by Helen Harper
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. It’s usually for the honour of your Clan though ‒ and with their full backing. I’m sorry. I’m sure you understand…’
‘Of course! Of course! I don’t have a Clan. It’s just as well really. Knowing what I do about the Adairs, I think it’s best that they’re consigned to the history books.’ They weren’t even allowed that; the history books at the Cruaich had virtually wiped out any mention of them. My smile widened and I leaned forward to whisper, ‘Can I trust you?’
‘To death and beyond, my dear.’
I smiled at him like I’d expected nothing else. ‘The thing is,’ I told him, ‘it’s very lonely being Clan-less. I’m the only Sidhe without a clan and my friends are … well, they’re not Sidhe, if you know what I mean. I want to win so that I can ask to be accepted into a Clan as one of their own. Return to the fold, so to speak. The Scrymgeours looked after me before. Maybe I could prevail upon their goodwill and…’
Aifric looked delighted. No surprise there: if I swore fealty to a Clan like the Scrymgeours – hell, if I did that to any Clan – then the Adairs would be laid to rest once and for all. There would be no one left to take up their cause.
‘I think that’s a wonderful idea. Simply wonderful.’
I managed to blush. Go, girl! ‘I probably won’t win because I don’t have any Gifts like the others. But if I can use this opportunity to get to know everyone better, who knows what might happen?’
‘You’re so right.’ Aifric gazed at me like a proud father. As much as I abhorred violence, my fists itched. ‘But it will depend on the other Clans agreeing to your participation. Naturally you have my full support but you’ll need two supporters to secure your place. It’s a formality for most competitors but we do like our traditions. You’ll need their agreement before the opening ceremony if you’re going to compete.’
Damn it, that’s what I’d been worried about. Aifric was happy to lend me his support because he wanted me to think he was on my side – and right now he didn’t see me as a threat. Getting two other Clans to throw their hats in the ring for me would be tough.
‘Also,’ he continued, ‘we didn’t expect you, so we’ve not prepared any quarters. The competitors stay in a specially converted village. We find things work better that way. I’m sure we can find you some space though.’
‘You’re very kind, my liege,’ I murmured.
Aifric laughed heartily. ‘Oh, I’m only the Steward. It’s nothing like a liege lord, I assure you.’ Yeah, yeah. I laughed back; Aifric didn’t seem to notice how false it sounded. ‘You must be tired after your journey,’ he continued. ‘Let me arrange for some refreshments while someone sorts out your accommodation.’
I dipped a curtsey. The light in his eyes still glimmered. Good; Aifric Moncrieffe thought I’d fallen hook, line and sinker for his lies. All I had to do to succeed was keep it that way.
*
Six hours later, we still hadn’t been shown to our rooms. The plates of food and goblets of wine, water and some indefinable liquid lay untouched in front of us. Even Brochan’s patience was being tested. For the last hour he’d been pacing up and down the flagstones, his arms crossed and his glower dangerous. Speck was glued to his phone. Lexie, Taylor and I were taking a different approach: every time someone passed by, no matter who they we were, we did our best to charm them into conversation. Operation Smarm was well under way.
Despite not having an ounce of Sidhe blood, Lexie did a sterling job of flirting with the older nobles. It was difficult for anyone to resist her impish smile and I saw more than one flushed cheek when she inadvertently brushed her body against her targets. Taylor was almost her equal; he oozed charm, gently complimenting the ladies without appearing overly familiar and using his down-to-earth attitude to remain unthreatening to the men.
It was markedly different for me. Every time I tried to engage someone in conversation, they shied away. More than one of them clutched their jewels, their bags or their pockets, as if I were going to spirit away their wealth from beneath their noses. It didn’t matter how I approached each Clanling, nothing worked. I’d never been as skilled at verbal dexterity as Taylor but I’d been pulling street cons before I hit puberty. I knew how to talk to people – and these people were having none of it.
