“Alleria!”
Brennan. It’s Brennan’s voice. I’d know it anywhere. I’ve heard it my whole life, barking orders at the guards, scolding me for sneaking extra sugar lumps to the horses, praising my aim when I finally hit the center of a target. Brennan, who taught me to ride before I could read. Brennan, who held me while I cried the night my mother died because my father was too lost in his grief to notice mine.
He's looking for me. He’s close by.
Hope surges through me, so sharp it’s almost painful. If I can make a sound—just one sound—he’ll hear me. He’ll come. He’ll?—
The fae’s eyes snap back to mine, and the warning in them is absolute.
Don’t.
I scream anyway. The sound that escapes is nothing.Lessthan nothing. A muffled whimper that dies against the fae’s palm.
“Alleria!” Brennan’s voice is closer.
I’m here!
The words are trapped behind the fae’s hand, trapped in my throat, trapped in my chest where they beat against my ribs like a caged bird.
I’m right here. Please. Please! I’m here!
Tears spill down my cheeks, hot against the fae’s cold fingers. I kick out again, wild and desperate, and connect with nothing. I try to twist my head free. Its grip only tightens, sharp nails digging into my jaw until the pain makes my eyes water even more.
“Alleria? Can you hear me?”
Yes. Yes. I can hear you. Please don’t stop. Please keep calling. Please?—
“She can’t have gone far.” Wil’s voice joins Brennan’s. “Spread out. Her horse won’t have run for long.”
The fae goes utterly still, and its lips move in a soundless whisper. The voices fade, growing distant, moving away.
“Alleria?”
Fainter.
“Alleria, where are you?”
Fainter still … then nothing.
The fae waits, head still cocked, listening to make sure they’re gone. Then it peels me off the tree and starts moving again.
I don’t know how much time passes. The light shifts from twilight to something darker, the shadows between the trees pressing close. The air grows colder and damper.
I need to keep fighting. I can’t give up.
I go limp, letting my full weight drag against the fae’s grip. It adjusts its hold and keeps moving. I twist and writhe, trying to slip free. It adjusts the way I’m positioned over its shoulder. I hook my foot around a tree trunk. It drags me loose without breaking stride.
I twist and rake my nails down its face. It catches my wrist and squeezes. The fine bones grind together. Pain lances up my arm. I whimper. The pressure eases, but it doesn’t let go until I stop moving.
I don’t try that again.
The fae hasn’t spoken again since those two words in the clearing.
Pathetic human.
I keep waiting for it to say something else, but it just keeps carrying me through the forest.
Did I imagine it? Did I imagine those words?
