Page 12 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

The doctor studied her for a moment. She’d told him all about the mystery flower she’d used, although she’d left out what she’d been doing when she found it. He’d admonished her recklessness, but dismissed it as the cause after seeing Jericho’s condition.

“Your friend is not suffering the effects of any natural toxin. This is a wasting disease,” the doctor replied carefully. “It is thankfully rare, but always fatal. The greatest minds at the academy have puzzled over it, to no avail. There is no cure known to man.”

To man…

Her hand went automatically to her wrist, caressing the silver flower that seemed to grow warmer under her touch.

Farrow Barton, I am obliged to you.

The words echoed in her head, and she wondered if the stranger had meant what he’d said.

Whether he had or not, she was going to find out. What choice did she have?

“I have to go,” she breathed, her feet moving before her mouth, carrying her to the doorway.

“Farrow, where are you going?” her father asked.

“To find someone who can help,” she yelled over her shoulder as she dashed through the shop.

The bells over the door jangled as she swung it open and ran out into the square. In typical afternoon fashion, threatening clouds had gathered over Fairweather.

Farrow hadn’t stopped for her cloak, but it was too late to turn back now. She had no idea how much time Jericho had left, but she was certain she couldn’t waste an instant of it. No matter what the doctor said, she knew the real reason her friend was in trouble.

It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault…

The words went along with the rhythm of her footfalls, carrying her away from the village to the edge of the wall.

She had no real idea how she planned to cross over. The wall was a foot thick and made of stone. It had been designed to prevent contact of any kind between the two sides.

But yesterday she had seen a Fae man who had obviously crossed the wall. And he had gone back quickly. If she was right about where he had disappeared to, there must be a way.

The idea that the Fae were respecting what might for them be only an implied boundary was both frightening and thrilling.

By the time she reached the fields, thunder was rumbling in the distance and lightning bolts cleaved the sky every few seconds.

When the rain came down in sheets, Fairweather and all its scenery would be drenched. If there were clues as to how he had crossed, she wouldn’t be able to find them.

She sprinted for her hiding spot, praying that the man might have left her some sign. She reached the trees and grabbed the stone buttress, leaning on it while she panted and looked around.

But the Fae had left no trace. There were no footprints, and none of the plants seemed to have been disturbed. It was as if he had completely disappeared. Of course. He had magic to help him.

Unless the wall would let her cross in exchange for a tasty biscuit, she was out of luck.

A pang of hopelessness set in.

But when she thought back to Jericho’s prone form on the bakery floor, Farrow knew she couldn’t give up.

She had magic too, if only a little.

Tentatively, she reached out and caressed the ivy that grew up the wall. Its roots were like tiny hands, grabbing onto the mortar between the stones. Though it was beautiful, given enough time, the delicate plant could tear down this wall just by climbing on it and searching its crevices for water.

In a way, did that mean it might be on her side? Or at least did it mean the ivy did not respect the border?

She cradled a leaf in her hands, closed her eyes, and reached out.

At first, she saw nothing, but when she slowed her breathing and heartbeat, an image swam into focus.

It was a tiny pinprick of pale green in a sea of darkness. And then it was a sprout poking up from the soil, reaching for sunlight.

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