Fairy Keeper (36 page)

He slid forward against the wall, thankfully not crashing to the ground, and clawed at her arms as he tried and failed to give his friend a warning. You can’t scream without any air. Sierra kept her head tucked down behind his so he couldn’t get to her eyes. When he finally passed out, she took out the knife and gave him a good rap on the head to make sure he stayed out long enough. She needed to get ready for the second guard.

But before she reached her previous position, the other guard came around the corner, saying, “Hey, Tom, you get lost or something?”

He stopped short at the sight of his unconscious friend and Sierra standing there with a knife. The fact that there was no blood on it seemed to be a fact missed by him.

“Murderer!” he cried, while pulling out his sword.

Even a knife as long as her forearm wasn’t going to be a match for a broadsword and body armor. Sierra dodged and jumped as he slashed at her. He was clumsier than he should have been, sword missing by a hands-width. Must have been drinking or dosing himself with some elixir, maybe even Flight. Ironic. Good thing, too, or he would have stabbed her right away. She was fast, but he was still a professional mercenary, even if not in top form. Sierra dodged past his lumbering steps in a way that would have made Jack proud. The angry man turned again and ran at her like a crazed bull.

Backed into a corner, Sierra did the only thing she could think of to avoid dying. She used his momentum to slice across the man’s forehead and push past him. Blood gushed over his eyes and he bellowed, unable to see. If he didn’t shut up, he’d draw reinforcements and she’d never get Phoebe out of there.

Queenie
, Sierra screamed in her mind, and her fairy queen was there, a golden light, next to the man.

“Stop him,” Sierra shouted.

Without a second’s hesitation, Queenie stung him. She didn’t bite him, as if she didn’t want the rank taste of him in her mouth. She aimed her delicate little stinger and stabbed it right in his fleshy neck. The result was immediate.

The guard froze. One hand reached up to clamp the side of his neck, much like the way his partner had tried to grab his throat to breathe. There was no blood here. Just fairy magic, a toxin in its pure state for most humans, racing through his veins, speeding forward with every beat of his too-rapid heart. Sierra held her breath, stumbling two steps back, looking around to see if anyone had heard, but the path remained clear. The guard fell to the ground, twitching like a man having a seizure. She wondered if he’d start prophesying, too, but the answer to that question was apparently no, because blue suffused his face, and soon his chest stopped moving. This was a bad way to die, but she couldn’t regret their choice, hers and Queenie’s.

Sierra held her hand to her fairy queen and thought at her,
Thank you, thank you.

Queenie flew over and kissed her cheek. Sierra’s answering smile quickly faded as she stared at the dead man and then past him to the door where her sister waited.

Time to rescue Phoebe.

he door to the “trainees” was blocked from the outside. Sierra tried to lift the heavy wooden board preventing anyone from escaping and realized it was chained into place. A heavy iron lock clasped through the center of the thick links. Of course. She shook her head at her own foolishness.

Finding the keys on the dead guard was easy enough, but her hands shook as she walked back to the door. Killing a man―using Queenie as a weapon―had left Sierra with a sick feeling she hadn’t expected. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to a crowd of people like that. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to make that decision. She twisted the key into the lock, lifted it from the door and took a deep breath.

Would Phoebe still be in here? What if they’d moved her? What if… what if it was too late and she was dead or sent to be a runner somewhere else? Sierra pushed all the bad thoughts from her mind and focused on her task: to find Phoebe and get her out of here. That was all. One step at a time.

Setting aside the board, she pushed the door open, wincing at the loud creak. Light fell across five pale faces inside, not just the one Sierra expected. Bentwood had been busy. The people squinted against the light, throwing their arms up over their eyes. Only one did not move. Sierra saw her sitting against the far wall. Her hair was matted and darker than the last time Sierra saw her, as if her lightness had been stolen. Then Phoebe looked up, and something flickered in her expression. Confusion, hope, and fear raced across her face one after another. She blinked slowly, and Sierra wanted to run to her, but she couldn’t move. Her feet were glued to the stone floor. What if Phoebe was too hurt to move? Sierra hadn’t allowed the thought to cross her mind until now.

The other prisoners staggered up and pushed past her into the light, roughly shoving her shoulder, but she kept her eyes fastened on her sister. The distant splashing behind her suggested some were jumping into the freezing water, but she couldn’t spare them any energy.

“Phoebe, it’s me. Little Bug, are you okay?” Two trembling steps turned into a quick run that brought her to her sister’s side.

