“Although saying fairies are good or bad is a bit unfair,” Flynn piped up. “Like I said, all fairies are wankers.”
I smiled, but Flynn’s strained expression made the smile fade as soon as it appeared. Flynn actually seemed serious.
“Iron and smelted metal is poison to the fae,” Arthur continued. “That’s why they have those white blades – they make them from bone. And that’s why I learned to fight with a sword – it can do more damage to fae than bullets or fists.”
“That’s probably all Maeve needs to know tonight,” Corbin said, cutting Arthur off mid-monologue. “She’s got that incredulous look on her face that suggests she might stop believing us any second.”
“I’ve haven’t actually decided to believe any of this yet,” I said. “Except the bit about Kalen and his buddies being dangerous. That part I get.”
“We’ve got the protections in place, so you’re safe as long as you stay on the castle grounds. We can all go in a group if we have to go to the village, and Dora – she’s our housekeeper – will bring us groceries and other supplies.” Arthur touched my arm. “You’ve already been through enough. We won’t let them hurt you.”
I folded my arms. “That’s not good enough. If these fae really are going to attack me, I want to learn to fight them off, just the way you guys did.”
“That’s not…” Arthur looked confused. “I mean, why?”
“Why? Because contrary to what our surroundings suggest,” I jabbed a finger at the swords dangling from the iron chandelier, “this isn’t the thirteenth century, and I don’t expect a bunch of guys I just met to be my knights in shining armor. I’d rather learn things for myself.”
Besides, this whole move was about doing something completely out of my comfort zone, and swinging a sword around definitely counts.
“I would hate for you to get hurt,” Arthur said, rubbing his beard. “I’d feel like it was my fault.”
“That’s my choice to make. There’s more chance of me getting hurt if I don’t know how to defend myself, and that will be your fault. So you’ll teach me to fight?”
“I will,” Arthur said. “I have to lead a tour tomorrow morning, but we can start in the afternoon if you like.”
“Good.”
I settled back into the couch, and a wave of exhaustion rolled over me. The plane ride, meeting the guys and seeing that picture of my mother, the pub, the attack, this stupid story about the fae… it was a lot to happen in a single day. I rubbed my eyes.
“I think I need to go to bed,” I said.
Corbin checked his phone. “Yes, of course. You must be utterly shagged.”
“I’m guessing shagged means tired? You guys say the weirdest things.”
“Shagged is a great word,” Flynn grinned. “It has many meanings. I can enlighten you—”
“Perhaps another day,” Corbin said. I barely heard him. It was taking all my energy just to keep my eyes open. Arthur leaned over and wrapped his thick arm around the back of my neck, the other one under my knees. He lifted me from the couch and started walking across the room.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he whispered in my ear, his beard tickling my skin.
After all my talk about not being treated like a medieval princess, I knew I shouldn’t let Arthur carry me to bed. But his arms felt so good around me and the ideal of dragging myself up the two steep flights of stairs to my bedroom tower made me want to get right back on the plane and go back to Arizona. Beautiful, flat Arizona. I snuggled in against Arthur, letting the scent of soot and fresh sweat and darkness wash over me.
“Goodnight, Einstein!” Flynn called out.
The other guys called goodnight to me, and I mumbled something back. My body bounced as Arthur ascended first the main staircase, then the narrow, winding stairs leading up the the tower. “Here you are, Princess. Home at last.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, barely holding my eyes open.
Arthur planted me in the middle of the enormous bed. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Goodnight, Maeve. I hope you don’t find a pea in the mattress. If you do, blame it on Flynn.”
I smiled. “Goodnight, Aragorn.”
Arthur hovered for a few moments, like he wanted to say something else, do something else. My heart fluttered a little, and the tightness in my chest tugged against a rising ache between my legs. I focused on Arthur’s lips, suddenly transfixed by the curve of them, by the tiny line of bare skin just visible between the pink flesh and his wild viking beard.
