Fae Nightmare Read online

  Fae Nightmare

  Fae Hunter: Book Three

  Sarah K. L. Wilson

  Published by Sarah K. L. Wilson, 2020.

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  FAE NIGHTMARE

  First edition. March 13, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Sarah K. L. Wilson.

  Written by Sarah K. L. Wilson.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Other Books by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  BOOK ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Behind the Scenes:

  For Cale, Always.

  Other Books by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  Dragon School Series

  First Flight

  Initiate

  The Dark Prince

  The Ruby Isles

  Sworn

  Dusk Covenant

  First Message

  Warring Promises

  Prince of Dragons

  Dark Night

  Bright Hopes

  Mark of Loyalty

  Dire Quest

  Ancient Allies

  Pipe of Wings

  Dragon Piper

  Dust of Death

  Troubled War

  Starie Night

  Ascendant Light

  Dragon Chameleon Series

  Rogue’s Quest

  Paths of Deception

  City of Ice

  Mist of Power

  Silver Eyes

  World of Legends

  Chase the Moon

  Shadow Quest

  Creeping Darkness

  Golem Siege

  Memory of Mountains

  Color of Victory

  Dragon Tide Series

  Dragonlet

  Dragon Staff

  Desperate Flight

  Bubbles of Hope

  Waves of Destiny

  Tides of Change

  Keys of Power

  Rock Eaters

  Underworld

  Chosen One

  The Unweaving Chronicles Series

  Teeth of the Gods

  Lightning Strikes Twice

  Thunder Rattles High

  Bridge of Legends Series

  Summernight

  Dawnspell

  Autumngale

  Winterfast

  Springhatch

  Tangled Fae Series

  Fae Hunter

  Fae Captive

  Fae Nightmare

  Fae Pursuit

  Fae Conqueror

  Empire of War & Wings

  Sting Magic

  Hive Magic

  Wing Magic

  Swarm Magic

  Queen Magic

  Bluebeard’s Secret

  Fly With the Arrow

  Dance With the Sword

  Stolen Mayfly Bride

  BOOK ONE

  “Look too long at the tangled ones and you will find yourself tangling, too. Grow too angry at the injustices done to you, and you will find yourself becoming unjust. Harden your heart too much against the cruelties done against you and you will soon be cruel. But let yourself bleed, let yourself ache, let yourself be maligned, let yourself shed hot tears of sorrow, and from your pain and sorrow will spring up fresh life.”

  -Wisdom of the Travelers

  Chapter One

  Wrath. Writhe. Wraith. Wreath.

  My hands twisted the willow branches as my mind recited those words again and again. They were the words that Scouvrel told me we derived from the word “wrae” from which we also got the word Fae.

  He’d been right that they were all the same. I’d felt the wrath of the Fae when they drowned me in a barrel of wine and tried to pry me from the cage. I’d felt it in how they nailed my father to a tree.

  I’d felt the writhing pain of the Fae in the echoes of their false merriment and terrible bargains.

  I’d seen how they were twisted like wreaths when I looked at their world with my true sight.

  I’d seen how they faded like wraiths of what they could be – like my sister Hulanna who was not human anymore.

  Twisted. That’s what our ancestors had meant by those words. Twisted by anger, twisted by pain, twisted by death and twisted by hands. They were all twisted.

  And I was becoming twisted, too.

  Just like these wreaths I was making.

  “Oh good, you’re almost done,” my mother said sitting beside me on the step of the Chanters’ porch. “We need so many for a wedding. I don’t know why the Earthmovers would plan one when it is almost winter, but we all feel a bit on edge lately and I guess they’d like things settled.”

  I still wasn’t used to her looking ten years older, ten years more broken. The life was coming back to her eyes under her carefully calm exterior, but if I looked at her when she didn’t know I was looking, I could see the hot pain roiling under the surface, the long-mulled depression that was hard for her to break.

  She’d lost us all for ten years. She’d been widow and the mother of twin disgraces. I didn’t know how awful that might be. I tried to imagine it the first night I was back, but just the imagining hurt too much and I shied away from it. It was easier to deal with if I tried to act like nothing had happened in those ten years.

  “How’s Dad?” I asked.

  She cleared her throat. She liked talking about him even though we both knew the truth. She smiled slightly as she spoke.

  “He’s healthier than he was. Those wounds are closed. Goodie Herben is deft with herbs and the infection won’t be back. Maybe soon he’ll start remembering things.”

  I tried not to think too much about that, either. My father remembered my mother. That was a relief. And that first night when he woke from his nightmares and I heard his cry of recognition I’d thought everything was going to be okay.

