Azuri Fae - Urban Fantasy (Caledonia Fae)

by India Drummond

  Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he took her hands and gently guided them away while taking a small step back. “I, uhh, that’s quite an offer. I’m flattered, really, but I’m exhausted. I need to sleep.” He couldn’t deny the inexplicable temptation, but he was wary, knowing most of the fae would never consider bedding a human.

  She smiled knowingly. “Another time, perhaps.”

  He hated himself for not giving a firm no. He was in love with Eilidh, he reminded himself as he took his bag to Eilidh’s room, leaving Alyssa near the front door. As soon as he lay in Eilidh’s swing bed, his head started to clear. Next time, he told himself, he’d make it plain he was a one-faerie kind of guy.

  Sleep came quickly, and he didn’t wake until he felt a small hand run up and down his arm. He knew it was Eilidh before he opened his eyes. “Come, Quinton,” she said. “You must rise and eat. We need to go to the Otherworld. The queen wishes to meet you.”

  Munro breathed in the morning air and tried to clear the sleep from his mind. “She what?”

  Eilidh smiled. “She wants to meet you.”

  “Now?”

  “Not yet. It’s still daytime. We will be expected to leave soon after nightfall. Oron is coming as well.”

  He tried to sit up, but the swing bed flung awkwardly to one side. “I hate this thing,” he grumbled, then added, “That’s good news about Oron. Isn’t it?”

  Eilidh nodded. “I think so. We shall see.”

  “Do you need to sleep?”

  “No. I will rest for a few hours before we leave, but I’m not tired yet.” Even though the fae were nocturnal, they seemed to get by on only three or four hours’ rest during the day, and he’d seen Eilidh do with one or two. She crawled over to him and lay beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, an unusually intimate gesture for her, but he didn’t mind.

  “Alyssa said you rejected her offer.”

  Munro was suddenly glad she was lying with her head down, so she couldn’t see the heat on his cheeks. Alyssa told Eilidh? What did that mean? The cultural differences between faeries and humans couldn’t be larger if they came from different planets. “I have to say, she caught me by surprise.” Treading carefully.

  “She’s very beautiful, and she’s closer to your age.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Eilidh tilted her head and looked him in the eye. “You were too tired?”

  “I didn’t want to offend her by telling her I wasn’t interested.” He touched Eilidh’s cheek. “I’m in love with someone else.” He’d promised himself he wouldn’t pressure Eilidh. He constantly had to rein in his need for her. Her culture taught her faeries and humans didn’t belong together. It seemed like the fae looked on the younger race as barely above animals on the evolutionary scale. Although she’d come to view him differently, and he could tell she felt close to him, he wasn’t going to act like some kind of caveman.

  Her silver eyes swirled with green filaments, and her emotions were unreadable. “What does in love mean to a human?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “To me, it means when you’re gone, I miss you, and when you’re near, the world is right. It means I’d never hurt you—I couldn’t hurt you—and if someone else tried to, they’d have to kill me to get to you. When I hear something funny, you’re the one I want to tell about it. And when another woman asks me to ‘join with her,’ I’ll always say no.” He paused, uncertain what she was thinking. “Remember the words we said to each other when we bonded?”

  “Dem’ontar-che,” she whispered.

  “You told me it means loyalty, servitude, blind faith, and complete devotion. That’s the word right there. Eilidh, I’m devoted to you, heart and soul.”

  Suddenly, Eilidh kissed him. She slipped her arms around him, and they were soon entangled in an intimate embrace. Her emotions released and rolled over him like molten lava. He couldn’t hold back any longer, and it became clear she didn’t want him to. He thought that when they did finally make love, they’d take it slow the first time. He had planned to be patient, tender, gentle. Instead, it was like being caught up in a storm, their passions completely devouring them. Their thoughts and instincts fused. For a short while, their minds and bodies were as one.

  * * *

  At nightfall, Eilidh, Munro, and Oron travelled into the Otherworld by way of the gate at Fionn Lighe. The azuri fae still refused to unblock the Skye gate, because doing so would break the enchantments protecting them from earth magic. But with Munro’s increased speed and stamina, the journey passed quickly enough.

  As soon as they set foot on fae soil, Oron and Eilidh used their magic to create the illusion of appropriate clothing. He dressed in resplendent white robes, a style suitable for a conclave leader. Eilidh wore a gown of deep sky blue, and she created an illusion for Munro’s clothing as well, replacing his jeans and rugby shirt with a set of robes the same colour as her gown.

  “Hell, no,” he said, looking down with dismay.

  “You’re a druid. It’s appropriate.”

  “I don’t care.” He stared at her hard. “I’m not wearing this.”

  Eilidh sighed. He looked very handsome in the formal garb. The sight of him in faerie clothing gave her a pang of longing to touch him again. “What about this?” She changed the illusion to look more like what Griogair had worn at court when she first met the prince-consort. The new trousers and shirt were midnight blue, and the long cloak was the same shade as Eilidh’s dress. The fur on the collar was white fox with an ornate silver clasp.

