Page 46 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
But the rift between Caed and the others seems more like a yawning chasm. Battle lines have been drawn, and I’m stuck, unable to bridge the divide.
All of my attempts to get Caed alone have been sabotaged. Even my short conversations with Prae have been watched closely. And now, apparently, I’ve been used as an unwitting pawn in a glittery pissing match?
I’m beginning to think Titania and Maeve had it right. Having a few level-headed females in my Guard would’ve been a lot easier.
The water’s calm surface begins to foam and bubble, drawing me out of my thoughts, and I frown.
“Whatisthat?”
Jaro curses, and Drystan dismounts, drawing his sword. “Kelpie!”
Blizzard stomps, walking backwards, and without the dullahan to keep me in place, I grip the saddlehorn for dear life. Beside me, a ghostly sword appears, forming a defensive barrier between me and the river, and the rest of my Guard pause, as if waiting for it to take my head before they’re forced to face the more pressing threat.
A dark equine shape emerges slowly from the cool water. It’s not like any horse I’ve ever seen before. Its dripping fur is cut through with undertones of iridescent green, and its mane and tail are so long that they float around it like river weeds.
But most unsettling of all are its cloudy dead eyes. One glance into those fathomless depths makes me shiver. The death chill remains as it regards us, only dissipating when it dips its head in an unmistakable bow.
“Peace, Nicnevin, we mean no harm.” Its voice—if you can call it that—is the eerie trickle of water in the darkness, running down my spine like ice.
Oh Goddess, it has teeth. Sharp, wicked, pointed teeth.
As it speaks, a second kelpie rises from the river, then another. Soon, a full herd of water horses stand before us, tails whipping and ears flicking as they drip onto the bank.
“We seek no bargains with you,” Jaro says, his tone careful. “Let us pass.”
“Yours is not the bargain we’re here for.” The creature snorts wetly. “Queen Cressida has paid in full for the safe passage of the Nicnevin and her court to her camp on the banks of the Silfeyn.”
“Queen Cressida should be in Illidwen,” Drystan retorts, though he doesn’t dispute what the horse said.
Are they like fae? Unable to lie?
“She’s not in the capital.” The horse snickers impatiently, and Blizzard stamps a hoof in retort. “She fights on the front line, like a good queen should.”
“Isn’t she getting a bit old for that?” Maeve mutters, appearing beside me. “Honestly.”
My Guard are busy exchanging looks, communicating in that silent way of theirs. I let them. I have no idea what the kelpies are capable of, and I trust my mates to judge whether this is some ploy.
Jaro steps closer to the river horses and begins questioning them in a low tone, careful to keep just out of reach of their proud jaws and the thick lips that hide those terrifying fangs.
“I hate these things,” Prae murmurs, riding up behind me. “Do you have any idea how many soldiers we’ve lost to them?”
I raise a brow. “Don’t you mean how many soldiers Elatha lost to them?”
The Fomorian blushes a deeper shade of teal at the correction and nods. “They trick you into thinking they’re harmless, and the moment you touch them,boom, you’re drowned, and your bones are picked clean.”
“Is that why…” I wave a hand at the ghost sword still protecting me.
Prae snorts. “The only time he gets to use it now is when he’s protecting you. I bet he’s scared of going rusty without practice.”
Maeve—invisible to Prae—touches the blade with a finger and hums. “Curious. I can actually touch these…”
Does that mean Caed’s blades come from the Otherworld, like she does?
“We can’t take the Nicnevin to a battlefield!” Drystan snarls, his voice rising above the others, and I roll my eyes.
“If that’s where I have to go to get her Goddess-damned vow, then we’re going.” My voice cuts through their argument as I slip gracelessly from the saddle and grimace as my ankle gives way.
Before I can fall completely on my ass, a strong pair of arms catches me, surrounding me in the scent of bitter almonds and liquorice for a second before my saviour stiffens.
