Molly (3 page)

Abruptly, Wiry choked on a laugh and kicked his horse to pick up the pace. Molly looked to Cheerful, who seemed to be openly laughing at her. She didn’t appreciate being made fun of, though she had no idea what she’d said wrong. And the memory of her father caused a stab of guilt. With this, her feathers were ruffled and she purposely guided her horse away from Cheerful, impatiently willing Asher to finally come for her. For his child.

It was the one thing she clung to. He would come for her. He had to come for her.

And then, early one evening, things changed. They had stopped well before nightfall, as they often did, to make camp. Molly had a suspicion the group was worried about the dark-haired woman. She seemed to need so much rest, she seemed... unwell. Not that she looked it. Truth be told, Molly was quite envious of her unnatural beauty. But there was something not quite right about her. And the others hovered around her surreptitiously, as if they expected a catastrophe at any moment. The woman didn’t appear exactly graceless to Molly, but in comparison to the agility of their company, she might possibly understand their concern.

The woman sat across the fire from Molly, and, as usual, Cheerful settled in beside Molly, angled between her and the others. As a general rule, Molly tried to avoid looking directly at the woman. But, every now and again, she caught sight of her face and recognized some of her own emotion there. A fierce determination. A confidence that belied her size. Only this woman carried more. Behind her eyes was chaos and fury.

The redhead noticed Molly’s attention had fallen on the woman and intervened. She stepped before the fire, circling the flame as she spoke. She told of fairies, great tales of wondrous places, and Molly was mesmerized.

Every eye was on the redhead, and she clearly relished the attention. Her gaze fell in succession to each in her audience as she moved, a clink of metal, a wisp of material accenting every passage. The fire licked at the air behind her, as if dancing to the melody of her words, as if even the flames were entranced by her story.

Molly was enchanted, the yarn a dull thrum as her gaze fixed on the slither of the blaze. Sudden raucous laughter broke her trance, and she blinked, her eyes dry. Coming back to herself, she glanced around again at the elves.

Cheerful was watching her. He smiled, and this time Molly could believe it was genuine.

“She has a way with words,” he said.

“Yes,” Molly sighed. Her eyes roamed the camp again, in wonder at the world she had stepped into. A world right out of her books. A world to which she had only dreamed of belonging. Her gaze fell unintentionally on the dark-haired woman, and she considered what her role could be in all of this. She clearly mattered to the group. Could there be some reason other than her own purpose for being involved?

And then the fire exploded. For a moment, Molly thought the dark-haired woman was burning, that the explosion had thrown flames onto her. But, as everyone in the camp stared at the woman, waiting, Molly realized it was nothing of the sort.

Molly’s mouth opened for a moment, closed, opened as she struggled for words. The woman. Flames had burst from her hands. She was unharmed by them. The woman had magic.

She was no mere woman, Molly realized, staring after the dark beauty as she and her male companion walked from the camp. When they were nearly out of sight, Molly turned to Cheerful, who was still watching the couple. She couldn’t quite make out the emotion on his face, but he seemed to snap out of it, suddenly turning to Molly. She knew the questions were clear in her expression, and she saw the same signs of displeasure appear on Cheerful’s face that her father had worn in all the years since she’d turned eight. It made her smile.

Without warning, the largest of the elves was standing in front of them, the abrupt halt of his boot throwing small chunks of dirt onto Molly’s blanket and skirt. She looked up uneasily to find he was staring not at her, but at Cheerful. He stood slowly, casually, and Molly found herself staring up at them, Cheerful’s substantial frame suddenly dwarfed by this massive one. She felt a tingle run up her arms.

And then the wiry one was there. “We should discuss this elsewhere, I believe.”

Molly was momentarily lost, she’d not seen a discussion. The giant didn’t spare a look at her before turning from Cheerful and leaving the camp with Wiry.

Molly watched them. They were heading in the direction of the dark-haired woman and the other, the one who, no matter where he stood, watched her. The one who wore the tortured expression each time she slept. Her watcher. Her protector.

Yes
, Molly thought,
this will be what awaits my son. He will be powerful. He will be protected. He will rule.

The idea stopped Molly cold. Why were they protecting this woman? Asher was the ruler of the North. He had told her so himself. These elves had killed Riven. Asher’s guard. And they surrounded this woman as if she were a treasure of highest consequence.

The pup launched himself toward it, quick as a whip, but too slow for the reflexes of an elf. Molly laughed, not only at the attempt, but the absurdity of her situation.

“Yes,” Cheerful said, “Snickers is an apt name for the tiny beast.”

They sat in companionable silence as they ate, and the others returned. The woman was rubbing circles on her temples, her gaze trailing the ground. Molly stole the opportunity to examine her face.

She would have said her features were sharp, if she’d never seen an elf. And she was unearthly, her beauty dreamlike, even in pain. Molly categorized this as well; she hadn’t seen any sign of ache from any other elf in all her time with them. With the exception of torture, she amended, but she didn’t like to think of those incidents. And then there was the look the woman’s watcher wore. Though it was much like torture, Molly thought.

