sways, and I make my way over to him without another thought. He’s in pain. The pulse of it is almost visible, even if magic is seeping away from me right now.
It’s seeping from him, too. That, I feel like I can see. I swing my gaze around to the bedroom, then back to him again.
“It’s draining you,” I say.
Behind us, Oisin, Grant, and Ophelia are speaking in low tones.
“It is draining you as well,” Lark replies. He takes my face in his hands. “I am so sorry. I should have never brought you here. The deal would have never reached you in your realm.”
“You weren’t going to convince me to stay behind.” There was one moment where I might have, but as soon as Sam couldn’t come here, we all knew what was going to happen. I sigh and lean into Lark’s touch. Whether a mage should come here or not, he’ll be here soon. I have no doubt about that.
“I do not know how to fix this,” Lark says. His thumb rubs over my cheekbone, gentle just beneath my eye. “I have condemned us both.”
“Maybe,” Grant pipes up behind us. Lark looks at him but doesn’t let go of my face, and I don’t want him to. I wrap my fingers around his forearms and hold on. Weak and pained as he is, he still feels sturdy beneath my grip.
“Maybe?” Oisin asks.
“Your fate wasn’t to wear a crown. It was to go to the human realm and find your mate.”
“We had worked that out,” Lark says dryly.
“So we need to leave. The witch wouldn’t let us get to the crossing point, but you’re both kings now. Surely, you can get in touch with the Guardians?”
Lark’s fingers tighten on my face. “I am uncertain how,” he admits. “Though we can try, of course. You could scry here before; there is no reason you cannot do it again.”
“That won’t work,” Ophelia says.
I untangle myself from Lark so I can look at her. The pain from before is gone, but I still feel lightheaded and tired. The crown pulses out of sight. I can feel it. “What will?”
“The bond needs to be broken.”
I look at Lark, alarmed. “What, between us?”
“No,” she says gently. “That one is… weak. Still there, but it’s been pushed aside. I-I think it’s the only reason you’re still alive.”
Lark squeezes my hand. “You mean the bond between Oisin and me.”
“No,” Ophelia says. “I mean the bond between you two and the crowns.”
Oisin takes an alarmed step away. He’s already shaking his head. “You cannot—We cannot simply give them back. That is not how this works.”
“It’s a bond,” Ophelia says. “And it’s not a permanent one.”
Lark stares at her for too long. “What do you mean?”