Chapter Five

Verve forced a small nod and wiped at her nose, her ears ringing. Whatever Fenn said to her, she couldn’t be certain. All her focus was on the door behind her.

Without having to look, she knew Tilda was in the room they had left her in, legs hanging off the edge of her bed and a troubled look on her face. In Verve’s mind’s eye, the she-fae rose and began to pack her bag.

I need to make a gateway to Dacre’s estate, Verve thought as Fenn squeezed her hand and spoke some reassuring words that meant nothing to her. The trees are too afraid of me. I need help. She nodded absently while Fenn returned to his work on the shelves, directing one last longing and regret-filled look at his back. She turned and moved as quickly as she dared to her room.

There was no cloak, only shoes to be worn. Verve hastily tugged them on before running down to the kitchen. In a cupboard she found some bread rolls and dried meat, which she bundled up in a napkin and carried at top speed up to the barrier Fenn had created between her and Tilda. She needed to move fast; Fenn’s cousin was at the front door even now.

Verve took a deep breath and tested the magical boundary. It had reacted when Tilda had sent over a piece of paper, but would it alert Fenn if she stepped through? Knowing nothing about how complicated spells like that worked and having no time to study up on it, she knew there was only one thing to be done. She sucked in a deep breath and charged through the barrier, which tickled and pulled at her but did nothing else to stop her. Verve did not remain long enough to see if Fenn had been alerted.

Tilda had left the house and was nearing the gate.

“Wait,” Verve whispered.

The she-fae did not pause or turn as she disappeared through the gate.

Frowning, Verve pushed herself to her greatest speed, rushing through the gate so quickly it rattled. “Tilda, wait!” She looked around her, but the woman was nowhere to be seen using normal sight. Verve was about to use her magic when she heard someone clear their throat from behind her. Hairs standing on end, Verve spun around and automatically erected a shield around herself, something she had only rarely done on instinct.

Tilda’s teeth were bared, but only for a moment. Soon she wore a look of surprise. “Does Fenn know you’ve left the estate and its protections?” Tilda readjusted her bag over her shoulder.

Verve fancied she could see fear radiating off Tilda, but as soon as she had read the emotion, it vanished. “There’s no time. I need you to help me make a gateway to somewhere.”

Tilda’s eyebrows shot up. “You can surely manage yourself.” She stepped around Verve, who followed on her heels. “Listen, my cousin will be more than cross with me if I go against his wishes. Goodbye.”

“I’m my own person,” Verve snapped. “My wishes matter as well.”

“Then make a gateway yourself and go your own separate way from Fenn. But be warned: he will come after you. He can’t help it.” She threw a smirk over her shoulder and picked up her pace.

After drawing in a deep breath, Verve said, “The trees are afraid of me.”

Tilda paused, listening apparently with some interest. She said nothing.

Verve continued. “They retreat deep within themselves and sort of – I don’t know, play dead unless I threaten them. And I’ve been told you don’t want to make enemies of trees, so I could really use your help, Tilda. Please.” The moment that passed as Tilda turned, her expression thoughtful, seemed to last forever. Every noise in the distance could be Fenn searching the house for her, storming through the gate, coming to drag her back.

Finally, Tilda sighed and nodded. “All right. But we’d better hurry.” She beckoned Verve to follow her, and took off at a quick walk. It didn’t take them long to find a hawthorn, and when they did, Tilda startled Verve by producing a knife, slicing her hand, and then stabbing the tree.

“Why did you do that?”

The she-fae smirked. “Where do you want to go? The hawthorn here is waiting.”

It took a split second for the shock to wear off, but Verve swallowed and quickly said, “Dacre Starside’s summer estate.”

If Tilda was surprised by this answer, she did not let on, but turned to the tree, which wasted no time or words before forming a gateway that led into the woods on Dacre’s land. She gestured for Verve to go ahead of her, and it took all of Verve’s will not to change her mind.

The last time Verve had been on this land, Dacre had attempted to transform her into the Fire Queen…by drowning her. Without a backward glance, she screwed her courage to the sticking place and stepped into a land shrouded in mist and silence. Just as Tilda closed the gateway, Verve could hear Fenn in the background, shouting her name. A brief twinge of guilt made her want to return, but she knew no good would come of that. She would find the book, get her powers under control, and maybe even break her curse, all in time for late afternoon tea. To her confusion, Tilda had followed her through.