Her gaze automatically flicked to him, and her chest clenched as she realized he was staring at her now, not the woman. Not Cheerful, indeed. She immediately bowed her head, staring at her lap as her fingers curled tightly into the blanket beneath her.
Not today
, she thought,
don’t kill me today
.

Asher would come for her. For his child. He had to.

The dark-haired woman slept fitfully that night, but Molly did not think of her. She gave the fire her back and stared into the trees, watching the flames throw shadows like demons. She would live. Her son would live.

By dawn, Molly had slept little. The others were awake, nearly always awake, waiting for the woman. Molly didn’t miss that the massive elf and the wiry elf had positioned themselves near, and seemed to remain so afterward.

They rode further, the portentous darkness of the mountain a constant backdrop. She was never allowed alone, but the redhead did escort her from the group each day for some privacy.

It was on one of these occasions she knew for certain.

The redhead stayed near her, and though she gave Molly a few lengths’ retreat, there was no question she’d be caught if she intended escape. Molly’s skirts were gathered as she walked through tangled brush and she saw the redhead become slightly distracted, staring into a copse. Molly might have been more interested in what she saw next if they hadn’t made her wait so long for this break. The redhead deftly scaled one of the trees, disappearing into the foliage.

Molly had known the elves were fast, nimble... not human, but she was always surprised to see it demonstrated. She shook her head as she raised her skirts higher and lowered herself behind the brush. She heard voices and froze, afraid of someone walking up on her.

Silence.

Molly nearly raised up then, but she heard one more comment. “It is right. You know that well.”

She heard the clink of metal and stood, hastily straightening her skirts, to find the redhead walking toward her. Behind her were the shadows of three large figures moving toward the horses. Molly looked up, speculating whether she was crazy for thinking the redhead had dropped from the trees into their conversation.

Their conversation about dead weight.

“Come.”

The redhead gestured and Molly nodded, her mouth dry. She swallowed hard and stepped through the brush. He would come for her. For his child. He would.

Suddenly, she lost all sense of balance. Her eyes floated for a moment before coming back to Steed. She swayed.
Wait, who was Steed?
Her eyes closed tight against the dizziness. And then she blacked out.

When Molly woke, they surrounded her. They helped her up to sitting, seeming to care whether she was sound. It would have made her feel better, except they seemed exceedingly concerned with her condition. Unnaturally so. But Molly didn’t know what to do with that. She didn’t know what to do with any of it.

Something was wrong.

The feeling stuck with her. They left her be for some time and then, later, Cheerful returned to his place beside her. He’d been toying with the pup, but without warning came nearer.

Unintentionally, Molly’s eyes found the dark-haired woman’s across the camp, met those dark emeralds and caught in their violent depths. Cheerful murmured something as he leaned forward to reach the canteen on the blanket behind her.

Molly knew it wasn’t an advance. She absolutely understood what was happening. She thought. But, for some reason, seeming of its own accord, her arm swung full force as she slapped him across the face. She thought him an ass for one moment, and then swayed.

Her vision fluttered and she squeezed her eyes shut, determined to control it. When she was certain she’d regained herself, she opened them again. She found him. Staring at her.
Not going to be calling him Cheerful now,
she thought. He didn’t
look
like he was going to kill her.
Not that they ever did
, she reminded herself.

She quickly opened her mouth to apologize, and then saw the puffy red welt and the offending hand flew up to cover her mouth. Had she hit him that hard? Molly was no maid, she had slapped men before. But playfully, she had never struck with such force, her hand had never followed through as she'd seen the boys do when they came to blows. Her palm still tingled from the contact, stung even.

“Are you well?” her victim asked in a level tone.

Her hand fell from her mouth but she was yet unable to find words. He waited, staring into her eyes as if examining her.

Once, Molly had slipped from her room to walk in the moonlight after a fine spring storm and found a field of freshly turned soil, dark with damp. She thought his eyes were richer than that brown; she thought she might get lost in them. They narrowed on her.

She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she croaked. “Yes, I think I am well.” She tried to appear remorseful.

He nodded, and then stood to join Wiry.

Molly was quiet after that. They all were. They rode several more days and she silently prayed for Asher.
Come for me
, she thought,
come for me now
.
Something is wrong.

She had been sick twice. The first day, without inquiry, the redhead had offered her a preparation, but Molly only slid the powder into her pocket. She was wearing down, though, and when they passed a pond late one afternoon, Molly’s stomach revolted against the scents.

The redhead appeared to notice her discomfort and gestured to Wiry, who suggested they stop for camp. Cheerful helped her from her horse and she leaned heavily against him for a moment, breathing deep against his chest. He felt sorry for her, she thought, for no real reason. And then she steadied herself and nodded, determined to overcome it.

But her resolve could only get her so far. It wasn’t long after, she was hands and knees in the cool grass as the redhead stood over her, watching her retch with neither sympathy nor distaste. She must have seen it coming, for she had practically dragged Molly from the camp only shortly before the convulsive heaving started.

After some time, there was nothing left. Molly cautiously raised to her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. The redhead waited as Molly ran her fingers through her hair and smoothed her bodice, and then helped her to her feet, not releasing her arm until she was certain the girl could stand.