Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
CAIRN
Kaelith and Vel have been circling the same ground for the past fifteen minutes. Both make good arguments for their choices, and neither will submit to the other. Not that it matters, I’ve already made the decision.
Vel is all controlled violence, each word she spits precise and sharp. Kaelith is quieter, but no less fixed on his chosen course. Around them, the others watch with the grim patience of warriors who know the argument in front of them has already outlived its usefulness.
Leaning back in my chair, I let them continue. It will do them good to burn off the energy.
Then, Alleria’s Nightwild thread vanishes.
It doesn’t fade or dim. It simply … ceases to exist. Nightwild bonds have carried pain, rage, command, loyalty, blood, and magic. They have carried death and sorrow.
The only time they were absent was when we were collared.
There is no iron in Nightward, and yet Alleria’s thread is gone.
Beneath it, the blood bond—the constant, steady hum of her presence at the back of my mind—is severed with it. Both connections, sliced clean in the same heartbeat.
The argument going on in front of me cuts off instantly.
Kaelith turns first. Vel follows a fraction of a second later, her face stripped clean of every trace of argument.
Around the room, chairs scrape against stone.
Hands fill with weapons. Every member of the Guard looks to me, clearly feeling the same thing I have—a sudden, freezing vacuum in the Nightwild bond we share.
I’m on my feet before the decision to move forms in my mind.
“Search the keep.” The command cracks through the dead air like a whip. “Now.”
The Guard scatters without a single word.
I take the stairs two at a time, my mind running through every hall, tower, and gallery of Nightward. The keep has too many rooms, too many passages rich in magic, and too many doors that open into places an unwary halfling could enter and never return from.
I know them all.
I know every stair, every hidden passage, and every gallery that looks out over the sky.
None of them bring me to her.
I tear through the hallways, throwing doors open hard enough to crack the frames. Empty chambers. Empty hallways. Empty alcoves where shadows lean too deep against the walls. The keep blurs around me, while the terror climbs higher with every empty room.
Where is she?
I sweep the libraries, the indoor gardens, even the kitchens where I know she’s never set foot. The balconies, my rooms, her rooms, the courtyard.
Nothing.
The silence in the twelfth thread is deafening.
Then a pulse of worry hits me.
Caelum, reaching through the bond, shoving a wordless, desperate urge down the connection for me to come.
I spin, and race along the twisting hallways until I reach a part of the keep I haven’t been near for a long time. The air changes long before the passage does. It turns older, colder, and the hair rises on the back of my neck at the echo of magic that should not be here.
My footsteps slow.
The heavy wooden door to Chiarna’s sealed garden is wide open.
For a moment, even the panic inside me goes still. Memories of the laughing Wild Court fae fill my mind, followed by the last image I have of her. Her body broken and bent in unnatural angles.
That door has no business standing open. The keep should not have allowed it. The garden should remain buried.
And now Alleria is inside.
The impossibility of that open door barely registers before the absolute silence in my head shatters. Alleria’s Nightwild thread snaps back into existence. The force of it drives through me so hard, I stagger.
An instant later, the blood bond returns, crashing into me and flooding my mind with the chaotic rush of her disorientation.
She’s back.
Caelum is standing a few paces inside, but I don’t look at him. My eyes are locked entirely on the female standing in the dirt.
My gaze takes in everything at once. Throat. Hands. Wrists. Blood. Eyes. She’s missing one boot. There’s earth on her cheek. A pale vein with yellow thorns is tangled in her hair. Small scratches mark her skin. Her stare is too wide, too unfocused.
But she’s alive. She’s here.
I’m through the door, past Caelum, and cupping her face in my hands before she can blink. Her skin is cold beneath my palms, and my thumbs search out her pulse. It’s fast and erratic under my touch.
I follow the line of her jaw, the side of her throat, the place beneath her ear where it beats hard against my fingers.
Alive. She’s alive.
The relief hits so hard my knees nearly give out. For a few seconds, I can do nothing but hold her face and feel her breathing. Then the terror I've been holding back tears loose, storming its way down the blood bond before I can stop it.
“Leave us,” I say to Caelum, my voice tight.
I keep my hands on her face, demanding to know why she left the Spear. But the interrogation yields nothing. Through the bond, I catch no images, only a chaotic swirl of her own confusion. She genuinely has no idea how she got in here, or what she followed.
Somewhere behind her, a fern gives a low hiss. My eyes snap to it, and the sound cuts off. The garden knows who I am and what I will do if it even tries to rise up.
I don’t waste time questioning her further. The air in this place is too heavy, too thick with old, dead magic, and she’s starting to shiver as shock sets in. I drop my hands from her face, slide an arm beneath her knees, and lift her against my chest.
She gasps, her arms wrapping around my neck. I turn and carry her out of the garden.
She is alive. She is in my arms. The bonds are back.
The moment we cross the threshold, the relief becomes fear again. Fear that has nowhere useful to go.
It can’t tell me what opened that door. It can’t tell me what drew her there. So it becomes something else.
Cold. Lethal. Fury.
“Cairn.”
“Later.” I deliver the word through gritted teeth. If I answer her now, I will give her the wrong part of myself. The furious part. The part that’s still looking for someone to kill.
I continue striding along the passage, back up the stairs, and around corners until we reach the great hall and the staircase that leads up into the keep proper.
As I move up the stairs, I send a sharp command down the Nightwild bond.
