She sank to her knees in a daze, and I turned away, striding into the trees. A few moments later, a horrid, gut-wrenching scream rent the air, sending f locks of birds f lying. I didn't look back. As the screams continued, each one more terrible then the last, I continued deep into the forest, the sense of achievement overshadowed by a tiny bit of doubt.
As I approached the trod back to Winter, I suddenly realized I wasn't alone. A figure watched me through the trees; tal , dark, wearing a loose robe and cowl that covered its face. As I went for my sword, it raised a gnarled, twisted staff and pointed it at me… …I jerked up on the stone f loor of the temple, gasping, as the present came f looding back. The Guardian loomed over me, cold and impassive.
I struggled to my feet and leaned against the wall , the memory of that day f lashing before me, bright and clear and painful.
Brynna. The girl whose life I'd destroyed. I remembered seeing her once after our last meeting, wandering along the stream, her eyes glazed over and blank. I never saw her after that, never thought about her, until an old druid priestess found me one day. She introduced herself as Brynna's grandmother, the high priestess of the clan, and demanded to know if I was the one who had kill ed her granddaughter.
The girl had fal en into a deep depression, refusing to eat or sleep, until one day her body simply gave out. Brynna had died of a broken heart, and the priestess had come to exact her revenge.
I curse you, demon! Soulless one. From this day forth, let everyone you love be taken from you. May you suffer the same agony as the girl you destroyed, may your heart know pain unlike any other, for as long as you remain soulless and empty.
I'd laughed at her then, claiming that I had no capacity to love, and her pathetic curse would be wasted on me. She only bared her yel ow teeth in a smile and spat in my face, right before I cut off her head.
I sank to the f loor as their faces crowded my mind, dark eyes glaring at me in accusation. My breath came in short gasps. I closed my eyes, but I couldn't escape her face—the girl I had kill ed—because she had fal en in love.
My eyes burned. Tears ran down my face and fel to the cold floor, making my vision blurry. “What…have you done to me?” I gasped, clutching at my chest, hardly able to breathe—it felt so heavy. The Guardian regarded me without expression, an unmoving shadow in the room.
“Conscience,” it intoned, “is part of being human. Regret is something no mortal can escape for long. If you cannot come to terms with the mistakes of your past, then you are not fit to have a soul.”
I pulled myself into a sitting position, slumping against the bed. “Mistakes,” I said bitterly, trying to compose myself. “My life has been ful of mistakes.”
“Yes,” the Guardian agreed, raising its staff. “And we will revisit them all .”
“No, please—”
Too late. There was a blinding f lash of light, and I was somewhere else.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VOICES OF THE PAST
I raised my head from where I knelt before Mab's throne, finding the queen smiling down at me. “Ash,” Mab purred, gesturing for me to rise, “my favorite boy. Do you know why I cal ed you here?”
I stood warily. I'd learned never to trust Mab when she used the word favorite. I'd seen her cal someone her favorite right before she froze them alive, “to remember them always like this.” More often, it was a ploy to make my brothers jealous, to drive us to compete with one another. This entertained her greatly but made life difficult for me. Rowan took great offense each time I was the favored son, and punished me for it whenever he could.
I could feel Rowan's glare as I stood, but I ignored him while facing the queen. “I know not, Queen Mab, but whatever your reasons, I will comply.”
Her eyes glittered. “Always so formal. Would it hurt you to smile for me once in a blue moon? Rowan is not afraid to look me in the eye.”
Rowan was at court a lot more than I was, being groomed as her coun-cilor and confidant, and he shared her vicious sense of humor. But there was no way I could tel her that, so I managed a smal smile, which seemed to please her. She settled back on her throne and regarded me in an almost affectionate manner, then gestured to something behind me.
A pair of Winter knights in icy-blue armor stepped forward, dragging something between them, throwing it at Mab's feet. A wood nymph, brown-skinned and delicate, with a sharp pointed face and brambles in her long green hair. One of her legs was broken, snapped like a dry twig and hanging at an odd angle. She moaned, only barely conscious, dragging herself across the f loor, away from the foot of the throne.
“This creature,” Mab said, gazing down at the broken, pathetic body, “and several of its friends attacked and kill ed one of my knights while they were patrol ing the border of the wyldwood. The knights were able to subdue this one, but the rest f led into the wyldwood and escaped. Such an attack cannot go unchal enged, but it refuses to dis-close the whereabouts of its home glade. I was hoping that you, with the vast amount of time you spend hunting there, would know where to find them.”
I looked down at the nymph, who had dragged herself across the f loor and was reaching out for me. “M-mercy,” it whispered, clutching at my boots. “Mercy, my lord, we were only trying to save our sister. The knight…the knight was… assaulting her. Please…my friends…my family. The queen will kill them all .”
