Song of the Fairy Queen (29 page)

With nothing here to use to brace it he closed the door behind him. The Hunters bayed and howled in the street below. It was very likely they were angry at him, first for drawing them off and now because they’d likely realized he’d killed a few of them on the rooftops.

That sound grew closer.

This house didn’t have an opening into the attic, just windows that opened outward.

Praying they’d been recently oiled, he chose the one farthest from the street and swung it open.

It creaked. Loudly.

Luck was clearly not with him.

With no choice, he swung out and up, leaping across to the next roof.

On the street below there was a yelp.

“Morgan!” a voice howled, a roar of recognition and rage from one of the Hunters.

Morgan glanced down to the Hunter looking up from the street below.

The sound of wood splintering alerted him, that and more growling and snarling in the nearby alleys.

Stopping wasn’t an option.

Morgan ran, swearing lightly, scanning the rooftops for the most likely route out. It would’ve been better if this had been night, but it wasn’t.

Another howling cry went up.

He jumped, skittering across slate tiles, sending some crashing to the street below.

Running with a drawn sword wasn’t a great option, but better than running without one, as they were likely to be circling, trying to spot him and surround him, to cut him off, trying to hunt him down.

Morgan’s heart pounded, all senses alert.

He saw the Hunter seconds before it saw him and shifted his direction, took a wild leap and a tumbling roll.

He came up on his feet lucky he hadn’t killed himself with his own sword. Even then, he turned and spun as the pursuing Hunter leaped. Morgan rammed his sword deep into it.

Snapping and snarling, claws scrabbling, it tried to kill him even as he drove his blade deeper and then they were at the edge of the roof.

Morgan shoved hard, throwing himself backward at the same moment.

The thing dropped off his sword and down into the alley.

Warm blood, his own, ran down his arm and there was a burning in his shoulder.

Not good.

Turning, he sprinted across the roof and leaped, catching the sloped edge of the next roof and inching across it.

A howling behind him warned of another Hunter.

A burst of pigeons two buildings to his left warned of a second.

This wasn’t looking good
.

Movement where there should be none showed they were either circling him or herding him. It wasn’t a good sign. Either way, it was starting to look as if he had gambled and lost.

A Hunter leaped out at him, catching him hard in the ribs. Rolling with the leap across a roof, Morgan spun it off, the thing’s claws scraping across his belly and ribs.

But he was free. He slashed to drive it off and jumped for the next roof.

It gave chase and he darted around a corner.

More blood flowed.

A surge of weakness went through him. Morgan’s muscles shivered with shock and loss of blood.

Overrunning, one Hunter slammed into another, both snarling and snapping at each other in a moment of bloodlust.

Morgan saw a glimmer in the sky where none should be and – given the reception party that was likely waiting ahead and the closing ring around him – he would’ve called Kyri off if he could have.

If she would’ve listened.

And if she hadn’t been moving so fast.

Like a sparkling comet, Kyri seemed to dive out of the sun, her wings folded back like a falcon’s…

Kyri clung to vision, her speed making it go dark at the edges, but she could see Morgan and he was in trouble. Fear for him drove her past her limits.

Halfway through the stoop she dumped speed as she went into a long swoop.

They hadn’t seen her yet. They were closing in around Morgan, circling, stalking him.

Morgan
.

Fear ran cold through her.

Morgan kept one eye on Kyri’s hurtling form, calculating her trajectory, knowing she was watching.

In a moment, the Hunters would close in for the kill.

Now.

He sprinted, racing for the edge of the roof, hoping he hadn’t miscalculated, ramming his sword into its sheath, leaping up and out. One hand was outstretched.

This was going to hurt.

Seeing Morgan run, knowing what it was he was about to do, would do, Kyri swooped to intercept him as he sprang out into space…

The trust, the faith in her… Her heart trembled.

In the next moment their hands came together with nearly numbing force, his and hers locked, his around her wrist as hers closed around his.

Kyri flattened her trajectory, her wings angled to turn and lift. The strain screamed across her shoulders and through her wings. But she bore it.

The contact between their clasped arms was enough to tell her Morgan was hurt, bleeding, weakening – her heart wrenched with his pain – and leaving a dripping trail for the Hunters to follow.

She looked down as Morgan looked up at her. He knew it as well.

