Chapter 21

The treetops seemed aflame as Adrian and Reid ran from the hall and into the castle yard. They both stopped and Adrian looked up at the sparkling lights.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Faeries,” Reid answered gravely. “They’re watching. The king must be ready.”

They marched toward the path that curved away from the village directly to the shore—the same trail on which Adrian had followed Maisie Lindsey and gained his first glimpse of Wyldonna Castle. Adrian led the way into the shimmering forest. He was still shaking inside from the massacre that had just taken place in the castle hall. His muscles trembled and his arms were splattered with blood. And Glayer Felsteppe had taken Maisie from beneath Adrian’s very hand.

Adrian looked up again at the glowing balls of light in the branches and saw tiny winged creatures, sparkling like gentle stars. Their faces were so small and their glow so hazy that he could not make out their features. He was bolstered by their watchful presence all the same.

“The folk will surely come to her rescue once they see that she is held hostage,” Adrian declared, as if he was trying to convince the giant crashing down the path behind him instead of himself. “The trolls, the elves, the duvenets . . .”

“Nay, Man.”

“She is their queen,” Adrian insisted angrily.

“She left them,” Reid replied.

Adrian stopped and turned on the path, challenging the giant. “She is trying to save the island from war!”

Reid looked down and his expression was sad, resigned. “I know this, Man. But Wyldonna’s ways are not your ways. You do not understand.”

“I understand that this woman has risked her life out of duty and loyalty to an ungrateful lot of entitled bastards who feel as if they’ve the right to control her.”

“I love her, too, Man,” Reid said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve known her since she and the king were babes. And I understand why she left. It is why I remained to serve her. But leaving Wyldonna is seen as a rejection of all that we are—all that Maighread is. The folk will not protect her because she discarded her birthright. Her magic.”

“That is bollocks,” Adrian said with a stab of his finger at the giant. He turned around and began walking again. “And well you know it, Reid.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t recall stating that it wasn’t bollocks.” He crashed brush behind Adrian once more. “What are you going to do, Man, if I may be so bold as to ask of your plan?”

Adrian continued down the path as he considered Reid’s question. Maisie had said she wanted to leave the island with him. Why? Was it because she liked making love with him? Because she was desperate to be away from the island any matter and he was convenient? It wasn’t as if she was accustomed to a normal life on Wyldonna, so the secrecy, the covertness of movement necessitated by the accusations leveled against Adrian and his friends likely wouldn’t faze her at all. Even being cloistered at Melk would probably seem a great freedom to her.

For all Adrian knew, Maisie only wanted someone to help her once more attempt to get her bearings in the Outland, be her crutch until she had settled herself somewhere in an inconspicuous life, and then she would likely set him free. She’d offered to help him apprehend Felsteppe—perhaps as payment for him assisting her in being away from Wyldonna?

But Adrian couldn’t fulfill that request. He didn’t want payment for taking Maisie away with him. He didn’t want to feel as if they were doing each other favors any longer, making good on promises just until each of them achieved the ends to which they set out. He didn’t only want her body, her strange magic. He wanted her. All of her.

Adrian had been resigned to the idea that he would die in Saladin’s prison. And yet, somehow, he had lived. Perhaps he had been given strength by a God as yet unknown, unfounded, unexplored by him. Regardless of the how of it, he had lived to become entangled with the three other men who made up the Brotherhood of the Fallen Angels Abbey. Yes, it was appropriate that they should be called brothers. Roman had freed them, carried Adrian’s body; Valentine had shown him great compassion and produced the means of asylum for them all; Constantine had led them, had encouraged Adrian to live, even as he was being thrust into his own black hell.

Had Adrian not sacrificed himself to come here for Constantine, for Roman, even for Valentine and his new bride, even if it had at first been under the guise of saving face? He’d had no idea he would place himself in such danger by accepting this unbelievable mission, but even if he’d known, he would have come if it meant sparing his friends.

Indeed, it had been nothing short of a miraculous chain of events that had allowed Maisie Lindsey to find him, Adrian, the only man who had been able to solve her riddle. The Painted Man, whose coming had been foretold centuries before either of them had been born. He had come to Wyldonna full of his own foolish pride, only to be frustrated and stupefied and shocked by how much he simply did not know. Things Adrian had yet to discover and study. Things such as giant men, talking cats, children with pointed ears.

And love.

Beware the Painted Man, my child,
Who trades the death of the Queen.

Maisie Lindsey had taught him that love wasn’t always reciprocated. Loving someone—a brother, a people, a ruler, a place—did not guarantee that your feelings would be nurtured or returned. Indeed, sometimes love meant doing what you must, what you were born to do, even knowing that you would be hated for it.

