Pleased with the impression her surroundings had made on her, he urged his horse into motion again. They rode through pastures dotted with clover and buttercup, past herds of red deer that looked at them before tamely resuming their grazing. Up to the arched gates they went, then through them into a spacious courtyard, where two stable boys stopped what they were doing and hurried forward to take their horses.
“Lord Einion.” The first boy bowed and held Cassie’s horse steady while Einion dismounted, freed her hands from the pommel, and lifted her down.
He carried her up the steps and into the palace. Inability to move thwarted Cassie’s attempts to look about her, but she caught glimpses of a high ceiling, tall windows of stained glass, richly decorated wall hangings, and furniture carved with leaf patterns and stylised representations of woodland animals. He halted in an inner chamber and placed her on herb- and rush-strewn flagstones.
An elderly wolfhound came to investigate but a woman’s autocratic voice called, “Olwydd,” and he stopped nosing her and padded away.
“This puny creature is the one?” continued the voice. “She is plain. Much too short. Her skin too brown, her hair too fair.”
“Yet she is the one, your majesty,” said Einion.
Cassie wished she could see who was insulting her—from that “your majesty,” it must be the Queen. What had he called her—Mab? Then her paralysis disappeared and the terror that had been held at bay surged through her and she began to tremble.
“And weak. See how the mortal trembles. How could any self-respecting Fae feel anything but pity or disdain? Are you sure there is no mistake?”
Fae? Cassie pounced on the word. Does that mean this is Faerie? Suddenly everything began to make sense. Tarian isn’t a demon, she realised with a rush of relief. She’s one of the Fae.
At last she managed to regain control of herself, enough to roll over onto her side and prop herself up on one arm.
At the far end of the room, in front of a flickering fire, was an outsize throne. In it sat a regal-looking woman in a silk gown of the deepest violet that clung to her in all the right places. Her hair was raven black, and she wore it long and flowing, held in place by a simple silver circlet. The milk white face beneath the circlet was proud and very beautiful. One long-fingered hand rested on the throne’s arm, the other fondled the ears of the wolfhound. To one side, on a wooden perch, sat a large crow observing proceedings.
Dark eyes as keen as a hawk’s raked Cassie from head to toe. “Tarian would defy me for this?”
Mab was clearly furious, and Cassie braced herself for the worst. But instead of blasting her to smithereens, the woman let out a peal of laughter. The abrupt change of mood made the hairs on the back of Cassie’s neck stand up.
“Good,” said Mab. “Let us see if we can convince her to return.”
Chapter 8
Tarian was lost in her painting when she became aware she had visitors. That prickling sensation was unmistakable. She extended her senses until she found its cause. A group of Fae was waiting in her back garden. They had horses with them.
She put down her palette, placed the brush in a jar of water, and went through to the kitchen. Anwar and Drysi whined. “I know,” she told them. “It can’t be good.”
She took a breath, opened the door, and stepped out. Four riders, two men and two women, were waiting by the hawthorn tree. Garan was one of them. The others were nobles from Mab’s court. They were dressed as though for the hunt, wearing grey cloaks and carrying light spears. Two of the horses shifted and sidestepped, betraying their riders’ nervousness.
Am I to be their prey? The dogs pressed against Tarian’s legs, and she stroked their heads.
“The Queen sent us to fetch you.” Garan indicated the spare mount: a black horse with a white blaze on its forehead.
Tarian frowned. “She had my answer. What makes her think I’ll change my mind?”
“Since we spoke there has been a development. The mortal is Mab’s prisoner.”
Tarian’s mouth went dry. “Which mortal?” But she already knew the answer.
“Cassie Lewis.”
“Is she unharmed?” She must be terrified.
Garan nodded. “And the Queen gives you her word that she will remain so if you come with us.”
Her word, thought Tarian bleakly. On past evidence, what good is that? “I would be breaking our agreement.”
“Have you forgotten already?” said Garan. “That agreement is now void.”
Tarian balled her hands into fists. It was her fault that Cassie had attracted the Queen’s attention. What had possessed her? On a whim she had decided to play protector, because it amused her, because she could. And last night she had seen the results. Cassie’s feelings had been all too clear, and they were not the gratitude and admiration Tarian had been hoping for—she could admit it now. That had been chastening enough. Now this.
She could not, would not, permit Cassie to pay for her self-indulgence. No doubt Mab knew that. She had always been a superlative chess player.
“Very well,” she growled. At her answer, the tension dissipated, and the riders broke into smiles.
