The Girl With Red Hair (The Last War Saga Book 1) (22 page)

“Water feels good, doesn’t it?” asked a voice from behind her.

Maira looked down at her bare feet kicking in the stream, having forgotten where she was. She looked up and still couldn’t quite remember. She didn’t answer the voice. It likely wasn’t real. Sometimes her own voice echoed in her memories. Ghosts of a dead past. The snow would come next. And the cold.

“A good place to relax and do a bit of thinking,” said the voice again, this time accompanied by an elven body perched on a large rock to Maira’s left.

Maira looked over at the old woman and feigned a smile. “Yes, and the water is quite refreshing.” She stared back down at her feet. In truth she felt nothing, and the memory of what it should feel like wasn’t one that had returned yet. And if she didn’t feed soon, it might never.

Farther down the stream, a child, maybe four years old, was standing in the shallows splashing and laughing, enjoying a world only he could see. A smile curled the edges of the old elf’s mouth.

“My great-grandson,” she said with obvious pride. “Such a joy.”

Maira watched the boy a moment longer before forcing herself to turn away. “Cute,” she managed to say.

“You have children of your own, dear?”

Maira’s arm instinctively wrapped around her stomach, and she tucked her chin against her chest. Suddenly, she felt vulnerable. Her mind drifted like the morning fog, listless and empty. Cold and unforgiving. A solitary snowflake landed on her nose.

“Once,” she found herself saying.
Whose voice was that?

In her periphery, Maira saw the woman nod knowingly. “I’m sorry, dear. Losing a child is not something any creature should know. But one as young and beautiful as you will have many more opportunities at creating life.”

Something flared deep within Maira and burned at her soul like a dry forest set to spark. She wielded her eyes as weapons and bored them straight into the woman’s. She opened her mouth but shut it again, something strange passing at the edges of her comprehension.

“I know you,” she said.

The woman looked back and smiled, but said nothing. Maira frowned and looked away. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t know this old elf. And it wasn’t her memories that floated up from the chasm now. Then it struck her.
She
didn’t know her, but
Tannyl
did. Her hand slid to the hilt of the jeweled dagger hidden at her side. She remembered where she was and why she’d come. He had rejected her and now she would punish him. It was the only way. And besides, if she didn’t feed soon, her mind would shatter, never to be pieced together again. Even more dreadful would be the lifetime of memories between here and there. Ones she fought so hard to forget. She turned slowly back to the woman.

“You know,” the elf said. “I can smell him on you.”

Maira pulled her feet from the water and stood. The dagger was in her hand, nearly as hungry as her.

“Thirty long years I’ve waited for him to come back,” she continued, smiling as she watched her grandson in the distance. “To finish what he started.”

Maira closed the distance between them and stood, savoring the coming kill. She could feel the piece of Tannyl hunger for it as well.

The woman turned to face Maira, and they locked eyes. “Thirty years, and he sent
you
to finish what he began. I suppose that means you’re his new plaything and that Fae’Na is dead.” She spit at Maira’s feet.

Maira held back a hiss and tightened her grip on the dagger. Her teeth began to elongate and jagged spines pushed from her back. She was going to enjoy this.

“I’m going to kill you now,” she said slowly, enjoying every syllable of the promise.

The woman laughed, heavy and thick. She slowly stood and faced Maira directly. Her eyes were firm, unwavering, and wholly unafraid. Rage rippled through Maira, focusing her mind and activating her hunger. She lunged for the old woman, dagger up and teeth bared. But her feet didn’t obey the command, and she felt herself falling. The woman stepped nimbly aside as Maira’s face impacted the stone, breaking her nose and shattering her teeth.

Her vision swam, and still she could not move her feet. Or her legs. She tried to rise, but managed to only roll onto her back. Her arms felt sluggish now, like she had landed in thick mud and not on hard stone.

The elven woman leaned forward, her eyes hard and unforgiving. “There, there, dear. It will all be over soon. Don’t you worry. I’m certain he’ll come for you. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

Maira’s body wouldn’t respond to her plea to rise and kill the woman. She twisted her head.
At least that responded
, she thought. Looking down at her lifeless body, she could see thick tendrils of something green wrapping around her body. Curved black thorns covered the creeping vine, each delivering a sharp prick and a pulse of warmth. Poison coursed through her veins like hot acid. Pain began to blossom from every tiny wound. It focused her mind for just a brief moment, and she sent out a single thought before losing consciousness.

I need you…

Tannyl reclined in the padded velvet chair and took a long pull from the silver goblet. His eyes roamed over the riches of the room. He despised everything about it, but the strong wine kept him from caring. Well, almost.

Lilacoris sat on the chair opposite him, facing slightly away. They drank in silence for a long time, letting the fermented nectar free the words that needed to be given life.

Tannyl finished his glass and poured another. He took a sip, closed his eyes, and said, “Are we safe here?”

“That’s a question you should have led with, don’t you think? Yes, we’re safe here. Every inch of this place is warded. Whatever is out there hunting us…Well, to them, we don’t exist.”

Tannyl nodded. He expected nothing less. The High Watcher was just as capable as she was paranoid. He could relate.

“Why are you here?” she asked when Tannyl didn’t respond.

He took a long sip and opened his eyes. “Just hoping to pass through, cut to that lovely forest you have west of Fystead.”

“No,” she said flatly.

Tannyl’s skin crawled and his hair bristled. “You’re reading me.” It was a statement, not a question.

Lilacoris shrugged and took a sip of wine. “If you can’t be honest…”

He sighed, leaned onto his knees and rubbed his face. Suddenly, he felt exhausted. He told himself it was the wine, but knew that to be a lie as well. When had he last slept?

