Page 124 of Sweetling
“I’m sure the aftershocks haven’t helped,” Molly remarked. “Were they able to stabilize the foundations before they hit?”
The dressmaker looked up from folding the fabrics Molly had purchased. Frowning, she said, “We only felt the one quake.”
Molly went still. “Just one? But…” They’d felt at least three aftershocks at the estate.
“One was plenty. Should we have felt aftershocks?”
Shaking her head, Molly demurred, not wanting to frighten the woman. She was frightened enough for the both of them.
The conversation lapsed as Molly stared at the bolts behind the dressmaker, her mind spiraling with questions and suspicions. Why had they felt aftershocks but not Mullon? The town was two hours’ ride away, but they should have at leastfelt it,even if not so strongly.
When the dressmaker finished wrapping up her purchases, Molly quickly thanked and paid her, not wanting to linger. She needed to find Allarion and tell him.
Something strange was happening—and it seemed to be just around Scarborough.
29
The moment Allarion heard Molly’s news of the earthquake aftershocks being isolated to Scarborough, he bundled up his mate, put her on Bellarand’s back, and they headed for home.
It was one thing to have witnessed a few strange idiosyncrasies himself—the rational part of his mind found ways to explain them away as the oversensitive paranoia of a mated male protecting his home andazai.
It was another to hear that the strangeness existed outside of his own mind. He took no chances with his Molly’s safety—for home they rode, where he knew he could keep her safe. They hadn’t acquired everything she wanted from Mullon, but good cheese and new kinds of wine for him to try could wait.
With one arm banded around Molly’s middle and the other hand on the hilt of his sword, he cast his eyes about, as if enemies lurked behind every tree.
He couldn’t say what agitated him so, only that this strangeness had lingered on the wind some days now. Ignoring it hadn’t made it go away, and now, off of their land, away from their haven, their vulnerability gnawed at him.
If only there’d been more time. If only he’d begun extending his reach beyond the borders of Scarborough. South to the otherly village. Northeast to Mullon.
His inability to guarantee Molly’s safety wedged between his ribs, stabbing at the heart that newly beat. It pained him, this distrust of the open. They’d made this journey many times now and never felt insecure, yet while the rolling landscape was familiar, he couldn’t trust it.
Bellarand cantered down the road, and they met no one on their path. That wasn’t unusual, few ventured out toward Scarborough, as there was a wider, well-traveled route that headed south to other towns on its way to Dundúran. Still, being alone on the road exacerbated his disquiet.
On that ride back to Scarborough, Allarion agonized over every mile. He’d thought isolating them was the best strategy, that the solitude afforded him more freedoms and opportunities to do what he needed with the land and magic. That may have been true, but on that ride, as the foreboding crept up his spine to agitate his warrior’s senses, he understood that whatever this was, whatever shook the earth and lurked in the trees, he would have to meet it alone.
There were no allies—no warrior brothers-in-arms, none of his siblings, no Maxim, no one.
Old as he was, powerful as he was, there had rarely ever been a time that that truly mattered to him. He was confident he could handle himself and any enemy.
But he wasn’t alone. Not now.
He held something far more precious than all the magic in all the world in his arms. Allarion could feel Molly’s heart racing in his forearm, tucked beneath her breasts. She clung to him, her mouth set in a grim line.
Allarion was proud of the brave mate sat before him; she didn’t tarry or worry or panic but sat straight, body moving with his and Bellarand’s.
He was prepared to do anything for this woman.
So when not one but two fae knights burst from the trees behind them and another down the road, Allarion drew his sword.
Hold on!Bellarand whinnied, waving his horn in a threatening arc.
Rather than stop or slow, the dread-mount put on speed, horn clattering with the unicorn in their way. Allarion’s sword sang through the air, catching the fae knight in his armor. It wouldn’t wound, but he didn’t need it to—just move the warrior and unicorn out of the way.
Molly grunted and curled down onto Bellarand’s back, making herself small as Allarion swung again. The knight caught Allarion’s sword with his own, the mounts circling as their blades clashed in a scream of metal.
“Stop!” another warrior shouted in faethling. “Stop in the name of the Queen!”
Allarion gave them no heed. As Bellarand battled with the other unicorn, horns swiping for vulnerable eyes and tender lips, Allarion used his blade and body to shield Molly.
