Chapter 10
Chapter ten
A MESSAGE FOR A KING
Ornella
It was not difficult to lure the griffins and fey scout away from the refugees with the use of Darragh’s wind magic, which Ciaran used to carry his Autumn scent to them.
We chose our ambush site with great care to ensure it had coverage from the air but also a convenient clearing for our targets to land.
As they flew into sight, I saw that two of the griffins were Imítheos, their robes and makeup giving them away instantly.
The third griffin was Ktínos, likely a scout sent to guide them, and the fey was some kind of insectoid with antennae and moth wings.
The little creature would barely reach my knees, but I knew better than to underestimate other fey based on their size.
The griffins were all in their two-legged forms since the Imítheos could not use magic in their animal bodies.
They would be able to pull the air right out of our lungs, and some of the really powerful ones like Riordan could affect the oxygen in our blood.
I would have seconds to take them down before they could retaliate, and yet I still had to wait for them to come within range of my power.
The proximity was risky since the closer the mages got, the higher the chances they might sense us there.
I managed to time it just right, and as soon as they got close enough, I struck at them with all my strength before they felt the attack coming. I could have sworn my magic felt even stronger than it had before, but that might have only been because I was so used to using it in Autumn.
I ignored Ciaran as he tensed readily next to me and focused on quickly syphoning the water from their bodies and collecting it in their lungs. Within seconds, they were all plummeting from the sky and clenching at their throats and chests in confused panic.
Ciaran rose the second we heard them hit the ground just beyond the rocky ridge behind which we had hidden, but I grabbed his arm to hold him back.
“They could still steal your air. It is better to wait until the Imítheos have fully lost consciousness.”
He grumbled a quip about me taking all the fun away, but I was not willing to risk him. Not when there were so many fey relying on him to get them to safety.
I closed my eyes, ignoring him as he started to pace the ground in front of me with impatience.
It took a great deal of my concentration to battle the Imítheos who were trying to use their air magic to oxygenate their own blood without the use of their lungs.
But neither of them were strong enough, and soon they both lay still next to the fey and the Ktínos who had succumbed more quickly.
Once the magic users were subdued, I rose to follow Ciaran who had practically leapt over the rock that I was leaning against as soon as they slumped onto the ground.
He muttered in disgust as he reached them, and I knew he hated to kill someone he perceived to be helpless, but he still slashed his sword across the throats of the Imítheos.
I did not share his aversion. If I had not subdued them, those griffins would have killed us first, I had no doubt about that. They would have seized the air from my lungs and suffocated Ciaran’s fire magic before he could even singe their pretty feathers.
With the worst of the threat extinguished, I pulled the water out of the lungs of the fey and the Ktínos warrior so they could regain consciousness.
Both of them rolled over instantly and began coughing violently between desperate gasps for air.
The Ktínos slumped in relief on one of his trembling wings, which was tucked at an awkward angle beneath him while his back heaved.
The fey gave a feeble flutter of its moth wings as if it might escape, but it was still too weak to move its spindly limbs.
Its oblong head twisted toward us, and its enormous eyes fell on the blade Ciaran held at his side, which was still dripping with blood from the Imítheos.
It made a pitiful squeak of protest that might have made me laugh if this vile creature were not leading Riordan’s men to refugees.
While we had waited, Ciaran told me about the fey in the Vale who were helping the Griffin King track down their own kind from the Spring Court.
And it made me sick to think about it because I knew that I might have been one of those misguided fools.
Had I not become a captive of the Wild Hunt, I might have been convinced by whatever narrative Riordan was using to get fey trackers to help with the situation.
“You are lucky. I do not intend to use a blade on you. Traitor though you may be,” Ciaran told the insectoid.
“Traitor?” it chirped indignantly, rolling over to sit up and puff out its chest in an unexpected show of bravery. “I recognize no other allegiance but to King Riordan!”
“Your king helped destroy the court of your ancestors. Your homeland,” Ciaran snapped back instantly before he lifted the tip of his blade to the fey’s thin throat. “Tell me how many innocent Spring Court fey the four of you have sniffed out and sicced soldiers on,” he commanded.
