A blink, a gust of wind, and warmth met Leanna's skin once more. A retreating breeze dragged away the echoing remnants of her scream as her gown danced around her legs in a few rustled sways. The sprigged muslin settled against her dampened skin, and then there was silence.
The world, that had taken to a violent turning on its axis—to Leanna, anyway— lurched back to its normal rotation, affirming a seemingly irrefutable truth. They'd arrived at the circus.
Home.
Leanna did not open her eyes, however, distrusting wholly of this new world around her. What if it was all an illusion and this ground beneath her was but a thin sheet of ice? A shiver curled down Leanna's spine, coaxing her closer to the silky lapels of the man who held her, regardless of her fear of him. He'd told her not to let go, and heaven help her, she wouldn't.
But with fear compromising her sight, and knowing she could not hold Finvarra forever—as he had also told her never to embrace him again—Leanna stretched her remaining senses as far east as she did west. The smell of sawdust and paraffin wafted past, scored only by that of Finvarra's scent lingering around them like a morning fog. Patches of faint conversation bled through the pores of the canvas, but no howling winds were heard.
One last shred of doubt kept Leanna's eyes bound to the blackness of her doubts.
Lifting a foot, Leanna tapped the floor sharply. That was unfortunate as she had no shoes, and the floor was very hard. Leanna hissed a quiet curse. Finding enough proof in her observations, by sheer force of will, she peeled back slowly and blinked the world into focus.
Finvarra's chest met her eyes first. The crystal necklace cast a faint rainbow against his pale shirt that waved with each of his breaths. Lifting her lashes, Leanna met the blue pools of her captor, gazing at her in perfect gravity.
He was quiet a moment.
"You sure you've no relation to the Banshees?" he murmured finally.
Leanna pressed fingers to her lips knowing how very loud she'd screamed, and no doubt in his ear. "I do beg your pardon," she started through her fingers. "I didn't mean..."
A sudden the curtain rustled sharply, staying the rest of her words.
"Ringmaster—"
Leanna turned to the agitated gruff voice— to Tomas' immense frame blocking the afternoon light streaming in from outside. He crossed the second layer of curtains and stopped. The sheer fabric draped over his frame and softened the intensity of his approach, adding to this monstrous man a dreamlike quality.
Dusky brown eyes fixed instantly on Leanna. They flicked to Finvarra and awareness washed over the urgency in his face. "Forgive me for interrupting," he rumbled hastily. Tomas lowered his head and took a futile step behind the sheer curtains as if their jealous fingers had drawn him back into their embrace.
Suddenly mindful of Finvarra's arm around her, of their hearts chest to chest, Leanna shifted away, forcing Finvarra's arm from her waist. As if he'd kept all warmth at bay, when his hand fell away, a wave of heat consumed Leanna with a vengeance. She turned her face away toward her shadow against the sidewall to hide the furious flush.
"You've interrupted nothing," Finvarra said after a moment, his careless timbre carrying around the room. Setting Leanna's carpetbag down on the chair before his desk, he whirled a careless hand for Tomas to enter. "Though I suppose introductions are in order. Miss Weston, this is my trusted valet, Tomas." Finvarra then motioned coolly to Leanna. "And this is the magnificent new tightrope walker, Miss Weston, my Lhiannan shee."
Leanna's eyes narrowed at the sound of him, at the hints of a soft accent in the melodic way he spoke Lhiannan shee—a easy, delicate breath, as if narrating a dream. The last of it faded into a quiet sigh that warmed Leanna's blood.
"A pleasure," Tomas rumbled lowly as he moved through the curtains. There was no anger in his voice.
Leanna lifted her eyes to the muscled man who looked to be chiseled of the darkest onyx. The scarlet of his ornate vest against the purple shirtsleeves complemented the reddish undertones of his skin, a direct contrast to Finvarra's snowy complexion. His bald head was smooth, in no way matching his ruggedness.
Meeting Leanna's eyes, Tomas inclined his head as if the prior day had never happened—regardless of the bruise on her arm that belied his belief. Though his greeting lacked the petulance from the prior night, it did not excuse him in any way. Leanna mirrored his greeting and bowed her head slightly, rigidly. Chin high and lips pursed, she turned her head away and rubbed the concealed bruise.
"Now then, you look concerned," Finvarra noted as he walked around his desk, in regards to Tomas. Small crinkles marked the side of his eyes, as did an uncharacteristic smile—a genuine smile grace his lips. "Did the stars fall from the sky while I was away?"