When she saw Verve looking, she shrugged. “I cannot remain with Fenn. He’d hound me until I told him where I sent you. And seeing as I have nowhere pressing to be, I think I’ll follow you for a while.”

Verve raised her brows. “Oh?”

Tilda smirked. “That and I want to keep you out of trouble. If I ever want Fenn to speak to me again, I had better make certain you return to him whole.” She made to move around Verve toward the house – wherever it might be in all the mirk surrounding them – but Verve stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder, careful not to make skin contact. Tilda cringed but did not shake off her grip. “What? I know where the house is and can feel my way through trees and bracken.”

“We need to be quiet. Someone’s at the house.”

The two women looked at each other. “Of course there is. This is his summer home.”

“Was his home, you mean,” said Verve with some self-loathing and yet some self-satisfaction at the same time. “There are three heartbeats. Do you hear any more?”

A small choking noise came from Tilda, and now she did move a-ways away from Verve. “You can hear and discern that all the way from here? We’re six miles from the house.” The look she gave Verve was beyond terrified. “Just how powerful are you?”

Verve scoffed. “Fenn can probably hear more than I can.”

“No, he can’t,” Tilda said. “Smell that far, yes, but hear?” She rubbed her arms as though she was suddenly freezing, and when Verve started forward, she hesitated for a moment, groaned, and followed several paces behind.

Verve picked through the mist with little difficulty, as she could clearly see a path in her mind, though her eyes showed only a hazy blur. Distracted by what she could physically see, she closed her eyes.

Behind her, Tilda was moving at a much slower pace and was louder than Verve would have liked. “What are your plans once we arrive?” Crunch! Crack! Crunch! Her feet trod over so many twigs and sticks, Verve found herself getting annoyed as though Tilda had done so on purpose.

“I’ll incapacitate whoever’s there, get what I need, and leave.” As she said it, Verve realized how weak a plan it was and that perhaps she was acting too hastily.

Tilda swore as she stumbled and righted herself. “Could you perhaps move more slowly? This pace is punishing.”

Irritation flared within Verve’s breast and she found herself clenching her fists, magic gathering around her, and she hastily put a damper on it. She did not, after all, want to frighten Tilda or alert the household of their approach. With reluctance, she slowed her steps. The mansion was a mere ten yards away, and she put a finger to her lips.

“I hear one heartbeat,” Tilda whispered as loudly as a gunshot.

Verve shook her head and her lips formed the words, “There are definitely three.” Though whether or not Tilda could see what she said through the fog, it was uncertain. She rounded the house on silent feet, barely allowing herself to breathe, though she knew her frenzied heartbeat would alert those within of her approach.

One beating heart was on the upper floor of the ever-changing house; the other two were lower in the earth, making Verve wonder if they were in the den she had entered her first day of captivity. But when she turned the knob to the door, which was mercifully unlocked, unbolted, and unmagicked, she knew at once no one was there waiting to greet them.

There sat the chairs by an empty grate. There was the spot where she had collapsed after Dacre had wounded her. A set of steps leading up to the upper floor appeared, and Verve tried and failed to calm herself. Trapped. She hadn’t had an attack in ages. It would not do for her to collapse in a miserable heap right now. She needed those books. But what if I get caught? With a shudder Verve reminded herself Dacre was dead and could no longer trouble her. Anyone else should be easy enough to overpower, what with all the magic she now had at her disposal.

Verve prepared to summon her magic to create a shield of protection around herself as she had done with Tilda, but thought the better of it. Her magic had a potent smell and would alert the household to her presence. So, feeling naked and exposed, Verve crept up the stairs with the far noisier Tilda on her heels.

“Hello?” called a feminine voice Verve did not recognize. “Is someone there?”

Verve smelled a hot metallic odor, the typical residual burst Dacre’s household staff was known for. Uncertain of how to proceed, she hesitated and was surprised when Tilda brushed past her. Verve reached out and grabbed her husband’s cousin, who turned and glared at her, her lips forming the words, “Trust me.”

Wary, Verve released Tilda, who shook out her arm as though it had gone numb. She’d better not ruin this. It was too late to stop her now; Tilda had already opened the door leading to the upstairs, revealing a servant who had raised a magical shield around herself.

“Who are you? How did you get inside?”