  Munro still frowned. “Some better. Can we do without the fur?”

  With a thought, the fur was gone, and she put her hands on her hips. “We must go, Quinton.”

  “All right,” he replied. “Thank you.” He kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand. If Oron noticed their affectionate display, he said nothing, but Eilidh flushed with embarrassment.

  They left the gate behind, and as they ran, the three spoke very little, each seemingly consumed with private musings. Eilidh respected Oron’s desire to keep his thoughts to himself. He had not discussed the business of the Higher Conclave with her any further, although she was aware meetings had been going on since she first delivered the queen’s message. The issue of Munro’s clothing aside, her druid’s mind felt more focused and settled than she’d ever experienced. Of course, perhaps she only now allowed herself to touch it fully.

  Lying with him had been more than she’d expected: more intense, more fulfilling, more than the passing pleasures she’d experienced in her youth. She never hoped to find that with anyone, much less with a human. Before, they both worried the magic bonding caused these feelings, but now they seemed to accept the magic was a part of them and cared little about which came first, love or magic. She suddenly wondered why she’d resisted so long.

  When they passed through the gate into the Otherworld, Munro breathed deeply. His eyes had not only started to glow, but Eilidh could see the seed of magic in them, as though the Otherworld air ignited his power.

  A silent tear slid down Oron’s cheek. When Eilidh stared in disbelief at the emotional display, he said simply, “A thousand years, Eilidh. A thousand years.”

  She suddenly understood. Her exile lasted only a quarter century, and by the end of that time, she was just starting to accept the finality of what she’d lost. She couldn’t imagine going a millennium without hope of seeing the blue moon of her homeland again.

  As agreed, they headed toward the portal that granted access to the Halls of Mist. Every kingdom had one such entry, leading to the place any faerie could walk in absolute safety, a neutral ground and a centre for politics and scholarship of every kind: religious, historical, and magical.

  “Why did they want to meet in the Halls of Mist?” Eilidh asked as the three loped easily through the plains of the Otherworld. “Wouldn’t that imply the queen acknowledged you may not be safe in her kingdom?”

  “Or it could be seen as a magnanimous gesture of good faith,” Oron said. “How
ever, I think there is another reason.”

  “What is that, Elder?” Eilidh asked, but he did not answer. Instead, he looked back at Munro, who ran behind the pair. “Quinton?” she said quietly to Oron. “What advantage would there be in bringing him there?” Worry began to surface. “Will he be safe?” It hadn’t occurred to her because they travelled at the queen’s invitation, but now Eilidh wondered if the protection of the Halls of Mist would extend to a human. But why would the queen wish to harm Munro?

  Her druid picked up speed to catch up. “What’s wrong?” Munro must have sensed her disquiet.

  She glanced at Oron, who looked at the sky, the grasses, the trees, as though seeing the landscape for the first time. “It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it? I tried to forget. Now, it will be like losing it all over again should we fail.”

  Eilidh shook her head at Munro, and her uneasiness became his.

  By the time they approached the portal, her thoughts had become calmer. The queen would not invite them to the Halls of Mist just to hurt Munro. If she wanted to do that, she could have easily done it in her own territory, and the other kingdoms wouldn’t even know. There must be some other reason the queen wanted Oron, and perhaps more specifically Munro, to be seen by fae of other nations.

  Could she want the others to think she was allying with humans? They were considered the lesser race, but how much longer would this idea persist? Fae of every kingdom, even the sea kingdoms and those of the ice regions, had felt their territory encroached upon. None had been able to stop the incursion into their lands on earth. In some places, the fae had been all but completely driven into the Otherworld, and those kingdoms were dying out. They could not make the proper sacrifices to the Mother to ask for the blessing of fertility. One such kingdom had been swallowed into another, their queen marrying the son of another queen to cement the loyalties.

  Ahead, Eilidh could see the platform, a perfectly round dais with a glowing sphere atop. Stairs approached from all directions. It was guarded by nearly a hundred Watchers, but they faced the dais, not the kingdom. Their job was to keep out an invasion from other kingdoms, not to prevent departure. Any faerie was free to visit the Halls of Mist.

  “Come,” Oron said. “The queen’s delegation will be waiting.”

  * * *

  Munro was not disappointed in his first view of the Halls of Mist. He’d not yet even adjusted to the Otherworld and all its incredible sights. The simplest things were magnificent, like the way the stars looked so close. But when he stepped through that huge blue ball, his skin tingled almost to the point of pain. His system overloaded, and a wave of nausea flooded him.

  “Breathe,” Oron said quietly.

  Breathe? Munro could hardly even think. Still, he tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling. When he opened his eyes, he saw a hundred faces staring at him from an immense round courtyard. Faeries of all descriptions, with skin colours varying from ebony to paper white to bluish tints and shades of pink and tan. Some appeared as old as the crypt-keeper himself, while others looked bright-faced, the way only the truly young could.

