Crown of Salt, page 16
part #4 of Faerie Lords Series
“...that’s also true,” Valentine said finally. She settled into Halstead’s shoulder more heavily, and though she couldn’t see anything, she let her gaze fall to the ground. “I never claimed to be a good person.”
Halstead squeezed her around the shoulders, oddly. Valentine wasn’t sure what to make of that. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure that the witch knew she had even done it.
“I suppose keeping you in plain sight is still better than wondering where you’ve gone,” Simon muttered. He paused to check his compass. “Things have shifted a bit since I last came this way. I think we’re going to have to go through the Sleeping Bog, if we want to make good time.”
Elaine shifted Valentine’s weight on her shoulder. “Is that really a good idea?” she asked hesitantly.
Simon started walking again. “Normally, I would say no. But the risk is worthwhile, if it keeps us ahead of the Lady. She will be coming to demand an explanation, I’m sure. You should be… safe… in Blackfrost by then.” His tone made it clear just how dubious he was that Blackfrost could ever be safe.
Elaine was quiet for a moment. “…thank you for this,” she said. “You’ve gone very far out of your way for me. I know I wasn’t exactly kind to you the first time we met.”
Valentine groaned against her shoulder. Lord. Another Percy, is it? “You really shouldn’t say th’ words—”
“—yes, I know,” Elaine muttered, irritated. “But I meant them. And everything they imply.”
“I appreciate that, Miss Elaine,” Simon said. There was a soft smile in his voice now. “But I hope you understand, I would have done the same for anyone else in your position. I’m not going to help the Lady kidnap someone.”
“You left me rottin’ for what felt like weeks,” Valentine told him, bemused. Curiosity niggled at her as she heard him speak. Was this just how the Wanderer talked to everyone who wasn’t a terrible rival warlock? It was technically possible... but she suspected otherwise.
“Time moves differently in Arcadia,” Simon said stiffly. “I only found out you were here a few hours ago. Given that you got yourself into this mess, I decided to prioritize Miss Elaine first.”
No. He was definitely acting odd. The Wanderer might have had a loose leash, but he’d still dared to steal two prisoners from the very center of his patron’s realm. The Lady would punish him for that, she was sure. Wary paranoia crept back into her mind.
“Bullshit,” Valentine said shortly. “You’ve got a weird manner around her. I don’t ‘ave to be able to see to know you’re not doing this out of th’ goodness of your heart.” Her mind whirled through the possibilities. Is he leading us into a trap? What does he want? “What, you think she’s goin’ to give you a grateful little kiss?”
Halstead tightened her grip on Valentine. “Stop,” she said quietly. “Please. I don’t think this is a good idea, right here and now.”
“You are heading into dangerous territory,” Simon said sharply. An unfamiliar cold crept into his voice. “I don’t wish for anything of the sort. I am leaving you both at Blackfrost. And bon débarras to you, in particular.”
He’s hiding something. Valentine’s instincts clamored at her in sudden alarm. I can’t navigate in my state, we’re stuck following him wherever he says he’s taking us.
“Right,” she said derisively. Her body keyed up, prepared for danger. “You’re just a sweet fellow lookin’ to help. Riskin’ th’ wrath of his faerie lord on principle. At least be man enough to admit you’ve got other motivations.”
The golden light on the compass flickered, suddenly unsteady. “She reminds me of someone!” Simon burst out. His voice came so close to Valentine that she knew he must have turned around to face her. “Is that what you want to hear?” he demanded. “I loved my wife, and she is dead, and seeing someone so like her is destroying me!” His voice became anguished. “I do not want her. I am upset by her. If there is anyone I want right now, it’s—” He cut himself off abruptly. “…someone else. It’s someone else I want. But that’s no matter.”
The raw honesty of the admission shocked Valentine’s paranoia into sudden submission.
I was being sarcastic about the kiss, she thought dimly.
