Brittle, page 25
Fenn. Where are you? Verve shook her head to clear it. Branches grabbed at her hair, yanking it and perhaps leaving a trail. If they made it to a hawthorn tree soon, it wouldn’t matter if Fenn was able to follow strands of hair. She would be back in Letorheas and in Dacre’s clutches once again. The thought was sobering, and she knew Fenn wouldn’t reach her in time if she didn’t find a way to slow the she-fae down. Trip, thought Verve, conjuring an image of the creature losing her footing and tumbling to the ground. Once the image had clearly formed in her mind, Verve pushed a wall of feeling at the she-fae and wriggled her fingers.
With a gasp, the she-fae lost her footing and went sprawling, dropping Verve, who tumbled painfully into a great oak. The air smelled of her magic.
Before the she-fae could right herself, Verve hastily thought of the tree roots grabbing on to her own arms, bolting her down in their unbreakable grip. She pushed the thought toward the roots as she closed her eyes tightly shut, the only movement she could now manage.
The she-fae grabbed her the moment the roots did, and the two tugged against each other. “Stop it,” the creature snapped. The roots shattered into a million pieces, and the air once more smelled of metal.
Verve coughed as the she-fae picked her up and continued to run.
“Fenn,” Verve murmured. “I’m here. I’m—” She choked when the creature sent a silencing spell back at her.
“His lordship isn’t going to be pleased with me for that,” said the she-fae under her breath.
Unable to speak and barely able to move, Verve squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of what else she could do to at least slow the creature down. No immediate thoughts were forthcoming. She focused on becoming deadweight, but that did nothing to deter her captor, who was all powerful muscles.
They ran for at least a mile. Once more the woods grew silent, as if waiting, listening. Now the creature seemed to be searching more closely for something. She turned back once. Twice. Spinning in circles, the she-fae was obviously becoming frantic, as her heartbeats grew closer together.
Fenn, Verve thought as the she-fae set her down gently.
The creature had found what she was looking for. While Verve watched in dismay, the she-fae drew a knife from her belt and stabbed a hole in the silvery bark of the thin hawthorn. Her shoulders were rigid and her hands were trembling as she attempted to extricate the blade from where she had lodged it. The knife would not budge. Cursing, the she-fae whirled around and screamed.
There was a flash of bright white light and the intense smell of citrus, and the creature slumped back against the hawthorn, silver blood dribbling down her chin. She stirred for a moment, her muscles trembling, but another blast hit her, and she remained still.
Strong arms lifted Verve and carried her toward the tree. Fenn’s boot struck out and kicked the would-be kidnapper away from the trunk, and the she-fae’s body went rolling. “Can you stand?”
Darkness. A hand was shaking her.
“Can you stand a moment? I need to open a gateway.”
Her lips worked furiously, but no noise was forthcoming. Her lips silently formed the words “Sleep…spell – can’t talk.”
Fenn laughed and apologized. “And here I thought you were just playing dead.” He set her down on the cold, unforgiving earth, and placed one palm against the tree’s trunk. There was a silent exchange between the fae and the hawthorn. The knife it had been stabbed with popped out of the bark and thumped onto the ground, inches from Verve’s face. “Sorry.”
“Spell?” she mouthed, hoping he would lift whatever spell that had been put on her.
“Once we’re safely away.” As a short, stocky gateway began to come into being before them, Fenn lifted Verve and carried her to the edge of a land covered in low-hanging mist. He ducked through the gateway, and at once they were swallowed into the fog. The gateway closed with a deep rumble, and Fenn hastily carried Verve away from it.
For miles he bore her, picking his way through the haze, sometimes misjudging the ground before them and tripping. He always stopped himself from falling, however, and managed to maintain his hold on Verve.
It was with some apparent hesitation that Fenn set Verve down at last, as though he were afraid he might lose her entirely in the cottony haze. “All right. Let’s see what they did to you.” Fenn was silent for a moment while Verve tried to take in her surroundings. “May I touch your hand?”
