“Why?”
“He shares land with my people. I don’t trust men. More than that, I don’t trust people who waltz into my keep and demand that I assist them. Find out what you can and then return here to me. If he gives you any reason to think he’s dangerous to us or to this land, destroy him.”
“How do you want me to destroy a bear?” There were a few ways she could think of, and none of them that Scáthach would support. She hated magic and everything it promised.
“With whatever means necessary. I think you’ll find I’m far more generous with those who play by my games, Elva, than those who don’t. You’ve had a home here, and we welcomed you back even after you saved your sister. I don’t like faeries. I don’t like magic. And I really don’t like liars. You have taken an oath to serve me. Now serve.”
The order shouldn’t have smarted as much as it did. Elva had been born into a high-ranking faerie family. They were the ones who gave orders, not some human who thought she was high and mighty.
But that was the old Elva, the one who valued people on the age of their blood and how much they could offer her. Now, she understood how much hard work went into the lives of the commoners. She valued them for what they could do, not for who they were.
Elva reminded herself she wasn’t the same person she had been. She wasn’t some spoiled princess who thought the world should bow at her feet.
She couldn’t be. Not anymore.
Arguing at this point was ridiculous. Instead, she watched her fellow warriors feast at the table. Their lives were better because Scáthach existed. This woman had taken in so many people out of the goodness of her heart. She’d taught women how to take care of themselves, and how to fight if necessary.
In a way, Elva did owe her. The binds of that realization tightened around her chest. A faerie didn’t like owing anyone anything. It was a physical restraint that made it nearly impossible for her to do anything or be anyone other than the little slave girl Scáthach wanted her to be. Whatever the human asked, Elva would do.
Her lip curled. “Fine, I’ll do it. But once this is over, our bonds are severed for good.”
“You want to go home?”
No, of course she didn’t want to go home. Back at her parents’ house, she would become some flowering, simpering thing who didn’t have a real bone in her body. She had been a fluid creature who became whatever anyone else wanted her to be.
The idea of becoming that again made her sick to her stomach. And Elva didn’t question that she would turn right back down that same path.
She’d tried returning home, right after Fionn had been banished. It hadn’t gone well. Her mother had brought out all her old dresses, the ones that made her feel like a doll. They’d thrown party after party, trying to get the old suitors to look her over again.
All they had managed to do was make her feel like a prized cow. When the newest suitor tried to kiss her without permission, Elva had headbutted him so hard she’d nearly knocked herself out.
The snapping of the man’s nose, however, was an accomplishment she’d wear forever as a badge of pride. That had been the moment she realized she didn’t want to be Elva, the pretty noble who needed a man to be her husband. She wanted to be feared. To be a woman who could take care of herself without someone standing between her and life.
So she’d come here, to Scáthach’s island where they made women warriors. Where she could be someone else because no one knew she was faerie royalty.
Other than Scáthach. This woman knew she was a faerie, knew her entire story, and it seemed she might use that knowledge against her.
Elva blew out a breath. Did she want to leave this life behind? No. She didn’t want to go home and she didn’t want to return to the faerie courts where everyone knew her as a prideful woman who wanted a husband. She wanted to stay on this isle where everyone else understood the pain in her chest.
But she couldn’t stay here and continue to owe this woman an arm and a leg. She had to make her own way in life. And that was that.
“I won’t return home,” she replied. “There are other places I can go.”
“Like where?” Scáthach speared a radish with her knife and popped it in her mouth. Talking over the food, she asked, “Your sister’s kingdom?”
She didn’t want to go to Underhill with all its monstrous creatures, although Bran was there and she considered him her oldest friend. Her sister had reasons to not want her in the kingdom, however. Bran and Elva had been engaged and…well, it was best to avoid that conflict.
Elva shrugged. “There are places in the faerie courts who would be interested in having me.”
“Believe that if you want to. I think you’ll find it’s harder to get them to accept you once you leave this place.” Scáthach toasted her and drank the ale down, then slammed the goblet onto the table. “To new adventures and a debt repaid.”
Elva flinched. “To debts repaid.”
4
The journey home was far shorter than he would have liked. Donnacha enjoyed his time away from the icy castle of his home. At least he wasn’t within the clutches of the Troll Queen.
Shaking his great head, he stared up at the monolith she’d given him. Pillars of ice stretched up into the sky like giant swords. The entire castle glimmered in the sunlight, shining like diamonds. Even the windows were made of stained glass, a testament to the wealth of whomever built it.
She’d created it thinking he would thank her for such a ridiculous home. Dwarves liked wealth, she