A drop of genuine guilt settled into her stomach. For months now, she’d been going mad over just the thought that Percy might catch the Drowned Lord’s eye. The last little bit — however long that truly constituted, in Arcadian terms — Valentine had been at the very lowest point in her life that she could remember, knowing the inevitable doom that awaited him.
But Simon had clearly already lost someone that important to him. There were no more Hail Marys for him, not even the sort of last-minute, impossible flailings that Valentine had tried. His wife was gone, and she simply wasn’t coming back.
The thought made her sick... and suddenly very frightened.
Halstead, who had been forced into a sort of shocked silence by the exchange, suddenly turned her head. Valentine’s Witchsight caught the edges of a tiny, bobbing blue blob. Some tiny faerie, she thought, made from the stuff of the realm around them.
It wasn’t alone. In fact, there were many of them, drifting in and out of the darkness of Valentine’s vision like little fairy lights.
Not fairy lights. Wisps.
Valentine dug her fingers into Halstead’s shoulder. “Wait,” she said sharply. “Stop—”
Halstead stepped away though, and Valentine found herself abruptly alone in the darkness, without a guide.
She staggered with sudden terror; her breath sped up, and panic clawed at her throat in a way it had never done before. Somehow, she managed to feel as though the world had both closed in claustrophobically and opened up impossibly wide all at once.
I can’t see. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m going to get left alone out here, in the middle of Arcadia—
The golden light of Simon’s compass shifted away from her too, walking in the same direction as the lights.
“Not you too, you stupid wanker!” Valentine wailed. The desperation in her voice shocked her back to herself though — it was so high and whiny that she felt a knee-jerk instinct to kick the source of the shrill sound. Damn it! That’s me. I’m the one crying uselessly!
This couldn’t stand.
The crucifix beckoned once again, but Valentine ignored it, forcing down the panic in her chest on her own. “I’ve been a warlock a hundred years,” she rasped to herself. “Witches everywhere quiver in their little boots when I walk by. I beat down an Atheling’s door an’ stared down th’ Deeps, an’ by God, a bunch of stupid little wisps aren’t goin’ to be my end!”
She focused her Witchsight upon the little golden light that signified the Wanderer’s position. The longer she’d gone with her Witchsight open in Arcadia, the more she’d begun to notice the faint hint of magic around the other two witches with her. It was mostly just another little colored blob, settled in the center of their chests — a bare suggestion of the magic they carried within them — but it was there.
A heavy splash came from Valentine’s left, where Halstead had left her. She turned away from the Wanderer for the moment; his compass was a blazing light compared to Halstead’s faint little Taurus aura, and Valentine knew she could find him more easily later. She crawled forward on her hands and knees — it didn’t take long for her palms to sink into the Sleeping Bog proper, sucked under by the disgusting swampland. She jerked back from the edge, and fumbled with one of the ivory charms on her bracelet.
This is Arcadia. Witch magic is physical, and I’m an earth witch.
“Si— Simon!” Halstead’s voice called out weakly, choking on the mud. “Valentine!” The last syllable of Valentine’s name cut off weakly, subsumed by the bog once more.
Valentine sucked in a steadying breath... and reached out for the mud within the bog.
One could easily go many decades, as Valentine had done, without bothering to use magic on the landscape within Arcadia. There were much more efficient things to do, in general, than to try and force the ground to obey you. But the sediment suspended within the bog responded reluctantly to her magic, coagulating into a somewhat more solid mess around the distant hint of Taurus magic within it.
Valentine flailed around blindly, as the bog shot Halstead up into her arms, spitting and coughing. Somehow, she managed to gain a firm hold on the woman’s arm, dragging her up onto shore.
“Are you a witch or aren’t you?” Valentine demanded. “You can do magic of your own, remember?” She’s a Taurus. All these ruddy plants around, and she didn’t think to drag herself to shore?
Halstead gasped for breath, shivering with fear. “I… I panicked,” she managed miserably. “I can’t believe I did that.”
Valentine felt Halstead bent over, covering her eyes. The wisps, she remembered belatedly. They’re still here.
