A Sprint To His Heart (23 page)

Again I peered over the heads of the spectators who were blocking the road. The team van was even further behind now. With a dejected groan, I sank back against the guardrail.

Until a familiar face bobbed above the other spectators. Spare wheel in hand, Piran butted his way through the crowds. I jumped up, screaming at the top of my lungs, and grabbed the nearest spectator and hugged him. The guy didn’t seem to mind.

The crowd parted, and Piran ran the rest of the way to me. I planted a quick thank-you kiss on his lips. His warm smile nearly caused me to melt right there. As much as I wished for more, the race clock was ticking. I slipped the new wheel into the quick release hub of my bike, hopped on my saddle, and clipped my shoes into the pedals.

Only problem was now I had an uphill start with no momentum.

But Piran palmed my lower back and hip, and my bike jutted forward. Catching on, I pedaled to build up speed as he ran beside me, holding the back of my saddle.

“Go!” he yelled, giving me one final push.

And I did. I gave it everything I had, my legs churning like pistons to recover lost ground. I dug deep inside myself to find strength and focus. And meter by meter, I climbed that hill. When I crested the peak, the tail end of the field of riders was just disappearing around a curve. I leaned down, flattened my back to reduce wind resistance, and began my descent.

Except something happened that had never happened before. Fear penetrated the fringes of my concentration. Fear of crashing. My knees stiffened. Cold sweat dampened my jersey. I couldn’t stop envisioning that rescue basket being lowered over the guardrail.

My life was not worth risking just for a race, not even my first pro race.

I eased back to slow my speed. Several minutes passed before I caught sight once more of the field. With the riders strung out over half the course, I didn’t have a prayer of placing in the top ten.

Yet this wasn’t the end of my life. I didn’t get dropped and I didn’t get lapped. Finishing mid-field in my first professional race felt pretty damn good.

Riding past the podium, I waved to Piran and his mom.

Slowing down gradually to avoid cramping, I waited until I had feeling in my legs again before I turned around and pedaled back to the podium, where the King of Silesia stood next to Piran’s father. Phone glued to her ear, Princess Chanel walked a short distance on the roadside behind Piran and his mother.

I veered onto the gravel and the moment I dismounted, Piran was beside me. He threw his arms around my shoulders, and I pressed my face into his chest, not daring to believe he was holding me again and not caring I was covered in grime and sweat.

His mother cleared her throat. “Perhaps not in front of your betrothed, dear?”

Piran stiffened against me. “Enough of this charade, Mother. I will not marry Chanel von Casimir.”

“Of course you will,” his mother murmured, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“No, I am done.” Piran raised his hands.

“Done?” his mother repeated. Her forehead creased.

“I renounce the crown,” he said, anger deepening his voice. “I am no longer Prince Piran of Sava. I am now simply Piran Sava, artist and student. Find another heir to the throne. Tell Father he can find another puppet to advance his cause.”

“Piran,” his mother warned. She clutched her gown, her face ashen.

“No. I love Bailey. And loving her means more to me than appeasing the royalists and their archaic traditions.”

“Those royalists ensure the life to which you are accustomed.”

“Mother,” Piran snapped. “Do you even listen to what you say?”

She jerked back, blinking. “I . . . I do not understand—”

“No, you do not. And that is the problem.” He crossed his arms. “I am not interested in swimming in riches. I am not interested in lording over others. How can this be news to you?”

She took a deep breath, and the color finally returned to her face. Smoothing her glittering dress, she arched an eyebrow at him. “You have always been set in your ways, my son.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I take after my parents.”

She gave a soft but bitter laugh. “Ah, yes.”

Saying nothing further, mother and son both turned to gaze at the race winners now standing on the podium.

I tried not to fidget and draw attention to myself, or worse, think about my full bladder.

Princess Chanel posed for a photographer, and Piran’s mother heaved an irritated sigh. “I cannot deny your misery, my son.” She tapped a slender finger against her lips. A deep crease formed between her eyebrows. “I suppose it is time I discuss this
arrangement
with your father.”

The corner of Piran’s mouth twitched. “Allow me, Mother.”

“Oh no,” she replied, her irises flashing dark blue. “Last time you and your father argued, I swore the Sava River would engulf all of Silesia!” She patted his arm. “Go on. Be with the girl you love. Let me handle the consequences.”

