Fated Crown by Eva Chase
Chapter Nineteen
Talia
By the time we make it to the front entrance, my dress hastily refastened as Whitt and I hurried down the stairs, shouts are carrying up the hill. Even though the eerie smoke I spotted looked far off, the breeze now carries an acrid, metallic scent that makes my nose wrinkle.
The smoke wasn’t coming from anywhere near Hearth-by-the-Heart, at least. As far as I could tell, it was rising from some spot at the edge of Donovan’s or Celia’s domain.
Whitt glances at me, his expression taut with concern, and I brace myself for him to tell me he thinks I should stay back while he investigates. But he must realize I won’t want to be left in the dark—and respect the fact that I’d rather risk a little danger than stay shut up in the castle unknowing—because he gives me a curt nod.
“We can get there fastest if I carry you,” he says.
Without waiting for my response, he hunches forward, shifting into his tawny wolf form in a matter of seconds. Watching the transformation now is nothing but exhilarating. He crouches low, and I clamber onto his back the way I did once before when he carried me through the woods to one of his favorite groves.
I don’t think today’s destination is going to be anywhere near as pleasant.
I lean against his muscular back, burying my fingers in the thick ruff of fur around his neck, and he sets off at a lope. The swift, rhythmic pace is easy to adapt to. I tighten my knees against his sides to keep my balance, but I have no more fear of falling than I did perched on the railing of his secret balcony.
He races across the grassy plain around the Bastion and into the forestland that surrounds the other arch-lords’ castles. The smoky tang in the air thickens, and the shouts multiply. Other wolfish figures charge through the shadows between the trees around us, heading to the same spot the quickest way the summer fae are capable of.
As we veer along a well-beaten path down the hill, the forest thins into patches here and there. Whitt runs through another dense stretch of trees and bursts out at the edge of a darkened field of wildflowers.
The smoke is rising from a patch of burning vegetation in the middle of that field. I can’t see any cause for the ruddy glow that’s rippling through the billows all the way up to the sky, but it’s hard to make out anything all that clearly in the deepening evening and the flickering light.
It doesn’t even look like the actual spot that’s burning should be big enough to produce all that smoke. When I squint, I can only make out a dark pile of soot surrounded by that wavering glow, about the size of a campfire pit.
But then, when fae magic is involved, all sorts of unusual things are possible.
Fae have gathered all around the burning spot, more arriving from all directions. None of them has gotten close, though, all hanging back several feet. Some in human form and some still wolves, they prowl around that invisible border, their eyes wary and their mouths curled into frowns.
Why isn’t anyone putting it out?
Whitt pushes closer through the crowd and stops in the midst of it. As he lets me slide off his back, I spot a few familiar figures in the crowd: one of Celia’s cadre-chosen and a couple of Donovan’s. Not all of the fae around us have arrived from the arch-lords’ domains, though. Many are hurrying over from farther beyond the hill, from the neighboring domains.
Whitt straightens up next to me, shaking off the transformation. He glances around. “We’re right at the border of four different domains here. Whoever’s responsible for this, they wanted to catch plenty of attention.”
Corwin must catch my uneasy emotions, because his voice breaks through my thoughts. What’s going on over there?
I’m not sure yet,I reply. Don’t worry—there are plenty of fae here. I’m sure we can deal with whatever it is.
He accepts that answer with a twinge of concern but no protest.
“What is it?” I ask Whitt, peering at the smoking patch, which doesn’t appear to have grown. “How is it making so much smoke—and why doesn’t someone just throw some water on it or something?”
“There must be some magic to it that’s complicating matters. Something about the scent…” Taking a step forward, Whitt inhales sharply, and his stance goes rigid.
“What?” I demand, catching up with him.
He nods toward the stream of smoke with a sickly grimace. “It’s got iron in it. I can feel it prickling in my lungs. We can’t get close enough to try to douse it, and it’ll drain away the power of any spell. How in the lands…?”
His forehead furrows with confusion. I glance around at the other gathered fae again. They all look equally uncomfortable and puzzled, the shouts having dwindled into muttered conversation as they must be discussing how to tackle this strange intrusion.
The obvious answer is right here. “I can put it out,” I say. “The iron isn’t going to hurt me. Get me a bucket of water or whatever you think will do it, and I’ll give it a shot.”
Whitt hesitates. “We don’t know what other effects it might produce, mite. No one could easily get to you to protect you.”
“Then I’ll be careful about it. We can’t leave this thing polluting the air with toxic metals, can we? What else are you going to do?”
His jaw works, but he must know I’m right. If he hadn’t brought me along, calling on human servants to deal with the problem would have been the obvious solution anyway. And I can at least think on my feet better than those in a drugged-up daze.
