The dark hand lifted Munro off the ground, far above the portal. “Quinton!” Eilidh shouted. There was no mind at work that she could sense. Her astral magic was useless. She tried a trick similar to the way she’d grabbed Maiya, making a tendril of air to pull Munro back or to blow the smoke away. Neither worked. Her ropes slid though the hand as though it had no form. She wrapped her air trap around Munro’s waist, but she couldn’t hold him. He was becoming part of the mist himself.
Wind roared as she tried desperately to save him, but as quickly as the hand had appeared, it vanished, taking Munro through the portal. She ran to it, diving in after her mate. She arrived in Caledonia, much to the surprise of the Watchers on the other side. “Did Lord Druid Munro come through here?” she shouted.
“No, Your Majesty,” they said.
“Be on the alert,” she commanded and returned to the Halls of Mist.
The silence of the courtyard was pierced by Maiya’s screaming. Eilidh immediately called both Watchers and nurses for Maiya. “Protect her,” she said to Griogair. “I will—”
Then, Eilidh’s heart wrenched, and she cried out in pain. She knew the source without doubt. Her bond to Quinton had been silenced. This wasn’t like when they crossed the portals or gates or even when she’d closed the bond, preventing their minds from touching. This was a burning pain like no other. Eilidh struggled for breath and fell to her knees.
Griogair passed Maiya to a nurse. “Take the princess to the Caledonian Hall immediately.” They left without another word. He rushed toward Eilidh, supporting her as best he could after her collapse. Even as he held his mate, he shouted at the Watchers, “One of you to the library. Collect any druids present and take them to their Hall. One of you to Leocort. The Mistwatchers must be informed, and they can inform the druids. The rest of you go to every kingdom. Find out if their Watchers near the gates saw anything unusual in their portal in the past hour.”
“What happened?” one of the senior Watchers asked.
“Lord Druid Munro has been taken.”
“Dead,” Eilidh wailed. “He’s dead.” She clutched at her chest; the pain had grown unbearable. She wanted to pass out, to die herself. Her heart keened with such loss and pain as she had never imagined before. “Oh dear Father of the Azure,” she said and wept, murmuring Quinton’s name over and over as Griogair held her.
He spoke to her, but she could no longer make out his words. She was only vaguely aware of him carrying her over the mists.
Chapter 8
Not long after their arrival in the capitol city of Tafgul, Tràth and Aaron stood side by side in a Zalian reception room. Both bowed to Queen Naima. The ancient queen was striking, even more so than her daughter, who sat on a throne slightly lower on the dais. Naima had the same deep red skin, but her black hair was streaked with white. Her presence filled the long, narrow room, and her sharp eyes analysed the pair.
“Welcome to Zalia,” she said, her voice rich and deep.
“We are honoured at the invitation, Your Majesty,” Tràth replied.
“You are azuri?” she asked.
The question startled Tràth. Surely everyone knew of his rare magic. “Yes, Your Majesty. My talents are temporal.”
She snorted, seeming unimpressed before turning her gaze to Aaron. “A human in my halls. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Aaron didn’t answer. Instead he gave a slight nod. In the past couple of years living in the Halls of Mist, the druids had undergone a crash course in how to deal with fae royals. The humans relaxed around Eilidh and the Caledonian court, but Aaron held himself with every bit of arrogance the situation called for. The druids had earned the respect of the queens. Now they had to act like they expected it.
Silence hung in the air. Every royal, courtier, and servant fixed their eyes on the human druid, who stood in the centre of the room looking like he owned the place. Good for him, Tràth thought. He, on the other hand, took the opportunity to watch the queen and her daughter-heir. This introduction would be brief. The trade negotiations wouldn’t begin until the next night.
“I heard,” the queen said finally, “that one of your brethren shut the portal on Queen Konstanze, denying her entrance to her own kingdom.”
Still, Aaron did not respond. He stood, patiently and politely waiting.