The fey leaned back and slowly raised all four of its insectoid limbs in surrender.
“I simply followed my orders. We tracked down spies and threats to the kingdom,” it insisted calmly.
“And just how many of those threats were children?” Ciaran countered.
The insectoid went silent, but its antennae drooping was enough of an answer for Ciaran. His expression turned so murderous that I thought he might break his word and kill the creature after all.
“We brought those people here because it was the only way to save their lives after your king caused their world to collapse,” Ciaran snarled. His leather armour appeared to begin steaming as his fire magic surged in his veins. “Now you hunt them.”
The insectoid was intelligent enough not to speak as it eyed the smoke rising from Ciaran’s arms.
The Ktínos scout was not.
“And we will keep hunting them down until every last rebel is caught. Then my king will come for your court,” the griffin mumbled into the feathers of his wing that was still bent under him while he caught his breath.
Ciaran turned very slowly to the griffin and took a step toward him, but I grabbed his arm. I hissed and then used my healing magic to protect my skin so his heated armour did not continue to burn me.
“I have a better idea for him,” I insisted, keeping my hold on Ciaran until he relaxed and nodded.
I released the other rider and stalked toward the griffin still lying prone.
I grabbed his shoulder to roll him over the way he seemed to hope I would because he struck out at me with a knife he was clearly hoping I would not see.
Luckily for me, I had anticipated him, and he gave a wild roar of rage and denial when his wrists and wings were all bound by vines that shot out of the earth around him.
I stepped over him as he continued to struggle so I had one bare foot on either side of his hips.
I grabbed the front of his breast plate to yank him upright and then tipped his chin back to force him look at me with enraged gold eyes.
His skin was still so dry and drawn, his lips cracked and bleeding from dehydration thanks to my magic.
“Return to your king, and tell him that Ornella sends her regards,” I instructed him as I shifted my hand from his chin to cover his mouth.
He tried to pull away again, but my vines held him securely in place.
Even when he began to thrash and scream as roots grew out of my hand and down his throat into his gut.
Once I was done, I released him and stepped away, watching in amusement as he instantly went to all fours to try and vomit up the seeds I had put inside him.
“It is no use. Go quickly now before you are too late to bring my message to your king. Maybe he can save you,” I taunted so he was motivated to get to Riordan.
Sobbing and still gagging, he raised his wings and took flight without another threatening word.
We returned to the refugees with our prisoner just in time to see a herd of Spring centaurs canter into the clearing with the Spring fey.
Their whinnies and horselike snorts filled the air as they began stomping around and bumping into one another.
Their bodies were immense, they were twice Ciaran’s height, and easily weighed over a ton of pure muscle.
The ground shuddered beneath them as all the other fey scrambled away from the trampling hooves.
Their coats ranged in colour from black and dark bay to blue roan and white, which matched the complexions of their bare torsos and long hair.
“Declan!” shouted Ciaran as he handed the insectoid prisoner off to one of his men, and I saw a centaur with a seal-brown body and white socks turn. I guessed he was the leader when the stallion began tromping over to us.
“Ciaran O’Scátha!” Declan called back.
“Your surname is O’Scátha?” I murmured dubiously, wondering how many of his ancestors had to have been Shadow Walkers for them to name themselves for it.
Ciaran ignored me as he bowed his head to Declan once the centaur had reached us. The rider was confident with the stallion, but I wanted to keep my distance from a creature that could trample me.
“Thank you for coming to our aid. I know it is riskier than ever,” Ciaran acknowledged, and I noticed Declan’s herd were all kneeling for the Spring fey to mount them. Many of the centaurs were carrying three or four fey on their broad backs.
“We heard what happened to the Spring Court and are eager to help. It is being said here in the Vale that it was Rian’s fault that the Spring Court collapsed, but of course we know better. Balor is a snake,” hissed the centaur with an angry horse squeal and a stomp of a foreleg.
“Any word from Byrne or his herd?” Ciaran asked.
