Chapter 7 - section 3

The boy's spiky hair no longer appeared to contain mousse or gel or whatever he had used to make it fit in with the typical teenager in the Other Realm, but was nonchalantly and somewhat more confidently natural. He was still incredibly thin, but there was something in his demeanor that made him appear more relaxed. Somehow this perplexed me even more than the fey-sense: he slew a cold-blooded and heartless assassin and yet he looked happier, more contented, and the angry cast to his brow that had made him blend in as a young punk had pretty much disappeared. At my compliment, a roguish, boyish grin, charming and crooked altered his demeanor from stranger to mischievous teen. The expression made him look younger and less jaded than when he stood on the sidewalk near my townhouse. I found this off-putting and disturbing. A kid like this shouldn’t be involved in this kind of life and death mess. Unknown saviors were becoming something of a habit for me, but this wasn’t the kind I ever imagined. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for this boy’s help, but what had he been doing watching me on my street? Was that really only a few days ago? It felt like years had flown away in those short passes of the sun.

My thoughts whizzed around at light speed, bouncing off of the confines of my skull. It was far beyond difficult to grasp at a single speeding notion; it was downright painful. Charming smile and awkwardness aside, this boy was a killer. Goldilocks was an assassin I wasn’t sure that I had the power to handle. Escape, sure, but kill? And here this slip of a boy, grinning at me, had just put a bolt through my stalker’s chest.

Tired of games, I asked him bluntly, “Why?” To illustrate my query, I motioned an aching hand down towards the still form of Goldilocks. Just because the kid was a killer didn’t mean he was a liar, right? My inner cynic laughed uproariously at my hopeful and dogged naïveté.

The boy’s grin faded and he rolled one shoulder in a silent shrug. His head dropped and his agile hands worked to loosen the bolt he had ready and loaded in his crossbow. Finished in seconds, he strapped it to his waist with a leather thong and lifted his blue gaze back to meet my eyes. His long artistic fingers rose to scratch his nose and I not only caught sight of the dirt under his fingernails, but the raw scratch reddening his upturned nose.

As he spoke, his tenor was hushed; robust in timbre with a promise of growing deeper with time. Though his words were soft, there was a melodious undertone. “I was sent to watch over you. To protect you if you needed it.” He broke his gaze from mine and blushed.

Incredulity had my eyebrows rising of their own volition. Someone had sent this kid to protect me? I wanted to grill him for details, but how aggressive can you really be with a boy who still blushed with embarrassment? “Who?” I demanded, trying to temper my voice with some kindness.

The red on his cheeks flamed anyhow. I was fairly certain this was no deception. “I don’t know,” he admitted as I stared at him in disbelief. He stole a peek at my expression. “No, really! I don’t.”

Dubiously, I asked him, “So on the basis of some would-be protector who you don’t even know, you just killed a man to rescue someone else you don’t know?”

The teenager squirmed under my speculative inspection, scowling defensively. “It isn’t like that. You’re twisting it around.”

A shout sounded through the trees. Even though it was some distance away, I still had no desire to meet up with either side of the skirmish. I stepped forward to grab the boy’s arm and drag him further away from the battlefield. “Let’s get out of here and you can tell me exactly what it is like. And your name, too.”

With a stubborn sidestep and a shuffle, the boy evaded my imploring hand and nodded. “Gus.”

I continued on a few paces, mouth open to spur the boy on, in case he didn’t understand the gravity of our predicament. His hand was faster than my mouth, however; and he unsheathed a nasty-looking shortsword. The metal of the weapon was dark and nicked, but it was apparently honed and sharp as Gus swung it down with all the boy’s strength against Goldilocks’ neck.

Death was no deterrent for the gout of blood that spurted forth and I felt my stomach give a single half-hearted turn. The kid drew the sword back again, blade glistening with dark liquid as it came down in a second swift blow to sever Goldilocks’ head from his body. I turned away at the last instant, loping painfully towards the deeper woods.

Gus ran up behind me with a soft shushing of leaves a few minutes later. The young bastard wasn’t even breathing heavily. I didn’t know what he did with the head or why he did that to the corpse. With a grimace, I realized I probably was just as well off without knowing the former. His sword was sheathed and flopped in its sheath against his leg.

“Gus,” I muttered through my labored breathing. “Really. Your parents named you Gus? Let me guess. Short for asparagus?”

This evoked another bright blush to my wonderment. What kind of kid murders in cold blood, rends the corpse so easily, but blushes at any female attention? “Agustus, actually,” he responded, “but everyone calls me Gus.” He didn’t deign to respond to my vegetable allusion.

I shook my head slightly. The name seemed more appropriate for a short, stocky and swarthy polka-aficionado than a young and gangly Adonis wannabe. “All right, Gus,” I sighed, “why the decapitation? And how did you come to protect me if you never met my benefactor?”

Gus studied me for a moment as he effortlessly kept up with my pace. His blue eyes seemed to drink me in and I wondered why the long pause. Was it a matter of trust or fear for my disbelief? Even though I kept most of my attention on dragging my feet without tripping over any roots that nefariously awaited my misstep and ensuing embarrassment, I stole a few glances upwards to study this boyish enigma.

Uncomfortably, he finally answered: “It’s a precaution.”

I waited, jerking on my leather sleeve as it was snared. When no answer was forthcoming, I finally urged, “Against?”

Gus sighed, clearly ill at ease with the topic and my persistence. “Did you sense the assassin?” he asked me with a poor attempt at patience.

I frowned, trying to remember. Back at my house, an eternity ago, I sensed someone. But was it him? And this time, there was turmoil, chaos, but under all of that, I couldn’t recall the telltale jangling of my fey sense. “A little, maybe?” I responded as I shook my head.

He elaborated further, encouragingly, “Yet he followed you across realms, past the barriers. Didn’t that make you wonder?”

I could feel my frown deepening into a scowl. “Are you telling me he wasn’t fey or human?”

Gus met my gaze levelly and didn’t speak. My mind raced. I hadn’t heard of anyone who could glimmer beyond the fey. And the creatures of Shadow, of course, but they were of the same stock, weren’t they? I tried to remember lessons where Dad or a tutor droned on about history and politics until the sound was as meaningless a background noise as the bees in the waiting summer day that I longed to enjoy. I knew what was taught was important now, even if I didn’t think so back then. It was even more so in that particular moment. I scoured the recesses of my mind, reasoning that just because I hadn’t paid attention didn’t mean it hadn’t sunk in on some level. I had this itchy feeling that there was something important about those of Shadow, if I could just catch hold of the thought.

There was no reason Goldilocks had to have glimmered himself here, either. There were other ways of passing through worlds. Just because the only other ways I had ever heard about were absurdly time and power-consuming didn’t mean it was impossible. I studied the ground passing beneath my sore feet. Not impossible, but it had been done at least twice in a week’s span of time, if it was responsible for Goldilocks’ travel. Thrice if he was the one who nailed my shoulder. Given his dying leap onto me, he seemed unlikely to have left me for dead as Tristam claimed, however.

Maybe I was taking the wrong approach about this. I only needed to figure out how he got here in order to figure out where he had come from. But that was secondary to the concern of who he served. Before I had wondered why I was a target, but that all depended upon who was behind Goldilocks.

My chin snapped up towards Gus and I asked, “What kind of precaution does beheading serve that your bolt didn’t? Who was he?”

Gus grimaced and shook his head. “Dunno.”

If he was going to answer the rest, I didn’t have the time to find out. There was a shimmer in the air like rippling water once a stone has been tossed into it. Something dark and exuding a scent like cold metal wrapped around my ankle like a snare and dragged me off of my feet. I landed on my back with a grunt. Before I could even get out a shout, my spine was jolted again and again across rocks and stones, mud and sticks indiscriminately. The experience was akin to getting a leg snagged in the stirrup after falling from a galloping wild horse. Especially if that horse was actually a finely tuned European sports car gunning the engine.

Chapter 7 - section 2

About a half a mile south of the castle I found it: a circle of toadstools. What do you know; an honest-to-goodness fairy circle. It appealed to my sardonic sense of humor and I couldn’t suppress my smirk as I inspected it. I circled the ring once before grounding myself and closing my eyes. As I exhaled slowly, I pushed my will through the invisible barrier that clung like sticky and twanging elastic before stepping through into the next world.

