Hours. I’ve been running for hours and still have several more to go. My journey began soon after the meeting with the mayor, once I’d convinced Aspen to take Marie and Dune back to Fire so he can round up the other royals for an emergency meeting when I return. It took a bit of arguing to get him to agree to part ways, but he eventually conceded, knowing Duveau is our best shot at gaining an advantage over the coming threat.
But only if I make it in time.
Despite my aching paws, I continue to run.
* * *
Anxiety rushesthrough me as the sun begins to lower in the sky. Mr. Duveau’s ship is set to sail after nightfall—a coward’s escape. I hate that the elite families of Eisleigh get to flee to the safety of the mainland while the unsuspecting villagers sleep, no clue what terrors await them. Not yet at least. If the mayor keeps his side of the bargain, the humans will know what’s coming soon enough. They’ll know they’ve been betrayed by their king with no one but the fae to save them.
My muscles are screaming as night fully falls over the forest, but still I press on. Just when I’m starting to lose hope that I’ll ever find the port, the tang of salty air begins wafting in on the breeze, a sure sign my destination is near. Finally, the trees of the forest give way to a small seaside town. I slow my pace as I enter its sleeping streets, trying to orient myself. The sound of waves falls on my ears, but I’m not just looking for the sea. I need to find the port. The docks. The ships.
I attune myself to every sound, every smell, my fox instincts sharp as they take in every bit of data that filters through my senses. Then I hear it. The low hum of a boat’s foghorn. I dart forth again, listening deeper, seeking the telltale sound of waves lapping against the hull of a boat.
I reach the beach, docks in sight. Racing forward, I search for signs of Mr. Duveau’s ship. Yet all I see at the end of each pier are small fishing boats. I locate the larger docks where trade vessels and cruise ships would be. They’re all empty. I run to the end of one, rich with recent scents of human bodies. One distinct, familiar aroma stands out above all the rest, turning my stomach. He was here. I can smell it.
I sit back on my haunches and stare out at the dark water. There, hundreds of meters out to sea, sails the last ship to the mainland. I’m too late.
Disappointment lashes through me, so strong it has me shifting out of my fox form and into my human body. I stumble back, catching myself on my forearms to keep from toppling over completely.
No, no, no, no. I can’t have missed it. I ran as fast as I could.
My mind whirls with calculations, recalling every minute I wasted on rest. I now regret letting myself catch my breath, rest my paws. If only I’d pushed harder. If only I’d…no. There’s still a chance.
I rise to my feet and undo my cloak, letting it fall to my feet as I assess the distance between here and the ship. I could swim to it, couldn’t I? Or harness the element of water and get it to propel me to the ship? But even if I somehow could catch up, could I board it somehow? Pretend to have fallen off and call for a life raft? Then what? Do I question Mr. Duveau on the ship and then swim back here before it can take me too far?
No, no, none of this is logical.
My anxiety rises higher and higher with every inch of space that grows between myself and the ship. I know I must take action. Dosomething, logical or not. I must jump, swim.
I reach a hand out to the water, connecting to its element. Depth, emotion, sorrow—
Nothing.
I feel nothing.
I try to connect to my flame, my rage, my passion, but it’s hardly more than a flicker inside me. This is the farthest south I’ve ever been from the wall—farther than Grenneith, and way farther than Sableton or Varney Cove. All I feel is aching muscles, blistered toes. My exhaustion is so heavy, I doubt I could shift back into my fox form if I tried.
Sinking to my knees at the edge of the dock, I stare down at the black water. It’s over. Our last chance to get answers from Mr. Duveau. My last shot at vengeance. Gone. Gone.
“Please,” I mutter, although I know not who I beseech. The Great Mother above? The All of All? “Please!” I call out again, louder now. “He doesn’t deserve to get away.”
The water has no answer for me. Nothing but the steady rise and fall of waves rippling from the motion of the departing ship. The ship bearing my enemy.
“He doesn’t deserve safety,” I say through my teeth. Then, closing my eyes, I throw my head back and shout into the night, “He doesn’t deserve to live!”
“I say that about most humans.”
I startle at the voice, drawing back from the water and the equine head that breaks above its surface, eyes red like rubies. Its fur is midnight black, dark mane floating around it, tossed by the waves. The rest of its body is hidden beneath the water, but I don’t need to see it to know what creature this is.
Kelpie.
In a flash, I reach for the belt at my waist, retrieving my iron blade. “Stay back.”
“I do not come to hurt you,” he says, though his tone is far from comforting.
I assess the kelpie through slitted lids. “How are you even here?”
“I swim,” he answers without humor.
