Page 13 of Tempting the Fae Lord (The Gatekeeper’s Weakness)

Chapter Twelve

Gale

Sonja lives in a small cottage half-buried in the hillside. If she hadn’t led me here, I’m not sure I’d have spotted it. Moss grows on the roof, and trees block the view of the circular wooden door in the front.

The little dwelling buzzes with her magic. I sense it like the air before a storm, raising the tiny hairs on my forearms. Though not particularly ominous, it’s a natural warning to proceed with caution.

“Have a seat.” She gestures toward a circle of velvet floor pillows. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Questions hurtle through my mind, but I keep my composure as much as I can while flopping onto the floor and sitting cross-legged on a fluffy pink cushion. I take my bag off my shoulder, fold it into my lap, and glance around the cozy, one-room cottage.

Rust-orange walls, a midnight-blue ceiling covered in fairy lights, vining plants sprawling on every jewel-toned surface. She busies herself with a magical flame contained within a circlet of stones, making our tea.

To my discomfort, I realize the sitting area I’m in must also serve as her bed, and I feel a bit self-conscious about my boots, but when I look at them, every speck of dirt has vanished.

That’s some interesting spellwork she wields.

“Sugar and cream?” asks Sonja.

“Yes, please.”

It’s odd, the cordial atmosphere, yet at the same time, a thread tugs on the edge of my awareness. Something’s off, but I don’t know what.

She hands over a steaming cup of milky tea and settles across from me on a second pink velvet cushion. “All right, you first. How’d you get through that gate?”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Because I don’t trust you enough yet.” She shrugs. “Nothing personal. I don’t really trust anyone.”

“Yet you’ll ask me to trust you.”

“Yes. That and the fact that someone must go first.”

I puff out a breath of frustration but give in easily enough. The sooner I answer her questions, the sooner we’ll get to mine.

“I’ve watched him cross several times.”

Her pupils dilate as I tell the tale. I’m careful to leave the important bits vague. For instance, I don’t tell her the phrase he spoke that I memorized, only that I used my blood and spoke to the gate myself.

“I think it understands somehow, in its own way, the intent of the would-be traveler.”

She hums. “Interesting. So the portal is sentient?”

“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. But I tried several things that didn’t work before it finally opened.”

“Let me see your hand.”

Instinct has me clutching the bandaged wound to my chest. “Why?”

“Just let me look.”

“It’s still sore, and I don’t have another cloth to wrap it if you mess up this one.”

“I want to see the size and shape of the cut. I’ll heal it after as a sign of my goodwill. Please?”

“You can do that?”

“Most likely. Unless there’s some sort of magic involved you didn’t tell me about or perhaps aren’t even aware of yourself.”

Well, that’s worrisome. But it would be nice to have the cut healed. With no small amount of trepidation, I hold out my hand.

She sets her teacup aside and carefully unwraps the makeshift bandage. With gentle, dainty fingers, she examines the cut. “How much did it bleed?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I didn’t look.”

“Squeamish?”

“Yes.”

“Me too. When it’s my blood at least.” She stares at my palm and the angry red slash that cuts diagonally across the pink flesh.

I focus on one of her plants instead, counting each leaf on the vine until this part is over with.

“Should be easy enough to heal,” she says. “I sense no magic. This will feel warm, maybe tingle, but it shouldn’t hurt. Ready?”

I nod and brace for whatever happens next, though I needn’t have done, because it’s exactly as she says, warm and with a pleasant tingle. No pain. And when she’s finished, my palm is perfectly healed.

“There you are.”

I make a fist. It doesn’t hurt. “Wow. Thank you.”

“You’re in my debt, if only a little.”

I tense.

She laughs. “Oh, don’t fret. I’m jesting.” She waves this away as if it were nothing. “I am fae, Gale. What did you expect, a free favor and no teasing at all?”

I don’t know what to make of her. I want to like her. She’s been kind to me. But the twitchy spot low in my gut is twitching away, urging me to be cautious. I smile, hoping it looks genuine, then take a slow sip of my tea to calm my nerves.

She does the same. The atmosphere lightens a touch.

“Why do you want to go through the gate anyway?” I ask.

