Page 84 of A Divided Duty

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said. “If I were your squire, I could take you anywhere you need to go, always.”

“Tempting, but Quentin hasn’t graduated yet,” I said. “Do you really want to wait that long?”

“I might be willing,” she said, sweeping a hand through the air. The portal that opened looked onto my living room. Tybalt was still asleep on the couch in his bipedal shape, Miranda flat on his chest with her head resting against his shoulder. It was a beautiful scene, and I was tempted to pull out my phone and take a picture. I was just pretty sure Chelsea would kill me if I tried to make her wait long enough for me to do that.

I stepped through the portal, Chelsea close behind, and we were in the living room. “Damn, the Tuatha got it good with the teleportation,” I muttered. “I’d trade blood magic for never needing to find parking again.”

Tybalt cracked open one eye, and yawned enormously, showing off incisors far too large to fit the shape of a human mouth. Then he opened the other eye, turning a drowsy green-eyed gaze on me.

“Well?” he asked. “Is the voyage done?”

“We have one more stop to get through before we can call this finished,” I said. “You and I need to go get Raysel.”

“Wait,” squawked Chelsea. “What about me?”

“You get to take the baby while we go and get your girlfriend,” I said. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come with us.”

“Why not? I’ve been following your orders, even when they were stupid orders! I can do whatever it is you need me to do! I can—”

“You don’t understand,” I said, more gently. “You can’t come with us.” I pulled the candles out of my pocket, holding one of them out toward Tybalt. He took it reluctantly, pushing himself away from the couch with one hand before offering a somehow still-sleeping Miranda to Chelsea. My breasts ached at the sight of her, which was almost a relief; it meant my milk was still flowing, enough that I wanted to give it to my child.

Once he was no longer holding our child, Tybalt tapped his candle’s wick to mine. Both of them burst immediately into blue-white flame, and a fog began to gather around us. I turned back to Chelsea.

“This is a trip that needs a special ticket, and I’m afraid both of ours have already been assigned,” I said. “We’ll be back soon, with Rayseline. I promise.”

I couldn’t promise what shape she was going to be—some things are beyond my power—but I could promise that we were going to bring her home. Because anything that tried to get in my way was going to learn why I’d been named a Hero of the Realm.

The fog continued to gather, getting thicker and thicker around us. I turned, meeting Tybalt’s eyes. “Hear me, weary rover, and listen as you stand, for you’ll walk the wild world over, and not see Westmoreland,” I said. “Long you’ll go and far you’ll walk, and never see the sun, but when you hear the night bird cry, you’ll know your journey’s done. Hear me, weary wanderer, and know I tell you right: you’ll make it there and back again by just one candle’s light.”

The fog closed over us, blocking everything else out so completely that the world might as well have not existed, and we were gone.

SEVENTEEN

WHEN THE FOG CLEARED, we were back on the dark, thorn-choked path through Maeve’s woods. “So much for putting us back where we were before,” I muttered, lowering my candle and reaching for Tybalt’s hand as I started forward. We needed to get through this wood as quickly as we could. I didn’t know how much time Raysel had.

The Children’s Hall transformed its occupants, but the process wasn’t instant, or even particularly fast. She could be in there for days without transforming at all; she could be twisted into something I wouldn’t be able to recognize in a matter of hours. I was reasonably sure of my ability to reverse whatever Michael’s lingering magic did to her; my own magic had grown so much since I was a captive there that I was all but certain I could loop my mental fingers through the strands of his spell and snap them one by one, freeing her from whatever she had become. But she didn’t need the trauma.

Being transformed into something that you’re not, against your will and without your influence, is a terrible experience. It’s terrifying, and the scars it leaves are just as deep as scars carved into flesh. I’ve been transformed enough times to know that the fear and the agony don’t go away just because the process is reversed. Raysel had already been through enough. She didn’t need to be treated like a plaything by people who should never have been allowed to touch her in the first place.

Tybalt didn’t argue as I hauled him down the path, only allowed himself to be pulled in my wake, not attempting to pull his hand out of my own. Between us, our candles cast enough light to let us see where we were stepping, making it relatively easy to avoid the roots and brambles cutting across our path, as long as we kept our pace slow and measured. Going any faster, we might have a problem.

In the distance, a hunting horn sounded.

I exchanged a quick, almost-frantic look with Tybalt. “It can’t be—” I said. “I mean, they don’t have a hunt leader. They can’t actually be hunting.”

“Riders can ride for reasons other than a formal Hunt,” he said, and it wasn’t clear whether he was agreeing with me or telling me something he thought I needed to be worried about.

The horn sounded again, closer this time, although still far enough away that they might not be heading specifically for us. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the terror that was trying to kindle in my stomach. I wasn’t a child this time. I wasn’t a victim. And I could still feel my skin getting tight and my heart starting to beat too fast, remembering the last time I’d heard those horns at my back.

Then the horn sounded a third time, underscored by the sound of closing hooves, and I knew that all my fears were true ones. I broke into a run, hauling Tybalt along with me until his hand slipped from mine. I stumbled, almost turning around, only to start running faster as a tabby cat streaked past me in the dark, tail carried low and fur puffed out in all directions. He knew we were in danger as well as I did, and honestly, I was happy to have him ahead of me. Let me take whatever hits there were to absorb. I could recover from them, while he possibly couldn’t. I would be less afraid if I knew he was safe.

I would be less afraid. I would be less afraid. And maybe if I kept telling myself that, it would be true.

Arrows began to tear through the briars around me, slashing through the air with a terrible ripping sound, like someone was slashing holes in a piece of canvas just behind us. They probably wouldn’t use elf-shot; they’d always wanted to carry their victims back to the skerry, and Michael hadn’t wanted his children to sleep away their youths. He’d wanted them for his stables and his ranks, and that required them to be awake. It was possible the Riders had learned new tricks in his absence, but that seemed unlikely.

Although there was still the possibility of— An arrow embedded itself in the meat of my thigh before I could finish the thought, the impact accompanied by a stinging sensation that spread rapidly through my flesh. I tried to keep running, but my feet were suddenly heavy, seeming to stick to the ground for precious seconds as I attempted to rip them up and continue moving forward.

After three steps, I could no longer lift my feet. I looked down, coldly unsurprised to see that I had grown roots, splitting my shoes and sealing my feet to the path. I twisted as far as I could, drawing my shell knife with my free hand and holding it up like that was going to be enough to hold back an entire group of armed hunters on horseback.