Adrian thought it was perhaps the most important lesson he’d ever learned.

Glayer Felsteppe’s great scheme was failing. He was not yet finished, but Adrian could not let his brothers’ location be discovered until the men were ready to mount an offense against him with the knowledge Adrian now held.

Which meant he needed to solicit Malcolm Lindsey’s help.

“I suppose I am boarding a ship,” he said to Reid at last. “I’ll need to speak with the king first.”

“He shall be there, Man. On that you can depend,” Reid said, and then both men were quiet as they came out of the wood and onto the wide rocky slope leading down to the shore.

The scene ahead was alive with flickering light, from the tall torches stuck into rock and the little flares bobbing on the ships waiting menacingly in the harbor, as well as the flitting glow of the faerie light about the fringe of the wood. Besides Maisie’s crawler, left abandoned and listing on the sand where they’d landed near the wooden pier, only one ship had been brought to the dock itself, and Adrian squinted to try to make out the figures on the deck far below.

Somewhere there was his enemy.

Somewhere there was his love.

The mist, the gray fog was gone, and above the inky, flashing sea, the sky was velvet, pricked with bright starlight, even as the horizon was highlighted by a startling line of light. Adrian could not recall seeing the deep heavens so displayed, and he wondered how close the equinox was, and if its arrival would be heralded by some further strange phenomena.

On the beach itself, the skeletal arms of the trebuchets stood in stark contrast to the plush blanket of sky. An army of marvelously bizarre beings milled about the engines, and along the rocky cliff of the island a solid line of elves crouched, their bows at the ready. A small figure, like that of a young boy, waved at Adrian.

Edel, Adrian thought. The boy who also longed to one day escape from his magic home.

Then his attention was directed toward the bearded leader of Wyldonna, who was marching up the slope toward him, his brows drawn together.

“He’s taken Maisie aboard the ship,” Malcolm announced before he’d even reached Adrian.

“I know. I’m going after her now,” Adrian assured him.

Malcolm stopped before him, his hands on his hips, his beard bending in the breeze. The fact hung in the air between them, and neither wished to speak of it.

Adrian going aboard Glayer Felsteppe’s ship would likely mean his death.

And so Adrian gave the king a half smile. “It’s what I’m meant to do—said so clearly in your book. You really should do something about the pathetic state of that cupboard you refer to as a library.”

Malcolm shook his head and huffed a low laugh. And then he reached for Adrian and drew him into an embrace.

“You will be saving the whole of the world, lad,” he choked. Adrian didn’t care about the whole of the world; he was only saving Maisie. His throat felt thick and so he pulled away from the king. “I need you to do something for me.”

 

Maisie feared never reaching the beach alive.

Glayer Felsteppe held the blade to her throat as he attempted to maneuver them both down the dark steep path through the wood. The unfamiliar terrain caused him to stumble several times, nicking Maisie’s skin, crushing her feet and ankles beneath his heavy boots. She’d fallen a dozen times because he had trod on her, and each time he cursed her, jerked her to her bruised feet, shook her, threatened her.

The faeries were about, always such curious creatures. Some of the more daring ones swooped down from the trees to hover above Maisie’s face or around the soldiers, who cried out and swatted at the little glowing wings.

One faerie hung in the darkness just over Maisie’s nose, illuminating her face. Tiny green eyes sparkled and looked at her curiously, the heart-shaped face tilting from side to side.

“Help me,” Maisie mouthed. “Please.”

The faerie flipped and then swooped away like a swallow.

“What be they?” one soldier demanded in a panicked voice.

“Naught but insects,” Felsteppe assured him brusquely as he pushed Maisie down the path. “Pay them no heed. They can’t harm you.”

She heard a tiny, nearly inaudible crunch and then the shriek of a grown man.

“It bit me! It bit me face! I’m bleedin’!”

“Shut up!” Felsteppe commanded, but he must have been troubled by his soldier’s injury for he pushed even faster, kicking Maisie’s bruised ankles.

“I’ll cause you nae trouble should we board your ship and cast off immediately. You have my word,” Maisie said, her words jarred by the descent and strangled through her raw throat. “You doona need Adrian Hailsworth.”

“Your concern for him is touching,” Felsteppe sneered breathlessly near her ear. “I was wise enough to notice the way you cared for each other in the hall. It should please you, then, that I fully intend on leaving the island with you both. It shall be most beneficial to my agenda to torture one against the other until I have the information I seek. So, you see, I most certainly do need him.”

“Adrian will never tell you anything, you cowardly pig,” she gasped. “And neither will I.”

