The Faerie War (2 page)

“Remain still,” Jamon whispers. It seems to take an excruciatingly long time before Draven’s guards are out of sight, heading toward where the Guild is supposed to be. When Jamon eventually lifts his hand off mine, the camouflage vanishes. “Let’s get out of here quickly,” he says. He pulls me to me feet, then releases my arm. At least he’s learned he doesn’t need to drag me along.

I run beside him. “Camouflage magic,” I say as my arms pump back and forth. “That’s pretty cool. Can all reptiscillas do that?”

“Yes.” He throws a quick look over his shoulder, then faces forward and ignores me.

Fine. I can do the silence thing.

We run for at least half an hour. Jamon breathes as easily as if we were walking, but the sounds coming from my mouth start to sound more like gasps. My lack of fitness is a state I attribute to being cooped up below ground for a month. I’ve traveled around the tunnels with Farah, of course, but Jamon wouldn’t let me above ground until today.

He slows suddenly, and I almost run right past him. I recognize this spot. It’s where he took the blindfold off me earlier and I saw the sun for the first time in weeks. I felt so stupid stumbling around the Underground tunnels with that smelly piece of material tied around my head. There were definitely people laughing at me before we managed to get above ground. With any luck, Jamon won’t bother putting the rag back on for the return trip.

“Time for your blindfold,” he says.

No such luck. “Come on, seriously? This is ridiculous, Jamon. I’m
not
going to tell anyone where you live.”

“Stop arguing with me.” He pulls the offending rag from his pocket. He takes hold of my arm and tries to pull me forward—
again
—and that’s when I finally lose my temper.

“I am so
sick
of this.” I rip my arm out of his grasp. “
I’m
the one who’s been wronged here. Someone stole my memories from me and left me out in the forest to die, and yet
every single day
I have to deal with you looking at me as though everything bad that’s ever happened in your life is my fault.”

“Violet, don’t be so—”

“No!” My hands shoot forward and push hard against his chest. “I have
never
lied to you. Both you and your father have interrogated me, and I’ve never told you anything but the truth. If you hate me simply for being who I am, then let me leave. Otherwise start treating me with some kind of decency.”

Red ripples flash across Jamon’s scaled skin. “A guardian doesn’t deserve decency,” he snarls. “You think you’re better than everyone else. You do whatever the hell you want. Well not anymore.” He pushes me as hard as I pushed him, and I almost fall over. “Now you’re under my watch, and I get to show you exactly what I think of—”

“Shut up!” Without pausing to think, almost as if it’s instinct, I kick him as hard as I can. Before I can bring my leg back, he grabs it and pulls me down with him. I hit the ground, jab my elbow into his stomach, then roll over and spring up into a crouching position. It all happens so fluidly that I’m not entirely sure how I do it. I don’t have time to wonder, though, because Jamon throws himself at me. I duck out of the way and tumble across the ground. Branches scratch my arms. A burned smell fills my nostrils.

I jump to my feet just as Jamon slams me against a tree. With both hands, he pins my arms to my sides. “This is why you got me to come out here with you,” he says. “So you could attack me.”

“Ridiculous,” I gasp as I bring my knee up to strike somewhere in the region of his stomach—possibly a little lower. He groans but doesn’t let go of me, so I do it again. His grip loosens. I push him away, then bring my fist up to meet his chin. His head snaps back. I spin him around, lock one arm around his shoulders, and—I seem to be holding a knife to his neck. A knife I wasn’t in possession of a moment ago. A knife that glitters and sparkles as if made of a thousand tiny gold stars.

In fright, I step back, open my fingers, and the knife vanishes. “I . . . I . . .” Jamon turns on me, and I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.” I take another step back. “I didn’t mean for all that to happen. I didn’t even know I could fight like that. And where the freak did that knife come from?”

Jamon stares at me like I’m stupid. “Hello, you’re a
guardian
. Where do you think it came from?”

I stare back at him, my mouth hanging open before I manage to say, “I don’t know. Can . . . can all guardians do that?”

Jamon shakes his head as he walks toward me. “You really are messed up.”

I stand still as he places the blindfold over my eyes and ties it at the back of my head. A piece of hair catches in the knot as he tugs it tight, but I can’t focus enough on the pain to be bothered by it. My brain seems to be stuck on repeat with the words
what just happened
playing over and over again.

“Are you going to attack me for touching your arm?” Jamon asks. “Because walking is going to be very difficult for you if I can’t guide you.”

I shake my head. He’d probably enjoy watching me stumble around, but I won’t give him the pleasure. He grasps my upper arm and steers me forward. I can feel his scales against my skin; they’re kind of slippery. It doesn’t really creep me out, but I still wish I’d put my jacket on over my sleeveless top. I don’t like him touching me. Invading my space.

“Mind the tree,” he snaps. I move my hands through the air and feel the rough texture of bark beside me. Another step forward brings my knees up against something hard. I climb over the enormous root, thinking what a giant this tree must be.

“The entrance is in front of you.”

I slide my foot forward, feeling for the edge of the hole. Based on my journey out of the tunnels earlier today, I know I’m about to head down a steep passage of narrow stairs cut into the earth. Not the easiest thing to negotiate while blindfolded.

“Stop right there!”

