Lia froze at the mention of her childhood crush. Of course she knew that Falconer had chosen not to take the throne, passing it upon their father’s death to his brother Yuri. She knew he’d taken up the mantle of the Fae Hunters. It hadn’t occurred to her, however, that he might be in New Orleans.
“Falconer is here? Are you sure?” Lia hadn’t seen him since the embarrassing incident a decade ago.
“Oh, he’s a permanent resident here, the sexy beast. Unless something happens to Yuri, of course. He runs a nightclub called, get this, The Hunt Club, kind of a hangout for the Fae Hunters when they’re off-duty.”
The quicker Lia found the port, the better. She was curious to see if the man was as appealing to her now as he’d been a decade ago, but had no desire to meet up with any Fae Hunter. Her fate if caught might be far worse than being Florian’s consort. “Why did he stay in New Orleans? Because of the tear in the veil at the Caves?”
“Partly, and because it’s easy to blend in with the humans here.” Kirian pulled her heavy gloves from her bag and threw them on the bed. “The humans here are quite nonjudgmental of people who are different. I’m told that isn’t true of all human cities.”
Lia finally finished her tour of the room and set her basket on the table next to the vase. She dug beneath her other dress—long, blue, homemade, and guaranteed to make her stand out among humans—and pulled out the bracelets and the ruby necklace.
She presented them to Kirian. “If any of these please you, or all of them, I hope you will take them as thanks for helping me. When the sound of the music lured me into the restaurant tonight, I was trying to find the port, hoping to stow away aboard one of the ships that ply the river.”
“Hm. Not a bad idea, really. Oh, these are beautiful, Lia!” Kirian reached for her gloves.
“You don’t need gloves with this jewelry. I came up with a special blend of materials that looks like metal but has only enough to give it a shine.” She smiled as Kirian went to the mirror and tried on one bracelet after another.
“Might I really have the one with sapphires? I’ll pay you for it; I cleaned out one of Christof’s safes at the Winter Palace, so I have plenty of gold and have already exchanged it for human money. You’ll need money to survive, even if you do find a ship.”
“Perhaps just a bit of money, and I would be honored for you to wear my bracelets.” Lia pulled back the curtain covering one entire wall and gasped at the array of lights of the city from this height. The river curved through the middle of it like a black ribbon. How much money would she need? She hadn’t thought this escape through very well. Then again, she’d been in a bit of a hurry.
She turned back to Kirian. “Why did you leave Faerie?”
“To make a point.” Kirian laughed. “I know the Hunters will catch me but they won’t dare hurt me, and hopefully Christof will realize he can’t keep me locked up just because my lover works for Florian.”
Lia tried to keep a blank look on her face. Kirian spoke of having a lover so casually. “Well, that must be awkward.”
“Tell me about it. Rolf and I don’t talk politics. Besides, he realizes…” Kirian paused, cocked her head, frowned. “Damn it.”
“What?” Lia instinctively dropped her voice to a whisper. “Is it the Hunters?”
“Don’t know, but it’s definitely fae.” She picked up Lia’s basket and thrust it at her, then took her own traveling case from the bed and shoved it into Lia’s other hand. “Take these and hide in the bathroom. Don’t turn on the lights, and don’t make a sound. If it is a Hunter, I’ll have to go back. Keep my stuff; use what you want.” She pointed to a door near the entrance from the hallway. “They’ll be here for me, not you. You don’t give off enough fae magic for them to sense unless they’re close to you. I barely caught you at the restaurant and I was on guard.”
Lia balked. She couldn’t leave Kirian to the Hunters. “I won’t leave you to be taken while I save myself.”
That was wrong, and the princess had been so kind.
“Hide—now,” Kirian hissed. She physically pushed Lia toward the bathroom door. “They won’t dare hurt me, but you’re another story. Florian is a vindictive bastard, and you’ve likely embarrassed him. Go!”