And with one foot, I stepped straight into a noisy, clashing maelstrom of clanging swords, squealing horses, shrieking men and flying arrows. Shit. Suddenly, I understood how that piece of dropped bacon felt about the fire and frying pan. Leaping from a war in planning right into a very bloody war at its height was only a matter of analogy, but just as dangerous.

Muttering, I started to weave through the chaos. Both sides apparently took umbrage at this and more than one swing came in my direction. The pain in my shoulder was forgotten as adrenaline kicked in. Right, right, left, duck; I blocked enemy with enemy, leaping from one skirmish towards another. The man, who looked like a normal human save for the grayish skin which might have been passed off as battlefield grime and the colossal build of a heavy duty weightlifter, let out a shriek as the sword intended for me flashed down. The spurts of blood looked very human as I took the unexpected route of changed direction to leap over the downed man and fly past the understandably startled swordsman. I guess he didn’t expect an unarmed, unarmored woman to jump towards him, screaming like a banshee.

Real battle is nothing like the study of strategy. Dad used to line up objects to imitate formations and demonstrate maneuvers. He would show us how to take advantage of the gaps in a line and when to order this defensive block or that calculated retreat. It all seemed so logical and rational with those straight lines set up for our edification. The nightmare I had glimmered into bore the same resemblance to Dad’s models as a snarling jaguar does to an eight-week old puppy. Clinically, the structures might be similar: four legs, two ears, two eyes, tails, carnivorous teeth; but when you find yourself in front of one or the other, it’s a considerable distinction. They’re fundamentally two different creatures.

Breathing heavily, I dropped behind the corpse of a horse porcupined with a garnish of arrows. Jackpot! Staring beyond me into nothing was a very grey, very dead man. He had been shot through the throat and looked to have died painfully and recently. More importantly, his armor was more or less intact. His sword had been discarded nearby. I could put both to better use than they’d see lying there with his cooling flesh.

I’m not inherently unethical and I wasn’t free from a sense of guilt as I stripped the gear from the stiff and heavy limbs of a man who had died in the name of some cause or other. Looting his corpse might not be kind, but my clothing would disappear at any minute and I wanted to survive this mess. I considered trying to move a blanket from the horse to cover the dead man’s soon-to-be nudity, but I wasn’t about to take the time to search until I was safely ensconced in protection.

I settled the breastplate over my shoulders with a grunt just as an arrow narrowly missed my ear. Shit. I stumbled, a vicious pain spreading across my shoulder. Damn damn damn! The breastplate was iron and I hadn’t taken the time to remove all of the dead man’s padding. And I had apparently reopened the gift my would-be assassin had left me. Cursing only partially under my breath, I tore the padding from the soldier, ripping it from him in a massive ragged strip. Wadding up the dirty, sweat-stained cloth, I shoved it under the breastplate to cushion the armor and prevent it from adding to my weakened state.

I ducked down to reach for the corpse’s helmet, just as another arrow whistled over my head. I wondered how the hell I was going to track down a Michael the anything in this mess, not to mention survive. Muttering imprecations and expletives, I clapped the iron cap over my now thoroughly matted and tangled curls. Staying down, I reached out and grabbed up the sword.

And not a moment too soon; one of the wild-eyed, grey-skinned warriors came flying over the dead horse. He landed with a thump, but rolled right back up to his feet and came at me. A dagger whipped from his waist so quickly that it was almost as if it had appeared by magic. I couldn’t help but admire the almost preternatural ability and speed of this race. They really seemed excellent fighters. The man looked me over and his mouth split into a ghastly grin of crooked, yellow and brown teeth. Apparently excellence in fighting had no correlation to good oral hygiene.

In a French dialect which made his accent thick and difficult to understand, the brute chortled as he lunged at me; “Je serai gentil, putain. Vous ȇtes un morceau trop doux pour endommager votre bouche ou vos mains. Je voidrai que vous les employiez dans mon lit.”

Although his choice of insult gave me momentary mental pause and his threat of using my body in such a manner was sufficient to make me grimace, my instincts were sharp enough with the adrenaline fueling me that I parried his lunge with my newfound sword and tried to knock the dagger out of his hand, or at least chop off a few fingers. My angle was all wrong, however, and he was sufficiently skilled to evade that tack. No matter how disgusting the man was, I’d yet to find the man I couldn’t insult with false bravado and sufficient strength. In my Parisian accent, honed from more of Dad’s training, I replied as degradingly as I could, “Qu’est-ce que c’est? Vous plus ne winez et dinez une fille? Combien bas votre honneur doit ȇtre.” The only thing that irritates a man more than debasing his pride is diminishing the size of his manhood after sleeping with him.

The massive titan’s heavy black brows shot up towards his scalp, hiding underneath the metal helm encasing his massive skull. His dark eyes glittered from the deep hollows of his eyesockets. He seemed pleased at the challenge of having to fight me. “Et gaspillez un bon repas?” he countered, snarling, the odd French dialect barely comprehensible. He spat out the words as if the very taste of them was a potent and pungent form of waste. But I wasted no more time on his face or those foul teeth and instead watched his torso, awaiting his attack. Sure enough, he came at me again in a quick and curving motion, designed to protect his wielding hand.

Instead of swinging the sword, I let it drop and simultaneously stepped in towards the giant man’s onslaught. Turning my body into his thrust, I grabbed his wrist and spun him around and down. My shoulder flashed white hot, but my center of gravity was far lower than his oversized form and with a loud thud and a completely startled expression, I got the thug down on the ground mostly through his own momentum. I didn’t waste an instant before leaping onto him, placing an arm across his neck with a threat of choking him and locking my knees to the ground so his legs were pinned.

The man’s surprise morphed seamlessly into rage as he struggled underneath me. I had the leverage, though and greater practice, so he wasn’t going anywhere. Fast as I could, I liberated his dagger and muttered, “Thanks, but I really don’t think you’re my type, anyhow.” I pulled back just enough for him to start to fling himself at me, but I was ready and pounded the back of his neck with the pommel of his own weapon.

He grunted on impact and then fell still. I leapt up, making sure the big grey giant hadn’t brought a buddy along, but for the moment, my refuge seemed secure. I tucked the dagger into my looted belt and glanced back down. Delicate though the brain may be, it’s a lot harder to kill someone by hitting them on the back of the head than you might think. To that end, the great lummox was still breathing. I had no real desire to kill, in spite of the ogre’s desire to make me a trophy and have me adorn his bed. His incapacitation suited me just fine.

Free from immediate threat, I finished suiting up. My movements were rendered far slower than normal. Now that the surge of adrenaline was winding down, the ache in my shoulder was strong enough to distract from the gnawing hunger tying my stomach into knots. Ignoring the hot flaring from my wound, I grabbed the sword, heaved a shield up over me and made a crouching run in the direction that seemed furthest from the continuing melee beyond the horse.

Arrows dropped like vicious birds of prey to land in the soft flesh of throats, faces, and even one belly as I charged through. More than once, the missiles thunked against my shield and an ambitious one hit my breastplate, but fortunately they did no more damage than some possible bruising. I was only approached by one big grey fellow on a charger, but evading him was a simple matter of sending a mental wash of pain and fear at his steed; emotions I had a heavy stash to draw upon at that point.

To give the goon his due, he was an excellent horseman. Although the massive bay screamed and rolled its eyes, rearing up, he managed to keep to the saddle. I rushed to find a pair in foot combat to try to lose the horseman. I ducked quickly around them, but paused as I caught sight of an odd gleam shining from the helm of one of the soldiers. The conical metal helm didn’t entirely hide his golden hair from view. Cold and calculating dark eyes locked onto me, sending a shiver down my spine.

With a growl, Goldilocks renewed his attack on the poor big grey guy he was matched up against. It didn’t take long. I had enough time to see the mighty swing that severed the unfortunate soldier’s head before my feet got the best of me and sped me away. Discretion is the better part of not getting decapitated.

My mind raced nearly as fast as my feet. What the hell was he doing here? The possibility that he was some sort of thrall of Eva’s and this had been some elaborate fabrication to execute me wormed through the more important considerations, such as running, escaping, and remaining intact. My body might be far from perfect, but I had grown rather attached to it.

