Into the Woods (51 page)

“No. There is a third in the pantry. I’m sorry about the man in the field. I was careless.”

Ellie took a slow breath, her narrow shoulders easing slightly. Her back to the door, she could have them all in here in a second if she wanted to. Trent doubted she would, though. Most of the magic texts in his library originally came from here, and slowly he dropped the gun’s aim. He would have to win this by guile, the one elven art he had practiced all his life.

The refined woman looked nothing like Ellasbeth, standing almost eight inches shorter, dressed in cool shades of gray and silver that matched her fair hair, wispy and thin, exactly like Trent’s, exactly like his mother’s. “Have you seen her?” she asked, afraid and proud.

“No.” Again her shoulders dropped, but still she didn’t move. “Ellie, I’m sorry it has come to this,” Trent said, relieved that he hadn’t killed anyone inside Ellie’s home. He’d always thought of gaining Ellie as a mother-in-law the best part of the arranged marriage. “Ellasbeth brought this on herself. Refused any other way. You know I tried.”

“You can’t escape these rooms,” she said firmly, a hint of fear in her, and Jenks snickered from the ceiling. “Even if you take me or Lucy hostage. The guards have been instructed . . .”

“To what?” Trent said bitterly. “Kill your grandchild rather than allow me to escape with her?” Frustration filled him, and he saw it mirrored in Ellie’s eyes. Horror ebbed into him as he realized the depth of Ellasbeth’s hatred. He had been counting on Lucy granting him a measure of immunity, but if they were instructed to kill him without regard to Lucy’s safety . . .

“My God, Ellie, call them if you have to!” he said loudly as he tucked the gun away. “Put me in chains and let Ellasbeth take her spoiled-child revenge out on me if you must, but let me see her first! You owe me that!”

“Keep your voice down. Don’t wake her!” the older woman said, actually reaching out to grab his arm, and Trent hesitated. She was afraid. Why?

“Please, promise me you won’t wake her, and . . . I’ll let you see her,” the woman said again, and Trent’s eyes squinted. There was a thread of mischief in her, a streak of deviltry. The woman might be older than him and more frail, but she was of pure blood, purer than her daughter. If she let him see Lucy before calling the guards, there was a reason for it.

“Go look,” she said, her eyes flicking to the doorway, and Trent’s unease increased. He glanced at Jenks, and the pixy shrugged.

“You first,” he said, and the woman huffed, tugging her silken shawl over her narrow shoulders and stalking into the nursery, her back straight and proud.

Jenks dropped down as Trent looked at his hat and ribbon, then shoved them in the belt pack. “She’s planning something,” Jenks warned, and he nodded, looking into the room as it brightened.

“I can’t shoot her,” he said to Jenks. “The woman grew up with my mother! They loved each other like sisters. It’s bad enough I’m stealing her grandchild.”

The pixy rose up, his eyes on the door to the hall. “I’ll keep watch out here. We’re going to have one hell of a run if we can’t use either of them as a hostage.”

“I just need a west-facing window,” Trent said, patting his belt pack. Time, time, he was running out of it.

From the nursery came Mrs. Withon’s somewhat irate, “Do you want to see her or not?”

Jenks grinned, wings clattering a silver dust. “I always liked Mrs. Withon,” he said, darting off to sit upon the doorknob.

“Me too,” Trent whispered, his smile nervously fading as he turned to the nursery. He hesitated at the archway, looking in at the smaller room with soft lights, hidden speakers, and smooth walls—probably wallboard over the natural stone. A desk sat to one side, the cooling bottle sitting on an open journal of dates and amounts. A baby scale was next to a changing station, and it smelled faintly of lavender. It was stuffy and warm, and there was nothing to look at on the walls, everything painted a sterile white—a prison until her third month ended completely and his narrow window of opportunity to steal her was gone.

Mrs. Withon stood beside a white crib, Lucy hidden behind bumper pads with a print of horses on them. Ellie looked up, her expression a mix of fear and determination. She was up to something.

Feeling as if it was a trap, Trent edged in. He leaned over the crib, his lips parting as his eyes warmed and he smiled.

His daughter lay sleeping fitfully, her tiny fists shoving her blanket off her as her face screwed up in what looked like petulant anger. Wispy blond hair framed her angular face, her eyes tightly shut as she fussed in her sleep, making tiny noises of frustration.

