by A. E. Lowan
Her smile widened and she let him stroke his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. Words aren’t enough to express how grateful I am, but thank you.” She squeezed his fingers and then looked up as Etienne uncorked a wine bottle. “What is all this for?”
“Shitty days and scheming are both occasions for drinking wine,” said Lana as she emerged from the cellars, carrying another two bottles. Winter noticed the succubus was wearing a t-shirt that read, “I Feel a Sin Coming On.”
“Scheming?” Winter couldn’t argue with her assessment about the quality of the day so far.
“We need to figure out what we’re going to do about Midir,” said Etienne, pouring red wine into Winter’s glass.
Winter nodded. She already had at least one thought in that direction.
Erik came back to the kitchen. “How often does this happen?” he demanded, holding up her landline phone.
Winter sighed. “Often enough.”
“Well, this crap stops. You don’t need…”
“Later.” Winter saw Jessie crossing the garden courtyard behind Erik and cut him off. “We’ll deal with it later.”
He frowned and opened his mouth to argue, and she flickered her eyes to the girl coming up behind him. He didn’t need to look to understand her meaning, and went to hang up the phone.
Jessie pushed her way through the sliding glass door, her expression upset and distracted, but when she saw Winter she put on a smile. “Hey.” Then she noticed all the wine and grimaced.
“I think there may still be Coke in the pantry,” Winter suggested. Jessie had a strong aversion to alcohol in any form. She had explained once that watching her parents drink had killed any teenage attraction she might have had for it.
Jessie smiled again and went to investigate.
Etienne set down the wine bottle now that all the adults’ glasses were full and reached out, caught Winter’s hand in his own, and wrapped her fingers around the body of her glass. She looked up, startled at his gesture, and he held her eyes. “Just for once,” he said in a soft voice, “just for a moment, you need to do something for you.”
His thumb brushed over her pulse point on her wrist, sending a shiver of pleasure through her. Winter felt the heat rise to her face again.
Erik cleared his throat – theatrically.
Etienne gave her a small smile and took his seat.
Winter took a deep drink of her wine. It hit her empty stomach, reddening her cheeks even more.
Cian looked from one to the other with curiosity.
Jessie came out of the pantry, Coke in hand, and looked at the adults. “What did I miss?”
Lana laughed.
“Erik, I’ve been thinking,” Winter said, jumping in before Lana could bring Jessie up to speed in whatever fashion most amused the succubus, “that it’s time to revisit the discussion about an alliance.”
Erik perked up. “This is a conversation I want to have.”
She tapped her index finger on the stem of her glass, choosing her words. “Not that alliance. The original one. The one you proposed to Mahon Mulcahy.”
“He reneged on it.”
“That’s neither here nor there. I’m talking about you and me. I’m talking about a preternatural coalition with every group having an equal voice.”
“That sounds a lot like democracy, Miss Mulcahy,” said Erik with a dry tone.
“Maybe. But what is the biggest complaint the groups have in my dealings with the other groups? That I show too much favor, that I give too much power when I lean one way or another. Fine then, let them all have power – equal power. We need every group in the city on the same page, working together, if we hope to have a prayer of defending it from Midir. And I also think a coalition might…” She took a breath and grimaced. “Or at least I hope that it would go a long way toward rectifying the political instability in the city.”
“One step at a time, little girl.” Erik looked thoughtful. “I can see a few problems with this right out of the gate. To begin with, getting the groups to work together is a lot like herding cats – literally, for some of them. And then there is the issue of fighting against Midir’s fae army. The preternatural groups in Seahaven may be teetering on the edge of open conflict, but aside from my Court no one has what I would call an organized fighting force. And even I only have a few dozen warriors. The therian groups fight a lot, internally and against each other, but vampires rule cities because we’re organized. Therian are basically animals that just happen to turn into people…”
“Erik, that’s not fair…” Jessie broke in.
“Hey, they turn into some of my favorite people, but at the end of the day most of them don’t have the ability to think past today’s dominance fight, much less function within an army.”