I clanked and clanged my way off of the field and through a sparsely wooded area. I imagined hulking footsteps behind me, camouflaged by my own noisy retreat and although I was gasping for air and a stitch was forming in my side, I pushed on. Running has never been my strength, although I certainly seemed to be getting some practice at it these days. I resolved to set up an exercise regime once all of this was said and done. I tried not to think about the possibility of not surviving for want of that regime.

My feet thudded rhythmically into the twigs and leaves underfoot; the cracks and creaks harmonizing with the constant cacophony of my oversized armor crashing together with every jolt of my feet. My labored breath was a quiet wheeze in comparison and I was starting to get really hot under all this padding and metal.

That was when the dagger hit my back. The force nearly knocked me off my balance with the echoing PANG of metal against metal. I wondered if the backpiece had split. The dagger hit the ground, but a new dull pain blossomed across my back and I caught a second wind inspired by sheer terror. If I couldn’t get away, this psychopath really would kill me.

Drawing upon my fear, I spurred myself on, leaping over twigs and positive that Goldilocks was going to take me down at any second. My lungs strained and the agonized thump of my heart beat painfully against my back, so strongly that I could barely hear anything over the rushing sound of my own blood. My focus on forward momentum was so complete that I barely noticed the bolt that whizzed past my ear to land with a thump behind me.

With a gurgle, Goldilocks leapt upon me and his full weight came to bear on one of my legs, forcing it to buckle under me. I fell forward, limbs sprawling as I futilely tried to halt the inevitable faceplant into mud and leaves. I carefully spat out my mouthful of earth and without pausing, tried to flip over, my shoulder searing in agony at the motion. I tried to kick Goldilocks off of me at the same time that I tried to scramble back and away from him. I got in three really good heels to his nose before I was far enough back to realize that he was lying still on the ground and making no effort to escape my foot.

Struggling to suck air into my poor deprived lungs, I took quick inventory of my ailments: shoulder – excruciating, back – sore but intact, legs – functional. I rose quickly, giving the assassin a cursory once over. His last ditch effort to bring me down left me muddy but uninjured; however, it may have been one of the reasons for his lack of fight. Blood dribbled from a gash on his forehead where he had fallen upon a rock. Perhaps the primary reason for his lack of movement, though, was the bolt that had pierced his leather armor, run through his chest and was now sticking out of his back.

As I finally noticed the telltale tingling under my pain, I turned to flash a glance over my shoulder and called out, “Nice shot.”

From between the trees, a tall youth stepped out, nodding at me. He was lanky and gangly, but dressed in well-fitting leather that made him look more comfortable when I had seen him last – on the street outside my home in the Other Realm. I narrowed my eyes with the recognition of him, but I owed him my life right now. If he was going to try to kill me, a little gratitude wouldn’t make matters worse. “Thank you,” I offered, inspecting the crystalline blue of his bright eyes, puzzled.

Chapter 7 - section 1

I passed through the castle as innocuously as I could. It takes a lot of people to keep a castle of this size running smoothly and no matter where you go, you’re bound to run into someone. But I kept my head down and moved quickly. My shoulder still ached, but it had grown into the dull and painful ache that belongs to a lingering pain. What I felt was a reminder that I wasn’t hale and whole but not enough to be truly debilitating.

Far more overwhelming was the uncertainty and fear that was clawing at my innards and had gripped both mind and spirit. Vicky’s absence before had been worthy of worry, but her blood-stained sheets was confirmation that all my fears had been justified. I felt as if my family was getting picked off one at a time and I still had no idea who this unseen assailant was. It didn’t make sense to blame Garrett. He would have had the opportunity to finish the assassin’s work on me while I was unconscious, but he hadn’t. And if Cullen really was planning to wage war upon Garrett, he wouldn’t have sneaked into the castle to injure Vicky. And there was no way that either of them could be blamed for what happened to Dad.

Mulling over the possibilities, I found some of Cullen’s cast off clothing: a tunic, leggings and sash. They were a bit large, but I eased myself into them anyhow. They were a sight better than my bedraggled, corseted and blood-stained outfit. Besides which, it didn’t matter how poorly they fit so long as they protected me until I found the glimmer site that Eva had specified.

Once changed, I took the dagger with me out into the gardens. Through the mist, down the path and into the heart of the tamed and pristine beds I went, not a soul in sight. The air was cool, chill and damp like spring. A copse of riparian trees hung over an artfully laid out stream. I padded over the moss covered roots, ducking between the long branches drooping to trail their tips into the moving water.

The hollow was where I remembered it; just below eye level on the left face of the third tree over. Glancing into the grey and swirling mists for any signs of movement, I dug the page out from between my leggings and smallclothes. Frowning and looking down, I started trying to commit the page to memory. This was no small feat, because it read like some archaic, magical VCR instructions. It was filled with phrases like “in order to augment metallic egress, hammer-weld whilst the fourth house holds the moon and quench in heart’s blood.”

Even so, I read through it all five times. It was clearly meant as a lesson in how to create a bloodsword. Being no smith, most of the technical information made very little sense and the language of the mystical part evaded my comprehension as well. Still, I committed the words to memory by rote. Once I was satisfied that I had gleaned as much as I was capable from the scrap of parchment, I bundled it around the dagger and then wrapped them both in a scrap of oiled cloth also salvaged from between leggings and smallclothes. The cloth would help protect them from dampness and damage for at least a short period of time. Stealing another quick glance around, I shoved the bundle securely into the hollow of the tree, trying not to think about what creepy-crawlies might use it for a home.

Just in case anyone was watching, I circled away before heading back towards the castle. Ignoring the chill wind that sprung up from nowhere, I wondered at the implication of the instructions on the page stashed away. I wondered at the implication of those instructions. Dad’s edicts referenced the bloodsword as if it was something unique. But with that page, was it possible there existed more than one? And if so, what effect could that have on the throne?

I frowned and watched a stray pebble skitter away from the force of my purposeful steps. That we were to scour the Mistlands in search of one of these swords was bad enough. The idea that more than one could be out there seemed downright dangerous. I wondered what power this sword actually possessed. Dad’s edict seemed to indicate it would strengthen our natural abilities to a point where one of us could hold his own against all the rest. Unfortunately, the page Eva had given me was more of a how-to on how to create the sword, not an explanation of what it actually was or how to utilize it.

Although my steps continued, the leather shuffling softly against the stone path, I suddenly caught sight of a shadow moving quickly in my peripheral vision. I turned my head swiftly, mid-stride. The mist was thick, abundant, and concealed any immediate motion from my scrutiny.

“Hello?” I called out tentatively as I slowed to a halt. “Who’s there?”

The condensation in the air muted my voice and made it sound soft and strange. I squinted, peering in the direction I thought the shadow had moved towards. As I watched, the electric tingle of awareness vibrated lightly under my skin like an itch between skin and bone. Everything was still and at the same time, was in constant motion. The mist swirled and writhed, but it was chaotic and constant and definitely not what I was looking for.

Again out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dark flash past. More defined – it looked humanoid and tall, but not bulky. I stepped off of the path onto the moist grass in pursuit. The figure was still no more than a shadow in the filmy smoke-like covering. “Wait! Stop!” I called as I sped blindly into the mist. In the distance, the motion stilled. Hazarding a guess, I queried, “Tristam?”

Only silence met me in response. Even the birds had stopped singing. I mentally kicked myself. Tristam had never set off my fey senses before, even though I was fairly certain he wasn’t a human either. It didn’t make sense that he would set my muscles jumping now. I called out a second guess as I moved slowly through the damp, concealing tendrils that clung to my skin and clothing, “Eva?”

The mist seemed so opaque and solid for the purpose of obscuring my vision that it was disconcerting how truly ephemeral it was when I passed through the walls it formed in front of me. Ahead, the form remained still and slowly solidified as I approached. The fey sensation faded even as I approached the shadow. It seemed so eerie after the fast movement before that it was so completely and utterly still. Almost like the person wasn’t breathing.

And that was because the person wasn’t breathing. As I squinted at the form in front of me, I realized that I had unwittingly been stalking one of the various marble statues that litter the gardens so aesthetically. The fast-moving person I felt must have given me the slip after ducking behind the statue, knowing the mist would hide his escape.

Releasing a healthy curse worthy of a sailor, I turned away, scouring the mist for any living being. There was none, but the slow twittering of birds resumed, loud on my straining ears. I grimaced, shifting my sore shoulder. At least whoever was spying on me hadn’t tried to kill me this time. I could only hope that they hadn’t seen where I hid the dagger.