Tomas swallowed visibly. "I'm afraid not, Ringmaster," he replied, with a strange hesitancy. "We could only be so lucky."
Finvarra laughed, a rich, opulent sound. But in looking to the concern engraved on Tomas' face, his laugh withered to a fading grin that disappeared altogether. Finvarra looked away from Tomas, and skirted the rest of his desk. Reaching his chair, he cradled the rounded knobs at the wings, the soft planes of his face hardened with unease. "Do I want to know?"
A cool shiver waved through Leanna's body in seeing Tomas' nervousness. For someone so big and intimidating to be so hesitant was in itself frightening. Nervous energy roiled, and Leanna shot to her feet. "P-perhaps I should go—"
"No!" Tomas said at once, halting Leanna mid-flight. "That would not be wise. It would be safer for you to remain here."
Leanna's heart crashed into her stomach, and nausea called for her to heave. Worried eyes turned to Finvarra. Not Machina, she feared. Not so soon.
"Machina cannot cross the crystals," Finvarra said quickly as if having read her mind. But flicking his gaze over her shoulder to Tomas, his own concern brewed. "What has happened?"
"Inara's horn, Ringmaster," Tomas revealed with a regret and pain that could not be ignored, "It has fallen off."
With his simple words said, Tomas lowered his head. But this verse proved to be far from simple.
At first, Finvarra stared at Tomas, but Tomas quickly became a casualty to the tragedy dawning in Finvarra's eyes. His gaze grew distant, and whatever world played before him shattered. Only this world could not be pieced back together—not anymore. Nor could its pieces be cast aside in a gust of wind. The shards were all there, glinting, and in Finvarra's eyes was the heartbreak of it all.
Dread pooled around Leanna's knees and she lowered down into the cushioned chair opposite her travelling purse. She watched Finvarra, trailing the changes on his face—from worry, to anger, to disbelief. Whoever Inara was, it was not a good thing for her horn to have fallen off, and Finvarra was helpless against it.
Finvarra leaned forward onto his desk, his hair veiling the torment of his face. The golden strands glistened, as if wishing to detract from the darkness that consumed him. He dug his knuckles into the dark wood, wishing to unearth the right words to say. "What of Giuseppe? Has he taken a look at her—can anything be done?" Finvarra said absently from behind his veil of hair, these words akin to a rusting anchor of hope.
Tomas shook his head, severing the rusted links. "That is the worst of it, Ringmaster. Giuseppe is gone."
Finvarra straightened sharply. "Then find him! There are only so many places a good for nothing drunk of a doctor could be. He must be somewhere near. Even he would not be so foolish as to cross the crystals—"
"He was granted his forgiveness," Tomas said quickly, as if doing so would somehow lessen the impact of the blow. But it was a low blow, and realizing such, the rest of his words slowed while Finvarra lowered into his chair in the same torturous speed.
Tomas explained, "We believe it happened last night after Ellie and Jin's snow fell. Perhaps he thought you would not have let him go, and thus he went without saying a word. We did not realize he was missing until this morning. Kioyo went to fetch him and found his tent empty, save for pools of water and lingering piles of snow."
"First my sister, and now my doctor—gone," Finvarra said. And then he laughed, an inhuman laugh that wavered on the thin line between sanity and madness, amusement and anger, surrender and defeat.
The air sweltered with such uncertainties, and they clenched Leanna's stomach. She clasped her hands before her, and feeling wholly out of place, didn't dare a breath.
It escaped her unwittingly when—
"Fionnbharr!" A growl resounded from outside. Hearing the strange name, Finvarra's laugh came to a sharp halt and Leanna flinched. Though the sidewalls muffled the brusque voice, it did nothing for its searing anger that seeped through every crevice in the canvas.
In a habit birthed over a lifetime, she took nervously to her crystal, clutching it tightly in her hand. A vision rapt Leanna then, flashing across her eyes one clear image: the horseman. Swiftly, the vision was gone. Leanna extended a blink, wishing to hold onto the remnants of this strange sight a little longer, but it slipped back into the dark recesses of her mind. She'd had nightmares before, plenty of them. But these waking dreams were peculiar.
Shaking her head against the thoughts, Leanna looked back to Finvarra, only to meet his knowing gaze. He was first to falter in their stare, confirming Leanna's fears. Her vision had been real. She knew exactly who called outside. More, why. It was the horseman from the liberty act, and he wanted her gone.
