Chained Soul by Eva Chase
14
Madoc
Idon’t remember ever noticing grass being quite so soft. Or maybe it only is this close to the massive form that powers all life in the Mists. Either way, the blades cushion my body like a welcome bed at the end of a long day, tickling the back of my neck and my bare forearms. I’m not used to this comfortable warmth either.
But it isn’t the end of a long day, only the very beginning of one—and I’m not sure just how long it’s going to get. I’m lucky that Whitt allowed me this brief reprieve to “collect myself” as he put it, before we set off for the fringes to see if Delta will meet us for the parlay one of Whitt’s scouts was able to arrange after plying her with the gifts I suggested.
The sunlight beams through my closed eyelids with a muted glow. It wavers faintly with the rhythm of the other nearby light source. I’m lying within several paces of the Heart of the Mists, and its energy washes over me, tingling across my skin. I can’t decide whether the sensation is a pleasurable reminder of what could have been or a wrenching reminder of what isn’t. None of that energy seeps right to the center of me where it could help me spark any magic.
It’s just a few feet from here that Talia stood with her Seelie men when they officially claimed her as their mate. I saw only a snippet of the ceremony before I made my preparations to draw her away, and even that snippet was from a distance, perched in my rat form on a partly obscured branch halfway up a tree. The memory rises up all the same of the joy that lit her face.
At the time, that joy only angered me—that she’d throw herself in so completely with the fae who’ve savaged my people so brutally. Having spent a little time in their presence, I can admit that her choice wasn’t totally horrible.
The men she’s taken as mates clearly adore her and are willing to stop at nothing to protect her. It’s only too bad they all seem so convinced they still need to protect her from me. Whitt, with his sharp mind that many of the Murk would admire if it wasn’t in a wolf, has at least offered me enough respect to listen to my input. I guess I should give him a little grudging credit for that, and for not prowling around quite as imposingly as the others while I shared my thoughts.
Of course, a few days ago even I wasn’t completely sure they didn’t need to defend Talia from my mere presence. Who’s to say her association with me won’t still hurt her in ways I can’t predict or control?
Footsteps whisper across the grass from the direction of Hearth-by-the-Heart. I open my eyes and raise my head, expecting to see Whitt or one of his pack-kin coming over to call me to the carriages.
Instead, it’s Talia. The sunlight beams around her vibrant hair like a shimmering halo, and my heart flips over. The images flash through my mind of a dream I had weeks ago, lying in the grass and her sinking over me, baring her body to me.
My cock twitches, and I push myself upright, both confirming that I’m not dreaming now and willing away the imaginary encounter.
“Hey,” she says, stopping a few feet away from me. She looks hesitant, as if even she’s wary of me right now. My throat constricts.
“Felt like another walk?” I ask her.
“I just—I saw you out here. Are you all right? I know going to this woman and seeing through the meeting could put you in a lot of danger.”
Oh. Her hesitation wasn’t concern for herself but for me. I should have known her well enough to realize that.
A pang echoes through my chest. I’m not all right. I’m walking a thin line between saving and betraying my people, I’m still not sure whether I’ve kept to the right side of it so far, and…
And I’m falling for a woman I can never have. My heart aches with the urge to reach up and draw her to me like I did in that dream, to discover the sweetness of her mouth with more than just a fleeting kiss, to press into her until she’s moaning with so much pleasure she can’t contain it.
But I don’t for a second think even the slightest overture I could make would be welcome. She hasn’t mentioned the quick kiss I couldn’t resist giving her on her way out of the Refuge, and definitely hasn’t encouraged another. With her habit of assuming the best of people, she’s probably decided it was a random impulse in a desperate situation that no real meaning should be attributed to.
She’d never betray the men she’s already devoted to. And what exactly could I offer that would tempt her to anyway?
Besides, I wouldn’t want her if she was the kind of woman who’d so easily turn her back on those she loved.
I’m hardly going to tell her any of that, so I manage a smile. “I’ll be taking all kinds of precautions and sticking to the sidelines. None of the Murk involved will have any idea what my part was.” I glance back toward the Heart and get to my feet. “I just wanted to enjoy the atmosphere while I can.”
