Of Thorn and Thread (Daughters of Eville #4) - Chanda Hahn Page 0,74

and twigs into its long hair. His mother wasn’t far off, watching over a small firethorn thicket. Hobs were busy gardening, and one in particular with an overgrown beard was trying to lure a mole out of a den by tying bait to the end of his beard like a fishing line.

A beautiful woman with long pale hair and a crown of flowering thorns walked along a white stone path. Hummingbirds tried to steal strands of her hair and flew alongside like a protective escort. I knew I was seeing Tatiana, Queen of the lesser fae court. When she came to a stream, one hob rushed over and held out a hand to help her cross over a slippery stream before he disappeared back into the woods.

A flaming arrow cut through the air and missed her by inches, embedding in the straw roof of a redcap’s home. Tatiana looked up as the sky became littered with flaming arrows. Her face twisted into one of fear. She turned to run, dodging the onslaught. One pierced her calf, and she cried out as she quickly smothered the flame. The other arrows found their marks, the flames quickly spread from hut to hut, and the fae inside scattered. But not before the golden field of flowers turned red with the uniforms of the Rya soldiers as they stormed through on horseback, striking down anything that moved.

My heart raced as Tatiana ran, her eyes searching the glade, shoving the smaller fae into hiding. The two adult basajaunak ran to attack the soldiers. Their roar in unison caused the nearest horses to rear and drop their riders. The female basandere picked up the fallen rider and tossed him into two other riders. The male—the same one I’d just healed—swung his axe and knocked three soldiers backward into the path of the calvary.

Tatiana limped, her leg bleeding as she stumbled and fell to her knees in front of the great firethorn tree. She waved her hands. The thorns parted to reveal an empty bed of grass. Her face crumpled into grief. Her breathing picked up, she gritted her teeth, and spun to fight. The hobs ran out of their homes armed with hoes and farming equipment, the gnomes grabbed their pickaxes and charged into battle, fearless and determined. But their numbers were few and the king’s army were great.

Tatiana cast a spell. The ground rumbled, but a soldier on horseback ran her down. She fell trying to avoid his horse, and she rolled into a boulder, her head slamming against the stone. Blood pooled behind her head. Her vision swam. She rolled over and tried to crawl away as the soldier dismounted, unsheathing his sword. He approached Tatiana, and I saw the look of murder on the soldier’s face as he raised his sword to strike.

The young basajaun raced from the thicket, his cry less intimidating than his parents, carrying a sword too large for his smaller hands. He stood toe to toe with the soldier and struggled to raise it in defense of Tatiana.

The enemy soldier’s sword arm raised to strike.

I cried out as the vision showed him swing. The blade flashed, and the young basajaun fell to the ground. Tatiana’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and the world went red as fire consumed the vision.

My face was wet with tears, my heart bursting with pain for the basajaun. He lost his family to the attack.

“What did this?” Hayes murmured.

“Not what,” I said sadly, wiping the tears from my eyes and patting the trunk of the dead firethorn tree, silently thanking them for the memories. “Who.”

Liam moved, his royal Rya cloak fluttered. He looked exactly like the men in my vision. I felt sick.

“The king’s army.”

Liam’s jaw tensed. “You’re wrong. The king wouldn’t have sent the troops to destroy a fae village.”

“This was over twenty years ago.” I stilled and listened to the firethorn. “A dark sorcerer attacked the basajaun and released the blight only recently.”

I stood up and walked around the destroyed village. The spindle in my pocket thrummed again. I pulled it out and laid it on my palm, watching it turn in my hand like a compass. I followed as it led me to the far side of the burned-out village until I came to a never tree. The never tree’s roots were giant tangles that stretched fifteen feet into the air and then sunk below the surface. They were considered hallowed ground. Approaching the tree, I saw an entrance between