“We shall see,” was all Felsteppe said, and Maisie was dismayed to hear the wicked smile in his voice.

What wouldn’t she do or tell or reveal to save Adrian from further suffering? Her blood ran cold when she could not answer her own question.

Felsteppe could not be allowed to leave the island with both of them.

Indeed, if Glayer Felsteppe was lucky enough to depart Wyldonna at all, Maisie determined then and there that neither she nor Adrian would be accompanying the bastard.

They came upon the rocky slope above the beach then, and from the corner of her eye, Maisie could see the tall wooden constructs Malcolm had kept secreted away from her in the mountain. The island folk crowded together on either side of the path she traversed in Felsteppe’s clutches. As she was pushed through the living corridor, the folk bowed.

“My queen.”

“My . . .”

“. . . queen.”

“My queen.”

Hundreds of voices acknowledged her as she was forced toward the dock, but not one hand was raised to stop Felsteppe.

After all, Wyldonna’s folk obeyed the laws of the island.

Maisie squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that swelled there. When she opened them, she saw the pointed bow of her crawler jutting up from the sand before the dock at a sharp angle. She knew it was resting upon a long, half-buried rock that infringed upon the path just enough.

Turning her foot inward beneath her already bruised ankle caused an authentic cry of pain from her and she stumbled to the left, feeling Felsteppe’s blade slice just under her chin, where it sent forth a warm rivulet of blood down her throat. But he lost his grip on her hair as he flung out both arms to break his fall, stumbling over Maisie’s body and then the rock as her own hands reached out to catch herself on the bow of the crawler.

She hung there for precious seconds while Felsteppe struggled and cursed her just at her back, and as his fist twisted into her locks again, she lifted the fingers of her right hand and tapped the smooth pale wood twice. She felt the vessel tremble as he lifted her away from the crawler and to her feet once more. Maisie screamed and instinctively brought her hands to her scalp.

“Keep your feet beneath you, you clumsy bitch,” he hissed in her ear with a vicious shake, his dagger point once more dimpling her skin beneath her chin. And then their footsteps echoed on the wood of the pier.

He shoved her up the gangway, and as they came to the deck of Felsteppe’s ship, Maisie could just see the pale line of dawn drawing a horizon between sea and sky. The sun would rise very soon—in moments, perhaps—and although Maisie had desperate hope that the dawn would bring with it the help Wyldonna needed, she knew she had no choice in what she planned to do.

Wyldonna must stand or fall on its own now.

“Take up the plank,” Felsteppe commanded his crew. “Send over a rope instead. Hailsworth shall not bring any companions with him, nor shall he have a ready means of retreat once he is aboard. Untether all but the minimum of lashings. We will need to be away with the dawn.”

Then he placed a hand between Maisie’s shoulder blades and shoved, sending her to her hands on the deck.

“Stay down,” he commanded unnecessarily, placing his booted foot on the back of her neck. “Rope! Bring rope!”

“We had an intruder while you were ashore, General,” one of the soldiers muttered low behind Maisie’s head as her hands and feet were bound together. “Tried to free the freak.”

“What?” Felsteppe hissed. “Where is he?”

“There.” A pause. “We resolved it. None on the shore were aware.”

“Good.” Felsteppe’s hands returned to her hair, pulling her awkwardly to sway on her feet. “Don’t move,” he said solemnly, and then a grin broke over his ugly countenance at his own humor.

It was then that Maisie saw the large heaps of fur against the railing of the ship. Two beasts, it seemed, were curled together motionless on the deck. One had the size and deep brown pelt of a bear, its fur dark and matted in its side, where a wash of blood had flowed. The other claimed the bristly, spotted coat of a hyena, its neck bulging above and below a metal collar. The hyena’s tongue lolled from its open mouth, fat and purple, its eyes dull and staring. The bear’s muzzle was hidden beneath one of the hyena’s forelegs, buried under its elbow as if in fear.

“Jagger,” Maisie whispered. Then she looked to the beach, where the long arms of the wooden machines were being pulled back to the sand and carts of rock were being wheeled nearby. And in the midst of the commotion, Maisie saw Adrian walking toward the dock, Reid and Malcolm to either side of him.

Perhaps she could stop him now. Maisie drew a deep breath.

“Jagger and Ossal are dead!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “Felsteppe’s men have kill—”

The blow to the side of her face silenced her words, but as Maisie blinked to clear her vision, she thought she saw several faces turn toward her. She looked back to Adrian; he had reached the dock now, leaving Reid and Malcolm behind on the beach, where a dwarf was speaking to the king and pointing to the ship.