He had been holding her for the better part of forty-five minutes. Still, it was nice being asked instead of grabbed. She nodded.
Fenn picked up her wrist in his hands and pressed his thumb against her veins. Coldness spread up her arm, reviving her bit by bit until she was able to sit up with a muted gasp. “May I touch your throat?”
That made Verve hesitate. She gave him a wary eye, though she doubted even he could see much of it in the fog. At length, she gave in with another nod.
“Right. Try to hold still.” He pressed the tips of his fingers against her throat, probing and assessing before the smell of lemons filled the air and Verve broke into a fit of mad coughing. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Springer. Some spells are harder to remove.”
“It’s fine,” she croaked, and she sounded as though she had a bad head cold. “How did they find me?”
Fenn paused. “At first I thought it was coincidence, but now I don’t know. You’ve no tracking paint on you. That would have washed off ages ago.” He got to his feet and held out a hand for Verve, which she accepted, and he pulled her up. “The most likely thing I can think of is fae property rights.”
Verve’s hairs rose on end at the words. “What about them?” she said icily.
“He might be able to trace you since he owns you. I – I’ve never really looked into that part of magical law.”
That caused Verve to groan. Would she never be free of that horrid fae? She stilled. Something had to be done, something drastic. Suddenly uncomfortable, Verve pulled her hand out of his. “Fenn?”
Fenn looked back at her. “Yes, Miss Springer?”
Verve swallowed. “Maybe you should stop calling me that. Maybe we should…you know.”
His eyebrows rose as he seemed to take in her meaning. “Are you sure?”
I might as well get this over with. Verve sighed deeply. “If it’s the only way to be free of him, then yes, I’m sure.”
Chapter Fourteen
After two days of wandering on the moors of a foreign land in Etterhea, Fenn found another hawthorn tree and they passed from there into Letorheas. He did not question Verve’s decision or try to rescind the offer of his hand, but reassured her it would be a marriage on paper only.
Well, that’s something, she thought, heat coloring her face at the thought of it being anything else. “Does it have to take place here?” she whispered as they emerged, alert and somber, into a forest in the midst of late spring.
“For it to be binding, we need a fae of the Order. There aren’t many in Etterhea and they are difficult to find.”
They left the wood and took the stone-paved road up over a hill. “Are they loyal to the king, though?” Verve tugged at her hair, something she hadn’t done since she was a small child in need of comfort.
Fenn watched the movement with apparent interest but said nothing of it. “You don’t have to give your names in order to be bound. It’s a simple ceremony with no need for witnesses or signatures.”
“Good,” said Verve, her stomach flipping.
His brows furrowed and he looked straight ahead once more. “The nearest chapel is just up ahead. We should reach it within the half hour.”
Uncertain what to do with her suddenly too-large, clumsy hands, Verve thrust them deep into her pockets and there she felt the warm, solid presence of…something. I don’t remember putting anything in here, she thought, exploring the object with her fingertips. As their pace slowed, Verve’s heart sank. Oh, no. She recognized the feel of the long shank, the plain bow, the single ward. It was the key Dacre had given her. But how did it manage to find its way into the pocket of her trousers? Verve was of the mind to throw the key as far away from her as possible. Only, that would attract Fenn’s attention, and she really did not want to share the mortifying truth with him about the key and its owner’s intent. So she released it and kept walking as though its presence wasn’t burning her mind like a brand.
“Are you well?”
Verve jumped. “Y-yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”
Fenn gave her a dubious glance. “It’s not too late to change your mind. We could figure out something else.” He sounded uncertain. They both knew this was the easiest, most reliable bet.
“No, I’m certain. This is the only way.” As soon as she had a moment alone, she would place the key somewhere hidden and leave it there for rust to destroy.
