Chained Soul by Eva Chase
3
Talia
Ihadn’t thought my mates could get more protective than they already were. It turns out I was wrong.
“You really didn’t need to do this,” I tell August as he sets a tray with a full, extravagant lunch on my lap where I’m sitting up in bed. “I’m already feeling better. I could have walked down to the dining room no problem.”
August tucks himself next to me against the pillows propped along the headboard and kisses the side of my forehead. “But it was even easier for me to bring the food up to you. There’s no reason you shouldn’t get to relax.”
I’m a little afraid he’s going to start trying to spoon-feed me next. I grab the spoon before he can attempt to and dig it into the thick stew, which gives off a meaty smell laced with cinnamon and cloves. It makes my mouth water even though my stomach is still a bit queasy.
The little chunks of meat and vegetables practically melt in my mouth. I close my eyes, enjoying the flavor, but then open them again to give August a pointed look. “It’s very sweet of you, but I don’t think it’ll be good for me if I do nothing except lie in bed for the next nine months.”
“I know.” He nuzzles my hair and slips his hand across my waist to give my belly a gentle stroke. “But you’re only just getting used to the physical changes. You can give yourself a break and let me look after you for a little while.”
I’m so early on that there’s no outward sign of the life that’s growing inside me. It’s definitely had an impact internally. For the past few days, waves of fatigue have continued to hit me at random moments, and I’ve been sleeping more than usual in general. The nausea comes and goes. It’s never gotten too bad, other than yesterday when the smell of frying eggs had me running out of the kitchen on the verge of vomiting.
I’m pretty sure August has since scoured every trace of egg from the entire castle.
But even in my frequently tired state, there’s a giddy energy to my spirits. I haven’t given much thought to having children with my mates before, other than avoiding it happening by abstaining when I’m fertile. There’s been so much going on in our lives that’s put all of us in danger, it’s hardly seemed like the right time to consider starting a larger family. Now that it’s happened, though, a smile immediately springs to my mouth every time I imagine bringing a baby into the world that’s partly me and partly one of my men.
I was with all four of them during our urgent interlude right after I escaped the Murk. There’ll be no way of knowing which is the father until the baby’s born, although my mates have said they might be able to tell whether it’ll be Seelie or Unseelie by my scent as it grows. None of them seems particularly bothered by the fact that the child might not be genetically theirs. I can already tell that whoever this baby owes its heritage to most closely, it’ll have not one but four devoted fathers watching over it.
Just like I have all four of those men watching over me right now.
As I cuddle next to August’s brawny frame and get on with devouring the stew as well as the buttered roll, sugared berries, and lemon tart he’s brought me, Sylas strides into the room. A soft gleam comes into his mismatched eyes as soon as they settle on me, sparking a flutter of warmth in my chest. The Seelie lord has always been kind to me, and I’ve never doubted how much he loves me from the first moment he told me he did, but there’s a new quality to his affection that gives me an even cozier sensation.
Is it like this in human families too? I was only four years old when Jamie was born, so I don’t have any clear memories of how Dad might have treated Mom differently when she was pregnant. And maybe it’d be different with a first child compared to the second.
The fae don’t have children easily. I know it’s particularly special to them to have one on the way, more than I can fully understand even with the direct access I have to Corwin’s joyful reactions.
Sylas comes over and leans past August to give me a quick kiss. “You’re well?” he asks as he draws back.
“I’d have a hard time not being well with all the coddling I’m getting,” I say, raising my eyebrows.
He chuckles, but a hint of a shadow crosses his expression. “Have you felt anything unusual at all—different today from the other days?”
I shake my head, frowning. “No, not that I’ve noticed. Why?”
Sylas exhales with relief, and his smile returns. “One of our patrols caught a Murk spy last night. She’d made it past the fringelands—we’re not sure exactly how long she’s been lurking around. They managed to subdue her and have brought her to Hearth-by-the-Heart for questioning, but so far we haven’t gotten anything out of her. I just wanted to be sure, knowing one of them has been on the loose within the Mists.”
A twinge of my own protectiveness runs through my gut, and my hand moves to my belly automatically. I was ready to do whatever I could to stop the war and defend the place I call home as it was, but now—now I feel like I could knock aside trees and blast down walls if that’s what it takes to make sure the new life inside me stays safe.
From here on, it’s not just about my mates and the rest of the fae. We’re growing our family. I can’t let this war touch that.
Sylas catches my defensive response. “We aren’t holding the woman anywhere near this castle—or Hearth-by-the-Heart’s castle either. She’ll be kept at a careful distance from the entire pack and especially you.”
“Okay.” I let out my breath, but my appetite has faded. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, both being glad that Sylas’s warriors held themselves back from outright slaughtering the Murk woman on sight and unnerved by the thought of her existing anywhere near me. “Are you sure she’s working with Orion?”
Sylas nods. “She’s made no attempt to deny it, and she was using the same sorts of illusion spells we’ve seen from the others.”
