Page 130 of Sweetling
Angry at him.
Angry at Amaranthe, a nameless hag who meant to destroy the little life Molly was just beginning to build.
Well, she couldn’t have it. It wasn’t hers to take.
Molly would ride out with reinforcements tomorrow—and yell at Allarion good and proper when she had the chance. Because shewouldhave the chance, she’d accept nothing else.
Molly didn’t know what to do with all of her anger and heartache. There was nowhere for it to go, nothing for it to do. The hours of night stood in her way, and there was nothing to do but wait it out. It was an interminable task, and although she paced, although she plotted, nothing helped.
Were feelings supposed to be this big? This brutal? Her utter terror for him threatened to consume her from the inside out. With her lips abused and nails bleeding, all that was left was to start tearing at her hair, so Molly shoved her hands beneath the opposite arm. All this neededout,but there was nothing she could do—except accept it.
That taste sat bitter on her tongue.
Exhausted from her tears, heartsick with her worries, Molly finally unlaced her boots and climbed into bed. She didn’t bother with the nightgown, wanting to be ready in a moment to leave.
Curling up in the first bed they’d shared, Molly imagined it retained a little of his scent, his presence. Clutching a pillow to her chest, she wrapped arms and legs around it. Behind the safety of closed eyes, she could pretend it was him.
“Just hold on,” she murmured into the down. “Just hold on a little longer.”
31
The weakest dawn light filtered into the courtyard and already, their party was mounting up, preparing to leave. Molly sat astride Bellarand, trying not to fidget. She’d already gotten one nip of reprimand for it and didn’t want another. So she chewed her cheeks as she anxiously awaited the others to be ready to ride out.
A big paw reached out for her.
Molly startled, looking down into the golden, leonine face of Balar. He and all his brothers had come, along with the dragon Theron, Maritza and her harpy sisters, and a handful of half-orcs. Nearly the entire otherly village, it seemed.
The sight of them there, showing their support and solidarity, had more emotion clogging her nose.
“Don’t despair, lovely,” Balar told her gently. “We’ll sort out your man before noon.”
Molly forced a stiff smile. “Thank you.”
She took the hand he offered, the rough pads of his paw rasping against her skin. His eyes were soft with sympathy and his expression sincere, but his golden wings fluttered and that scaled whip of a tail undulated behind him, giving away his excitement. Molly was sure he wanted to help, but he also looked forward to a good fight.
That didn’t matter to her—so long as he fought off Allarion’s enemies.
Finally, Lord Hakon climbed up into an uncovered cart full of other half-orcs, all bristling with weapons. “We make all haste for the Scarborough estate,” said Hakon, “to render aid to our friend Allarion.”
The captain of the castle guard, Aodhan, came alongside them on his horse. “There are three known fae combatants, all riding unicorn mounts,” he announced to the gathered force, “so keep sharp and stay in formation.”
And with a loudHo!they lurched forward, leaving behind a waving Lady Aislinn and Princess Isolde on the castle steps.
You’re sure you can make it?Molly asked Bellarand, not for the first time.
She didn’t mean to pester him, for once—she just wouldn’t soon forget the sight of him utterly spent yesterday, foaming and sweating and trembling. He’d looked about ready to keel over onto the cobblestones, and seeing the big unicorn so affected had rattled Molly terribly.
Yes,he grumbled back, stop asking.
Well, he couldn’t be too poorly if he’d gotten his attitude back. It was a relief to walk into the stables to fetch him earlier and receive the gruff greeting of,Where have you been? Let’s go.
Their party formed a neat column as they passed through the city at a more respectable trot than her and Bellarand’s clattering flight yesterday. Despite the early hour, curious heads poked out of doors and windows to watch them go.
Once they’d passed under the north gate, the pace picked up into a canter. Molly pulled up the scarf she’d thrown over her shoulders, blocking the worst of the dust and cold.
They rode across the countryside in formation, the single riders on the flanks while two carts of warriors trundled along. Above swooped the manticores, harpies, and Theron, easily keeping pace. Molly had to bite her tongue to keep from urging them ahead, to get there as quickly as they could.
It wasn’t fair—they didn’t know what they raced toward, only that they intended to render aid. Molly was grateful for it, for all of them, but she couldn’t help wanting to get to Allarionfaster.