It was Piran’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Where do you think your courage comes from?” she replied with a wry smile that reminded me so much of his. She said something in Fae, and Piran laughed.

Then she turned and studied me with a shrewd gaze.

“I look better clean,” I offered, biting my lip nervously.

Her burst of laughter was like a tinkling charm. “What is this magic you possess to capture my son’s heart with the skill of a siren?”

My eyes widened. “I don’t possess any magic, ma’am, er, Mrs. Sava, your highness.”

Oh God. Facepalm.

Laughing, Piran wrapped an arm around me.

Chanel stumbled across the grass in her high heels. “Can we leave now?” she whined, apparently not even noticing me. Or maybe she did and didn’t care. A horrified look suddenly crossed her face, and she fanned a hand in front of her nose. “It stinks around here. Don’t these humans bathe? Get me a martini.”

“Somebody please muzzle that girl,” Piran’s mother muttered under her breath.

His father strode toward us. I licked my dry lips and readied a curtsy, but the King waved me off with a dismissive flick of his hand. His hardened gaze slid from me to his wife, and then to Piran.

A burst of Fae language swirled between the three.

Finally, Piran’s father stepped back and exhaled heavily. He bowed slightly to Chanel. “Your highness? There appears to be a change of plans.”

Chapter 24

My mouth dropped open. Piran was free from Chanel’s clutches?

I barely had time to register glee when Piran suddenly vanished. It took me a moment to realize Chanel was gone as well.

A white card fluttered down from the sky, plucked out of the air by Piran’s mother. She read the card and let out a gasp, her hand shaking.

“No, please,” she whispered. Tears dampened her lashes.

Piran’s father tore the card from her grasp and threw it to the ground. He stared in the direction of where the King and Queen of Silesia had formerly stood and clenched his fists. “We should never have trusted them.”

I took a step back, my throat tightening. “Where . . . where is Piran?”

His mother collapsed to her knees. “She took him! That Silesian witch took my son!”

“Took him where?” I asked, my voice wavering.

His mother lifted her gaze to mine. Her eyes were black. “The Silesian Fae realm.”

“I don’t understand. Can’t you just storm in and—”

“No,” his father interrupted, scowling. “We cannot enter their kingdom uninvited. Their magic is as strong as ours.”

“Then what can we do?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice, but I felt helpless. Piran’s own parents couldn’t save him? I trembled, unable to process what this meant.

His mother retrieved the mysterious white card and handed it to me. “You are our only hope, Bailey, although I cannot in good conscience ask you to do this for us.”

I flipped the card over in my hand. The strange letters morphed into English.

Piran is mine! Now and forever. If you wish to see him again, his human ape is more than welcome to come for him.

“Of course,” I said without hesitation. I’d kick that bitch’s ass from one end of the Fae realm to the other. “Just tell me where to go.”

Piran’s mother sobbed. The King wrapped an arm around her, his face taut with worry.

Okay, not exactly a good sign. “Um…is there something you’re not telling me?”

The Queen glanced at her husband, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth. Finally, he faced me. “Unfortunately, humans become quite ill in the Fae realm.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. Oh shit. No wonder the Fae realm was off-limits. “And if I don’t go? What will happen to Piran?”

His mother shook her head, tears in her eyes, and her shoulders sagged. “We have no idea. The Silesian kingdom is rather . . . isolationist.”

“Hence the marriage treaty,” the King said.

“Piran is not a
treaty
,” I snapped, unable to hold back my indignation.

“Well, no,” his father replied, eyes widening. “Certainly not. Nevertheless . . .” The man huffed, crossing his arms. “I need not explain my decisions to you.”

“Maribor,” his wife chided in her soft lilt. “This was
our
mistake. A mistake we are now asking young Bailey Meyers to redress.”

The King bowed his head. “Forgive me, Miss Meyers. I can see how much you care for my son. And for that, I am most grateful.”

“We can send you into the Fae realm,” his mother said, “but we cannot accompany you into the Silesian kingdom. Once Piran is safe, we will seek guidance from the Fae High Council regarding Chanel von Casimir.”

She grasped my hands in hers, and her gaze met mine. Pleading. The anguish palpable.

“Yes,” I replied before I lost my courage. “I will rescue Piran.”

“Come.” She gripped my hands more tightly. “You should hurry.”

“What do I—”

Whoa! Slammed into the ground as if tackled by a linebacker, I wheezed and gasped for air, the wind knocked from my lungs.