“They have been keeping your agents moving safely back and forth across the borders. The Vale King pursues them relentlessly, and Balor’s agents conduct their secret hunts unbeknownst to Riordan.
Although, the last I heard, the Spring King has been taken to Kórinthos.
Whether he is a prisoner or a ward of the Griffin King is unknown. ”
“Perhaps they are consolidating power in anticipation of our retaliation,” said Ciaran, but I shook my head.
“The last thing Riordan would have wanted is another king in the Vale to challenge his power,” I mused aloud, drawing their attention.
“He never would have invited the Spring King to come here unless he expected him to go home eventually. But Balor had every intention of taking over the Spring Quadrant here, and Riordan has certainly figured that out by now. They are not allies anymore.”
“It is an astute speculation,” Declan told me.
“Rian wanted me to ask you about the Fuath here. Have you noticed more of them? Are they mobilizing?” Ciaran asked the centaur whose expression darkened.
“Indeed they are. What role do they play?” he asked, and I looked at Ciaran with brows raised in expectation.
“We are not yet sure, but it does seem there may be a connection between the Fuath in Ahnnaòin and someone or something here in the Vale,” Ciaran revealed.
I glared at him in annoyance that he had not thought to share this information with me, but Ciaran ignored me as usual while a mare approached Declan. She informed him that the herd was ready to take the Spring fey to safety.
“Thank you,” Ciaran said to the stallion.
Both centaurs bowed their heads in acknowledgement and then backed away to lead their herd the way they had come from. They took all the Spring fey with them.
“What did you mean about the connection between the Fuath in Ahnnaòin and the Vale?” I asked Ciaran.
“Come, we should not linger,” he said as he turned to walk toward the portal.
“Ciaran—”
“Nuala believes there is some power extending from the Vale into Autumn Court. Something that is blocking her visions of the Fuath in a similar way to how she was unable to See the Sylvan,” he explained.
He grabbed one of the scouts moving by and jerked the male close so he could speak into his ear before sending him on his way.
I was silent as I absorbed this horrifying information. Something was extending across worlds?
“What the fuck could do that? And what would it be doing with the Fuath?”
“I don’t know, but whatever could instigate them to mobilize in two worlds like this must be very powerful,” Ciaran pointed out. “And there is a chance that they are also mobilizing in the other courts,” he added.
He waved the last of our warriors through the portal ahead of us while I stood silently next to him trying to wrap my head around what he was saying.
“Come on,” Ciaran said to me before he stepped into the portal after the last scout and left me alone.
I exhaled hard, resenting the fact that we seemed to have so many enemies and not enough time to deal with any of them. Especially when all I really wanted to do was go straight to the Mountain City and find a way to force Riordan to tell me how to get Sage back.
I glanced in that direction and briefly entertained the idea of it.
I could let the Wild Hunt deal with the Fuath and Balor and Riordan, and I could embark on the quest to rescue my mate by myself as was most familiar to me.
But I knew I stood a better chance of getting Sage back with the help of the Wild Hunt.
And I also knew I did not want to be alone anymore.
So I turned from the Mountain City to step toward the portal after Ciaran.
Only for someone to roughly wrap a hand around my lower face and yank me back against a hard chest.
“Hello, cousin,” snickered a chillingly familiar voice that had my heart sinking with dread.
Even centuries later, I still recognized the seedy voice of Arren Lann a’Chridhe in my ear. He was the eldest son sired by my father’s brother who was killed when Brogan secured his place as the patriarch of our family.
I was not sure what stung more. The fact that it was this glorified ball of beetle dung, out of all my much more prestigious male relatives, who was sent after me.
Or the fact that he had actually managed to catch me unawares.
Although if anyone was going to do it, then it would be another dryad who could use their elemental power to camouflage themself from my senses.
I also knew it was pointless to fight him.
My magic had been contained as soon as he put his hand over my mouth and forced me to inhale the chuka powder I hated so fucking much.
Vines had wound around my wrists and ankles the second he had me unpowered, which prevented me from even going for Sage’s dagger on my leg.
My family had finally come for me.