by Shona Husk
“Get me the Counter-Window and I shall free him straightaway.” He kissed her fuchsia lips for the last time. “If you fail…” He let the threat hang unsaid. There were too many lives at stake. Human and fairy.
“I won’t fail.” Her eyes glittered like palest sapphire and she drew away as brittle as any fairy. But with Dylis there were no fake formalities. They both knew where they stood in bed and out of it.
He stood and buttoned his shirt. “I value your presence more than you know.” When he took the throne she’d make a fine Hunter.
Dylis inclined her head, the ever-obedient courtier. “Thank you, Prince. I will hold you to your fine words.” She buckled on her blade and checked her appearance before facing him. “What do you know of a fairy called Riobard?”
Felan glanced up. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time. “He left Court a very long time ago to wander amongst the mortals. Why?”
“I was doing some digging in the mortal world and his name was mentioned in connection with the Window.” Dylis was watching him closely.
“Riobard, like your Bramwel, was a minstrel before I’d reached one hundred mortal years. After a fight with his lover he left, never to be seen again.” Felan picked up his waistcoat. “There were a few rumors that he took some things. A silver pipe, a set of dice… trinkets that mortals wouldn’t suspect gave him an advantage.”
“So he could’ve taken the Window.”
“If he did, the loss was never mentioned.” He looked at Dylis. “For obvious reasons.” No one would want to admit to owning it and losing it.
“Who was his lover?”
“Sulia’s mother.” While Sulia’s mother was dead, Sulia was the Queen’s favorite lady-in-waiting.
Dylis gave a low whistle that sounded more mortal than fairy. “Do you think she still has the Counter-Window?”
Felan shrugged. “If she does, I doubt she knows what she has, otherwise she’d have handed it over to my mother.” The word caught and left a bad taste in his mouth. “I could probably get an invitation to her chamber.”
She pressed her lips together for a moment as if calculating her next few steps. Felan liked the way she was always thinking ahead. “Too risky; besides, you told me once you’d rather cut it off than sleep with her.”
He laughed. “I’d make an exception in this case.”
“Better I arrange something.”
She was right. Dylis had reach in places he didn’t—including with his mother’s ladies. He put his hand on her arm. “Watch yourself in that den of wolves.”
“I will.” She inclined her head and pulled away.
Felan walked over to the desk and picked up a box. Made of sandalwood and lined with delicate fairy-made velvet, the box itself was a work of art no human could match, but the gift was inside. “A gift for my son.”
Dylis looked at the box, and then at him. Her eyebrows were drawn down. “Am I to say it’s from you?”
Felan nodded. It was time to let Caspian know he hadn’t forgotten him and that his father knew of the son’s dealings with the banished Shea.
Chapter 7
Caspian walked into his kitchen. His house was empty. After the warmth and heady history of Lydia’s house, his home seemed even worse—just a box of brick and mortar.
For the first time since his divorce, he felt truly alone. It wasn’t the Brownies he missed, or even Dylis. It was the simple pleasure of coming home to someone. Of having someone to care about. He’d walked away from that and never looked back, but Lydia had pulled the blinders off and now he was forced to look at what his life had become. He spent more time with echoes of the past than he did with real people. He hadn’t been on a date in eight months. The three dates he’d been on hadn’t gone anywhere because the whole time he’d been thinking of the lies he’d have to tell and the things he might see about them, even if he didn’t want to. He sighed and fiddled with the broken tea set. The contents hadn’t been touched. If he were a Brownie, he wouldn’t have touched it either.
He shouldn’t have kissed Lydia.
He wanted to kiss her again.
He imagined he could still taste her on his lips, and feel the heat of her body pressed to his. The curve of her hip under his hand and the way her body had shifted closer as the kiss had deepened. After that moment the rest of the evening had been off-kilter. Not awkward, but not comfortable.
Then she’d asked him to stay. Even now he could feel the lingering heat in his blood. It had taken everything he had in him to walk out that door. He craved her touch. But whatever was going on between them, it was a bad idea to act upon it. Not with his heritage. Not if there was a Grey lurking about. He leaned against the kitchen counter and closed his eyes.
Still, there was no doubt his dreams tonight would be full of Lydia.
Something in the air shifted around him and Caspian knew he was no longer alone in the house. He recognized the heady perfume of Court. He cracked open his eyes and saw Dylis; she was what he guessed was her natural height for a change. She had also managed to layer several items of clothing on varying shades of blue to produce an outfit that a fashion designer would be proud of. The longer he looked the more he thought she was wearing enough clothes for three days.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
“Thinking.” Like it mattered to her.
Dylis placed a box on the kitchen counter.
He was tempted to ask about it but decided that he probably wouldn’t like the answer. That she came from Court bearing gifts put him on edge.
“Aren’t you curious?” She kicked his foot.
“About the box or what you found out about the Window?”
She grinned and bobbed down next to him. “Both.”
“Tell me about the Window.” But his gaze slid to the box she’d carried in. It came from Annwyn; he could feel the shimmer of magic from here.
