The Faerie War (13 page)

“Did you see my mother?” I whisper. A slow boil bubbles in my blood at the thought of her being forced to kneel in front of some lunatic halfling.

“No. But I saw others I remember working with.” He stares at the floral patterned rug—or rather, he stares through it. Probably reliving a scene I’m glad I didn’t have to witness.

“This Draven,” I say between clenched teeth. “Who the hell is he? What do you know about him?”

Kale’s eyes clear as he looks up at me. “He’s half-faerie, half-human. He possesses more power than any single person should ever have. He created the storm inside the faerie paths. He’s been changing the weather across the entire fae realm. And he killed the Unseelie Prince Zell.”

“What?” And here I was thinking Zell might be hiding behind the scenes, using this
Lord Draven
as his puppet.

“Yes. He opened the chest that contained Tharros’ power and allowed it to enter him. And there’s only one thing that can destroy that power.” He crosses the room to stand in front of me once more. “Which brings me back to the weapon I sent you to find. Please tell me you succeeded.”

“I did, but it won’t do you any good. The weapon can only be used by one person. And that person can only be found by the ‘finder.’ Who do you think that sounds like?”

Kale’s gaze slides away from mine and comes to rest somewhere behind me. “Violet,” he says quietly.

“That’s what I thought.”

“And no one knows where she is.” He clenches his fist and presses it against his forehead. “Which means we’re as helpless against Tharros’ power as we’ve always been.”

I nod.

“I need to take this information to the Queen.”

“Great. Do you mind returning me to Fireglass Vale before you run off to do the Queen’s bidding once more?”

He’s quiet for a moment, watching me. He may not have my ability to sense emotions, but I’m pretty sure he knows I’m not happy with him. “It’s not my fault that Violet is gone, Oryn,” he says. “I’m as desperate to find her as you are, but I also have a duty to perform. I swore an oath the day I became a guardian, just like you did. That oath means something to me. Perhaps you should think about what it means to you.”

And with that, he leaves the room. Moments later, a tall man with quiet steps and very little hair comes in. He holds something in his long fingers and begins chanting. His eyes never leave me as I feel the world begin to tilt again. It creeps me out. It doesn’t feel right, this summoning thing—and I’m not just talking about the nausea and dizziness.

I stumble back into the corridor at the Fireglass Vale base, wrapping my arms around my aching chest and gasping for breath. I can’t get Kale’s words out of my mind. How can he think I’m not committed to my guardian duties? Being a guardian means protecting people. I would be protecting Violet and my mother if I found out where they were and left the base to go and rescue them. So why would that be a betrayal of the oath I made?

Because you’re needed
here
.

My father said it himself. They need every guardian they can get. I can’t go running off on my own little rescue missions.

“Ryn, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

I stop hugging myself—which must look pretty weird—and see Oliver walking toward me.
Oh, hell, I’m going to have to tell him about Tora.

“I know you’ve been part of several search and rescue missions,” he says, “but I’m putting together teams for a different purpose: gathering information. It’ll be a lot more dangerous, as it’ll most likely involve interaction with the enemy. If you agree to it, I’d like you to lead one of the younger teams.”

Here’s my chance to prove just how committed I am to the surviving guardians and their cause. “That . . . would be great. Thank you.”

“Fantastic. Oh, and we’re looking into alternate modes of transport, since the faerie paths are out now. Come check this out.” He waves for me to follow him. “I have a feeling you’re going to love it.”

PART

III

“I’ve always been jealous of faeries’ hair,” Natesa says as she carefully separates three narrow strands of my hair and begins to braid them. “The vibrant colors are so beautiful. I imagine if there were lots of faeries in one room it would be an explosion of color.”

“I guess it makes up for the fact that we wear black all the time,” I say. “Well, guardians, I mean. Not all faeries.”

“Black is boring,” Natesa states. “All reptiscillas have black hair and black eyes. That’s why I tie ribbons in mine, to add some color.”

“I noticed,” I say with a smile.

I’m sitting cross-legged on Natesa’s bed in front of her. I came in just now to pick up my new white cloak and told her, once again, how pretty her hair looks in braids and ribbons. She somehow manages to do it in a different style every day. The ribbons’ colors keep changing, but green seems to be her favorite. Before handing over my cloak, she said it was time for me to get some braids in my own hair. That wasn’t what I was aiming for
at all
when I complimented her, but since the idea seemed to excite her, I decided to go with it.

Braiding hair. Yeah. I don’t know what I did with my free time in my old life, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this.

After a few minutes of weaving strands of hair together, Natesa says, “I’m so glad Jamon decided to get over himself and stop hating you. I was certain he was going to hate all guardians forever after what happened to his friend, but it seems like he actually gets on quite well with you now.”

