Seducing the Sun Fae

by Rebecca Rivard

  Then he tensed. No. But he had the horrible feeling his suspicions were correct. This was why Cleia had refused to tell him who’d helped Adric, why she’d been so adamant that he wouldn’t want to know.

  The traitor was Tiago.

  He let out a string of vicious curses. Damn it to hell. He couldn’t allow the boy to go unpunished. But neither could he execute him. Not a stripling of only twenty-one turns of the sun.

  Not his little brother.

  He groped for a chair and sat down. He curled his fingers onto the armrests and dropped his head back, eyes squeezed shut. A sound emanated from his chest that was half-groan, half-howl.

  No. A thousand times no.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cleia watched from the mansion’s first floor as the meadow filled with sun fae and river fada. Later, other fae and fada would come for the three days of festivities that followed the ritual, but for this she’d only invited Rock Run and her own people. The windows were open and she caught snatches of conversation. The river people were reserved at first, but she’d instructed her clan to make them welcome, and the fada soon unbent enough to exchange small talk as they sipped cold drinks. Meanwhile, the children zoomed merrily to and fro.

  Of course, being fada, a number of stern-looking warriors—a woman and four men—had spaced themselves around the meadow’s periphery. She assumed there were others seeded throughout the crowd. But she’d expected that. Trust would come with time, when they understood she considered them her people now.

  Her own warriors were on alert but also aware that only a fool would attack the sun fae on this day of all days. The sun was at its greatest potency and so was she, energy humming in her like an exhilarating melody. By the time the sun reached its peak, only a few of the most powerful fae would match her strength.

  Gracie trotted up to Luis and Marina, standing a few yards from the window. Cleia suspected her little cousin was going to be a healer. Already she was drawn to the sick and injured, and her mere presence seemed to calm them.

  The small blonde touched Xavier’s hand. “Are you all right?”

  He lifted his head. He was still thin, his dark eyes burning unhealthily, but his life-force was strong—for now. “I’m sick,” he announced with a touch of pride.

  Cleia pressed her knuckles to her mouth, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

  “I know,” Gracie replied. “But Aunt Cleia will make you better.”

  “I know. She likes me.”

  “She likes everyone,” Gracie agreed.

  Cleia bit her lip. Stars, the two of them were adorable. She just prayed their faith in her was borne out.

  Turning from the window, she paced restlessly about the room, the bias-cut satin of her dress swishing about her calves. Traditionally, the Conduit spent the last hour alone, meditating and preparing her- or himself for the concentration the ritual demanded. She took a few deep, calming breaths and then gave up. She was too keyed up to meditate.

  She returned to the window. People were gravitating to the natural amphitheater where the ritual was to be held. A circle was forming with the sun fae on the inside, the Rock Run fada on the perimeter.

  She searched the crowd. Where was Dion? Everything depended on him.

  And then she saw him striding barefoot across the meadow: her hard, beautiful man, his mane of hair blue-black in the sunlight, his powerful body perfect in the clothes she’d chosen. He looked every inch a fada alpha, his authority as much a part of him as his ice-blue eyes.

  She could feel his emotions vibrating through the bond: anger, distrust—and hope. She closed her eyes and prayed the hope would win out.

  Yesterday afternoon by the stream, he’d opened to her for a few moments, long enough for her to see what he truly desired. She just hoped that what she’d planned for today would do the rest.

  Please. Keep his heart open. Give me a chance at least.

  Olivia thought Cleia had lost her mind. “Are you mad?” she’d demanded earlier when Cleia had explained what she planned to do. “Wait, maybe he still has some kind of hold on you—” She’d muttered a defensive counterspell that brushed over Cleia, but when it found nothing, dissipated.

  Olivia folded her arms over her chest. “You seem to be clean,” she acknowledged. “But the man kidnapped you, kept you underground so long you were on your way to being seriously ill—not to mention what would have happened to the rest of us—and now you’re going to risk your life for his clan?”

  “He was only doing what he had to. Be honest, Olivia. If it were us, if you discovered someone—say a night fae—was draining our clan of energy, what would you have done?”