She leans back against a wall of pillows, legs stretched in front of her and crossed at the ankles.

“It’s simple, really. To see where I came from, where I should never have left.

” Her gaze grows distant. “Hopefully, to find my real mother and father. To find out what happened that I ended up here.”

I nearly choke on my tea. Her words slam directly into my heart. “I understand.”

Her brows draw inward. “How could you?”

“That’s what I want as well. To find my family. To answer questions.”

“The Gatekeeper switched you too?”

I nod.

“And yet you drink from him?”

This topic again. I want to stay as far from blood-drinking as possible. “That’s complicated. But my parents are earthside somewhere, as yours are faeside somewhere. I’ve always wanted to find them.”

“So we are alike.”

“We are.”

“Except I hate him for it.”

You don’t even know him. But who am I to question her feelings on the matter? I could just as easily have grown up hating him. Many do.

“So is it my turn now? Will you tell me where you saw him?”

She waves her fingers. “Oh, here and there and everywhere. Every night. The woods to the north, south, east, and west. Wherever I go, he goes. But he won’t catch me, and I can’t seem to pin him down either. It’s a stalemate.”

My stomach drops. “Wait. You’re the fae-souled sorceress?” It had crossed my mind when we first met, but… she’s so small and nice and normal…ish. As normal as any fae can be that is. The fact that this is who Ezra failed to conquer is frankly unbelievable.

“Is that what he called me?”

“Among other things.”

She rolls her eyes.

A zap of energy startles me. Sonja sits up straight. Outside, a roiling wave shakes the earth, and an eerie moaning rises like an otherworldly chorus.

Sonja presses her lips into a straight line. “That’ll be him now.”

Gatekeeper

I must be getting closer. The bone caller has raised dead humans tonight. Lately, it’s been the stinking, rotting carcasses of wolves, bears, stags, and whatever beastly things were available. I’d thought he’d run out of humans.

If it were me, I’d locate my hideout near the largest graveyard in the area. And seeing the number of lumbering undead headed my way, I think that’s right here.

I crack my knuckles and draw my knives.

As usual, the death mage hides as far behind his army of wretched corpses as he can. From my vantage point on an open ridge, he’s a dark-haired twig on the opposite ridge, hands raised, brandishing his foul magic from afar.

Also as usual, the fae sorceress has yet to make an appearance. Her habit is to show up and goad me midbattle, then to flee for safety before I can get a shot at her. Infuriating harpy.

The putrefied army plods forth. Rather than wait for them to reach me, I stride into their chaotic ranks and hack a swath through the stinking masses.

Corpse after corpse falls before me, but they don’t stay down. With an unholy stench, with dogged determination, and with any remaining limbs, they pursue me no matter how mauled their carcasses become.

I hack off an arm here, a leg there. Slash through a few torsos. Lop off too many heads to count.

They don’t fight back. They don’t howl in pain. They don’t even bleed, unless oozing a filthy grime counts. (It doesn’t.)

I’m surrounded, but it matters not. Too many years with these blades, too many wars under my belt. The mindless creatures stand no chance.

When I try to fly over them, the blasted death mage raises his slender hands, and the whole of his army lifts with them. After several attempts at battling them midflight, I learned it’s faster to cut them down from the ground.

Faster, but not exactly fast.

Minutes tick by, and the fight rages on, me slicing and dicing, them gnashing and thrashing. Their claws reach, but I dodge. My blades hack, but they persist.

We battle until I’m properly vexed and both me and the land are covered in gore.

“Show yourself, you cowardly slattern!” I yell into the distance.

Her tinkling laughter echoes through the valley. I dart my gaze toward the horizon, spot the death mage again, but see no sign of the sorceress.

“Stop cowering behind your minions and fight a proper battle.” I pick up speed and cut a straight path toward the mage. If I can’t have her head, I’ll settle for his.

Chin down, jaw clenched, I let muscle memory take charge. Striding forth, slashing and stabbing, I drop the corpses by the dozen.

Closing in foot by foot, I’m nearly there when I hear a voice that has me freezing mid-stride.

“Sir?”

My ears are playing tricks on me. It cannot be true. I whip my head toward his voice and gasp.

The sorceress has Gale!