Of all things, Tilda let out a sob and moved forward, effectively blocking Verve from the servant’s view. “Oh, thank mercy you answered. My horse has thrown a shoe, and I cannot get him to walk. I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, but the door was unlocked and I thought you might be hospitable and send someone to help me.” Behind her back, she gestured frantically at Verve.

Verve frowned, uncertain of what exactly she was expected to do. After a moment, the smell of hot metal dissipated, and Tilda’s waving ceased.

“You couldn’t fix it yourself?” the servant demanded, not leaving her spot.

“I’m unable,” said Tilda hesitantly. “I’m only a half-elf.”

The servant sighed and stepped aside. Tilda followed, closing the door in Verve’s face before she could be seen.

“Thank you so very much. I believe my luck is finally turning.”

“Yes, well, being a quarter-elf myself, I know how these things go. ’Tis only me and the jailer in the house, and he’s half-fae, so you needn’t worry about hiding your true identity here, miss.”

After several minutes, the voices faded, and Verve knew them to be on the other end of the house as Tilda asked for a glass of water. Satisfied she wouldn’t be caught, Verve opened the door with care and crept her way down a hall, trusting her memory of when she had first been brought here.

Nothing had much changed, save for the now-gray walls and wood floors bare of any rugs. Verve hastened toward the staircase, which seemed larger than she remembered in her worried state, and she took the steps two at a time, her feet making nary a sound on the wood. At the top of the stairs she paused to listen once more, in case she had missed any sounds and the servant was lying about who was in the household.

In the kitchen, Tilda and her quarter-elf host were discussing the weather and local politics. The two other heartbeats came from far down below. One sounded fae – a slower, gentler beating – but the other was distinctly human. There aren’t said to be many humans in Letorheas. Perhaps I ought to check on this person before I make my getaway. Verve passed the red room where she had been forced to stay, and rounded the corner where she was met with a set of spiraling metal steps. These she took with some dread and hesitation, though she knew the master of the house would not catch her. At the top of the stairs, there was an empty landing, but for a blank, white wall that would seem ordinary to the mortal eye. Now Verve could easily see the faint outline of a door and, drawing a deep breath, pushed her way inside.

The room was every bit as messy as she had witnessed in her vision all those months ago. He left in a hurry to find me. I hope he didn’t take the books with him. At the thought, her heart began to race and her palms grew slick.

A quick examination of the bookshelf revealed the books’ absence. She looked at each title twice and moved on to the desk against the far wall near the window. There were stacks of books on it, and Verve at once found the five she had been hoping to see, all of them covered in a thin layer of dust. She snatched them up and tucked them against her chest before taking one last hasty look around to make certain there wasn’t anything else she might need. Seeing nothing, Verve gladly left the room and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could manage.

In the kitchen below, the voices had grown silent. Verve paused, listening. There were no heartbeats, no breaths, nothing to indicate the two women were still even in the house. She focused and realized they had, in fact, moved outside and were walking away from the house. Tilda did lie and say her horse had thrown a shoe. All that remained in the house were three heartbeats, the inhuman one and human one, plus her own. There was also a great deal of snoring.

Verve wasted no time in racing down the stairs as quietly as she could, her feet barely touching the steps and the floor of the grand entryway as she went. From there she followed her ears at a slower rate, doubling back a few times when she thought her hearing might be deceiving her.

The snoring continued, even as she dropped the books and scrambled to pick them up again. She had found a door down at the end of a long hall with no colors, no decorations, and no other ways of leaving or entering it. As she reached out to take the black metal door handle, a sense of foreboding overcame her, and she reared back, saying to herself, I should not have come this way. Trembling, she turned, only to have curiosity dominate all other feelings, as it was usually wont to do. The terror remained, but she regarded it as one might a bumblebee that had stung and now lay dying on the ground, powerless.

Dacre did not want anyone uninvited going down here. Smug satisfaction dulled fear further, and Verve turned the handle with gentle care. The door creaked on its hinges, and the snoring below stuttered and then ceased entirely as Verve’s feet took the first step into oppressive darkness.

“Marigold? It’s lunchtime already?” called a male voice that tickled at Verve’s memory.

It took her a moment to place it, but she remembered the voice as belonging to a fae she had once heard interrogating…someone. Even as she tried to grab the memory, her thoughts attempted to slither on to something else. Curse whoever tampered with my mind. Verve trod down the remainder of the cold stone steps, straining her eyes and using her other senses to compensate for her lack of sight.