For just a moment, I hesitated. I did not doubt her words; the knights were cold and violent, taking what they wanted, but to attack the servants of the Winter Court was a crime punishable by death. Mab would kill the nymph's entire family if she found them, just for protecting their own. I could not lie, of course, but there were other ways to bend the truth. “Prince Ash.” Mab's voice had changed. No longer in-quiring and friendly, it now held a dangerous undertone of warning. “I believe I asked you a question,” she continued, as the nymph grabbed at my coat hem, pleading for mercy. “Do you know the location of these creatures, or not?”
What are you doing, Ash? Clenching my fist, I shoved the nymph away with my boot, ignoring her cry of pain. Mercy was for the weak, and I was the son of the Unseelie Queen. There was no mercy in my blood.
“Yes, your majesty,” I said, as the nymph col apsed, sobbing, to the icy ground.
“I've seen this tribe before. They have a colony on the edge of the Bramblewood.”
Mab smiled. “Excel ent,” she rasped. “Then you will lead a force there tonight, and destroy it. kill them all , cut down their trees, and burn their glade to the ground. I want nothing left standing, not a single blade of grass. Set an example for those who would defy the Winter Court, is that clear?”
I bowed my head as the nymph's wails and shrieks rose into the air.
“As you say, my queen,” I murmured, backing away. “It will be done.”
The forest elf stared at me, clutching his staff, fear written plainly on his wrinkled face. The smal elven tribe that lived here, on the outskirts of the wyldwood and Tir Na Nog, were simple hunter-gatherers. They didn't get many visitors, especial y not from the Unseelie Court. Especial y not a prince of the Winter Court himself.
“Prince Ash?” He bowed stiff ly, and I nodded once. “This is…a surprise. To what do we owe this honor, your highness?”
“I'm here on behalf of Queen Mab and a warrior named Hawthorn,” I replied formal y, and his bushy eyebrows rose. “Is this name familiar to you?”
“Hawthorn?” The elder's brow furrowed. “Yes. Hawthorn was on a warrior quest, to become the strongest wood elf in the wyldwood. Why do you know him?”
I sighed. “Hawthorn found his way to the Unseelie Court,” I went on, as the elder's brow wrinkled further. “He came before Queen Mab, begging her to all ow him to be part of her guard, that he would be honored to serve as one in her court. When Mab refused, he demanded a duel, to prove himself the strongest warrior. He swore on the lives of his kin and tribe that he would be victorious, and that if he won, he would be all owed to serve her. Mab was amused, and all owed him to fight one of her warriors.”
“I don't understan—”
“Hawthorn was defeated,” I continued softly, as the elder's face went from deep brown to the color of toad stools. He stumbled back, fal ing to his knees, mouth working soundlessly. Drawing my sword, I started forward, as gasps and screams began to rise from the huts around me.
“The lives of his kin and tribe are forfeit should he lose. I am here to col ect on that debt.”
“Mercy.”
The human stared up at me from where he knelt in the snow, an arrow piercing his calf, dripping bright mortal blood onto the ground. Trembling, he clasped his hands together and raised them beseechingly at me, eyes fil ing with tears. Pathetic human.
“Please, lord of the forest, have mercy. I didn't mean to trespass.”
I smiled at him coldly. “The forest is forbidden—your people know this. Venture within our territories, and we have leave to hunt you down. Tel me, human, why should I be merciful?”
“Please, great lord! My wife, my wife is very sick. She is having…birth-ing difficulties. I needed to take a shortcut through the forest to reach the doctor in the town.”
“Birthing difficulties?” I narrowed my eyes, appraising him. “Your wife will be dead before you get home. You will never reach her in time, not with that wounded leg. You've kill ed them both by trespassing here.”
The human began to sob. His glamour aura f lickered blueand-black with despair. “Please!” he cried, pounding the snow. “Please, spare them. I care nothing for myself, but save my wife and child. I'll do anything. Please!”
He collapsed, crying softly, in the snow, murmuring “please” over and over again. I watched him for a moment, then sighed.
“Your wife is lost,” I stated bluntly, making him moan and cover his face in hopeless agony. “She cannot be saved. You child, however, might stil have a chance. What will you give me if I save its life?”
“Anything!” the man cried, gazing up at me in earnest. “Take anything you want, just save my child!”
“Say the words,” I told him. “Speak them out loud, and let the trees witness your request.”
It must have dawned on him then, what was happening, for his face went even paler and he swal owed hard. But he licked his lips and continued in a shaken but clear voice: “I, Joseph Macleary, am prepared to offer anything for the life of my child.” He swal owed again and looked straight at me, almost defiant. “Take what you wish, even my own life, as long as my child lives and grows up healthy and strong.”
I smiled at him as the invisible strings of magic wove around us, seal-ing the bargain. “I'm not going to kill you, human,” I said, stepping back. “I have no interest in taking your life now.”
Relief crossed his face, for just a moment, before alarm f lickered in his eyes. “Then, what is it you want?”
Still smiling, I faded from sight, leaving the human to gaze around the empty woods alone. For a moment, he knelt there, confused. Then, with a gasp, he whirled and began limping back the way he came, leaving a speckled trail of blood in his wake. I laughed silently, sensing his panic as he realized what he had promised. He would never get home in time.