The illusion spells Madoc might very well have taught them, or at least helped perfect their strategies for. My stomach twists a little more. “I’ll let you know if anything changes, but I really am totally fine right now.”
“Then I’ll leave you to your meal.” The Seelie arch-lord gives me one last tender glance and heads out.
I eat a little more of the stew and some berries, but I find I’m too unsettled now to gulp down the entire feast. Thankfully, August doesn’t take offense.
“The tart will be just as enjoyable later on if you want it then,” he says, leaving its small plate on the side table. “And let me know as soon as you’re at all hungry again.”
I’d ask him if next he’s going to set up a bell so I can ring for him, but I suspect he might actually do that if I gave him the idea. I stretch my arms over my head and wiggle my legs beneath the covers. “I think I’ve done enough resting. You can’t argue with me getting some fresh air, can you?”
“You do whatever makes you happy, Sweetness,” August says. “Just don’t leave the castle unless you’ve got company.”
“I know, I know.” I don’t actually mind that precaution, considering I have been kidnapped from under my mates’ noses once.
August bustles out to return the dishes to the kitchen. I’m just sliding off the bed when Corwin’s and Whitt’s voices reach me from the hall outside. Corwin has been keeping a wall partly raised against our connection so I’m not bombarded with impressions from his often stressful preparations for war, but a flicker of his apprehension touches me now as their words become clearer.
“—don’t think this is the best time for that kind of experiment,” he’s saying.
“It’s the perfect time,” Whitt retorts. “Anything we can do to improve our chances, we have to jump on as quickly as possible. It isn’t as if it’ll hurt her.” He sounds offended that Corwin would even imply that anything he’d suggest might harm me.
“Even involving her in any of this…” Corwin trails off as they come up on the doorway. They both come in with an air that’s both tense and vaguely sheepish, as if they’re embarrassed to realize I must have heard them arguing.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “What am I maybe getting involved in?”
Corwin catches my eye with a tendril of fondness mixed with resignation. He knows that I’m not going to back away from the opportunity to help, no matter how much he’d like to shield me from the harsher parts of the conflict.
Whitt gives me one of his typical crooked grins, but the good humor in it doesn’t quite reach his ocean-blue eyes. No matter what he said to Corwin, he’s hesitant about asking anything of me too.
“I had an idea,” he says. “A way we might be able to more easily track down the Murk or be alerted if they come into the Mists.”
I perk up immediately. Searching for Murk presence by scanning for traces of their magic hasn’t been easy—the fact that the woman Sylas’s patrol caught made it out of the fringelands can attest to that. Finding their colonies in the human world has been even harder. If we had a way to locate Orion and his Refuge, deal with him directly… that would end the war right there, wouldn’t it?
“That’s wonderful,” I say. “What’s the idea?”
Whitt and Corwin exchange a glance. Whitt goes on, his voice softening. “I got the idea after Corwin noticed your… current state the other day.” His eyes twinkle at the mention of my pregnancy. “We can scent the new life energy forming inside you through its presence in your blood. But that isn’t the only energy you have running through you. The Murk king used a lot of magic to shape you, to make it so that your blood and tears could heal our curse and your soul could bind with Corwin’s.”
I resist the urge to hug myself at the reminder. “I know. How does that fit in to your plan, though?”
“Like can call to like. I suspect that with a tiny sample of your blood—or perhaps even something as small as a bit of skin or hair—we could create a tracking spell by having the Murk influence in your blood reach out to any of the rats present within the spell’s range.”
The thought that my body contains so much Murk “influence” that a spell like that would work makes my skin crawl. But I can understand what Whitt’s saying. And it wouldn’t hurt me at all. Corwin was only trying to spare me the pressure of thinking about it.
I might be more tired than usual, but I’m not going to fall apart, I say to him gently through our bond. I still want to contribute everything I can.
Of course you do. I just—
A wordless surge of emotion passes to me, but I know him well enough to understand his uneasiness. He thought he was going to have a child once before, only to discover the woman he’d been with was lying to him. He has no fears that I’ve deceived him in any way, but as far as I know, he’s the only one of my mates who’s previously had the possibility of a child and then lost it. Even when he’s aware the baby might not be his, genetically speaking, it makes sense that he’d have the most trouble reining in his protective impulses.
It’s okay, I say, sending him the impression of an embrace. Just remember that I’ll feel worse if I’m left in the dark or if something bad happens that I could have helped prevent but didn’t get the chance to.
As he inclines his head with an apologetic grimace, I focus back on Whitt. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t at least try it. What do you need from me right now?”
“We have the means for an easy test,” the strategist says. “I believe Sylas told you about the Murk woman we captured? She’s being held on the outskirts of the domain. With a drop of your blood, I can cast the spell and we can see if it’ll lead us to her.”
That sounds simple enough. I hold out my hand, and Whitt takes it, dipping his head to brush a kiss to my knuckles in thank you.
