Azuri Fae - Urban Fantasy (Caledonia Fae)

by India Drummond

  “I thought he was the top man. What sort of trouble could he run into?”

  “I think,” came a voice from the trees, “she means my mate, the queen.”

  A faerie that could only be Prince Griogair came walking into the clearing. He didn’t wear a crown or any type of uniform or decoration, so Munro wasn’t sure how he knew. Munro found all faeries haughty and full of themselves, and so it wasn’t the prince’s bearing that gave away his status. But the instant Munro laid eyes on him, he felt a pull, like it would be difficult not to stare at him.

  The prince, on the other hand, looked only at Eilidh. She had changed into the illusion of that same brown dress she’d showed Munro. The prince seemed amused when he noticed it, but less so when Eilidh curtsied. “Didn’t we talk about this?” he asked, taking her hand and bringing her to her feet.

  “Your Highness,” she began.

  He rolled his eyes. “Griogair.”

  “Your Highness,” she said firmly. “This is PC Munro.” It amused Munro that she used his rank and last name, but he would be the first to admit he didn’t know anything about faerie politics.

  Only then did Griogair turn his attention to Munro. The prince had the strangest eyes, even more remarkable than Eilidh’s, Munro thought. Perhaps it was the night that made them glow purple, but they locked on Munro and held his gaze for a good, long while, with neither man speaking.

  “Quinton,” Eilidh said, seeming quietly distressed, as though Munro were being frighteningly rude. “This is Prince Griogair, consort to the faerie queen.”

  Munro held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, knowing faeries didn’t shake hands, but wanting to see what the prince would do. He hadn’t planned to be confrontational, but he suddenly felt as though he’d completely lost the upper hand. He had to get it back if he was going to get a read on this guy.

  The prince looked at the outstretched hand, then met Munro’s eyes. He knew what Munro was doing. He put his hand in Munro’s, copying his grip and movement exactly. “So, you are Eilidh’s druid. A human with earth magic. You’ll have to forgive me for staring. I never thought I’d see such a thing.”

  Munro smiled briefly. “Neither did I.” Then he switched into cop mode, approaching the prince as he would anyone who filed a missing persons report. “Eilidh tells me you want my help finding your son. Is there someplace we can sit and talk?” Munro didn’t like to admit it, but the rich air of the Otherworld made him a little lightheaded. “You can invite your friends to join us.” He gestured to the trees, beyond which he sensed at least four, possibly five others. He wasn’t sure how he sensed them, but in the strange night air, he decided to go with it.

  Griogair tilted his head. “They are fine where they are, thank you.” His tone revealed amusement. “Don’t worry. They are trusted companions.” To Eilidh, he said, “Can he run?”

  Before she could answer, Munro said, “I can.”

  Griogair became a blur, and he moved silently away. Munro watched as though in slow motion. He stepped after the prince, running easily behind him. He felt Eilidh follow, but he kept his eyes on the prince’s trail. The prince’s companions went with them, keeping just far enough away to stay hidden.

  When they stopped, they were in a small glen next to a shimmering river. The moss became a rich, soft carpet under their feet. They stood beneath an enormous tree, whose roots formed perfect steps that led up into its boughs. Munro looked at the water, at the stones that made it sparkle. He stepped toward it and reached in. The water was icy, a cold that went down to his bones. He picked up a rock, but it was no ordinary rock. It was a solid piece of quartz, but it had a blue tint like he’d never seen. When the water passed over the stones, they sung.

  Munro felt his earth magic surging and realised that was what was making him feel so strong. His magic fed on the air. His primary element of strength was stone, which was perhaps why these rocks called to him. The air and the water seemed rich and beautiful, but not alive.

  The quartz melted in his hand like putty. He saw a shape forming within it, as though it was the rock’s true form. No rock of his own world responded to him like this. For just a moment, his mission faded to the side, and he lost himself in the beauty of the stone. As he had when crafting the rose for Flùranach, he tried something a little different than when he made his talismans at home. He focused on the prince’s powerful presence. Unlike when he worked with the child, here in the Otherworld, he didn’t even have to touch the prince to feel his essence.

  Neither Griogair or Eilidh said a word. They watched in silence as Munro teased the rock, pulling it like taffy. Its tips became sharp, and he guided the mass into the form of a star with razor-like edges. The crystal lost any clouded imperfections. When Munro finally finished, it was beautiful, with life shimmering within. It sparkled in the strange moonlight of the Otherworld, resting in the palm of his hand, perfect in its symmetry, lovely, and yet deadly.

  He held it out to Griogair. “For your hearth,” he said, suddenly remembering the faerie tradition of giving a gift when invited to another’s home. It wasn’t a tradition he understood the nuances of, but he remembered how Oron reacted when Munro crafted the rose with his granddaughter. He figured it would be a decent gift.

  The faerie prince looked at Munro carefully and then inclined his head. “I misjudged you, PC Munro.” He whispered a word and a gust of wind surrounded Munro’s hand, lifting the blue star out.

