Page 57 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

Again, mother glanced at me, as if only just realizing I was still there. “Lonnie!” she snapped. “Go outside.”

“But—” I cast around for some excuse that would keep me in the room. My curiosity burned like fire within me. “I thought I heard a mountain lion earlier.”

To my surprise, the commander threw back his head and laughed. “Why doesn’t Ambrose here watch the children while we talk. In case there are any more lions lurking around.”

The second Fae male looked up suddenly. “Commander, you’re not fucking serious. You didn’t bring me here to play wet-nurse to human infants.”

I wrinkled my nose. I was hardly an infant—I would be eleven next year.

“I brought you here to do whatever I asked of you,” the commander barked. “Go.”

My mother wrung her hands in her skirt, but nodded for me to follow.

* * *

Over the next several days,Ambrose Dullahan held true to his word.

Every morning, he’d remind me that if I wanted to eat I could join him in the dining room, then he’d leave, shutting me in the room all day. Every night, he’d return, and I would stubbornly sleep on the floor like a dog, so as to avoid touching him.

This went on for two straight days, and at first, the gnawing ache in my belly was manageable.

I’d been hungry in my past life as a servant, and even starving while in the dungeons. I was no stranger to finding ways to distract myself from the shooting pains in my stomach. Happily, the cabin was filled with books, and I distracted myself from the bleak situation learning history and geography that I’d never before had the time or opportunity to know.

Finally, however, I couldn’t take the hunger anymore, and on the morning of the third day since my attempted escape, I gave in.

Rising from the bed, which I occupied during the day so as to rest my aching joints, I dragged myself across the small room and tried the door. It was not locked, and I found myself staring out at the wide-open sky, and the bustling deck of the ship.

Stepping out onto the deck, I shivered slightly at the cold winter air that blew in huge gusts, picking up the ends of my hair and the hem of my borrowed shirt. I turned my head this way and that, trying to take in everything at once.

Men and women barked orders at each other, while others hoisted sails and scrubbed the wooden planks clean. The sound of creaking ropes and splashing waves created a symphony of maritime activity. Far in the distance, I could just barely make out Dullahan standing on the captain’s platform at the wheel, his long white hair almost shining in the bright sun.

I scanned the faces of the crew members as I walked nervously down the center of the ship. Not a single person paid me any mind, but still I couldn’t help but notice that almost all of his crew were humans.

That only fueled my dislike of the rebellion. A fairy war fought by human soldiers gave an uncomfortably real meaning to the word “Slúagh.” The literal translation of the Fae slur for humans was “Sword fodder,” and that had never felt so real as it did in this moment.

Grinding my teeth, I reached the other side of the ship and stopped at a set of stairs leading up to the captain’s deck. I glanced around again, half expecting someone to stop me, or at least ask where I was going. No one did, and with a final anxious glance at the crew I began to climb.

There were three people on the captain’s deck—or rather, two Fae males, and a woman who looked to be half-Fae.

My mouth fell open as I looked over the group. Ambrose Dullahan stood at the wheel, steering the ship, while the tiny black-haired woman spoke to him in rapid, too-quiet words I couldn’t make out. They were not what shocked me, however. The other male—tall, with close cropped hair and tattoos covering his scalp—glanced at me as I approached. I met his green eyes, and instantly recognized him. “You!” I exclaimed. “You shot me, you fucking bastard.”

I took a quick, jerking step toward the male. I was absolutely certain it had been him whom I’d seen in the Waywoods, just before I shadow walked. Not only that, but while back in Inbetwixt, Scion and I had sought a male of this exact description in the brothel owned by one of the city’s many guilds. We’d never found him, but I’d suspected it was he who had scribbled my mother’s name on Phillipa Blacktongue’s client book, as some sort of cruel taunt on behalf of his rebel commander.

Before I could demand an explanation, Ambrose Dullahan raised his voice to a volume I could actually hear over the rushing wind. “Riven, Lin, leave us.”

I gaped after my attacker as he followed the small woman down the stairs and out of sight. Every bone in my body wanted to chase after him. To attack, to do…something. Only, it was now more clear than ever that my true enemy still stood before me.

The rebel leader hadn’t even looked at me as I approached him, though he would certainly have been able to see my entire walk from end to end of the ship. Now, he kept his eyes firmly on the horizon, entirely focused on steering the ship.

“Dullahan,” I said, bitterly. “You ordered your man to shoot me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dullahan answered as if it were. “Yes.” He cast me a sideways glance. “And ‘Ambrose’ is fine.”

“Don’t like your nickname?” I asked with a harsh laugh. “What does it mean anyway?”

“I’ll tell you over dinner, assuming you share something about yourself first, Elowyn.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Here’s something,” I snapped. “No one has called me Elowyn since I was a child.”

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