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“I’ll take them through a vortex,” Ellister decides. “To the Dream Realm. I’ll strand them somewhere in the mountains, and it’ll take them at least a week to get back here. Even if they were to send a messenger sprite to their superiors, we’ll still have today.”
“Good plan.”
“You should stay out of sight for now.”
Nodding, I let him guide me behind the door. He closes it but leaves it slightly ajar. Cloaked in shadows, I put one of my eyes by the rusted hinge to peer through the thin crack where my view of the yard is unobstructed.
Ellister walks out to the lane to greet our visitors. His stance is lazy and relaxed, and I don’t understand how he can seem so cool when he’s freaking out inside.
My heart hammers away as I watch the horses get closer, and I feel a cough building in my lungs from the smoky air in here. I need to be silent as possible, so I lift my skirt to my face, breathing through the filter of the gauzy fabric.
Sweat drips down my temple when the men approach the yard and slow to a stop.
As I study them, I remember what Ellister told me about local law enforcement—how there really isn’t any. This group doesn’t look like a mob of poorly equipped villagers, and I think he’s right about them being from the military.
These men are well-armed, with swords strapped to their backs and belts, knives sticking out of their boots, and axes and ropes attached to the saddles. They’re wearing dark-blue, silky sleeveless shirts with official-looking logos on them. Over the left breast pocket, there’s a symbol of two suns overlapping.
Ellister backs up a few paces, keeping his distance, and smoothly asks, “To what do I owe this honor, gentlemen?”
“State your name.” The order comes from the man at the front, and I automatically assume he’s the leader.
With his head shaved on the sides and his longer blond hair on top braided against his scalp, he looks like an actor straight out of a Viking show. All of them seem like hardened warriors. They’re all wearing leather gloves and bulky boots, and the black eyeliner gives them a more brutal appearance.
“Ellister.” The response is simple, and he doesn’t elaborate further.
“We’re looking for a member of our clan. He lives nearby, but he isn’t at his house. Perhaps you know him. Goes by the name of Rymus.”
A bolt of stress pings from Ellister to me, but he doesn’t show it outwardly. “I have met him a couple times.”
One of the men tips his head in my direction. “What’s in the barn?”
“Rymus had spoken of smoking meats,” Ellister replies carefully. “It sounded like a fine suggestion.”
It’s amazing how he can avoid a lie with the right wording. Unfortunately, every faerie is an expert at manipulating the truth, and I have a feeling he’s not getting away with it that easily.
“Do you know Rymus’ whereabouts?” the leader asks, direct.
“I do,” Ellister answers, and my pulse pounds faster.
“Well?” the guy prompts impatiently. “Tell us where he is.”
“It would probably be better for me to show you.” When Ellister turns toward the chicken coop and gestures for them to follow him, I realize what he’s doing—he’s trying to get them to dismount their horses so they can be taken through the vortex.
Staying cautious, the leader motions to the three men behind him, signaling they should go with Ellister, but he remains where he is.
Ellister’s inner turmoil travels through our tether as he considers reformulating his plan, and I understand his upset. He’s going to have to take his enemies in different stages if they remain in separate areas.
The man who had been at the back of the formation moves his horse forward to sidle up next to the leader as the other guys are brought closer to the coop.
When Ellister points inside and they look at their friend, they gasp at the gruesome sight. One recoils and goes a little gray as he covers his mouth.
“Poor Rymus had a very unfortunate incident with a beehive while he was trespassing yesterday,” Ellister states flatly. “After I soothed his stings with honey, I made sure he had shelter where he could recover.”
“Why didn’t you take him to his house?” one of the men asks angrily.
“Rymus isn’t a friend to me,” Ellister defends. “He’s barely an acquaintance. He came here uninvited, and he’s lucky I gave him a safe place to recover.”
“Zetipher!” the guy who looks like he might puke calls to the leader. “You need to come see this.”