  “Wait,” Eilidh said. Munro could feel her focusing her magic on the talisman as it hung in the air between the two men. She glanced at Munro. “This is like none of the other talismans I have seen you make. I can feel Prince Griogair’s own essence much more strongly since he touched it with his power.”

  The fae always seemed entranced by the things he made, but Munro felt frustrated that he didn’t understand the process better. He just hoped he wasn’t passing out weapons of mass destruction, now that he thought about it.

  “Fascinating.” Griogair watched the star carefully as he used air flows to lower it into a leather pouch. Once the star was out of sight, Eilidh seemed to breathe easier.

  “Come,” Griogair said finally. “Let us sit upstream.”

  He led the pair up a mossy path to another clearing, where swing chairs fashioned out of roots and leaves swayed in the low boughs of a willowy tree. It took Munro a moment to get comfortable as the other two sat. He wasn’t yet used to the strange furniture faeries favoured. For some reason, they didn’t seem to like anything too stable, where he preferred to feel himself solidly on the ground.

  “I don’t know all the rules and protocols,” Munro said. “And I don’t want to offend you or anything. So if I say the words wrong, or speak out of turn, I’m sorry in advance. But your boy is missing, and I know what that does to a family. Tell me about him, and I’ll do what I can to help. Let’s start with when and where you saw him last, all right?”

  Griogair leaned forward, his expression intent. “Very well.”

  Chapter 7

  Eilidh had watched Munro craft the star and present it to the prince. She felt proud of him and noticed how silent his mind became when he worked with the stone flows. The Otherworld agreed with him, but it still worried her, even more now that they had travelled away from the gate. She had to trust Griogair could protect them and ensure they hadn’t been seen.

  “The last time I saw Tràth was the night before the Glade Festival,” Griogair said.

  Munro looked at Eilidh expectantly. She felt flustered. Human clocks and calendars had never made much sense to her. “The Glade came to its peak one hundred and seventy-four nights ago.”

  “Jesus,” Munro muttered and reached for his wallet.

  Both faeries watched him with some curiosity. He pulled out a small white card with blocks of numbers on it and stared for a while, counting the lines. “So, mid-August.” He glanced at Eilidh, as though expecting confirmation, but she could only shrug apologetically. She hated to confess her ignora
nce, especially on such a small matter. She realised their new relationship meant she had a lot more to learn than just astral magic. They were going to have a busy century ahead.

  “What were the circumstances?” Munro asked.

  Griogair leaned back in his seat. “He’d been talking with his mother. He came to me. He was not in the best of moods.”

  “What was their argument about?”

  “Quinton,” Eilidh hissed. Munro cast her a warning glance, but she ignored it and said, “You cannot ask such questions.”

  He turned to Griogair and repeated his question. “What was the argument between Tràth and your wife about?”

  The prince shrugged slightly. “There was no argument.”

  Munro stood. “Okay then.” He turned to Eilidh. “Let’s go. There’s nothing I can do here.”

  “What?” Eilidh didn’t move. She was too stunned. She’d known he was jealous of the prince, and he hadn’t been happy about the deliberate rumours that Eilidh was Griogair’s lover. She hadn’t expected Munro to allow those feelings to get in the way.

  Munro shrugged. “Missing persons cases are hard anyway. Not to mention that the best chance of finding someone is within forty-eight hours of his disappearance. A trail several months cold? Nearly impossible. Add the secrecy involved, that I’m not allowed to talk to the boy’s mother, that I have to do this with no support from other police, forensics, and no back-up. All of that I’d accepted. But when the one person I can talk to lies to me…” His words trailed off.

  “Your Highness, I must apologise for my druid.” Eilidh took her time with her words. “He meant no offense.”

  Griogair watched them closely, not saying a word.

  “Actually,” Munro said. “I don’t care if you’re offended.”

  Eilidh was surprised at his strength and confidence. She couldn’t detect so much as a flutter of nervousness about him.

  He went on, “In fact, I am offended. You’re wasting my time, Griogair, and I don’t have as much of it as you do.”

  Eilidh closed her eyes. Munro had no idea how powerful the prince was. If it made him nervous that she could have killed him with a thought, he should have been shaking in the presence of the prince-consort. She blamed herself for not explaining the situation better.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was shocked to see the prince smiling. “Sit down,” he said to Munro with a slight chuckle, waving at the empty seat. “I don’t see what the argument has to do with my son’s disappearance. Isn’t it enough for you to know there was one?”

  Munro sat down on the edge of the seat, not reclining fully or making himself comfortable. “I won’t know until you tell me what it was about.”

  After a few moments, the prince said, “Cadhla has always found our son to be a disappointment. He isn’t as strong as she thinks suitable for someone of his noble lineage, and he has little ambition to learn. She frequently expresses her opinions to him. Over the centuries, he has come to resent it. Their argument was the same one they often have. Our son is an adult, and he spends time at various homes throughout the Otherworld. But at the same time, he is young, and…” The prince paused, as though choosing his words carefully. “He is not as adept at handling royal society as we would like. He therefore spends much time alone.”

