Page 63 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

H ounds are barking, and though the dancing music has mostly faded, picking up in uncertain intervals, most of the festivalgoers have not realized they are in danger.

We’ve stepped right out into the trees, wildflowers poking at my ankles, secluded from the eyes of villagers.

I glance back at the root-bound crack in the tree we’ve climbed from.

Hopefully we will not lose the burrow once we step away from it.

Tynan peers back at it, mumbling something to himself, a distinct fascination passing across his expression before his eyes dart across the trees.

“ Does no one hear them?” I whisper.

“ Do they all live here, in those cottages?”

“ No, many are from the neighboring villages.”

“ They are not accustomed. They do not hear the same.”

“ Oh,” I say meekly, and consider I should be much more afraid than I am, though my heart is pounding, my eyes are burning, and my limbs feel weak.

Somehow, being in the woods with this strange faerie is not the most terrifying part of this venture.

I have the feeling that Tynan, with his hand still under my elbow, will simply drag me out of danger should it arise.

Of all the impressions Aidyn gave me of his father, there were never any that he was a coward. Quite the opposite.

“ What scars?” Tynan murmurs suddenly. We are stepping through the trees, not quite going deeper but skirting the edges, and I wonder if he shall do the strange movement again that brings the world together quickly, and if it is something every faerie can do.

Numbly, I ask, “ What?”

“ Your tiny sister, she said you already bear scars from our kin.”

We ’re nearly the same age, and hearing Una called my tiny sister has a giggle bubbling up my chest. She isn’t that much smaller than I am, though I suppose we all look small to Tynan. I swallow back the laugh before he can think I’ m mad.

Instead, I hold up my hand.

“ Ah,” he says, spying the twisted finger even in the dark, his bright eyes narrowing. There is a decided downturn to his mouth, just as there was with Aidyn. “ That should never have happened.”

I must tell Aidyn that he looks quite a bit like his father indeed. “ It was a long time ago now... long enough, I think.”

He grunts. “ Can you point us in the direction?”

We ’ve left the greatest cluster of trees, the trampled-down grassy fields greeting us.

It seems so strange and incorrect that there should still be dancing and singing and lantern lights floating among the smaller fae frolicking through the grasses.

One little dandelion puff of a creature trundles up to us on strange wings, and Tynan redirects it with a careful hand.

If it were not for the hounds, the festivities would go well into the first light of the next morning.

They may still despite the danger. No one appears to notice the chorus of faint barking along the tree line.

Taking a long breath, I squint at the trees, trying to find a landmark, and spot a familiar cluster of bushes Aidyn and I pushed through.

“ There, I think. It’s difficult to tell. Aidyn was using his magic to take us.”

Nodding, Tynan ducks under the nearest branch and returns to the shadows of the trunks, my arm remaining in his grasp. If he releases me, I may very well succumb to panic.

The scent of the trees is cool and damp in the warm air, droplets of misting rain condensing and dripping onto our shoulders and off the regal bridge of Tynan’s nose. He does not flinch.

“ Where are they?” I whisper, no longer hearing the sharp barks of the hounds.

“ It may not be so much about the human as you think,” he says in a matching tone, still not stepping forward. “ They may have troubled you for this reason, but we are constantly at odds.”

It takes me a moment to catch up to his reasoning. “ You think they’re luring you out?”

“ Not me, per se. As many of us as possible. They are incredibly intelligent and will protect one another—that does not mean they have the concept of compassion. We are locked in battle and always shall be.”

“ Then what—”

“ We should not be locked in battle on your side of the trees.”

I understand a bit more. What is an uncommon and frightening incident to us is a common war on the other side of the trees between the Keepers of Faerie. Tynan and his kin are only trying to end the danger here , not permanently.

“ Are you going to kill it?” I ask. “ The one in the cage?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw, but he does not answer. Taking in a long, deep breath, he finally steps forward, leading me through the damp grasses. I cannot precisely remember the trees around where the wagon was hidden, but that thick unnatural scent is in the air, if weaker.

Blain wouldn’t be able to leave without those beasts catching him alone in the woods, would he?

Momentarily, I consider what would happen if we were to come across the threads of his corpse in the woods, torn apart by hunt hounds. Despite everything, I swallow so I am not sick.