Dylis tapped the glass oven door and an image formed of two polished copper mirrors. Oval hand mirrors—the kind one expected an evil queen to hold as she asked who was the fairest in the land.
Gooseflesh rose down Caspian’s arms. He was rapidly coming to dislike mirrors of any type. “What am I looking at?”
“This is the last known appearance of the Window and Counter-Window.”
“Why are there two?”
“Together they are a portal to Annwyn. The Counter-Window is somewhere in Annwyn, and the Window is here… we think.”
“How could something so valuable be lost in the mortal world?” He should be in bed dreaming of Lydia, not standing in the kitchen talking about fairy-made mirrors.
Dylis gave him a look that had lost its power around the time he’d turned eighteen. “Things get exchanged, misplaced, and forgotten about. You mortals die so fast it’s hard to keep track of where things go. Plus it can’t be tracked by those with fairy blood.”
“So I can’t find it anyway.” What had she been hoping, that he’d trip over it and realize what it was?
“You will be able to recognize it when you touch it. It’s why Shea came to you and not another changeling. It’s why I asked you to keep an eye out.”
“And I was thinking it was because of my father.”
“Ah, no. Most don’t know who your father is. Trust me when I say that’s the way you want to keep it.”
He’d take her word on that. “Why not destroy the Counter-Window and prevent him from getting through?”
Dylis raised her eyebrows as if he’d just suggested she chew iron filings. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make something this powerful? The Court would rather it be returned.”
Of course they would because they wouldn’t be inconvenienced by the search. He would be. “There can’t be too many hand mirrors this old lying around. It’s probably in a museum.”
“No one has seen it for five hundred years. And no one has heard of it in a century. It’s probably changed shape a dozen times.” Dylis gave a shrug and the image vanished, leaving Caspia
n staring at himself in the dark glass of the oven, a frown creasing his forehead.
“It changes shape?” Whoever made the portal had gone to a lot of trouble to keep it from falling into the wrong hands.
“I told you that.” She crossed her arms. “You don’t seem to understand the implications. If Shea uses the Window to get back to Annwyn, the war he starts will cause ripples on the river so big that an outbreak of smallpox will look like a sneeze.”
“So how am I supposed to find a mirror that can’t be traced and changes shape?”
“I don’t know.”
Caspian’s jaw worked. While usually he didn’t discuss his work or his lack of dating with Dylis, Callaway House might be important. He pulled out his camera and scrolled through the pictures he’d taken that evening, stopping on the one of the fairy man. He’d zoomed in and got one of just that picture. “Do you know who he is?”
Dylis frowned. “Where did you get this?”
“I’m doing a valuation at Callaway House. His picture was up on the wall.” He paused, but knew he should tell her about the “ghost.” “I think there’s also a Grey in the house.”
“He is definitely not a Grey.”
“You can tell that from a picture?” Caspian looked at the picture again, but still couldn’t pick it.
She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Of course I can. Why is a Grey at the house? Did it follow you?”
“No, according to Lydia it’s always been there. She thinks it’s a ghost.”
“Greys don’t live forever. Are you sure it wasn’t just mice?”
Caspian rolled his eyes. “I know what fairy footsteps sound like. Plus, Greys make me…” there was something about them that warned him they were near, “tingle.” And not in a good way.
“Interesting.” She took the camera and looked at it again. “Musician?”
The look on her face was far too calculated. “What?”
“Just… the last name connected with the Window was Riobard; he was a Court minstrel who stole some things and left, never to be seen again.”
Until now. Cold snaked down his spine. If Riobard was the man in the picture, then the Window could be at Callaway House. It could be why the ghost was there but unable to find it.
“If a fairy touched the Window, would they know what it was?”
“It’s a secret portal; you have to know how to activate it.”
“So even if a Grey found it, without knowing it was the Window it would be useless.”
Dylis nodded. “You can see why it’s so valuable.”
Oh, he did. He also knew why Shea had come to him, and why the ghost was constantly searching. Without knowing how to activate the Window it was just another mirror. But Shea would know how to use it. Suddenly finding it before Shea did became a whole lot more important. At the moment only he and Dylis knew it was most likely at Callaway House. But if Shea realized it, Lydia could be in danger.
Dylis looked at him, and he knew she’d been thinking the same thing. “You have to get back there and find it.”
Finding the Window was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack, even for him. Callaway House was filled with stuff, then there was the stable and the cabins, and so many places to hide something. For all he knew it was buried, or in the roof. “I need the Counter-Window.” It would be his best chance to find it.
He took a breath as he realized what he was doing. Like any fairy he was getting drawn into the twisty world of fairy politics and finding it exciting. No, he was doing it for Lydia. Having a Grey in the house and having something that valuable and dangerous in her possession wasn’t good. She knew nothing of fairies and could be tricked into all kinds of trouble.
“I’m working on it. In the meantime, keep looking; we have to find it first.” She tapped the box she’d brought with her. “I spoke with your father about Shea. This is from him.”