What the hell? Talk about tuck and roll.

Birds twittered. I thought nothing of it until the twitters turned into words. “Can she fly?”

I opened my eyes. Not birds. Two sprites the size of dolls. Never seen them that small. One jumped on my stomach and peered at me, a confused expression on her heart-shaped face.

“No, I can’t fly,” I said with a groan, forcing myself to sit up. The sprite clung to my jersey.

Rolling hills of tall grasses and yellow flowers as far as the eye could see. Not a house in sight, much less bike racers. Mountains loomed in the distance and fluffy white clouds dotted the pristine blue sky.

I absently scratched an itch on my thigh.

“I am Pit,” the sprite on my jersey said, toying with my zipper. The other sprite scrambled up my leg, her webbed hands and feet oddly sticky. “My sister Pat.”

“Hello. My name is Bailey. I’m here to find Prince Piran of Sava. He was taken by Princess Chanel.”

The sprites hissed.

“Not a fan of her either, huh? Any idea where I can find her?”

Pit perched on my shoulder. “The von Casimir castle is between the Shire and Bryn.”

“Okay, but I have no idea where that is.” I scratched my thigh again and glanced down to notice a whopper of a bug bite. Sheesh. Shouldn’t the Fae realm be free of such nasties?

Pat crawled onto my other shoulder, an energy bar from my jersey pocket in her hands. “Follow the stream.”

I glanced around. “What stream?”

The sprites giggled.

“That stream,” Pat said, tapping my shoulder. “You silly ninny.”

On my right, clear water burbled over smooth rocks along a meandering bank. I rubbed my forehead. That stream was seriously not there before. Damn sprites and their games. I scratched another bug bite on the back of my knee. No, not one, but three. Who would have thought I needed bug spray in the Fae realm?

“Join me?” I asked the sprites. For some reason, traveling alone seemed like asking for trouble. And while sprites were mischievous pranksters, they weren’t known for being dangerous.

Pit rocked back and forth. “The princess is mean.”

“And her castle is gloomy,” Pat squeaked. “No joy or lightness.”

Why wasn’t I surprised? I shrugged off the stab of disappointment, feeling guilty for even asking them. They were just little sprites after all.

“But you cannot go alone,” Pit said.

“No?”

“We will help you rescue your prince.”

Pat nodded at her sister. “We are not afraid.”

Well, that made two of us then.

“Okay, hold on tight,” I said to the sprites before taking off in a run. No time to waste. I didn’t want to think about what horrible things Chanel might be doing to Piran.

Before long, a tall spire appeared in the distance. I stopped to catch my breath and scratch my legs. The bites were like a rash now, angry red welts up and down my calves and thighs.

“How much farther?”

“We are here,” Pit said, scooting off my shoulder and clinging to my neck. Her little body shivered.

All I saw were trees, but the wind had picked up and the air definitely had a cold bite. We crested a hill, and I understood the sprites’ reservations. We faced an entirely different world. Dark and foreboding. Colorless. The overcast sky shrouded a castle in shadows.

A path suddenly opened between gnarled trees gray and bare as in winter. With a deep breath, I headed toward my unknown trip into hell. A woman’s haughty laugh startled me, and I halted. Both sprites dived into the back pocket of my jersey.

I whirled around, smacking my face into a tree branch.
Ouch
.

“Bailey,” a voice whispered. “Do not stop. You have come this far.”

“Piran?” I shouted. “Is that you? Can you hear me?”

Desperate for a sign from him, I waited, heart pounding. But I heard nothing more than the howling wind and the barren trees creaking.

Scratching my arm, I glanced down and gasped. The rash had spread, and streaks of blood radiated from the welts.

Damn. This was one hell of an allergy.

Ignoring the cold wind and freaky trees that seemed to be closing in on me, I hurried along the path. Finally, the trees opened into a clearing, and I burst through. Oh, thank you, thank you. Not exactly sunshine, but better than the claustrophobic feeling of being eaten alive by dead trees.

“You actually came.”

She appeared out of nowhere. Eyeing my torn racing shorts and jersey, Chanel smirked. “Nice outfit.”

I tried to hold still and ignore the intense itching, but at last, I gave in to temptation and scratched until my fingernails were bloody.

Chanel laughed. “Not long before you dissolve altogether. You do know what happens to humans in the Fae realm, right? So terrible they turn into oozing cesspits of rotting flesh.”