After three more miles of trekking across the sloping and winding road, the ground leveled out quite suddenly. Fenn, Verve noticed, had grown tense, like there was some enemy lying in wait in the sparse brush on either side of them. She looked around but could not discern what had made him so nervous. There was no place for anyone to hide…except for the small cathedral towering over them on the left. “Oh!”
They had come upon the stone building so suddenly, it was almost as though one minute it had not been there but now it was. “Ready?” asked Fenn, no trace of emotion in his voice.
Verve gulped. She had never planned to marry. Who would want an awkward, homely woman who always had ink stains on her hands? Now she supposed she had changed. Homely wasn’t something she would describe the reflection she saw in the mirror, and the ink stains had long since washed off. But the real reason for planned spinsterhood, Verve admitted to herself as she stared up at the chiseled columns, came back to what it always did. Trapped. She waited for the word to drive her into hysterics, but besides a small tingle up her spine, Verve did not experience an attack.
“Verve?”
She tore her eyes away from the imposing building and looked up instead at Fenn. Jaw clenched in determination, Verve nodded once and led the way up the short set of white stone stairs.
The tall redwood door creaked open at her lightest of touches, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the cathedral. Where there might have been pews was all empty, red-carpeted space. To distract herself from the front of the room, where a fae in long white robes stood, Verve looked up at the painted ceiling and her legs nearly gave way. Pictured above them was a woman with flowing honey-colored hair, her eyes two pools of blazing fire. In her right hand she held a hunting knife, and in the left she grasped two humanlike creatures by the throat.
A musical voice interrupted her study of the grotesque image, and Verve jumped. “They call her the woman to end all men.” The lean fae stared at the scene, his hands clasped before him. “Intimidating, isn’t she?”
Verve looked at Fenn, who was watching her closely. She shied away and wandered toward a bust of a man with strikingly sharp cheekbones and a square jaw.
“Ah, you’ve found her mate.” The fae now moved toward them with purpose, as though he were afraid Verve might knock the statue off its place of honor. Instead, when he got to it, the strange creature tapped the depiction right on the nose. “No one knows why she will choose a mate. Some believe she will be wed against her will.”
The words made Verve cringe. She sensed rather than saw that Fenn had made a move to reach for her, only to stop himself at the last minute. “And you believe in her?” Verve asked.
Those words drew the fae’s gaze to her face, which he studied intently. “Ah, a doubter. I do love a challenge.”
Fenn held up a hand. “We’re not here to debate prophecy, sir.”
The fae’s eyes never left Verve, and a small frown formed on his face. “You wish to be wed, do you?” He shook his head. “Might I advise against this union?”
“No,” said Fenn evenly.
Advise the fae did anyway. “Do you really want to marry a halfling?” He was met with stony silence, which he did not let discourage him. “She will not be your equal, good sir. This one will bring you low.”
Verve tensed. She hadn’t realized it would hurt Fenn for them to be married. “Maybe we should—”
“I know what I’m doing,” said Fenn calmly. “If I were to wait for my equal in power, I would never wed.”
Verve blinked back surprise and annoyance. Though he didn’t sound proud, the words chafed. She moved away quietly as the two men faced each other, the tension between them nearly thick enough to see.
The fae minister laughed. “Are you that powerful, then?” It had sounded like a joke, but Fenn did not laugh. “Well, this is interesting. A high fae chooses a half-mortal. Interesting.” He rocked back on his heels. “Why?”
Never before had Fenn appeared even merely annoyed. Now he radiated cold fury. But why?
Verve hugged her arms around herself and pretended to study the other busts and statues, each intricately carved out of white marble or onyx. They gleamed as though they had been polished with oil, but Verve’s eyes could hardly focus on them. Am I trapping him? That was all she could think and wonder at.
“I don’t need to give you, a stranger, my reasons.”
The fae minister’s sigh slithered around the room and filled it up to the ceiling. “And if I refuse to bind you two?”
Verve had not expected to meet resistance from this corner. Whether or not Fenn had, she couldn’t say. When she turned to look at the two, she was startled to find them both watching her. She felt her face warm and her temper rise.