  Her cousin’s mouth tightened. “I’d have gone after them with everything I had,” she admitted. “But this could kill you, Cleia.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “And if you’re not? What about Rising Sun and the rest of the sun fae? You know we don’t have another Conduit.”

  Cleia shifted uneasily. That was the one thing she hadn’t let herself think about. But there was really no choice. “He’s my mate,” she said.

  “A fada?” Olivia briefly closed her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not serious. No”—she raised a hand—“I apologize. A mate is a mate.” But she did stop trying to convince Cleia to drop her plan. She even congratulated her on finding her mate, albeit grudgingly.

  Now Cleia brought the heel of her hand to her heart as she watched Dion cross the lawn. Massaging the ache that seemed to live there now.

  This had to work. If she failed, both of them would be condemned to the bleak half-life of an incomplete mating. And she’d have to live with the fact that she’d been responsible for the death of an innocent little boy—and maybe his entire clan.

  Even before Dion reached the ring of Rock Run fada, people were turning, pointing, exclaiming with joy. And then he was surrounded, the men pulling him into bear hugs, the women grasping his shoulders and kissing him on both cheeks.

  Isa’s voice carried across the lawn. “We were worried, but the rainha Cleia promised…see you today…knew it would be all right—”

  She could no longer sense Dion’s emotions, but he visibly relaxed as he saw that everyone was fine and in good spirits. That was good. Knowing his people were all right would go a long way toward easing his suspicions.

  Then he glanced at Tiago, standing a little apart from the others, and his shoulders tightened. The mate bond flared with anger and a deep hurt.

  He knew.

  Cleia briefly closed her eyes. She’d known he’d figure it out sooner or later. But did it have to be now, when so much depended on his approaching the ritual with an open mind?

  Olivia opened the French doors. “It’s time, Cleia.”

  “Coming.” She didn’t require her cousin’s reminder. She knew in her very marrow the exact moment the sun would reach its zenith.

  Her palms were sweating. Swiping them against her dress, she set her shoulders and stepped through the doors.

  * * *

  A murmur went through the crowd: It’s time. She’s coming. Ah, she’s beautiful. Como ela é bonita.

  Dion turned to see Cleia approaching. His lungs seized. She was always beautiful to him, but today she was gut-wrenchingly gorgeous in a dress of gold and copper that flowed over her body like liquid silk, leaving her arms and feet bare. On her head was a simple gold crown and her sun-colored hair had been left unbound to cascade down her back. He blinked, trying to reconcile this goddess with the woman who’d taken him into her body just hours ago.

  For a moment he simply couldn’t do it. He felt an unfamiliar humility; who was he to love this golden creature? Then her gaze sought his across the crowd and she gave him a quick, apologetic smile, and she was just Cleia again, the woman he loved with his entire being—but needed to remember to resist.

  She took a spiral path through the assembled crowd, greeting everyone with a smile or a hug as she made for the grass circle at the amphitheater’s cen
ter. Her friends among his clan greeted her in turn, Rosana opening her arms to give her a fierce hug before passing her on to Isa, Luis and Marina smiling widely as she ruffled Xavier’s hair before continuing on to greet the other fada she knew. There was a great deal of laughter as they helped her match voices to faces.

  Gabriela watched impassively, arms folded over her ample breasts, then announced for all to hear that the queen had the makings of a decent cook—with enough training—before dragging Cleia into a bear hug. Cleia laughed and hugged her back before moving on, greeting all the cooks in turn.

  Valeria, standing with Merry and the Greek sea fada, watched her progress with an impassive face. Dion had scented her dislike of Cleia more than once, but she was low in the clan’s dominance chain, not likely to cause trouble unless pushed—or unless Merry was threatened. As Cleia neared, Valeria went taut as a bow and placed her hands on Merry’s shoulders.

  Dion scowled. They were the sun fae’s guests; he would not tolerate any disrespect to Cleia. Valeria shot him a look and averted her face, refusing to meet Cleia’s eyes but offering her the respect due a fae queen, and he relaxed.

