Page 52 of Faeling
Should’ve asked her what they wanted.If he’d thought about this for half a moment, he might’ve done the smarter thing and asked his own mate gifted with foresight if she had any information to elucidate the strangeness.
Vallek knew better than to rely solely on Ravenna’s visions, of course. He’d been building his unification far longer than he’d known her, even as a soothsayer. Still, a wise king was one who went into every situation with as much information as possible. Kings who ran headlong into the unknown didn’t long hold their thrones.
There was nothing for it now but to arrive tomorrow rested and sharp.
At least, that was the smart thing. His unhappy beast had far different ideas.
Its plan was to sink the fae ship and run home as fast as possible. Back toher.
For more sneers and nonanswers.
His beast sighed at the thought, smitten. The pathetic thing.
Every step away from her had brought a fresh wave of agony. His body tore itself apart with wanting to turn back. The ache was worse than recovering from a broken limb, the itch was worse than the reddest rash. His need for her bristled under his skin, frustrating him that the bond had already begun to take root. No matter that they’d only really spent a few days in each other’s company and most of it had been arguing.
Even memories of having her in his arms, his hand clutching her cunt, were tainted by her reaction. The most natural thing in the world—bringing his own mate pleasure—felt wrong. He hated that most of all.
Between the beast in his chest and the fae camping along his bay, Vallek doubted he’d get any sleep that night.
His beast, monstrously unhappy with him, agreed.
It didn’t take long for the berserkers to sense his foul mood the next day. Even Ulrich gave up trying to coax him into conversation. Vallek didn’t want to hear it.Get this done and get home.
The troops rallied early, ready to march not long after dawn. As they descended the slope toward the shoreline, Vallek splithis forces, sending half to form a perimeter around Toksfinge while the others followed him to confront the fae camp.
Pebbles ground beneath their heavy feet, and Vallek watched as a half-dozen fae rose from logs they’d set around a central fire. He pulled Hormhím free of his belt, holding the axe loose but ready in his grip.
The fae fell fluidly into formation, fanning out behind a tall male who took the lead. Hair the color of starlight, he was formidable but would’ve been more so had he any meat on his bones. Concave cheeks and sunken sockets gave the impression of a walking corpse. Black veins were just visible beneath his thin, gray-white skin.
The fae’s leader stared at Vallek with irises of a dull gold, set within eerie black sclera. His lips were tinged blue and ringed in a line of black, and it was a ghoulish sight to see them lift into something between a smirk and a smile.
Vallek stepped forward with just Ulrich and Mattias at his side. A show they were willing to talk—and that they weren’t afraid to meet six fae in battle just the three of them.
“Has someone important come to greet us finally?” the fae asked in accented orcish.
“Mind your tone,” Vallek warned in perfect faethling. “You speak to a king.”
To his credit, the fae warrior’s brows lifted in surprise. Glancing over Vallek’s shoulder at the neat columns of berserkers, all armed and armored, the ball of the fae’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
The fae bowed his head—not much, just enough to show respect—and the others repeated his gesture.
“Forgive my impudence,” said the fae. “We come not as enemies but friends.”
“I will be the one who decides that,” Vallek replied, switching back to his native tongue.
“We have been sent by our queen, Amaranthe the Pure, to warn you. A dangerous criminal is believed to be in your territories.”
“Indeed. And what has he done?”
“Shehas committed treason and sown sedition. She’s a halfling mongrel, born of a human whore. Our queen seeks to bring her to justice, and should you help her in this, she is willing to renegotiate the terms of the Treaty of Spearhead.”
Shit.
Vallek heard Ulrich’s sharp intake. Such an offer was more than tempting—the treaty, signed by Amaranthe with the Balmirran chief some two-hundred years ago, created the current although tenuous borders between the faelands and orcish territories. One town along the northern border, Kavala, had been designated as a trading post between the two peoples, but otherwise, contact was limited.
To avoid losing more warriors, the previous chief had agreed to pay hefty taxes on any orcish ships caught sailing on the northern side of the bay, as well as those coming in and out of the estuary to the sea, bound for Balmirra or Kaldebrak. Great shipments of iron and copper were sent to Kavala for the price of a few bolts of silk—less trade and more tribute.
Although not exactly burdensome given the wealth of minerals and iron ore within the Griegens, the treaty had always been unpopular. To do away with it, to keep their iron or trade it for far more, was a prospect no king would turn away from.
