Page 3 of Sweetling
Instead, he kept to himself. He walked the city as any other scion of a great house might, talking to no one. Awaiting an opportunity.
The one that found him finally was the barest chance, a change in shift of the border guard. Without needing sustenance, fae could go for long periods without flagging—but the two things that kept them tethered to the mortal world were death and sleep. Even fae needed to sleep.
After observing their rotations, Allarion made his move. Sliding through the murkiness of dusk, Allarion came upon a border guard preparing to leave. A young warrior, he’d likely never known a life without Amaranthe—nor was he a match for Allarion. He took the young warrior easily, forcing his magic down the man’s throat, subjugating his magic with sheer force.
The warrior went limp in Allarion’s arms, forced into the long sleep they all had to take every so often or when severely wounded.Dead to the world until the sleep ran its course, the young guard lay defenseless before Allarion. The sleep was perhaps their only weakness, like sharks rolled onto their backs, and to use such tactics against another fae was considered the highest offense.
There was a day, not long ago, that Allarion would’ve been disgusted with the very idea of forcing the sleep on another. Even today, a part of him shuddered with horror at what he’d done and had yet still to do.
But the warrior’s honor he’d so prided himself on, which had first called him to a life of warrior’s service to the crown over a millennia ago, served no purpose here. He’d given it up when he laid down his sword, as so many had, after Amaranthe’s slaying of her kin.
Now, his only duty and honor were to family and friends. His mother and siblings were safely out of the city, and their family name would protect them. Now, his only purpose was his promise to Maxim.
With the guard’s helm pulled low over his brow and just enough glamour to trick the glancing gaze, he joined the squadron leaving for the city outskirts.
As they walked, warriors peeled off to their assignment, and Allarion kept pace.
It was how, finally, he ended up alone in the forest outside the curtain wall. With a touch of his magic, he tracked the steps of the others on the forest floor, accounting for each and how far they were.
Then, with the love of his friend hastening his steps, Allarion ran.
By midnight, he’d reunited with Bellarand. Without breaking stride, he leapt onto the stallion’s broad back and they galloped north.
It’s done?Bellarand asked through their bond, the one shared between every fae rider and his dread-mount. It was forged after a grueling trial of physical exertion and magical stamina, a duel of wills between fae and unicorn, where bonds were tested and decided. Only the strongest and truest warriors were worthy to ride the dangerous, magical beasts, for a dread-mount would never accept a weak rider.
Yes.
I grieve for him, too.
Allarion could hide nothing from Bellarand, not with the bond they shared. The unicorn saw everything, every raw shred of fear and dread. There was no hiding from the truths Bellarand could find, and so Allarion did not hide them, but he did turn away.
It took two days of hard riding to make the northernmost edge of the forest, which he followed for another two days as it rimmed the narrow bay.
As he neared Aine’s cottage, the hundreds upon thousands of wards that Maxim had lain over the years passed over Allarion like a cool fall of silk. Maxim had thought of everything so carefully, hiding away his human mate on the western outskirts of the faelands, along the sea. No Fae Queen, no matter how powerful, held any sway over the sea, for its magic was too frenetic, too wild. There, on the borderlands by the sea, Maxim had kept his family safely in a blind spot, guarded with layer after layer of wards.
Passing through the inner sanctum of them, where the thickest layers of magic were, Allarion felt a pleasant hum buzz in his ears, Maxim’s remaining magic recognizing him.
Heart aching, Allarion resisted trying to reach out to touch that which couldn’t be held.
Inside the wards, past an apple orchard glamoured to look like overgrown brambles, stood the lovely seaside cottage Maxim had built his Aine decades ago.
The sight of it, the tableau of peace as puffy clouds floated in an azure sky above and turquoise waves lapped far below along a narrow strip of beach, nearly broke him. How many times had he come here? How many times had he watched the little family laughing and living in this very place?
The door of the cottage flew open, and out ran Ravenna, her inky black hair flapping like a banner behind her.
Allarion dismounted, the weight in his chest dragging him down.
Ravenna came to a halt before him, her narrow chest heaving, those large purple-blue eyes, Maxim’s eyes, staring up at him.
A woman of nearly fifty years, she was a child no longer, not even by fae law. She still had the vitality of youth, and her life would extend far closer to a fae’s than her mother’s people.
Her cheeks, tanned from days in the sun, colored as she watched him closely. Neither of them moved, save for the gentle, salty breeze that picked up her long waves of black hair. Her four wings flitted at her back nervously, the membranes glinting in purples and pinks in the sun. All female fae had wings, but as a halfling, Ravenna’s had always been too small for flight.
She was all dark, moody colors—so like her father. Her control over magic wasn’t as strong as a full fae, but it still obeyed her. The only true trait she inherited from Aine was her healthy red blood.
Where she’d gotten her gift of foresight none knew—perhaps from the Twins themselves.
Tears gathered along her lashes, but her face remained rigid, as if she prepared to refuse what he’d come to do.