A smile of her own tugs at the corners of Talia’s lips. “Even you have to admit the scenery here is a little nicer than an abandoned subway tunnel.”
I hum. “Subway tunnels have a lot to recommend about them.” I inhale the scent of the grass in the air and find myself acknowledging, because she’s the only person I can admit it to, “I might be a bit nervous about this parlay. I’ve never done any kind of business with Delta before—and to encourage a collision between the Murk and the Seelie…”
“It won’t be a collision,” Talia says with typical optimistic determination. “It’s the beginning of a larger alliance. The more the Murk see that we’re willing to work with them, and the more the fae of the Mists see that the Murk can keep their word, the easier it’ll be to find some kind of compromise that doesn’t mean attacking each other.”
I think she’s being overly optimistic there. Orion isn’t going down without a fight, and there are plenty of my people who’ll stick with him to the end no matter what. But I suspect Talia’s aware of that too. It’s just her nature to put a positive spin on dire situations.
“I’d very much like to see that,” I say, which is true, and spot several figures beginning to assemble over by Sylas’s castle. “It looks like my reprieve is over. Time to get going.”
I’m trying to ignore the uneasy sinking of my stomach, but maybe it shows through anyway. Talia offers me another smile. “Thank you for doing this—for everything you’ve been doing. I know how hard it must be when you have so many reasons to distrust us. I promise you the fae appreciate your contributions too, even if they’re still being cautious around you.”
She moves forward suddenly, slipping her arms around me in what must have been meant as a hug. But the second her body brushes mine, my stance goes completely rigid, my pulse stuttering. The heat of her, the soft swell of her chest—the fae watching, will they think I compelled her, that I’ll hurt her—?
Talia jerks back as if burned. Her face flushes, and I’m immediately kicking myself for my instinctive defensive reaction.
“Sorry,” she says hastily. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just—I want you to know it’s important to me that you make it back safe too.”
Her apology makes me feel even worse than I already did. I could have gotten to hold her close for just a few seconds, breathing in her scent and knowing she trusts me enough not to be afraid of me. But how awkward would it be to try to re-enact the moment now?
“It’s all right,” I assure her as emphatically as I can. “I wasn’t uncomfortable, just surprised. We Murk aren’t generally much for friendly gestures of affection, so I’m out of practice with the whole hugs thing.”
My dry tone at the end seems to put her at ease, so at least I can keep the possibility of future hugs if she dares to try me again. I’m going to try not to dwell on that potential future too much after we part ways.
Whitt has appeared among the other gathering fae now. He waves to me, and I dip my head to Talia. “I hope you stay well while I’m gone, and that we can come back with good news.”
“So do I,” she says softly. I walk away with more reluctance than is probably healthy, the image of her bright figure lingering behind my eyes.
Whitt beckons me with a grin that’s just shy of friendly. I don’t think he’s totally warmed up to me, but I won some kind of points by being willing to mention this strategy at all.
The fae around him watch me with much more hostile gazes. And there are quite a lot of them too. They’ve conjured five carriages, each big enough to hold at least ten fae.
I go straight to Whitt, ignoring the eyes that follow me with suspicion. “I’m not sure we need such a large delegation for the initial meeting. We look like we’re prepared for battle.”
“We are,” Sylas says, just coming out of the castle. His gaze is still plenty wary when it comes to rest on me, his posture all arch-lordly dominance. “From what I understand, you said yourself that this Murk sorceress may see us as enemies rather than potential allies. We don’t know what kind of force she’ll have at her disposal if she comes. I think it’s best to be prepared for the worst.”
“If you bring them all through, she isn’t likely to stick around at all,” I have to point out.
“We’re going to leave most of them on the other side of the portal with a spell to alert them if they’re needed,” Whitt says with no sign of concern. “It’s only a precaution.”
Like the guards and the magic around the cabin where I’ve spent the last two nights. Like the gazes trained on me no matter where I go in the Seelie’s domains.