The deck was growing lighter, and a glance behind her confirmed to Maisie that dawn was only moments away. She looked over her other shoulder and saw Felsteppe’s ships in the harbor.

She must do this correctly. There was no room for rash mistakes.

“Six of you, at the ready for when he emerges over the rail,” Felsteppe ordered the men nearest him. “Go, go! Have a care that you don’t get too close; he has honed his skills since the time I knew him. Six of you, yes, good—weapons drawn. Once he is aboard, stand between him and the railing. Four more of you now; bring the chains and a manacle.”

Then Felsteppe leaned over the railing. “Stop right there, Hailsworth. Let’s have a turn-around so that I can be assured you carry no weapons. All right, up the rope.”

“I want to see that Maighread still lives,” Adrian shouted up.

“Oh, fine,” Felsteppe huffed. He marched to her and seized her arms, dragging her along the splintery deck until her head was over the railing. “There you are. Happy?”

“I’m here—let her go,” Adrian said.

“The deal was you must first be aboard the ship,” Felsteppe reiterated angrily, shoving her behind him. “Now do get on with it lest you wish for me to cast off with her!”

Felsteppe was apparently satisfied with what he saw on the side of the ship, for he rejoined Maisie with a sly smile. He straightened his tunic, brushed at a blood splatter, its failure to disappear bringing a slight frown. Then he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath and glanced at Maisie.

“Wonderfully exciting, isn’t it?” he offered.

She only stared at him, feeling the swelling in her face, the shooting pains in her ankles and feet, the throbbing of her hands where they were bound, her sore scalp where the patches of missing hair seemed to crawl and sting.

“No?” he said with a pout. “Ah, well . . . perhaps you will be a bit more lively when I set you afire once we are out to sea. That’s what is done with witches, you know. I’m not certain who will talk first, but I’d wager one of you will.”

Then he directed a broad smile toward the bow of the ship as Adrian’s head appeared over the railing. “Ah, the guest of honor. Welcome aboard, Hailsworth.”

Adrian set his boots on the deck and straightened, his path of escape cut off by the crowd of soldiers that moved immediately behind him, urging him forward with their swordpoints.

“Release her,” he said, but his eyes would not meet Maisie’s as the first rays of true dawn moved over his face, turning his skin to beautiful gold.

The equinox had come.

Maisie’s head whipped around to look over her shoulder again, almost in the same moment that one of Felsteppe’s soldiers called out in a worried voice.

“Ah, General? Were you expecting reinforcements?”

Out of the dawn light, the prows of no fewer than six ships appeared through the sparkling mist, coursing through the waves and separating Felsteppe’s mercenary vessels from one another. And the decks of the arriving ships were full of eager beings pressed to the railings facing Wyldonna—impossibly tall men, marvelously small ones, beasts with hair and cloven hooves, women with long gossamer wings. Common-looking folk, too, mingled with the magical, both men and women, their gifts unseen, and yet Maisie knew that each being upon the ships carried a piece of Wyldonna in their hearts.

And all of them were armed. A shaking smile broke over Maisie’s face and tears spilled down her cheeks at the poignant sight of the ships.

The piece bloods, the deserters—even the exiles—had come home to Wyldonna at last.

Felsteppe’s next hurried commands caused Maisie to whip her head back around.

“Cast off! Cast off!” he shouted. “Secure Hailsworth!”

Adrian rushed forward and was seized by no fewer than four men, who hung on his arms and shoulders, struggling to attach chains.

“Let her go, Felsteppe! You swore you would let her go!”

“Sorry.” Felsteppe arched one red brow. “I lied.”

The time was now, Maisie realized.

“Adrian! Adrian!” she called to him, gaining his attention at last. His dark brows furrowed as his eyes took in her assuredly dreadful appearance.

“It’s all right! It’s going to be all right now!” She tried to smile at him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the first of the piece-blood ships drawing alongside Felsteppe’s, and a familiar-looking blond man climbed upon the railing to somehow balance there on his feet, his arm raised high in the air toward the shore.

“Hamish!” a young voice echoed down from the cliff.

Hamish waved his arm in a wide arc. “Edel, me brother! I’ve come for ye!” And then he turned toward the ship on which Maisie stood. He saw her and bowed. “My queen.”

All the figures on the deck behind the blond man echoed both his gesture and his sentiment. Beyond the craggy slopes of Wyldonna, the castle glowed blue and gold in the dawn.

Maisie drew a deep breath and blinked at the tears in her eyes, letting them flow freely. This was to be her finest moment as queen, as a woman. The occasion deserved her full depth of emotion.

She spoke as loudly and clearly as she could.