“I need a reason, and it had better be a good one for me to comply,” said the fae. “Is she blackmailing you? Or are you covering up some dark sin? Say, a night of passion?”
Before Verve could stay her tongue, she snapped, “Blackmail? Passion? You sound like my stuffy old spinster aunt who would find scandal in a box of kittens.”
The minister gaped at her.
“Verve,” warned Fenn, though his tone was amused.
“It’s a marriage of convenience. Nothing more, nothing less. Or perhaps you were hoping there was some baser reason for our presence here today. In which case, I think we should be going, Fenn. Don’t you?”
Fenn stiffened at the use of his name, and the minister began to look thoughtful. “Ah,” said the minister at length. “No, you would not have a true equal, would you, Son of None?” He angled his body so he was facing Verve head-on, and suddenly the latter felt very small indeed. “Come here, child.”
Verve hesitated, looking at Fenn for advice. When he nodded, she approached the two of them warily.
“Yes, I can see it now. Forgive me, milady. I did not know whom I was addressing.” And he did sound truly penitent.
“What are you talking about?” Verve said, her voice quavering despite her efforts to smooth out her sudden fear. He knew who Fenn was. Would he turn them over to Dacre and his lot?
The fae held out a hand for her, and Verve extended her own, thinking they would shake for whatever reason. Instead, the minister took her by the wrist and pulled up her sleeve. “Interesting. You’ll have to forgive me, but you are somewhat of a puzzle. Would you mind if I asked a few questions of her?” he asked Fenn.
Fenn’s eyes darkened with danger. “If you mean to delay us with questions while other interested parties are summoned, I’m afraid she won’t thank you for putting your nose in her business.”
“I can speak for myself,” Verve said.
Neither man seemed to listen to her. “I am old,” said the minister, though he did not look a day over thirty-five. “I have seen many things in my nine hundred years, but you, milady, are the first attempt at prophecy fulfillment I have ever met.” Under Fenn’s glare, the man released Verve and took a slight step backward. “You are attempting to break the bond between yourself and Lord Starside, I gather.”
By ‘Starside’, Verve assumed he meant Dacre. “Will it work?”
The man studied her intently. “Perhaps. This sort of magic has never truly been tested in this way. In theory, your magic should be your own in the end. You’ll know for certain once the ritual has been performed. Unless, of course, a marriage of mere words isn’t enough.” He gave her a meaningful look, and Verve felt herself blush even more.
“So you’ll help us?” asked Fenn, apparently oblivious to what the man was implying.
He looked Fenn up and down, his brow furrowing. “If you answer a few questions to my satisfaction, then yes, I will bind the two of you.” Without a word, he motioned for the pair to follow him away from the bust of the man with the sharp cheekbones, and into a small outer room. “There. We shan’t be interrupted or eavesdropped upon in here.”
Verve at once smelled the spicy aroma of incense and knew the minister had performed some silent magic. Heart pounding, she waited to hear what he might ask her.
“Is your re-maker in love with you?”
The thought made Verve’s hairs stand on end. “I don’t see why that would be of interest.”
He held up his hands in placation. “Ah, but many believe his lordship is part of the original prophecy. You’ll have to forgive me if my interest in what ties you two is strong.” There was a twinkle in the minister’s eyes, and Verve had half a mind to strike him.
“I don’t know,” Verve bit out. She did not want to think about Dacre or what he had planned for her. The very idea of the fae being in love with her made Verve’s skin crawl. “I think he’s very much in love with himself, at least.”
That made the minister break out in delighted laughter. “So you don’t love Lord Starside?”
Verve made a face. “No.”
“Excellent. Now you,” he said, turning to Fenn, whose leash on his power and patience seemed to be slipping. “Why do you want to help this woman? She did not fulfill the prophecy. What have you to gain from uniting yourself with a halfling?” As the minister spoke, he snatched Verve’s hand and began tying it with a fine ribbon, which he had produced from thin air.