Fed up with unseen stalkers and the mysteries of the mist, I caught up with the path again and followed it around the castle. Once it joined with the main road, I swung a right and stalked away from the buildings. The sooner I could get out of here, the better. I had had my fill of bullying half-brothers, cryptic artifacts taking a starring role in familicide and strange people popping in and out of existence to kill or save me. Coming here had only made the matters worse. I had more questions than when I had started and to stay here was unlikely to aid me in divining solutions. Was it any wonder I avoided this place? Determination pushed me on as I strode down the south road, looking for the glimmer point Eva had written about.

Chapter 6 - section 3

I couldn’t stay my contrary reaction to Garrett’s high-handed offer. “Brawn and bullying aren’t all there is to running a kingdom, Garrett. And those who swear to you are the most likely to plunge a dagger in your back.”

I could feel Yves’ glare although I didn’t turn back to look at him. Garrett, on the other hand, started to stare me down after the tell-tale shift of his glance towards the dagger on the floor and the tightening at his jaw. A surge of triumph surged through me for the briefest instant to have evoked that kind of reaction in the jerk and I turned towards the window, unwilling to humor his defiant game.

“Thinking of throwing your name in for rulership, half-sister?” Garrett smirked. The derision virtually oozed from his words and the pause before he said the word sister made it all too clear he was reminding me of my “tainted” blood.

I sobered quickly, shaking my head. “I just want to find Vicky.” I almost added Dad to the end of my reply, but I stopped myself. Time wasn’t even up yet and our brothers were lining up to destroy one another. There was a chance that Dad was still alive and while it might be clinging to a futile hope, it was still a hope and a chance at not having to watch any of my siblings laid into the ground.

It wasn’t the first time that I was glad ballistics were untenable here. But that only served to make methods more creative. And more personal. If I could bring Dad back, the fighting would halt, though. None of our brothers were so greedy as to depose their own father. None of them were powerful enough. The key was finding him, if he was still alive.

Garret scowled, his anger unleashing in a wave of violent energy. It was the psychic equivalent of a boy’s tantrum, but I welcomed it, even as I flung up my mental guards. I heard Eva gasp like she had been socked in the stomach and she bent over, coughing. She always was sensitive. Yves and Rhynn reeled, stumbling back against the walls and away from the blast. I stood my ground, letting it wash over me as I glared back. This was fuel to my own fires and far preferable to my own sense of fear, impotence and pain. I wallowed in the onslaught, gritting my teeth and keeping my shields just strong enough to maintain control.

Growling his frustration with my strength, Garret ordered Rhynn and Yves to help him search the castle for “the other half-wit human spawn.” He wheeled around and stormed from the room. Like most bullies, nothing upset him more than having someone stand up to him. I clung to the remnants of his energy, dropping my shields as it faded with his departure.

Yves and Rhynn were slower to follow. The first paused to inspect his gasping twin with concern until she waved him away. The latter gazed at me, shame overwhelming his worry.

“Tara, I’m sorry. I should have…”

I cut him off with the force of the anger I still clung to like a branch to pull myself out of the quicksand of cold despair. “Get out!”

Rhynn stared at me, wilting under my glare. He looked so old and haggard that I almost regretted my harsh words. I almost apologized and tried to call him back as he turned and shuffled out the door. Almost. Instant forgiveness was not in order, however, as he could have told me all of this when he had taken me to my room before. He had betrayed me. He had broken my trust and it would take time to repair the relationship between us. Now was not the time to deal with it.

Once the men had gone, I turned to look at Eva, concerned. She gasped, still heaving for air. I was still feeding off of the anger as I approached her and my words came out with the harshness of ire although the meaning was one of reproach. “How can you join him? He’ll keep you pinned under his ugly, bullying thumb.”

“I have little choice,” Eva murmured between heavy breaths. She lifted her head and I paused, catching sight of the unbridled hatred that turned her silver eyes to ice. “Yves thinks he’s our best chance at survival.”

I frowned. I had never seen Eva so upset, nor so determined. “And you? What do you think, Eva?”

Eva shook her head and stepped forward, reaching for my bloodstained hand with both of hers. Confused, I let her take it. Her smooth hands enveloped mine with their warmth and a small rough bit of parchment passed firmly into mine. “Find them,” she whispered. She released my hand and before I could even breathe, she ran from the room, graceful and fast as a doe.

I stared at the door after her in complete perplexity. Them? Did she mean Vicky and the sword? Or Vicky and Dad? Or Dad and the sword? I hate ambiguity and I started towards the door after her, but when I got to the hall and poked my head out, she was already gone. One of the guards was passing, though, and gave me a respectful nod. I ducked back into Vicky’s rooms and scowled. At the best of times puzzles like that drove me mad and I certainly couldn’t label current events as the golden age of Tara.

Claiming a chair, I uncrumpled the slip of paper and smoothed it out against my thigh. It was from a book, not one that I recognized. One side was a confusing partial passage dealing with some stone that I couldn’t make sense of based on its fragmented condition, but the other side showed a drawing of a crude sword and contained at least a portion of neat writing on the topic. It was labeled “The Bloodsword.” More interesting still was the scribbled writing in the margin. A fluid hand, possibly Eva’s, had written, “South road – into circle. Glim. Find Michael the Silent.”

I grunted with a furrowed brow. How could someone with a moniker like that be of much use? Still, it was something more than I had to go on otherwise. Eva’s hatred towards Garrett was a surprise, but I couldn’t doubt the veracity of that emotion. He had turned her against him in a fashion far more complete and harsher than my own distaste for him. Part of me wondered how he had managed to alienate our peaceful sister, but that was too much to dwell upon right now. Finding Dad and Vicky, or failing them, the sword was my list of priorities; family politics could wait. She had said “them.” I reasoned that provided at least the possibility this Michael might know about more than just the sword

There was still that faint concern that just because Eva and Garrett were estranged, it didn’t necessarily follow that she was then automatically on my side. But this slip of paper and the margin notes along with her plea were the only clues I had been given. They were a form of help. Right now, I couldn’t afford to turn down any aid, however questionable the source.

I was about to leave the room when I remembered the dagger on the floor. I didn’t want to leave it there. In fact, I didn’t want to leave it where anyone else could get to it. That strange design, the fact it had been used on such a strange attack and possibly murder; I wanted to find a safe place to hide it since I couldn’t take it with me. I had a hunch that it might come in useful at some point. Even if it didn’t, there was no harm in stashing it somewhere where the assailant wouldn’t know to find it again.

I turned back, bending down with a rustle of skirts and a low groan. The fuel of Garrett’s anger had depleted completely by now and the movement stung my shoulder. I carefully pried the weapon from the rug. Rising again with an effort, I looked down at the blood on my gown. I decided that it really couldn’t get worse and wiped the dagger off on the fabric as best I could. Perhaps I could raid a brother’s wardrobe before I glimmered away.

Chapter 6 - sections 1 & 2

I bypassed a few servants on my way through the kitchen, barely acknowledging them as they nodded and respectfully backed out of my way. I turned through the cozy passage that led to the stairway on the opposite side of the large pantry and started up the curving stone steps. My nerves were jangling although I heard nobody following after, nor murmur of greetings from the servants to anyone else as I sped past. My leather shoes made little noise on the plush padding of carpet on the stone, but my skirts shushed noisily to my wary ears.

At the top of the stairs, I took a sharp turn and without knocking, shoved Vicky’s sitting room door open and entered without care for her possible desire of privacy. If she was there, she had a lot of explaining to do to me. Concern mingled with my general irritation over her antics. Most of this mess could be directly attributed to her. On the other hand, Garrett sounded like he was gunning for her and however Vicky managed to upset me, she was still my full blooded sister and ally.

My head swiveled as I scoured the room. Signs of her occupancy were strewn everywhere: partial outfits in decadent fabric had been tossed across the chairs and loveseat. I stepped over a silk sash balled up on the ground and frowned. In spite of the whirlwind of her passing, nobody was here. I paused only long enough to listen – no noise. The silence was deafening.

Quiet in a room that ought to have someone present is ten times more oppressive than silence has any right to be. There was no sense of peace or calm in this silence. It assaulted my eardrums like a gong pounding just beyond the normal realm of hearing, causing my already frayed nerves to scream at the wrongness. I strode through my foreboding to the bedroom door which was closed but not secured, only cracked open.

