by D. D. Chance
It had been a long time since the Fae had launched any sort of campaign against mortals, but some things didn’t change. In fact, entering the realm of humans as an act of aggression was far easier than it should have been.
“Something’s wrong,” I murmured, while beside me, Niall peered around with clear interest.
“It doesn’t feel wrong to me,” he countered. “It feels almost welcoming. Wouldn’t have expected that, so if that’s what you mean, fair enough.”
“Too welcoming,” I agreed, unsure of why it bothered me so much. I had been to the human realm once before and hadn’t noticed it—but then again, my focus had been far more attuned to the singular goal of finding my witch. Nothing else mattered but that. Now, however, I was on a general reconnaissance mission, with the far more generalized goal of finding a different witch and determining what she had done to the detriment of my people, and I could easily pick up on the difference.
“Well, we did flood the human realm with Fae gold for two hundred years, and have started doing so again recently,” Marta said. “Perhaps it recognizes us.”
Niall chuckled at the idea, but I frowned, considering it. “I wouldn’t think that would have much to do with it, but anything is possible in this place,” I finally allowed. “I wouldn’t say that it is friendly to the Fae, but there is definitely something that resonates. An acceptance of the magic that shouldn’t be here.”
I turned to Niall. “The witches’ stronghold?”
He gestured with a sharp cutting motion. “Up and to the right. The wards are down, though. At least the ones designed to keep the Fae out.”
I nodded with satisfaction. “That tracks with what I’ve learned since Belle arrived in our realm. Ordinarily, we would have access only on the full moon, which is when we traditionally paid our gold to the coven. But the witches are cagier than that. Any Fae carrying the gold of the High King was given access long ago. That much, at least, I have learned from the few history books left behind by my father.”
Niall humphed. “Well, if her doors are always open to Fae gold, then wouldn’t this Cassandra know you’re coming?”
“I’m counting on it,” I muttered.
We headed for the fortress of the coven of the White Mountains. It didn’t take us long to find it. The coven’s fortress had once been fully destroyed by fire, the scars in the surrounding forest easily discernible to Fae vision. The existing building had survived the ravages of flame as well, in far more recent days. Neither of the attacks would be noticeable at a casual glance, however. And likely not visible to humans at all.
“Their illusion magic is strong,” Niall said, peering intently at the pristine building. “The entire south wall is scorched, though you’d never know it unless you were focusing hard. I suspect they’ll have workers in to clean up the damage who won’t know what all the fuss is about until they get right up on the place.”
“But we didn’t set this fire,” Marta said. “What enemies does this coven have besides us?”
“And remember,” I said, holding up a finger. “We aren’t their enemy. We’re their number one supplier of magical gold. So who have they trucked with that would do this to them?”
“Maybe not an enemy at all?” Niall offered, scratching his chin. “The south wall is damaged, but nothing else. They still have their magic, and they still have their gold. So maybe it’s some kind of mistake they made? Maybe they pulled in demons they couldn’t control? Witches do that, and it can be nasty business.”
“Or power of another sort. Power they couldn’t fully contain.” I scowled, turning the idea over in my mind. What role did the Fomorians play within the coven? Had the witches somehow become ensnared in their trap? It was a distinct possibility.
By the time we breached the wide lawn of the house, our approach had been noted. Three women emerged to stand at the top of the stairs, watching us impassively as we approached. The oldest was a tall, regally erect witch with deep-brown hair, sharply cut cheekbones, and a perfect Cupid’s bow mouth. Though her face was as sleek as that of a far younger woman, her eyes were as cold and unforgiving as weathered teak. This could only be the high priestess Cassandra, and she stepped forward as we neared.
“You are between payments, King Aiden,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. She hadn’t been expecting us. She certainly couldn’t be glad that we’d come so soon after her stronghold had been damaged. “And I believe this marks the first time that the king himself has graced us with a visit.”