I swallowed hard. She was just trying to unnerve me.

“But before that happens . . .” She rounded me, and I had to pivot to keep her in my sights. “If you want to save your precious prince, you must win him in a race.”

“A race? As in a bike race?”

Chanel rolled her eyes. “As if.”

“Running race?” I offered. God, I hoped it wasn’t a swimming race.

“You pathetic humans have no idea what a real race is.” She turned and gestured. “Meet my ride, Gareth. Yours is in the cave.”

I followed where she was pointing and nearly passed out.

“He is so beautiful.” Chanel cooed at the humongous dragon swishing its tail. “And quite fast. He loves to race.”

Oh my fucking God.

Two gargoyles led me to a cave and shouted something in Fae. A dragon the size of a ship lumbered forward. Too shocked to speak, I climbed the ladder and offered no resistance as I was strapped onto the animal’s neck.

This was for Piran. This was for Piran.

No reins, so I held onto the straps, wincing in pain when my ravaged legs braced against the animal’s scaly hide. Exactly how did one race a dragon? I tentatively patted the dragon’s neck. “Nice dragon. Good dragon. Um, does it have a name?”

“Mabel,” replied one of the gargoyles. “See the pink bow on her ear?”

Oh, yeah. Stylin’.

Princess Chanel and her dragon flew overhead, the rush of swirling air making me cough and sending my hair whipping my face.

Thanks, bitch. Chanel was already on her way, yet there I sat, struggling to figure out how to get my dragon off the ground. “Come on, Mabel. Come on, girl. Fly!”

Nothing.

I dug in my heels like a rider on a horse. “Yip! Yip! Let’s go.”

Nothing.

My head drooped, and I groaned. “How do I get her started?”

“Try saying please,” one of the gargoyles replied.

“Please, Mabel,” I murmured as sweetly as I could. “Please fly.”

The dragon opened her ginormous wings and began to run. Holy shit! When she launched into the air, I was thrown flat on my back, grateful for the straps holding me in place. But what a rush!

We kept climbing and climbing into the sky. The thought suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea how high we’d go. What if I lost consciousness? What if
Mabel
did?

But she leveled out and soared in a lazy arc high over the castle.

I almost didn’t want to push her, but as breathtaking as the view was, we wouldn’t win the race this way.

“Come on, girl. Chase Gareth down. Show him who is boss.”

Mabel took off like a rocket. The air rushed past my face so fast I could barely breathe. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. I could only hunker down and pray Mabel knew what the hell she was doing.

If fear had crept into my bike racing, it was nothing compared to what I felt right now. Particularly when she began to dive. Not just dive, but
drop
at a million miles per hour. I squeezed my eyes shut as my stomach shot up into my throat.

Then for some reason, I busted out laughing. Like whatever. You only live once, right? I lifted my hands in the air and whooped like a kid on a roller coaster. Until Mabel showed no sign of stopping.

“Slow down!” I yelled, tugging on the straps.

I thought we’d crash right into the ground, but after a sharp right that gave me whiplash, Mabel landed in a field and began eating flowers.

Stopping for a food break? Seriously?

We did not have time for this. I pleaded with her. Said pretty please. Kicked my heels. Resorted to shouting. Called her a stupid mule. Cried.

Resting my head against hers, I saw my future and it didn’t look good. Piran would never be released and I would die in Chanel’s vile kingdom with all my skin sloughed off.

“Mabel,” I whispered. “We need to win this race to save Piran of Sava.” Sniffing, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands, the only place that didn’t have bleeding welts. “Chanel won’t release him unless I win his freedom. I don’t know what to do, Mabel. Just please fly.”

The beast’s giant wings flapped, and we took flight again. I had no idea if my words meant anything to her or she’d simply eaten her fill.

Nearing the mountains, Mabel slowed as we approached a cliff. No! We would not stop again. I remembered a rider in the dark Fae bike race who would always pull up on the bike’s handlebars. A strange thing to do on a bike. I studied the dragon’s ears, then grabbed them and yanked them up. Mabel soared over the cliff. Yes!

In the distance, Chanel’s dragon crested a mountain. Determination surged through me. Never doubt a bike racer when she’s behind.

“Come on, Mabel, catch that dragon!”

Ohhhh . . . Myyyy . . . Godddd. My lips peeled back. I’m pretty sure we broke the sound barrier.