The Faerie War (15 page)

I jerk my head back behind the couch. I didn’t see how many guardians there were, but they’re definitely not leaving. I hear the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps entering the bar. They come to a stop, and I imagine the guardians looking around. They’re probably trying to decide whether the few unmarked patrons in this bar are worth the effort. Or perhaps they’re thinking how ridiculously easy this is going to be for them.

A single pair of footsteps moves toward the bar—toward the couch we’re hiding behind. We creep around to the side, beneath the stuffed arm of the couch. I catch a glimpse of a male figure. Tall. Long, black coat. Dark hair with blue-black streaks. I duck down and watch through the legs of a low table. He takes slow, purposeful strides toward the bar. His black boots are heavy against the ground, filling the room with an ominous
thud
.
Thud
.
Thud
. Chunky metal buckles reflect the room’s turquoise glow, and when he comes to a halt, I can see a twisting pattern of thorns engraved into the metal.

He stops in front of the bar. Everyone in the room must surely be holding their breath. The couple on a couch somewhere, the spiky-haired dude, the merman who owns this place, the pink-haired waitress.

“We don’t want any trouble,” the merman says.

“We’re not looking for any.” The guardian’s voice is low and non-threatening. Which somehow seems a whole lot more threatening than if he’d shouted. “We’re off duty. We heard about a place down here. A place where . . .
our kind
like to hang out. Have some fun. Relax when we’re not busy marking people.” He lets out a low chuckle. “You know what place I’m talking about?”

A pause. And then, “You must mean Titan’s Tavern,” the merman says. “Go left out of here, make another left, and go past the crystal stream.”

Silence again. I’m still holding my breath, waiting to see if this guardian is about to laugh his ass off and then attack. And that harpoon would be as useful as a toothpick against him, which means I’d have to jump out and get involved. And while I might be a match for him if it were only the two of us, I know I could never take down a whole group of guardians.

“Thanks,” the guardian says. His boots scrape the floor as he turns and strides away. Other footsteps join his, growing quieter as the group leaves the bar.

I feel Jamon relax beside me. “That was close. I didn’t think we were going to make it out of here unmarked.”

*

A couple of hours later, Jamon and I slip quietly back through the tunnels. We walk as fast as we can without breaking into a run, which would no doubt be suspicious to any passersby. We make it back to the river without incident. Before venturing out into the winter world above ground, we retrieve our cloaks and pull them back on.

“That didn’t go too badly,” I say as we climb up the river bank and into the snowy forest. Puffs of condensation form in front of my mouth when I speak.

“Yeah, a meeting with the merpeople’s leaders is exactly what I was hoping for, but I didn’t know if we’d get it. My dad will be pleased.”

“Do you want to send him a message now? Let him know?”

“Hmm.” Jamon pats his pocket. “I didn’t bring my amber. I could send him a message the other way, though. I guess he’ll want to know now, even though the meeting’s only next week.” Jamon opens his hand and starts writing words onto his palm with his finger. Some reptiscillas use amber like faeries do—although they write with their fingers instead of a stylus—but most do what Jamon is doing now. When he finishes writing, he brings his hand up to his face. He blows gently across his open palm, and black shapes that look like smoky words rise from it. They twist and curl and disappear into the air.

“You still need to teach me how to do that,” I say.

He winks. “Reptiscillan secret.” He flips his cloak’s hood up over his head. “Oh, can you do that spell where you cover my footsteps? I don’t want anyone to track us.”

I raise an eyebrow. He rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll teach you the messaging spell when we get back.”

I give him my sweetest smile. “In that case, I’d be happy to cover your tracks.” Being able to lift myself and walk on top of the snow means I leave barely a hint of brushed snow behind me. Jamon’s great big footprints, however, are a glaring giveaway. I crouch down and spread my hands over the indentations in the snow. With whispered words, I coax the surrounding snow to start refilling the holes. I move my hands away and stand. The holes keep filling slowly. “That should do it,” I say. If I keep part of my mind focused while we walk, the footprints will keep filling themselves.