The various non-Sidhe flitting around would probably have been friendlier ‒ I spotted a few warm glances from the servants and errand boys ‒ but they were in a rush and it wasn’t their approval I needed. Winning the Games would be one thing; I’d still need some Sidhe on my side to have any real measure of success afterwards –and I still needed to secure two votes to let me participate.
Despite the cold shoulders, I persisted. Sooner or later, someone would soften up.
‘I never took you for a social butterfly,’ drawled a familiar voice as my attempt to get close to a Clan Orrock woman failed miserably and she all but sprinted away.
I turned. ‘You can’t really be sociable when people act as if you’ve got the plague.’
Byron shrugged languidly. ‘They’ll come around.’
‘You mean when they realise I’ve not nicked their family heirlooms? Someone’s obviously been telling tales.’
His look of discomfort was answer enough. ‘There have been … stories,’ he admitted. ‘What happened with the Foinse doesn’t help.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘No-one’s seen it. It’s the source of all magic, Integrity. You were the last person to hold it and you possess a clever sleight of hand.’
‘You think I palmed it when no-one was looking? You saw the damn thing fly away just like I did, Byron.’
‘I know,’ he replied equably. ‘But people don’t trust you.’
‘Gee,’ I said sarcastically, ‘blow me down with a feather. I never realised.’
‘You are a thief, Integrity.’
‘Reformed.’ Sort of. ‘Besides, I’ve never stolen from any of the Clans.’ Actually, that was a lie; I’d spotted at least one noble who I’d relieved of a rather ugly-looking emerald ring. But that was years earlier and he’d have no reason to suspect me of the crime.
Byron tilted his head and gave me a long look. ‘You stole from me.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I stole from Jamie.’ I smirked. ‘Call it foreplay, if you will.’ Byron’s eyes suddenly darkened. ‘And I returned your silly jewel.’ I said, referring to the stunning Lia Saifire.
A muscle jerked in his cheek. ‘Are you expecting my gratitude?’
‘No.’ I nibbled on my bottom lip. ‘Why didn’t you tell your father that I was going to compete in the Games?’
‘I had no idea you were going to do such a thing.’
‘Yes, you did.’ I eyed him speculatively. ‘In fact, I think you told me about the Games because you wanted me to compete. Were you missing me?’
His face took on a look of mock sorrow. ‘Yes. I couldn’t sleep at night without knowing where you were. Food tasted like ash in my mouth. I couldn’t find joy in anything. When the sun shone, it was as if the very heavens were laughing at me.’
‘Yeah? And when was the last time the sun shone?’
Byron grinned suddenly with such a flash of pure enjoyment that I wished I’d done more to see it earlier. ‘Probably October.’
I smiled back. ‘Holding these Games in February seems a deliberate action to freeze my tits off.’
I thought maybe I’d been too crude and wished I could back take the words but Byron responded with his own spark. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, ‘My balls are blue. I can’t imagine what they’ll be like tomorrow when I have to wear a kilt.’ He winked and my mouth went dry. I didn’t normally have fantasies about those particular body parts but I had a very vivid image now. ‘Nice tartan, by the way. I’m guessing the hot pink is your personal addition?’
Before I could answer, I spotted Tipsania in the doorway. Her eyes landed on us and she wasted no time in making her way towards us. ‘Your girlfriend’s
here,’ I murmured. I gave her my most professional smile.
She sniffed and stopped inches from us. ‘Integrity.’
I tried not to look surprised that she’d remembered my name.
‘That tartan wouldn’t look out of place in a mock Highland stripper show in Vegas.’ She bared her teeth. ‘You know, in one of those smaller venues where a shot of vodka costs about a dollar. A real … classy joint.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I returned coolly. ‘I’ve never been to one.’
‘Haven’t you?’ She moved alongside Byron and hooked her arm through his, laying claim to her man and marking her territory. I was surprised she didn’t hike up her skirts, squat down and urinate on his shoe. ‘We went last year, didn’t we, By? It was just the two of us. It’s more romantic than you’d think.’ She giggled. ‘There was a wedding chapel I really liked. You weren’t so keen, were you, Byron?’ She glanced at me. ‘I think he’d rather have a large traditional ceremony.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You’re engaged?’