“Woodhaerst was destroyed a few nights ago by a similar set of unsavory creatures. Weren’t anything of our world, so I thought perhaps the All-Mother would know more. Something from the outer Realms, perhaps?”

Tannyl didn’t have to be Fae to catch the passing emotion that flitted across the Dryad’s face. Even the stiff bark that covered half her face betrayed the sadness. But he knew enough not to press.

“No. They are of something far darker. And there was a time I would have agreed with you,” she said, eyes staring into the distance. “But Hilaros has not been well in quite some time. If she has answers, I doubt you’ll ever hear them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What illness could possibly affect her?”

“Her body remains strong. It’s her mind that is dying. Every day is worse than the last. I can hardly understand any of what she says. I haven’t… I haven’t seen her in weeks. I just can’t bear to see her like that. None of us can.”

Tannyl tilted his goblet back for another drink. It didn’t seem to have the same effect any longer. “I’d still like to try,” he said. “They need answers.”

“And you?”

Tannyl frowned. “It doesn’t matter what or why. What’s done is done.”

“And Fae’Na?”

Tannyl felt a stab of guilt lance his soul like a hot brand. He looked Lilacoris in the eye but couldn’t bring himself to say the words. She nodded, and he knew he didn’t need to. She understood more than he could ever form into words.

“They’ll kill you if you go back,” she said.

“I know,” he said, resigned. It didn’t matter. “I’m a little surprised you don’t want to do the same.”

She smiled, and Tannyl felt the tiniest bit of comfort. “What you did was terrible, but what you
didn’t
do would have been worse. I understand that even if they never will.”

Tannyl looked away, suddenly aware of how filthy his clothes were. He couldn’t ignore the fact she hadn’t said she
forgave
him, but understanding was more than he deserved anyway.

His hand found the hidden pocket in his vest and he withdrew the large, oblong seed Fae’Na had given him at her end. He held it between thumb and forefinger, slowly rolling it back and forth.

Lilacoris sighed. “I see,” she said. “And you think to lie beside her?”

Tannyl didn’t answer.

“It won’t change anything.”

Tannyl let the seed fall into his hand and he wrapped a fist around it. “I don’t expect anything to change. My chance at redemption died thirty years ago, but I made her a promise. I intend to keep it.” He put the seed back into his pocket and leaned back into the chair. A long swallow of wine did nothing to quell his roiling emotions.

“And what of your friends? That young girl?”

He shook his head. “Another promise I shouldn’t have made.”

“And one you’ll break, I see.”

“The girl thinks she needs to get to the Empire. The others will make sure she does. They need the distraction.”

As wise as Lilacoris was, she would never understand, not truly.

They sat quietly for another long period of time. Lilacoris broke the silence.

“The creatures destroyed the Bridges and opened up one of their own to get here,” she said. “Don’t ask me how or where they came from, but that’s how it is. My ship is at the northern docks. I’ll take you back with me to the Forest Realm and request that Hilaros allow you in to see her, but I can’t make any promises. She may not even respond or understand.”

Tannyl opened his eyes. Lilacoris looked weary.

“Thank you,” he said, standing to leave.

“And Tannyl?”

He turned back, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

“You can’t blame yourself.”

He nodded and left. He used to tell him himself the same thing, but had long ago seen it for the lie it was.

Chapter Twenty-Five

ADELAIDE LURCHED UPRIGHT in bed, screaming. Sachihiro nearly dropped his lute. Squirrel dove back into the instrument and Erlen immediately vanished into thin air. The girl sat rigid, eyes wide, mouth open in an unending shriek. Sachihiro recovered and raced to her side, grabbed her by the shoulder, and tried to get her to see him. She continued to stare straight ahead. Her breath was limitless.

Tannyl appeared in the doorway and ran to the other side of the bed. He made no attempt to calm the girl, instead looking at Sachihiro. “What did you do?” he asked sternly.

“I didn’t do anything. She just woke up and started screaming.”

“Dammit, Sach. Well, calm her down.”

“I’m trying.”

Abruptly, Adelaide fell silent. Her mouth shut and her nostrils flared, taking in ragged breaths. Her eyes were wild and unseeing.

“Addy…” Sachihiro said cautiously.

She turned to face him, eyes still far away. “I know what he did to her,” she said quietly.

Sachihiro glanced at Tannyl. He frowned back.

“I know what he did,” she said, louder.

Tannyl grunted and grabbed her by both shoulders, turning her roughly towards him. “Girl,” he said. “Calm down.”

She moved so fast Sachihiro wasn’t entirely sure of what happened, but suddenly she had Tannyl by the throat. He felt waves of energy pulse from her. Tannyl’s eyes went wide. Sachihiro could see he couldn’t breathe. Or didn’t dare to.

“I know what he did!” she shrieked in his face. Saliva splattered the stunned elf. She shook him like a ragdoll, skin flushed red. “I know! I know! I know!”

“Adelaide!” The energy went out of the room as Alexander rose from his bed, eyes tired, but firm, and walked slowly toward them. His steps were stiff and disjointed.

Adelaide looked at him and released Tannyl. The elf fell to the floor, gasping and clutching at his neck. When he caught his breath, he immediately stormed from the room. A string of curses followed in his wake. “We leave at midday, tomorrow,” he said as an afterthought.

Alexander sat on the edge of her bed with a grimace and Sachihiro knew at once that everything was going to be all right. Alexander slowly reached a hand toward the girl. She seemed apprehensive, like she might lash out. Her breath was feral, her lips set in a snarl. But as Alexander’s long fingers made contact with Adelaide’s shoulder, the girl melted. She collapsed into the man and began sobbing. Her small body convulsed with each deep, heart-wrenching cry.

Alexander held her tightly and looked at Sachihiro. “Where are we?”

“Some tree elf’s place. She’s a Council member, I think. Should be safe. You all right?”