As he debates, I notice the darkened patch of soot creeping wider. More smoke billows up. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “It’s getting larger. If we wait, I might not be able to put it out either.”
Whitt hisses through his teeth in annoyance, but I know it’s not directed at me. “All right. You’ll go in there carefully and withdraw as quickly as you can. I’m not sure water will do it on its own, though… Give me a moment.”
He raises his voice to reach the other fae around us. “Did anyone see how this started?”
All we get are shaken heads and responses to the negative. One of Donovan’s cadre-chosen comes over to us. “I was one of the first to get here. There was no one around except a couple of the fae from Saplight. By all appearances, it started spontaneously.”
“That hardly seems likely,” Whitt mutters. He narrows his eyes at the burning spot, which has stretched a little farther again in the time he’s been talking, and lets out a growl. “I don’t like this at all.” He touches my shoulder. “Stay right here until I get back.”
He moves to the fringes of the growing crowd and must work some conjuring there, because he returns carrying a thick, sodden blanket. He hands it to me gingerly. “This should be enough to smother and dampen the source of the smoke—it’s the best I can come up with that doesn’t rely on direct magical effects. We can hope it’ll at least cut off the smoke for long enough that we fae can step in and handle anything remaining.”
At my nod, Whitt ushers me to the edge of the inner ring. His hand twitches against my elbow as the metallic smoky scent deepens. He raises his other arm to catch the attention of the assembled fae. “Lady Talia, our human comrade, is going to attempt to smother the burning. Please keep careful watch for any signs of a threat to her while she takes on this task for us.”
Dozens of pairs of eyes fix on me, hopeful murmurs traveling through the crowd.
I limp forward, scanning the area around the burning patch but refusing to hesitate. The spot is still small enough that I should be able to cover the whole thing with one heave of the wet fabric, but it won’t stay that small for long.
The smoke stings my eyes and makes my lungs itch. When I’m just a couple of steps away, a cough erupts out of me. I choke it back as well as I can and heft up the blanket to toss it.
Just as I’m about to fling my arms forward, a tiny shape darts around the burning patch. Even as I register the rat-like shape, it’s shooting up into that of a burly man—a man who’s lunging right at me, needle-like claws jutting from his fingertips.
A yelp jolts from my throat. I drop the blanket, groping for the dagger at my hip, but the Murk fae is already on me. Still ducked down in a rat-like posture, his head slams into my stomach.
We topple over together. His claws rake across my thigh, and pain explodes through my leg. I smack my hands toward him in a reflexive gesture of defense—
—and a sudden burst of light blazes between us.
The fae man topples over and slumps on the ground next to me. I stare at him, my chest heaving for breath, agony searing through my thigh.
He doesn’t move. His half-closed eyes look dull. Is he… dead?
What even happened?
Trembling fingers close around my shoulders. Whitt has made it to me, but the effects of the smoke are already sending tremors through his whole body. He coughs weakly and tries to drag me away, but my gaze jerks back to the smoke.
I haven’t finished what I came here to do. The Murk man tried to stop me, but he failed—that’s all that matters until this is done.
Talia,Corwin says. Talia, are you all right? But I can’t find the concentration to answer him.
“Wait!” I shout over the tumult of voices around us, and push onto my hands and knees to grab the fallen blanket. Clenching my teeth against the pain in my leg, I yank the sodden fabric off the ground, lurch toward the burning patch, and manage to hurl the blanket right over it.
With a sputtering sound, the smoke vanishes, the last billow drifting off toward the sky. The center of the blanket quivers and goes still. All we’re left with is that square of fabric and the dead Murk man in the middle of the ring of Seelie.
Fighting his wheezes, Whitt stumbles to me and manages to scoop me off my feet. As he hauls me farther from the burning spot, we both cough to clear our lungs. Other fae converge on the blanket, on the Murk fae, and on the two of us. My thigh feels as if a fire has caught within it.
I’m okay,I tell Corwin. It’s done. The words seem to waver as they pass through our bond.
They mustn’t be very convincing, because his only response is a surge of protectiveness and a brief declaration. I’m coming to you.
A voice rings out from what sounds like far away to my pain-addled mind. “Lady Talia has saved us again! The Heart worked through her to protect us and fend off the Murk.”
“She’s sacrificed her blood for us once more,” someone else declares from a different direction. “The ravens have been calling her blessed. I think they’re right about that one thing.”
The only word that totally sinks in is blood. I stare down at my leg, recognizing the dark red blotch spreading across the whole front of my dress’s skirt as just that.
So much blood. And the pain is like those claws are digging deeper into me with every second. Maybe I’m not okay after all.
Whitt tears right through the silky cloth up to just below my hip so he can uncover the wound. A snarl escapes him at the sight of my gouged flesh, but only for an instant before he’s murmuring hasty true names.
