Page 76 of Tempting the Fae Lord
We begin at dusk the following night: me, Willow and her troops, Farlowe, and Gale. He could not be convinced to stay behind, and I’m through telling him what to do.
“Petru will need a friendly face,” he said.
I’d argue that protecting Gale is more important than protecting Petru, but doing things my way hasn’t gotten us very far. So I held my tongue.
Sonja has several nights’ head start on us. Our plan is to utilize Farlowe’s ability to track with a spell and my ability to portal within this realm. The combination should overtake her lead and put us on equal footing. The soldiers will subdue Petru. Then Willow, Farlowe, and I will capture Sonja. She’ll be taken to Lemossin, where she’ll become Suvi’s problem instead of mine. This way, I won’t have to kill her, Gale won’t be upset that I killed her, Petru can return to his family on the other side, and everything can go back to normal.
Better than normal.
Because for better or for worse, Gale is my lover now, and I’m selfish enough to look forward to whatever that brings.
So yes, I’m thrilled.
We meet in the Great Hall. It’s one of the few places in the fortress large enough to contain a summoned portal. I’ve portalled from here before, so the magical resonance is familiar.
Eulayla collects the bit of fabric Sonja had been working on and brings it to Farlowe.
He nods his thanks and holds the delicate needlework in spindly hands. He closes his eyes and runs his fingers over each stitch. Softly, he starts to chant in the tongue of the old realm, the language of our ancestors, used before my birth.
The ancient words have an eerie bite to them. I never learned the old tongue, save for a few isolated words, and I don’t recognize the chant.
“South,” he says. “On the rocky bank of the Onyx River. In the wildlands, not close to any towns. Between a worn deer trail and the ruins of a watermill.” He opens his eyes. “Is that enough?”
Oddly specific and vague at once, which is both good news and bad news.
Good because there will be fewer bystanders to get in our way in the wildlands. And hopefully, fewer graves to rob should Petru be called to wield his unholy talent.
And bad because it’s tricky to portal to nowhere. With no real landmarks and nothing familiar to me, it’ll be guesswork to get us there.
But I think I can do it. “Should be.”
I blow out a slow breath and concentrate on the hum of raw magic at my disposal, drawing it to coil at my fingertips. Threads of purple light begin to weave a large opening before me as I reach for the distant forest. Searching, searching, my power unfurls, bending the world to my will, slightly at first, thentearing through like old fabric, brittle and vulnerable to unseen hands.
The wildlands yawn before us, waiting for me to step through.
“Come,” I say, trusting the others to follow.
It’s warmer here. Greener and louder too, with bugs calling from every surrounding tree.
Scents of campfire waft in the air. We must be close. I catch the wretched stench of her magic immediately.
“Stay behind me,” I whisper to Gale. “This way.” I gesture to the others.
We find their camp at the base of the rickety remains of the watermill. Twin canvas tents on either side of a fire ring, ashes still smoldering.
The tents are empty, but as I lay my hand on the bedroll, the warmth tells me they were here recently.
Farlowe resumes chanting and, after a moment, points downriver.
Willow orders her soldiers ahead. Those with wings take flight. I give chase on foot. I don’t want Gale out of my sight.
Her angry shriek pierces the calm of the river. I’d recognize Sonja’s wailing anywhere. And I’d give my right arm to silence it permanently.
With everything in me, I wish Gale weren’t here. I wish he were somewhere safe. The best I can do is turn to him and plead. “Stay back. Watch from a distance. Trust me.”
He nods, eyes wide, and I take off toward the clash and clamor of the fight.
“Who are you? Why threaten me?” yells Sonja.
