Caged: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 4) Page 17

  “You know.” His words were soft. “You made the vow. You can unmake it. Now let me sleep.” He rolled over and the snores started again.

  But Siobhan was too awake to sleep now. She had the key to her freedom. Now she just had to figure out how to use it.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Siobhan stood at the side door of the cave system and looked out at the pre-dawn light. It seemed like she’d discovered it only days ago, but now she realized it had been weeks. Weeks where she’d not only gotten to know Doyle but had...gotten to like him. She owed him, and more than that, she would miss him. She’d miss the way he encouraged her to try to be something else, to see further than her village and her ice sculptures. She’d miss the way he made her laugh. She’d been so alone, her friends dead, unsure of what would face her if she ever made it home, Bosco lost out in the world. Doyle had been her friend. And her lover. It made facing never seeing him again much harder than she’d thought it would be.

  She’d gotten through the winding cave system without any issue, but now that she was almost outside, she couldn’t move a step. It was as if there were a barrier between her and the outside world, but she couldn’t see it, not even now, with her magical sight wide open. Not even a glimmer of magic, despite the fact that she couldn’t move one step into the dark shadows preceding the sun.

  Doyle had said she’d made the vow, so she could break it. But it was a magical vow. She remembered the tingling feeling as she’d bound herself to the dragon. The understanding that it was a sacrifice of her freedom, but knowing it was worth her life.

  She dropped her pack and sank to the cavern floor and closed her eyes, searching for the barrier that kept her inside the cave.

  There wasn’t one.

  She dipped deep inside, trying to find the magic that kept her feet from walking any further. It was hard to see, because it was the same shimmering blue of her own ice magic, but she found it, just a gleam winding through the edges of her Gift.

  Now she understood. It wasn’t a force field she’d cast that kept her here, and it wasn’t the dragon. It was her own Gift intertwined within her will.

  It was as if she told her feet to move but deep inside she herself kept them still.

  The words she’d uttered glimmered in a flowing script forming the vow that now twined along her whole being.

  I swear, in thanks for your rescuing me from the Winter Queen, that I will serve you loyally from this day forward.

  She looked at them from the top, sides and bottom, using her Gift to probe deep within each word. Where was her escape? It had no end, it just wound around over and over again through everything she was, like her blood, or her nerves. She took hold of it and tried to snap it in sections, but the very act sent pain shuddering through her.

  She slumped against the cold stone of the wall. Was Doyle right? Was there a way for her to break the vow?

  By the time she’d given up, the sun was more than just a trace of light glowing in the east. Time was running out. She had to either leave now, or go back and pretend she’d never tried to leave. If she couldn’t leave today there was a chance that the dragon would guess what she was up to and take back Doyle’s gift of magic. And if she didn’t have that extra power to face the queen, it would be disastrous.

  She shook herself off and tried focusing again on the glowing words inside her own magic. She couldn’t give up.

  The vow looped and looped, a never-ending swirl of words. Damn it! How could she stop it? The words flowed by, like a rushing stream, faster and faster. She couldn’t see an end. She hadn’t given it one. Was she tied forever to a dragon who served her enemy?

  No end, no beginning. Well, she knew it had had a beginning and by the Goddess, she was going to give it an end. She formed a gleaming fountain pen of ice and filled it with the dusky blue ink of her magic. Stabbing it into the front end of the vow’s ribbon she started a line of ink, trying to cross the words out and erase the vow. But her line, that started nicely just before the first line, disappeared as soon as she tried to mark through the first letter.

  Damn it! There had to be a way. This was her vow. She’d made it voluntarily, she could give it up voluntarily. Or at least that had been Doyle’s implication. But she couldn’t change what she’d already written. Maybe she could modify it. She was able to draw a line on the ribbon, so that meant she had some control.

  The pen in her hand was getting cold, but staring at the waving ribbon of her vow and the tiny line before the first word gave her an idea. She couldn’t serve someone loyally if she didn’t believe in them. And she didn’t believe in Atavantador’s service to the queen.

  She stabbed her pen into the end, after the last period of the vow. This time the ink ran freely from the pen as she added the words:

  Until the day that I discover that you are not deserving of my loyalty.

  Tiny pricks of pain raced along her magic, tracing inside her bones, her veins, her nerves. She screamed and dropped the pen. It shattered on the ground into tiny crystals that melted away in a puddle of blue. The pain increased. Blinding light danced in her vision. She doubled over, her head pounding as her magic fractured.

  She came to, lying on her side in the cave, bright sunlight streaming in the door warming the side of her face. Her head pounded and she struggled to stand. Once on her feet, she leaned on the side of the cave and scooped up the straps of her pack. This was it. She took a deep breath and hobbled on weak legs to the door, stretching one foot forward past the unseen barrier.

  And out.

  She took another step, and another. Within seconds she was outside. She took deep breaths of freedom, the early morning cold chilling her lungs.

  This was it, her opportunity to face the queen and find out any information she could about her brother. And, if her brother was dead like Doyle seemed to think, then she was going to do her best to destroy the bitch.

  She should go, but for a moment she hesitated, a wrenching pain in her heart, looking back at the ancient door as if it were...home?