The pain numbs just a little. There’s too much blood already on me for me to tell whether he’s been able to stop more from seeping out.
“Who here is skilled at healing?” he calls out, a note of desperation in his voice.
I want to tell him I’ll be just fine, that I’ve been scratched up plenty before with the scars to prove it, but I can’t seem to find my voice.
A woman hunches down beside us and hovers her hands over the wound. At her emphatic words, the agony searing through my leg pulls back even more. The claws of pain dwindle into pin-pricks. I glance down, the movement dizzying me, and see the skin sealing into pale pink lines marking my leg from just above my knee to halfway up my thigh.
“Will she be all right?” asks another woman I don’t recognize from behind the healer. She sounds surprisingly concerned for a stranger. I realize a whole horde of fae are standing around us, peering down at me with worried eyes.
“She didn’t bleed for long enough to put her in severe danger,” the healer says. “Thank the Heart.” She touches the side of my face. “And thank the Heart for you, coming here and foiling the Murk’s plot. The cuts were deep, down to the bone. It’ll still hurt for some time as the muscle fully heals. Be gentle with yourself, Lady Talia.”
I think that’s the first time a regular Seelie outside Sylas’s pack has referred to me by my official title. Now… now many of the fae around us are bowing their heads and offering murmurs of consolation and hope with expressions that are oddly familiar.
It’s the same kind of awe I’ve been seeing from the Unseelie after I cure a curse victim.
I don’t feel as if I really did all that much just now. I’m not even sure what I did do, other than get my leg carved up and throw a blanket on the ground, which are hardly awe-worthy acts.
“I—I just wanted to help you all,” I say.
That remark is met with another volley of murmurs—and some exclamations about “the light!” As Whitt helps me up, I rub my forehead.
Right, there was that flash of light when the Murk man attacked me. It almost seemed like it was the light that killed him. If he did die.
My pulse hiccups, and I turn to Whitt. “Is he dead? The Murk?”
Whitt inclines his head, studying me. “They checked him over thoroughly, as you can imagine. The body will be further inspected for any clues to his other intentions or associates and then disposed of. I’ve never seen you use light like that before.”
Because I haven’t. I’m not even sure I did use it now.
I bite my lip, aware of the audience all around us. It might not be a bad thing for the Seelie to start to see me as something more than a convenient tonic ingredient. The more they respect me, the more I can demand they respect the other humans here, just like I’ve started to sway the winter fae. But nothing about this situation sits quite right with me.
I sway on my feet, still a bit dizzy, and Whitt steadies me. “I think I’d better bring Lady Talia home to rest,” he says. “If you discover anything notable about this fire or the ones who caused it, send word to Hearth-by-the-Heart at once.”
The nearest fae offer their agreement, a few of them brushing their fingers over my arm as we pass them. I can’t tell whether they’re trying to offer me comfort or take something from my presence.
When we’ve made it to the edge of the crowd, Whitt scoops me off my feet as August likes to do and sets off up the hill, obviously deciding I’m in no condition to be riding wolves.
“Corwin’s coming to us,” I say, still a little dazed. I can sense my soul-twined mate hurrying across the border. “He’ll meet us up the hill.”
Whitt nods. As he tucks my head against his shoulder, he asks under his breath, “What exactly happened back there, mighty one? I would have gotten him off you if you hadn’t managed it yourself so abruptly. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you soon enough to stop him laying claws on you at all.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” I say, leaning into his embrace. I run through what I can remember of those panicked moments. “I… don’t actually know what happened. I didn’t say any true names. The light just appeared.”
I pause, my uneasiness spreading farther through my chest. “It didn’t feel like it came from me. I didn’t feel anything at all—no energy or power moving through me, the way I do when I’ve used true names before.”
“Hmm.” Whitt’s mouth slants downward. “You know what’s normal for you and what isn’t better than I do, mite. I suppose it’s possible one of my brethren cast a spell to intervene and then didn’t want to distract attention from the heroics you did perform.”
I could believe that, even though I’m not totally sure I do. I worry at my lip. “I thought you said your magic wouldn’t work that close to the iron in the smoke.”
“It shouldn’t have been able to.” He sighs. “I don’t like it. Once you’re someplace safe, I’ll see what else I can find out. At least whatever it was worked in your favor.”
That’s true. Maybe it’s silly to be fretting about the source of the strange light when it might have even saved my life.
I let my body totally relax against Whitt’s, and my gaze wanders over the trees we’re passing between. It catches on a fall of pearly-white hair half-dimmed by the deepening evening shadows.
Celia is coming down the hill along a course several paces away. Even as I notice her, her gaze stops on us. Her lips flatten into a stern line that looks disapproving. Then she moves on, leaving me even more unnerved than I was before.
