Page 15 of Court of Evil

Ronan’s eyes linger on her, and I see sadness and pain in his gaze, alongside worry. The dead care for no one, but he cares for her greatly, even if he tries to hide it from me. It’s the only way we could travel to the place they kept her. He shared his powers with me, and we moved through time and space, something we have only been able to do once before, and it was under great duress—I was dying.

This time, it was for her, so yes, he cares.

“Yes, she is worth it,” he murmurs before looking up at me. “I’m just warning you. If we step through that barrier, we might not come back.”

Turning to the innocuous looking rock, I pull Tate firmer into my arms, her soul slipping away with each second. “It is a risk I am willing to take.” I step through the invisible barrier and then to the fae realm beyond.

We are instantly greeted by guards pointing enchanted weapons at us. A spear tip pokes into my shoulder, and a glowing flame sword is pressed to the back of my neck. I tilt my head, surveying the fae guards tasked with protecting their borders and upholding the truce.

The one I just broke.

“I seek sanctuary and a meeting with your healer. I am Shamus Vilaran, leader of Stalkers’ Rest, signer of the truce, and peacemaker. I come here for your help.”

They do not move, their spiked, triangular helmets only showing me their eyes, then the guards behind them part like flowing water, opening a path to a glowing, ethereal being.

“Usually begging is done on one’s knees, ghost whisperer,” the seductive voice calls.

Heather, or at least that is what we humans call her, is their leader, as well as the most terrifying and powerful being I have ever met.

“If I could, I would be on them,” I reply carefully, knowing words have power here. You cannot lie to a fae, it is a great offence, but they are very good with word games, something I have tried to learn.

The guards part until Heather stands before me, and her bright purple eyes drop to Tate. It is hard to tell Heather’s age. She is neither young nor old but somewhere in between. Her glowing hair changes from purple to grey, and her magic flows across her skin. I have to grit my teeth to stop from being consumed by it.

She is ancient and strong and not someone I want as an enemy.

Before the truce came along, she waged a war against hunters and humans, but now we live in peace—peace I have broken for Tate.

She whimpers, and I glance down at her. “Shh, hang on. You’ll be okay, I promise.” I kiss her head softly before looking to Heather. “I seek your healer. No earthly magic can save my hunter, but you can.”

“Hunters die every day. Why is this one so important that you would break a truce and risk everything you have worked for?” Heather challenges.

I choose my words carefully. “She is . . . important.”

“No human is important. You are all like stars, burning brightly for a moment and then gone, leaving only the very smallest of traces, but I know you, Shamus. You would not break this truce for anyone, not even your own life, and it intrigues me. I shall see if she is important if you’ll allow it.” She holds out her hand.

I don’t want her to touch Tate, she could do anything with one touch, but I do not have much choice and we both know it. Either I relent or they will kill me for breaking the truce. It’s a good sign I am not dead already.

Inclining my head, I hold Tate out so Heather can touch as little of me as possible. I do not want to interfere in whatever Heather has to do, and I also do not want her to touch me. I know Heather is capable of a great many things, and giving her access to my head and body as the commander of hunters would not be good.

She watches me for a moment before placing her hand across Tate’s sweaty, bloody forehead.

For a moment, Heather’s eyes glow before she pulls her hand away, looking at Tate. “Interesting, very interesting.”

She steps back, her eyes locked on Tate, and something in her gaze makes me pull Tate closer. It almost looks like hunger. She blinks and glances up at me.

“I will allow you passage to our healer. We will speak after about the repercussions of you breaking the truce and entering our lands. Come this way, but first, your ghost must be ironed. We cannot have him wandering around freely and getting into all sorts of trouble.”

I glance at Ronan to see him floating back into the weapons, worry in his eyes.

“Ronan,” I warn.

I know what this means. Iron acts as a cage to a ghost. He will not be able to float freely. His jaw jumps, an old habit, before he thrusts his arms out, allowing himself to be shackled. The iron clamps around both wrists, and suddenly his usually transparent appearance turns solid, his feet hitting the ground.

He’s almost human.

“Good, then follow me. Your little seer does not have much time,” Heather warns.

I fall into step at her side as we move deeper into the fae realm. “Seer?” I whisper.

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