“Thanks.” Jamon sets off, and I walk beside him. I tuck my hands under my arms to keep them warm. Magic could do the job, but I don’t want to lose the strands of power I’m already holding onto. Multitasking has its limits. Silence is our companion once again, which gives my mind space to wander over the stark beauty of the forest. The white frosting on blackened trees glitters beneath the moon’s soft blue glow.

A shadow swoops over us, and a nighttime creature chirps.

What the . . .

“Stop,” I say quietly, touching Jamon’s arm. “Did you see that?”

He nods, looking up at the bare branches around us. “And did you hear that noise?”

“Yeah. But I thought everything was dead here. No creatures, nothing.”

“So did I,” he says, turning slowly on the spot.

My fingers prickle. I tense, waiting for someone or something to jump out at us. Perhaps we passed beneath a sensor and Draven’s guards have come for us. Perhaps we—

“Stop where you are!”

I drop immediately to the ground and scoot behind the nearest tree. I look back and see Jamon frozen, camouflage magic spreading rapidly across his body until he looks like nothing more than air, snow, and shadows.

With my back against the tree, I hear someone chuckle and say, “I can see you. Well, I can see your outline. It’s a good disguise, but not good enough.”

I twist my neck and lean slowly to the side until I can just see past the tree. Four guardians in dark blue uniforms stand with arrows and blades pointed at Jamon. The one in front is the dark-haired guy who spoke with the merman owner of the Underground bar. The other three must be the companions I couldn’t see while hiding behind the couch.

“Look, we’re not interested in hurting anyone,” the dark-haired guy says, “so why don’t we put away our weapons, you drop the transparency act, and we all have a civilized conversation.”

A civilized conversation, my butt. They’ll probably mark Jamon as soon as they get hold of him. I pull my white cloak tighter, making sure the hood covers my head, then creep away in a wide circle.

“Okay, look, I’ll put my weapon away first,” the guardian says. Through the spindly trees, I see the bow and arrow’s glow disappear. I continue sneaking around them, my feet barely touching the snow as I keep myself elevated. Finally, as the front guardian holds both hands up and urges Jamon to show himself, I stop directly behind them.

“We’ve all put our weapons away,” the girl in the group says. But I can see a knife strapped to her thigh, so I don’t trust her.

The guardian in front lowers his hands and takes a few steps toward Jamon.

I raise my hands and find my favorite weapon blazing in my grasp. “Stop right there!” They spin around so quickly I almost miss the movement itself. One second their backs are facing me, and the next thing I know I’ve got four sets of glowing weapons pointed at me. “I know you’re lying,” I say, “and there’s no way you’re taking either of us without a fight.”

The dark-haired guy pushes past his companions, his weapon vanishing in an instant. He stares intently at me, as though trying to see past the shadow of my hood. He comes closer, slowly, step by step. I can see his blue eyes and the shock on his face.

“I said
stop
!” I yell. What is wrong with this guy? Does he want an arrow through his neck? My fingers twitch, split seconds away from releasing the—

“Violet,” he whispers, and my hand jerks in surprise. The arrow sails past his ear, but only because he flinches out of the way. “
Flipping
. . . You just shot at me!” He looks horrified, but he doesn’t back away. “Violet. It’s you, isn’t it?”

A shiver electrifies my skin. He knows my name. He
knows
me. But he’s marked. He’s on the other side now. As much as I want to ask him a zillion questions, it isn’t worth it to end up as Draven’s slave.

So I stand firm and say, “Stay back or I’ll shoot you again.” He’s getting way too close. He could reach out and touch my hand if he wanted to.

“Shoot him and we’ll shoot you,” the girl behind him says.

“And then
I
will shoot
you
,” Jamon says, walking out the shadows and taking his position beside me. “Or stab you.” From the corner of my eye I see light glinting off a blade.

“No!” The guardian in front of me raises his arms as if to hold his companions back. “There won’t be any shooting or stabbing.” He leans forward, distress plain on his face. “V, do you honestly not recognize me? Are . . . are you marked?”

“No. But you are.”

“I’m not—”

“Show me your palms,” I snap.

He slowly turns his hands so that his palms face forward. I can clearly see the black circle marking his skin. “It isn’t real,” he says. “It’s our disguise so we can go unnoticed among Draven’s followers.”