The queen twitched with irritation. “Is that so?” she asked Aaron.
“It is,” he replied. Tràth noticed Aaron didn’t refer to the queen by title, but she had not given him his title either.
“How did he accomplish this?” she asked.
“We asked the Stone to forget Ashkyne,” he said. “The artefact had initial misgivings, but in the end, it complied.”
She leaned forward on her throne, squinting at him. “Why would it obey a human?”
Tràth had to admit he was surprised at the queen’s questioning of Aaron, especially in a way that seemed like such a direct challenge. On the other hand, he’d been warned to expect Queen Naima to speak her mind. Perhaps she wanted to test the druid’s mettle.
“Because our people were its makers. It remembers.”
“You are draoidh?” she asked, invoking the ancient name of the druid sorcerers who once ruled the fae and were, perhaps, even the creators of the Otherworld.
“We are,” Aaron said.
She lifted her chin and glowered down at him. “Can you prove your claim?”
“Queen Naima, I don’t think you want me to do that,” he said.
“Why are you here?” Naima asked. Her wrinkled face furrowed into a scowl.
Aaron smiled, and spread his arms, palms up. “Your daughter invited me.” He gave a polite nod to Imena. “As I have learned over the past few days, she’s a charming faerie indeed.”
“You think to court her?” She glanced at her daughter with a raised eyebrow.
Aaron chuckled. “No,” he said.
Naima sat back on her throne, evaluating Aaron. “What does the Druid Hall want of Zalia?”
With a pleasant smile, Aaron gave a minute bow. “The night is wearing thin, and we have journeyed a long way. Talks can begin with the next moonrise.” He turned to Tràth. “Come, Tràth,” he said. “Let us see what hospitality Zalia has to offer.”
“As you wish, my lord druid,” Tràth said with a bow deeper than the one he gave the queen. The whole performance was clever on Aaron’s part. Tràth wondered who’d suggested this approach.
Queen Naima appeared startled. She snapped at her daughter and jerked her head toward the two guests.
Imena stood quickly. “Let me show you to the guest wing and introduce you to the stewards who will tend your needs,” she said.
Tràth and Aaron both bowed politely to Naima again before following Imena out. The queen didn’t look pleased, but she did appear curious and thoughtful.
The princess led them out into the corridor and up a high, spiralling stair that swept from the lowest floor to the many levels of the immense castle. Dark wood and gold decorated the large, ornate stone. Heavy bars studded with long, menacing spikes blocked many of the tall, oversized doors.
“Your servants and Watchers have already been shown to the guest wing,” Imena said. She looked curiously at Aaron, then said, “I congratulate you, my lord druid.”
“On what, Princess?”
She grinned. “On flustering my mother. I don’t think anyone has managed to confound her in at least a hundred years.”
“I like her straightforwardness,” he said with a half-smile. “She seems a formidable faerie.”
“That’s an understatement,” Imena replied. On the third level, she led them away from the stair and down another long, high-ceilinged corridor.
On one side stood Tràth’s Caledonian Watchers and on the opposite, Aaron’s Mistwatchers. They came to attention when the trio approached. The head of Tràth’s guard stepped forward. “We have inspected your quarters, Your Highness. The Zalians have provided shelter in the keep. With your leave, we wil
l go settle in,” he said, saluting Tràth with a fist to his chest.
“Of course,” Tràth said. “We are among friends. You caution is admirable, but not warranted, I’m sure.”
His guard left, moving in perfect time and utter silence. Not even the leather straps on their clothing made a sound.
Aaron, on the other hand, did not dismiss his guard. He spoke to his captain. “I’ll take your report in my chambers, Mistwatcher,” he said, then hesitated. “Before I do that, Prince Tràth, I’d like a word if you have a moment?”
“Of course, my lord druid.” Turning to Princess Imena, he added, “Thank you again for your kind invitation, Princess. Seeing you is truly a pleasure.”
