The Faerie Guardian

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

I sneak Calla out of the kitchen door and into the gardens. Wisps of cloud move slowly across the moon, but the stars are bright, and it’s light enough for us to see our way. “Do you have one of those metal bands on your ankle?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “They were still making a small one for me.”

“Okay, so you have to be very careful not to use any magic, all right?”

“I-I’ll try.”

We creep along in silence while I try to figure out what to do next. When we round a corner and come upon a row of carriages and those long black cars with the stretched middle part, it seems to me that the best way out of here is probably the same way we came in.

I open the back door of the nearest car and Calla climbs inside. I get in after her and close the door as quietly as I can. The light inside the car fades out, but not before I notice the dark patch of blood along the bottom of Calla’s nightdress. “You’re hurt,” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m not,” she says. “It isn’t my blood. I . . . I did something bad.” I can just make out the tears welling up in her eyes. Oh, flip. What am I supposed to do with a crying child? I have no idea what to say! Her lip starts wobbling. “Is Ryn going to die?”

“What? No, of course not.” I take Calla’s small hand in my own. “He’s a really good fighter. He’ll get out of there.” He damn well better get out of there.

“But we just left him with that bad man.”

“Yeah, we did . . .” Something I’m feeling intensely guilty about. It’s not what I’ve been trained to do. Guardians fight together. “But I can’t leave you alone, Calla.”

“What if I promise to stay right here? Will you go back and get him?” Her gold eyes beg me.

“Okay,” I say. I’ve barely got any energy left, but I agree with Calla. We can’t just leave Ryn down there.

I climb out the car and head back to the kitchen. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I should have just hidden Calla outside and gone back to the dungeon immediately. Ryn could be dead by now because I wasn’t there to help him.

 I’m almost at the kitchen door when a shape detaches itself from the shadows and staggers toward me. I form a fist, pull my arm back, and—

“It’s me,” says Ryn.

“Jeez, Ryn. How about you say that before you come lurching out of the shadows like some kind of zombie.”

“Why aren’t you . . . gone?” He stumbles like a drunk person.

“Why do you think, idiot? I came back for—Whoa.” I catch him as he sags against me. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Glass,” he says. “In my . . . back.”

I hold onto his arm and turn him. Moonlight glints off the shards of glass protruding from his back. “Seriously, Ryn? Did you have to go and get yourself shot with poison?”

“I was trying to . . . piss you . . . off.”

“Well, congratulations. You succeeded.” I half drag him to the car, not allowing myself to panic yet.

Calla opens the door. I try to get Ryn inside, but he collapses before he’s all the way in. I climb over him, grab his arms, and pull. Calla gets his legs inside, pulling one of his shoes off in the process. She closes the door—a little too loudly for my liking. “What happened?” she whimpers. “What’s wrong with him?”