  “This might seem an odd question, but are you certain he’s missing? Could he just be avoiding his mother?”

  Griogair shook his head. “He is guarded constantly, and we have eyes and ears everywhere. It might have been possible for him to hide for a short time, but not half a year, and not with an active search, no matter how secretive. Every faerie in the kingdoms knows what it would mean to defy the queen. The Watchers have done their duty. That I can promise you.”

  “How did he slip away then, if he’s guarded?” Munro asked. Eilidh felt his sudden concern and discomfort.

  Griogair shrugged. “He has friends.”

  “So not every faerie is afraid of your wife,” Munro said quietly. Before Griogair could comment, Munro asked, “What makes you think he’s in the human world?”

  “About a year ago, there was rumour of a child, one who practised the Path of the Azure, much like Eilidh, although this child was barely an adolescent, around forty, I believe. It has become more common for parents of such children to exile them before they are discovered.”

  Eilidh sat up and met Griogair’s eyes. “There are more like me? Out on the streets?”

  “Like most, this child was caught in the borderlands,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t hold such hopes.”

  Munro put his hand over hers. He must have felt her surge of emotion. He gave her fingers a squeeze, turned back to Griogair, and asked, “What does an exile have to do with your son?”

  “One night, my son and I were talking, and he asked about the exiles. This was only weeks after your own deeds became known in the kingdom. He mentioned you,” Griogair said, watching Eilidh’s face. “He said he envied you. You made it. You survived, thrived even, in his eyes. I was shocked, of course. No matter how difficult his life may be, he is the crown prince. But he asked me…” Griogair shifted slightly. “He asked me if his mother and I have continued making sacrifices to the Mother of the Earth.”

  Munro turned to Eilidh, obviously confused. She hesitated only slightly before saying, “When a couple wish to conceive, they make a journey past the borderlands to make a sacrifice to the Mother of the Earth, our Goddess. Only She can grant the gift of fertility.”

  Munro nodded and waited patiently for the prince to continue.

  “I told him we stopped thirty years ago,” Griogair said. “It had become obvious the Goddess would not hear us.” The prince sat back, looking tired. “My decision caused a rift. Cadhla was obsessed with having another child, but I could see what it was doing to her. To us. I thought with time she would accept the Mother’s will.”

  “And you told your son this?”

  “When he first asked, I thought he was concerned his mother still wanted a daughter to succeed her. Tràth would only take the throne if we had no female children,” the prince explained to Munro. “I thought perhaps it would comfort him to learn that regardless of the difficulties between him and his mother, his place in line was secure. Instead, he began asking me about the human realm, the places I might have seen on our visits.” To Eilidh he said, “We have gone to every altar in the kingdom at least once.”

  “And where are these altars?” Munro asked Eilidh.

  “There are fourteen left in this kingdom,’” she said. “They are usually near gates, but far enough that when the gates close, the couple is outside the borderlands. Most in Caledonia are marked by what you call standing stones, but not all.”

  “Would he have gone to these altars?”

  “I don’t think so,” Griogair said. “When we spoke, he was more interested in human dwellings, their habits. At first I thought it merely curious, but I occasionally heard rumours he had slipped away from his guards. It took a few months before I realised it was always near a gate. That’s when I started to suspect he visited the human realm.”

  “Did you ever confront him about it?” Munro asked.

  “When I asked, he denied having ever left the borderlands.”

  “But you didn’t believe him,” Munro said.

  “No,” Griogair replied. “I did not.”

  “Can you tell me anything that will give me a place to start? Even if he stayed in Scotland, it’s a big place.”

  “His last five sojourns were all near Ashdawn.”

  “Perthshire?” Munro asked. “Why there?”

  The prince shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps because of Eilidh, or perhaps for some other purpose. But it’s one of the reasons I sought your help, PC Munro.”

  “Do you have a photo of him?”

  Griogair frowned at Munro, then glanced at Eilidh, who said, “He means a likeness, Your Highness. A painting or image of any kind?”

  Griogair nodded, then tou
ched the air, as though sketching with his fingers. Lights played in front of him, dancing and responding to softly muttered words.

  Munro watched with wonder, staring intently at the weaving flows of air.

  It took only a few minutes before the prince stopped. He blew on the lines with a puff of air, and the image turned toward Munro and Eilidh. The face was remarkable. The boy looked very like Griogair, but with startling blue eyes. His mouth was slightly softer, and his brow a little higher, but there was no mistaking the resemblance.

  Munro reached into his pocket and took out his phone. Before Eilidh could protest that it would never work in the Otherworld, he’d tapped a button on the front and it made an odd clicking noise. He glanced at the screen, tapped a few times on it, then put the device back in his pocket.

  “What about friends? Are there faeries who would have gone with him?”