“Oh really? Well, isn’t that convenient?”

He slowly moves his left hand in front of his face and blows into it.

“What are you doing?” I demand. “Stop that!”

He lowers his cupped hand, and I see water glistening in it. He lets the water trickle onto his right palm, then takes his thumb and rubs across the mark. Black ink smudges his skin.

“See? It isn’t real.” His blue gaze moves across my face. “Come on, it’s me. Ryn. Please tell me you remember me.”

Ryn.
The mention of his name sends another shiver across my skin. “What . . . what did you say your name is?”

I see a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Ryn. Oryn.”

It can’t be. This is the guy who wrote the note I’ve been carrying around with me? The guy I must have cared about in my previous life? But . . .
nothing
about him seems even remotely familiar. I slowly loosen my grip on my bow. It disappears. “I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move until one of the other two guys says, “Ryn? You okay, man?”

He blinks, then steps back, looking around at his companions. “Yeah. Lose the weapons, okay? V, you’re coming with us. You’re welcome to bring your friend.”

“Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere with you.” Sure, I have a lot of questions to ask him, but he doesn’t get to push me around just because he used to know me.

He frowns. “Where exactly do you plan to go?”

“With my friend. There are a whole lot of us in hiding, and I don’t plan to abandon them. Why don’t
you
come with
us
?”

Ryn’s eyes move to Jamon. “There are more of you? I mean, more
free
reptiscillas?”

“Yes. Are there more of you?”

The girl behind Ryn laughs and walks forward. “There are a
lot
of us. And we have a massive hidden base where everyone who’s willing to fight Draven is gathering.”

Jamon turns to me, lowers his voice, and says, “I think we should go with them.”

I start nodding as I process this new information. A whole base of guardians. I probably know some of them. Maybe I have family members there. They can help me remember the life I’ve lost. But Jamon . . . “Are you sure?” I ask him. “You hate guardians.”

“Yeah, I know, but they can’t all be that bad. I mean, you turned out to be a decent person. And besides, I don’t have to
like
them. The point is that we need allies, and they’re just as willing to fight Draven as we are.”

“Okay. You can send a message to your father once we’re there.” I turn back to the group of guardians. Ryn is facing the darkness, his arms crossed and hands clenched into fists. From the way his shoulders rise and fall, I can tell his breathing is faster than it should be.

I push my hood back and say, “Okay, we’ll come with you.”

“Cool,” the girl says.

“Um, am I supposed to remember any of you?” I can imagine myself asking this question many times if I’m about to meet a whole lot of guardians.

“No.” She laughs and sticks her hand out. “I’m Em.”

I reach forward and grasp her hand. “Violet.”

“Violet, huh?” Her eyes skim over my hair. “Looks like your parents had the same idea mine had.” She points to her head—blonde with green streaks—and adds, “My full name’s Emerald.
Emerald
, for crying in a magic well.
No one
calls me that.”

“Not if they want to live to see another day,” one of the two guys says. He’s the shorter and broader of the two, with curly black-and-blonde hair. He smiles as he steps forward to introduce himself. “I’m Max. I’m from the London Guild, like Em.”

The other guy, who doesn’t seem as friendly as Max, introduces himself as Fin, from the Estra Guild. He’s so pale he’s almost transparent. White skin, white hair, white eyes. He looks like he’s never met the sun.

“So, this base of yours,” Jamon says as Ryn leads the way through the trees without another glance at me. “Is it far from here?”

“Yes, but we have transport,” Em says with a wink. “Some teams still travel by foot, but we’re lucky.”

“Or stupid,” Fin mutters.

“You guys are a team?” Jamon asks.

“Yup,” Em answers. “We’re Team Troll’s Butt.”

I find myself choking on unexpected laughter while Fin gives Em a look that says,
what is wrong with you?

“What?” she asks. “I’m not going to apologize for myself. Every team needs some comic relief, and I feel it’s my duty to provide that for this team.”

Fin shakes his head while Max tries to smother a laugh. Ryn is ahead of us, so I can’t see his reaction.