Chantress Fury - Amy Butler Greenfield Page 0,74

Wild Magic, I not only felt powerless; I was powerless.

Except for my stone. Evidently it still had some value here, some power. The problem was that I didn’t know exactly what it could do.

I stopped at the lattice to peer out the coin-size holes at my mother, just visible to me. How long had she been here? When had she surrendered to Pressina?

When would I?

Never. Never. Never. I marched myself around to the beat of the defiant word, determined to keep moving, if only to prevent myself from yielding to despair.

Minutes spilled into hours, but the weird green light never changed, and neither did my mother’s song. Finally I halted in front of the lattice and looked out again at my mother. It still shook me to see her. For more than half my life, I’d believed she was dead, yet here she was—alive.

Even though I knew it was useless, I couldn’t help myself.

“Mama!” I called.

I shouted her name and sang it, but she never turned around, and her song never faltered.

But at last someone else came.

I saw the glow first, a weird bright light on the walls. The stench came next, and I tensed. Then Pressina herself appeared, translucent and bloated, the snake hair in a frenzy around her enormous head. Her scream shook the ether:

“What have you done with him, Chantress?”

What did she mean? The only him I could think of was Nat. Had he somehow gotten away?

At the back of the cave, I forced my excitement down and instead made myself sound sleepy and stupid. “Done with who? What are you talking about?”

“Where is he?”

“Where is who?” I yawned and added crossly, “You woke me up.”

The enormous head pursed its lips. Evidently Pressina was trying to regain some kind of control. “We’re looking for the one called Nat. He’s not with you?”

So he had gotten free! “No one’s with me,” I said. “Anyway, how would he get through the lattice?”

This appeal to reason seemed to help. She approached the lattice, stopping well short of it, and looked about. Some kind of fireworks went on in the core of her, and the cave was briefly illuminated. She could see for herself that I was the only one there.

Evidently satisfied, she swept away, ululating as she went. Other members of the horde shot by my cave, their strange cries echoing down the cavern. Like a pack of hounds, I thought. The hellhounds of the Wild Hunt.

Would they tear Nat apart when they found him? No, I told myself. Not as long as he was a bargaining chip they could use with me.

I hoped I was right.

Hours passed, and still the unearthly cries came. Exhausted, my nerves stretched to the breaking point, I slumped against the cave walls, fighting to stay awake.

Mustn’t let them find me asleep, I thought.

But finally, against my will, I fell into an uneasy slumber.

I thought the whisper was a dream at first. “Lucy . . .”

Nat, I thought drowsily.

“Lucy, can you hear me?”

I blinked. I was awake. The voice was real—and it was coming from the back of the cave. Incredulous, I surged to my feet. “Nat?”

From somewhere high in the shadows came the reply. “Shhh. Keep quiet, love. No one must know I’m here.”

Love. Was I still dreaming? I edged toward the back of the cave but saw no sign of Nat.

“I’m up above you,” he whispered. “There’s a hole here.”

A hole in the ceiling? It was the one place I hadn’t checked, as it had been too high to reach. Even now, as I moved into the shadows, I couldn’t see where it was. But when Nat spoke again, it sounded as if he were directly over me.

“It’s too small for me to get through, but I think I could pull you up. My left arm’s a bit sore, but it’ll hold.”

“What did they do to you?” I asked.

“Nothing worth worrying about.” Not a real answer, but Nat never liked to make much of his injuries.

“How did you get away?” I asked.

“As soon as I was up and able to walk, a couple of the guards let me go. They hate Pressina—and I gather they’re not the only ones. I could be wrong, but I think we’ve stepped into the middle of a civil war. Mind your head. I’m going to reach down for you now.”

In the dark, I couldn’t see his arms properly, but at last I touched his long, deft fingers, callused and strong.

“Here we go,” he whispered, grabbing my wrists.

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