I stormed through the door in a burst, breath drawn ready to bellow, but halted, the air in my lungs escaping in a horrified gasping rush of noiseless choking. Vicky had been in the bed: the covers were rumpled and flung back underneath the congealing coating they had acquired. Breathless, the room spinning, I reached out to pry the slender jeweled dagger from the spreading puddle of sticky warm blood that was seeping into the fine weave of her sheets. The sight of the individual crossed strands on the edges slowly soaking up the liquid, swelling with dark color and fading into the next was a vision that was burning into my mind as harshly as the lack of air was branding my lungs. So much blood. And no Vicky. There was no sign of life in the room beyond the mess on the bed.

Gasping in air, I circled the bed to check behind it. Fortunately the verification was futile. There was no body. There was nobody. My gaze dropped to the filigreed handle, sticky in my hand. The hilt was intricately designed into the form of coupling dragons, white and black, intertwined and studded with emeralds and rubies for eyes. As if from a great distance, I could hear someone screaming. It was only as I backed towards the door, my stomach heaving at the heady metallic scent of blood that I retched and the noise stopped. I realized the screaming must have been my own.

I stumbled out of the room and more or less fell into a chair, gagging as I tried to suck in fresh air and calm my treacherous stomach. I couldn’t look away from the dagger that had pierced my sister’s flesh, her blood vivid on my skin. I don’t know how long I sat there, shaking and waiting for our siblings to arrive.

I didn’t have long to wait. Yves charged in first and his grey eyes grew wide as he saw me, the dagger and the blood all at once. He stopped short, looking me over in assessment, his eyes growing dark. “Are you all right?” he queried as his gaze darted towards the still open bedroom door. “Who did this? Where?”

His voice grew more strident and angry as he demanded the questions of me, but I could barely speak. “Vicky,” I croaked in response and waved towards the door, stricken. Without another word, Yves followed my direction and crossed into the bedroom to see for himself what had passed.

Some distant and still logical part of my mind felt a tinge of relief as I realized that Yves simply wasn’t this good an actor. He was honestly surprised and upset. He even seemed angry through his apparent fear. They couldn’t have done this. Or if they had, it was Garrett alone. It wasn’t Yves or Eva; a small relief when Vicky’s status was completely unknown, but it was something. That part of me that wasn’t shaking and trying to cope with the recognition of the violence afforded my sister clung to the realization with an iron grip.

If it wasn’t them, though, who could it have been? Someone may have been here all along. Maybe she had truly been abducted before and her assailant accompanied her here, seeking entrance to the castle? My mind hummed with the scenarios, each more outlandish than the last. It was better than thinking about the blood which I still saw, no matter where my eyes landed.

Yves returned just as Garrett, Eva and Rhynn arrived. Eva’s pretty brow was creased with worry, but Garrett looked as cool and calculating as ever. Garret shot Yves a silent look of query. His knuckles as white as his face where he gripped his sleeve, Yves shook his head in response, apparently as shaken as I. We had all seen blood in our lives, but this sort of unexpected violence to one of our own, it was daunting.

Speaking over each other, Rhynn looked from Yves to me, querying why I had screamed while Yves answered Garrett’s look. “She’s gone and there’s blood everywhere. I don’t know if she could survive it.”

With some sudden half-formed notion of trying to track Vicky down and help her, I tried to push up from my chair. The movement caused a sharp pain to shoot from the center of my ribcage to my neck and I groaned, sat back and dropped the weapon from my hand. The metal hit the carpet with a dull thud. Blood smeared, staining a blue flower to rust on the floor.

Eva’s eyes locked onto the blade as Rhynn reached to try to help me, concerned. Horror colored Eva’s silvery whisper as she fearfully queried, “Tara, what did you do?”

I blinked in disbelief at Eva. It had never once occurred to me that any one of them might think to blame me for this. I opened my mouth to respond and no words came to my tongue as I looked from Eva to the others and saw all of them staring at me: Yves with confused anger, Rhynn with concern, Garrett with cold appraisal. Silence reigned.

“Me?” I finally managed to gulp out. “I overheard – I thought that one of you might try something – I came to warn her. But this. I didn’t expect this. Not this.” I shook my head. I felt trapped in some kind of ridiculous nightmare. How could anyone believe this of me? I had been attacked and hurt. Vicky had been attacked and hurt, maybe killed. And now my siblings were blaming me? Where was Dad? Why hadn’t he put a halt to all of this? He was the one who usually protected us, who understood and stopped these things from going too far.

I frowned, a sudden realization striking me as I took a second look around the occupants of the room. My three half-siblings, Rhynn, all of the family who were usually here were present, except for one.

“Where is Dad?”

Garrett and Rhynn stole glances at each other. The first looked adamant, the second swallowed nervously at my question. Yves glanced at Garrett and looked quickly away from all of us. Eva avoided eye contact from everyone, taking a sudden interest in the sitting room windows. The silence renewed itself with a vengeance, filling the room to stand between us all; an unwelcome and volatile guest who none were comfortable addressing.

Yves fidgeted with his sleeves and Rhynn hesitantly cleared his throat, although that did nothing to clear the malevolent discomfort filling the room. Garrett glared at Rhynn who faltered into silence again. I continued to wait, anger starting to push through my shock. Let them feel uncomfortable. Something was wrong and they were all trying to keep it from me.

Under my gimlet stare, Rhynn finally reluctantly offered in a quavering voice, braving Garrett’s open disapproval; “It’s the reason for the meeting. I was going to explain, once you felt well enough. I called you…”

I cut off Rhynn’s wavering explanation as my ire fired up to take control, shuttering off fear and horror into a mental compartment where they could jibber and quake until later. “Vicky might be dead. I’ve been injured. Where the hell is Dad?” I rose from my seat accusingly, the pain in my shoulder a small thing compared to the fury brewing in my gut.

Rhynn looked alarmed as I stood and took a step back and away. I followed, stepping over the dagger to advance upon him. Looking tired and old as he fell back under my insistent glare he weakly offered, “That’s just it, Tara, it all happened so fast.”

I grated out each word, the danger of each one penned into individual sentences, lest the weight of them all together create an attack so devastating that they would destroy a response before it came to my ears. “Where.”

With each word I strode another determined and insistent step. “Is.”

Control. I had to control myself lest I harm anyone unduly. I needed to know. This was important. This was more important than the assassin. This was more important than Vicky’s assailant. I had to know. “Dad?”

My determination had even Garrett looking nervous and he stepped into the remaining space between Rhynn and me, protecting the old man’s body with his bulky shield of flesh. Garrett’s baritone was still calm, in spite of the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “We don’t know. We think he may be dead.” He raised his large hands as if to head me off, but my reaction wasn’t what he anticipated.

I sagged in place, feeling quite literally like a rug had been pulled out from under me. I was off-balanced and could barely remain upright. Dead. Dad was dead? How could I not have known? Shouldn’t I have felt it or somehow known? What good was being part fey if you couldn’t figure these things out on your own? I wanted to burst into tears and scream and collapse all at once, but I managed to remain upright, if barely. I turned away from the pair, shaking my head.

Dad was our protection in so many ways. How could he be gone? I swayed in place, my fire quenched as quickly as it had come and I looked around at the others, emptiness threatening to consume me as quickly as it had extinguished my flame in the unending vacuum of misery. All of them looked uncomfortable, except for Garrett and only he met my bewildered and searching gaze.

“How? Why aren’t you certain?” I demanded flatly.

Hearing my voice, Rhynn realized that the danger had passed and he rounded Garrett to try to guide me back to a seat. I shook him off. He had betrayed me by omission. I didn’t want his help. “A letter was found,” Rhynn explained. His concern didn’t mask the grim set to his craggy features.

“The Shadow Demesnes. A request for a duel. I tried to get him to take a host, but he laughed at me, the way he would when I gave foolish strategy,” Garrett interjected. “You know how Dad was when he had a plan.”

I scowled, trying to think straight. The Shadow Demesnes are another world, not exactly like the Mistlands, but similar. There are connections. I never was keen on the politics or histories of the two. The only thing I knew for certain was that there had long been a rivalry. Those of the Shadows had a tendency to be more predatory and I knew that they had more than once sought to conquer Dad’s realm within the Mistlands. Always we had beaten them back, under Dad’s guidance.