  He remembered Olen’s dad and mom. And that was good, too. Because my mother had been living with them these past ten years since we lost our home to the angry villagers and she lost her family to the Fae. They’d even let me stay here since I returned. Or rather, Olen’s mother had. His father didn’t say much of anything. He just played or sang all the time, one song blending seamlessly into the next and the next. He was playing right now in his rocking chair behind us on the porch as we did our part for the community and wove wreaths for the wedding.

  My father didn’t r
emember me or Hulanna. Or anyone born after he married his lovely bride Genda – my mother. He didn’t remember raising us or going to the Faewald to go get us. He spent most of his time staring off into space, speaking when he was spoken to, and smiling sweetly at my mother and breaking my heart every time he looked at me with puzzled eyes.

  This was not the happy ending I had been looking for.

  None of this was supposed to be what I came back to. None of it.

  Wreath. Writhe. Wraith. Wrath.

  I twisted the last willow branches into an angry wreath.

  We’d be at the wedding with the rest of the town – we poor fools who life had passed by. I couldn’t help but think of my own wedding, though I’d told no one about it. I’d been tricked into it, after all, so it wasn’t like I was going to plan a party for it or have people tie endless wreaths for me.

  I should have known that was what the Knave was doing when he tangled that stupid green bandage all around my hands. After all, hadn’t I seen green marriage ribbons in our town a thousand times before? Hadn’t I seen the village elders tangle them around the hands of the betrothed and tie them together as the two muttered shy “I do’s”?

  I’d said “I do,” and so had Scouvrel. I just hadn’t realized what it meant at the time.

  I wasn’t sure if I was angrier at him for marrying me without my permission or for not telling me about it until it was too late for me to pitch a fit. Coward. I was going to gut him and make a wreath out of his innards.

  Except that I wasn’t.

  Because I was stuck here.

  And because it hurt to think about him.

  “Can you bring the wreaths to the town square, Allie?” my mother asked with a gentle smile.

  I dropped my wreath on the step and leaned in to give her a fierce hug, ignoring the choking sound in her throat.

  “Of course,” I said, sniffling back tears I refused to shed. She was shaking in my arms and I knew she was thinking all the things she wasn’t saying – things about lost years and broken husbands and daughters who were still just seventeen when her friends’ children had children now.

  But we didn’t talk about those things – as if we were both afraid of shattering if we said them out loud, so instead, I just hugged her extra tight before I got up from the steps with feigned enthusiasm, gathered up the twenty wreaths I’d made, tied them quickly with a length of twine and slung them over one shoulder and my backpack over the other.

  “See you tonight?” my mother asked, her breath hitching at the end of the sentence and I nodded with more certainty than I felt. She didn’t need to know that I would try to go through the circle again before I came home – just like I did every night. After all, I’d probably fail again – just like I did every night.

  Chapter Two

  My blindfold was secure and with both my hands occupied carrying wreaths and my bag, I couldn’t pull it down to check the glowing paths like I usually did, but my feet itched to check them. I knew they all led somewhere, just like the one that had led to the cage I kept tied to my belt at all times and the one that had led to the key I kept in a pouch hanging from a cord around my neck.

  I needed to follow the other paths, too. I just hadn’t had the chance yet. There were too many eyes on me now. People watched me constantly. I’d heard a whispered “changeling” more than once when I passed a knot of people. I needed to stay unsuspicious so they could trust me again.

  I strode down the path from Chanters’ house to the wide North Road. There were already eyes on me as I hurried to the village. I waved cheerily to Branchtrimmer who was pulling a cart loaded with cut lengths of wood. He gave me a slow nod, his eyes never leaving my blindfold. He was wary of me. They all were.

  I’d been home a solid week and they were still worried about whether I was human or some changeling from a story. I’d cut my hand the first few times to show them I could bleed – I had no idea why they thought that was a good test. The Fae could bleed. I’d seen it. But I didn’t want to tell them that and you couldn’t cut your hand for every person in the village. I was just getting used to all the suspicious looks. It probably didn’t help that I kept my pack with me at all times, like a vagabond. But I’d had too many surprises. I didn’t want to be caught without supplies. And I didn’t want anyone to find the rat pelt inside – the one as large as a bear hide. People were sure to find that suspicious.

  I strode down the path, letting feigned confidence make my steps light and brisk. Nothing to see here. Nothing to see here.

  My blindfold slipped down from one eye and I stumbled slightly before I caught myself. I still had trouble looking at the world like that – one eye seeing what seeing people saw and one mostly blind with only spirit residues to guide it.