“There is much I’ve been given cause to reconsider of late,” I acknowledged. I hadn’t known how to approach this interview, but with the damage to the covens holding, inspiration struck. “The Hogan witch has left us. Unlike my father before me, I am not a patient king. I seek a new deal, a replacement.”
Whatever Cassandra had been expecting, that wasn’t it. Her brows lifted, and before she could smooth her face to careful neutrality, an avaricious gleam entered her eyes.
“The Hogans are capable teachers,” she said calmly, almost casually, while inclining her head. “But they are not the only ones capable of sharing their knowledge with the Fae. However, perhaps we can help you recover that which you have lost, rather than force you to learn the ways of yet another mortal family.”
“That too would be a worthy goal,” I agreed. “And certainly worth the healing of your home.”
I gestured, and it was a testament to the long alliance I had forged with my warriors that they knew what I wanted. Even the most ruthless Fae were gifted healers when it came to the land and the structures built from that land, especially when those structures were infused with Fae gold.
Niall and Marta each dropped to a knee beside me as Cassandra jolted in surprise, but before she could object, they laid a palm upon the ground and murmured the ancient words, words that we had never needed a Hogan to teach us. A rush of wind flooded out from the trees around us, while heat rolled through the ground. The witches could do little but squeak in surprise as, in the space of a heartbeat, the flow of energy reached their home.
First, the effort of their illusion was stripped away, revealing the scorched wall and the shattered windows along one side of the building. The brief glimpse of damage served to reinforce my belief of what had happened here. A surge of effort from another plane, not the monster realm, and not demons either. These witches knew their work with demons well enough. So it had been here that Belle had been taken by the Fomorians. That bore further study, to be sure. But first…
I gestured with a small uplift of my palm, urging the magic out of the ground and into the foundational walls of the grand home. The wood and brick turned new again, the glass restored. I could feel the charred remains of the fire turning over, reverting the house to its pristine healthy form, the interior walls as well, and I had a sense of a grand space beyond that had not been damaged.
A relatively small footprint, I decided. Had the witches been lucky, or had they done all they could in advance and simply misjudged the severity of the attack?
In any event, in a matter of seconds, the work was complete. The walls would need to be repainted, but what had been wood was wood once more, what had been stone and glass was replaced. The two witches flanking Cassandra moved forward, trotting down the steps and rushing around to the side of the building to confirm with their own eyes what they clearly suspected. At their delighted shouts, Cassandra didn’t move, though her mouth curved into a smile.
“A worthy gift,” she said. “And one for which we are grateful. You should know that Belle acted out of pain, not truly understanding the damage and destruction she would cause. The Hogans are teachers and healers in the main, not warriors.”
She spoke with such genuine-sounding dismay, it caught me up short.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, and surprise flickered over Cassandra’s face. I could feel my own focus fracturing as she turned and gestured me inside.
“Come. I will show you,” she said solemnly. To
o solemnly. Had this witch already assessed my gambit and thought to beat me at my own game? Did she think she could twist the truth around and present a pretty story that was framed to her advantage?
She preceded us inside, ignoring the main entrance to turn up a set of side stairs.
“We welcomed Belle here when she returned, though her arrival was unexpected,” she began. “We needed to understand her mind, where the coven now stood with the Fae, where she had left you and where we might come to terms again. But she was inconsolable. She had struck a deal to harm us both.”
I stared at her, astounded by her brazen lies. “Explain yourself,” I said, and the witch gestured to the doorway before us.
I stopped. I didn’t need to move any farther to recognize the stench of the Fomorians. “What is this?”
“This damage you see was the result of the Fomorians coming to claim Belle—so unexpectedly, we could do nothing to stop them. We have been remiss in keeping up with our own understanding of the dangers of that ancient evil. And though she and her family had long ago eschewed the instruction of the coven, I suspect Belle believed she had the strength to manage them. She didn’t, unfortunately. She was swept into the realm and into the arms of their king.”
