When Magic Dares Page 2

  It came to her in a flash. She was, in the same instant, both relieved and terrified. She might be able to save her clan. But at the cost of herself.

  “Wait,” she said again. “I cannot give you the traitor you seek.” She closed her eyes, so she could not see the prince’s reaction. “But in an offer of good faith, I will turn myself over into your custody.”

  “Princess, no!” Margaux gasped behind her.

  Arianne held back her hand to keep the maid from rushing to her side.

  Her decision made, her fate sealed, Arianne open her eyes. Straightened her spine.

  “To prove my sincerity,” she said, “I surrender myself.”

  Far below, the prince and his warrior companions stared up at her with varying reactions. The blond scowled. Cathair looked stunned. And, though she couldn’t say for certain from this distance, Arianne thought the warrior with the cropped hair and silver eyes looked impressed.

  She squared her shoulders. “Do you accept my offer?”

  Cathair shook his head, then turned to each of his warriors in turn. While they debated, Arianne felt the tingle of sweat dropping down her spine. She had never been more nervous in her life.

  Was she making a terrible mistake?

  But before she could panic, she reminded herself of the first lesson her father had ever taught her. A princess must always do what needs to be done.

  And she had done exactly that.

  As Cathair looked back up, he nodded. “I accept.”

  Arianne forced the air in and out of her lungs in as normal a pattern as possible.

  “I will be down at once.”

  Then she turned away.

  “Princess,” Margaux cried, “what have you done?”

  “There is no time, Margaux,” Arianne replied as they moved toward the door. “You must listen carefully and do exactly as I say.”

  Margaux nodded, falling in step beside the princess as the reached the stairwell.

  “If all goes according to my plan,” Arianne explained, “I will not be long gone.”

  “Oh Princess—“

  “I give you leave to act in my stead,” she continued, as if Margaux had not interrupted. “You know my mind as well as any other. Keep our people calm and reassure them that I will soon return. Can you do this?”

  “Of course, Princess.”

  They reached the base of the stairs, and Arianne picked up her pace.

  “Send Tobias into the countryside,” she instructed. “Call all the farmers and their families to the palace. Shelter here until you next hear from me.”

  Arianne felt a twinge at the thought that the entirety of their clan could easily fit within the palace walls. There had been a time when the Deachair numbers could have filled a dozen such palaces. Those days were long past.

  Arianne quickened her pace as they reached the main hall. The prince might have accepted her offer, but she could not trust him to be overly patient.

  “What if we—“ Margaux began, then started over. “What if your raven is answered?”

  Arianne stopped at the main entrance to the palace.

  “Send word immediately,” she said, knowing that an answer might just as easily mean their doom as their salvation.

  Margaux looked like she wanted to cry, but she held her emotions in check remarkably well for someone with such responsibility thrust upon her. Arianne reached out and pulled her friend into a tight hug.

  “Above all,” Arianne said, “keep the people safe.”

  Margaux nodded as she hugged the princess back. “I will.”

  Releasing her friend, Arianne smoothed the layers of her lavender gown and twisted her thick curls back into a loose knot at the base of her neck.

  “And as always,” she said, turning to face the door and prepare herself for the journey ahead, “if my father returns—“ She nodded to the pair of guards who had not left her side. Each reached for a door handle. “—detain him by whatever means necessary.”

  The doors swung wide, and Arianne stepped out into the night. Her prison awaited.

  Chapter 4

  The princess moved like a petal on the wind. Gentle, graceful, weightless. She swept out of the palace, facing down an invading army with the confidence of one twice her years. Tearloch could not seem to look away.

  Tales of Arianne’s beauty had not been exaggerated. But tales of her strength should have been just as plentiful.

  She was a far cry from the girl he had met oh so many years ago.

  “Are you certain this is a good plan?” he asked his prince.

  “It could be a plot,” Liam suggested.

  “I am quite certain that it is,” Cathair replied. “But it gives us leverage. Drustan is more likely to cooperate while we hold his daughter.”

  The prince had a valid point. That did not mean Tearloch was comfortable with the decision. They were essentially letting their enemies get away with sheltering the traitor, and that did not sit well with him at all.

  If they were truly going to bring the enemy princess into their territory, into their very palace, precautions were necessary.

  “She cannot ride alone,” Tearloch said.

  Liam nodded. “Can’t be allowed to escape.”

  “No,” Cathair said. “We would lose whatever advantage we have gained.”

  “The royal carriage,” Tearloch suggested.

  Cathair looked to Liam, who nodded.

  “Yes,” Cathair agreed. “The royal carriage.”

  “I will drive,” Liam.

  “Tearloch and I will ride within,” Cathair said, “with the princess.”

  “And Flann,” Tearloch added.

  They could not ask the aged driver to ride home astride.

  The arrangements made, Liam went to prepare the carriage as Cathair greeted the princess. Tearloch remained at his side.

  “We shall treat you with the utmost courtesy,” Cathair said, deigning to bow to the enemy princess, “until your father returns and we are able to negotiate the release of the traitor into our custody.”