Finvarra turned then to the birdcages that had since been draped over in black cloth. He said nothing.
Tomas came forward. "What would you like me to tell them, Ringmaster?"
Finvarra rose slowly and untied his cloak. Sliding it off, he draped it behind his chair and gripped the knobs tightly again, his mind a world away. A resigned sigh escaped him, doing nothing to hide his frustration. "I must speak to him myself."
Tomas moved closer to the desk. His shadow fell upon Leanna, dimming the world around her. "Do you think that's wise?" he said in like darkness. "What will you tell them? Krinard will not listen to reason."
Leanna realized that Tomas was much more than a valet. He was Finvarra's guard. And in seeing the genuine concern over his eyes, Leanna knew him to also be Finvarra's only friend—even if Finvarra did not consider him to be so.
"I don't know," Finvarra said. His gaze drifted to Leanna who chewed her lip, herself not knowing where to look. "But I made him a promise. Inara's horn falling is my promise failing. Whether or not he listens, something must be said, and it must come from me."
"Fionnbharr!"
At the sound, Finvarra extended a blink and lowered his head. He let out a breath, and at the hearth, the fire wilted with a hiss. In this new muted light from outside, he turned back again. The Finvarra from the prior night re-emerged, not a crack in his façade. His biting stare of burning topaz sent a shiver curling down Leanna's spine. But it was not one of fear. She pitied him.
Finvarra set his shoulders back and withdrew from his desk. Long strides drew him past Leanna, away from her as if she didn't exist. Leanna recoiled unwittingly, half because of the breeze whisking behind him, half because she really wished she didn't exist.
With one hand, Tomas brushed aside the sheer curtains and held them open for Finvarra to cross. Finvarra stopped just outside the stream of sunlight shining against his polished shoes.
"Perhaps it is best you remain in here while I handle this," he murmured the suggestion that was no suggestion at all.
Leanna forced a nod.
Adjusting his black waistcoat and his cuffs, Finvarra vanished into the light. Tomas followed and closed the curtain behind him, taking away the late afternoon light.
Leanna curled into her chair and watched Finvarra's shadow just outside. Without her cloak, however, and desperately curious as to what was to transpire outside, she longed for the sliver of sun breaking through the slight parting in the curtains. Surely she knew how to light a fire, but Finvarra might not be so fond of the idea, Leanna told herself. Besides, she added to her meddlesome conscience, what if it were a magical flame that only he could ignite? What if it were rigged with booby traps, like in her books? It would be an unfortunate thing to burn down his tent. It really was a lovely tent.
Leanna unfolded, and tentative steps carried her across the cool floor. Skittering just outside of the ray of sunlight, Leanna held her breath and listened. After a few silent moments, Finvarra's voice resounded as bitter as the cold room he'd abandoned her in.
"What is the meaning of this, Krinard? You're calling me out as if for a duel," he said darkly with an even duskier chuckle. "Why? You've lost to me since we were children. What's changed?"
Though blinded by the canvas, Leanna could envision the scene on the other side. A confident Finvarra stood tall, an offensive indifference to his face. His belittling stare, clearly superior and wholly unapologetic, scorned his opponent.
"A lot has changed—except for you," Krinard hissed passionately. "But I'm done trying with you. Where is she? Where is the girl? I hope you were wise enough to kill her, before I'm forced to."
The savage undertones in his voice curled down Leanna's spine and she sucked in a quiet breath. Surely he didn't mean that. Her hands were shaking now, and the root was not the cold—well, not entirely.
The air thickened as if an approaching storm, one of ice and fire.
"Miss Weston is inside, and in my care," Finvarra replied icily.
"Just as Inara is in mine!" Krinard countered, fiery. "I am her guardian, and it is my duty to protect her from everything and everyone—including you. If I must lay my life down to do so, I will, but you will not drag us further into hell with you, Fionnbharr. I won't let you."
"Let?" Finvarra laughed—the devil's laugh. "I daresay have I not known you for so long, and did I not know why you are so angry, I may not be so merciful." All amusement vanished, leaving only the remnants of a threat in the fading echoes of his laugh.
A hollow step resounded bringing the horseman's shadow closer to Finvarra. "Give me the girl or your mercy will be put to the test. "
All fell silent. Leanna watched Finvarra's shadow in horror as he took a mirroring step forward that resounded as crunching ice underfoot. His intention hissed as a passing wind, a cold wind, frigid and fatal.