She touched Phoebe’s arms as if the softest contact might crush her. Sierra could barely hear over the roar of her heart beating. Would Phoebe be okay? Her little sister, her sweet Phoebe.

“Sierra?” her voice sounded rusty like an unoiled hinge, and she began to cry. Huge tears poured down her cheeks, and she wrapped too-thin arms around Sierra’s neck and held her tighter than a lifeline.

Staggered by the embrace, Sierra smelled sweat and mustiness, but also the special scent that was all her little sister. She crushed Phoebe in a hug of her own, flooded with relief, knees weak. But the hourglass sands never stopped flowing. They had to get out of here. As much as Sierra wished she could hold her sister forever, they had to go, or she wouldn’t get to hold Phoebe again, ever.

“Can you stand?” Sierra asked, holding one elbow.

Phoebe’s right knee was grossly swollen, but she managed to limp slowly. They stepped out into the light, and she took a wavering breath, as if tasting the sunlight for the first time in months. Maybe Phoebe had only arrived in Port Iona two days ago, but even a day in a dungeon was too long for Sierra’s girl to be there.

Phoebe stopped short at the sight of the obviously dead guard. The death, unwanted though it was, was uglier with her seeing it, too.

“I’m sorry,” Sierra started to tell her tenderhearted sister, praying she wouldn’t start crying for the man. Sierra wasn’t ashamed, but she regretted this would hurt Phoebe more.

She asked, tone flat, “Did you kill him?”

Sierra nodded. She hated to upset Phoebe, but Sierra couldn’t lie to her. Asking Queenie to sting him was the same as if Sierra stabbed him herself.

“Good,” Phoebe replied.

Sierra’s jaw dropped. That response, more than anything, told her how badly they must have treated Phoebe. Sierra gazed down at the top of her sister’s head and wondered what kind of damage had happened that she couldn’t see.

There was no time to ask, not now. They had to rendezvous with Corbin, Micah, and Nell. Getting from here to the main square without getting caught seemed impossible, but there were still surprisingly few people around. In fact, as Sierra glanced at the empty walls above, a chill crept up her spine as she thought of what could be drawing all the people from this end of the peninsula. It would have to be something big. She called Queenie again, who floated over.

Sierra allowed herself to gaze into Queenie’s eyes and said, “We need to find the others.”

Queenie bobbed for a minute and then zipped off with only the speed a queen fairy could have.

Phoebe stared and said, “That’s different.”

Sierra sighed as she led her back through the winding passages to the little opening to the water. Phoebe didn’t know the half of it.

The seawee was gone, of course. Sierra slapped at the water, hoping maybe he was waiting for them beneath the surface.

Phoebe sank to the ground next to Sierra. “We’re never going to get out of here.”

Sierra stopped her fruitless search for the little merman and grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “I
will
get you out of here. You’re going to be fine. Just
fine
!”

They had to be. She kneeled and pulled Phoebe close. She was always thin, but now her shoulder bones pressed against her shirt in sharp relief.

Warmth dripped against Sierra’s neck, and she realized Phoebe was crying again. It was good Phoebe was able to show her true feelings, but watching her sister’s grief made Sierra wild with anger. She made a silent pledge: Bentwood would
never
get near them again.

Phoebe shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of some horrible memory.

“I want to go home,” she said, voice tiny and pathetic. Some of her tears splashed into the icy water beside them, spreading tiny ripples across the water.

Sierra wanted to sit patiently, but her back felt exposed. Corbin must be making his speech in the square right now, which was the only explanation for why no one had noticed Sierra’s intrusion yet.

“Come on, Phoebes,” Sierra said. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we’ve got to go. We have to find Corbin and Nell.”

Phoebe’s red-rimmed eyes flashed up to Sierra as she reared back. “Corbin’s here? And
Nell
?”

Sierra breathed a sigh of relief. Here was her Phoebe, thinking and reacting.

“Long story. But yes. So let’s go.” Sierra tried not to consider that their chances of making it all the way through the winding tunnels to the courtyard were nil, but desperation drove her beyond logic. As they stood, a wet hand gripped Sierra’s ankle. She squawked at the icy grip but realized it was Tristan, the seawee from before.

He waved them forward with quick, sharp gestures.

“Do you trust me?” Sierra asked Phoebe.

She looked confused and replied, “Of course.”

“Good.” Sierra pushed Phoebe into the water.