Irritation passed through me, not least because I’d seen this last part with my own eyes. “You can’t get her back?”
Cassandra regarded me with a sorrowful expression that I didn’t want to believe, but couldn’t fully discount either. “We cannot. You can’t either. A Fae king entering the Fomorian underworld would break the treaty you struck with the human realm, and all the witches of our world would declare war upon you. There is one way you can get what you seek, but it is fraught with danger.”
That checked me. I knew I couldn’t believe Cassandra, but I didn’t know enough yet what game she might be playing. “What is this path?” I growled. “Show me.”
Even as I spoke, I sketched open the portal still latent in the newly restored walls. It flared to life, a long tunnel of steaming muck. And there, in a pinhole view, I caught a glimpse of Belle bent beneath another man’s caress.
My hands balled into fists. “Show me,” I said again.
5
Belle
My mind exploded with a dozen conflicting images. First it was Aiden leaning toward me, his hard mouth on mine searching, questing, demanding. Then it was the Fomorian king—brutally beautiful, his kiss harsher than Aiden’s could ever be. Then it was nothing at all. The barest brush of the night sky whispering across my lips, rushing up over my eyes and through my hair, murmuring of dark dreams and the slide of satin along my skin.
But the moment Lyric’s mouth touched mine, I jerked back, rage and fear crashing together in a spark of strength I didn’t know I had. I wrenched myself away hard enough that the bands from my accursed throne cut into my skin, biting and tearing flesh. The pain shocked but also grounded me, and I lurched again and again as the king drew back. I was so frenzied in my actions that I didn’t notice when he lifted his hand, didn’t notice that the bands had fallen away until with one mighty wrench, I tore myself out of the chair and sprawled in an ungainly heap, collapsing on the stone stairs of the dais.
I scrambled forward, then whipped my head around, and for a moment caught the most curious expression on the face of the Fomorian king. Sorrow, I thought. Disappointment and shame, a loss so deep that it ripped through me, piercing my heart. It was so fleeting, I barely registered it before King Lyric’s face shifted once more to a mask of smug satisfaction.
“That would have been an impressive performance if you still had the eye of your audience. Fortunately, he had already left the show. It takes so little to set off a Fae.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. I spun around, wincing as my battered hands and wrists smacked against the stairs. For a fleeting second, I thought Aiden was here, that he’d come for me and seen me getting kissed by the Fomorian king.
But there was no one here, no one at all in the great hall but me and the bastard who’d trapped me. King Lyric waved a hand, and the dark drape covering him was replaced by a tunic that stretched tight against his chest and arms, heavy pants molding to his legs. He stood and took a menacing step forward. I flopped to the side, cursing as I slipped and thudded down another step.
The bands had cut into my ankles as well, leaving deep welts. I was a healer, I could fix that, but first, I needed to run.
“Oh, stop it,” Lyric said, sounding bored. He gestured again, and I drew in a sharp breath as the pain in my ankles and wrists vanished, skittering away on some unseen breeze, though the heavy welts remained. He held out his hand for me as if to help me up. I ignored it, and he shrugged as I hauled myself to my feet, then watched him move down the stairs of the dais, still alone in his grand hall. He stood at the bottom and half turned, clearly waiting for me.
“You can cry and rant all you’d like, but I’ll need another hour or so of your time before I can release you back to the Fae realm. You may as well learn something while you’re here.”
I stood resolutely, staring at him. “There’s nothing you can teach me. Everything you say is a lie.”
He chuckled at that, then offered me a shrug. “I suppose that is a legacy I am proud for you to carry back to your shining king,” he said derisively. “We’ll see how much his heart has already been lost to you. Or how angry he will be to know that you swooned in my arms.”
This time, I understood his inference. “Aiden saw that?” I asked, the rush of anger and nerves within me enough to carry me forward. I reached Lyric’s side, and he started walking as well. I kept pace with him as he strode across the great hall, hating the swell of panic in my voice. “What did you show him, exactly?”