She cocked one eyebrow. “If you keep up this behaviour, Prince Tràth, you will lose your reputation as an unsuitable royal.”
Tràth chuckled. “I doubt that very much.”
“You are both invited to join me for refreshment in two hours. The wines we produce in the south are perhaps not as famous as those of the Andenan vineyards, but I hope you will find them interesting.”
Aaron tilted his head. “Thank you, princess. I’m afraid we druids cannot drink alcohol of any kind. Besides, I am tired. I will rest long today if that will not offend.”
“Of course,” she said. “I will see you at dusk then, my lord druid.”
“At dusk,” he repeated, and a steward opened the door to his suite. “Tràth?” Aaron gestured within.
Tràth nodded, then turned to Imena. “I’d be delighted to accept your invitation.”
“Good,” she said, smiling at him. “Your steward will show you the way at the appointed hour.” She indicated a red-skinned faerie with light brown hair. Before leaving, she paused to bow to Aaron uncertainly.
Once inside, Aaron dismissed the hovering servants. He exhaled loudly and flopped down onto a lounge chair. “Oi, that was an ordeal,” he said. “It’s going to take some getting used to, acting posh and serious all the time.”
Tràth laughed. “You play the part well, my lord druid.” He gave a deep bow.
Aaron shook his head. “I felt like a right eejit. I always do at these things. Do you know what my job was before I meet Cridhe and learned about my magic? I worked at a cinema.”
Tràth had heard the word before, but wasn’t certain exactly what it meant. “That’s a type of entertainment house?”
“Yeah,” Aaron said. “Between shows, I picked up the trash other people left on the seats.”
The two of them had never really chatted. Aaron’s sudden openness concerning his life in the human realm came as a surprise.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked.
“Douglas.”
Just hearing the name sent a pang through Tràth. He hadn’t spoken to his druid since Douglas told him he’d never wanted the bond. Every day, Tràth worked hard to find a way to close their connection. He was getting closer, but he hadn’t yet achieved the goal. Still, going through the portal to Zalia had helped. Somehow, the gate between realms prevented him from experiencing Douglas’s emotions in such an intimately present way.
Tràth hesitated. He didn’t want to talk about Douglas with anyone, but particularly not with Aaron, so he remained silent.
“It’s none of my business, of course,” Aaron said. “I need to say I’m sorry, especially walking in on you guys the way I did. If something I said made problems between you, I hope you believe I never meant that to happen.”
“My difficulties with Douglas are not your fault,” Tràth said. He paused for a long moment but couldn’t come up with the words.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said. “I can be a right git sometimes. If I’d known my teasing him was making him unhappy…well, I wish I could take it back.”
Tràth considered Aaron. How different he was from the self-assured draoidh who’d confronted Queen Naima a few minutes before. Tràth put his hand to his heart and bowed slightly. “Think no more on the matter.”
Aaron stared at him a moment, seeming to understand he perhaps wasn’t forgiven, but the apology was appreciated. At least, Tràth hoped that’s what Aaron’s thoughtful expression meant. He was never completely certain with the druids. For all their boundless expressiveness, he found them difficult to read.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Tràth said. “I should wash before I meet the Princess.”
When Tràth returned to the hallway, a steward closed the door to Aaron’s suite. Another opened the door to his. He stepped inside to find Petroc still putting his things away. Alyssa, the astral faerie Eilidh assigned to help him with meditations, also waited as did the three diplomats who’d come under the formal guise of a protocol steward, a translator, and a scribe.
“I need a bath,” Tràth announced. They responded with stunned silence. “You talk. I’m listening.” He needed only a moment to locate the bathing chamber. “Petroc!” he shouted.
His personal attendant dropped what he was doing and approached the prince. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“Warm the water for me, will you? I need to get clean or I won’t be able to think.” The road to Tafgul had been long and dusty.
