A Deal with the Elf King (Married to Magic, #1)(94)

“It’s up the wall, an hour from Westwatch,” Drestin answers.

“Let’s go.”

“You should stay here,” Eldas says firmly.

“I’m coming,” I insist with such force that I can almost hear it echoing in their thick skulls. “You two will need me.”

Drestin glances between Eldas and me, eyebrows arched with a somewhat surprised look. Rinni might be familiar with Eldas’s and my comfortable rapport. But it seems Drestin is not yet. “Your Majesty—”

I ignore his surprise and wave off his objection. “Is there a gate to the fae lands in Carron?”

“No,” Eldas answers.

“No way to cross the wall?” I press.

“No,” Eldas repeats.

“Well…” his brother starts, earning an arched brow from Eldas. “There were reports of places where the wall has been weakened. Farmers talking, spreading rumors of fae getting through. But I’ve yet to confirm…”

My mind is moving as fast as my frantic hands. While the men speak, I finish off the potion I was making and jar it, placing it in a leather satchel I steal off of a peg by the doors out to the gardens. I leave them for a moment to search the gardens for anything fresh I might need for magic or emergency healing.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any heartroot. It seems Willow’s early mention of the plant being incredibly rare holds true.

“Luella, stay—” Eldas tries to say as I reenter the laboratory.

“I already told you both, I’m coming.” I stare both elves in their cerulean eyes, trying to communicate with my wide, planted stance alone that this isn’t a negotiation. “I have information you may need.”

“What could that possibly be?” Drestin asks.

“We’re wasting time, just trust me.” I look to Eldas. “Please.”

He gives a small nod and holds out his hand. “To Carron.”

My fingers close around Eldas’s. Together, we step into the dark mist that rises from underneath Eldas’s feet. We Fadewalk to a muddy road a short walk away from a town about the size of Capton. Drestin emerges from a plume of mist at our side. Dark swirls whorl in the air for just a moment before dissipating on the wind and leaving a man where they once were.

Carron is snug against the wall, just as Drestin said. Much like Westwatch, there’s a bridge that crosses this thinner span of river. If I were a fae looking to sneak something into the elves’ territory, this would certainly be the place I’d try and do it.

In the fields to the far right of town, tents have been erected. They glow from within, their colors shining like candy in the glittering darkness that follows in the night after rain. Flags made small by distance flutter in the nighttime breeze. We can hear cheers faintly across the fields.

“Go and investigate the Troupe of Masks,” Eldas commands his brother. “Look for any signs of foul play there.”

“And you?”

“I’m going to the scene of the crime.” Eldas doesn’t wait for Drestin to respond; we’re already moving through the Fade again.

We emerge a little bit down the road at a scene of butchery. One horse has been flayed open, its entrails spilled out. Its rider—a guard whose face I don’t recognize, but wears the city armor of Quinnar—has been ripped nearly in half.

“Wolves?” I ask, noting the claw marks.

“This is no wolf,” Eldas says darkly. “Those are fae claws.”

I shudder and think back to the antlered creature in the alleyway. So fae can have wings, and horns, and claws. They’re the creatures that haunted my nightmares, not elves.

Eldas crouches down, looking for any hints as to who might have done this or what happened to Harrow. I keep staring at the dead elf: eyes wide, blood pooled in the mud. I pull my gaze away and sweep it across the plains that surround the road. In my mind, I try and recreate the scene that transpired.

There is no place to hide, which means Harrow and his guard would’ve had to see their attackers coming. Fae glamour? I look down at the road. No.

“Eldas, something isn’t right here.”

“Yes,” he growls. “My brother might be dead!” Eldas rises with his voice. “Something is very wrong. We need to search the area. They can’t have made it far.”

I remain calm in the face of his rage and panic. I’ve had families take out their grief over sick relatives on me. Worry twists the hearts of men into something unrecognizable. But better sense ultimately prevails, sooner or later.

“Look.” I point to the road. “It rained during dinner, which means any fae glamour wouldn’t have worked. You said fresh water washes it away, right?” He pauses, slowly nodding. I continue, “Additionally, any footprints should have also been washed away. Here’s ours. Then, there’s these…” Deep divots of pooled water collect in two sets of footprints. One set are boots, the other are paws larger than any I’ve ever seen. Larger than Hook’s.

Speaking of… I raise my fingers to my lips and give out a shrill whistle.

“Hook, come,” I command. The wolf bounds from between the shadows of the night. It’s good to see him again after a few days—good to know he’ll still come when I call. But this is not the cuddly Hook I know. He lets out a low growl at the carnage. His eyes are alert and his ears press flat to his head. “Hook.” I draw his attention to me. “Can you find Harrow for us?”