Chương 56: Saving Squirt

In the forest, Zhadin gazed wistfully at the castle like they did every night she went there. Meanwhile, the redcap debated whose severed head would make the best mating gift. They had set up their camp in the woods and Zhadin was supposed to be on first watch, but there'd been a pale look to the huntress's face that had nothing to do with the fight, a tension to her shoulders before she'd taken off for the castle. She'd been nervous, and Zhadin didn't like it. Not one bit.

They'd been keeping themselves and the redcap out of the villages and castle. She needed to solve her own problems like others needed to breathe. Someone else stepping in would set her off, and both them and Qzi had a tendency towards cutting out the tongues and eyes of fey who insulted her. Maybe it was time to rethink that policy. Something didn't feel right in their gut. They were in the process of debating abandoning Qzi in favor of seeking her out just to check on her when shivers ran through the shadows.

They turned as if in slow motion to stare at the greater forest. A surge. Qzi heard the crashing of leaves, leaping up to his feet and grinning.

"Oh yes, this'll be fun. Yes. Yes, yes, yes!" They smiled at the blood-thirst radiating off him. As soon as the first beast was in range, the redcap leaped with a cackle of maddened laughter while Zhadin drew their blades, readying. This was not a race—it was better to conserve their energy. It was possible some of them might pass them by. They would attack those who came at them. They readied as the first beasts got near— And passed them.

They held their blades up, their eyes darting around, smacking down the only one out of hundreds of beasts that even gave them a second look. Every now and again, a beast would try their luck with them, but it was relatively easy to manage. This… didn't make sense. In the distance, they heard the screams of those who didn't make it inside in time, bloodcurdling screeches of horror and pain. Them? They were fine. Something was odd about this surge, and they longed to hear her words.

Until her, they had never given any thoughts as to the why of feybeasts. Would she know? Would she guess? They readied themselves for the marathon ahead of them, resolving to bring it up if she did not tomorrow. One hour became two, and Ranin began to wonder. He'd searched up and down the ramparts and walls—no huntress. It didn't match his image of her to not be here. On the third, he began to wonder if she made it into the keep at all, or if she was facing it in the forest alone. Gods. Please not that.

Please let her be safe in the keep. Bartos would kill him if she got hurt. On hour four, regretfully, she was lost from his thoughts, his exhaustion piling on. By the fifth, he knew something wasn't right. He'd never heard of a surge lasting more than three. After the sixth came and went, he had no thoughts at all except grim determination and battle plans. Dawn finally broke, and with it, the surge. Over eight continuous hours of battle against beasts that threw themselves unnaturally at the barriers and walls.

The wards were not meant to be engaged that long—was it any wonder they cracked? They had lost far too many, and too many had been civilians. Neither Brock nor Ranin spoke as they finally trudged to their shared suite, bathed, and changed into clean clothes. Then Cirn came back from her own dip, her brows furrowed in exhausted thought.

"… have you seen the huntress? The attendant did not know." Both men blinked. Ranin answered first.

"No. I… I looked for her on the ramparts." Horror gripped him as he both realized the thought he'd had hours ago, and that he'd not thought of her in almost as long. Where was she? Did she make it into the castle? Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he stood to call for an attendant to fetch the Seneschal. He paced as he waited, partially in nervous guilt, and partially to keep himself awake. He began to plan what he'd do if she'd been out there still. It was possible she was alive, he reminded himself.

Bartos sounded pretty convinced about her being one of the Hunt's chosen. Some gods blessed more frequently than others—the Hunt was one of the rarer ones. Surely the Hunt would keep her safe during such a horror. Ten minutes later, the door opened, and his expression flattened. He didn't have the patience for Silva right now. He'd been as polite as he could to avoid the risk of offending Lady Riverlands when they needed her support to keep Annabelle in power, but after the day he had?

He asked with more than a little of his irritation bleeding into his voice.

"Did she make into the castle last night?" Lady Hawthorne nodded.

"She did, your highness." Every inch of him relaxed. Good. The battle had been chaotic, and she was rather small and secretive. She'd find her way back. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. He took a relieved seat in the armchair.

"Thank the gods." Silva gracefully floated forward while carrying a tray and took a practiced curtsy at his feet, practically baring her tits at him as she held the tray up. Brock raised an eyebrow. Ranin did his best to communicate with his eyes before asking with a tired sigh, "Where is she? Please tell me not injured." Lady Hawthorne sighed regretfully.

"I had been on my way to tell you when the bells tolled. My lord prince, it is my deep regret to inform you that you have been burgled." She gestured towards the tray, removing the lid with a wave of her hand. Nestled in a box of delicate silks sat the glowing divine beast egg. His eyes snapped up to Lady Hawthorne.

"Someone stole this?"

"Indeed, my lord prince." Incredulous and furious, he asked, " Who?" She gave him a pitying look.

"Your own servant, I'm afraid." That didn't narrow it down.

"Which one?" She pressed her lips together in a firm line.

"Your servant." The word was heavy with a meaning that baffled Ranin until Brock's bemused grin clued him into the euphemism.

"Mystva?" Brock's grin dropped into confusion. Lady Hawthorne answered, "The greenling, yes." Ranin gave her another odd look.

"Servant? When did I ever claim her as my servant?" The lady gave him a judgmental heavy sigh.

"I will not judge you, lord prince, for your proclivities—" Brock choked.

"—but the chit admitted to the theft herself." Ranin held up a hand, confused.

"Wait, I'm confused, who admitted to it?"

"Your servant."

"She's not—gods, do you mean Mystva?" Brock asked, "Whose Mystva?"