“What do you mean? What happened to his friend?”

Natesa’s fingers go still. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh dear.” Her hands slide away from my hair. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just assumed he would have told you.”

“About what?” I know I shouldn’t push her if this is some big secret of Jamon’s, but I really want to know what she’s talking about.

Natesa’s fingers return to my hair. “Everyone else knows about it, so I suppose you may as well know too. It was about three years ago, I think. Jamon’s best friend was having a hard time dealing with a difficult family situation, so he used to sneak out to go drinking at Underground clubs. Then he discovered that human alcohol has a much stronger effect on fae than our alcohol, so he started going into the human realm to hang out at their clubs. One night he got into a fight with a human teenager. A guardian showed up to intervene. Jamon’s friend fought back, and . . . well, he ended up being killed. Jamon was there, trying to convince his friend to come home. He saw the whole thing. He got his father to go and confront the Guild Council about what happened, but nothing ever came of it.”

I close my eyes as I let out a long sigh. It now makes complete sense why Jamon hated me from the moment he first saw me. I think I’d hate guardians too if that happened to my best friend. I wish he’d told me about this sooner. It would have helped me understand him so much better.

“Thanks for explaining,” I say quietly.

“Sure, but please don’t say anything to him about it. Maybe he doesn’t want to bring it up now that he’s friendly with you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Natesa works a little longer, then say, “Okay, I think I’ve done six braids. Go check it out.” I stand and head to the small mirror hanging on her wall. I twist my head from side to side and see a few thin braids here and there, half hidden amongst my hair’s black and purple strands. It’s actually quite pretty.

“And here’s your cloak.” Natesa goes to the large pile of white fabric in the corner of the room and removes the top bundle. I take it from her, let the cloak fall open, and pull it around my shoulders. It’s now the perfect length for me. I’m still not sure if fighting in it would be a good idea, but camouflage is more important.
Don’t let them see you, and you won’t have to fight them
.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” I tell her.

“Oh, and your name’s stitched into the hood,” she adds. I remove the cloak and check inside the hood for my name. I burst out laughing when I see the small, purple-stitched words:
Property of Violet Fairdale, Most Kick-Butt Guardian of All Time.

Natesa grins. “I thought you’d like that. It was Jamon’s idea.”

“Oh, and he would certainly know, wouldn’t he. I keep kicking his butt every time he tries to scare me.” I turn around and lay the cloak flat on Natesa’s bed so I can fold it up. “I think he keeps hoping that one day he’ll manage to—”

My vision goes black as something dark is yanked over my head. A string tightens abruptly, closing the fabric around my neck and almost choking me. I spin around with a kick and a jab. My strikes meet nothing but air.

Oh, he’s getting good.

Something sweeps behind my legs and knocks my ankles. I fall back. I twist before I hit the ground, landing on my palms and toes instead of my butt. An exclamation of surprise tells me he’s right behind me. My right leg shoots straight back and up into the air, finally connecting with flesh. I hear his body hit the wall.

I grab at the material around my neck and pull it loose. I tug it off my head and slide out of the way as Jamon runs at me. I leap to my feet. He runs at me again. I jump and somersault right over his head. Land, spin, kick, throw him onto the ground, drop to one knee, press the other knee to his chest. I close my fist around open air, and by the time my fingers have tightened, there’s a knife in my grip. A knife I’m now holding against his neck.

With a grin, I say, “I think this gets more entertaining every time.”

He pushes my knee off his chest and sits up. “I think—” he coughs “—I can stop scaring you now. You seem to have the weapon thing under control.”

I examine the knife in my hand. Its gold diamond-like surface sparkles and shines like sunlight reflecting off water. I let it go. “I had the weapon thing under control a week ago. I think you keep coming back for more because you like me wiping the floor with you.”

“Well, the floor is clean now,” Jamon says, a big grin on his face, “so I think my job’s done.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Natesa says, stepping out from her safe spot in the corner of the room. “I was worried you were going to destroy my room.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Guilt spreads across Jamon’s face. “I didn’t even think—I mean, I—I guess I should have asked you—”

“Are we heading out again?” I ask, interrupting what was probably about to become another awkwardly overnice conversation between Jamon and Natesa. Honestly, someone should really put them out of their misery and make Jamon’s arranged union go away.

“Uh, yeah, that’s why I came to fetch my cloak.” Jamon takes the white bundle from Natesa, who seems to have trouble looking him directly in the eye. “Thanks, Natesa. You’ve done an awesome job. We definitely won’t be spotted in the snow wearing these.”

“So, who are we making friends with this time?” I ask as Jamon and I head down a corridor. I step behind him to allow a woman and three rowdy children tugging at her arms to pass.