Jessie snorted. “How much brain power do you need to stand around in uniform?”
Erik gave her an irritated look. “There’s a bit more to it than that. And not attacking your superiors at the first sign of weakness is also helpful to make an army function properly.”
“How many eighteen-year-old boys do you know?” she asked under her breath.
But Erik ignored her. “My point is our therian can fight, and some of the bigger groups even have organized security for their businesses, but nothing like an actual standing army. The non-therian are just ordinary people living ordinary lives with a magical spark. I honestly don’t want to even get them involved if we can avoid it. We’ll have two days to try to make up for a hell of a steep learning curve with the therian groups alone.”
“Less,” said Lana before taking a sip of her wine.
Erik looked at the fae woman. “What?”
Winter sighed. “She’s right. It’s now early afternoon on the 29th. The rift will explode at midnight tomorrow.”
“I thought we had another day!” Jessie looked torn between being panicked and offended. “Midnight on Samhain night, Halloween night – that’s another day, right?”
Winter shook her head. “That is the end of Samhain, not the beginning.”
Erik cut off Jessie before she could continue. “Fine. We have less time than we thought.” He looked at Jessie. “It happens. We deal.” He sat back. “What most concerns me is Midir. From what you’ve said, he’s a hell of a magician, and who knows how many others he has squirrelled away in that tower of his? All we have on our side of the board are you and Mighty Mite here,” he jabbed his thumb at Jessie.
The table fell into grim silence.
Winter took a sip of her wine. What none of them needed to say aloud was that the majority of the preternatural community was essentially helpless against powerful magic. The spark within them allowed them sensitivity, but that only let them see the train coming – in most cases it did not even help them get off the tracks. It was why wizards were so feared by other preternaturals. It was why the Council of the Eldest ruled over all. There was simply no way for them to defend themselves.
“I think you need to bring in more wizards,” Erik said, breaking her reverie.
Winter laughed. It was high-pitched with an edge of hysteria and she pressed her lips together, embarrassed by the sound. After a moment she said, “They won’t come.”
He held her gaze. He didn’t look at Jessie, and for that she was grateful. The girl was sharp and wouldn’t fail to miss the gesture, to question it. Erik knew a bit about wizard society and knew that Jessie was a wizard sport. He knew how dangerous it would be for her to be spotted by other wizards. He was trying to tell Winter it was time to tell Jessie the truth. She could see it in his eyes.
Winter shook her head. She couldn’t. “Do you really think they care what happens to us? They’ve stood by for the past twenty years while my family has died…” she bit back a curse, “has been slaughtered! They’ve watched and had their parties and their politics and their weddings and left us…” Cian reached over and took her hand. She stopped. Her voice had been rising higher and higher in both p
itch and volume. She took a deep drink of her wine. “They left us to die.” Maybe, to save the city, to save the Mortal Realm, from Midir, she needed to risk Jessie, but it didn’t matter. Wizard society had turned its back on the Mulcahys just as much as the Mulcahys had turned their backs on the rest of the wizards. They really wouldn’t come. She didn’t even know who to call.
Jessie tapped her fingernail on her soda can, making a hollow metallic noise, and looked at Cian with her lips pursed. “What about the sidhe?”
“What are you talking about?” Erik frowned at the teen.
Lana’s brows rose in interest and Etienne glowered and began to shake his head. Cian, still holding Winter’s hand, perked his attention and nodded with enthusiasm.
“Well, the guy who dueled with Cian was amazing. He was so fast, as fast as any vampire, and so good, too! It was like The Princess Bride! Cian didn’t have a prayer. And to be honest, I think the only reason I was able to nail him with the planter was because he’d written me off as a kid and was too busy playing around.” She shrugged. “I lucked out.”
Lana smirked. “Sounds about right for a sidhe. They’re arrogant as fuck.”
“Anyway,” Jessie continued, “that guy was awesome, and Etienne, you’re like a real knight, right? So, could we find more of you guys to help us?”