“Don’t touch her,” Ellie whispered, her hands clamped possessively on the railing.

Trent’s lips parted, and he remembered to breathe. “You didn’t dock her ears,” he said softly. He wanted to reach in, let her searching hand find his finger.

“It’s tradition to wait until everyone who needs proof has the chance to see that she is an elf and not a changeling,” the woman said distantly. “Her ears will be docked now.”

Trent looked up, hearing a hint of bitterness. She didn’t want Lucy’s ears docked. Ellie wanted them to come out of the closet, but the birth of Lucy had taken Ellie’s graceful political voice and granted it to her daughter because Ellasbeth could bear children and she could not. It was an old tradition created by a society obsessed with increasing their numbers, and it was no longer needed. He vowed to change it—if he had the chance.

He couldn’t leave Lucy here, and with a new determination, he reached to pick her up.

“No!” Ellie pulled his hand away, and Jenks darted in, hovering in the doorway.

Angry, Trent grabbed the woman’s hand, jerking her away from the crib. “That is my child,” he said, holding both her wrists with one of his hands as the woman twisted within his grip, a faint warning of line energy rising between them as she glared fiercely. “I can take her now and what you want will be damned, but I want you to give her to me.
I want you to give her to me, Ellie
. That your voice be silenced simply because you can’t bear children anymore is inane and no longer needed when our numbers are balanced to grow. I want you . . .
to give her to me
.”

Eyes wide, the woman hesitated, tense and thinking, worrying Trent more than if she had begun screaming for help or throwing curses. “She is my child, too,” she said breathlessly. “What gives you any claim to her?”

Trent frowned, and anger filled him as he fought with his urge to look back in the crib, but he was afraid to glance away from Ellie. “Your daughter is a spoiled, belligerent brat who thinks of no one besides herself,” he said bitterly. “I have sacrificed and risked my life to see that our species has a chance to survive, and I will again. Who do you want to raise this child? A self-centered woman who walks away from an agreement that will further our survival because it’s disagreeable? A woman who will teach her that the self is more important than the whole? Ellasbeth walked away. She left me and the way to bring our people back. This child and everything we were to accomplish in our lifetimes is mine by right. I don’t care what tradition says. Ellasbeth’s word is dross. I want
you
to give her to me.”

“But she’s my granddaughter!” Ellie begged, tears swimming in her eyes.

His jaw tight, Trent shifted his grip on her wrists, the expression on her face prompting him to use both hands. “Ellasbeth can make more of her,” he said bitterly. “Lucy is
mine
!” He hesitated, seeing that the older woman was nearly crying, even if she was angry. “We are still on the brink, Ellie. You know it. Lucy is worth dying for, but Ellasbeth doesn’t understand that. I do. Give her to me. I will see her safely out of here. She is a child, not a bargaining chip that can be sacrificed for someone’s pride!”

Ellie’s tormented gaze went from Trent to the open door to Jenks, his head cocked as he hovered over the crib and looked down.

“If not for me, then for my mother,” Trent said, his hands easing from around the older woman’s wrists. “You know she hated hiding who she was as much as you do.”

Ellie’s eyes came back to his as he let go. “You fight dirty.”

Trent couldn’t help his nervous smile, but it faded fast. “And you could put me down with one spell—but you haven’t. Why?”

The woman stood before him, smelling of wind and surf, of cinnamon and wine, her shoulders slumping in defeat enough to make Trent’s breath catch in hope. “She has never smiled,” she whispered, looking at the crib. “Her sleep is always restless,” she added, her sorrowful eyes coming back to Trent’s. “Wake her,” she commanded, and that same uneasy feeling slid through him. She was up to something. “Go on, wake her!” she said loudly, and Trent winced, even as he moved to the crib. “I want to see what happens.”

See what happens?
he thought. Was he to win an empire by a child’s laugh?

“Watch my back, okay?” he murmured to Jenks, and the pixy hummed an agreement. Trent gave one last look at the older woman standing against the wall, pensive and with her arms crossed before her, her jaw clenched and her eyes flashing in anger. But all his worry and fear slid from him as he looked into the crib, his own eyes warming as he smiled down at his daughter sleeping restlessly. He couldn’t help it. Her skin looked so smooth, her sleep so distracted. His shoulders eased, and he found he couldn’t bring himself to shake her awake.

