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Chapter 7
Iwoke in a strange room, buried in blankets and resting on a soft bed. Something soft, probably a pillow, supported my head. The scent of lavender filled my nose. My skin felt fresh and clean. Dirt had been scrubbed from my nails. Someone had bathed me. But who?
A crystal on a bedside table shrouded the room in a soft golden glow. Several books filled a shelf in the opposite corner. The walls appeared to be made from dirt. No windows or curtains gave me the distinct impression I was belowground yet again. Where the heck was I? This wasn’t my home. Was this a dream? Had I died and finally passed into the afterlife?
“Oh, look at her, the poor thing,” someone—a woman of short stature—said.
I sat up.
Two men of similar size were seated by the fireplace. A blue flame flickered in the hearth, giving off a gentle heat. My companions were dwarves, judging by the look of them. Each had long torsos and short arms and legs. One was a redhead with a beard and wore a stern expression, and the other man had mischievous brown eyes and hair the color of straw. Both had large, bulbous noses and eyes the color of the dirt they mined. They were dressed in three-quarter length pants, vests, and hats. Their kind mined the dust in the Wildfire Mountains for the Fae, who claimed it had some sort of magical property. Was that what was burning in the fireplace?
A female dwarf hovered by my bed, her hair streaked with gray, half-moon shaped glasses sitting on the end of her nose. Unlike the other two, she appeared very maternal and reminded me in a way of Rumi. She clutched her hands beneath her voluptuous bust.
After a moment, she reached out and grabbed my hand, patting it. “Why did you have to put the sweet thing through that, Grimm?”
I tried to remove myself from her hold, but she was strong, with a grip like steel.
“Let me go,” I said, wrestling her. “Who the hell are you three?”
“It’s all right, dear,” she said, her voice like that of an old woman’s, but her gray eyes were as sharp as those of a woman my age. “Settle down there, pet.”
Pet.I wasn’t her pet. Who was she to call me that? Eventually, I struggled free, scrambling backward, hitting the wall. Instinctively, I groped the side table for my belongings but found nothing. So I picked up the crystal, ready to throw it just in case any of them moved.
The bearded dwarf leaped out of the chair, his short arm raised, palm up. “It’s all right, Snow.” His voice was surprisingly deep and gruff for someone so small. Eyes wide with concern, he watched me. “We won’t hurt you.”
How the hell did he know my name? Who was he, and what did he want? It was kind of creepy to enter a woman’s room to watch her sleep. Had the woman stripped me naked to bathe me? Skin crawling with disgust, I ran my hands over myself, as if to dust away her fingerprints, finding my hair brushed and smooth. I put a hand to my stomach and rocked, reminiscent of Kelvin.
Everything from the forest came flooding back, hitting me in the chest with the force of one of my abuser’s blows. Poseidon’s uneasiness. Something moving in the forest. Five men emerging from their hiding spots. One poisoning me with a dart and me losing consciousness. My head swirled with all the memories, and I gripped the side of my bed with my free hand. Where were my belongings? Had the men who had apprehended me stolen Poseidon and left me here?
“Where are my things?” I asked, my voice hoarse, as if I’d been asleep for days. “My horse? Where am I?”
I clutched the crystal lamp, lifting it again, prepeared to throw it.
“Oh, my dear.” The woman sternly took hold of my hand, prying the rock from my grasp. “There’s no need for that. You’re safe. Deep in the burrows of the resistance.”
Finally, I’d gotten to meet the resistance. But was this all it was? The three of them? No wonder they hadn’t initially succeeded in rescuing me. Where were we? Underground in some tunnels fashioned by dwarves?
Dwarves were reclusive types. They tended to stick to themselves and hide underground in the dark, digging tunnels. I’d never heard of them banding together to fight anyone or anything. That just wasn’t in their nature.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, eyeing the smiling one, suspecting he was as mad as Kelvin.
“I like her. Full of fire.” The blondish dwarf smacked his redheaded friend on his chest. “She’s perfect, Grimm.”
Fire? That’s how my father had described the old Snow. But she was dead. Long buried like my papa. The reminder pinched my heart.
“That girl died in a cell beneath her father’s home,” I said, my throat stinging and raw.
The woman side-eyed both the men. “I’m Mama Jo.” She pointed to the redheaded dwarf. “This here is my husband, Grimm, the head of the resistance’s council. That’s his second-in-charge, Teeny.”
Throughout this exchange, Teeny, the dirty blond, hadn’t dropped his grin. He brushed his nose and jammed a hand in the waist of his britches, pulling up his sagging pants. “But what I lack in stature, I make up for in personality.”
He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl atop a clothes chest, took a bite of it, and then chomped on it loudly. Something about him abated the alarm coursing through me. Perhaps it was his carefree demeanor…his diffusing smile. Or maybe it was the way he tipped his feathered hat at me. Whatever it was, I liked him instantly and relaxed a little.
The warmth from the hearth called to me…even if the fire wasn’t real. The shimmer from the dust swirling in the fireplace was intriguing and irresistible.
The dirt floor was cold as I got out of the bed. “Is this Fae dust?” My finger glowed golden when I reached out and touched the magical powder.
“Sure is.” Teeny crouched on his knees beside me. “Mined right here in Wildfire by my people.”
