Rise of the Seven (The Frey Saga, #3)(39)

“Can you get my lion out?” I whispered to Chevelle.

He knelt beside me. “Not without casting.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and then shook my head. It was too risky.

A high-pitched cry escaped the cat, now wounded and trapped within the thorn tree, and I acted without thought, placing my hands to the ground in front of me, cursing the council member to death.

“Frey,” Chevelle warned from beside me, moving to stand as the ground shook beneath us.

Rock crashed into rock as it tumbled down the steep mountainside and I could hear Anvil swear as he and Chevelle worked to protect us from the avalanche. But I couldn’t stop. This was wrong. We shouldn’t be here, trying to drive out this one remaining nuisance instead of fighting against council in a proper clash. We had given them time to regroup and they were fighting dirty. Like the fey. The fey, who were, as we sat here, attacking Camber. We were being assailed from all sides when we should have been avenging the massacre, setting the wrong to right.

“Frey!” Chevelle’s voice was a command this time as grabbed me by the shoulders and hoisted me to standing. But I didn’t fight him. I was done.

The mountain fell quiet as the final rock settled, and Chevelle spun me around to face him. He was angry, and I knew he’d intended to ask me what I thought I was doing, but whatever he saw in my expression stopped him.

“Is the casting broken?” I asked in a lifeless voice.

He nodded. We’d not been able to use magic within the boundaries of the spell, but the rock had made it through. Clay of Rothegarr was dead.

“Will you get my cat?” I said softly. “We need to go.”

He released my arms and I closed my eyes to call our horses to the castle. I heard the clatter of rock as Chevelle cleared the debris surrounding the thorn tree. I dropped quickly to the mind of the cat, willing it not to hurt Chevelle as he freed it.

We needed to get to Camber. We needed to end this. All of it.





I glanced at the sky as we rode for Camber. The sun was too low on the horizon, though we’d been running since we’d left the castle. Chevelle had carried the mountain lion to the yard, where he’d left instructions to build an enclosure for the animal and tend it as best as possible until Ruby had returned. We’d barely spoken since, nothing but the rhythmic thump of horse hooves on the path, until we neared the bounds of Camber.

“Is it safe?” Chevelle asked from his place behind me.

The heavens were empty, likely due to the fighting, so I drew a red-tail from its perch in the safety of a black spruce. There was nothing in the outlying crevices and copses. Nothing on the paths into town. Nothing, until my circles brought me closer to the epicenter, where smoke and dust rose in caustic clouds above Camber.

“It’s over,” I said, opening my eyes again to clear skies and order. “And I don’t see anything lying in wait for us.”

When we finally reached town, most of the major damage was restored. The ground was littered with fairy dust and bits of wing, pebbles and ash. A dozen busted wine casks were scattered in front of the Kraig residence, and the deep purple fluid splashed beneath our horses’ hooves where it ran in rivulets over the dark stone path, trickling halfway through town before waning to nothing. Troughs were overturned, crowns of houses were lying in rubble on front porches, and horses were painted with berry juice and shimmer. But the fires were no longer burning, the floods had been diverted. No bodies lay in the street.

Rider met us near the center of town. I could tell by his appearance such had not been the case when they’d arrived.

“I suggest making your way to Ruby’s house,” he said. “It appears her protections worked quite nicely to deter the fey.” He glanced around, clearly not wanting to voice the real reason in front of a crowd. “Rhys waits for you there.”

I nodded, understanding his hesitation. They’d saved one, and by the looks of the elves here, they wanted no part of it.

“Is anyone hurt?” I asked.

“Ruby is tending them,” he said. “Seems they’ve taken to her, here at least.” He saw my uncertainty. “We have everything else under control.” He was right, but it wasn’t easy to walk away.

Rider glanced past me to Anvil. “What did you get into?”

I followed his gaze to find Anvil’s forearm caked with blood. I’d not even noticed.

Anvil waved it off. “They weren’t trackers. Sent some muscle to tear up things while we were down there looking for them.”

I wondered briefly if there was more truth to his words than he realized. Council might not be at the temple at all. But I didn’t mention it, this was no time for supposition. Chevelle and I left Anvil and Rider to exchange stories and assist the others. As we rode through Camber, the passing elves stopped to watch, a mixture of emotion meeting our presence.

Ruby’s home stood out among the rest, clean of assault, and I had to wonder if it had been her protections as Rider had suggested, or if the fey had done this intentionally.

We stopped in front of the house where another horse stood, drinking from the only unmolested water trough in town. I stepped down, staring at the poor beast as it nervously puffed into the water. A smattering of small handprints painted its ribcage while its mane stood in thick, gooey spikes. I shook my head absently; I would never understand their fixation with horses.