She grasped at the earth within the bog again, flinging splatters of mud liberally about the area. Her Witchsight saw fragile little wisps wink out of existence as the drops hit them, dispersing into swampgas once more.
Halstead startled. “How did you—” she started.
“I’m blind,” Valentine told her shortly. “But I’ve still got Witchsight. A lot of things in Arcadia have magical auras — the two of you included.” She paused, and forced some stern confidence into her voice. “Which is how I know where th’ Wanderer of Arcadia has stumbled off to.”
Valentine snatched another ivory charm from her wrist, and turned her attention to the golden glow to her right. Simon had sunk quite far now, but she had a better handle on the bog’s intricacies now. She forced her magic through it, churning the bottom so that the Wanderer’s form was tossed toward the surface.
It was a rough spell. She winced slightly as he landed on shore, coughing and wheezing. Halstead crawled over toward him, hauling him upright.
“Oh… ugh,” Simon managed. “I can’t… believe… I got caught by a bunch of will o’ wisps.”
Another pang of guilt cut through Valentine’s momentary triumph.
“I heard you were an expert navigator,” she muttered. “You must ‘ave been distracted by somethin’ unfortunate at the time.”
Simon paused. Valentine couldn’t see his face. She couldn’t guess at his posture, or his expression. It was maddening.
“…yes. Well.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Perhaps we should move. I’ve never heard of the Sleepers crawling onto land before, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Halstead shuddered next to her, and Valentine wondered if she’d had an up close and personal encounter with one of the undead in the bog. “Yes, please,” the other witch said emphatically.
Chapter 14
The Hedge, closer to Blackfrost, was even more frigid and miserable when you were dripping with wet mud.
Simon did his best to warm them with his fire magic, at least, but Valentine was quickly running out of whatever third wind had lent her the strength to pull the other two from the bog. Her body was deeply ragged, and her mind was starting to flag.
Still — with her Witchsight open, she knew the moment that they came within spitting distance of Blackfrost proper. The dark, awful realm yawned before her like a sudden void. Blackfrost wasn’t just cold — it was a bottomless hunger, an unquenchable desire to feed itself upon heat and life. From across the boundary between the Hedge and that dark realm, Valentine felt its yearning to tear into them, to rend what little heat they retained from their bodies and leave them as sobbing, miserable wrecks.
Why don’t I ever end up in any of the nice realms of Arcadia? Valentine thought acidly.
She’d expected Simon to turn back and leave them at the border — but he hesitated, in spite of the obvious danger. It was a greater danger for him in particular, Valentine knew.
Even if Lord Blackfrost has a hint of humanity left, he’s probably not overly fond of the Lady’s power... or her warlocks.
Not that Lord Blackfrost had any reason to think more fondly of her. But Valentine needed front row seats to Halstead’s insane scheme to wrestle with a faerie realm. As far as she knew, Simon had no such excuse.
“I… I think I’ll wait here,” Simon said finally. “I might do more harm than good setting foot in Blackfrost — but I can be here, at least, if you need help.” He paused, and sighed. “…either of you.”
Stupid, selfless twat. Valentine shook her head disbelievingly. At least this time, she thought, he had the excuse that he owed her for dragging him out of the bog.
Halstead was predictably touched. “You should come by the shop again when this is all over,” she told Simon. “I promise, I won’t kick you into the snow this time.”
“I’ll consider it,” Simon mumbled, embarrassed. “…maybe once summer comes.”
That should have been the signal for their departure. Stepping into Blackfrost, Valentine thought darkly. Of my own free will, no less. This ought to be fun.
Halstead started them both toward the border. A flicker of vibrant magic slammed into Valentine’s Witchsight though, and she stumbled sharply. Halstead’s shoulder went out from under Valentine’s arm, sending her flailing again — as Valentine hit the ground roughly, jarring one of her wrists, one of the Hedge’s brambles tangled around her ankles.
