Song of the Fairy Queen (35 page)

Kyri looked at him, waited….watched his yellow eyes. They shifted.

He leaped and she ducked, rammed her sword up into him, his momentum pulling her over even as she twisted to avoid jostling the bolt that pierced her.

Blood spattered her as he howled in pain and fury.

Tumbling away, she thrust her sword in front of her desperately as the others circled.

Against her will, she staggered and the next leaped. She slashed with her sword and drove it back. Another dove in, claws lashing at her legs, another at her side…

They savaged her.

She screamed defiance as they darted in, one after another, forced her to turn, to fight, trying to wear her down, succeeding, each movement causing the thing inside her to shift and move, the pain blinding, terrible.

A little longer, a little longer…

Suddenly arrows rained down on them and something burst past them, sending them tumbling, bowling them over. With yelps and snarls they scrambled to their feet.

Horses, men and swords, her own Fairy, wings sparkling, the Marshals, all of them battled the Hunters away from her, forced them back as the Marshals formed a defensive circle around her. One of the riders leaped off his horse and strode toward her to gather her up, his eyes so blue.

Morgan.

Her heart leaped, with hope and with fear for him. He shouldn’t be off his horse, it was too dangerous down here, he was vulnerable.

Her dazed eyes met his, her sword dropping from her suddenly strengthless fingers as she went to her knees.

Morgan caught her as she fell and eased her into the crook of his arm, her face whiter than white. He’d never seen her so pale. There was so much blood.

It had been terrible to watch, racing to her aid as they harried her, her courage and determination heartbreaking as the Hunters bit and tore at her as she fought to drive them off.

To see her like this, covered in blood, the bolt an obscene invasion, horrific, the slashes on her arms, her legs, bleeding through the silk and lace so what had once been silver and gold was now scarlet, nearly destroyed him.

Weakness shivered through her, even as she fixed her eyes on him, her knees crumpling.

Her eyes seem to blaze against the paleness of her skin, even as she lifted shaking fingers to touch his face.

“Morgan.” Her voice was a whisper as her eyes fluttered.

Heartsick, desperate, Galan dropped to his knees beside them, catching Morgan’s hands as he started to pull the barbed arrow from her.

The sight of it in her was sacrilege to him, defiling her.

It offended Galan, too, but Healing told him a far more frightening story. Shock went through him. There was so much damage. Fear flashed like lightning.

“Hold, Morgan,” Galan cried, “pull it now and she dies.”

Looking into Galan’s eyes, Morgan could see the truth of it. .

“There’s not much time,” Morgan said.

The rest of their people were buying them this small fraction of it.

Nodding, Galan set his hands around the wound, sinking into Healing as fast as he dared, enough to buy them a little more time.

“On my count,” Galan said. “One, two, three…Pull it now.”

Morgan pulled and Kyri cried out, her body arching, her aquamarine eyes opening wide as pain exploded through her…The cry was thin, weak.

The pain was rough and blunt, shattering.

Galan blasted healing through her, enough to hold, at least for a little while.

Her body arched, her blue-green eyes, hazed and shadowed, cleared enough for her to see for a moment…the staggering pain giving her that much at least.

“Morgan…” Her voice was a whisper.

His heart ached, as his eyes ran over the rest of her, seeing the slashes and bites from the Hunters, the cuts and tears over her lovely body. As always, she had fought, hard and valiantly.

“We’ll get you home, Kyri.”

“Love you,” she breathed.

Bending his head down to her ear, he whispered, “I love you, too.”

Those aquamarine eyes shifted to Galan.

He shook his head. “Don’t speak, my Kyri.”

She was too weak.

Galan already had the horse down and Morgan nodded gratefully as he lifted her gently into his arms and stepped onto it. The horse surged to his feet, Kyri safe for the moment in his arms, her weight light against his thighs. It reminded him strongly of the day they’d first made love. Of her laughing face looking up at him. His heart twisted as his arms tightened.

She wasn’t Healed yet, though and they were a long way and a long fight, from home.

Handing Morgan his sword, Galan nodded and then turned for his own horse.

“Let’s go,” Morgan shouted, as their people surrounded them, as Haerold’s troops closed.

Galan, looking washed out and strained himself said, “We have more problems. Our people with the rebels on both sides are tracking soldiers closing in a pincer movement.”

They’d taken no chances, Haerold and his wizard Queen.

“Will they cut us off?” Morgan asked.

His eyes unfocused, Galan tilted his head, listening. A small frown flickered and then he smiled.

“They vow no. Even now they push the pace to try to catch them up.”

If Kyri survived.