“Mari?” the man asked again. “It doesn’t sound like you.” He let out a great sniff. “It doesn’t smell like you either. New perfume?”

Verve suppressed a sigh. The second, faster heartbeat was near the man’s. She would have to get past him to make certain he wasn’t keeping a human prisoner.

Turning a corner, Verve was suddenly met with a near-blinding burst of light, and she stumbled out of the way, just as a bolt of violet fire was flung at her. The jailer’s magic hit the wall next to her, causing it to partially crumble.

“You weren’t supposed to come down here!” the man cried, throwing one shot after the other at Verve, who dodged them easily.

She quirked a feral half smile. “I wasn’t? Well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? Besides, I never was one for living up to expectations.” She raised a magical shield around herself, her residual burst clashing badly with that of the half-fae.

“No one said you would come down here.” The tall, pale man’s face paled further still, and he drew back against the cell he was obviously meant to guard, putting himself between Verve and what she wanted. “Please don’t harm me, milady. I had nothing to do with any of this.”

Verve frowned at those words, uncertain as to what he meant, but continued her slow approach. “Who else is down here?” She attempted to look around him, even as his shield flickered and he attempted to lob a fireball at her.

“Get away from me!” the guard cried. “I’ve got a family. Two bairns to feed. Have mercy, milady.” With each word he spoke, the pitch of his voice rose and his words grew louder. He dropped to his knees and his fireball fizzled out and he bowed his head, trembling.

Heart racing, Verve cleared her throat and took another step closer to the fae, who swayed on the spot and promptly fell onto his side. “Um,” she said and tapped him with a tentative tip of her boot. The jailer didn’t stir, and for a moment Verve feared he might have died of shock.

“Leave him,” said a croaky, ancient voice from the dank cell the man had been guarding. “He isn’t dead, just fainted, Miss Verity.”

Verve took a wary step forward, squinting to adjust her eyes to the newfound dimness that had arrived with the man’s passing out. There was light coming from ahead, as though someone had lit a candlestick. “How do you know my name?” Her frown deepened as she beheld a wizened old crone with matted gray hair hanging down her back. Her clothes were soiled, her skin sallow and paper-thin, and Verve found herself wondering how long this poor soul had been kept down here. She listened. The heartbeat was quick, if a bit unsteady. Her breathing was slightly labored, and Verve scented fear mingled with dread. Verve repeated her question as the crone approached the iron bars.

“I was your caregiver upon your first arrival here,” said the crone. Her breath and body smelled of rot, and Verve fought the urge to pinch her nose. “I am known as Olive, though that is not my true name. Names, as you know, have power, Miss—”

“I don’t remember you.”

The crone shook her head. “His lordship must have erased me from your memories.”

Verve’s insides churned at the mention of Dacre, and she clenched her free fist to prevent fire from forming in her palm. “Why would he do that?” She regarded the woman carefully, deciding to withhold judgement until she heard what there was to be learned.

With a sigh, the woman retreated a step back in her cage, her eyes on Verve, alert and wary. “Probably because I killed two elves in front of you and he thought you might find the memory unpleasant.”

Something inside Verve stirred at that, though the feeling was weak and fleeting. “Were the elves my captors?”

The crone, Olive, nodded. “But so was I, Miss Verity.”

She’s laying her cards out on the table, Verve mused as Olive lowered herself onto a rickety wood bench. Aloud she said, “Did you ever help me?”

There was a moment’s hesitation ere Olive spoke again, and when she did, her voice was kind and yet proud. “Your first night here, you had a fit. I comforted you until you could fall asleep. Not to mention waiting on you, taking care of you, and preventing his lordship from pursuing you as vigorously as he wished at first.” The last part of her declaration rang false, and Verve hissed through her teeth.

“Really? That doesn’t sound right.”

Of all things, the old woman laughed. “So, you can sniff out half truths now, can ya?” Her head turned and she eyed Verve as though seeing her for the first time, and winced. Then a slow frown turned her lips. She squinted. “How did his lordship make a creature more powerful than himself out of his own blood? I wonder.”

So, no one had told her what had transpired. Verve wasn’t about to enlighten someone she didn’t know – even if they had truly met already. “Are you the only human down here?” She was mindful that at any moment now, the elfin servant might figure out Tilda did not, in fact, possess a horse in need of assistance. Though she wanted to hear if they returned, Verve wasn’t certain she was so able. All sound down here was muted and strange, and she did not wish to remain any longer than she had to.

