Broken Dove (Fantasyland 4)

“You need to go without me,” I whispered.

“I’ll not leave you unprotected,” he said, moving to his trunk and throwing it open.

That was very sweet. But it also wasn’t very smart.

“Honey, you’ll make better time if—”

He turned to me and the look on his face made me shut up.

“Fast, Madeleine, dress warm. Very warm.”

I stared into his eyes a brief moment before I nodded and dashed to my trunks.

And this was because, if I was right about the bottom line, then the top one meant Christophe, Élan at Karsvall.

And ten men were going.

I got my hat, my gloves and wasted precious time I didn’t know I’d be glad for later toeing off my boots in order to exchange my thin, eveningwear wool tights for thicker, warmer wool tights. I pulled my boots back on and barely straightened when Apollo had my hand and he was dragging me to the door.

But he halted at the man on the floor who had his back resting against a heavy chest, his hands tied to the foot of it. He was also now groggy but conscious.

Apollo let me go to kneel beside him.

“Did they send ten men for my children?” he demanded to know.

The bad guy blinked at him.

Then he smiled.

It wasn’t verbal. But it was an answer.

My heart thumped hard and it hurt.

I held my breath as Apollo straightened, unsheathed his sword, flipped it so the blade was held in his gloved hand, and he whacked the guy across his cheek with the handle.

Blood flew from his mouth as his head lolled on his neck.

Out again.

I didn’t get a chance to take in this latest ghastliness.

Apollo had my hand and we were away.

* * * * *

We rode hard the rest of the night and all the next day.

Five times, we stopped to exchange horses. With Apollo’s commanding presence and heavy bag of coins, this took us less than five minutes each time. He only spent another thirty seconds the first change of horses to order Torment and Anguish sent to Karsvall.

And he asked only twice when we stopped if I needed food.

Both times, I shook my head. Both times he got that answer, Apollo’s eyes held relief. And both times, without further delay, we were again off. He didn’t waste time asking after that. He knew my answer.

I was not hungry.

I was also not tired.

I was terrified.

So terrified, my mind was gripped with it so the long ride, the cold, the landscape, the villages flashing by, the horse straining under me, the pounding of my bones, none of it penetrated.

None of it.

Apollo had his guys at his house and I’d seen Laures in action in the games so I knew they knew what they were doing.

But those three men laid in wait for us. If the ones that were sent for Christophe and Élan were good at being sneaky…

I didn’t let my mind go there. It kept trying to go there but I kept shutting it down. We would deal with what we found when we found it.

We just needed to get there to find whatever there was to find.

So I bent over my horse and did my best to keep her at Apollo’s heels, thanking God Hans was really good at teaching me how to ride a horse and I’d had four months’ practice.

I knew Apollo was terrified too. But hot-guy-badass-from-another-world terror manifested itself through fury. The kind of fury that wafted off him in a way that it seemed even the breeze was too scared of him to show up.

But I kept on his heels as dusk of the next day moved into a dark evening and we finally galloped through the village where I’d spent the night at The Swan.

The village outside Karsvall.

Ten minutes later, we galloped up a pine edged lane and I saw it.

Illumination, and it wasn’t the moon.

We came out into a clearing and Apollo didn’t slow so I didn’t either. But I did see that torches and barrels of fire were all around, lighting the space. There were lots of horses. Lots of sleighs. Lots of men. And also a big house I didn’t take in but I did take in the fact that a light was burning in every window.

This was not a good sign.

Apollo reined in and I did the same beside him at the front door.

And I saw that there were bodies lined up in the blood spattered snow.

My eyes frantically slid over them, and although a couple of them were face down, none of them were faces I knew.

I had no time to feel this relief. Suddenly I was yanked from my saddle.

Apollo had his hands on my waist and he was tugging me down. When he had me on my feet, he grabbed my hand and dragged me to the house, barking, “My children?”

“They’re fine, Lo.” I heard Achilles say. “They’re in Élan’s room—”

He said no more as Apollo pushed through him and kept dragging me behind him. I had half a mind to at least aim a relieved smile at Achilles as Apollo pulled us by but I had to keep up and watch my footing so I had no shot.

It was a good plan because, in no time at all, I was going up stairs.

Then down a hall.

Then I was being hauled into a bright room, and with his hand firm in mine jerking me into his side, I came to a halt, lifted my eyes and caught sight of the children in the bed.

My systems shut down instantly.

All I could do was see.

A boy, I knew he was eight, almost nine. A girl I knew who was six.

They were all Apollo, the girl a female version, a very cute, very pretty female version, but they both were all him. No red hair. No brown eyes. No freckles.

Dark thick hair. Olive toned skin.

Jade eyes.

They were beautiful.

Beautiful.

My heart started bleeding.

The boy was in bed with the girl, holding her close, and she was trembling so badly, she shook her brother and I could see the tassels on the canopy on her bed shaking as well.

She was petrified, her face saturated with it.

There was no blood. No visible injuries.

But one of them had gotten to her.

I felt this realization hit Apollo as his rage permeated the room.

The girl whispered a trembling, “Papa.”

At the sound of her little scared voice, it happened.

I was suddenly on fire. Every inch of my skin blistering. My eyes burning. My brain boiling.

Without a thought, not even knowing what I intended to do, I tore my hand from Apollo’s and raced out of the room, down the hall, the stairs and out the opened front door, my heavy cloak billowing behind me.

I stopped in the snow, my cloak flying forward to wrap around me, and I counted.

Eight bodies.

I turned instantly to the man standing closest to me.

Gaston.

I stomped to him, wrapped my fist in his sweater and snapped, “Where are the other two?”