Genevieve had one chance. Everyone was asleep; except for Impatiens. Vita Loquitur did not require sleep. The Halfling child smuggled the last of the supplies beneath her dress as she made her way back from the kitchen to her bedroom. Extinguishing the candles with the back of a metal spoon. Using the menial task as a cover for her real intentions. She was using the proximity to confirm that Phillip, her father and Raphael were asleep. If she was her sister, she would have attempted slitting their throats while they slept, but that would have been foolish. Now that she thought about it, maybe Suki suffered from elemental dysphoria? Not that everyone who was born under the goddesses and gods of water HAD to be mild mannered healers. She had finally made up her mind. The child was leaving to catch up to her sister and her best friend or she was going to die trying. She would not die here from loneliness and fear like her mother. Once her freedom and survival were guaranteed Genevieve could plan her next move.
The last thing that
Genevieve remembered was dashing through the marsh. Her heart was pounding over
the angry shouts of the Fomorians chasing after her as if she were some kind of
small prey animal and they were bloody thirsty predators. Her lungs burned as
she gasped for air. Her bare feet splashed into the muddy water. Her blood
mixed with the muddy water as her feet rushed over the occasional sharp rock.
Sweat poured down her face and beneath her arms despite the temperature of the
moisture around her as her hair stuck to her neck, cheeks and forehead. Reeds
whipped at her skin, hair and clothes. Her dress snagged on half submerged
branches and roots. She tore her clothing free of the spindly branches and
clawing roots. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Despite his size, Dylan was
on her heels. If his arms were any longer, he could grab her by the back of her
dress. If they caught her again, she would push her Magi under her chin or into
her temples and recite the hex to instantly end her suffering. Her mind
was made up. Whatever happened after she passed was up to the Pantheon.
Genevieve kept her
eyes focused forward, noticing the change in the terrain. Freedom at last! She
felt so giddy that she almost lost her concentration. She had ever seen a real
river until Arthur took her riding through the marsh. Unlike Suki, she used to
pass every second that she was not cooking or cleaning by reading. Even if the
Fomorian texts were outdated, she did not want to be completely unfamiliar with
the outside world. She never intended to stay with the Fomorians. Even once she
or Suki completed their mission to kill Arthur. The only thing separating her
from freedom was a large, frigid, turbulent river. Instead of slowing down, the
Halfling pumped her arms and pushed herself to unleash her full speed. She had
no chance of clearing the breath of the river, but she could put distance
between herself and the Fomorians. None of them were adapted for pursuing her
into the icy torrent. Not without running back to Phillip.
Genevieve sailed into
the air and plunged into the current. She fought to keep her head above water
as it carried her around a bend and out of sight. Dylan gathered his hooves and
lunged in after her but he was more careful than her, keeping his hooves in contact
with the rocky bed of the river. Blizzard was more resistant to the icy temperature,
but his body was lighter than Genevieve’s. Blizzard spread his pairs of
intricate butterfly wings, darting back to the castle to alert Phillip. Caught
like a leaf in the rapids, Genevieve eventually succumbed to weeks of
exhaustion and the river; slipping below the surface into complete, icy
darkness. Genevieve reached her hand out to grab onto something - anything -
but there was nothing and no one to help her. Her remaining strength slipped
out of her limbs into the depths. Was this the end? She did not want to die.
Not like this.
Dylan looked back up
at the bank, searching for somewhere to pull himself out of the river before
the hypothermia set in. He noticed Phillip Tranter standing behind Blizzard.
“No luck?” Blizzard asked.
Dylan hung his head, the icy water dripping off his hair, fur and skin. He knew the fate that awaited any Pawns that exceeded their usefulness. If he was lucky he’d become someone’s meal in a week. It took a week to hang a stallion of his size. If not, he would end up in Tarzali’s dungeon and the scraps would be tossed into the marsh to rot.
“No. I…lost her.” Dylan shook his lower body and lifted his head to meet Phillip’s gaze.
“Get back to the castle and dry off quickly, we have business to discuss, Blizzard.”
He did not want to become too hopeful, but Dylan glanced at Blizzard who shrugged.
“As for you, Dylan. The meals she left behind must be tested for poison. I trust that you know what to do?”
“Yes, sir.” Dylan nodded. If he’s keeping me alive…are we sticking to the original plan?
Did that mean the Fomorians were still headed towards Tooms Valley to collect this year’s colts for the army? Dylan was the only Fomorian who could speak his father’s language. However, Impatiens was trained to assume the identity of any fairy living or dead and the missing Halfling girl was trained with poisons. Only one way to find out.
What happened to that
little girl was none of his business, but Dylan tested every scrap of food she
left behind before bringing it out to the others. He tried to light himself on
fire to dry off, but he couldn’t generate a single spark. Only steam. The
little girl had the chance to poison their food and trash the kitchen, but
instead, it was the best food he ever tasted. He was going to miss her cooking
and so would the rest of the Fomorians.
“Hey. What did I miss?” He asked Blizzard.
Blizzard opened his mouth to respond, but one of the masked soldiers tapped
Dylan on the shoulder.
“Tranter wants to speak with you.”
“Where is he?”
“In the war room.”
Dylan looked over his shoulder at Blizzard. Blizzard shrugged. Dylan walked out
and down the hall full of bedrooms, bracing for the worst. The halls were empty
as everyone was eating or patrolling in case any students or teachers returned
to save each other. Anyone that did not escape was dead by now or sent away as
slaves. If those future Fianna were kept alive their misery would attract
Will-o-Wisps to the castle. At least the necessities were on the ground floor.
Dylan wasn’t flexible enough to traverse stairs.
By the time that
Dylan arrived at the war room, Phillip was standing in front of a large table
with a map spread over the top. Philip turned to face Dylan when he heard
Dylan’s hooves clip-clopping over the stone floor.
“You’re still alive? Wonderful.”
Dylan did not respond. That hospitable tone was fake.
“I know you can’t read, but you do remember our original plan, don’t you?”
“The one involving my
father?”
“Yes. Don’t look so glum. You have not exceeded your usefulness…yet. You
can redeem yourself by overseeing preparations to leave this outpost. We leave
at dawn.”
“Already?”
“Are you in any position to make demands of me?”
“No, sir. I am not.” Dylan gritted his teeth and walked out before he did
something stupid. Phillip taught the Halfling one thing. His fists and fire
couldn’t solve every problem. He could be trapped in the stables, not wandering
freely amongst the bipeds.
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