Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

He had shapeshifted into a… a… troll?

As a human deadhead, she knew almost nothing about magic other than what she read in magazine articles or saw in the news. But from what she had gleaned from idle conversations with others, she was fairly certain of one thing.

It took tremendous Power to shapeshift into a shape that was either bigger or smaller than the original person. The two-natured Wyr accomplished the shift the most easily, as their animal forms were literally second nature to them.

But whatever this creature was, he wasn’t Wyr, and this troll was so much bigger than the creature that had carried her through the forest it meant he had Power, a lot of it.

Realization flared. He had probably been the black horse that had caused the accident and carried her to this unknown place. The kind of deliberation that had gone into her kidnapping was chilling.

She shrank back as the huge troll bent over her, but tied as thoroughly as she was, there was nothing she could do to stop him from picking her up again.

He trudged ahead, following a narrow footpath that wound through the woods, until Sidonie could smell a hint of woodsmoke on the breeze that blew gently through the trees. Soon he stepped into a large clearing that held several buildings—a long, larger building and a few typically English-looking cottages.

Her view was obstructed, and it was making her crazy that there was literally nothing she could do about it, but she could hear a sudden flurry of movement, a sharp exclamation, and as she craned her neck, she saw they had been surrounded by several tall people.

The newcomers weren’t human any more than the creature that had kidnapped her. They were dressed in dun and green uniforms, colors that would disappear easily in a forest, and they had weapons. Some of them carried both guns and swords.

Sid took in the hard, wary expressions on their angular faces along with the signature golden blond hair they all shared, but it was only when one of them turned to shout an order to the others and she caught a peek of one pointed ear that she could place their race. They were Light Fae.

“What are you doing here?” the Light Fae male asked sharply.

The fake troll came to halt. Without warning, he dropped Sidonie. Unable to do anything to break her fall, she groaned as she made bruising impact with the ground.

The troll said in a deep voice that sounded like grinding rocks, “Tribute for the Queen.”

Forcing herself to breathe evenly, Sidonie latched on to the word.

Queen. The Queen must be the female the creature had referred to. She would be Light Fae, like her soldiers. One of the Elder Races.

The Elder Races were magical creatures that lived alongside humans, with demesnes that often overlaid human boundaries. Then there were Other lands that were connected to Earth by a series of crossover passageways. Most modern technologies didn’t work in Other lands, which were intensely magical places, but she had read interesting articles on the inventive ways people had adapted many modern conveniences.

As a nonmagical human, Sidonie knew only the basics of Elder Races politics and terminology, mostly concepts she had gleaned in school. She had once been invited to play a concert for Niniane Lorelle, the Dark Fae Queen in the Other land of Adriyel that had passageways connecting to Chicago.

While that Queen had been willing to pay an exorbitant amount to make up for the time slippage between Adriyel and Earth, Sidonie hadn’t been able to work the trip into her upcoming schedule for the year, so she had reluctantly declined. The charming and persuasive Dark Fae ambassador had wrangled a promise out of her to consider the trip in the future, but they hadn’t yet agreed upon a date.

In Great Britain, there had to be any number of Elder Races, demesnes, and their individual rulers, but Sidonie only knew of one Light Fae Queen—Queen Isabeau of the Light Court.

While the thoughts raced through her mind, she waited for the Light Fae leader to denounce offering a human being as tribute for anything.

Instead, the male said impatiently, “What’s this? The troll clan has already offered its tribute. We received the shipment this morning.”

Wait, what? No denouncement? This was utter insanity. Nobody offered a thinking, living being as tribute, at least not in modern society as she knew it. Outraged fury pounded under her skin, and she chewed on her gag as furious words piled into rocket launchers in her head, readying for ignition.

The troll rumbled, “We was gonna add this ’un in, but we got her late. Plays music real good.”

“And now, thanks to your bumbling, she’s seen this encampment. But she’s a musician, you say?” The Light Fae male looked down at her and heaved a sigh. “Oh, very well. Next time keep your tributes to items that are easier to transport.” As he turned away, he ordered one of his men, “Put her in a holding cell until we’re ready to leave.”

One of the men hauled her to her feet. The fake troll gave Sidonie one last inscrutable look then turned away. She watched his massive figure amble back into the forest the way he had come.

As the troll disappeared, Sidonie thought, I won’t forget what you did to me. She turned to study the Light Fae leader’s features. I won’t forget any of you.

I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but you will regret doing this to me.

I will make sure of it.

*

After the troll disappeared, the soldier slung her over one hard shoulder and carried her along a path to another clearing with more buildings. Then he put her in a primitive prison cell, with honest-to-goodness bars, a rough cot, bare stone floors, and a dirty, horribly basic latrine that offered no privacy whatsoever. She had a small, high, barred window that let in sunlight but gave no real view outside and nothing else.

At least the Light Fae soldier untied her wrists and legs so she could move around. As soon as her hands were free, she had to fight the urge to hit him. The violent impulse might bring short-term relief to the rage and fear beating through her veins, but in the end, it wasn’t a strategy that could go well for her.

Instead of giving in to her feelings, she stood rubbing the circulation back into her wrists while she watched him lock the cell door.

I’ll remember you too, she thought.

After he left her alone, she looked around. The cot was made of some kind of crosshatched leather strung tight on a frame. No pillow, no blanket.

There was no running water, and apparently no electricity or heat either, she saw as she glanced at the ceilings that were bare of any light fixtures. This place was strange and disturbing, almost as if it had nothing to do with the modern England she had been visiting only just yesterday.