Page 12

ALICE

B reakfast was uneventful.

Fenrother wasn’t particularly forthcoming or talkative.

In fact he seemed a little overwhelmed with my, admittedly terrible, efforts to converse with him.

It meant he scurried off as soon as we were done, claiming he had things to attend to.

Turns out there is a way of repelling a Lambton Wyrm…

small talk.

Hitching up my dress, I go exploring.

The castle is large, but given it’s on a square, it’s not too difficult to find my way around.

I find the stairs from yesterday and wind my way up, hoping to get to the battlements above, to have a look at the Yeavering in daylight and not from between the claws of a Wyrm.

At the top there is a small wooden door, which, when tried, opens outwards, and I find myself on the stone flagged upper ramparts.

A cool wind blows my skirts around, and I’m grateful for the thicker fabric on my arms, even if my boobs are more exposed than I would like.

I make my way over to the thick castellation and look out.

Mist swirls directly below me, but as I look further out, I can see rolling countryside which, naturally, is mostly moorland, but it follows a small stream down a valley towards an area which is a bright green and, although it’s a long way off, it could be the pastureland we flew over yesterday.

It is a wild place, one befitting a Wyrm like Fenrother.

As I walk the battlements, finding the view in all directions to be of the moorland, patches of heather blooming within the peaty scrubland, the sky above me darkens and the wind gets stronger, as if it wants to blow me from my lofty perch.

As I’d prefer this not to happen, or at least not yet, I turn back to the door I used to enter the top of the castle.

Fenrother stands in my way.

He seems taller, wider than before, his eyes almost glowing as he glares at me.

“Why are you here?” he demands.

“Are you signalling other humans?”

And we’re back to the distrust…

again.

“How many humans did you see when you took me?” I roll my eyes.

“There was no one else, and I’m not signalling anyone. I wanted to have a look from the top. I’ve never been in a castle before.”

Fenrother’s heaving chest slows.

His huge claws retract slightly.

He is quite obviously confused by my answer.

“Humans have castles,” he says slowly.

“Yeah, and they keep other humans out of them, mostly,” I grumble.

“It isn’t safe for you here,” Fenrother rallies.

“I’m not going to jump off if that’s what you’re thinking.”

One look at his face tells me he absolutely was NOT thinking that, but he is now.

His tail lashes as he closes the gap between us, hesitating only briefly before wrapping an arm around my body.

At least he thought about what I said earlier about the touching, even if he’s chosen to ignore it.

But Fenrother isn’t looking at me.

He’s looking at the sky.

“There are worse things than falling.” He looks back at me.

“And I would always catch you.”

As he speaks, there is an almighty crash of thunder and a lightning bolt.

It’s so close my hair stands on end, and I can smell ozone.

“Shit!” I exclaim. “That has to be a direct hit. We should go in if it’s going to thunder.”

I take a step towards the door, but Fenrother holds on to me.

“It’s too late,” he growls.

“No, it’s not,” I respond, but then I see he’s not paying any attention.

He’s looking down the battlements at something else entirely.

I follow his gaze and nearly jump out of my skin when I find, for the first time since arriving, we are not alone.

A female Faerie is approaching us slowly along the battlements.

Her large crystalline wings flicker from red to azure as she moves, and her flowing clothing, a mixture of whites and reds, seems to have a life of its own, waving in the opposite direction to the wind.

“Lambton Wyrm.” She addresses Fenrother in a voice which is part song and part cut glass.

The tone is not friendly.

“Queen Mab,” he responds, his entire body tensed to what almost seems to be the point of breaking.

“I see you got my little gift,” she says as she approaches, her eyes not leaving him for an instant.

“Gift?” Fenrother queries.

“Your mate.”

“The Yeavering stone gave her to me,” he growls.

“Not you.”

“On the contrary, Wyrm. I command the magic in the Yeavering, and I control the stone. She is mine to give and mine to take away.”

The growl Fenrother makes is entirely feral, and he pushes me behind him as far as he can on the narrow strip of stone.

“You have one moon month, Wyrm, to fill her belly,” the Faerie queen says, her voice quiet but still easily audible over the whipping wind.

“Or both she and you will be gone forever.”

I push past Fenrother’s arm.

“Hey! I didn’t ask to be brought here. That’s not fair.” I ignore the weight in my stomach at her words, all of which fit with the concept of mate and mating, even if it’s the one thing Fenrother hasn’t attempted to do with me.

“You were sold. A consideration was taken. You belong to the Faerie,” the queen says, still not looking at me.

“I didn’t agree to be sold,” I shout at her.

“There are rules about what the Faerie can take and what they can’t. I wasn’t my aunt’s enemy. She stole from me and she’s stolen from you too.”

I feel the rush of the wind, the thump in my stomach which causes me to gasp in pain, the skeletal hand at my throat which shoves me through one of the castellations until I’m half hanging over the drop.

“I make the rules.” The queen’s voice has become a banshee shriek.

“I take what I want, and I give what you deserve.”

I’m wrenched back from the precipice but not because she has pulled back.

On the contrary, the queen flails violently until she sees Fenrother with his hand wrapped around her wings.

“One moon month,” she growls at him and winks out of existence.