I hesitate. That wasn’t Jamon’s voice. In fact, it sounded like—

A hand strikes my back. I cry out as I tumble forward. I claw at the tunnel walls, but I’m moving too fast to stop my fall. I hit the ground on my side but can’t stop the momentum from carrying me down the stairway, knocking air out of my lungs with every step I—

“Stop!” I yell, throwing a hand out and releasing magic. I slam into the invisible shield, which, fortunately, doesn’t hurt the way slamming into the ground does. I tear the blindfold off my eyes and push myself up onto my feet. My pummeled body screams at me.

Somewhere above me I hear shouting. Without hesitation, I dash up the steps. Tiny glow-bugs wiggling along the tunnel’s walls light the way. Looking up, I see the entrance ahead of me: a circular shape of light.

I take the last few steps two at a time, slip just before I reach the top, and land on my knees and elbows. Digging my fingers into the dirt, I pull myself up the rest of the way and peek out the top of the tunnel. Over the tree’s giant roots, I see orange sparks spinning and swerving and black leaves rushing into a swirl in the air. I climb out the tunnel and crouch behind a root so I can see what’s going on.

One of Draven’s guards, the male faerie we hid from earlier, tosses a handful of leaves at Jamon. The leaves turn into bats that screech and flap as they swarm around him. He ducks, drops to the ground, and strikes at the guard’s legs with a fallen branch. The guard jumps out of the way as he sends more magic in Jamon’s direction. A flame runs up Jamon’s arm, and he cries out in pain. The guard advances on him.

I stand. Automatically, I lift my arms. Before I have time to consider what I’m doing, a bow and arrow as golden and sparkling as the vanishing knife appear in my hands. I jump onto the root I was hiding behind, aim at the guard, and let the arrow fly. It whistles through the air and pierces his chest where his heart is—exactly where I intended it to go.

Shocked, the guard looks up at me. Orange eyes, hot and furious like a raging fire, meet mine. For a second, I’m certain he’s going to rip the arrow right out of his heart and kill me with it.

Instead, I see Jamon rising up behind the guard, a log grasped between his hands. He swings forward hard. The log connects with the guard’s head with a loud
crack
.

The guard slumps to the ground.

Motionless.

Jamon’s eyes move from the arrow in the guard’s chest up to my face. “You . . . you shot him.”

I shot him.

I uncurl my fingers from the sparkling bow, and it disappears. “Of course,” I say, sounding a lot calmer than I feel. “What was I supposed to do? Let him kill you?”

Jamon frowns. “I could have taken him out on my own.”

“I doubt it. Before I shot him, it looked like
he
was about to take
you
out.”

Jamon eyes the fallen faerie. “Is he dead? I know it’s supposed to be difficult to kill your kind.”

His words trouble me, but I try not to show it. “If you leave the arrow in, the magic will eventually fade from his body and he’ll die. But if you remove it within the next hour or so, his magic will heal his heart and he’ll be fine.”
How do I know that?
I ask myself. I just do, it seems. It’s general knowledge, like knowing the sky is blue and that faeries live for centuries.

Jamon narrows his eyes at me. “Did you mean to kill him?”

“Of course not. What do you think I am, a cold-blooded killer?”

Jamon raises an eyebrow. “Well . . .”

“I’m not a killer.” What I don’t say is that I’m more than a little disturbed that I just shot someone in the heart. The only thing keeping me from freaking out is the knowledge that if we act quickly, the guard won’t die. I walk over to him and lift his legs. “I’m also not stupid,” I tell Jamon. “If we get the arrow out of this guy quickly, he’ll survive. Then you’ll have one of Draven’s men as your prisoner and you can ask him whatever you want.”

Jamon stares at me.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask. “Are you going to help me carry him, or should I push him down the stairs like you did to me?”

*

At the bottom of the steep stairway, one of the reptiscillan guards takes over from me and helps Jamon carry Draven’s faerie to wherever prisoners are kept. I’m left to wander through the tunnels back to Farah’s home. The home that’s been mine for the past month. Jamon doesn’t mind letting me out of his sight down here; he knows the numerous guards on duty at the bottom of the stairway would never let me out. And if I continued along one of the tunnels in hopes of finding another exit, I’d probably run into some other guardian-hating creature before I found a way out from Underground.

Underground. It surprises me that there are things I remember about this place. I remember that it’s a network of tunnels, dangerous because many of the fae who reside down here aren’t the friendly type. There are various hidden entrances and many different communities. Some mix, while others keep to themselves. I also remember that I’ve been here before. My memories of exactly
what
I did down here are absent, but I do remember flashing, colored lights and hazy rooms of dancing fae.

Interesting. I can’t imagine myself as the partying type, but maybe I am.

I walk along the edge of one of the wide tunnels, trailing my hand along the sandy wall. After almost winding up flattened like a faerie pancake, I learned that wagons and other transportation devices can travel down these tunnels at remarkable speeds. It’s best to stay out of the way at all times. Fat glow-bugs of the bright white variety are stuck to the ceiling at regular intervals, ensuring that no matter where anyone chooses to wander, their path will always be lit. The smell of wet earth fills my nostrils, mingling with a hint of spices and incense.

I hear laughter behind me as three reptiscillan children run past: a boy dragging a toy cart behind him chased by another two boys. They disappear around a corner into one of the tunnels with homes along it. I look up as I pass the tunnel and read the sign hanging above the entrance.
Slippers Way
. I remember that one. Farah has a friend who lives down there. We visited her for tea one afternoon.