Free Captive Heart by Phoenix Sullivan

hand…
    “’Ware yourself,” Marrok snarled, releasing my palfrey’s reins and drawing himself quickly away.
    At distance his face was Marrok’s again—strong, bearded, beautiful. Only a limn of red about his eyes betrayed the beast inside.
    “You will not speak to Beau of this.” His tone brooked no argument.
    I gave none, merely nodded.
    “And you will leave off berating him as you have. Do we understand one another?”
    Nimue’s threat to my left, Marrok’s threat to my right. Scylla and Charybdis to either side, my sister’s life and mine in the balance.
    And then I recalled the words of one of the wisest of the fae: “Ironside slakes himself upon your sister. His revenge is watching her innocence bleed away… When you find her, she may not be the same sister who was spirited away.”
    What, really, would Nimue do to Nessie that wasn’t already being done?
    It dawned too on me what more Merlin had done. Not only had he helped ensure I had a knight the equal of Lancelot in my company, he had given me a shape-shifter for my quest as well. I rode now in power, craft and a glimmer of fae magic.
    Nimue’s magic was not so powerful—certainly not as powerful as the three Ladies of the Lake who held all of Avalon in their grasps. No, what made Nimue a threat was her treachery and lies—how she manipulated situations to her advantage and trusted to fear to keep all in line. I knew of only one other who could match her in deception like that—Arthur’s fae half-sister, Morgan.
    Yet for all her cunning, we three had the means to stand against her. But only if we worked together under the bonds of truth and trust. I had a choice: Let fear of her rule my actions or be ruled by the weapon Merlin had put into my grasp—hope.
    “Marrok, I—”
    I never finished the thought.
    Beau’s stallion startled a pheasant from its roadside roost and the panicked bird flew into my horse’s face. Frightened, it balked. I almost lost my seat as the horse lunged forward.
    Tied to my saddle, the pack horse had little choice but to follow. It neighed in surprise and my saddle slid back in the moment before the pack horse found its feet and fled with us, forcing Beau’s stallion from the road as we rushed past and ran headlong down the open road.
    Clutching to my horse’s mane with one hand, I sawed at the reins with the other. To no effect. The terrified beast had only one thought in its head—run.
    The roadtrack was overgrown but smooth. If we kept to it, the horse would wear itself out in a league or two. I stopped fighting the headlong flight and simply clung to its back, praying I wouldn’t fall.
    Then the fool of a horse panicked again. A shadow? The sun? I saw nothing, but the horse veered into the woods, running blindly, wildly, kicking up deadfall and debris into the pack animal that followed.
    We jumped a low log, an easy obstacle even for my terror-blind mount, but the pack horse, unable to see it in time, stumbled over it.
    Under me, the saddle wrenched and my horse, brought up short, sat on its haunches. I breathed in relief, thinking our flight done, but then it plunged forward yet again.
    One of the pack reins snapped as the horse behind struggled to find its feet before settling in again. Its packs, though, had loosened, and when I looked behind, the bundles had begun sliding to the ground and breaking open, strewing food and garb across the forest floor.
    Further behind, Beau and Marrok came, their heavy stallions well-equipped for the combat field but ill-suited for the chase. Dodging trees and deadwood we out-distanced them again.
    Then the ground slipped away, cliffing into a narrow stream. Without hesitation, my horse plunged down the steep bank but the pack horse balked. The second rein snapped at its tie freeing the beasts from one another. I hoped the fast-flowing water might stall my horse, but it jumped in and, swimming strongly, headed straight for the rocky ledge on the stream’s far side.
    The