Chapter 26 #2
It only took her… what? Half a pint and a couple bells to be all over him when they first met? She’s a shining example of how locking up your children just turns them into sex-crazed maniacs once they finally escape into the world. It’s pure luck that she ran into a somewhat decent guy like Caeo.
Or the worst luck in the world, considering where we are now.
Except my luck is even worse, because I’m the one stuck keeping her away from the ridiculously unfair specimen of broody manhood that is Taran. Caeo’s definitely gonna owe me after this.
The two fae go directly to the horses, murmuring to each other as they prepare them to ride. I reach back, grabbing Ellie’s foot, and give it a shake.
“Hey, time to wake up. We’re leaving soon.”
Ellie pulls her coat over her head, and my annoyance spikes.
“Come on, my life’s difficult enough already. Get up.”
“You’re not the only one suffering, Reid.” She tosses her coat down, uncovering her face. “I’ve barely slept in days.”
“You think I have? It’s time to go.”
She pushes herself upright, flinging her coat to the side before tugging it on. “Alright. I’m up. Are you happy now?”
“No. How could I possibly be happy? My best friend was kidnapped by his mom, everything I thought I knew is wrong, and now I have to make sure you stay out of trouble.”
“I can handle myself, Reid.”
“No, you can’t. Not when you can’t remember what’s important.” I could elaborate, but it’s pointless. She won’t understand unless I explain Caeo, at which point she’ll forget the entire conversation.
She glares at me, her mouth scrunching before it opens—
“Come on, mortals, time to go,” Emlyn calls.
I grab my pack, appreciating the timely interruption, and escape to Emlyn and the horses. As soon as I get there, he swipes it from my hands and starts tying it to a saddle.
I let out a sigh. “I can do that myself, you know.” The day has barely started, and I’m already tired of it.
“Can you? Seemed to me you were still struggling with all things horsey yesterday.” He finishes his knots, then pats the horse on the shoulder and says something in that language of theirs. The Tongue?
“If I’m struggling, it’s your fault. You didn’t do a good enough job teaching.”
Emlyn’s brow pops up. “Excuse me? It has nothing to do with technique. It’s your attitude. Your relationship with the horse. They can tell when you’re nervous.” He leans close, brushing shoulders with me. “Which is most of the time.”
My entire body tightens with a warm tension. “I’m not nervous.”
A playful smirk pulls at his mouth. “Liar.” He holds my gaze for a torturous second before swinging his hip into me and stepping back. “Ready to mount?”
He cups his hands and lowers them to a comfortable level for me to put my foot on, keeping his eyes locked on mine the entire time.
He’s trying to get under my skin. Or just under me.
Great. Now I’m thinking like him.
I shake my head and put my foot in the stirrup. The horse shifts right when I push my other foot off the ground, and I’m engulfed in a flood of regret.
Emlyn’s hands are on me in an instant, keeping me upright as he barks at the horse in the Tongue. The horse stops moving, and his hands slide along my hips as I swing my leg over and settle into the saddle. My heart’s pounding with fast, heavy thuds.
“You need to relax.” Emlyn pats my thigh, like that could possibly help. “The horse will only be comfortable letting you be in charge if you’re comfortable with it yourself, so channel some top energy.”
I pretend I didn’t hear that last comment. “Says the person who can talk to horses. Of course it’s easy for you.”
“Sure, let’s ignore the fact that I’ve been riding them for twenty years.”
Twenty years? That’s almost my entire life. An icy dread leaks down to my stomach. As a fae, he could be centuries older than me.
“How old are you?”
Emlyn’s brow furrows. “It’s spring now? That makes me… twenty-four.”
A wave of relief washes through me.
He shrugs. “I suppose four-year-old me had that advantage over you. Try ‘E’torel sinta nan.’ Give a squeeze with your legs first, so she knows you’re talking to her.”
E’torel sinta nan. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a polite way to ask her to walk. ‘E’torel challa nan’ would ask her to stop. Just ‘challa’ if you’re in a hurry.”
I repeat the phrases, and Emlyn’s face twists. “Your accent’s terrible, but we can work on that. Gotta teach you to move your tongue properly.”
Ignoring the insinuation, I bite down to try to keep myself from flushing. “Why do you even have two languages, anyway? Can’t you just speak the Tongue all the time?”
“Imagine you’re the Land, having to listen to everyone talk all the time,” Emlyn says. “That’d get annoying real quick. And we don’t need animals eavesdropping on our every word.”
I guess that makes sense. And if the Land stopped listening to us after we fucked Her over, there would’ve been no reason for our ancestors to keep using it. Especially if the animals resented us, too.
His hand, which never left my thigh, pats me again. “Wait to follow Ellie. I’ll be behind you.”
He moves to one of the remaining horses, and with graceful ease, swings himself into the saddle and grabs hold of the reins. Outside of his pack, there are a couple jugs that he brought with us from Haven hanging from the saddle. It must be the water from the faelands.
A minute later, Taran mounts the last horse. Then they’re moving, with Ellie following along behind.
I squeeze my legs.
“E’torel sinta nan.”