“It isn’t like him to go without precautions, without a plan. It’s too obvious a trap. He went alone? How long ago?” I queried.

Garrett nodded grimly in response to my first question, but it was Yves who answered the latter, his tenor low and soft. “Eleven months ago. An attempt at searching was made, but they caught Garrett and overwhelmed him.”

“They laughed when I asked about Dad and suggested we start readying the castle for them,” Garrett spat out, grimacing at the memory of his failure.

I closed my eyes, pained. None of this was making sense. Vicky. Dad. I shook my head, trying to sift through my emotions in search of logical reasoning. At the sound of a quiet murmuring, I opened my eyes to see Rhynn at the door of the sitting room, speaking to a servant about mustering the guards to search the castle for Vicky or any intruder. I almost spoke up to mention Tristam’s appearance before, but I stopped myself before speaking. I don’t know why I wanted to trust him, but I did. Maybe because everything else was falling apart and I felt like I had to trust someone.

Instead, I turned to Garrrett and asked, “What does this mean for the realm?” I hadn’t heard anything about Dad declaring an heir, but if the Shadow Demesnes were intending a full scale war, someone would have to lead the Mistlands in the fight. And just because I hadn’t heard anything didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. It just meant that I wasn’t the one he had chosen. At least, that was the assumption I was operating under.

Tradition dictates that fey thrones pass by right of conquest, not blood heredity alone, but although Dad permitted sibling rivalry he was unusually progressive and understanding of human ways. He had always drawn the line at seeing his children killing one another off and although the fights between Garrett and Cullen particularly had been violent episodes, they had never been more than our strength and recuperation could handle.

Yet again, however, I had asked the wrong question, for a void of discomfort was the only response I received until Rhynn had concluded his hushed conference with the servant. Yves and Garrett seemed to be communicating silently, staring at each other, but not at me. Eva turned from the window and slowly made her way to the dagger on the floor, looking down at it, her delicate jaw clenched and taut. I could see the muscles in her throat and shoulders drawn tightly in tension.

As Rhynn turned back into the room, Garrett commanded of him, “Tell her.”

An expression of pure misery slowly swept across Rhynn’s worn features. His voice was low and gravelly as he spoke, watery eyes upon me. “Among your father’s effects, no heir has been named, but an edict provides for the course of action should he have fallen or been taken captive and absent for a year’s time. It follows the old traditions. The first living child who finds and possesses the Bloodsword shall have the strength to hold the throne against all foes, be they siblings or other. The power it brings will secure the kingdom.”

My jaw must have dropped because I snapped it closed. “This is ridiculous! It pits us all against each other. First living child – it encourages us to kill one another!” I slowly looked at my siblings. Yves frowned guiltily. Eva looked up to meet my gaze beseechingly in silence.

Garrett, however, stepped forward with a condescending reassurance. “Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s tradition. So long as you bow to the strongest, I see no reason to kill you all.”

Chapter 5 - section 4

Dressing myself was a slow and painful process. Local convention required layers upon layers, not dissimilar to medieval fashion. As I struggled to tie up the corset that belonged under the dress I had pulled out, I cursed whatever male had contrived of such female torture devices. It wasn’t as painful as a bra might have been across my shoulder, but it was no sinecure either. It made me yet again wonder about the sanity of Renaissance Faire aficionados. This kind of clothing was not designed for comfort or ease of motion, never mind the fact that the layers tended to make any full-figured female look dumpy. What I wouldn’t give for a comfortable pair of jeans!

The amethyst-hued overdress was a little easier to manipulate into place, although not by much. Checking in the mirror, I deemed myself mostly presentable, tied my curls into a knot and fixed it with a comb, even though I knew full well that it wouldn’t be long before they escaped: my hair had an independence that rivaled my own. Satisfied, I eased out of the room to head back towards the dining hall in order to sate my stomach.

I paused at the head of the stairs leading down. Initially, my break was solely to catch my breath, since the pain from my shoulder throbbed viciously. As I drew in air, however, the sound of muffled voices encouraged me to linger a moment longer. I turned, ascertaining the noises came from the nearby library door.

“Has Rhynn told her yet?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t want to upset her in her condition.”

Had it been anyone but my half-brothers, I might have thought twice about eavesdropping, but it was fairly clear that I was the subject of discussion and my childhood training reasserted itself with a vengeance. We might not hail from the fey lines known for ruling by survival, but in dealing with siblings, any edge you could find was useful in the games of manipulation. It wasn’t pretty, but it was family.

In an effort to hear the conversation a little better, I edged back and towards the door. I also took the effort to raise my mental guards while letting them broadcast an inconspicuous “nobody here” vibe, just in case any of their senses were sensitive to do more than discover the telltale fey warning – and there was nothing I could do about that, but hope that within the castle, it would be a common enough occurrence that it wouldn’t set off any mental alarms.

“Was Vicky able to explain how Tara managed to arrive in the castle walls?”

The dulcet feminine tone had to be Eva. Relief warred with unease. If Vicky was here, she was safe and my concerns of before could be set aside. It meant that Cullen was the only real issue I had to worry about. Cullen and whatever Rhynn hadn’t told me. The rest of the family certainly seemed up to something. And Rhynn was holding back from me. That in itself was disturbing, since I relied on his support more than those conversing. I trusted Rhynn. Even if his intentions were good, I wasn’t pleased with his reticence given the wealth of mysteries presenting itself to me.

Yves' voice rose distinctively in response to his twin; “Not a damned word. She knows, though.”

This left Garrett as the other male voice whose low tones I now strained to hear. “Tara’s got the power to be an obstacle, but Vicky’s got the ambition.”

Bless Eva, she sounded angry at this judgment. “You’re not about to try anything with Tara, are you?”

“No. She’s pissed off someone else. Besides, with Cullen after her, she’s can’t pose a serious threat and she can be used to keep him busy.”

I clenched a fist, trying not to breathe while I listened. So Cullen and Garret really were at each other’s throats. Yves was supporting Garret, and Eva was probably supporting him. Really, this was no surprise. Yves had the strength of magic to take on any one of us, but he wasn’t keen on anything that required too much effort or discomfort. And Eva usually followed where her twin led. That the twins shared a mother with Garrett and all three were older than the rest of us meant that they usually did flock together when conflict divided us.

Eva was the one who could sometimes be drawn out for information, though. She was softer than her brothers and even as a full-blood, she was weaker in most of the powers than me. As long as her loyalty to Yves wasn’t called into question, I might be able to get her to shed some light on all that was happening. She might be even easier to drag it out of than Vicky would be. Vicky was here and she knew enough that Garrett considered her a threat. Angry as I was at her disappearance and relieved at her return, my damnable sense of responsibility nudged me to warn her. Yet, I hesitated, hoping to learn more.

“Tara’s got help, though. You know that. Do you think she knows more than she’s letting on?” Yves’ voice was almost hopeful, the bastard. It sounded like he wanted Garrett to come after me.

Fortunately, Garrett seemed to notice the angle and responded with command. “No. She’s clueless. I don’t know how she managed to get into…” he cut off abruptly as Eva hissed a sudden warning.

“I feel someone.” I mentally cursed and raised my guards as high as I could. As quickly as I was capable, I shuffled towards the stairs. I made it down and out of sight before I thought I heard the door. I didn’t slow, however.

As I rushed the best I could in my wounded and breathless state towards the dining hall, I reflected that I had pushed my luck once I knew Eva was there. She might be the weakest of us in pure power and strength, but when it came to sensitivity, she was the best of us. It was a huge risk to have listened at all with her in the room. It was a good bet that it was part of the reason why Garrett included her in so much. At the same time, I had learned more from that eavesdropping session than I had garnered from anyone who actually spoke to me since I woke up in that guest room.

My course of action was clear; food first, then find and throttle Vicky, and then find Dad. He had always permitted a certain amount of power-testing among us – it was the fey way, after all – but Garrett’s scheming, Cullen’s army and the assassin sent for me meant that things might be getting a bit out of hand. Dad could put a limit on that.