“
Ta na shay, mi de cerrico
,” he whispered, his voice cracking, and he took a deeper breath. “
Ta na shay, mi de cerrico day folena
,” he sang, his voice becoming stronger as she frowned, her fitful arm movements hesitating. “
Rovolin de mero, de sono, de vine. Esta ta na shay, me de cerrico
.”

Jenks’s wings clattered as he landed on Trent’s shoulder, and together they watched as Lucy’s eyes opened. They were green as an angry ocean as she fastened them upon him, and Trent smiled, delighted at her fierce rebellion. “Hi,” he breathed, and his daughter kicked her legs and cooed as if saying “Where have you been?”

Only now did he reach in and pick her up, holding her high so her blanket slipped away and he could see all of her at once in her little pink dressing gown. “Lucy!” he said, feeling as if the world could end right now and he would be happy. “Look how perfect you are!”

The little girl laughed, kicking at him at delight of the sensation of air around her until she saw her bottle on the table. Expression clouding, she leaned to it, her happy-baby sounds turning desperate.

Alarmed, Trent pulled Lucy to him, his eyes down and avoiding Ellie’s pensive quiet as he tucked Lucy against him, feeling awkward and uncomfortable as he managed the bottle. Lucy grabbed it with a fierce determination, sucking hard as she studied Trent’s face, comparing it to Ellie, now standing next to them.

“I’m not leaving here without her,” Trent said, not sure what was going to happen next.

Ellie’s face hardened. “Then you will die here.”

“Then so be it,” he said, turning his back on the woman and heading for the outer chamber. Excitement tingled through him, and he thought of the sleeping potion gun in his pocket. It would be difficult to carry Lucy and fire it at the same time, but he’d manage. Jenks’s wings clattered at his shoulder, the pixy clearly uncertain at Trent’s calm.

“You cannot escape this room!” Ellie exclaimed in a hushed whisper, and Lucy sucked harder on her bottle, her hand clenching on the glass with a fierce determination. “Those butchers are instructed to cut you down on sight! Even if Lucy is with you!”

The woman sounded desperate, and a quiver of anticipation ran through him. She didn’t want her granddaughter in danger. She wanted him to take her, but needed a little shove. “If we’re to be shot on sight, I’ll need your help, Jenks. Will you do me the honor of protecting my child while I take care of the guards?”

Jenks hovered close, and Lucy went cross-eyed, her sucking hesitating when he landed on the end of the bottle. “To my last breath,” he said, his dust shifting to a deep black.

Nodding his agreement, Trent brushed past Ellie.

“Trenton, no!” she cried out as he reached for the handle. “They might kill her!”

“Then help me,” Trent said, his back to her as he waited, counting to three. There was silence, and his grip tightened on the knob.

“Wait,” she whispered, and Trent’s heart pounded, his eyes closing in thanks to the Goddess. He’d been bluffing. There was no way he would walk out of this room with his child and risk her life. But it wasn’t over yet, and he cradled Lucy in his arm as she finished her bottle, making his expression a hard mask for both her and Ellie to study as he turned.

The older woman glanced at the door behind him, fear in her eyes. “The guards won’t listen to me. You can’t go that way. Pixy dust is an explosive accelerant, yes?” she said softly.

“Hey!” Jenks said belligerently. “Who told you that?”

Ellie shrugged. “Trent isn’t the only one with an old library. Most of his mother’s books came from me.” Her eyebrows high and saucy, she turned to Trent, making him wonder if this had been her intent all along and she’d only been seeing the length of his resolve. “The westernmost wall in the nursery is an outer wall. You can go through it.”

“It’s three feet thick!” Trent exclaimed, and Lucy kicked out, responding to his voice. “My explosives are designed to break locks, not masonry walls.”

“There’s a window.” Ellie turned, striding into the nursery. “It’s not three feet of rock. It’s three feet of insulation,” she said loudly from the second room, and Trent looked at Jenks. The pixy was hovering uncertainly.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been had?” Trent said softly.

Jenks snickered. “Because I think we have.”

Holding Lucy close, Trent strode into the nursery, seeing Ellie tapping at the wall, her ear bent toward it. Lucy fussed, and he snatched up the blanket in the crib. “Why?” he almost barked at Ellie as he inexpertly tried to wrap the blanket around Lucy, who kept kicking it off.

Ellie turned, looking crafty as she leaned toward the wall, listening as she tapped it with a knuckle. “I liked what I saw when you woke her.”