He shook his head, mane flicking in the frosty air. I smelled lavender and springtime, even though neither was possible.
The crush has spoken; she will be held until the child is returned. Though we are not happy with her presence, you are showing her the way to her roots, to the Harpies of old that we danced with on moonless nights. No, I do not believe your Evening Star did this.
He pawed at the tiled courtyard with an iron hard hoof and tossed his head again, mane flying about. His hide shivered, as if touched with flies. But I knew there were no flies, not in this weather. And what was this about Eve? She was my Evening Star? This was one of those times I just pushed it all away. Supernaturals loved their ‘Confucius says’ shit. You just had to learn to ignore it, or you’d end up never able to do anything, so afraid that you might take a step wrong.
“You want me to Track your foal?”
Yes. Track her, and bring her home. Sorrow, heavy and thick like fog in the morning, laced his words.
I removed my hands from my hips, slid them into my pockets. “This is your daughter that’s gone missing?”
Yes. She was stolen away from us, six nights ago. There were no footprints, no sign of another passing this way. Harpies were our first thought. Except for a single mark in the snow, there was nothing. Again he tossed his head, eyes flashing. But there are no Harpies in this area except for your Eve. If you do not find my daughter quickly, it will be all I can do to keep the crush from ending her life, regardless that I know it was not her. Our children, they do not come along often and are treasured by all.
Crap, I would have to move fast. If I didn’t find the foal, Eve was toast. “So we’re assuming something that flies took your daughter? What did the mark in the snow look like? Presumably something large enough to pick up a … how old is she?”
She is nigh on six months old, a suckling filly, yet. Unable to fend for herself, her horn is a bare nub on her forehead, dull and useless. He gave a long, low snort. The mark resembled that of a talon or claw, digging through the crusted snow.
I tapped a toe on the bare red tiles. Already the urge to go after the foal had begun to eat at me. Like a sickness I had no cure for, Tracking was something I couldn’t run away from, didn’t want to. Unlike other things.
“I need a picture of her, and her name.”
Her name is Calliope. She will be our mystic when she is of age.
Without any warning, an image flashed in my mind, the ‘picture’ I would need to Track the foal. Gangly long legs, petite head and ears, miniature nubbin of a golden horn. Her body was white as new snow, but her mane and tail were jet black, and she had black socks up to her knees on all four legs. A black star sat at the base of her horn. She was stunningly colored, and I knew without asking that she would be a prize mare in the tribe as she grew, regardless of her apparent status as an up and coming mystic.
I closed my eyes and Tracked her, tied myself into her threads. Her life force beat strong through me, humming lightly with an energy very different than the human children I Tracked. For lack of a better term, her threads vibrated, dancing and jumping about as if they were a true electrical pulse.
“Her name suits her. Is there anything else I should know?”
If I had more information, I would give it. Bring her home, Tracker, and you will have our loyalty past the day that you die.
“Well. Thanks.” I frowned. “She may not be alive, when I bring her to you, you need to know that. And that cannot affect the outcome of Eve’s life.”
Just bring her home, and all will be as it was. There was no threat, no ‘or else.’ Just those words echoing inside my skull, and then he spun on his haunches, the tile below his feet cracking, springing up around him in large shards that hovered in the air for a split second, and then crashed to the ground.
I watched him gallop away, his black coat disappearing into the darkness that was left of the morning.
A hand touched my shoulder, and Liam leaned his head close. The scent of distant winter mountains, pine trees and a faint hint of musk swirled around me. I reached up and touched his hand where it curled around my shoulder.
His eyes searched my face. “How bad is it?”
I stared at the place where the stallion had stood, the possibilities swirling through my mind.
“Maybe not as bad as I thought. A simple salvage, and Eve will be safe.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. He frowned.
“Is it ever a simple salvage?”
I let out a sigh. “Unfortunately for me, no.”
We went back inside and I grabbed my weapons, quickly putting them back on. “Dox, I need a favor.”
The ogre twisted up his lips. “Depends on what you want.”