The Fomorian king shot me an approving smile as I drew even with him, making me want to throw a fist into his smugly beautiful face.
“At last you’re following the program,” he said. “By now, Aiden has figured out a way into my domain, though he does not understand the ramifications of that path. He went to your coven’s stronghold.”
I stiffened. “They aren’t my coven. I’m a rogue witch, and I’m happy to remain that way.”
“Oh, you’re far more than a rogue witch, Belle Hogan. More’s the pity that you haven’t figured that out yet. But the only thing more stubborn than a human is a human witch. Nevertheless, in Cassandra’s capable hands, I’m sure Aiden was able to get an eyeful of his beautiful, powerful mate bending backward under the mouth of his enemy. Oh, what will he do now?”
The way he asked the question, it was clear he already had an answer.
“You’ll keep me here as bait? To lure him?”
“That was one of the opportunities open to me, and the easiest to cast, but one with a surprising number of poor outcomes for me and my people.” He shook his head. “No. Now that I’ve hooked the great king of the Fae, I can afford to wait for a more advantageous setting for our ultimate battle. We have lost enough of our number harrying the borders of the Fae realm. The battle has been long and arduous, and though we are immortal, we are not unkillable. And the darkness of our captivity has served as its own curse. Our numbers have steadily dwindled over the millennia, with each new generation bringing fewer Fomorians into our captive world.”
“Excuse me if I don’t cry you a river,” I muttered, but the truth was, I’d never really thought about what life would be like cursed into an underworld domain, only able to interact with other societies through dreams and nightmares. The Fomorians had been defeated by the Fae, who had gone on to an existence of light and wealth. When would the Fomorians stop paying for their defeat?
“Do you have children?” I asked abruptly. “If you’re the king, shouldn’t you be leading by example?”
“Is that an offer?” he asked, his sarcasm so thick, I didn’t need to roll my eyes.
“Dream on, asshole.”
That earned me a dry chuckle. “Just my luck, dreams are the province of the Fomorian.
I wonder, do you think so poorly of the king of the Fae that you would give him the same answer?” He laughed as I blanched. “I see not. Which is all to my benefit. In choosing the middle way, there is the greatest possibility of my people winning this war. You will turn the tide most easily once you return to your golden king’s arms.”
He said this last almost thoughtfully, and my heart spasmed at the idea that my returning to Aiden might cause him harm. “I’ve already left the service of the High King,” I snapped. “I have no need nor interest to return to the Fae realm. My place is with my people and my bar.”
Even as I said the words, my heart tugged hard to the side, the sudden realization of a life without Aiden settling over my shoulders. I squared them beneath the weight. I was a Hogan witch, and we had finally broken free of our oppression, but there were others who needed to be helped. I needed to honor that.
“Then before you go, you should see something,” Lyric said, still sounding bored. The long corridor finally opened ahead, not to a majestic foyer and doorway, but to a night sky hung without the smallest twinkling lights.
He stopped at the mouth of the cave. At his gesture, my gaze dropped to a beach far below. There were torches and small fires at the very top of the beach, but banked as if to preserve as much of the gloom as possible. Milling around in those shadows, not speaking, not shouting, were hundreds of people, their long, dark limbs agitated, their faces turned to the far horizon.
“The sun is not meant to grace the realm of the Fomorian,” the king said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate its brief glance.”
A hush fell over the group as the first light of the sun licked over the horizon with a suddenness that surprised me. There was no gradual lightening of the sky, but a sudden burst of illumination. My lips parted; my heart leapt. I hadn’t realized how oppressive the darkness was until I saw it lifted. A sweet song hushed along the breeze, the voices of the far-off watchers lifting in appreciation for their brief visitor. And I could already tell the visit would be brief. The sun didn’t rise out of the sea so much as moved along its horizon, and far too swiftly at that. At this rate, it would disappear again in a few minutes.