  Tearloch was not certain, but he thought the princess fought a smile. What could she possibly find to amuse her about this situation? Did she laugh at the thought of King Drustan ever turning Ultan over to the Moraine?

  If that was her thought, she would soon see that the Clan Moraine was not to be underestimated.

  As Cathair led the princess to the carriage, Tearloch walked two paces behind them. Far enough to show respect. Close enough to act if something went awry.

  But they were soon settled into the carriage, without incident, and on their way to Moraine lands.

  For some time, they rode in silence. Tearloch took the seat next to the princess on the front-facing bench. Normally he would have insisted his prince take the preferred position. But etiquette dictated the princess face forward, and he was not about to leave his prince vulnerable at her side.

  True, Cathair could well defend himself, but it was Tearloch’s responsibility to ensure the prince’s safety. Not his comfort.

  He did not wish to see the princess as his enemy, but given the situation he had little choice.

  Cathair, on the other hand, sat with his back to the horses, the carriage driver at his left. There was a tension in the prince that Tearloch had not often seen. They would all sleep more easily when the traitor was secure in their dungeons.

  If not of the seriousness of the situation, the steady rhythm of the carriage wheels on the dirt road that connected the Deachair with the Moraine could very easily have lulled Tearloch to sleep. If not for the enemy within and the traitor on the loose.

  Flann did not seem to suffer under such strain. The old fae had leaned his head against the window and, within minutes of starting their journey, began snoring like a bear.

  It did not fill Tearloch with much confidence over how smooth their ride might have been if the driver were at the reins.

  It was the princess who finally broke the silence. “Why do you believe t
he traitor to be within our walls?”

  She asked the question casually, almost absently as she stared out the window at the passing forest.

  Tearloch knew his prince could not give the true answer, that Winnie had dreamed of Ultan’s escape through the eastern forest. Along the very road they now traveled between the clans. If any outside the tightest circle within the palace learned that the Moraine had a dreamer among their numbers, and a human dreamer at that, both Winnie and the entire clan would be at risk from all sides. Every clan—ally and enemy, unseelie and seelie alike—would wipe out every last Moraine to possess such power.

  It was a miracle that the traitor had not learned the truth before he fled.

  “We have heard that Ultan was colluding with your clan,” Cathair replied. “The alliance negotiations with Drustan gave them ample opportunity to forge plans.”

  There was that smile from the princess again. Only this time not as well hidden.

  “You are mistaken,” she said. “Ultan’s negotiations were not with my father.”

  “No?” Cathair asked.

  She turned from the window. “They were with me directly.”

  Tearloch frowned. That seemed unusual. A royal princess negotiating her own betrothal to a rival prince.

  “That means that if Ultan was colluding with the Deachair,” Tearloch reasoned, “then he was doing so with you.”

  “You do yourself no service, Princess,” Cathair told her.

  She shrugged. “I see no reason to lie. I have done nothing wrong. As I said—“ She turned and faced out the window once more. “—the Deachair are neither colluding with nor harboring your traitor.”

  Tearloch was studying her, trying to decide whether to believe his instinct that she told the truth, when the carriage jerked violently one direction and then the other, before lunging into a sprint. The princess screamed. Tearloch braced his feet on the floor and his arm into the seat to keep from crashing along the bench into her. Across the carriage, Cathair slammed sideways into the sleeping driver, crushing the older fae against the wall.

  The vehicle did not slow—in fact, it sped up—and Tearloch muttered a curse under his breath.

  After a quick glance at the princess to make certain she was unharmed, he pulled himself up to lean out the window and shout at Liam.

  Only as he did, he saw the riders. Fae riders, perhaps half a dozen, their bodies and faces shrouded by black cloth so neither they nor their clan could be identified. They wielded swords, the long, thin blades glinting in the moonlight.

  His first thought was thieves. Brigands out to steal whatever goods they could.

  But what sort of thieves would attack a royal caravan, escorted by the entire force of the Morainian army? For that matter, where was the army?

  Four horses weighed down by a full carriage would never outpace solo riders. Which meant not only that they could not escape their assailants, but that their own riders should have been keeping up.

  “What is going on?” the princess demanded.

  Tearloch directed his words Cathair. “We are under attack.”

  The prince nodded, reached beneath the seat he shared with Flann and pulled out a battle sword. There were other weapons secreted about the cabin, Tearloch knew. The one he sought was hidden beneath the princess’s seat.

  He dropped to his knees and retrieved the bow and quiver as quickly as possible.

  The prince could defend the passengers. Tearloch needed the strategic advantage of the roof.

  He stood unsteadily, bracing himself with a broad stance as he slipped the quiver strap over his head and shoulder. Then he flung open the door, reached up onto the roof, and pulled himself out of the carriage.

  From this high perch Tearloch saw there were more riders than he originally thought. A full dozen at least.

  At the front of the carriage, Liam grappled with one of the assailants, trying to keep control of the reins in one hand while fending off the sword-wielding assailant with the other.