The small clearing in the trees opens, but it is empty.

He’ll think I’ve lied to him . . .

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say, before Tynan is releasing me and stepping carefully around the small space.

Now I see the wagon tracks in the damp ground, disturbing the grass, and the faint hoofprints of whatever donkey or horse pulled it.

Momentarily, I wish I hadn’t confronted Blain, hadn’t tipped him off that I know what he’s done, but I also hadn’t realized the Gentry themselves would arrive, that I would be speaking to Aidyn’s father.

I begin, “ How far could they have gone—”

Tynan’s head is tipped sideways, and he is gazing at something I cannot see in the trees.

It appears this is quite the faerie habit, and I find my stomach twisting, my words dying on my lips.

He is fairly close to me still, but whatever he sees in the dark feels much more dangerous when I am not standing behind his shoulder.

I rub my hands into the fabric of my skirts, too frightened to move toward him, vulnerable in the night air.

Straightening but not taking his eyes from what he’s found, he merely reaches over and takes me back under the arm until I’m stumbling after him.

“ Do not let your sight leave me,” he mumbles, then releases me again.

I keep on his heels as he steps lightly over tree roots, my hand near his back, ready to grab him as if I’m a child wandering after my own father—who I am suddenly quite glad is not here to put himself in danger—and finally see in the dark what he has discovered among the grass.

Found out by us and alerted to the hounds nearby, it seems Blain took it upon himself to rid his wagon of the cage and the beast within it before departing. He’ll be much lighter without the weight, and it’s much less likely the hounds will track him down.

They will merely stay here, in our village, as they always have when provoked, since our pretty fae will evidently take care of it.

Rage bubbles up in my chest, but there is nowhere for it to go, so I merely stare at the cage toppled onto its side, still half covered with the thin old blanket.

My fingers find Aidyn’s ring and twist it round and round.

Tynan wrinkles his nose, snorting as if he’s smelled something terrible, though I only catch the reek of the hound and its heavy breathing past the cloth.

The ancient faerie nudges at something with the toe of his boot, and I spy pale flecks of something in the grass.

“ Salt? ” I ask. It’s thrown around the edges of gardens and on the windowsills of those frightened of malevolent fae, but I never knew it could be of any use. It certainly didn’t dissuade any of the brownies who break into the kitchen and steal food. It didn’t dissuade Aidyn from eating my soups.

“ It troubles our sense of smell,” Tynan supplies, still eyeing the cage.

He reaches down to touch the grains before withdrawing his finger without touching.

“ It does not hurt us—we may eat it, even—but I have heard in your human cities, it is often mixed with flecks of iron so that we are caused pain if we step upon it.”

I blink. In the moonlight, it only looks to be a handful of scattered salt, but I had no idea such a thing could be done.

“ Bring some up out of the grass,” he says, waving a hand in its direction.

Confused, I dig up a handful, mixed with damp earth, and run my fingers through the grains. I cannot tell the difference, but Tynan turns my wrist toward him, inspecting it without touching, and hums.

“ Most likely,” he says. “ I am not going to test the hypothesis.”

“ That’s how he was doing it?” I ask. “ Salt so they can’t smell anything and iron in case they get too close?”

“ Most likely,” he says again, nodding to the handful. “ Keep that in your pocket.”

For protection , I realize, glad I still sewed pockets into my dancing dress as I scoop a few handfuls of the mixture in where they can fit.

It is mostly dirt, anyhow. A bag or bowl of it was likely spilled on accident.

There are several other things that seem to have been dropped: a glove; an old paper bag, perhaps for food; and splinters of wood, likely from the cage being dropped to the ground and abandoned.

From under a piece of board, I tug out the handkerchief Blain used to wipe at his split lip. The corner is embroidered with the H from his family name. Tynan is not looking at me, and I put it into my pocket as well, though I’m not sure why. It seems strange to leave it.

With the edge of his sword, Tynan lifts the hem of the tattered cloth covering the cage. I see nothing but a shifting shape but hear the responding growl. As before, Tynan visibly flinches, shoulders tightening, upper lip peeling back in a slight grimace.

We may fear them, but he despises the beasts.

He thought they took his son from him.