Serath. To me.
I don’t stop until we reach her quarters.
Mine are too far. And I need to know she’s unharmed now.
I set her down just inside the sitting room, my hand lingering on her waist until I’m certain her legs will hold her, then I step away.
She wraps her arms around herself, staring down at her muddy, bootless foot.
Serath arrives less than a minute later. She takes one look at my face and wisely says nothing, guiding Alleria to a chair by the hearth. I stay where I am, jaw clenched, fists loose at my sides, while every instinct I have screams at me to cross the room and put my hands back on her.
I track every movement Serath makes. Every place her hands touch. Every scratch she finds. Every flinch Alleria tries to hide.
And I wait.
When she’s done, Serath comes back to me. “Physically, she’s fine. Nothing more than superficial scratches. But whatever happened, she can’t explain it. I wonder if the Sluagh grew tired of waiting.”
The Sluagh whispers and tempts. It waits for doors to be opened. This doesn’t feel like that.
I shake my head. “That isn’t how the Sluagh behaves. But I’ll hunt it down, and find out for myself.”
She nods, and leaves us alone. Once the door clicks shut behind her, I look at Alleria. The disorientation is still rolling off her in waves. She’s too still in the chair, arms wrapped around herself, one bare foot tucked beneath her other leg. There’s dirt on her skin, and blood on her cheek.
The sight of it makes the rage stir again.
I cross the room and lift her into my arms again. She makes a small sound of protest, but it has no strength behind it. Her arms tighten around my neck, and that does more to steady my temper than anything Serath said.
“You’re cold. There’s blood on your face. Let me fix it.”
I carry her through the bedchamber and into the bathing room. With a single thought, her clothes dissolve into a shimmer of fine mist. A heartbeat later, mine vanish with them.
She gasps, her bare skin suddenly pressed flush against mine. Her eyes go wide, and I feel the first startled flare of embarrassment through the bond.
“I’m getting you warm, Aethryn, nothing more.”
I need to wash the blood off her. I need her warm. And I need her close enough that the bond can’t lie to me, and distance will not be able to steal a single breath between us.
I’m down the steps and in the heated water of the sunken tub before she can respond. Sinking down on the submerged bench, I set her down opposite me. The hot water covers us both, but she immediately crosses her arms over her chest and refuses to look at me.
“I’m fine, you know. You don’t need to hover.”
“I’m not hovering.”
Reaching to the side, I take the soft cloth resting there and dip it into the heated water. She flinches slightly when I reach for her. I stop, long enough for her to see my hand and what I’m holding. Then I cup the back of her neck, and bring the warm, wet cloth to her face.
Tracing the cloth carefully over the cuts on her cheek, I wash away the dirt and the blood. My jaw clenches, but I force my hand to remain steady as I clean her skin. The rage is still there, banked low under everything, wanting me out in the dark hunting what touched her.
She shivers under my touch, watching my face for any sign the anger is directed at her. And I hate that there was ever a time where she thought I would hurt her. That I gave her reason for it. That I did hurt her.
So I push down the fury, and I keep my touch gentle. I stroke the cloth over her cheek, along the line of her jaw, and down her throat.
I give her the only softness I can manage, while everything inside me is ready to kill.
After a few quiet minutes, she leans toward me, and sighs. “I swear, dumping me in water must be your love language.”
“My … what?”
Her cheeks turn crimson. “I mean … That’s not what … It’s just a human phrase. You always seem to dump me in water when things go—”
I lean forward and cover her mouth with mine, swallowing the rest of her words in a deep, slow kiss.
Her lips part for me, and I drink her in, needing the physical proof that she’s unharmed.
I savor the warmth of her mouth, and the way her fingers press against my back.
The bond opens between us, alive and full of her again.
When she relaxes, her arms looping around my neck, I pull back, pressing a finger beneath her chin to tip her head up.
“I need to be sure you are well.”
Before she can respond, Kaelith’s voice calls out from the sitting room.
“I’m sorry, but we really need to resolve what the plan is before Vel and Brael come to blows.”
Alleria sighs, her forehead dropping forward to rest against my shoulder. “I guess duty calls … Eldráfn.”
Heat curls through me at the way she says my title. I brush my lips against hers once more.
“I may need you to call me that again when we’re alone.” I let my hand slide from her neck, link my fingers with hers, and tug her to her feet as I stand.
It takes a matter of seconds for magic to dry and clothe us, and we meet Kaelith in the sitting room.
We head down the main staircase together.
The brownies have left platters of food and drink on the long table in the Great Hall, a silent offering to ease the Guard’s tension that I acknowledge with a tilt of my head.
Vel is pacing. Brael looks like he’s ready to put a fist through the wall. Therin is seated at one side, boots propped up on the corner, paring his nails with a knife.
I walk to the head of the table, Alleria at my side. All chatter stops. Vel goes still. Brael lowers his hand from the wall. Therin’s knife pauses against his nail, his gaze lifting to mine.
“We ride to Sorynmar tonight.” My voice carries across the hall. “We need to discover who rules the Sea Court and what has happened while we’ve been gone. Regardless of the summons, it is the one Court most likely to give us real answers.”
My gaze moves over them one by one.
Whatever caused Chiarna’s garden to open will have to wait until another day. Seeking answers from the Sluagh will have to wait.
The Guard will not.
“We leave at moonrise. Until then, eat, drink and prepare.”