  With my spirit vision, I saw an owl-griffin – tiny and so very Fae – fly by. My head whipped around to watch it go. I looked around, anxious, but no one on the path seemed to notice it or me. Ten years. Ten years for the Fae creatures to become accustomed to these woods. What trouble were they up to out there? My eyes narrowed at the thought. I would need to investigate what damage these Fae creatures were doing to the local animal populations.

  And if I could capture one, that might be interesting, too.

  At the edge of town, a pair of Olen’s guards leaned against posts with a painted pole that they raised and lowered for any carts coming through. They glanced over me and wrote in a book they kept beside the pole.

  That was a change.

  There were far too many changes.

  I couldn’t help the tight feeling in my chest at the sight of them. They were strangers to me, and I to them. And that meant that in some strange way, I was a stranger in the only place I’d ever thought of as home. It had grown without me and been claimed by people who weren’t me.

  I could feel it in the woods, too.

  This place that had once been as familiar as my own body felt like a stranger to me now. It made my belly twist and my heart feel hollow.

  “Allie!”

  The sound of hooves smacking the soft earth still surprised me. That hadn’t been a sound you heard very often in the old Skundton, but now I heard horses all the time.

  Olen rode up on a snorting horse, its breath hanging in the cool late-autumn air. The horse rolled an eye at me and danced to the side. I shifted my load enough to free a hand and pull my blindfold back up.

  “Easy, Blossom, easy,” Olen said, patting the mare’s side with his hand. I still felt a sharp pain when I saw him. He had grown into his gangly frame. He was a full-grown man. And here I was still a girl. I was out of step with the whole world. “I don’t know why you make her so nervous.”

  “Maybe she’s heard I’m the village hunter,” I said, giving the mare my best side-eye. Our dislike was mutual. Every time I saw her, I thought of the unicorns of the Faewald and their rotting flesh hanging from ethereal skeletons.

  Olen laughed awkwardly. “You know the town disposed of that role, Allie. I’m the Knight here, and that’s the person who defends the town. We don’t need to hunt to eat. We’ve brought up sheep and chickens, cows and goats. And we don’t need a Hunter for defense. Every able-bodied man in Skundton is part of my militia. You really don’t need to carry that bow around.”

  I hitched the wreaths higher on my shoulder and scowled as they rubbed against my quiver and bow. I wasn’t giving up my bow and arrows. Not for Olen. Not for anyone.

  “You’re a young girl, Allie. Let us protect you. We all feel bad about what happened to your family.”

  “Sure,” I said, letting my voice drip with sarcasm.

  He was talking down to me.

  Again.

  Just like last night when I’d come into his parents’ house to find him in front of the fire stretched out in a chair sipping tea.

  “Heldra and I have found a place for you, Allie,” he’d said with a smile. “My parents’ house is crowded and while I know my mother loves the company, you need to live your life now that y
ou’re back.”

  “I’ll start rebuilding our home tomorrow,” I’d said awkwardly. I had no idea how to rebuild but I hated living with the Chanters, too. I needed my own space.

  Olen shook his head. “We had to take that land to expand the pasture for the Herder’s cows. No, Heldra and I were talking about situating you with the Rootdiggers. Aden’s wife is pregnant with their seventh child and she could use the help.”

  “You want me to care for children?” I’d asked him, horrified. What parent in their right mind would want a bloodthirsty nightmare like me to care for their little ones? “I’m terrible with children. I make them cry.”

  “Edrina could use the help. She was your friend. Remember?”

  As if I could forget! It might be ten years to them, but it had barely been two seven-days since I’d been young with all of them right here.

  “Hulanna’s friend,” I corrected, because what else was there to say?

  “Either way,” he’d said, smiling like he was proud of himself. “It will suit everyone perfectly.”

  Except for me.

  I hadn’t bothered to say no. I’d just stormed out into the windy night and gone up to the circle, crying and clutching the key as I begged it to open for me.

  I’d stayed there all night and when I returned with the light of dawn this morning and my mother had handed me a knife with a hollow smile and told me to make wreaths for the wedding.

  Which I had done.

  Like a good girl.

  What more did they want?

  The tiny part of my mind that sounded a lot like Scouvrel these days was laughing because it knew very well what they wanted – they wanted someone other than me. They wanted the girl Hulanna had been before she went into the circle. They wanted a girl like Edrina with her seven children.

  They did not want Allie, the difficult one. The one who couldn’t stop thinking about a certain Fae and his one single ear.

  “Thank you for your concern,” I told Olen stiffly. “It must be a fine thing to be a Knight.”

  His smile was far too bright and his tone too sober. Someone needed to drown him in wine. That would take his edge off.

  “It’s a great honor. One I am determined to live up to.”