  When he finally got his bearings, Munro saw that the courtyard, which was large enough to hold thousands, had dozens of bridges leading up and outward. If viewed from above, it would have looked like the rays of the sun. Each bridge floated over an expanse of opaque white mist and led to an immense dome in the distance. Each dome must have been the size of a sprawling hamlet at least.

  “The Hall of Caledonia is this way,” Eilidh said, nodding toward one of the pathways.

  The eyes of all the fae in the courtyard followed them, but conversation resumed as soon as their backs were turned. The bridges were so narrow as to only allow walking single file. Oron led, followed by Eilidh, then Munro. He experienced a touch of vertigo, and he tried to keep his eyes on Eilidh’s back, not looking down into the endless cloud that supported the bridge. He didn’t want to think about what was below them, if there was anything at all.

  When they arrived at the end of the path, the huge dome rose up, and an archway led inward, open and unguarded. Inside was a crescent-shaped entryway with many high-arched doorways leading deeper within. As they entered, Munro was surprised to see Prince Griogair standing among other faeries sedately going about their business. “Greetings, honoured guests,” he said warmly, addressing Oron. The elder only slightly inclined his head, while Eilidh curtsied deeply.

  Munro had no idea what to do, so he said, “Hello.”

  A look of amusement passed briefly over Griogair’s face. “Elder Oron, the queen requests your presence as soon as you are ready. She awaits in Autumn Hall. I will escort you, if you will allow me.”

  “I would be most honoured, Your Highness,” Oron replied.

  “Eilidh, I will entertain you and your druid for now. The queen wishes to see you after she has conducted business with Oron.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” Eilidh followed behind as the prince led the three through one of the doors and down a corridor.

  The translucent walls of the hallways went all the way to the glass-like domed city roof. Munro could see black granite floors above, and it gave the entire place a dizzying feel, like he was trapped in a maze. The angles felt sharp and strangely placed, as though the architect was high when he drew up the plans.

  Griogair showed Oron to a huge wooden door, where a steward greeted them and showed the elder inside. When they were alone, Prince Griogair gestured to an archway across the hall. “We can wait in here.”

  “Sounds good,” Munro said as they went inside. “Maybe then you can explain why you lied.”

  Chapter 10

  “Quinton!” Eilidh hissed.

  Munro hadn’t realised they weren’t alone, and the dozen or so faeries in the chamber froze. When he sensed the genuine fear in Eilidh’s mind, he understood how stupid he’d been. He was a long way from home. Without Eilidh, he wouldn’t make it to the portal, much less through the Otherworld and back to a gate. If by some miracle he did find a gate, the likelihood of finding the right one was remote. On the other hand, Griogair needed a little shaking up. He’d been blasé about the truth, at the very least. Quite possibly, he intentionally sent Munro and Eilidh blindly into a dangerous situation.

  Griogair smiled at the others in the room. “They’re so delightfully impetuous, don’t you think?” The tension in the room dissipated. The others replied with subtle signs of agreement, a nod or tilt of the chin. Munro found the fae’s indirect way of communicating both fascinating and exhausting. He preferred plain speech, something he wasn’t likely to hear any time soon.

  The prince turned his eyes to Eilidh. “You look delicious.” His tone was low and seductive, and the way his gaze roamed over Eilidh’s gown made Munro’s blood boil. He remembered Eilidh’s warning that Griogair pretended Eilidh was his lover. But facing it like this, so soon after Munro had been in her bed, wasn’t easy to swallow.

  Eilidh blushed and cast a glance at Munro that he couldn’t read. Turning to the prince, she said with an intimate smile, “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Griogair. How unfortunate we won’t have time to be alone.” Her purring voice was barely above a whisper, but Munro had no doubt every ear in the chamber heard the soft seduction in her tone.

  Griogair responded by taking her hand and kissing it. “What makes you think we won’t have time?”

  “My druid will not leave my side. We are at a point in our magical bonding that would make him reluctant to be parted from me.”

  Munro wanted to scream. Was she actually batting her eyelashes? This was not the Eilidh he knew.

  “If you wish him to join us, I’m always open to new things.” Griogair took his eyes away from Eilidh as though with difficulty and glanced to the others in the room. “The rest of you may go,” he said.

  They filed out silently, and the last one stayed in the doorway, facing the hall. Griogair released Eilidh’s hand. “That is Reine. He will see we are not disturbed.” Then with a glance a
t Munro he added with a sigh, “You’re going to get us all killed.” The prince gestured to a set of low, sloped chairs shaped out of cherry wood.

  Eilidh sat, but Munro stood and looked Griogair in the eye. “You very nearly got us killed already. Why didn’t you tell us about your son?”

  “You found him?”

  Munro glanced at Eilidh, whose gaze implored him to sit as she motioned to the chairs. “Your Highness,” she began, “We can’t be sure it was Tràth.”

  “It was him,” Munro said as he sat next to Eilidh. “He looks a lot like you.”

  “Thank you,” Griogair said, joining them. “You’re right, of course. I didn’t tell you everything. I had hoped no one would need to know.”