Page 61 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

Rodney left her side momentarily to fill her a glass of water, then crouched down again. “I’m sorry, Ash. You know I would take this off your shoulders if I could.”

“I just want to go home. I want this to be over. I can’t do it.” Hot tears stung in the corners of her eyes, building and building before they spilled down her cheeks. Exhaustion had settled into her bones and the weight of the prophecy was a mantle she desperately wished she could shed.

He squeezed Aisling’s shoulder. “I know. We’ll go, okay?”

“They’re not going to let me.” Her voice was rough, her throat sore.

“We’ll figure out a way, I promise. But listen, I need to tell you something.” Rodney lowered his voice. “Ivran is here.”

“What?” Aisling straightened up and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“He’s in the other room; he showed up while you were with thequeen.”

Aisling frowned. She hadn’t even noticed the small faerie as she’d blown past into the bathroom. “Why is he here?”

“He came to warn us.” Rodney’s voice dropped even further, so that Aisling had to lean in to hear what he said next. “He said someone from the Unseelie Court has been by the trailer a few times since we left.”

“Lyre?” When Rodney shook his head, Aisling’s heart leapt to her throat. For a moment she thought she might vomit again.

“A soldier,” Rodney said.

“Then we’ll go to my apartment in the city.” It was nearly empty since she’d all but moved back to Brook Isle, but Aisling had continued to pay the rent every month as though she’d still someday return to that part of her life. “We can lay low there and let this blow over.”

Rodney didn’t have the heart to tell her it wouldn’t work; she knew he didn’t. So he just nodded.

“I can help,” Ivran offered from the doorway. His expression was kind, if a touch pitying. “I have a friend here that owes me a favor.”

Guilt joined the swirl of emotions sweeping Aisling away in their undertow and she chewed the inside of her cheek. Favors were currency; they’d all spent too much on her already. “I can figure something out.”

“Don’t you think on it,” Ivran assured her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

It would be dusk before Ivran returned, hair damp and cheeks flushed. The storm clouds that had hung overhead resumed their steady crawl onward, dragging away the last of the rain and wind in their wake. The sun came back out just in time to set.

Ivran’s friend was a young satyr whom Ivran had once led, stumbling and blind drunk, back into the Wild after he’d crossed through the Veil with such enthusiasm that he nearly charged straight over the cliff at the overlook. And so it was the satyr’s idea to use his widely-known love of drink and human women to aid in the trio’s escape.

From her chamber window, Aisling and Rodney watched the satyr totter on thick, fur covered legs towards the trees. He carried slung over his shoulder a sack with several tightly wrapped bottles of berry wine—one of the very few things disallowed from being passed between realms. Fae wine was to remain in the Fae realm, and human alcohol was expressly forbidden from being carried back in.

“Once he gets a bit closer to the Thin Place, we’ll follow. The guards will be distracted thinking he’s smuggling out the wine.” Ivran was perched on a chair beside the window so that he could see out, too. His back legs rubbed together, the motion creating a soft chirping melody. A nervous habit, Aisling guessed.

“And if they don’t?” Rodney asked.

Ivran flashed a mischievous grin. “He’s not afraid to cause a scene.”

Once the satyr had crested the hill and disappeared down the other side, Ivran sprung out of the window and disappeared into the tall grass, cutting a wide path towards the trees. Aisling pulled her keys and wallet from her backpack and hid them in an inner pocket of her jacket. It would seem too suspicious to carry it with her; there was little left inside, anyway, save for the pendant Laure had givenher. She’d torn it from around her throat violently, breaking the delicate chain, and dropped it into the bottom of the bag.

Keeping a steady, almost painfully slow pace, Rodney and Aisling walked with Briar between them through the palace. Rodney chattered on about an upcoming Fae celebration hosted there in the Seelie territory that he was looking forward to attending with Aisling. There would be music, he said. And dancing, and costumes, and plenty of wine. Though she wanted to seem just as casual, the best she could manage was to nod and hum when he paused for her response.

Outside, the scent of wet earth permeated everything, overpowering even the wildflowers’ perfume. Aisling drew in lungful after lungful of it gratefully. The smell of rain would always remind her of home, and she was so, so close to making it back. She hoped it would have rained on Brook Isle, too.

Lost in thought, nearly hypnotized, Aisling fell back when Rodney grabbed her arm. At her feet, the once-glassy surface of the lake churned violently as whatever lived in its depths swam back and forth just beneath.

“I told you there was something in there,” Rodney muttered, dragging Aisling away by her elbow. She hadn’t even realized that she’d been making her way towards the water’s edge.

“I don’t like it here,” she said finally, and it was a relief to say those words out loud. From the moment she’d witnessed the woman magicked into singing, something about the landscape had unsettled her. It lingered beneath her skin like a cold chill,leaving her constantly waiting in fear of something that she couldn’t identify, but felt inevitable.

“I’ve long preferred the Unseelie Court,” Rodney said. He kept his voice low and his gaze ahead, swinging his arms nonchalantly. Anyone watching—and Aisling was sure there were several sets of eyes on them now—would think they were merely out for Briar’s last evening walk. “They don’t hide their intentions there. You know who your enemies are. There’s something strangely comforting, I think, in knowing exactly how someone wants to hurt you.”

Rodney led Aisling to cut diagonally across the meadow. Ivran was hidden there in the thickening shadows, his chirping song louder and deeper than the rest of the crickets there. It was a slight difference, only obvious to those listening carefully for it, but Rodney had no problem picking it out and orienting them towards the sound.

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