Page 115 of A Sword of Ice
And there, on the edge, the captain could make out a darkened blood stain. It was slight, more burned along the edge than anything else, but it was there nonetheless.
“G-g-get th-the t-trackersss…” The man groaned as the pain started to take him under.
“Of course, I’m going to get the fucking trackers,” the captain snapped with impatience, making those around him flinch.
But the captain did not apologize, nor would he, even to a dying man. He was stating the obvious and he did not tolerate insubordination or stupidity. From anyone.
Besides, what kind of a fool did the man take him for?
The trackers were Fae, gifted with the uncanny ability of finding any thing or person or Fae, so long as they had a single fiber of them. With that, they were traceable anywhere.
With the blood of the Seelie Prince, they could cut off the head of this so-called Resistance.
“Give me the sword,” he ordered. Once the hilt was placed in his gauntleted palm, he tied the thing to his waist and then inclined his head towards the dying man. “Now put him out of his misery.”
“T-t-thank you, sir.”
“You have served Illyk well.” A flash, and then a sword came crashing down against his body. “Unfortunately, it was not well enough.”
He turned away and walked back towards his horse and mounted. He gave one last lingering look on the destruction wreaked by the infamous Fire Dancer of Piriguini’s Circus and smirked.
He would never admit it aloud, but he was looking forward to this chase. He was looking forward to the moment when he had her in his grasp again and punished her for daring to leave.
He was looking forward to the moment his blade would meet the soft flesh of her body in punishment for daring to run away from him.
With that thought in his mind, Captain Brannon of the Emperor’s Royal Guard turned his horse and sped away.
49
Shadows Given Form
Astorm of ice and snow greeted them on the other side of the portal. Wind slapped against their faces like the quick slide of icy knives. Iona stumbled knee deep into snow, her leg twinging with pain that almost had her buried within it. A hand clasping the back of her jacket jerked her back up.
She landed comfortably against Julius’ chest, his big hands wrapping around her waist to hold her steady. She turned over her shoulder, pressing her lips gratefully together, hoping he could understand the brief expression. She focused her attention back against the slicing wind in time to see her familiar running through it with glee emanating down the bond they shared.
She chuckled lightly at the sight. A brief moment of happiness stolen in the cold winds on a mountaintop, surrounded by other Fae who looked as equally broken as Iona felt inside. But for a single moment, she could cast that aside and enjoy the simplicities of her familiar’s glee.
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice shouting over the wind.
Julius guided her forward, kicking their way through the snow. Ahead of them, Prince Valerio and Uric led them up a slope, where the turreted peaks of a broken-down castle came into view. Made of stone with flickering lights glowing in the glassless windows, it was a crumbling structure, bare bones of where she imagined a once-great castle used to stand.
“Castle Aileach,” Julius answered. “The home of the new Resistance.”
If the home of the new Resistance was a reflection of how much heart they had in this fight, then Iona was disappointed. She tried to push those thoughts aside and think positive, but something stopped her. That positivity had been her sister’s influence. A sister who was no longer alive, and she couldn’t bring herself to summon that part she kept close, if only because she recognized it for the lie it was.
Her grief must have tugged down their bond because Julius’ grip tightened reassuringly. He leaned down, the wind whipping his tresses of flame hair against her face. “I don’t know everything that happened in that room,” he said. “But when we have a moment to speak alone, will you tell me?”
Her heart skipped a few beats, but she managed a nod.
He didn’t say anything else the rest of the way. He just held her, guided her in the dark towards a castle that loomed higher with each step they took towards it until they made it to the grand entrance of the place.
Inside, dozens of Unseelie Fae greeted them, fluttering on rapid speeding wings, and clomping quickly on hooved feet, to and from the arriving Fae. Almost as if they knew and had been waiting for them all to show up. They carried blankets, towels, pitchers of water, and platters of food.
They sped through it like a routine that had happened before. Ryker and Shula, along with a few of the Unseelie, began leading the injured Fae from the camp up a winding staircase, Ryker barking orders along the way.
Glittering faeries illuminated the space, their entire bodies buzzing above their heads like little floating lights. A hearth burned with a bright fire that filled the room with warmth, even while stray wind and snow pilfered through the broken windows.
A flying Unseelie approached, draping a towel around Iona’s shoulders. She smiled her thanks, though the expression felt more like a grimace. A warm tankard was placed in her hand with a liquid that tasted strongly of herbs and ale, and it warmed her insides.