At the thought, Galan’s pleasure sobered. He wasn’t the Healer Kyri was and she couldn’t help him in this.

It would be a near thing. On all counts.

Morgan kept Kyri in his arms from the moment they found refuge in one of their safe houses and Galan struggled to Heal her, fighting for her life. And that was clearly what it was. A fight, a battle. The white dress had turned scarlet. It went on for hours, Galan muttering to himself worriedly as he tried to Heal her, clearly stretching himself to his limits.

All Morgan could do was hold her, keep her warm.

”Help me, my Kyri,” Galan whispered, once.

In his mind Galan went over and over everything she’d ever taught him, every step, seeing her in his mind’s eye so patient, so steady, smiling.

Exhausted, he finally looked up at Morgan, who looked no less battled and bruised than he probably did.

“She’ll live,” he said, sagging back against the wall weakly.

“Go rest,” Morgan said, “I’ll take care of her now.”

The Fairy Healer was clearly exhausted.

Through all the long night Morgan held her as she tossed restlessly now and then, as if fighting off the Hunters again in her dreams. He would hold her, whisper in her ear, reassuring her until she calmed again. Finally, as the first blush of dawn was touching the sky, she settled into sleep and after a time so did he.

When she shifted a little to curl more deeply into his arms, he woke, tightening his arms around her.

Looking down at her fine-boned face, to him she still looked too pale, too fragile, with blue shadows beneath her eyes. He brushed the backs of his fingers across the softness of her cheek, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The feverish warmth was gone, as was the coldness that had preceded it. He brushed her hair back from her lovely face with gentle fingers.

Her eyes fluttered a moment, opened, looking up at him in near disbelief and then in wonder. A slender hand reached up to touch his face once again with unsteady fingers, tracing down it.

Her voice was little more than a whisper. A breath. “Morgan?”

“I’m here,” he said, “you’re safe.”

Kyri looked up into his face, into those brilliant blue eyes, the firm square jaw, the strong lines of his face, his solid body so reassuring against hers, something that she could hold on to when the winds of fate buffeted her.

Taking a long, painless breath, she pressed her face against his throat and simply breathed in the scent of him, taking comfort in the simple physical presence of him.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she said, softly.

Tears glimmered in her eyes, spilled over…

Morgan had feared much the same thing and cupped her cheek to press her against his chest.

Rubbing his cheek against her hair, he said, “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

Her hand went to her stomach.

There was a scar there on that once smooth skin that rarely scarred. One day Haerold would pay for that, Morgan vowed.

But it was the healing she wanted to know about. Her eyes looked a question at him.

“Galan,” Morgan said.

“Where?”

Her voice was so weak.

“Resting,” he said.

Her gaze turned inward. She was so tired.

“Tell him I said he did well,” she said. “Where are we?”

Pressing a finger to her lips, seeing what it cost her to speak, he said, “Safe. Stop talking.”

She took another breath, painlessly, filled her lungs with the scent of Morgan. He smelled wonderful, rich…and alive.

“Tired,” she whispered.

“Sleep then, for a little while,” Morgan said, cradling her head in his hand against his shoulder.

That had been too close. Entirely too close.

The grim look on Oryan’s face as they entered the tent was enough to warn them. He held another broadside in his hand. By his expression the news wasn’t good. Morgan braced himself, Kyri going still and watchful as Oryan gestured them inside, his eyes mainly on Kyri.

They had just arrived, walking into Oryan’s tent without even taking the time to unsaddle their horses, Caleb taking care of that chore for them.

Looking at his face, she steeled herself, grateful for Morgan’s supportive arm at her waist.

She took a breath and nodded. “Say it, Oryan. I take it that Haerold has responded?”

His jaw tightened even as his throat locked.

They had only just returned and Kyri still looked far too pale to Oryan’s eyes. She was Queen of the Fairy, though and her sea-foam eyes were steady and level on his. It took incredible courage to face such news after being so badly hurt. They each faced such every day these days.

Oryan nodded.

Beneath Morgan’s hand, Kyri straightened.

If Morgan had ever admired her strength before, he did so even more now in the face of what she’d just been through. She said nothing, but put her hand over his on her waist, drawing on him for support. Which he gave and gladly.

“It’s even worse than we anticipated,” Oryan said. “Haerold has declared all Fairy lands forfeit to the Crown, to do with as it pleases. Any and all Fairy caught aiding the Rebellion are to be caught – preferably alive – for return to the King’s Court and the justice there. The remainder will bow to Haerold as King.”

Oryan let the paper fall to the table. “There’s a bounty on Fairy and it’s large, but not as large as the one on you, Kyri.”