“Of course,” his servant said.
Tràth undressed while the diplomats asked questions about Tràth and Aaron’s encounter with the queen. They discussed possible strategies as Petroc helped the prince wash, and continued as Petroc used his fire talents to dry Tràth’s skin afterwards. Even Alyssa entered the conversation, and Tràth was surprised to find her well versed in protocol, if not in trade. She was intelligent and quick to point out that although Lord Druid Aaron was in a superior position to Queen Naima, Tràth was not. He would do well, then, to try to tie as much of Caledonia’s fortunes as possible to that of the Druids. The others thought this a risky strategy, considering how inexperienced and impulsive the druid appeared to be. Lord Druid Aaron might have survived the first round, and he had the queen intrigued. If her good humour faded, they pointed out, she might find his tactics annoying.
Alyssa shook her head. “You speak of the druids as though they have no real power. That is a mistake. No, the queen will respect Aaron no matter how he behaves because she must. Zalia may be an independent kingdom, but she does not want to be the queen who stands against the draoidh.”
After they argued back and forth a while longer, Alyssa said, “If you’re going to meet with the princess before dawn, Your Highness, I suggest we practice meditating beforehand. It will do you good to have clear thoughts.” She admired him with a half-smile. “And you may want to put on some clothing.”
Tràth hadn’t realised he had gone through the entire conversation about the upcoming negotiations while completely nude. Even the fae didn’t conduct business naked. He really was bad at this, he thought. “Good idea,” he said and signalled for Petroc.
Just then, a knock came at the door. A steward entered and murmured something to Petroc. The attendant turned. “It’s time, Your Highness.”
“Dear Mother of the Earth,” Tràth said. “I’m going to be late. Again.”
Chapter 9
Griogair stood in the doorway, staring into the private chamber where priests and healers surrounded Eilidh and Elder Oron, who tended her. She’d hardly moved since the incident in the square. He replayed the event, wishing he had a memory like his son’s so he could go over the finer details. With only the mind of an ordinary faerie, the blur of events in his mind was foggy at best.
So many questions remained unanswered. The Caledonian Watchers reported that no other kingdom portals seemed affected. Douglas had been working with the Source Stone beneath the library. He said he experienced a surge of power which pushed him away from the Stone for an instant, but he’d recovered quickly. He hadn’t even realised something was amiss until the Watchers arrived, telling him to return to the Druid Hall at once.
Fortunately, Griogair had so far been able to keep Eilidh’s state of mind quiet. Most of the faeries in the courtyard that evening were loyal
Caledonians. He’d sworn them to secrecy, and they’d readily agreed. The others were scholars working for the library. The Keepers convinced them to hold their tongues. For now.
Elder Oron approached, breaking the prince’s train of thought. “Your Highness,” he said. “I think we should return the queen to Caledonia. My hope is that familiar surroundings will comfort her mind.”
“Have you been able to reach her?” Griogair asked.
The expression on Oron’s face told him everything. The elder shook his head. “She’s in an intense state of shock and grief.”
“So you believe as she does, that Quinton Munro is dead?”
Oron frowned, flicking his gaze to the inert queen. “I can’t say for certain, of course. I’d like to think not. The bond is an ancient magic we understand little about. We elders know some, but our knowledge comes mostly from religious texts, not histories, and those are notoriously unreliable. These young humans bring constant change to our understanding of our own beliefs and philosophy.”
Athair. The voice intruded quietly in Griogair’s mind as it had done periodically since the attack. Father, in the language of the fae. He nodded, even though he’d taken in little of the elder’s ramblings. “If he is dead, will my mate recover?”
The elder glanced at Griogair, his expression tight. “Time will tell. For now, we must hope Lord Druid Munro somehow survived this strange attack. I can only guess what force was behind the move, based on your description. I’ve never seen anything like it in my lifetime, nor read of a similar event.”
“Could the assailant be one of the other queens?”
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