“No.” Etienne’s voice rang with finality.
Cian drew in a startled breath. “But, we know where Senán is, now. We can…”
Etienne cut him off. “No, you don’t know them like I do. I know you’re thinking to run to Anluan with this, but even if he does decide to help, he’ll only make matters worse. Besides, if Midir isn’t actually planning to invade Faerie, then what does Anluan have to gain by committing his forces to a battle that isn’t his? Knowing that shit, once he knows where Senán is, he’ll be content to simply buy his freedom. Simple, practical… he has always preferred the diplomatic solution, when war didn’t suit his ends.”
“This is Anluan’s battle.” The humor was gone from Lana’s face. “Whether he wishes to admit it or not, he is bound by honor to fight. Even ignoring the kidnapping of Senán, he is owed a blood debt by Midir for the rape of his ward,” her eyes flicked up to Cian, “and he owes blood guilt for the crimes committed by Midir, his brother.” She ran her finger around the rim of her empty glass. “And Anluan is not the only king of Faerie the great prince should fear. Midir has committed crimes against both our courts, Queen’s Son.”
Etienne narrowed his eyes at her. “Anluan’s is no court of mine.”
Winter glanced at Etienne. She had seen hints of this animosity earlier when she had read his soul, so seeing it expressed was no surprise. She turned her attention back to Lana. “What else has Midir done?” She remembered something Etienne had said the afternoon they met, something about a rumor of the murdered prince being turned into a cup or vessel of some sort. Was this it?
Lana continued to trace her fingertip around the rim of her glass until the crystal sang a soft, mournful note. “On Midir’s final visit to Ceallach and Deirdre’s court, he presented the Unseelie Queen with a golden chalice. It was exquisite, with bas-relief decorations of a prince in various entertainments; hunting, riding, dancing, dueling, and playing a lute. Around the edge were round jewels and cunningly carved bits of ivory. And the prince was modeled on Ceallach and Deirdre’s son, Prince Ciaran. The likeness was perfect, as if Ciaran had sat for the artist. Queen Deirdre was charmed with the gift. Her sons were her life. After the loss of their younger son, Ciaran had become all the more precious.”
She poured herself a little more wine and held the glass up to the light. “Midir also gifted the Queen with bottles of wine bearing labels that read, ‘For Delight.’ When the wine was poured into the chalice, the little figures sprang to life and played out their scenes. Prince Ciaran wasn’t there to see it, though. He had responsibilities that had called him away from court.” Lana frowned. “That was what King Ceallach told Midir. Ciaran actually never took his duties as Prince and Heir seriously. No, he had a new lover in a neighboring court and had been there for days. But Ceallach could dance around that without lying because he wanted an alliance with that court and Midir graciously accepted the story because he hadn’t come to see Ciaran, anyway.
“And then Midir left Deirdre with her pretty new toy.”
The group was silent as Lana spoke, letting her spin her tale. Her dark eyes were focused on what were now clearly her memories. She was quiet for several long moments, and when she spoke again her voice was thick with repressed emotion. “Days stretched into weeks, and Ciaran lingered at the other court. The Queen missed him and being fragile of mind she became melancholy. She would play with her new chalice and sip the wine, but it didn’t soothe her. The King grew annoyed with his son’s callousness, because this wasn’t the first time – Ciaran only cared for Ciaran – and sent a messenger to fetch him home. When the messenger returned, she was alone. She told the King and Queen that the other court claimed Ciaran and his companions had never arrived.”
Pain filled her eyes. “The Queen was in a panic. When her younger son disappeared centuries before, it was much the same. He went riding out on a visit and never returned. There were whispers, even in my time, that Ciaran had murdered his brother, but that was all they were – whispers. For her it was the same nightmare all over again. The King was ready to ride to war against the other court on any scrap of evidence that they were behind Ciaran’s disappearance. He sent out war parties under the guise of search parties to comb every inch of territory between the shifting borders of the two courts. And the Queen carried that chalice with her everywhere and cried.
