Tallia whipped her head at the charging riders, the men from Hawick. Red coats dotted among their number, the sergeant and his soldiers. They carved a path through the wulvers and claimed the hilltop. The crows swooped among them. They perched on the stanes and fluttered to the grass. They could rest. They had stalled long enough. Their work was done.
Effie felt a frigid flare of power rush into her. Gaelyph linked with her, not with fetid weeds but with the sturdiness of oak. She surged her Fey Craft outward, spreading calm and a sense of hope to her companions. Her hand shot up and grasped the wand. With a deft twist, she snapped it.
The thunderstone fell to the ground. As it did, the glow of stardust winked out.
27
Tallia recoiled. She stumbled back and stared blankly at the broken wand. A rifle cracked. She jerked and spun around, stumbling to her knees. Hacking, blood dripped from her lips. Her gaze found Effie. Her eyes shone with a malice that would scorch the sun. They lingered on Effie for only a moment before sliding toward the center of the ring of nine stanes, toward where Caledon lay motionless.
The grindylow snatched the thunderstone. Effie lunged to wrestle it away, but Tallia battered her back. Effie raised her arms to protect herself. She rolled aside and came to her feet, balanced on her toes. Something slithered across the ground before her. Dark shapes twisted and hissed through the grass. The riders hollered, struggling to control their mounts as hundreds of snakes emerged from the dark shadows of the stanes.
Effie countered Tallia’s Fey Craft. She pulled on the strength Gaelyph lent her, redoubling the sense of calm she sent to the riders and horses, and reshaping the snakes into flowery vines that swayed as if taken by a morning breeze.
The thunderstone flared to life in Tallia’s clutched fingers. Where the azure glow of stardust touched her hand, it seared the flesh away. The grindylow shrieked in agony. Her arm blackened. Turning to Effie, her shrieks became a gurgling cackle.
A burst of stardust shot from the thunderstone. Effie had no chance to leap aside. She managed to tuck her shoulder, and the burst ripped across her back, scorching her to the bone and setting her coat alight. She was flung back. The cold kiss of grass scratched along the wound. It made her cry out in pain, but at least it snuffed the flames.
Cringing, she expected another burst. She heard the ragged clomp of footfalls stumbling away from her instead. Tallia staggered toward the center of the stanes. She passed the thunderstone to her other hand as she went. The first was spent. The arm dangled, coal black, rent, and dead.
“Mother, save me!” Her desperate cry came as a choking rasp.
Scrambling to her feet, Effie lurched after the grindylow. She spied a loose stone but knew if she stooped to pick it up she may not rise again. At least, not until it was too late to save Caledon. Her feet had turned to lead. Fire rippled across her back. She felt a wetness there soaking her shirt.
The steward must have sensed the coming doom. His head rolled toward Tallia. His eyes fluttered, the first movement Effie had seen from him since her arrival on the hilltop. Her heart seized. The steward had believed in her when no other fey had. He had rallied the Seily Court around her intentions and seen she was treated with respect.
And he had done all of this while others ostracized her. They blamed her family for the death of his kin. They blamed her for conspiring against their kind and her mother for shunning their traditions. But he only saw her for who she truly was—not as a fey, or an orphan, or the blood of a betrayer—but for the merits of her own worth.
She would not let him die, no matter the cost.
Tallia raised the thunderstone. Its glow cast a halo around her that fell onto the prone steward. As she plunged her arm downward, the halo narrowed and strengthened in intensity. The azure glow turned into blue flame that licked and hissed like the gas lamps of a city street. She shrieked as she dropped to her knees and shoved her fist toward Caledon’s chest.
Effie smashed into her. As they toppled over, blue flames burst into the air between them. The heat seared Effie. It scalded her neck and singed her arms. She ripped at her coat, tearing it free. Gasping against the shock of agony, she rolled along the grass.
Shrieks rang out behind her. She whirled around to see Tallia rise. The grindylow’s tattered clothes had also caught alight. Flames billowed from head to foot. Her arms flailed. But they were too charred and dead to dampen the burning stardust.
Sergeant McGrady stepped into Effie’s line of sight. Mud caked his boots and coat. His cheeks were flushed, and his breath came in panting huffs. Raising his pistol, he fired.
Tallia twitched and collapsed. Her shrieks ended. Effie sensed her aura fade away. Across the hilltop, none of the grindylow’s companions remained. The bogills were dead, the wulvers likewise or fled. A few of the crows squawked. They flapped their wings and resettled. The horses snorted and stomped their feet against the cold night air.
“No.” Effie whimpered. No joy rose in her at Tallia’s death. She crawled on her hands and knees toward Caledon. Each movement stung. Her flesh ached. It throbbed to the pulse of her heart.
The grass near the steward’s head smoldered. Whiffs of smoke rose from it, smelling oddly sweet. Caledon lay still, but his gaze studied her. He breathed. His chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. Bruises ran along his neck. The sickly pallor of his face and the way sweat trickled from his brow gave indications that he fought a fever.
Effie took one of his hands in her own. The effort made her wince. Casting forth her senses, she scoured his aura. It had changed. The beacon of light it had once been was now a cruel and twisted thing, as if a cheery hearth, warm and offering protection, had become a frigid and boggy mire full of menace.
The grass crunched as Gaelyph came to stand over them both. His sword was slick, his face a stone mask. But she read the doubt in his eyes. It troubled him what he thought he must do.
“There has to be a way,” she said. “It must be possible to remove this taint of the Unseily.”
“Effie.” He squatted and reached out with the back of his hand. His fingers stopped short of caressing her cheek. He didn’t disagree with her, but nor did he show concern for the steward. His attention didn’t waver from her. His gaze flickered across her arms and chest.
It took a moment for her to understand. Death hung in the air. She closed her eyes. A shudder passed through her. Her heart started to race.
“We are not too late,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“You would make a grand steward. I see it in you, as surely as I read it in the stars.” Caledon’s voice sounded weak, barely above a whisper. “But I have long known you would never accept such a mantle.”
Effie blinked, confused. She felt the night slow around her, as if she had been cast underwater. Slowly, the starlight was dimming.
“You have much of your mother, and of her father, Arnwyrd, in you,” the steward continued.
“Betrayer’s blood.” The words tasted fuzzy on her lips.
“Fey blood,” Caledon replied. “We are one. Our history is shared. You must have faith in that.” His gaze found the warden’s unsheathed sword. “I fight her, Gaelyph. I am strong, but I cannot resist forever. You must do what must be done.”
“No.” Effie barely managed the word. She refused to believe that the Caledon they knew would never return. They were not one, despite what he said. He was the stronger, the better. He was the heart of their people.