“I am the only former halfling or human in this cursed place, Miss Verity.”

Verve blinked in surprise. “How do you mean?”

A shadow crossed Olive’s face, and she shook her head. “His lordship took his magic back, leaving me a shell of a person. I’ve aged ever so many years since he sent me down here.” With a grunt, she attempted to sit up straighter, only to cringe in apparent torment.

Verve’s heart thumped painfully for the woman. “The dampness of this prison can’t help.”

Olive snorted and gave Verve a dismissive wave of her right hand. “Is that why you came down here? To spoon pity down the throat of whomever you might find?” She watched Verve from the corner of her eye; a slight smirk rose across her face.

At once Verve had to stamp out her irritation at the woman’s words, and she succeeded…barely. Her hands glowed a vibrant red, and she had to quickly hide them under her books, but not quickly enough for the crone not to notice.

“You still have your temper, I see. And, goodness, it’s tied to your magic, is it?” She clucked her tongue. “Someone as powerful as you with that sort of magic will be dangerous, no doubt.”

“Who says I’m powerful?” Verve said coolly.

Olive looked incredulous as Verve reached down for the jailer’s keys, nearly dropping the books in her arms. “Lass, I’m fully mortal and even I can see you are something unusual.” She frowned as Verve thrust the key into the lock and turned it. “Sure you want to be doing that?” The woman pulled herself to her feet with some difficulty and hobbled toward the now-open door to her cell.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve done me no harm. And besides, no human deserves to be locked up in this strange land,” said Verve. Concentrating, she magicked a pair of long gloves onto her hands, and held out her right arm for the old woman.

At that Olive snorted. “If you knew half of the people I knew before coming to Letorheas, you wouldn’t be saying such things.” Still, after a moment’s hesitation, she took Verve’s hand and allowed herself to be helped past the unconscious half-elf and up the cold stairs. She leaned on Verve heavily, though the latter did not mind, making certain their skin did not touch.

Soon it became obvious Olive would not be able to make it far from the house without having to stop to rest, and that just wouldn’t do. Even now, Verve heard the jailer waking. If he were to pursue them….

“It’s no use, Miss Verity. You’re going to have to leave me behind.”

With a curse, Verve steadied the woman and began to lift her with one arm, stopping when the woman backed away. “This is ridiculous. You can’t want to return to that cell.”

Olive huffed. “Of course I don’t. But can’t you see I am going to be naught but dead weight? He will pursue me. I know too much about things I ought not.”

“I can take care of him,” said Verve, jerking her head back in the direction of the jailer.

“That’s not what I meant.” Olive cringed as Verve lifted her under one arm and bore her up the remainder of the stairs. “You also forget I killed two elves.”

“Yes, well,” said Verve, “I killed the king and Dacre, so neither of us has clean hands.”

Olive stilled as Verve rushed her through the halls, taking her out the back door, as she could not find the entrance she and Tilda had used; it seemed to have disappeared. Perhaps it is only accessible from the outside. I remember this house to be ornery like that.

“Killed his lordship? That’s not possible,” said Olive as Verve carried her toward the woods. “Miss Verity, please. I beg you. Put me down this instant. You and I need to talk.”

Even though she was strong beyond reason, Verve was losing her grip on the books and the crone herself was proving cumbersome. So it was with some relief that she set Olive on her feet and readjusted her grip on the tomes. “What’s wrong?” Had she gripped the old woman too tightly? She looked as one in pain.

“When do you believe yourself to have killed Lord Dacre Starside?”

Verve blinked. “I killed him at least fifteen months ago. Why?”

Olive started counting on her gnarled fingers, her lips moving, and a distant look in her eyes. At length, she reached a number and studied Verve with intense concentration. “Etterhean or Letorhean months?”

“What does it matter?” Verve asked. “I killed him. He’s dead, and I’m rid of him.”

“The timing is crucial,” said Olive, shaking her head. “Tell me as accurately as you can, what phase were the moons in when you last saw his lordship alive?”

With a snort, Verve backed away from the now grim-looking woman. “Why?”

A sad, pitying smile spread across the old woman’s face and she sighed. “Because I saw him, alive and well, not three Letorhean weeks ago.”