Page 132 of Sweetling
Densely populated with berry bushes and a gurgling stream, it was a pastoral area, full of big, established trees and crisscrossed with deer paths. It was the wildest part of the estate, and the darkest, and Allarion admitted even he didn’t go there often.
The path leading north narrowed, and Molly thought she heard the carts screech to a stop. Shouts rang out, telling them to hold on, but Bellarand kept going. Neither sharp brambles nor fallen logs slowed or stopped the unicorn as he barreled through the forest, proving to one and all that he was its master.
She didn’t imagine his horn glowing a faint purple through the murky dark of the deep forest. The crevices between the spiraling sections of the horn burned a molten amethyst, casting shapes onto the heavy limbs above.
Molly ducked and twisted to keep her seat and avoid the lower branches. Leaves and twigs scratched at her cheeks and caught in her hair, but she only urged the unicorn faster.
They flew through the air as Bellarand leapt over the stream. More light filtered through the trees ahead, where the edge of the estate lay.
It was where they finally found their fae.
A noise of shock caught in Molly’s throat.
Allarion lay on the ground, his torso wrapped up in two coiling whips. Two mounted fae warriors held the other ends, pulling with all their might to drag Allarion back across the boundary. His fangs were bared in a flash of stark determination, hands reached out in front of him to claw and keep hold of the ground.
Roots strung around his forearms, holding on and pulling him back. The whips in one direction, the roots in the opposite—the strain made veins pop along his forehead and tendons push against his neck.
His clothes were torn and dirty, and the unmistakable stain of blood darkened his tunic, but that was all Molly could glean before Bellarand bore down on the enemy fae, a screaming whinny of rage on his lips.
Molly could only hold on as Bellarand’s horn clattered with one of the other unicorns’. The sound rang hollower than steel, yet purple sparks burst from the contact. The other unicorns reared back in surprise, and Bellarand slashed his horn on the whips, cutting them both.
Allarion lurched forward with anoof.
The fae warriors shouted at each other, one leaping from his mount to fall on Allarion’s legs.
She tried to call out—to Allarion, to Bellarand—but it took all her might to stay seated as the unicorn reared up on his hind legs, baring those horrifying pointed teeth. He came back down to the ground slashing and snarling, sharp hooves sending dirt flying.
The unicorns locked in a heated duel, their horns their blades as they parried and thrust. From her place plastered onto Bellarand’s back, she met the eyes of the fae mounted on the other unicorn. He sneered at her, showing a fang. He said something in their language, something low and probably insulting.
Molly flipped him the rudest hand gesture she knew. “Getthe fuckoff my land!”
The unicorns both reared up, their fangs and horns clashing as they came back down.
Molly yelped, nails digging into Bellarand’s coat.
She had to get out of the unicorn’s way.
When Bellarand danced to the right, looking for an opening, Molly stood in the stirrups and jumped for a low branch. Pulling herself up, she climbed to the next, then the next when she felt a hand grasping at the toe of her boot.
Bent over a branch, Molly saw another mounted fae stand in his own stirrups to reach for her.
Molly kicked at his hand, scrambling to get her other leg under her.
A cracking sound made her freeze—but it wasn’t a breaking limb. Her ankle stung as a whip lashed around it, and a heavy tug nearly brought her to the ground. A pained grunt punched from her chest as her vulnerable gut was squished into the branch.
“No!” she heard Allarion scream. “Molly!”
Sinking her nails into the tree bark, Molly held on for all she was worth, kicking and squirming to loosen the vice of the whip.
The fae pulled again, nearly wrenching her leg from its socket. Molly yelped in pain, clinging onto her branch.
It moved under her hands.
In awe, she watched as the limb curved upward, drawing her up with it. She felt the whip go taut, then from below, the heavy smack of bark hitting metal. After a deep grunt, she had slack and scrambled higher up, the whip falling away as she did.
Clambering onto a higher branch, Molly put her back against the trunk, breath heaving. She chanced a look down, only for her eyes to pop wide to see the fae who’d tried to grab her doing battle with the lower limbs.
He’d abandoned the whip for his sword, but all he could do was wave it blindly as branches bashed and battered him, their leaves scraping against his face. Roots sprung from the dirt, winding around his unicorn’s legs. The mount reared in alarm, horn slashing at the branches, and its rider went toppling to the ground.
