A sensation passed through her, as if a bucket of icy water had been dumped on her head. She startled and let out a soft whimper. But she recognized the Fey Craft. She had felt the sensation before—with Jaelyn at Caldwell House, and again with Rose Brewer.
Gaelyph, Warden of the Hunt, had linked with her. The joining of their auras allowed her to sense more fully his predator’s nature—that of a lion slinking through a savanna rich with prey. It also allowed them to meld their Fey Craft, as if one’s thoughts could guide the other’s hand. Rose Brewer had done such a thing as Jack Canonbie had lain dying in Effie’s arms on the streets of Glasgow.
The warden never glanced her direction. He kept his gaze locked on the redcap. But within their link, Effie sensed an urging for her to rise. She did so and saw the redcap leap at Gaelyph. The warden flicked his wrist. His blade clattered against the pikestaff. The pair swiped at one another in a furious exchange.
Come now, charge! The sensation tugged at Effie through the link. Her feet rumbled forward before she could think. Before she could panic. She rushed with her cane before her, clasped tight in her hands. She watched the spinning, whirling pikestaff this time.
Drop! The command barked at her through the link. She flung herself to the ground. The pikestaff cut through the night. The iron hook whooshed past where her neck had just been. It smacked against her cane, yanking the wood from her hands.
She skidded to a jarring stop. The redcap loomed over her, his pikestaff held high. His mouth opened in a snarl. His eyes burned blood red. Drool dripped from his teeth. He tittered, and the iron hook screamed down at her.
Gaelyph caught the shaft and ripped the weapon free. Effie blinked, gasping and confused, until she saw the warden’s sword. It had impaled the redcap through the back of the shoulder and out the gut.
The redcap tumbled to the ground. The tittering sound came one last time from its lips before it lay still.
The link between her and the warden dissipated like a fading mist. Its absence left Effie feeling cold and hollow. She shivered, realizing how damp she’d become sitting on the ground. The warden reached out a hand and helped her to her feet.
“You bore such hatred, was this creature known to you?” she asked. She brushed at her trousers, as if she could remove the chill with a bit of dirt.
Gaelyph shook his head. “Not until we reached the castle. But their breed is malicious and cruel, hunting and maiming for sport. Theirs must be put down.”
Reclaiming his sword, he flung the pikestaff away. His eyes met hers. They remained stern, and yet somehow she no longer saw the arrogance in them. “Against the tainted humans, that was no easy choice,” he said. “I see your struggle with it.”
She swallowed. “Th-thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your understanding, and your mercy.”
He frowned at the words.
“You used the flat of your blade,” she explained. “Before, I mean. With those of the mob.” The events of the day returned to her, and she found herself mimicking his expression. “But why did you wait so long to let us know of your presence? Or that the redcap stalked us?”
The warden pulled back. “I needed to see that you didn’t work in concert with the creature.” He spoke as if the notion should be obvious.
Effie flinched as if struck. “You couldn’t believe that!”
“Four humans came at first, as a mere distraction,” he said. “Caledon argued as you had, that they should be saved, that there might yet be hope for them. It allowed the redcap and his Unseily cohorts to ambush us as we quarreled.”
“But you knew it was me.” She tried to keep the hurt from her voice.
“I expected Abigail,” he said. “Not you, nor the queen’s soldiers.” The warden made no move to apologize.
Anger swirled with an onrush of sadness in her chest. Trust. He had commanded her to do so even after his own lacking had placed them all in jeopardy. And yet, he had linked with her in the end. He had placed both their lives in the faith she would do as he bade. She no longer knew what to make of that.
She broke her gaze away. Her head began to ache. The nicks and bruises she had suffered inflamed as the excitement of the fighting waned.
“Why had Caledon come to Hermitage?” she asked.
At the question, the warden ducked his head. “I failed him. Word reached me that the Erbgraf wished to join our cause along with his Wild Hunt. We were to meet an emissary at the castle and agree to an accord. But no emissary ever arrived.”
Effie’s throat tightened. She reached for it unconsciously. The steward had asked her to treat with the Germans, and she had refused. She had not felt it her place. How could it be, with her an outsider of the Seily Court? But now that harm had befallen the steward, her reasons seemed so foolish and childish.
“That they have taken Caledon and not slain him directly must give us hope,” she said. Her voice rasped. Clenching her fists, she swallowed down her guilt. “But we must hurry.”
Gaelyph nodded. He bent and picked up her cane, handing it to her. As he did, the clop of horses sounded. Three riders trotted down the game trail. Effie squinted to make them out. But it was too dark. Night had fallen.
24
Torchlight painted Gaelyph’s face. The warden strode through the night, picking a path through gently rolling hills. Water trickled over stones nearby, a splinter from the burn that ran past the castle. Starlight had etched the hills in silver for a time, but a bank of clouds moved in, and with it came a dank wind and the soft patter of rain.
The woolen cloak Effie wore kept out the droplets, and though it hadn’t removed the damp of her trousers and morning coat, it at least stopped her shivering. She rode Barnaby behind the warden alongside three men from Hawick, Sergeant McGrady, Brandon, and Sweet Tom Reedling. One of the lads from Hawick had offered her the cloak. He’d taken it from some luckless soul to give to his sister. Effie tried not to dwell on its previous owner. The riders from Hawick spoke of scores of mobs roaming the countryside, each as large, or larger, than the one they’d faced at the castle. If believed, it would place the count of those tainted beyond salvation near a thousand. And that in the Borders alone.
She tried to keep from clutching her reins too tight. The news unsettled her, even without adding the dread of what they might be forced to do if they encountered another of the mobs, a notion that seemed likely, since they rode with their auras unhidden. When Effie had asked whether obscuring themselves would be prudent, the warden had argued for a scheme involving snares and bait.
His plan offered little comfort. She knew full well what part he intended her and the other men to play. But for Caledon she would gladly take such risks.
A hooded crow fluttered in to perch on her shoulder. She barely twitched this time. She’d tried to send the thing and its mate away earlier, but they’d clung on, taking turns circling Effie’s mounted party on silent wing or nuzzling against her cloak’s hood. At least they remained quiet, with only the occasional croak between them.
The rider who’d lent her the cloak stared at her. “Sorry, miss, only it’s you, isn’t it?” he’d asked when he’d first laid eyes on her by the burn. “The one they say can make trees sprout from the cobbles and giants bend the knee?”