But no—
"Please stop!" Leanna cried, gathering her skirts and impulsively rushing through the curtains. Brisk afternoon air nipped at her skin through her dress. With fists at her side, she mastered her quavering and stepped forward a bit more from behind Tomas to just beside Finvarra.
Murmurs sparked at the sight of her. Leanna toured her eyes around the gathered troupe, recognizing some faces from the night before. She may have remembered more, had she not then looked to Krinard and shock seized her mind and heart.
Leanna ran gaze along him, first meeting eyes of black fire beneath a prominent brow. The rest of him followed suit, tall and fierce. He stood proud, shoulders back and his bare, sculpted chest puffed forward. His black mane kissed his tapered waist, billowing against his olive skin in the chilling breeze. In dropping her gaze lower, Leanna saw the two muscular legs of a stallion gracing the rest of his body.
She fought to feign indifference, but could not for the life of her look away. She'd heard of them so much, but to see him there—a centaur. Tears pricked behind Leanna's eyes. This was more than she could have ever imagined. They most definitely were not silly horses.
Regaining her composure, Leanna lifted her eyes to his. He swallowed visibly, his jaw clenched tightly. Leanna wished it was the brisk air on his bare skin that made him shiver, that made his large hands curl into tight fists. But she knew there was something baser, darker causing his trembling--pure and unadulterated hatred. He looked down at her in every sense, and she felt his disdain stain her, silence her...
But she could not remain quiet. He had to know she was not the enemy, Leanna countered her fear. She gulped down her fright and restated, "Please do not quarrel for my sake. You have asked for me and I am here, ready to answer any of your questions, whichever you may have. Just as I am prepared to prove to you that I am not the enemy."
Leanna took in a hesitant breath with which to speak more when an arctic, threatening wind gust and froze the words in her throat. It wrapped its invisible arms around her as if wishing to freeze her were she not to go inside. Having left in such haste, she'd hardly any time to grab her cloak. And without her gloves, her fingers ached terribly. Barefoot, she desperately wanted to flee. But against this discomfort, Leanna wrapped her arms around her chest. She did not seek to see who these ethereal fingers belonged to. She knew this wind. More, its scent. It was the same that had brought her to the circus. Now it sought to move her back into the tent. Finvarra, Leanna realized.
Yet, regardless of his strange control over the elements, Leanna set her jaw and braved his chill. "True," she said, her voice quavering. "I am not Ellie. I don't pretend to be. I only wish to help in any way I can, and perform to the best of my abilities. I will try my best, from the bottom of my heart." Leanna longed to say more, but it was as much as she could say through the cold seizing her.
Sadly, what she did say did very little.
A scathing smile twisted the horseman's mouth. "A promise from a broken heart is a broken promise, little girl," he sneered. "And speaking of broken promises," he said over his shoulder addressing the troupe, "was she not supposed to be the famed Leanan Sidhe—the one who would come and free us all? Yet here we are, still not forgiven and forever cursed." His hooves stomped hollowly on the sodden turf as he whirled slowly, motioning to the gathered troupe. "Do not be fooled, my brothers! See her for who she is," he roistered and turned back to Leanna, eyes blacker than night. "The enemy masked as a sickly coward. The death of us all!"
The painful pricks of cold at Leanna's skin vanished as heat rushed back into her face. She opened her mouth, but no words came. How could she refute that, when nothing she said would remedy it? Had she not seen herself in her double, she would have thought different. She would have thought herself magnificent, strong enough to withstand his scorn. But she'd seen the hollowed eyes and gaunt skin that plagued her. No one saw her any different. Sickly. Weak. Death.
Finvarra did not look at her, but from the corner of her eye, Leanna noticed his jaw grow taut. He'd told her to stay inside, and seeing the hatred in Krinard's eyes and the hesitation in the rest of the troupe gathered behind him, Leanna half wished she would have. Whereas the prior night they'd believed in her, Inara's horn was not the only thing that had fallen. So had their hope in her. No one trusted her or her heart any more than she did herself.
"Now you're quiet," Krinard added bitterly and took one hollow step toward her. "It makes no difference. You don't need to say a word. Your scent tells me everything I need to know. I can smell the black magic on you." He pinned her with a glare. "You reek of Machina."
