Page 23 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
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When Alice ran off into the field, I was alarmed, of course. But as she disappeared between the cornstalks, the suit of metal she calls Riordan made a sound so broken, so wretched, so full of terror that I felt an echo of his misery in my own heart.
I would have followed her anyway—it’s what a friend is supposed to do. But his reaction confirmed my choice. I didn’t want to hear Riordan make that noise again.
He and I followed more slowly—he was concerned that his armored bulk might rouse the crows. When they began to wake, he asked, in a voice deep and woeful, if I thought there was any magic I could do to protect Alice.
I sped up the birds’ natural formation and kept them stuck in that pattern, moving round and round, faster and faster, adding more and more birds to the cloud as they awoke. But eventually I came to the end of my strength…I had to let it all go, and they exploded from the spiral in a tempest of screaming fury.
And now I’m running through the rows of corn, with Fiero just ahead, his stubby black legs moving in a blur. Alice’s panting breaths and light footsteps are right behind me, and farther behind are Riordan’s heavier footfalls and the metallic clanking of his armor.
Something thrums inside me—a latent energy. It’s not magic, exactly, but it ispotential. I have the power to run faster if I want to—inhumanly fast, and I’m not sure if it’s coming from the silver shoes, or if it’s my Fae side awakening, but tapping into that speed would allow me to reach the forest alone, leaving everyone else to their fate.
It makes sense for me to save myself. But I’ve trained my thoughts to follow the patterns of morality. For years I’ve guided my mind to function in socially acceptable ways; and I know, objectively, that leaving friends to die is consideredwrong. If I do such a thing, and Alice survives, she will never forgive me or trust me again, and I need allies to survive this strange isle.
I have to stay with them, even if it means we all perish together. It goes against all my instincts of self-preservation, but I force myself to maintain my pace, and run only a little faster than Alice.
Ahead, above the clumps of cornsilks, the forest looms, a towering wall of shimmering leaves and deep, shadowed green. But it’s still too far away, and the crows are darting down, beaks open.
I wave both arms wildly, and a concussive blast pulses outward from me, knocking back a few dozen of the birds. But hundreds more are descending, and that defensive attack seems to be usable only once—I can’t summon enough energy to do it again. They’re upon me, screeching and clawing and flapping. A crow manages to gouge a chunk from my forearm, and another clamps its talons onto my back and digs its beak into my shoulder. A scream tears from my throat as more wings and beaks descend, ripping my clothes. One of them aims for my eyes, barely misses, and carves a groove across my forehead. Fuck it, I’m going to have to abandon the others and run, run for my life—
Several sharp bangs erupt among the cornstalks, followed by a hissing sound and multiple explosions of green mist. Thin columns of smoke streak up to the sky and expand like mushrooms. The mist spreads rapidly between the stalks and the smoke unfurls into the air, while the crows screech and wheel away from it. They soar back up into the sky, one massive, churning cloud of black feathers and beady eyes. And there they remain, flying in great circles and screaming their rage.
“What is it?” Alice gasps from behind me as the green mist envelops us.
“Try not to breathe it in,” admonishes Riordan, but it’s too late—I’ve already gotten a lungful of it. The mist doesn’t seem to be hurting me, though. In fact, it smells familiar—like brisk, cold wind and fresh leaves after rain.
A backward glance shows that Alice and the others are bleeding, but still functional. Still running. They show no signs of distress from the green mist. Harmless as it seems to us, the smoke is clearly abhorrent to the crows, who keep swooping down and then streaking skyward again when they encounter it.
The green cloud extends all the way to the eaves of the forest. I can see the trees far ahead, at the end of the row along which I’m running—and in the far distance, at the edge of the woods, I glimpse a skinny figure standing amid tall blue grass.
The figure is turning, moving away into the forest. If it’s the person I think it is, I’m not about to let him leave—not without an explanation.
Since the crows have retreated, I drop the basket I’m carrying and let myself go, unleashing my latent power to run faster than ever before in my life—faster than any human. I leave behind Riordan, the Scarecrow, Alice, and Fiero, and I dash under the boughs of the forest, into its blue-green depths.
The bushes and undergrowth grow thick and thorny, but there are patches of lush grass, blue as sapphire, here and there under the canopy. This must be where the villagers get the thatch for their roofs. Tiny star-bright flowers bloom amid the grass, but I barely glance at them because the slim, long-legged figure I’m chasing is almost out of sight among the trees.
I race after him, shouting, “Stop!” But he’s fast—little more than a skinny wraith darting here and there in the emerald gloom. It’s all I can do to keep him in sight, what with the quivering leaf-shadow and the blood dripping into my eyes.
Finally the figure swerves and disappears into a thicket.
I run to the spot and plunge in, thrashing through branches and ducking under vines until I stumble into an open space, a clearing in the center of several trees, surrounded on all sides by leafy green walls. I wade through the tall sapphire grass, scanning the shadows.
Hesitantly, silently, I move forward, listening.
A tempestuous force whirls against me, lifting me off my feet and pinning my back to the trunk of a tree. The West Witch holds me there, at a height that brings us face to face. The crush of his chest against mine makes it hard to breathe.
“Kin-Slayer,” he seethes.
Again I feel the rush of fear, the awareness of his power flooding my bones. My body recognizes a superior force, an apex predator—and the resulting terror is also a strange delight.
The Witch’s nostrils flicker. He tips his face up, tongue slipping out, and licks the blood from the gouge on my forehead.
A shudder passes over him, vibrating through me. “Deliciously human, yes, but Fae as well. Unseelie by blood, on your mother’s side, I think.”
“You—” I struggle to find words, to find breath. “You saved us.”
He licks my blood from his white teeth. “Only because I want to kill you myself.”