What would it be like to kiss him? How would it feel to have Arthur’s enormous hands on my body, his tight muscles against my skin? My heart beat faster at the thought of it. Somehow, I knew it would be a hundred times better than anything I’d done with Andrew.
Kiss him. Go on. Just lean over and kiss him.
An invisible force tugged me toward Arthur. The air between us crackled with heat. I wasn’t tired any more. I was very, very awake, and very, very aware of Arthur’s body only a foot from mine, his huge arms propping him up against the bed, his black metal t-shirt pulling against his broad shoulders.
Kiss him, Maeve.
This voice in my head was completely foreign. Maeve Crawford didn’t go around kissing strange Viking boys she’d only just met. Maeve Crawford was the pastor's daughter, the science geek, the girl who never fit in in Coopersville.
But I wasn’t in Coopersville anymore. I’d come halfway around the world to find myself. Here, I wasn’t Maeve Crawford. I was Maeve Moore, broken girl, mourning girl, and maybe Maeve Moore was exactly the type of girl who made the first move, who kissed a hot Viking guy who made fire shoot from his fingers, just because she wanted to.
And damn, did I want to. Arthur’s lips parted, just a fraction. His eyes betrayed his own desire.
“Maeve…” he whispered. My name had never sounded so sexy as it did in his deep, husky voice and British accent.
Heart pounding, I leaned forward, my hands on the bedspread, only inches from Arthur’s forearms. I half-expected him to pull back, but instead, his whole body jerked as I brushed my lips against his.
A spark of fire shot straight from Arthur’s lips right through my body, reaching right into my chest and wrenching free the vise that had been clamped around me ever since my parents died. I sighed with relief, with the sheer pleasure of his warm touch, of his beard tickling my chin and upper lip.
Arthur moaned, pressing his lips against mine with such force it bent my head back. I pressed back, my lips parting slightly. His tongue slid against mine, warm and soft and delicious.
I breathed deep the smell of him – a hot, smoky scent, mingled with the fresh smell of the sweat he’d worked up fighting off the fae. Arthur reached up, his thick hand grasping my cheek, pulling me against him. I knew that hand could crush me in a moment, and that made him even more sexy.
Heat and emotions raced through my veins, my body begging for release. I reached up my own hand and tangled it in his hair, tugging at his collar, wanting his skin against mine—
My parents are dead.
A rush of sorrow flooded my body as the realization hit me again. Only now, Arthur had released the vise on my chest, and the pain arced through me, raw and unhindered. They’re dead, dead, dead.
I tore away in surprise as tears sprung in my eyes. Arthur’s kiss had unleashed some kind of deluge. I raised my hand to my cheek. It was streaked with rivers of salty tears.
Arthur stared at me, his kind face crumpling. To see a guy that tough, that badass, look so completely crushed would’ve been totally endearing had I not been in the middle of some kind of meltdown. “Maeve, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No, I…” I gulped as thick, choking sobs clutched my throat. My whole body shook as the grief poured out of me, spilling through my body. “I just… it’s just hit me that I’m here… that all this happened because they’re dead. My parents are dead. I don’t… I shouldn’t—”
“Did kissing me make you
happy?” he asked.
I nodded, my body wracked by another choking sob. Arthur cringed away, as if my pain physically hurt him. He reached out a hand. It hovered in the air between us. I leaned forward, ready to fall into his arms, to pour out my pain against his body, but he pulled away and stood up.
“I have to go,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Maeve.”
“But—” The idea of being alone right now, to sit with this horrible, crushing grief by myself, made me long for the numbness again.
“Hey,” Arthur placed a finger over my lips. “This was fun. I want to stay, believe me. But I’m dangerously close to losing control here, and you’ve had a pretty intense day, all things considered. I don’t want to do something we both might regret. But we can pick this up another time, and then,” his voice got this rough growl to it that made my insides ache. “You’ll be crying out in pleasure.”