I tugged on the bodice of my dress uncomfortably as I crossed the rushes strewn on the dining hall floor. I paid no heed to the tapestries on the wall, the ambient light from the massive windows or the tables cleaned and waiting the next meal. The room always felt cold and much larger when devoid of people. My attention was on the buffet laden with freshly baked breads, but something about my feet rustling the covering on the stone ground sounded louder than it ought. I turned, glancing back the way I had come as I reached out to snatch up a raisin-specked roll. Flour flaked delightfully from the baked good onto the table and the yeasty scent assailed my nostrils and made my stomach rumble insistently.

I chomped into the delight, still eyeing the hall for signs of pursuit from the victims of my illicit spying. I was so intent that the warm hand lowered onto my shoulder so familiarly from behind caused me to jump and instinctively lash out. Tristam caught my wrist in his opposite hand, releasing my shoulder. Amusement mixed with exasperation in his twinkling grey eyes.

“I thought I told you to stay in bed?”

I breathed out again, only then realizing that I had caught it at all. “You scared me!” I accused and then adding with realization, “You! The guards are looking for you and I need you to answer some questions.”

Tristam’s crooked smirk grew as he regarded me calmly and I was keenly aware of the warmth of his hand still clasped around my wrist. I jerked it back as he responded; “Ever a delightful ray of sunshine you are, Tara.”

I glowered, trying to focus on the discrepancies of what he had told me before and what I had learned since while holding back the surge of ire that his laughing gaze invoked. I almost didn’t process the complete and total lack of fey awareness through the tempting anger that I fought. “How did you bring me here? And why has nobody else seen you?”

I tried to stare him down. If he was human it would have been enough to charm him into frank answers, but he met my gaze with no sign of enthralling. Instead, that insolent smirk made me regret his quick reflexes a moment before. It would have been so delightful to land a good solid blow on his insolent cheek.

“I regret to tell you that I brought you here in a most undignified fashion, slung over my shoulder. And nobody has seen me because I didn’t want them to.” His quiet baritone was so calm and laced with amusement that I fumed.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it! How? How did you get past the protections? How did you get me inside the walls of the castle? And how did you even know to bring me here?” My voice rose with each question and I recognized the frustrated whine creeping into the heightened pitch and I broke off to halt it.

Tristam’s pause in thought gave me an opportunity to compose myself. I couldn’t figure out why he drove me to flustered frustration or how it could happen so quickly. If his tale was true, I owed him my life. Beyond that, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to like him. That is, I wanted to until he smirked. But when he spoke, it always seemed to ring true, but his tale seemed irreconcilable with the facts. His hesitation made me hope that his answer was honest. I really wanted it to be the truth.

“Every defense system, no matter how good has to have multiple ways in and out. If they didn’t, they could fail those that they’re meant to protect by turning a safe place into a death trap.”

He answered so seriously that I had no real choice but to consider this response. Dad was the sort of guy who liked hidden passages. We knew he had built several into the castle. Was it such a large leap to consider that he might have built the same sort of failsafe into the magical protections?

“You’d have to know the systems very well to be able to exploit them like that,” I responded, studying the handsome conundrum standing before me.

With that crooked smile, he said, “I told you the truth about this place belonging to a friend, Tara. Enough questions for now, though, sunshine. You’ve got to hurry if you want to catch your sister before they get in here.” Tristam waved towards the stairs behind me.

I turned, the very faintest shiver of awareness touching my senses as if he had orchestrated it. “How do you know…” my voice trailed into nothing as I turned back. Nobody was there and I felt like an idiot talking to myself. As effortlessly as if he had been a ghost or a figment of my imagination – both disturbing possibilities suddenly seeming quite possible – Tristam was gone. There had been no sound, no sense of movement, no waft of air or flickering from the corner of my eyes, he was simply not there, as if he had never been there at all.

The tingling of fey awareness was growing, however. Whatever Tristam was, he was right. I had to find Vicky and warn her before Garrett, Yves and Eva tried anything. Disconcerted still, I hurried towards the kitchen and the back stairs. They would place me closer to Vicky’s quarters and help me to avoid the trio if they were the ones approaching.

Chapter 5 - section 3

These weren’t my own quarters, but a chamber down the eastern wing reserved for guests. Needless to say, this was the part of the castle I was the least familiar with. It also explained some of Tristam’s irritating amusement; particularly if he realized who I was. He had to have known. Why else would he bring me to this place? And yet, I wondered, for there was such a distinctive lack of fey awareness from his presence.

Relieved at my safety, delighted to be here, I rushed through the door and down the hall. My intent was to find my father in order to tell him about Vicky and Cullen. I was so intent, in fact, that the wisdom of changing out of the nightgown I had been dressed in during my unconscious period didn’t occur to me until my precipitous journey had led me through the hall, down the stairs, past numerous servants and rooms and straight into an ongoing meal. At the shocked expressions, I curtailed my headlong flight, suddenly quite conscious of my dishabille and opted to try for humor, offering a cavalier smile. “Sorry I’m late. I hope you saved some for me?”

There were a few titters and far more disapproving stares from the finely dressed courtiers arrayed at the table. I was disappointed to note that the head of the table was empty, unset, and that Dad was nowhere in view. The solid bulk of my chestnut-haired half-sibling, Garrett was there at the right-hand seat, clearly doing his best to act as Dad’s proxy. His expression barely altered as he stared at me humorlessly. Across from him, the twins, Eva and Yves offered up faint grins: Eva’s honestly amused and Yves’s sardonic. The slender pair was as inseparable as they were similar in appearance, but their personalities were like night and day. Both had brown-gold curls, framing heart-shaped faces. Like many full-blooded fey, they were not only exquisite of feature, but with an innocence of expression that could be deceiving. For them both, this impression was like their smiles: Eva was as sweet as Yves was cunning. But it was the reaction of Rhynn, my father’s steward, that warmed my heart and helped me to forget my discomfort.

The grey-haired, craggy man whom I had known since I was a child rose and stretched out his arms in welcome. His florid nose and watery eyes made him appear older than I remembered, but as he approached and placed a sheltering arm across my back, he felt as sinewy and tough as I remembered. Rhynn had been in our father’s service for longer than I had been alive and he had always been a staid and stalwart presence that even we children could rely upon. I loved him and respected him, so I didn’t balk as he drew me away from the table in the direction of my own chambers.

“Tara,” he smiled, “food aplenty, but now that you’re up, we should get you dressed first.”

I grinned. “You want me properly attired so I don’t injure anyone’s delicate sensibilities?”

Rhynn didn’t smile back, but I caught the corners of his lips twitch and his eyes shone with suppressed mirth. No doubt he was considering the indignities I could visit upon Garrett given what appeared to be a formal meal. Even my appearance was bound to cause a stir of gossip, but Garrett’s lack of a sense of humor made him an ideal target in my eyes. Not to mention Garrett’s disapproval of my tainted blood only encouraged my spiteful jibes. Rhynn had plenty of memories of similar antics to draw upon, so I really couldn’t blame his amusement or his quick defusing of the situation

“It looks like almost everyone’s here early,” I commented as we moved slowly down the hall. I was paying the price for my earlier haste, because my shoulder throbbed with every step.

Rhynn nodded, solemnity creeping back in and making him look old and forlorn. “Everyone but Cullen and Vicky. And Sylvia, but she’s unlikely to show.” I nodded at that: Sylvia was the one half-sibling who came to the Mistlands less than I did. For her own reasons, she rarely left the sanctuary of her mother’s woods. “Your arrival certainly caused the greatest stir, however. You’ll have to explain, but it can wait for everyone.”

My brow furrowed with my frown. “Explain? There’s not much to tell. Didn’t Tristam give you the details when he brought me in?”

Rhynn’s guiding footsteps halted and I stopped as well. Silence fell like a curtain between us as we stared at one another. His confusion caused a chill to run from the base of my spine to the hairs on the back of my neck. Dizziness rolled around me and I heard a rushing in my ears -- the sound of my own blood? My face felt warm, but I couldn’t hide the quaver of my hand as Rhynn’s quietly spoken words seemed to echo in my ears. “Tara, nobody brought you here. You arrived on your own.”

I fought back against the discombobulation, holding onto Rhynn’s arm. I closed my eyes. That helped a little, the dizziness receded from my deep breath. I knew it was from pushing myself with the wound as much as the disclosure. I tried to smile reassuringly at Rhynn, although my mind was still racing. “I don’t understand. I was unconscious. I had been shot, how could I get myself in here?”