  Cleia stopped by Tiago, standing a few yards from Dion. Tiago grasped her hands and kissed her on each cheek, carefully avoiding Dion’s eyes. Dion kept his expression blank; this wasn’t the time or place to confront his brother.

  And then she was before him. She brought her palms together over her heart and inclined her head in a formal greeting. “Lord Dionísio. I thank you for coming.”

  He’d had time to recall that she’d invited his people behind his back, when she knew damn well he’d have refused to let them come. “I had a choice?”

  Her gaze burned into his, gold flames flickering in the brown so that the tiny hairs on his nape lifted even as his blood set up an answering hum.

  “You always have a choice.”

  “See that you remember that.”

  “I never forgot,” she returned and continued on to the inner circle of sun fae. They hailed her warmly, thanking her for her care of them as they exchanged greetings.

  Exactly at noon she entered the grass circle. As she stepped into the center, the sun flared and light streamed over her in a brilliant column, illuminating her face and turning her hair into a fiery halo that lifted from her shoulders to blow in an unearthly wind. She closed her eyes and remained still for several moments as the crowd watched in rapt silence.

  Dion watched, achingly aware of both her beauty and her power. Against his will, the mate bond curled like a hand around his heart, urging him toward her. He planted his feet and remained determinedly where he was.

  Cleia opened her eyes and raised her arms. “Welcome, Rising Sun fae,” she called, and continued down the list of the seven sun fae clans. Then she continued, “And an especially warm welcome to the Rock Run river fada. How wonderful to have you join us today. Blessed be.”

  “Welcome,” returned the crowd. “Blessed be.”

  “Today we gather to perform the ancient ritual of the sun, which nourishes the sun fae like a mother her child. But this day is special for another reason. I have an announcement to make to you all as well.”

  She turned and looked straight at Dion. The crowd parted so that they faced each other across the short distance, she at the circle’s center, he the perimeter. Her gaze met his. She lifted a hand, beckoning him.

  “I invite Lord Dionísio to come forward.”

  He narrowed his eyes and remained where he was. She knew damn well his promise had been to attend the ritual and nothing else.

  She swallowed visibly. Then she stretched a hand toward him. “Please, my lord?” The sun fae looked uncertainly from her to him, murmuring in dismay when he glared back without moving.

  The river fada edged closer to Dion, prepared to defend their alpha. Isa sidled up beside him and stuck an elbow in his ribs.

  “Idiota. Go to her.”

  He hesitated another few seconds, then cursed and strode forward, not because of Isa’s urging, but because he couldn’t deny Cleia any more than he could deny what was in his heart.

  He grasped her hand. “What the hell are you playing at, woman? If this is a trick, I’ll—”

  “No trick.” Before he could stop her, she faced the crowd and raised their linked hands. “Hear me well, sun fae and river fada,” she stated in ringing tones. “I declare before the sun and stars and the circling planets and all of you that Lord Dionísio is my mate.”

  He jerked in denial but she hissed, “Let me finish.” To the crowd, she continued, “But he doubts me. Some of you know that I inadvertently drained life-energy from his clan, harming his people and their vineyards—even their fishing grounds.”

  There was a shocked murmur from the sun fae, and she nodded. “It’s true. So to prove to Lord Dion that my heart is his, I will now return the energy, starting with the fada child that I harmed.”

  She’d finally admitted it so all could hear, know that his capture of her had been justified. Dion should’ve felt triumph, but instead he wanted to clap his hand over her mouth, his instinct to protect her from the ripple of anger emanating from his clan.

  Cleia released him and beckoned to Luis and Marina. “Bring Xavier to me, please.”

  He flung out a hand, stopping them. “Touch him and it’s war,” he growled at Cleia.

  Her chin tilted stubbornly. “I can heal him. But only today, when I’m at my strongest.”

  He turned to Marina and Luis. “And you—you agreed to this? What if he dies?”

  Marina dropped her gaze, unable to confront her alpha head on. But her sweet, Madonna-like face was set in obstinate lines. “It’s his only chance, meu senhor.”