  She shook her head. This wasn’t home. Home was the place where she lived with her family. Even if she hadn’t been there for years, to her it had been weeks. She missed seeing her mother cooking and cleaning. She missed her father’s stories of the hunt. When this was over, that was where she was going.

  Wasn’t she?

  But as she took her first slow steps on the path that would take her down the mountain and into the forest she stopped, a curious tugging on her heart.

  What was going to happen to Doyle? He was the one charged with taking care of her. Would the dragon be furious that she’d broken free? He hadn’t cared much what she’d done one way or the other before, but now he knew she was taking her new power and going to destroy the queen. He’d care now and the dragon’s servant was the one responsible for it all. Doyle had given her the tiny dragon on her neck that gave her the confidence to face Maeve. Doyle had given her the key to her freedom, told her how she could break her own vow. He’d failed to keep her in the lair. He was going to be in trouble for sure.

  And she cared. No, this wasn’t home, but somehow, over the last few weeks it had become a sanctuary. Here, she’d found laughter and companionship. Here, she’d discovered she could be so much more than a flower sculptor. Here, she’d found...love?

  Her breathing got fast and she shied away from that thought as the center of her chest tightened up. No, it wasn’t love, it couldn’t be. But what she and Doyle had done together had been amazing. And now, to her surprise, she felt a bond that went way beyond mere friendship. The thought of leaving him forever hurt, but what was worse was the thought of what the dragon would do to him.

  Pictures of the dragon’s gleaming teeth and the casual way he’d spoken of killing her on the very first day they’d met ran through her mind. Would he eat Doyle?

  She shuddered.

  The sun had climbed higher, now touching the tops of the trees. Soon, Doyle would wake up with what she thoug
ht would be a killer hangover. If she didn’t go now she ran the risk of Doyle or the dragon stripping her of her new power, and while she hadn’t learned how to control it enough to risk a portal on her own, she wasn’t giving it up. It was her only key to stopping the queen.

  And despite what might happen to Doyle, despite the fact that she thought she was starting to feel so much more for him than friendship, stopping the queen was not a choice. If she let the woman continue to prey on the village boys, continue to strip them of their youth and innocence, what kind of person would she be?

  She put on her knapsack and pulled her magic around her like a cloak, shielding her from both physical and magical sight, grateful for the little dragon still on her neck, feeding her power. And then she set off, heading down the slope and into the forest, leaving a piece of her heart behind with Doyle.

  DOYLE ROLLED OVER. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like the worst pond water scum he’d ever had to drink when stuck out on a battlefield. He’d had too much last night. Too much whiskey and beer and whatever the hell was in that cinnamon shot the busty blonde at the bar had been ordering.

  “What time is it?” He eased up onto his elbow and wished he hadn’t as his head throbbed in reaction.

  The room was pitch dark but his eyes could pick out the furniture, fireplace and walls of his own room. At least he’d come home. Thank the gods for that. He’d wanted to sleep with Siobhan almost from the first moment he’d taken her into his lair, and he’d spent a long time resisting—but resisting a woman who wanted you was more difficult than winning an argument with a dwarf.

  He turned, expecting to see Siobhan’s long legs stretched out on the bed beside him. But the bed was empty.

  “Siobhan?”

  The room was dark and her side of the bed was cold. He sat all the way up, ignoring the increased pain in his head and the way his stomach heaved. Where the hell was she?

  The bedroom was deep inside the lair and there were no windows. He had no idea of what time it was or how long he’d been asleep. He’d thought everything was good between them, that last night had proven that. But if it were, why would she leave?

  And where would she go?

  He eased his way to standing and found his clothes from the night before. They stank of sweat and alcohol and he tossed them aside, making his way out into the hallway where the lights came on as soon as he opened the door. He checked each room. No Siobhan anywhere, and no fresh scent to guide him, only a trace of her heat path heading down deep into the tunnel system toward the emergency exit.

  “Shards.”

  He knew where she’d gone. She’d gone to stare at the outside world that he’d locked her away from with his careless words. The dragon’s careless words.

  The need to tell her everything burned worse than the hangover remedy he mixed for himself and downed in one gulp.

  He’d wanted her safe, not feeling like a prisoner. She had every right to be angry and frustrated. If he had another solution, a better solution, he’d do it. But if he let her go do what she wanted to do? He’d be screwed. And now, if she found out that he was the dragon and the one who’d imprisoned her in the first place, and then had proceeded to make love to her?

  He’d still be screwed.

  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a queen dragon. He knew women of all species—she’d be pissed.

  He headed for the shower. None of his magic alarm systems had gone off and she couldn’t leave. He’d give her some privacy and give himself time to figure out a way out of this impossible situation.

  Showered. Clean. His hangover remedy working like the charm it was and dressed in his oldest and most comfortable jeans, and worn out t-shirt he’d bought in a souvenir shop in San Francisco nearly thirty years before, he felt almost normal. But Siobhan still hadn’t returned.

  The queasy feeling back in his stomach, he headed for the tunnels. He’d find her and apologize.

