Rise of the Seven (The Frey Saga, #3)(15)

He might have been a harsh ruler, leading by fear and control, but he was Lord. He was respected. He was obeyed. Now that he was gone, his half-breed granddaughter who had never wanted to rule didn’t quite strike fear into the hearts of her people. And there was only one thing they hated more than fairies. Humans.

Over the last few weeks, I’d realized it was fortunate the way things had worked out. We could have died a thousand ways by now, Chevelle and I, as we went for revenge in the grasp of rage. Nothing short of losing every memory I had could have kept me from settling scores. And nothing short of recovering me could have kept him from doing the same. I had taken care of Asher. Chevelle had seen me returned. Now one objective remained. And I would stay alive long enough to see it through if it was the last thing I did.

“You look like you’re trying to memorize something,” Chevelle said.

“You look like a member of the royal guard,” I retorted.

His eyes narrowed on me.

I shrugged.

And suddenly, we were flying through the air. For half a second, I thought Chevelle had retaliated, but there was nothing playful about the hit I’d taken. I hadn’t even seen him come off his horse, but he’d slammed into me at full speed. We came to an abrupt stop as we smashed into the rock beside the path. Chevelle rolled smoothly into a crouch as I lay there, staring at the sky. The impact had knocked the wind out of me. A screaming pain in my side accompanied the return of my breath, but instinct kicked in and I was on my feet again, crouched beside Chevelle.

Our horses were gone, the clatter of their hooves shifting rock fading as I listened. Rhys and Grey were across the path, a few lengths ahead, eyes scanning the mountain. I had a feeling I’d missed something, and it didn’t look good. Beside me, Chevelle was searching as well. I sank to my knees and closed my eyes.

A falcon nested in the branches of a thorn tree not far from where we hunkered. I set it to flight, ignoring the metallic tinge of blood in my mouth.

Nothing. Everything looked right, normal. Nothing out of place, no danger. I released the bird and opened my eyes. I glanced over to find Grey and Chevelle in the middle of an exchange of silent gestures across the distance. I’d clearly missed most of it, but they had lost my attacker.

My head snapped up to Chevelle’s face. His grim expression confirmed what I thought I’d seen pass between them. I’d been attacked. Again.

In further explanation, his head tilted toward the ground behind us. Several yards away lay what looked to be a shard of glass.

“No,” I hissed.

Chevelle nodded. There was only one thing that created weapons like that. Ice fairy.

We both stepped closer to the offending splinter of ice. It was formed solid, nearly unbreakable, and almost impossible to see coming at you. I shook my head. I hadn’t even seen a fairy. I reached to pick up the icicle, disturbed by how much it reminded me of the thin silver dagger that had all but stabbed me, and Chevelle put a hand on my arm to stop me.

“It’s not right,” he whispered.

No shit, I thought, and then I realized what he’d meant. It didn’t smell right. There was a nasty, acidic tang to it. Poison.

Rhys and Grey were behind us now.

“Are you well?” Rhys asked.

They all waited while I took stock. “Yes.”

Chevelle eyed my side; I hadn’t been aware that I was holding pressure against it. I dropped my hand, daring him to question it. He didn’t, instead dealing with the most pressing issue. “We should return to the castle.”

For a moment, I considered going ahead with our agenda, but that would just be stupid. I nodded.

He stared at me for a moment. I stared back. He raised his eyebrows. Mine met the challenge. He sighed. “Frey, would you like to ride back?”

Oh. I bit my lip as I called the horses to us.





I stood silently watching my guard. Angry words flew through the study. Curses. Violent threats. No one had seen my attacker, a whisper of sound the only warning. No evidence remained but the sliver of ice. It lay on the table in a sealed container, frozen even now, in hopes that Ruby could discern the toxin. I couldn’t breathe. I pulled shallow puffs through my nose, anything deeper was a knife to my side. The ride back had nearly killed me. I was fairly positive something was broken.

Unexpectedly, they broke up and headed for the door. Chevelle lingered; I guessed he must have dismissed them. As the last noises faded in the corridor, he approached me.

“You’ve gone pale.”

I nodded.

He smiled a little, glad I’d finally given. “Come, then.” He walked me to my room and sat on the bed beside me, pulling my shirt aside to examine the injury. I raised my head to see, but as he pressed the skin, I fell back against the pillow with a gasp.

“Broken rib, I think.” He restored my shirt and patted my leg. “Hurts like a beast.”

“The good news,” I wheezed, “is I’ve barely thought about being assaulted again.”

He looked as if he might be sick.

Someone cleared their throat at the open door and Chevelle’s hand on my leg tightened. “I’ve asked Ruby to tend to you.”

I glared at him.

He smiled and stood, leaving me to a special kind of torture.





Ruby had talked while she worked, trying to distract me to ease the pain. I’d refused her concoctions and she’d eventually left me to rest. But sleep wasn’t coming. I lay staring at the canopy of the bed, building more and more anger as time passed.