Maybe it’s ridiculous of me to think there’s any point in attempting negotiations. If the fae of the Mists can’t see me as a true ally even after the lengths I’ve already gone to for them, what are the chances they’ll fully accept any of the other Murk?
But that’s another matter. What we’re doing today is for Talia most of all. If Delta can dispel Orion’s curse, that’s enough of a victory for me. The rest I can decide later.
Sylas has me join him in his carriage, which includes a few warriors I’m familiar with from my rotating guard detail, and Whitt takes another. I guess they’ve already done all the strategizing they need to. I sink onto my end of the bench and spend most of the journey watching the landscape whip by, the wind ruffling my hair.
What would they think of the vehicles some of my people have been able to conjure? We’ve traveled through this realm many times in them without being spotted, but somehow I think the fae around me would turn up their noses at anything less elegant than their own crafts, no matter how well-constructed.
Sylas doesn’t attempt any conversation, but I can sense him monitoring me and the fae around me. At one point a couple of his warriors mutter something between themselves, and he clears his throat with a sharp look.
Maybe he’s watching us all for my defense as well as theirs. It’s a strange thought, and not enough to let me relax in their presence. I doubt he sees any value in me as more than a tool to help build this potential alliance.
The fog and hunched trees of the fringelands come into view in what feels like no time at all. I tug at the collar of my shirt, the fabric starting to stick to my back with sweat. I definitely prefer the sharp chill of the winter-side fringe area to the sweltering humidity here, especially when this atmosphere brings back distant memories of my childhood and the violence that destroyed my family.
As we disembark, the horde of warriors gathering together, anxiety pinches my gut again. Have I been instrumental in setting up a parlay that could benefit both the Murk and these fae—or have I set the stage for yet another slaughter of my people? I might be insane to trust any of the fae of the seasons.
The man who came out here yesterday with my illusion spell cloaking him wasn’t able to speak to Delta directly. He left the gifts and the request of the parlay, and one of her kin dropped off a reply. For all we know, we’ll step through the portal where we asked her to meet us and find no one there at all. She might have changed her mind about trusting the message or about wanting to associate with the fae of the Mists even if she believes they’re genuine.
Sylas assembles a significant portion of the warriors in a squad stationed around the portal in question, but it looks like we’re still bringing through about twenty with us. My teeth grit against another complaint.
I said my piece. If I keep badgering them about it, for all I know they’ll take that to mean I’ve set them up and decide to bring even more.
“Ready to go through?” Whitt asks me. “Your illusion looks solid to me.”
I spent the last several minutes in the carriage constructing the magic to give a different impression of my appearance. Delta will expect to see a Murk man among the fae of the Mists for this parlay, but I don’t want her or anyone looking on to recognize me. I nod and let my tail lash free from the base of my spine like a signal of my heritage. If any of the wolves around me have a problem with it, let them sneer.
As we pass through the portal one after another, my nerves stay on edge. In the sheltered cove on the other side, which contains a narrow strip of little-touched beach framed by a semi-circle of craggy rock, I step off to the side of the main Seelie force where I’ll be visible but not the main focus of the discussion.
Waves lap at the sand. Salt laces the air from the ocean, stinging my eyes and burning in my throat. It’s no wonder this pathway to the Mists is rarely used, but that also makes it an ideal spot for particularly secretive meetings.
The fae around me grimace and grunt in their discomfort. But they’re disciplined enough to jerk stiffly still, erasing all signs of complaint, at the sight of a woman clambering over the jagged rocks to meet us.
Delta’s face is a deep gold like the sand, burgundy curls falling around it to her narrow shoulders. She picks her way partway down the rocky outcropping with nimble hands and feet. There’s nothing particularly impressive about her clothes, what looks like three tattered dresses of different faded colors layered on top of each other. But I know it’s her from the moment she stops and draws herself up straight, still several paces above the beach. Her presence emanates confidence and power.
More figures pop their heads over the top of the rocks, watching over the ruler of their colony. The Seelie warriors study them, a few hands moving to rest on the hilts of their swords. My body tenses, but they make no further move.