By the gods, she hated this. Lia went into the small bathroom, glanced around to get her bearings, and closed the door behind her. She slipped off her shoes and stepped into the shower, leaning against the inner wall, along with her basket and Kirian’s small bag, so the Hunter might not see her even if he turned on the light and looked inside.
If he didn’t look too hard.
She didn’t hear anything for a few moments except a clicking noise coming from near the bathroom door. Then the hallway door opened with a creak, followed by a slam as it closed.
“Princess Kirian, I’m disappointed in you.” The voice was deep, smooth, stern, and masculine. “The Royal Orleans was only the second hotel I tried; the first was the Royal Sonesta. A member of the royal family shouldn’t be so obvious.”
“Oh put a stocking in it, Romany,” Kirian said. “I wasn’t trying to run away. I just want to annoy Christof and remind him that anytime I want to leave, I can.”
The man laughed. He sounded relaxed, even good-natured. Weren’t Fae Hunters supposed to be fierce? Murderers, rapists, judge and jury, all rolled into one?
Lia tried to remember someone named Romany, but Falconer always had an entourage around him and she’d had eyes only for the young prince. He’d outshone them all with the dark beauty that marked many of the Autumn and Winter royals, with chestnut hair that hung to his shoulders in waves and golden-brown eyes as clear as the autumn sunset.
Now, he was Captain of the Fae Hunters. Her enemy.
A jarring, thumping, vaguely musical sound filled the bathroom. “Hold on while I take this call from Faulk,” Romany said from right outside the door. “I don’t guess you’re in too big a hurry to return to Faerie, are you?”
Kirian laughed. “Hell, no. Christof will be in such a temper that he’ll freeze everything in sight. Tell Falconer—or Faulk, as you call him—hello. It’s been at least a year since he had the opportunity to track me down. I offered to sleep with him and he refused, the beast. I hope you won’t do the same.”
Lia had heard that teams of fae engineers were trying to replicate the humans’ phone system without metal circuitry or wires but, thus far, had failed. Romany dropped his voice, but he was so near that Lia had no trouble hearing his words, which sent her heart racing like that of a quistrabbit.
“What the hell did Florian want?” Romy asked after a pause.
Another pause.
“Who?”
Pause.
“What does he want us to do with her?”
Pause. A whistle.
“Sure sucks to be her. Give me a couple of hours. I’ll take Kirian back, get Christof to sign the papers, and then start the hunt for Liandra. If it’s her first time across the veil, how hard can she be to find?”
5
FAULK STUCK THE PHONE back into his pocket and poured a glass of his cheapest whiskey for Florian. Maybe if it burned off enough of his royal esophagus, the prince would slither back across the veil and take his place among the other snakes.
“You sent someone competent to retrieve the bitch?” Florian took a sip of the whiskey, wheezed, coughed. His face turned an unflattering shade of red. Maybe he’d choke.
“My first lieutenant, Romany. He’s finishing up another run—for your brother, in fact.”
Florian stared at the amber liquid in his glass and frowned. “Who’d Christof lose? Although why anyone would have anything to do with the dickhead in that ice palace is beyond me.”
Took one dickhead to recognize another. Faulk realized that meant he himself probably qualified as a dickhead too. So be it.
“You know our captures are confidential.” Faulk pulled out the bottle of Kentucky Turkey and poured more into Florian’s glass. Maybe he’d get drunk enough to pas
s out in the corner and Faulk could drag his unconscious ass into the secret veil opening he’d created at the back of his forest room. The Autumn Court had its own magic, something the high-season royals tended to forget.
On the other hand, that was his personal escape hatch through the veil and directly into the Autumn Palace. Even Romy didn’t know about it. If Florian passed out, Faulk would just drag the prince into the middle of a French Quarter street and leave him for the drunken humans to piss and spill beer on.
“What can you tell me about this woman Liandra?” Faulk asked. “What does she look like? What was she wearing? Did she bring anything with her across the veil?”
“I don’t know what the wench was wearing. The last time I saw her, it was some hideous white and green thing that was obviously homemade. She carried a basket, and it was missing. I assume she brought it with her. Faery basketwork shouldn’t be hard to spot.”