It was all I could do but stare helplessly after Arthur as he backed out of the room, his eyes betraying how torn he was. He pulled the door shut behind him, plunging the room into complete darkness.
Alone now with only my pain for company, I collapsed against the sheets. My body shook as I let the tears fall, the beautiful and horrible release of all the sorrow and guilt I’d been stamping down and hiding away ever since that night.
Memories assailed me, dancing in front of my stinging eyes. Mom’s cringingly naive attempt to give Kelly and I a sex-education talk, which mostly consisted of her cajoling us to wear promise rings. Dad singing Beatles songs at the top of his lungs as he cooked breakfast for us every morning. Endless Sundays giggling in the back pew with Kelly while Dad delivered his sermons with great aplomb.
The tears rolled down my cheeks, dribbled over my chin, and pooled in my collar bone. Why? Why did they have to die? I never got to say goodbye, to tell them how much I loved them for adopting me when no one else would. I never got to say that even though we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of stuff, that I was proud to be their daughter.
And now I never would.
Pale moonlight streamed through the still-open windows, casting long shadows across the room. I lifted my hand up toward the dim light. In my palm was the tiny twig Rowan had given me. Just trying to think about what happened tonight made my temples ache. I couldn’t process it through the grief. But that little twig…
Even though objectively, it was just a tiny piece of wood, I knew somewhere inside me that this was important, that it carried something of Rowan with him.
I slid the twig under my pillow. Maybe it would bring me peaceful dreams, free of the nightmares that were now playing out in my head. But I very much doubted it.
11
BLAKE
I was on guard duty at the towering sarsen stones that marked the entrance to the human realm when Kalen returned from his assignment. He toppled through the stones in his dog form, legs kicking in the air, mouth foaming. As soon as he hit the earth he shifted back to his preferred shape, but this was not the arrogant prince I’d known my whole life. He lolled and moaned in the dirt, his collar torn and half his face eaten away. Green blood – presumably his own – splattered down the front of his coat. The other two Unseelie soldiers did not follow him.
“Blake,” he gasped, dragging his body along the ground. “Help me.”
I lifted Kalen to his feet, inspecting the wounds on his face. He’d been burned by something, the skin melted away to reveal the muscle beneath. His eyelid was gone, the other one screwed shut, and that one glimmering eyeball pivoted to stare at me, wide with pain and horror. It looked like elemental magic to me. “You have looked better, brother. How did you obtain these wounds?”
And where are the two guards who accompanied you? Daigh had given Kalen the simple assignment of taking two fae into the human realm, using both the Seelie and Unseelie crossing stones. This was the first test of the reach of our combined magic, and it had seemed to be a success as, for the first time in decades, three fae crossed into the human realm at the same time. But from the looks of things, it hadn’t ended on a high note.
Kalen coughed, splattering blood on my own coat, which I wiped away. “Those Briarwood bastards did this… they got the others.”
“You ran into the witches? You were supposed to avoid them so they didn’t know of our strength.”
“There was an opportunity. We could have taken them down, but they were stronger than we thought.”
“That was a stupid idea. Of course they’re strong. They’ve just acquired a powerful witch. Even if she doesn’t know what she is, her very presence at Briarwood will increase their power.”
“I know that now,” Kalen shot back. “But if you’d seen them walking across the very field you were hiding in, completely oblivious to your presence, then tell me you wouldn’t have attempted it.”
I wouldn’t have, but I had my own reasons, and he didn’t need to know them. “If I’d done it, I would’ve come back with the girl, and not with two less fae. Now the witches know we have gained significant power. They will be on their guard. Your foolhardy stunt has cost us the advantage of surprise.”
He winced. “I am hoping Daigh will not see it that way.”
“The king’s already in a terrible mood. The Seelie fae aren’t stepping into line the way he wishes. You’re just going to make his night.”
Kalen’s ruined face sagged. “Will you return to Court with me?”
“I’m on duty. Oh—” I waved to a figure just rising over the crest of the hill, a fierce bow resting on her shoulder. “There’s my replacement now. In that case, I will accompany you back to Court. I wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks.”