Tipsania preened. ‘Not yet.’ She cast a sidelong look at Byron. ‘But who knows what might happen when the Games are over?’
Byron cleared his throat; he was obviously uncomfortable and I had a sudden flash of insight. He was going to compete and if he won, he’d ask for a monetary reward to help bring his Clan out of their dire financial straits. If he lost, he’d probably end up having to wed good old Tipsy. The Scyrmgeours were loaded. I felt a flicker of unexpected sympathy for her. It didn’t last.
‘You don’t really think that you can win the Games, do you?’ she asked me. ‘It’ll be so embarrassing when you come last. And you do understand the terms of participation? That each participating – and losing ‒ Clan has to help provide the prize for the winner. That’ll be rather difficult for you when you have no Clan.’ She pasted on an expression of mock concern. ‘You don’t want to find yourself heavily in debt for the next twenty years.’ She touched my arm. ‘I’m just thinking of you.’
‘Your kindness knows no bounds,’ I managed through clenched teeth. ‘But my mind is made up.’ And then, because I could think of nothing better than seeing the expression on her face when I outdid her in every single challenge, I asked, ‘And you? Will you be competing?’
She tittered. ‘Of course. But we all know who’s going to win.’
‘Do we?’
Her grip on Byron tightened. ‘Of course. He’s the most powerful Sidhe we’ve seen in decades, aren’t you, darling?’
‘It takes more than brute strength to win the Games,’ he said, his eyes on me. His focus – especially while Tipsania was hanging off him like a limpet – was making me uncomfortable.
‘May the best Sidhe win,’ I murmured. ‘I’ll look forward to holding the same title my father did.’
Tipsania was taken aback that I’d chosen to invoke my father’s ghost but Byron smiled.
Seeking the fastest route out of the conversation, I searched for anyone who might provide an escape route. Brochan gave me a meaningful glance – he was ready to step in if necessary – but I’d spotted someone else.
‘Chieftain MacBain!’ I called.
The woman, draped in her Clan tartan and holding herself stiffly upright as she swept through the hallway with numerous Sidhe trotting behind her, turned at the sound of her name. When she saw me, she blanched.
I wasn’t going to let her get away. ‘Excuse me,’ I said to Tipsania and Byron and darted away before the Chieftain could make a run for it.
‘I was hoping we might get a chance to catch up,’ I said, sweeping a wholly unnecessary curtsey.
She looked down her nose. ‘How nice but I’m in an incredible hurry.’ She tried to push past me but I held my ground, ignoring the vicious looks I was receiving from her hangers-on.
‘I have something you might be interested in,’ I told her.
She sniffed. ‘I doubt that.’
‘When did Matthew MacBain go missing?’
Her body stilled. ‘Pardon?’
You heard me, you old bint. ‘Matthew MacBain,’ I repeated. ‘One of your ancestors. When did he disappear?’
She looked speculative. ‘A long time before you were born.’
‘Do you know what happened to him?’
I could see that she desperately wanted to get away from me but curiosity was getting the better of her. ‘There are … stories,’ she said stiffly.
‘He went to the Veil, right? Passed into the Lowlands?’
She had a good poker face but she couldn’t control the faint flush around her neck. It drew attention to the ugly silver and pearl necklace which hung there. There was no accounting for taste.
‘How did you know that?’
I looked round. There were too many people eavesdropping on our conversation. ‘Perhaps we can meet in private later,’ I said. ‘I really do think I can shed some light on what happened to him.’
She stared at me. She had dark hair shot through with threads of grey which was pulled back tightly in an elaborate bun. Her mouth was pursed and tight. I had the impression that this was someone who wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. All the same, I’d piqued her interest.
‘Very well,’ she said finally. ‘I am otherwise engaged tonight but after tomorrow’s opening ceremony, I will grant you an audience.’
The MacBain leader had delusions of grandeur – grant me an audience indeed. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Taylor shake his head at me. He was right. She might well prove to be my ticket in. ‘How about before the ceremony?’ I hedged.