No, there was nothing in the human world to mimic the fine weaving of faery basketry. That would be a good clue if she found a way to camouflage her faery aura.
Florian took another sip of whiskey and belched. “She’s an impertinent peasant who thinks her ability to handle metals makes her clever, but she was far too stupid to understand the honor she was being offered as my consort.”
He upended the glass. “Now, she’ll service my entire palace staff, one after the other. If she survives that, I’ll kill her myself. It will be a good lesson for other women who throw away such an opportunity.”
No doubt the prospect of being the Prince of Summer’s consort had seemed a good opportunity to a woman from a lesser class, but this Liandra apparently had a change of heart and fled without considering the consequences. Faulk almost felt sorry for her—almost. A self-respecting woman shouldn’t have agreed to this opportunity in the first place.
“If she were going to change her mind, why in Faerie’s name did she agree to be your consort?”
Florian laughed. “Why would I need her consent? I traded her father a fine royal foal. It was more than generous.”
Understanding dawned, bringing a rise of anger into Faulk’s throat. The girl had been blindsided and panicked. Poor Liandra, whoever she was....“Wait. You say she can handle metals?”
Florian belched again. “She makes jewelry that’s safe for the fae to wear, she claims. Bitch. Tried to bribe the queen with rubies, as if that would work.”
A faint memory stirred in the back of Faulk’s mind as he refilled the glass and, this time, left the bottle of Kentucky Turkey on the bar. “Is this the daughter of Caerne the Metalworker? I seem to recall he had a daughter. Describe her to me.”
Usually the Hunters needed only the faery aura in order to track their prey, but if this girl had enough human blood to handle metals barehanded, Romy might need a physical description as well.
“Blond hair and blue eyes, but freakishly tall and, honestly, homely for a woman of Faerie. Spots on her face and, gods, that nose. But”—he leaned forward and crooked a finger, motioning Faulk to draw closer—“breasts like a human woman, and an ass worth exploring. Faerie women are built like boards.”
Faulk agreed about the women of Faerie. But the metalworker’s daughter that he remembered was from his last summer in Faerie before going into training as a Fae Hunter. She had been a tall, gangly kid with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and one of the older girls had teased him that “even Lia the Tin Princess loooooooves Falconer.”
A lot of the gathered crowd had enjoyed a laugh at the girl’s expense. He probably wouldn’t have noticed her otherwise—she was a child, after all, and he was a young man of twenty, heading off to learn dangerous, exciting work before embarking on a life of adventure.
But his gaze had met hers, held a few moments, and he’d seen a bright intelligence behind the hurt, an innate prettiness beneath the blush of embarrassment before she’d turned away and fled from sight.
Out of sight and out of mind, or so he’d thought. Funny how small, odd moments stuck with you.
Florian snapped his fingers in front of Faulk’s face, jolting him from his memories. “Hey, Captain of the Hunt, fill me up.” His glass was empty again, and Faulk had an urge to beat him over the head with the bottle.
Instead, he poured a short inch of bourbon into the glass, screwed on the cap, and stuck the bottle under the bar. “Last one before closing time, Florian.”
He deliberately left off the prince part—until the time either Florian or Christof became king, Falconer was their political equal. The only reason they, and not he, were in line for the throne was their rare possession of both nature and creation magic and the fact that Sabine was childless.
“You’d refuse me service?” Florian sat up straight, then had to grab the edge of the bar to avoid falling off his stool. Faerie wine couldn’t hold a candle to cheap American whiskey.
“Of course not, but you want me to hunt down your missing consort, do you not? I think it’s a job that I best take myself.”
“Damn right.” Florian upended his glass and set it back on the bar. “And I know how you Hunters like to claim your prey. I give my permission—have at her. The rougher the better. Just don’t mark her permanently. I want that pleasure.”
The sweet blush. The deep blue eyes. The humiliation of a decade ago. More humiliation to come, and then death.