Wind buffeted her suddenly.

The sky was clear and cloudless save for the smoke from the square.

Frowning, she looked ahead. There was nothing in the sky to explain it.

Another blast of wind struck her suddenly.

Plots within plans.

“The Wizard,” she snarled, furious.

The next blast blew her down at least a half dozen yards.

Clearly, Haerold’s wizard didn’t want to kill them yet, or she’d have used fire.

They wanted them alive. The thought made Kyri shiver.

She fought it with every ounce of her strength and skill.

“What is it?” Morgan said, each blast of wind wrenching them both.

“The damn wizard,” Kyri answered. “She’s using elemental magic, the wind, air, trying to drive me down.”

It was the first time Morgan had heard her swear. Had it not been so serious, he would’ve laughed.

Kyri set herself, furious. “I am the Queen of the Air and no mortal witch will take me in my own element.”

Fighting the wizard magic to magic would take power she needed elsewhere.

“I’ll give her flying lessons,” Kyri snapped, all too aware of Morgan – injured below her – with his hand tight around her wrist, but growing weaker.

She fought each buffet, each hammer from the sky, keeping her shoulders loose so each shift and turn wouldn’t hit Morgan to tear at his wounds.

They cleared the city walls as Kyri fought for height and then to glide.

Kyri drew out the horse whistle and blew once, summoning a Fairy horse.

She tried to make their landing as soft as possible, flaring her wings, despite the sudden downdraft that nearly blew her sideways.

Morgan staggered, dizzy with blood loss and relief. Kyri steadied him.

Pain nearly blinded him. Every wound throbbed, ached, or burned. His vision blurred, darkened.

Kyri eased him to the ground

Blood stained Morgan’s shoulder, his ribs, deep scores had been raked over him.

Kyri’s breath caught.

“Morgan,” she whispered, propping him against her shoulder even as she drew strength for Healing.

She’d already done work nearly this exhausting once this day for Philip. Somehow she had to find the strength to do it again for Morgan.

He looked at her, his piercing blue eyes focusing on her.

“Alive, thanks to you,” he said.

Morgan touched her face, seeing the fear for him in her eyes, turning them a stormy blue-green.

Her golden hair was disheveled, half in and half out of the braids, her wings surrounded them protectively…and yet she was still beautiful to him, as always.

“Don’t do that again,” Kyri said, bowing her head as if to concentrate, drawing power from the earth despite the storm of her emotions.

A sparkling droplet fell.

“It would help if those weren’t crystal,” Morgan said softly.

She lifted her chin to look at him, and bit her lip.

In all her long life, there’d been no other like him. Like Oryan and Gwenifer. Kyri’s throat tightened. She hadn’t missed it.

Until now.

“I love you, too, Kyri,” Morgan said. His voice was gentle.

His words caught her off guard.

For a moment Kyri went still and then she laughed with relief and gratitude. “I love you, too, High Marshal Morgan. So don’t you dare die on me.”

“Better hurry up, or that might be a problem,” Morgan said.

Already he felt sickeningly weak, a rush of cold washed through him.

Her eyes widened a little.

A spurt of fear ran through Kyri, despite knowing different.

Morgan wouldn’t die, she wouldn’t let him.

Slipping her hand beneath his shirt, Kyri laid it over the muscles of his chest and the strong heart beneath it. He laid his on top of hers, pressed firmly.

Her heart clenched.

Even as her magic sank into him they heard the sound of hoof beats in the distance. Far more alarming, they heard baying. It wouldn’t take long for the Hunters to pick up their scent.

“We’ll have to lead them away for a while,” Morgan said.

Nodding, Kyri concentrated on his warm skin beneath her hand, on the muscle, tendon and skin knitting.

On healing Morgan.

The baying grew close.

Time was short, but Galan wasn’t here to aid her, to finish, and so she must. Her strength waned, weariness dragged at her.

Opening his shirt, she smoothed her hand over the scars that now crossed his hard stomach, as she looked for anything she’d missed. She dared not move him and risk something tearing inside him or some small pocket of infection that could grow to be as dangerous until she was sure.

She was nearly exhausted and Morgan was little better.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Weak, tired, but there’s no pain,” Morgan said, relieved.

“I can’t replace lost blood, so you’ll be tired and weak for a time.”