A dark feeling of foreboding shot through her.
“…Simon?” Halstead started. “Is this yours—”
But Valentine found herself clawing desperately to close her Witchsight, unable to look upon the great mantle of power that had surged behind them.
“Walk into Blackfrost?” the Lady of Briars demanded from behind them. Her voice snapped with cold fury. “How truly awful. You cannot mean it. Since you will not stop this madness, Simon... it seems that I must do it myself.”
This close to Blackfrost, the edges of the Lady’s mantle wilted slightly — but this did little to soothe the raging elemental storm that assaulted Valentine’s senses. The faerie lord might have been physically small and unimposing, but to Witchsight, she was a metaphysical titan, almost too huge and terrible to comprehend.
Valentine struggled against the madness, trying to find enough presence of mind to slam her Witchsight closed. But just as she was grasping at the edges of it, another dark power noticed their presence.
Lord Blackfrost’s icy, stygian mantle swept over her senses... and Valentine forgot how to think.
A deep void of silence fell upon them, swallowing up all light and sound. The weight of it pressed Valentine down into the earth. Only the Lady of Briars did not bend beneath that weight, though her great mantle buckled slightly at its presence.
“Another lord’s warlock in my realm,” Lord Blackfrost observed coldly. “And the Lady of Briars on my very doorstep.” His voice traveled through the silence like the calm before a storm. “I must not have made my feelings on visitors clear enough.”
This is it, Valentine thought dimly. I survived all this, only to die between two angry faerie lords.
Her body was beaten too badly — there was no way she was going to be able to drag herself away. Against the weight of those two awful mantles, she didn’t even have the strength to stand.
Nearby, she heard Halstead struggling to speak against the silence. Her voice barely rasped against the smothering power around them. Whatever she was trying to say, the words were utterly unintelligible.
This is my fault. All of this.
She wasn’t going to escape this time. But she had the magic available to help someone else escape... if she dared to use it.
Valentine let her face fall into her arms. Slowly — miserably — she dredged up the splinter of the Deeps that resided within her soul. It was barely a drop, compared to the raging storms around her... but it was enough to wither away the thorny vines that still clung to Halstead. It was enough, just barely, to push back the horrifying silence.
Elsewhere in Arcadia, she felt the Drowned Lord turn his attention toward her, unerringly attracted by the use of the power he’d gifted her.
Valentine shuddered.
“Just go,” she said to Halstead hoarsely. “Run. One of us should.”
The other woman didn’t respond. She probably couldn’t respond. The silence had fallen down around them again, sucking the breath from Valentine’s lungs.
Dull dread began to thud within her, in time with her sluggish heartbeat. The Drowned Lord approached, slowly but surely. He would drag her back. He would most assuredly make her pay. Percy would pay.
Distant power flashed against her senses, cold and awful. It was Blackfrost’s power... but not completely. Something about it was very, very different.
Valentine gave up trying to close her Witchsight, and turned it fully upon that power. The Drowned Lord will be here soon anyway, she thought. Might as well be insane when he gets here, and save him the trouble.
Just across the line, in Blackfrost proper, roses had blossomed.
Valentine saw them with her Witchsight, burning with cold light just beneath the surface of the faerie realm. Even as she watched, they grew and twisted, spreading their icy roots through the darkness. At their center was a glorious, blazing pyre of magic that Valentine recognized.
Halstead. She hadn’t escaped. Instead, she’d walked directly into Blackfrost, determined to do the impossible.
Halstead still had that portion of Blackfrost’s power — a debt, Lord Blackfrost had called it. She’d twisted that gift up with her own Taurus magic, and with something else — something that made Blackfrost itself cringe away from her like a frightened animal. It was something so beautiful that it nearly blinded Valentine’s other sight.
Love, she thought dimly, as her mind began to crack apart. Blackfrost is greedy, consuming. It can’t fathom something so selfless. She’s found something anathema to it.
That exquisite vision stayed with her, even as she spiralled away into nothing.