Faulk watched Florian wander toward the door and regretted he couldn’t take out his crossbow and put an arrow in that arrogant back. Once the door closed, he flicked the overhead lights on and off twice to signal the remaining patrons to finish their drinks and leave. It was almost 2 a.m., and he needed to think.
First things first. He picked up his phone, its metallic parts encased in rubber and glass, and punched in Romy’s number. It went to voicemail, which meant either Kirian was giving his lieutenant a hard time or, more likely, a good time.
“Romy, ignore my last call.” The man deserved some time off anyway. “I want to take the search for Liandra myself. This is a dirty business. I don’t want anyone else having to deal with Florian.”
He locked the door after the last of the drinkers had left and checked to make sure the fantasy rooms were cleared out for the night. Then he went into his own forest room to have a drink of the good whiskey and try to separate the memory of a sweet-looking little girl from a grown woman who was now in deep trouble.
6
LIA SAT IN THE darkened bathroom for at least a half-hour after Kirian had left with Romany, the Hunter. “Goodbye, room!” the princess had called out as she left, no doubt for Lia’s benefit. “And here I’ve paid for you another entire day and night while you shall sit empty.”
Kirian’s voice had been awfully cheerful for someone being forced by the Fae Hunters back into her brother’s imprisonment. Christof must be nothing like Florian or, more likely, the punishment for a princess was different than what would await a runaway metalworker’s daughter who’d spurned the advances of a powerful prince and possible future king.
At least now she had time to make a plan. If Kirian was right about Lia giving off only a faint faery aura, it wasn’t likely the Hunters could find her as long as she stayed in the room. And since the metal didn’t bother her—the polished doorknobs, the gleaming bases of lamps and shiny faucets—she could avoid using the multiple pairs of gloves she’d found in the outside pocket of Kirian’s bag.
Perhaps there were other items she could use, however. Lia set the bag on the bed and unfastened its leather straps.
“Trousers!” Lia pulled out blue denim pants, surprised to find bits of metal on them that had been covered in some type of thick clear plastic. Kirian was turning out to be quite clever herself. The jeans were tight on Lia’s more ample curves and were too short, but a nice pair of leather boots fit her and covered her exposed lower calves.
The sweater was extremely tight across her breasts, clearly woven for a woman of Faerie with no human blood. It wasn’t binding, however, and would do for lounging ar
ound the room. Perhaps it would stretch.
There were a few other clothes in the traveling case, but not many. Kirian hadn’t truly been running away. There was, however, a great deal of what Lia recognized from magazines as American money. She folded a stack for her pocket and returned the rest to a pouch inside Kirian’s case. She also transferred into the case the remainder of the things she’d brought in her basket, including a couple more bracelets and an emerald ring.
In a metal box built into a dresser she discovered chilled food and drinks, plus there was bottled water on the table near the window. She wouldn’t starve.
Finally, she sat in the gold-cushioned armchair to look through magazines that she’d found on the small writing table in the corner of the room. She read English easily enough, but quickly realized she didn’t understand much of what she read. Some pages listed stores, restaurants, and “attractions.” Others were filled with photographs of grand palaces called plantations and vicious creatures called alligators. Apparently, one could go on trips to visit both. And what in the name of the gods was Mardi Gras?
She set the magazine aside with a sigh. One thing had become clear: she did not know enough of human society to survive without help. Even if she managed to find the port and slip aboard a ship, it could take her to a place where she could not understand the language. Plus, if sailing men in human society were like those in Faerie, they were coarse and rough. She could put herself in a situation even worse than that of Florian’s palace; that could be the danger of which the woman at the Café du Monde had warned her. She had no idea.
If only she could talk to Kirian again.
A rattle sounded in the hallway, followed by a sharp knock on the hotel room door. Lia leapt to her feet, looking around in a panic. Her heart threatened to take a leap from her body.
The Consort: A Fae Hunters Novella (The Fae Hunters Book 1) Page 4