“Then a few days into this a wine bottle was delivered to the kitchens. No one remembered exactly where it had come from, just that it arrived. A sharp-eyed page noticed it and brought it to the King where he was meeting with his advisors. Its label read, ‘For Truth.’ He sent for his Queen’s chalice, but she came with it and try as he might she refused to be parted from it. Ceallach was torn, we could see it, but in the end he had to know, so he set the chalice on the table and poured the wine.”
Lana twisted the stem of her glass, swirling the liquid. “It was the exact color and consistency of freshly spilled blood.” Etienne made a soft noise and she flashed a glare at him. “Say what you like about the Unseelie courts, there are some things that shouldn’t pour from wine bottles. Not before the eyes of a frightened mother.”
Etienne gave her a nod of apology.
Lana looked away from him, to her wineglass, and then pushed it away. “The thick liquid filled the chalice and just as before the little figures of Ciaran began to move, but then the scenes changed. Now in one scene the Prince laughed with his companions as they violated a helpless fae; in another he drove a sword through the body of a younger sidhe in princely dress, pinning him to an embankment; in another he writhed and screamed under torture horrific to even our eyes; and in the last one he was held fast in a vice, shrieking as a blade sawed at his head. When Ceallach saw the scenes change, he moved to shield Deirdre, but it was too late. She had seen too much. And to make things worse, where it had been silent before, now the chalice screamed. It screamed in Ciaran’s voice. Within a few breaths the Queen joined in.
“Ceallach was desperate to make it stop. He splashed the liquid on the floor, but still the cup screamed. So he dashed it against the table. Once. Twice. Three times.” Lana’s eyes had gotten wide. “It didn’t crumple or bend like metal should. It cracked and split. We all knew the quality of that cracking sound. We were Unseelie. It was fresh bone – not dry, white bone, but bone still wet in the marrow.
“The screaming stopped, both from the chalice and from the Queen. Several of the jewels and ivory pieces had broken off, scattering over the tabletop, and the gold had stripped away from one of the shards. We knew, now, looking at the raw bone core of the chalice, what the little carved ivory bits really were. The Queen saw it and whispered, ‘My sons,’ over and
over and over. It was all she said for days, until she gave over entirely to madness.”
Lana’s voice lowered to a hiss of anger. “It was widely known that Deirdre was fragile. She was called Deirdre of the Sorrows long before Ceallach took her as his wife. But Midir fashioned her son’s skull into a cup, and gifted it to her to drink from, and then taunted her with it.” She brought herself out of her memories and focused on the others at the table. “If he wanted some sort of revenge on Ceallach, then fine… but why punish her like that? It was cruel.”
Etienne purposely did not look at Cian. “The older sidhe enjoy creativity when they send their messages. I think it’s because they get bored.” He narrowed his eyes at Lana with suspicion. “That was some story. Who are you to Ceallach and Deirdre?”
The succubus flashed him an angry look and took up her wineglass again, seeming to hesitate as she took a deep drink.
“‘Some story?’ What sort of cold-hearted bastard are you?” Jessie’s eyes glittered with unshed tears.
Etienne’s expression turned to wry irritation as he looked at the teen. “The sort of bastard who needs to know exactly what you and this succubus want to get us involved in. Remember, girl, calling on the sidhe courts is your idea. This is what the sidhe do.” The corner of his mouth twisted with distaste as he spoke, pulling at the spell scars on his cheek. He turned back to Lana. “Now tell us.”
She raised her chin just a little. “I am one of Queen Deirdre’s handmaidens.”
The faerie knight raised his eyebrow. “That’s a rather prestigious position for a half-breed. Who put you there?”
“That’s none of your fucking business.”
“You’re making it my business, succubus, by trying to drag your court into our problems.”
His pronoun use caught Winter’s attention, but she remained silent. She was still too numb to cope with more than the crisis at hand and analyzing Etienne’s potentially shifting moods and motivations wasn’t part of that.