Chieftain MacBain’s eyes turned cold at my presumptuousness. I thought she’d deny me but she wanted to know what information I had. In fact, I’d say she was desperate. ‘Was Matthew your grandfather?’ I asked, before she could answer.
‘Uncle,’ she said shortly. She glared at me for a moment as if it were my fault he was no longer with us. ‘Very well. My quarters at 11 a.m.’ Then, in case I tried to change the time again, she marched away.
I watched her go. If I played this correctly, I’d have her vote to get me into the Games. Perfect. I looked at Tipsania and Byron who were both still watching me. ‘Tipsy,’ I called out cheerfully, ‘where is your father right now? I’d love to catch up with him.’
She turned away, pretending not to hear me.
‘He’s at the main tent out the front,’ Byron told me. There was a question in his eyes: why would I seek out the Bull when I’d run away from his so-called guardianship when I was a child? There was clearly no love lost between us. But Byron didn’t know everything.
I called my thanks and beckoned to my posse. ‘I need you to stay here. Sooner or later someone will show us where we can sleep. They won’t want to lose face by having us bed down here.’
‘They should have taken us there the moment we arrived,’ Brochan growled.
‘Let them play their petty games,’ I said. ‘We’ll keep our big guns for the important stuff.’
Lexie fiddled with her hair. ‘I’ve been trying to get the Sidhe onside. They’re all being very friendly but as soon as I mention your name…’
‘I know. Someone’s been spreading nasty rumours about me.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. Much as it galls me to accept it, Aifric has promised to give me his support and if I go and talk to the Bull now, I can force him to do it too. It looks like Chieftain MacBain might just be our third supporter.’
Taylor’s chest puffed out. ‘That’s my girl.’
I grinned.
Chapter Seven
Byron was correct: the moment I stepped into the vast tent designed to keep the Games’ attendees pampered and refreshed, I spotted the Bull leaning heavily against the bar. At least it was still early, so the tent was virtually empty. No doubt it would be a different scenario tomorrow when the Games began.
Weaving my way through the empty tables and chairs – and avoiding the harassed-looking servants of every ethnicity and race who were under pressure to make everything ready – I m
ade a beeline for him. I didn’t think he had registered my approach but he didn’t look surprised when I made my presence known.
‘Chieftain Scrymgeour,’ I said, with a hint of amusement. ‘Buy me a drink?’
The sour turn to his mouth proved how unhappy he was to see me but he couldn’t refuse. In order to save his life, he’d given me his true name and now he was mine. He couldn’t say no to me – no matter what I asked of him. He did, however, have some wiggle room.
‘I’ll have a Buckie Delight for the lady,’ he said, crooking a finger at the barman.
‘Water will…’
He held up a palm. ‘No. I think you’ll enjoy this.’ I could tell from his tone that a Buckie Delight was probably the most disgusting drink known to man. I shrugged. I could make him order me something else or brazen it out; for some stupid reason, I chose the latter.
While the barman turned away to make my drink, I focused on the Bull. If anything, he looked heavier than the last time we’d met. For someone with his wealth and position, he didn’t lead the healthiest of lifestyles.
‘You should take better care of yourself,’ I told him. ‘You look like Jabba the Hutt with a bad case of stomach flu.’
‘Who?’
I sighed. The least I could have done was find myself an unwilling slave who knew something about popular science fiction. ‘Never mind.’ I propped an elbow onto the bar and rested my chin on my hand. ‘How’s your Gift doing these days?’ I asked.
Suddenly his face was wide and fearful. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he growled. I’d asked the question though, so he couldn’t evade it that easily. ‘It is … diminished,’ he said through gritted teeth.
I sucked in a breath. So it was true. My subconscious was stealing Gifts, whether I wanted it to or not. I absorbed the information, my mind whirring through the possibilities.
Malevolence glittered from his dark eyes. ‘It’s because you stole my name from me.’
No, it wasn’t but he didn’t need to know that. ‘So it’s been like that since our escapade through the air?’ I prodded. ‘Your Gift lost its power and it’s not returned?’