“You wished to speak with me, wolf,” Delta says, crossing her arms. “What could you possibly have to say that might be of interest to me?”
Sylas steps toward her, his head held high. “I think we have a common enemy. I wondered if you’d like the chance to undermine King Orion’s plans.”
“King,” Delta sneers. The stories I’ve heard of her disdain for Orion obviously didn’t lie.
But my attention snags on some of the Seelie near the back of our formation who are easing away from the others, closer to the rocks. They aren’t getting into position to strike at the Murk, are they?
“I understand that’s what he calls himself, at least,” Sylas says with a chuckle, and at the same moment, a few of the warriors I’m watching start moving their mouths with a quiet incantation.
My heart lurches with the sudden certainty that I’ve been wrong—I’ve led this woman and her followers into a trap. With no thought in my head other than interrupting the guards however I need to, I dart around the delegation toward them.
My sudden movement must put the Murk on the alert. As I scramble along the edge of the rocks, dozens more figures leap up on top of the rocks, braced for an attack.
The Seelie warriors whip around, taking in the Murk force that’s abruptly tripled in size, and must conclude that the colony is already launching an attack. With snarls, several snap out spells and draw their swords, others pulling in close around Sylas.
The rest happens so fast I can barely follow it. I’m not sure any of the spells are more than shields, but the Murk shout and start hurling needle-like knives and spells of their own down on the Seelie. Most bounce off the defensive barriers, but a few slice across the warriors’ limbs.
A roar goes up, the Seelie warriors charging toward the rocks, Sylas hollering for order—and Delta springs up the ledges to vanish behind her people in the blink of an eye.
“Wait!” I holler. I clamber up the rocks to try to speak to the Murk from closer by. The next second, they’re flooding down over the rocks to meet the Seelie’s charge. I manage to dodge the ones that rush right by me, one of their blades cutting my cheek open.
In a matter of moments, blades are hissing and voices crying out in pain all around the cove. Sylas calls for the Seelie to retreat through the portal. A few Murk lie bloody on the sand, but the others jeer at the retreating wolf shifters.
I duck low into a crevice. The only way to reach the fae I arrived with is to push through the crowd of Murk who may see me as just as much a threat as they decided the Seelie were. It seems better to stay out of the way entirely. They’re obviously not in any mood to listen to an explanation.
And why should I try to make one? I’m not totally sure what did happen there, whether the Seelie were on the verge of launching an attack and the Murk caught them at it or whether all of us misread the situation.
Do I even want to follow Sylas’s people? What exactly were they up to before everything went to hell? Maybe if I hadn’t made a move at all, there’d be ten times as many Murk corpses sprawled around the cove.
I weave another illusion around me, hiding me from the eyes and noses of Delta’s colony. They linger in the cove for several minutes after the last Seelie has vanished, but they don’t follow the wolf shifters into the Mists.
Finally, Delta’s voice rises in a brisk summons from somewhere beyond my view, followed by a snarky remark about the treachery of wolves. Her people quickly scale the rocks and follow her back to their colony.
I stay where I am, wedged between two rough walls of stone, my stomach knotting. That meeting couldn’t have gone much worse, and I don’t even know who to blame for its failure. The one thing for sure is that the Seelie started throwing around magic and waving their weapons before the Murk had done more than look at them.
Why had I trusted them even enough to attempt to arrange this parlay? I should have known they’d never trust us enough to deal with us fairly.
The only one back there who deserves any consideration from me is Talia.
That thought weighs heavily on me. I want to spit in the Seelie’s faces and turn my back on them, but am I really going to abandon her too, after all the faith she’s shown in me?
I remain crouched among the rocks for over an hour, grappling with myself. Then I squeeze out of the crevice and push on into the jungle terrain beyond, leaving the noxious salt of the ocean behind.
There’s another portal in this area that’s closer to civilization, one that’ll let me travel back to the fringes to the doorway I need without me risking ending up in Sylas’s company again.
If there’s anything I can do for Talia, I can’t manage it back there in the Mists, surrounded by jackasses who hate me for what I am. I have to go back to Orion.