"The huntress." The Seneschal put her hand delicately on her chest, now confused as well.

"Huntress?"

"Mystva." Brock cut in, "You call her Mystva?"

"Look just—gods damn it all, where is she?" The lady let out another frustrated huff as she said, "That's what I'm trying to tell you, my lord. She's in the dungeon after facing the penalty for stealing." Ranin still didn't get it.

"Okay, so where's Mystva? Tiny? Greenling pixie? My guest?" The lady rolled her eyes and sighed.

"My lord prince, however you wish to state your preferences, yes, she is in the dungeon for the theft of your property." As he finally understood the woman's words, his eyes slowly drifted down to the egg. His thoughts sluggish with exhaustion, the epiphany hit him like a bolt of lightning. Cold dread seeped into his bones as he stared at the egg. More gently this time, the Seneschal continued, clearly trying to comfort him.

"I understand how devastating this might be to be betrayed like this. I was lenient, of course, since she freely admitted to the theft. As this incident was uncovered on our grounds, I would like to offer you any of our attendants until you can secure a new one. Should you wish, that will be her only judgment, and we'll simply release her without her effects." The egg. Her egg. She, the shy thing, had gone to the Seneschal and admitted to the theft of… her own egg?

Brock looked even more lost than Ranin, but at the sheer dread on Ranin's face, Brock stiffened. Ranin swallowed as he stared Brock in the face and asked, "She's in the dungeon? Now?"

"Yes, my lord prince." His eyes on his brother-by-mating, he asked, "And when was she sent to the dungeon?"

"Last night. I saw to her punishment and left to inform you, but then the bells rang." Ranin's face turned a ghostly pallor, and he swallowed thickly. Then rose to his feet and ordered, "Take me." The Seneschal pressed her lips in a firm line but inclined her head.

"Follow me, then, my lord prince." Carefully, he reached down into the silks, scooping up the egg and taking it with him, leaving the daughter knelling in place without another word. Brock, still confused with his own exhaustion, followed after, while Cirn swallowed her bile to follow. As soon as the door to the dungeon opened, Brock froze and snarled, his beast breaking through. Ranin snapped, "Keep him out, Cirn." He knew ancient laws. He knew what the price for thievery was.

The same question was practically screamed in his mind over and over again. How lenient was lenient? He turned the corner, and his eyes finally landed on her still body lying in a cell, the skin of her back mercilessly flayed open. Lashings. On a pixie. Even with my orders of protection, at almost the first opportunity, three of my Guard cornered her and beat her for existing. He didn't slow his steps as he froze the iron bars, shattering them and commanding, "Fetch a healer, now."

She was naked, her lips tinged blue. Gods, her fingers were blue— Reaching into his pouch, he uncorked a healing potion and poured it over the flesh on her back, ignoring the aghast calls of the Seneschal. Annabelle could sense his distress through the bond. He didn't hide from her, letting her see through his eyes at the horror he'd wrought. The potion began working its magic over her skin, knitting it together.

Pulling his own shirt off, he scooped the tiny woman up and she whimpered, rousing, her cheeks flushed and face feverish. Had he taken much longer to find her, she would have died.

"My lord prince, what is the matter with you—" He snapped, "Summon Lady Riverlands."

"She has already retired—""Now!" he shouted, crushing her with his magic as he did. A tiny whimper came from the woman as she roused.

"—safe? … g." It took him several long seconds to parse the words through the shivers wracking her body, and his heart broke a little more. He shifted the egg into her hold. Her trembling hands took it, and she whimpered as she curled protectively around it. Down the bond, his mate raged. He, meanwhile, was drowning in guilt. Remembering every time she'd brought up remaining in the woods. He'd thought it was just because she was shy, not… She had claimed the egg was his. That she'd stolen it.

Enduring this by choice. Anvanil burst into the room, dark bags under his eyes and clearly exhausted.

"Where—" his eyes widened, and he sprinted forward, sliding on his knees to her side as he grimly looked over her, his hand touching her delicately and casting a scan spell. Ranin asked desperately, "Do you have enough?"

"To keep her alive, maybe—""Where's Jezalin?"

"Gods…" came the horrified whisper from the young mage.

"How bad?"

"Bad."" How bad —""Shut up!" Anvanil's eyes, the whites of them red from exhaustion, flashed with power and rage. Ranin obeyed, clenching his teeth and drowning in his guilt. Working through the problem. Why? Why did she claim the egg was his? Surely saying it was hers was enough? It made no sense to claim she'd stolen from him, to endure this. A few minutes later, Jezalin ran in.

"You called—" before catching sight of the pixie. Darkly, Ranin snapped, "Do you have enough?" Jezalin kneeled by their side and started to scan.

"I'll have to focus on just stabilizing her—""But she'll live?" Jezalin bit her lip, and a hush fell over the rest as they collectively held their breath while the fallen scanned her body. Her shoulders lost their tension, and she nodded.

"Yes. She'll live. It'll scar, but it shouldn't affect her flight." A shot of relief and grief right to his chest all at once.

"Can I let Brock—""I'd suggest clearing out everyone but us before you do, but, yes." With that, she closed her eyes, her own bright feathery wings appearing on her back as she poured her healing magic into the woman, taking over for Ranin and pulling her from his grip. It took him several seconds to pull himself back together. To step away. To leave. The guilt gnawed at him still. His mate helped. Her rage balanced him enough to function again, to kickstart his mind into thinking of next steps. Gods. Bartos.

He was going to kill him. Ranin staggered to his feet and stood tall, turning his glare on the Seneschal.

"Take me to Lady Riverlands."