“No, no. I won’t be sucked into accepting gifts. You can take it back.” Caspian’s gaze flicked between the box and Dylis.
“It’s from your father.” She shrunk down to her usual ten inches to conserve power then leaned an elbow on the box “I can’t take it back.”
The box smelled exotic. Sandalwood. It had been delicately carved so the flowers on the sides looked like they were swaying in the breeze. He narrowed his eyes—were they swaying? He reached out his hand to touch the wood and find out, but stopped millimeters from the surface. He blinked and broke the spell the box was weaving.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know. It’s a gift.”
“What’s it for?” If she’d expected him to be delighted his father had acknowledged him, she was wrong. His father had never shown any interest in his life, or even in getting to know him. Biology didn’t mean squat.
“I don’t know, he didn’t say.”
In thirty-five years his father had never sent a gift, yet one mirror needed to be found and one banished fairy lord appeared on Caspian’s doorstep and suddenly presents arrived. He was as suspicious as he was tempted. He wanted to know what was inside. Even though he hated his fairy blood, particularly at the moment, he still wanted to meet his father and ask all the questions he’d had growing up—even if he didn’t like the answers. As a child he’d always felt that somehow he must be unworthy of Annwyn since his father was the Prince and didn’t want him. Felan hadn’t even waited for him to be born before casting him off. His mother had said the last time she’d seen Felan she’d been five months pregnant. Just talking about Felan had upset her. Another reason to hate the Prince.
Bloody fairies thinking they could walk in and use humans for whatever they wanted and leave without a second glance.
“You open it,” he said to Dylis. She wasn’t here because she liked him. She was here because Felan ordered her to be here. His father thought highly enough of his changeling son to provide a bodyguard and fairy tutor. For that Caspian had to be grateful. Love him or hate him, they would always be tied by blood and Annwyn.
She rolled her eyes and muttered something that could’ve been about damned souls and rivers, which Caspian chose to ignore.
“You are more like your father every day,” she snapped.
Dylis grunted, flicked the catch, and pushed back the lid. She gave a whistle, then glanced at Caspian. “He raided the armory and placed a strategic land mine.”
The warning tingle became a tightening of his gut. Despite his better judgment, Caspian leaned over and took a look inside the box. Cradled on a bed of the most delicate green velvet he’d ever seen was a silver tea set. But it wasn’t plain silver—that would’ve been far too simple. Chips of gems were woven into delicate knots that looped around each cup and saucer. The knob on the top of the teapot lid was an emerald the size of a small grape.
Out of habit Caspian immediately tried to place a value on the gift. While he could price the metal and gems, he couldn’t begin to cost the craftsmanship. There was nothing like this in the human world.
He swallowed and reached out his hand, knowing it could be a trick and he’d wind up trapped inside or worse. But his father hadn’t charged Dylis with his care only to do him harm now. Beneath his fingertips the box was warm as if it had been resting in the sun.
Felan smiled as he held the box, but under the admiration of the work was worry. The tightness around his eyes gave it away. He closed the box and nodded, then he seemed to look directly at Caspian. “Enjoy the gift, son.”
Caspian broke the contact and stepped back. They were the first words he’d ever heard his father say. He curled his fingers by his side to stop himself from reaching out just to hear it again.
“Anything?” Dylis leaned forward.
“No. Just Felan holding the box,” he lied. He looked at the beautiful tea set; it was obviously meant for his Brownies. “I suppose I should set it up.”
For once Dylis said nothing.
Caspian carefully pulled out each piece. The warm metal gave him no impressions of
whoever had handled it before Felan. It was odd—there was always a residual something. As he went through the motions of filling the sugar bowl and milk jug, then brewing fresh tea, the silver seemed to glow with life. There was magic in the set. More magic than he liked having around.
“What’s it doing?”
“Protecting the house. Shea won’t get back in.”
“Is that all it’s doing?”
“I think so.” Dylis walked around the setting as if trying to unlock the secrets of the glowing tea set.
His life was too weird. He could just imagine inviting Lydia over and trying to explain that. This is my tea set. Why yes, they are real rubies and sapphires, and that’s a magic glow, not a radioactive one.
He rubbed his hand over his eyes. It was too late to be dealing with more fairy crap. He climbed the stairs, ready to give in to the exhaustion and sleep. He was stopped at his bedroom door. A silver dagger with a jeweled hilt had been driven through the wood. Shea had been there. And the message was clear: He wanted the Window, and Caspian was running out of time to find it.
Chapter 8
Last night’s fairy drama seemed so far away. If not for the dagger now on his bedside table and the silver tea set in the kitchen, he could have dreamed it. He showered, his thoughts already on Callaway House and Lydia, and he couldn’t stop the smile from forming. It was beginning to feel like a good day. As he dried he tried not to think of the ways it could all go wrong, or that he was going to have to find a way to tell her about his gift.
But he had all day to work that out—that he was actually considering ways to tell her didn’t even make him pause.
He opened his wardrobe. None of his clothes were hanging up, none of his clothes were in the wardrobe, instead there was a very large pile of unraveled threads.