  Several wounds leaked purple blood where the blade had sliced through Liam’s clothes and flesh.

  The attacker had not noticed Tearloch, who used the element of surprise to his advantage. Pulling himself forward by the bars of the luggage rack, he maneuvered into position behind the black-swathed fae. Tearloch pushed up to his knees, then dove at the attacker, grabbing him around the neck. With one violent twist, he flung the man off the side of the carriage.

  Tearloch didn’t turn to see if he bounced when he hit the ground.

  “What the Everdark is going on?” he demanded as he dropped into the seat next to Liam.

  “Came out of nowhere at the last curve,” Liam explained as he struggled against the reins, trying to get the horses back under control. “That one you tossed swung down from a tree.”

  Lying in wait. Tearloch could figure out what that meant later.

  “Where are our forces?” he asked.

  Liam scowled. “Disappeared some time before.”

  “A folaigh?”

  It had to be. Only the powerful shielding magic of a folaigh could make an entire army vanish. None among the Moraine had enough power to conjure one. These were formidable foes.

  “The curve at scath carraig is coming up,” Liam said, his voice tight. “’Twill be near impossible at this speed.”

  Tearloch understood. He needed to act fast.

  He turned in the seat, knees on the bench and boots braced against the front rail. Pressing his hips against the edge of the carriage roof, he held himself upright. As high as possible. The better the angle, the better the shot.

  Bow secured in his left hand, he reached over his shoulder and drew out an arrow.

  He preferred the sword. Preferred the solid weight in his hands, the ability to use strength and leverage over finesse and geometry. But he practiced on the archery fields often enough. He was still the best shot in the clan.

  In one fluid movement, he positioned the arrow, drew back the bowstring, and aimed. Breathed out. Released.

  The arrow hit the first rider square in the chest.

  Instead of falling to the ground, the fae vanished into thin air. Further proof of a folaigh. Again and again, he drew, aimed, and fired. Again and again, his arrows found their marks. When the last of the riders fell, he spun back in the seat.

  “Clear,” he shouted. “Slow the horses.”

  Liam grunted, pulled in the reins with all his might, but the beasts paid no mind. They were wild with fright from the chase.

  “The scath carraig is coming,” Liam bit out. “They will not stop in time.”

  There was no time to consider options. Without hesitation, Tearloch launched himself forward, out of the bench and onto the tongue that ran between the rear horses. A hand on either horse, he pushed forward, determined to get the lead horse in hand.

  He heard Liam shout, “Brace yourselves!”

  With one massive effort, Tearloch leapt from the tongue onto the lead horse’s back.

  He couldn’t spare the effort to look up, to see how close to the curve they were. He could only pull on the horse’s reins and pray to Morgana that it was in time.

  They started into the curve. Arm muscles clenched, he held tight to the beast’s neck and braced for the inevitable.

  It never came.

  Behind him, the carriage groaned like an ancient bed. The horse beneath him quieted. Slowed. And, finally, stopped.

  His pulse thundered in his ears.

  As he found the strength to push up, to turn around, he saw the entirety of the Moraine forces racing to the carriage’s aid. He could only grin with relief as he called out, “It’s about time you lot showed up!”

  Chapter 5

  It had been years since Arianne visited the Moraine palace. She couldn’t remember the last time—no, that was not true. She could. She remembered exactly what happened the last time she entered the imposing stone facade. She must have been no more than eight or nine. Her parents had been invited to a
royal ball, and she and her sister were allowed to attend for the first time.

  Arianne had been too scared to venture into the ballroom. She had snuck outside to play in the gardens while her parents and sisters danced the night away. She got lost in the hedge maze. Her terror had been overwhelming.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. It was night and the lights of the ballroom did not reach this deeply into the gardens. She would be lost out there forever.

  Or at least until morning.

  Her parents would worry. Her sister would worry. She hated to make anyone worry over her.

  She needed to retrace her steps. If only she could remember which direction she had come from. But the entire maze looked just the same. One green hedge after another, all perfectly straight and much taller than she could see over.

  What if she was lost there forever? What if she never got out? What if there were monsters in the maze that wanted to—

  Her thoughts were just starting to spiral out of control when she heard the footsteps. She bit her lips, held her breath. Fearful.

  A boy—tall and lean, probably a few years older than her, with dark hair and pale eyes—emerged around the corner. Arianne almost cried with relief.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “I watched you run into the maze,” he said.”When you didn’t come back out I was afraid you were lost.”

  She smiled gratefully. “I am.”

  “Not any more,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take like he was asking her to dance.

  She wrapped her small hand around his elbow. He led them confidently out of the maze, as if he had memorized the path and knew exactly how to get them out.

  In what felt like an instant later, they were walking out onto the lawn that stretched between the hedge maze and the patio outside the ballroom. He escorted her across the grass and up the steps. When the reached the doors to the ballroom, he stopped.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I have other duties.”

  Then he reached behind his neck, lifted a something up over his head, and then held it out to her. She took it and studied it. A tiny silver fox—the symbol of the clan Moraine—hung from a dark leather cord.