Page 11 of Forgiving a Fae Warrior

“Rare. I know.” He nodded.

“Could it be Katiya again?” Sylvie planted a hand on her hip. “She’s caused us much trouble lately.”

He wondered the same. The lack of a ruler, the beating heart of the Unseelie magic, had not only drained the life from the Unseelie lands, but also the power of its people. Most, that they knew of, had little in the way of real magic, instead relying on brute force to scratch out a living among their Shadowlands. “It’s possible,” Galen replied. “I thought I saw one with a tail, but I was too far away to be sure.”

Galen dropped into a crouch and stared at the designs. The soil was still pebbly around the edges as if someone had just dug the symbols into the ground and left the excess dirt along the sides of the swirls and loops. The wind had not smoothed it out, nor rain. “This has to be new,” Galen said. “Has anyone reported something like this?”

Sylvie dropped into a crouch next to him. She reached a hand toward the designs before drawing it back. “You’re right. And no, not that I have heard.”

They shared a look, all the implications of what such a design could mean sinking in.

“A honing point,” Sylvie said, speaking the fear taking root at the tip of Galen’s spine.

He nodded slowly. “They would need such a thing to bring groups of them here, or to leave in mass once more.” Thoughts flowed between them with ease, all focus on the mission at hand. So easily they slipped back into their years of training and comradery, like donning a favorite outfit and reveling in how well it fit.

“An invasion?” Sylvie gave further voice to his growing worry.

“Possibly.” Galen stood in one smooth movement. Sylvie followed. “Or they still have Wren and wish to make a show of it.” He assumed Sylvie would have told him if she’d been found. Her silence on the matter spoke volumes, and none of it good.

She swallowed thickly. “I need to report this right away.”

The Unseelie could return at any moment, a troop of them, and whether they brought Wren with them or not, that was something that the Court of the Forest needed to know…and the Court of Air.

“Go.”

Sylvie gave a short nod. “I’ll come back. We’ll need to watch this spot, and I can volunteer for that since I’ll be reporting it.”

“I’ll meet you here,” Galen replied. Already he dreaded what came next. The Court of the Forest might pass on word to the Court of Air, but if he was going to begin making up for his mistake, if he had a chance to somehow help Wren, the Court of Air needed to know this information and quickly. It would be a huge risk going back there, but he owed it to Wren to try.

“See you—”Soon.That’s what he’d meant to say, but the word slipped away as Sylvie grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Truly, they didn’t need words. They never had. Against the odds and despite what he’d done, they’d been reunited. They would be again. He had to believe that.

“Be safe.” She smiled and then was gone.

Galen shifted to the border of the Court of Air. He stepped across the line, expecting the wards to have been altered to hold him back and keep him—a traitor—from the territory, but he slipped right through.

He blinked in shock, taking in the change of scent and scenery that assailed him. Then, a low hollowness spread out in his chest, reminding him of exactly why such a standard step had been missed. The King of Air was so worried about his missing mate he hadn’t had time to think of the protections for his court.

He loved her. The bastard truly did. Only that could explain it. For all his faults, Sigurd was a careful ruler who cared for his court. The Court of Air grew stronger under his reign—happy, unified. Galen might hate it there, but even he couldn’t deny that. Yet, the king neglected his duty for the sake of one human woman.

Somehow, that fact made Galen respect him more. If Sylvie were missing and in the hands of the enemy, he would have the same single-minded focus on her return—he had once when she was in danger from Unseelie invaders. All thought, all concern for himself, had fled his mind at the thought of her in danger, and they didn’t even share a mark—a mating bond.

As he stood inhaling the pine-tinged breeze, no members of the Court of Air shifted in to arrest or execute him. If they were still searching for Wren, as they must be, guards would be coming and going through the wards frequently. His presence was likely just a raindrop amid the torrent.

A humorless laugh crawled up his throat. It should be a blessing, but at that moment, it was an ironic inconvenience. He needed attention to relay his message, but not enough to get him imprisoned or killed on sight.

Galen stepped back out of the territory and into the Unseelie lands. Already his senses mourned the loss of fresh air and life that filled the Seelie courts and the subtle liveliness of magic that flowed through his veins while he resided there. He was weaker in the Unseelie lands but not without any magic.

When Galen first took his vow to Sigurd all those years ago, Sigurd taught him a spell to summon one of his many eagles. After all, if he might be called upon to spy for the King of Air, they would need a way to communicate that didn’t involve either of them leaving their respective courts. The birds were the messengers, stealing secrets across court boundaries. An animal passing through the wards of a court was a normal thing, not one felt like a fae crossing might be.

Galen used that spell now. It was one he’d hoped to be rid of, to no longer need, but the years of memorization and practice came easily as he released his magic into the soft breeze.

The summons complete, Galen set about crafting a message for the bird to deliver. Sylvie hadn’t included paper or writing utensils in the pack of supplies she’d brought him. And why would she? But the pack itself was made of leather, with several decorative straps that could be lost without compromising its integrity. Galen used his dagger to cut free a strip of leather and then carefully scratched his message into its surface.

He sat on the ground for long minutes after he completed the missive, rubbing the edge of the leather strip and waiting for an eagle to respond to his summons. All the while, Sylvie raced through his thoughts, as she often did. Had she been successful in her mission? Would she be waiting for him when he returned? As much as he yearned for it, it would be better for her to stay far away. Though just the thought had his chest growing tight and his shoulders hunching inward.

Finally, he spotted a speck in the sky heading his way. Galen rose to his feet and dusted off his pants as the bird made its final approach.

“Took you a while,” Galen remarked as a stately, brown and white eagle settled upon the ground and tucked in its wings.

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