“It’s about time,” Niklas teased, not out of breath, nor scraped nor bruised in the slightest.
Anders coughed, bumping the back of his head against the rocky earth, his lungs still burning from the long climb. “How did you get up here so quickly?” he rasped.
Niklas shrugged, his shapeless robes minimizing the gesture. “My people are well suited to traveling great distances.”
Anders huffed, then forced himself to a seated position. Standing would have to wait a few moments more.
“Are we at least almost there?” he groaned.
“Take a look behind you, my lad.”
Though Anders didn’t appreciate the condescending tone Niklas added to the word lad, he craned his neck to look over his shoulder. In the distance behind him was a massive castle, or perhaps the better term was fortress. This was not the fancy home of a lord or lady in the Gray City, this was the dwelling of someone expecting war at any moment. The high walls were topped with ballistas and massive metal pots ready to be filled with hot oil. Anders squinted, trying to make out the men positioned every ten paces, but he could not see if they wore uniforms, nor could he see any banners flying above the spires.
“Is this where that angry woman lives?” he questioned, still staring at the fortress.
“Now you can see why I wanted her guarantee of a warm welcome,” Niklas explained.
Anders staggered to his feet. “To what lord does she belong? Surely none of the great cities would allow such a fortress to stand without its mistress declaring fealty.”
Niklas snickered. “How little you know of politics. This woman has no allegiances . . . although she did spend some time as the Lady of Migris.”
Anders shook his head in disbelief. As the Lady of Migris? He supposed it was possible. No one had seen the Lady in years. There were rumors that she was actually a man, a Reiver, or perhaps one of the Faie.
“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.
Nodding, Niklas started forward. Anders staggered after him, hoping this would be his final task. Surely he’d earned his sister back after all he’d endured? He eyed the fortress ahead warily. Perhaps instead, he’d soon be joining his sister on the other side.
Chapter Twelve
Bedelia woke with a start, then leaned forward to rub her sore back. She’d been leaning against a cold stone wall, somewhere dark, though her internal clock sensed that it was daytime. She jolted as she tried to move her shoulder, quickly remembering the bandaged arrow wound. Soon the rest of her memories returned, and she realized she was back in a cell within Oighear’s compound.
She remembered taking off on horseback with the others, then the blizzard hit, blinding her. She was attacked and knocked from her mount. Her head slammed into something hard on the ground, and she’d been carried back to the compound as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
She lifted the hand of her uninjured arm to the back of her head, finding her hair snarled with congealed blood. Lovely. She’d expected Keiren to kill her, or perhaps Iseult. It seemed wrong that she’d now die in a dungeon alone, her conscience uncleared of her secrets.
“Did you see what happened to the others?” a male voice asked from across the cell she was in.
She strained her eyes in the darkness, but could not make out the man’s form. “Iseult?” she questioned.
“Yes. Did you see what happened to the others?”
Bedelia shook her head, then cringed in pain. Realizing he probably couldn’t see her regardless, she explained, “I lost sight of everyone in the blizzard. I have not seen them since.”
He did not reply.
She resituated herself, gasping at the pain in her shoulder. Cursed injuries. “You’re the last person I expected to be captured,” she commented, then instantly regretted it. She could make such a comment to Kai or Anna, but saying such things to Iseult might prove dangerous.
He was silent for several moments in which she imagined him creeping closer to kill her, then he sighed, “I actually thought I was dead at first, until you arrived. Death would have been preferable to this entrapment.”
Bedelia agreed, given the horrible fate that likely awaited them both. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait,” he replied. “Our wounds were tended for a reason. Likely so the Aos Sí can torture information out of us.” He was silent for a moment. “If you tell them anything about Finn, I will kill you myself.”
So he’d been wounded, then bandaged? Hopefully that meant her head wound wasn’t severe, since it had been left unattended. “I wouldn’t do that,” she assured, thinking of Finn and where she might be. “I’m quite sure she’s the only friend I’ve ever had.”
“And yet, you have not been honest with her.” There was no hint of accusation in his tone, he was simply stating a fact.
“I had my reasons,” she sighed. “Though at this point, they do not seem important.”
The silence stretched out until Iseult said, “Tell me. You should express them at least once before you die.”
She snorted. “Then you’ll tell me yours?”
“No.”
Her soft chuckle hurt her chest. Perhaps she took a rock to the ribs during her fall, not that another injury mattered among the others. “I suppose I should start from the beginning.” She took a steadying breath. “I had been traveling with a mercenary group, longing for freedom, when I met the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I gave her my heart. Little did I know, she had no heart to give me in return . . . ”
Finn woke to the sound of hushed whispers. Her unicorn was a solid, warm weight behind her head and upper shoulders. Tired and confused, she slowly opened her eyes. Countless brightly colored shapes flitted around her face. They seemed to glow with a gentle light that would have likely been much stronger had it still been dark outside.
She blinked several times, focusing on the shapes. The glitter of wings, beating impossibly fast, became apparent. She tried to jump back, but instead just thunked the back of her head against the unicorn as one of the shapes darted in to hover right before her nose. A tiny woman, draped in purple gauze that perfectly matched her wings and hair, hovered before her.
“G-greetings,” Finn stammered, curiosity and caution warring within her.
“Greetings, my lady,” the little woman buzzed back, her voice a lovely high pitch like tinkling bells. “We did not mean to wake you. We simply hoped to learn what one of the Aonbheannach was doing this close to the lands of man.”
“Ah-von-ash?” Finn questioned, slowly sounding out the word.
“The horned creature you are so rudely lying upon,” the little woman explained. Her fellow winged friends continued to flit about, glittering in the sunlight.
Finn sat up with a start, forcing the little woman to dart out of the way. She looked back at the unicorn, horrified that she’d somehow offended the rare creature.
The unicorn stared back at her with glittering blue eyes, not seeming to mind.
“Her name is Loinnir,” the little woman buzzed next to Finn’s ear. “You have been granted a great gift by her presence. She once belonged to the Snow Queen.”
Finn gasped. Did she mean Oighear? So not only had Finn escaped imprisonment, she’d stolen Oighear’s personal unicorn?
She turned wide eyes to the tiny woman. “And who are you, that knows so much about ah-vooh-nash?”
“Aonbheannach,” the woman corrected. “I am Corcra, den mother to my pixie clan.”
“Corcra,” Finn began hesitantly as Loinnir rose up behind her, “could you please tell me where I am?”
Corcra sighed, though it sounded more like a high-pitched whine. “How in the tattered wings should I know? We’re in the middle of nothing. I’m leading my clan on our migration, somewhere far from the Snow Queen’s ice. We die in that sort of cold.”