He tended to agree with her, but the final decision, ultimately, was not his to make. There were powers beyond him that would decide the Beast’s fate.
“When the time comes, I will do what needs to be done. That’s the best I can promise.”
“Fair enough.” Orabilis put down her piece of bread and tapped her fingers on the table as if debating what she wanted to say next. “You do realize Fenrir has the ability to destroy the weave of the world as we know it. The future, as well as the present, lies at risk should you fail. And even if you succeed,howyou succeed and what you do after carries that same burden of risk.”
Why was it the gods never saw fit to save him from the agony of Faerie gibberish? The inscrutable nature of their warnings, their inability to say what they meant in a straightforward manner, always grated upon his nerves.
Still, this particular Faerie had saved his life, so he wouldn’t argue with his hostess. He would simply change the subject.
“Is Bridget not taking her meal with us?”
“She is not.”
Orabilis flashed her innocent Faerie smile and Hall’s stomach knotted with the sure knowledge that something was very wrong.
“Is she out tending to the animals?”
Orabilis’s brow wrinkled a bit more than usual as she considered the question. “She is not tending to our animals.”
Word games. The Fae simply couldn’t help themselves, perhaps the least attractive of all their annoying habits. They played with language as a child played with toys.
Hall laid down his spoon and the warm bread, taking a moment to consider exactly how to ask the questions that would get her to tell him what he wanted to know. The direct method was usually best when it came to communicating with a Faerie.
“Where is she?”
Orabilis steepled her hands, tapping her fingers together slowly. “I am no sure exactly where she might be by now.”
By now.A flaw in her choice of words, which, thankfully, should speed up this blighted process.
“Then tell me this: Where has she gone?”
Because Bridget was, without question, gone. He could feel her absence as a great empty spot in his world. A great empty spot that he didn’t like one little bit.
The old Faerie took another bite, savoring the food before answering. “Now, there’s a question I can answer. Our determined lass has gone after the scrolls she believed necessary for your survival.”
“What?” Hall burst up from the table, sending his chair crashing over backward. “But you didn’t need the scrolls. I’ve recovered just fine without them.”
“As I told her you very well might, given time. But it seems she’s no a patient lass. She wasn’t willing to risk my being wrong.”
“And you just let her go? By herself?”
Unbelievable! Orabilis had to know how dangerous it would be for Bridget to leave the protection of Rowan Cottage.
The Faerie shrugged, as if they discussed nothing more serious than a misplaced garment. “Young girls these days. Not a drop of patience in the lot of them. They make up their mind and there’s simply no talking them out of it. She wanted to go, she went. What’s an old woman to do?”
“What’s an old—” Hall clamped his mouth shut when he realized he’d been reduced to sputtering. After a deep breath to calm himself he tried again. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Orabilis snorted her disbelief. “Who am I to stop the last daughter of the House MacUlagh, descended from the Ancient Seven who’d ruled the land when not even—”
“Enough!” Hall’s own patience, normally quite extensive, was at an end. “I’ll hear no more of your nonsense. How long has she been gone?”
“She left here two days ago, armored with her people’s symbols of protection and destiny, seeking one she called Mathew. Seeking the Elven Scrolls of Niflheim so that she might ensure your recovery.”
Two days’ head start?
“By Thor! I’ll need food and provisions so that I might leave right away. Traveling quickly enough, I just might catch up with her.”
Orabilis motioned toward him with her spoon. “You’ll likely want clothes, too. Just a thought. Yer things are cleaned and folded in the corner of the bedchamber.”