Apparently reassured, Rhynn resumed movement, his arm still around me as my protective escort. “You were unconscious and bloody from that wound, but the report from the drudge who found you was that he was cleaning the reeds from the dining hall. One moment you weren’t there. The next, you were lying on the ground, unconscious.”

I frowned, edging up the stairs with the older man’s guidance. My focus switched back and forth between the wide stone steps I ascended and Rhynn’s grim features. “Rhynn, be reasonable, nobody can glimmer like that. Not unconscious.”

Rhynn’s rheumy blue eyes were dark and concerned as he regarded me. “No, nobody can,” he agreed.

“So, what, you’re telling me I’ve done something impossible? And what about Tristam? He said that he brought me here.”

Rhynn’s concern abated not in the slightest as he shook his grey head in absolute negation. “Tara, calm down, there’s got to be a reasonable explanation. We’d hope you could supply it, but obviously whatever happened was possible. You’re here. You appeared inside the castle walls. By yourself.”

This alone was enough to give anyone pause. To glimmer to a direct location is incredibly difficult and I knew that I wasn’t anywhere near making it into the Mistlands from the place I had been shot. I had at least three more boundaries to go, possibly more. To glimmer inside the castle walls themselves should be impossible; Dad had built this castle himself with protections that went far beyond the guards on the walls. And to do it alone and unconscious? Unless I had been hallucinating, Tristam was both very real and very necessary to make all of this possible.

“I don’t understand.” I shrugged free of Rhynn’s helping arm at my chamber door, my frustration at a lack of comprehension transferring to a frustration I could control: being led along like an invalid. “Tristam was there with me when I woke. Where is he staying? We need to have him answer some of these questions, even if he wasn’t the savior he wished me to believe him.”

Rhynn’s frown caused his lips to almost disappear in the lines creasing his worn skin. “Tara, I don’t know who you’re talking about. There’s nobody named Tristam among the staff and the only guests present were at the table we just left.”

This was like a bad nightmare. I knew I hadn’t imagined him. He had to be here, somewhere, even if he had been lying about everything. He was the holder to some of these answers and aside from Dad the only one in a position to really help me makes sense of it all. I had to find him. “Someone was in that room with me. He was six feet tall and built, grey eyes, black hair. He told me his name was Tristam before he left in a huff. And he told me he had brought me here. I’ve never seen him before in my life, Rhynn.”

Rhynn nodded, still concerned. “I’ll get the guards to search for him. If he’s still here, they’ll find him. Do you need any help? I can send up Eva and a maid, if you wish?”

I crossed the sitting room and plunked down in a high-backed conveniently placed beside the window and shook my head. “I’ll be fine, just slow. I don’t need anyone, just let me know what you find out. And if you find him, I want to talk to him.” I scowled. If they found him, he was going to have a lot to answer for.

Rhynn gave me a quick glance over, probably checking that I wasn’t about to faint, before he nodded again and backed out of the room. “You’ll be the first to know,” he reassured me as he swung my door closed behind himself.

Chapter 5 - section 2

Returning to consciousness was much like resurfacing out of deep water in an indoor pool. Awareness arrived in broken fragments of light, memory, pain and a groggy sensation of passed time like the fractured reflections shining off of an undulating surface onto the walls. My first conscious thought was of recognizing the white blankness before my blurred vision as a ceiling overhead. I ached from extended pain, but the flat and firm surface I lay upon felt pleasant to my weary body.

I furrowed my brows, trying to look down and moved my uninjured arm out from under the covers. I had been dressed in a clean and simple long-sleeved nightgown. I struggled to sit up and the pain resurfaced, although it wasn’t the white hot agony of before. A man’s face swirled into view and he used two fingers at my sternum to push me back down against my admittedly weak struggle.

“Stop fighting. You’re weak and you’ve lost blood. If you promise not to get up, I’ll get you another pillow so you can sit with some support.” His voice was a smooth baritone; stern but with a sense of amusement warming the remonstration pleasantly.

I blinked, my eyes feeling almost as blurred and sticky as my mouth. Yuck. It felt like I had four day old soda semi-solidified and coating the crevices in my mouth, not to mention my tongue. I lifted my right hand to rub the goop out of my eyes and grunted experimentally. My voice sounded like my mouth felt, but it didn’t pain me to verbalize. As I brought my gaze to bear on the man wondering whether he was good Samaritan or kidnapper, I demanded; “Who are you? How did I get here and where is here?” I was pleased to note I sounded far less groggy and weak than I felt.

That momentary hint of warmth disappeared in irritated disgruntlement as I inspected the man standing over me. He was extraordinarily good-looking. Normally this might have brought me some pleasure, but something in it seemed unfair and wrong. Thick dark hair with a natural wave swept over his forehead just barely clearing the tapered eyebrow that arched sardonically at my inspection. His eyes were faceted grey that sparkled with intelligence and arrogance punctuating his straight, well-formed nose. Lips neither thin nor excessively plump curved in a smirk. High cheekbones, golden tan, broad shoulders, trim waist; he was the whole package. In other circumstances, I might have drooled. In spite of the fluttering of attraction that hit my gut, I felt angry. He was a setup. He had to be. I detest manipulation and his presence virtually reeked of someone trying to predict my natural inclinations.

And that arrogant amusement radiated off of him as he watched my inner turmoil. “I’m Tristam. You’re in a safe place. I brought you here. It wouldn’t do to leave you poisoned and bleeding to death after I stumbled across you.”

In spite of his warning, I struggled to sit up, waves of pain, dizziness and a profound lack of fey-awareness washing over me. He did nothing to halt my movement this time. He simply watched with that confident, knowing smirk. I scowled my way through my discombobulation. “Safe for you or safe for me? And what the hell do you mean you stumbled across me?”

His right eyebrow ticked upwards and his smile widened. “Well, that depends. You’re at a friend’s place to recover. One of my friends, before you ask. And by stumbled, I mean it very literally. You’ll forgive me the bruising of your leg, I trust?”

I responded with a surly grunt, taking a moment to glance around the room. It was a lavish bedroom; crisp, clean and elegant. The brocade curtains and sheer underdrapes, the plush ivory carpet, the white-mantled fireplace across the room all spoke volumes about wealth that was taken for granted. As opposed to the opulence of the newly wealthy, this was a richness of taste where function was as important as form. There wasn’t an excess of art or statuary, but the painting on the wall was an oil landscape of high quality with an exquisitely complementary frame. The wallpaper was ivory, white and gold and I could tell that it would have a thick raised texture if I were to touch it. My bed was carven mahogany with bright white and gold sheets. It all felt familiar, but between the ache in my shoulder and the fuzzy, drugged state of my headI just couldn’t concentrate.

I turned back to glare accusingly at Tristam. If his upraised hands were any indicator, the ensuing dizziness didn’t temper my projected ire. “What did you dose me with? How long have I been out?” I prodded at the dressing on my shoulder, ignoring the pain with a masochistic intention of figuring out how bad it was and how much had healed.

“Nothing,” the disgustingly tempting Adonis said as he took a step back. “The arrowhead was iron. You’ve been unconscious for a few days, but the worst that was done was an empathy leeching; no drugs. Just the poison. You were lucky I found you when I did.”

I narrowed my eyes and hummed. Lucky. What were the chances of some random stranger rescuing me from an assassin’s arrow? And what were the chances of him being that same assassin? I didn’t care if he knew I was suspicious, I had every right to be.

Tristam, apparently disagreed. He shook his head with disgust and stormed towards the door, his voice angry and bitter: “Nothing like gratitude. I save your ass, nurse you back to health and this is how you treat me? I know you’re disoriented, but next time someone saves you, a “thank you” might be in order.” His outburst was so unexpected that I did nothing more than stare. “Stay in bed,” he commanded before swinging the door open and slamming it closed behind him.

Bemused by his tempestuous irritation, I stared at the door for another long moment after it closed. And then it registered: I had seen that doorknob before. The brass handle with filigreed vines and the small crystal faceted and inset into the center was of distinctive design. I had only ever seen it in one other place.

I slowly dragged myself from the bed, ignoring the fresh protests from my empty stomach, pained shoulder and aching head. The sense of bewildered amazement had rendered such discomforts secondary. He had brought me to a friend’s to recover. I nearly laughed aloud. He had brought me to the Mistlands. He had brought me to my father’s own castle!