“Vouch for me, brother?” Kalen pleaded. “Remind Dear Father of all my loyal service?”
I smiled, and patted his shoulder reassuringly. Kalen looked a little relieved, which seemed premature to me. If he took my shoulder pat for an answer to his request, that was his own stupid fault.
Word that only Kalen had returned from the foray reached Court before we did, no doubt passed along by the scouts that guarded the road between our land and the old Seelie Court. A few lone fae were still holding out there – led by my friend Laoise – refusing to swear their oaths to Kalen, and they were guarding a stash of nectar wine that Daigh wanted in order to reward his soldiers.
The Unseelie Court held its revels between three sidhe in a wide meadow at the foot of the valley, where the two forests of Tir Na Nog met. Kalen and I shoved our way through the dancers and brawls. Sprites and brownies leapt out of our way, chittering with curiosity. As princes, we commanded attention wherever we went, and that was especially true now the Seelie Court fairies had joined with us. Fae dressed in both Seelie green and Unseelie black and brown danced around us, laughing and jeering and offering us food. With every step, Kalen shrunk a little further into himself.
“Greetings, Princes,” Daigh’s voice boomed over the court din. He reclined on a sedan chair held by four groaning far darrigs, while several sprites flitted around his head, peeling fruit with their tiny fingers and feeding them to him. “I see you have returned with fewer fae than you left with. Tell me, where are my loyal and mighty warriors? Will they be joining us in our revels shortly?”
“Um… they will not, oh wise King of Winter,” Kalen said, dropping to his knees. I stepped back, wanting a good spot for the show, but not so good that Daigh somehow thought I was defending Kalen. “We met the Briarwood witches in the meadow, and they overpowered us. They are stronger than ever. They—”
“You confronted the witches?” Daigh’s voice remained jolly. Only the throbbing vein on the side of his temple gave away his true displeasure.
“I didn’t mean to!” Kalen cried out. “We were trying to make it back to the sidhe, and they were traveling across the field from the village. They were right on top of us. We fought valiantly, but they had the girl with them, so we didn’t have a chance—”
“Maeve was there?” The king’s voice lowered an octave, booming acro
ss the glen. The sprites scattered in fright, dropping half-peeled fruit across the ground. “You allowed them to see you? Maeve saw you?”
“As I said, it wasn’t my fault.” Kalen jerked his head at me. “Blake will speak for me. He knows that I—”
A wet thwack emitted from Kalen’s head and his protests cut off. A thin wheeze escaped his throat at the same time a line of blood appeared around his neck.
Daigh was no longer sitting in his throne. He stood beside his son, his bone blade at his side, the tip pointed at the ground. The length of the blade dripped with blood. He moved so fast I hadn’t even seen him – human eyes cannot process the true speed of a fae.
He’d cleaved his son’s head off with such precision that it hadn’t even fallen from Kalen’s neck.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Kalen’s eyes glassed over, and with a final wheeze, his body sagged to the ground, reverting to its dog form. His head separated from his body and rolled across the dirt, coming to a stop at my feet. I kicked it toward Daigh, who laughed his deep, horrible laugh, and kicked it over to Elden, the General of the Unseelie guard. Elden kicked it to Hefeydd, and an impromptu game of soccer broke out in the middle of Court.
The Seelie faeries hung back in horror, wrinkling their faces with distaste as the lines of royal blood marred the dirt. But they were in our Court now, where chaos and cruelty reigned.
With the Court thus occupied, I slipped back from the crowd and made my way to my father’s throne. Daigh reclined once more, polishing his sword against his black cloak, smearing his son’s blood down his shirt. I knew, objectively, that the sight of it should make me sick, but I’d seen Daigh kill many princes in my lifetime. He could always bear more children, and the life of a prince was only worth as much as his duty and loyalty to the Court.
The Castle of Earth and Embers Page 9