  How he’d do that without telling her the things he was sworn not to tell, he didn’t know. All he knew was that after last night, he didn’t want to hurt this woman. And it seemed like every move he made did just that.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Damn her.” Ardan pushed his mount to a faster speed. “Damn her to hell.”

  If any elvatian believed in hell, which they didn’t, he would send Maeve there in a heartbeat. She’d changed the portal protection spell without telling him, and now he was due to be back at the palace this morning to meet the dwarf. Only, when he’d taken his portal back north, Ardan hadn’t ended up even close to the palace. Instead, he’d found himself deep in the pines and facing the dwarf’s empty house.

  Not only had his portal not been able to reach the lands of the Winter Palace, which he’d expected, he’d ended up right where he’d started. And he’d lost time. It was the fucking next day.

  You would think the queen had done this on purpose, that she wanted to sabotage the project. But he knew that wasn’t it, because he hadn’t told her he was leaving or that he was headed south to the dwarf’s.

  It was his own stupid fault. He’d wanted to surprise her. A childish desire to please her, to make her smile with delight, still ran through his veins. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a boy any longer. It didn’t matter what he did—she wasn’t going to take him back to her bed.

  A low-hanging branch came at his head and he ducked, nearly too late. Keep your mind on the job at hand.

  He only hoped the men working on the dragon bone and iron would know what to do with the dwarf because he was going to be late. From what he could tell she’d expanded the portal protection beyond her border by a mile. She must have put a lot of magic into the spell to make it work so far from the palace.

  Maybe it was being so far away from the Winter Palace where he’d spent the last two hundred years. Maybe it was the frustration of having his plans screwed with. Or maybe it was the knowledge that if he failed, she had no reason not to kill him. But for the first time he found himself wondering where did she get all her power?

  The queen had more than enough to help her boys become more than their genetics. He’d been destined to be a minor country gentleman, with just enough magic to maybe be received at court on large occasions. But then he’d been the Winter King for a hundred years. As she’d taken all of his innocence and replaced it with sexual knowledge, she’d fed him power.

  And he wasn’t the only one.

  A new Winter King was chosen every fifty years or so. She liked them young. The thought was bitter. He’d been one of her favorites and his reign had been longer than most, but even he had to grow up. She’d replaced him and he’d been looking for a woman to replace her ever since.

  The path climbed a small hill, growing rocky and steep. His mount slowed, hindquarters bunching as they plowed up the slope, but Ardan’s thoughts continued churning away.

  What would his life have been like if he hadn’t come to court? Would he have different sexual appetites? Would he be married? Maybe to someone like Siobhan? His thoughts shied away from the idea. Siobhan was dead. Sacrificed to the dragon for the queen’s hunger for power.

  And now he risked a similar fate.

  It was time he faced the truth—the queen didn’t care about him. Oh, when he was a boy she’d made him believe she did. She’d showered him in gifts and magic and elevated his Gift until he was now a lord with power at his fingertips. But once he’d matured to the point where he no longer interested her sexually, she’d been on the hunt for a new Winter King.

  And now, here he was, the captain of the guard, charged with creating an impossible object using toxic materials. Something so difficult, none of the master craftsman in the north could do it. And she’d only given him days to finish it.

  She was done with him. It was the only answer. Inescapable, really. Even if the dwarf pulled it off, even if they managed to capture the dragon and bend him to the queen’s will. Even if he fended off the army approaching the palace and did everyt
hing to be her hero—she’d set him up to fail.

  And she’d do it again and again and again. Until he failed.

  He’d seen it before. She no longer wanted to toy with him as a sex partner, but she was still toying with him. Only now, the stakes were higher. Now, it wasn’t for play—with the prize a trickle of power, and the forfeit some sexual torture with whips and chains and clamps—now, it was his life.

  Riding through this ghastly forest where the trees crowded in and he couldn’t see what was around the bend, he knew—her end game was already set. Even if he won this round, and the next, and the next, she’d rig the game. And at some point, he’d lose.

  He knew this, because he’d played with her before. When he was a boy, she’d always won the game. And he’d always paid the forfeit.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was nearly nightfall. Siobhan reached deep within herself and again tried to form a portal. She got the shield up, but the portal wouldn’t hold. “Come on, come on!” The surface broke and melted away, leaving her tired and drained and still walking through an ever-darkening woods.

  She’d made progress. But unless she had a portal or wings, it was going to be a long trip to the Winter Palace. And she wasn’t sure she had the time. Doyle would have woken up by now and discovered her missing.

  And he would have to tell his master.

  She’d kept to the trees, ducking out of sight when she’d thought she’d heard wings, but this wasn’t the lush forest she’d read about in books. This was a forest of the north, and while it contained more plants and trees in ten square inches than they had up north in ten square yards, it didn’t provide much aerial cover. The dragon would find her. If not with his eyesight, than with his magic. And then, any chance of reaching the queen would be over.

  She mustered her strength, shouldered her pack and started north. Again. If only she’d been able to practice more shielding—the important part of the whole process, the part that would keep her and this world safe from the grasping tendrils of mist. But she hadn’t. She’d thought she was further along with this, but the dragon must have been doing more than she’d realized. It was demoralizing.