  “It’s true,” Luis asserted. He risked holding Dion’s eyes for a long moment—indicating how important this was to him—before he too dropped his gaze.

  “I discussed this with our top healers yesterday,” Cleia said, “and this morning I spoke to Branco. It’s risky, but they all agree it’s the only way.”

  He turned back to where Marina and Luis were awaiting his decision. He could scent their desperation but knew that if he commanded, they’d take Xavier home without letting Cleia touch him. He looked at the child lying limply in Luis’s arms, his big brown eyes gazing trustingly up at Dion. He’d thought the boy was better, but now he saw it was the feverish energy of someone fighting for his life.

  Dion’s mouth opened, then shut again. He just couldn’t say the words ordering Marina and Luis to take their son and leave.

  “Branco agreed?” he asked Luis.

  “He did, yes. He remained at the base to tend to those too old or sick to come to the ritual, but he told us that it’s Xavier’s best chance.”

  Dion stepped aside. “Fine. It’s on your heads.”

  “No,” Cleia contradicted. “It’s on my head. And it will work. It has to,” she added in an undertone.

  She turned to Luis and Marina. “Set him on the grass. No one but me can touch him.”

  Luis hesitated, and then at a nudge from Marina, he kissed Xavier and obeyed. Marina gave her son a hard hug and then lifted a face wet with tears and whispered, “Thank you, minha rainha. Whatever happens, I know you will do your best.”

  Cleia gave a tight nod, and then knelt down beside Xavier. Drawing in a deep breath, she placed her hands on Xavier’s chest and lifted her face to the sun, perceptibly drinking in its energy like a flower.

  Around them the crowd stilled. The sun fae exuded a quiet confidence that their queen could heal the little boy. Dion’s own people appeared more skeptical, but he sensed their hope, their need to believe this would work. He crossed his arms over his chest but inside he was praying to all the gods and goddesses that Cleia could pull this off.

  Cleia murmured something Dion didn’t understand and the air around her shimmered, then dimmed. She muttered a curse and tried again.

  Dion’s nerves sparked to life. He glanced around but no one else seemed to feel it. The energy
must be coming through the mate bond. Alarmed, he instinctively tried to shut it down.

  Cleia gasped, her whole body jerking as if she’d been shocked. But she didn’t stop feeding energy into Xavier.

  “Dion.” Her gaze sought his. “Please, love. Don’t fight it. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  It was exactly what he’d feared. The energy increased, became a low thrum in his blood, and then intensified. As its power grew, he sensed he was about to lose control and clamped down on the bond with everything he had. The low thrumming stopped. Cleia jerked again. She threw back her head and keened low in her throat, lungs heaving, but still she kept her hands on Xavier.

  Dion lunged for her.

  “Don’t touch her!” Olivia darted forward and grabbed his arm. “If she loses control, you could all go up in flames.”

  “What’s wrong?” Dion glanced frantically from Cleia’s anguished face to Olivia. “Help her, damn it.”

  Olivia ignored him to crouch next to her cousin, careful not to touch her. “Stop this—now. It’s too much—you can’t sustain it.”

  “No.” Cleia forced out the word between pale, strained lips. “Promised Xavier. Make him…better.”

  Olivia jumped to her feet and turned on Dion, her midnight eyes blazing. “Don’t you understand? She needs you to help control it. They’re connected somehow. If you keep fighting the bond, she’s going to die, and take the boy with her.”

  “What do you mean? She’s your Conduit. Why can’t she use whatever energy she gets from the sun to help him?”

  “I don’t know, damn you. But the boy’s a fada. His body wasn’t designed to channel energy like a sun fae’s. From what Cleia has said, the energy flow between your clan and her moves in one direction only—toward her. My guess is she needs another fada to help turn the energy back toward him. And not just any fada—her mate. The connection between you two is the key.”

  Dion turned back to where Cleia knelt in the grass. Cleia’s face was set. Her breath was coming in shallow jerks and she seemed to be losing weight before his very eyes.