A collective gasp hissed around as if dousing a flame, but Leanna knew it only stoked the fire of doubt already sweltering.
"That is enough, Krinard," Finvarra said tonelessly, but his pale hand at Krinard's chest spoke volumes. "You are right, but also wrong. The magic you smell is not Miss Weston's." Finvarra lowered his hand slowly, as well as his voice. "It is mine."
Krinard stiffened, not having heard a word through his rage. But then, piecing the puzzle of Finvarra's words in his mind, he turned widened eyes to Finvarra as everything came into focus. "You used a forbidden spell?" he said, suddenly looking ill, deflated and trapped. A wave of crimson flushed his skin. "You fool! You will lead her straight to us!"
"What type of spell I used is of little consequence. Machina is bound to come," Finvarra said, though his voice carried to all onlookers. "What matters is that Miss Weston is here now—"
"Little consequence? You've risked all our lives for her when it was her! When she was the cause of this!" Krinard moved so fast, Leanna had hardly any time to process what happened until a thud resounded at her feet. She didn't dare look down. She had an idea of what was thrown at her feet. As Finvarra bent down to retrieve it; all the pieces came together in Leanna's mind. If the horsemen from her mother's stories were true, then so were the unicorns.
When Finvarra straightened, Leanna felt as if the ground beneath her vanished. In his pale hands he held a long twisted spear, the snow white horn of a unicorn. Finvarra ran his hand along the pearly bone, unspeaking.
Krinard stomped closer. "Without her magic, we have until the next full moon until the crystals fail us." Hot tears pricked Krinard's eyes, the acidic proof of his anger. "You promised me, Fionnbharr, you promised me her snow would fall and that this curse would be lifted before this happened. This world has devoured all of her magic. Without her horn, she will die! You promised me!"
"And I am a man of my word!" Finvarra roared, his composure faltering. Leanna recoiled with a quiet gasp, the congregation too flinching. His eyes remained downcast, staring at the horn that he squeezed severely, contemplatively.
Finvarra bristled then, as if having heard some distant sound. Letting his hands fall at his side, lifeless, he lifted his eyes. At once they flicked over Krinard's shoulder and the lines of his mouth bowed.
Leanna followed his gaze to where the troupe parted and the remaining three horsemen approached. They all shared the dark features and olive complexion as Krinard, but whereas Krinard was angry, the rest were deeply saddened.
The source of their melancholy strode behind them: a cloaked horse. A pale white snout peeked out from underneath the black hood, veiled partly by blond strands waving in the passing breeze.
As they approached, everyone lowered their heads. Leanna should have done the same, or perhaps even lowered her eyes. She did neither. She could only watch the hooded mare halt just behind the Krinard. It whiffed a quiet neigh against his back that tousled strands of ebony hair over his broad shoulders. Krinard moved aside, albeit jadedly, his eyes trained on Finvarra.
Regal, the majestic horse strode forward. She lifted her head a touch to where Leanna saw the hollow imprint at the center of her forehead. Finvarra raised a hand to her mane, and brushed it away from her eyes—that one act holding more emotion than an apology ever could.
The horse turned her head, and pale gray eyes looked to Leanna for an eternal second. Grief swam in its depths, a sense of hopelessness, fatigue, heartache and surrender. Leanna felt her face grow cold and hot tears brim in her eyes.
A hand touched Leanna's elbow. Tearing her sights away from Inara, she met Kioyo's familiar face.
"Come," he said lowly, suddenly beside her. His warm hands cradled her shoulder and encouraged her aside. Leanna hesitated. But in looking to Finvarra, who stepped aside to let Inara and Krinard into the tent, she let out a shaking breath and looped her arm around Kioyo's. She let him draw her away, somewhat grateful to be taken away from such a scene. Still, she could not help but turn her head over her shoulder to Finvarra who now abandoned outside the curtain partings, stared down in contemplation at the white horn cradled in his palms.
Unwittingly, Leanna took their kindred crystal in her hands and rubbed it between her fingers. At once, Finvarra lifted his gaze to her. The agitated twirling of her fingers stilled at the look in his eyes, a war between uncertainty and duty. That tension marked the sides of his mouth with a frown, and he looked down—the telltale sign of doubt. He doubted his choice in bringing her into his circus. Worse, he doubted her. He'd put all his hope in her, and in seeing him vanish into the tent, Leanna knew she had to be his Leanan Sidhe or horns would not be all that would be lost.
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