Page 19 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
I’ll come back to you, Rose. I’ll come and…
Ice Sprites & Faerie Flight
The next day went much like the first and the one after that was the same. We rode. The landscape spread before us, beautiful under a clear sky. I took mental note of landmarks. A craggy rock that looked like a fist. A grove of particularly tall cedars whose branches arched overhead like the vaults beneath Briarbridge’s town hall. An icy river that we followed for half a day.
No roads, though.
But we were getting further and further from the border, from human lands. I might have to chance fleeing even without a clear route. If I kept travelling south, with the sun passing left to right, I’d eventually find Albion. That might be enough.
Once we reached his home, I’d be a prisoner forever. Since he woke every time I so much as rolled over in bed, that was looking more and more likely.
Even as I scowled and plotted, I couldn’t help but marvel at Elfhame. My brain buzzed with a hundred new colour schemes and textures I wanted to capture with thread and lace and beads. If I studied this place hard enough, it could keep me inspired for the rest of my life.
I would be some mad threadwitch sewing creations from my time in the fae realm. That’s the story everyone would tell about me. I wouldn’t mind it.
On the fourth day, the snow had mostly cleared, but we rode past shards of ice that jutted from the ground, taller than the stag. One side of each stood smooth, the other was barbed with tiny, horizontal icicles.
I must’ve stared, because he spoke up for the first time in hours. “Ice sprites have been through here. They sculpt the snow and ice into these shapes. Unless you fall on one of their creations, they’re harmless enough.”
I made a sound of acknowledgement and we rode on.
Later, as the sun set and painted the sky the brightest shade of magenta I’d ever seen, lights winked into being around us. Unlike the drifting fae lights at the stone circle, these were pale blue and darted through the air.
One zipped past at arm’s length with a whirr of fluttering wings. I jerked upright. They werecreatures, not idle sparks of magic.
He grunted, the sound vibrating into my back.
“What are they?” I looked up at him. He didn’t seem tired as he had at the end of that first day, but he’d grown quiet and sullen. Or maybeIhad and he was only mirroring me.
“These are faeries.” His brows knitted together in a scowl. “Distant—verydistant cousins.”
“And let me guess—you disapprove?”
I gasped as one buzzed closer, a hand’s breadth from our noses. I got the impression of a face sharp as a blade and slender limbs. Its dragonfly wings moved so quickly, they were a blur. Otherwise, it almost looked like a tiny human.
“How can you disapprove of that?” I chuckled and reached for the little creature. “It’s beautiful.”
“Theyare a menace.” Scowl deepening, he swatted the thing away before I touched its dainty feet. I huffed at his interference. “They bite, and because they’re dirty little bastards, it gets infected.”
Grimacing, I rubbed my nose where it had been so close to the danger of a faerie bite.
When the sky flared gold and orange, we stopped in the sheltered hollow between a copse of oaks and a craggy outcrop. He dismounted and lifted me from the stag. I landed pressed against him, his hands on my waist, mine on his chest. Even though I was on the ground and he could let go, his fingers tightened on my flesh and… and I didn’t step away.
Much as he was fae, hewasattractive. Every line on his face came straight from a painting. There was a certain roguish charm to his smirk—when it wasn’t infuriating. The strength of his broad shoulders held an undeniable appeal that made my pulse speed.
Under my palms, his solid chest rose and fell in deep breaths, and his fingers splayed at my back as though he wished to explore. Warmth—not the heat of anger, somethingdifferent—flushed through my body. What didthatmean?
Pupils wide, his eyes searched mine, questioning, perhaps. It twisted through me like that coiling tension when he’d first appeared at the market square.
Swallowing, I tore myself away, and he cleared his throat before busying himself setting up camp.
I stroked the hind’s velvety nose while I waited for my heartbeat to calm the hells down. He could’ve set me on the floor a foot from himself and turned to get on with the tent. Even if bringing me down flush against him had been an accident, he could’ve stepped away at once. He definitely could’ve released my waist after a second.
But he hadn’t.
And the way his grip had flexed and spread…
Washeattracted tome, the “mere human?”