He produces a small glass disc from his pocket and murmurs a quick word to split the skin of my forefinger. The second a drop of blood wells up, he presses it to the middle of the disc. Then he closes the tiny cut with another intoned true name. I barely feel the slight sting before it’s over.
“All right.” Whitt studies the blotch of blood on the disc with obvious concentration. Gathering himself, he closes his eyes and mutters several more syllables under his breath that are beyond my comprehension. When he looks at me again, his expression has lit with hope. “I obviously haven’t had the opportunity to try the spell out yet, but I think that should work.”
I guess he’s been working on the idea for the past few days, not wanting to disturb me with the request until he had an easy way to perform a trial run. Now that the trial is underway, an unexpectedly eager sense of anticipation shivers through me.
When my mates turn toward the door, I move to pull on my boots, the brace fitting snuggly around my warped foot. “I want to come with you—I want to see if it works.”
Corwin stiffens. “We can’t be sure the rat won’t attack you if she gets you in her sights.”
I give him a baleful look. “Haven’t Sylas’s warriors restrained her better than that? If she could attack anyone, I have to think she’d be doing it already.”
Whitt rubs his mouth, his gaze flicking from me to the disc and back. “I can’t say I love the idea of you getting all that close to her, but I don’t see how it’d hurt for you to come at least far enough to be sure the spell is effective. The two of us will be there to defend you if need be.”
We both look at Corwin, who sighs and grazes his fingers over my cheek. “If you must, my soul. I suppose I should know better than to try to rein you in.”
“I’m just barely starting to be pregnant, not a total invalid,” I remind him, and peer at the ruddy blotch. “Is it supposed to do anything?”
A smile curls Whitt’s lips. “It already is. Look there.” He points to the edge of the smear. It’s vaguely circular and fairly even all around—but that one edge protrudes just a little farther. As I watch closely, it creeps a tiny bit more toward the edge of the disc.
Even after all the fae magic I’ve seen before, it’s kind of amazing. A little laugh spills out of me. “Wow. Is that the right direction?”
“I don’t actually know,” Whitt says with obvious amusement. “I asked Sylas not to tell me where they set up the holding cell so that I’d be able to run this experiment if you agreed. If I know where we’re supposed to be heading, I might accidentally steer the spell. Why don’t we go find out?”
The three of us hurry through the castle, our pace only slowed by my limp. Once we’ve come out the front door, Whitt studies the disc again and motions to the right, toward the field that leads to the northern forests.
As we walk on, I take peeks at the bloody blotch. The edge that protruded before is pointing even more obviously in the direction we’re going. Whitt tests it by turning the disc in his hand, and the original bulge contracts while another forms, aimed at the path we were already following.
In the shadows between the trees, Corwin’s apprehension wavers from him into me through our bond. He eyes the terrain in front of us pensively. “I’ll go ahead,” he suggests. “If the holding cell is over here, I’ll confirm and meet you a safe distance away.”
Whitt waves him away, and Corwin springs into the air in his raven form. He flies off through the woods.
The spymaster contemplates the disc and adjusts our path just a smidge to the left. “It can’t be too much farther. Sylas said he was keeping her within the boundaries of the domain. How’s your foot?”
I’m not limping any worse than normal, but I guess the question is part of the increased attentiveness I can expect from now on. “The same as usual,” I say. “Don’t you start worrying about me too. If I need help, I’ll say so.”
Whitt shoots me a slyly affectionate glance. “I know how stoic you like to be. It can’t hurt to check.”
We tramp farther through the brush, following a trail few people have traveled before, judging by the natural debris that’s scattered across the forest floor there. Twigs crackle under our feet, and bushes tug at our clothes. The ground veers downward as we reach the slope of the hill.
We’ve been walking a few minutes longer when Corwin appears in a spot of sunlight up ahead. His expression is still tensed, but there’s a hint of satisfaction in the set of his lips. “Your trick worked. They’re holding her just at the base of the hill—if you kept going this way, you’d run right into her.”
We have a solid way of tracking down the Murk. Whitt and I exchange a grin, and then Whitt strides ahead. “I’d like to see how it responds when I’m closer.”
When I move to follow him, Corwin steps to intercept me. “I think you’d better not— As restrained as she is, it wouldn’t be pleasant for you.”
I’m about to protest when a ragged voice filters through the trees from farther down the hill. “You’re all cunts and bastards. I look forward to seeing the bunch of you filleted and dumped in a pit.”
I wince, drawing up short. The fury in the Murk woman’s tone doesn’t leave any room for talk of negotiation. I can’t imagine how anyone could even raise the subject with her.
She only wants to hurt us… like so many of the fae who follow Orion still do. What if Madoc is a rare exception?
But at the same time I can’t help wondering just what she went through to fuel her hatred toward the fae of the seasons.
I doubt she’d tell me if I asked. And seeing me might incite her anger even more.
I hesitate and then reach to take Corwin’s hand. “Let’s go back to the palace.”
And hope that the war won’t end up following us there no matter what we do.
