to protect my people and my realm.”
Soran nodded once, slowly.
With one last flash of a sharp white fang, the fae lord turned about. His silvery garments billowed behind him as he returned to the gangplank and strode up to the deck of his boat. He assumed position at the prow, watching Soran while his servants pulled up the gangplank and the last few remaining shadow-beings hauled the boat back out into deeper water, then scrambled like bizarrely jointed monkeys up dangling ropes to the deck.
Soran took care not to drop his gaze, not to shift his stance until the three boats turned and sailed away, until Kyriakos was finally out of sight. Even then he stood for some time, watching the black sails until they disappeared beyond the line of darkness into the Kingdom of Night.
“What are they saying? Can you hear?”
Nelle started at the sound of Sam’s voice so close to her ear. She hadn’t realized he’d crept around the boat and behind her to peer over her shoulder.
“Hush!” she growled. For once in his life, Sam didn’t argue or make a joke out of the situation. That alone was enough to tell her the danger hadn’t passed yet, not by a long shot. He remained close at her back, a solid, warm presence. She had to stop her shivering body from leaning back against him for comfort. Sam could offer no real comfort, after all. He was helpless here on Roseward. It was up to her to protect him, to protect them both.
But what about Soran?
She watched the mage as he stood opposite that tall fae lord. The wind was too rough for her to discern more than a word or two here and there. She heard Soran speak the name Lodírhal and saw how the fae lord reacted to that name. His aggressive bearing shifted almost imperceptibly into a defensive stance. This gave Nelle hope. Soran wasn’t wholly outmatched by this powerful being. She saw the fae indicate the bloody remains of the skull-dog, and he seemed to be making demands of some sort. But Soran didn’t back down.
Why had the fae come here to Roseward anyway? Mere curiosity? Or had he heard rumor of the Rose Book and the Noswraith spell contained therein? No, it couldn’t be that. Noswraith magic was mortal magic, which no fae could either create or control.
Perhaps he merely came to make certain Roseward posed no threat to him and his. If that was the case, the wyverns hadn’t helped their cause.
Nelle grimaced but cast a grateful glance to the sky above where the wyverns circled in threatening patterns. She owed them her life. Again. That skull-dog would certainly have torn her and Sam to pieces.
At that thought, she felt almost unconsciously for the spellbook inside her satchel. Would it be wise to go ahead and create a spell now, while the fae was distracted? Those shadowy beings lurking in the shallows and along the decks looked ready for a fight. Silveri was unarmed. He would be overwhelmed in moments, slaughtered before her eyes.
Nelle’s jaw hardened. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t just quiver in terror and let him face those monsters all alone. She pushed back the satchel flap, began to slide the spellbook out.
Suddenly, the fae lord barked a strange word: “Zivath!”
Nelle’s heart leapt, certain he’d called for attack. But no . . . first the skull-dogs, then the shadowy beings retreated up the gangplank. The fae lord stood firm a few moments longer before also turning and marching back to his craft.
“Seven gods!” Sam breathed. His hand closed on Nelle’s shoulder, trembling hard. “They’re going. They’re really going!”
Nelle glanced back at him. “Is the danger past?”
Sam winced and clenched his teeth, momentarily undecided. Then he nodded. “We’re not . . . we’re not exactly safe. But we’re not in immediate danger.”
Nelle breathed a sigh of relief and looked out again, watching the longboats pull away from the shore. Her heart, which had been racing wildly since the moment she laid eyes on those wretched sails, calmed somewhat, sinking from her throat back into her breast where it belonged. Gods willing, the fae was gone for good. Him and all his ugly dog-things.
Suddenly aware of just how cold she was, Nelle tucked her spellbook back into the satchel and wrapped her arms around her body. More than anything she wanted to get out of this wretched damp cave.
But Mage Silveri continued to stand there, apparently impervious to the icy