Tarian considered whether to fetch her bow, but it would make little difference. She pulled the kitchen door closed behind her and strode over to the waiting Fae. Garan handed her the black horse’s reins. Tarian put her foot in the stirrup and mounted up.
Two of the Fae wheeled their horses round and started towards the trees that abutted Tarian’s garden. Tarian kicked her horse into a walk and followed them, Anwar and Drysi trotting on either side. The remaining Fae brought up the rear.
As they entered the forest, each rider slowed and leaned forward in the saddle to avoid the overhanging branches. Tarian gave the house where she had spent the past two years a last wistful look, then she leaned forward too.
CASSIE’S BUTTOCKS HAD gone numb. She shifted into a more comfortable position on the grass. Her hands were bound in front of her, but otherwise the Fae were treating her well. They had even given her something to eat and drink. At first she had been reluctant to accept—she knew her fairytales—but Einion had sworn such tales were ill informed at best, fabrication at worst. In the end she had been so hungry she risked it—she had no idea what time it was but it seemed an age since breakfast. He’d given her a slab of crusty bread, cold sliced meats, some of which might be boar, and sweet pastries that melted on the tongue, then grabbed a jug of mead and two cups and escorted her outdoors to the meadow at the rear of the palace.
Einion caught her studying him and arched an eyebrow. She gestured towards the rectangular area of daisy-dotted grass a few feet away. It had been roped off and at either end small gaily-coloured pavilions had been erected. Round its perimeter servants were placing rugs and low stools. Two panting servants carried a red velvet chair across the grass and set it down in a spot with a good view.
“What’s the occasion?”
“A contest,” said Einion.
Gorgeously clad courtiers, some accompanied by wolfhounds, were gathering, gravitating towards the rugs and stools, greeting one another and exchanging pleasantries. There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air.
“What kind?”
He sipped from his cup before answering. “Whatever Mab decrees. More mead?” Cassie shook her head. It was much too sweet for her taste.
“Who are the contestants?”
“Mab’s champions.”
“And why must I watch?”
“Because Mab commands it.”
A group of nobles settled on stools a few feet to her right. From their stares and muffled asides she knew she must be the topic of conversation.
“I feel like a monkey in the zoo.”
“They mean you no harm.” Einion frowned. “I’m not sure the same can be said of him, however.”
“Him?” Cassie followed his gaze to the entrance flap of one of the pavilions where a Fae, the most muscular she had seen, was standing, deep
in conversation.
“Cadel.” He glanced at her. “Queen’s Champion for the past two years.”
“So he’s one of the contestants?”
Einion nodded.
She’d been wondering if she was imagining the faint drumming of horses’ hooves, but just then some horsemen galloped up. Her eyes flew to the only rider not wearing a grey cloak. If she hadn’t recognised that striking profile, the paint-spattered grey sweatshirt, blue jeans, and the two wolfhounds with her would have given the identity of the rider away.
Her heart thumped. “What’s Tarian doing here?” He didn’t answer.
As though she had heard Cassie, Tarian glanced in her direction. She leaned down and said something to her dogs, and they peeled off and bounded towards Cassie.
“Hello, you two.” She fended off their greeting as best she could with her hands bound, but not before she had had her face licked. She found she was very glad to see them.
They flopped down on the grass beside her. With a possessive air, the male dog—Anwar wasn’t it?—rested one paw on her leg. Drysi gave the nobles sitting close by a baleful look and drew back her lips from her teeth. They frowned and shifted their stools a few yards further away. Gratitude suffused Cassie as it dawned on her that Tarian had told the dogs to protect her.
The grey-cloaked riders dismounted and ushered Tarian inside the pavilion before dispersing. Something Mab had said earlier came back to Cassie and made her stomach lurch.
“She’s here because of me, isn’t she? Mab took me hostage to force her to come back.”
Einion nodded. “Tarian has never before allowed herself to become entangled in a mortal’s affairs. Mab saw her chance and seized it.”
“So she’s going to fight Cadel? But that’s ridiculous. How can she possibly win against the Queen’s Champion?”
He smiled. “You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but they’re evenly matched. Before Cadel, Tarian was Mab’s champion.”
Cassie gaped at him. No wonder Tarian had been able to despatch Armitage’s men so easily. “But why?” He looked confused at her question. “I mean why now? What’s changed?”
He considered. “Boredom?”
She glanced at the muscled Fae. “With Cadel?”
“He was never going to be able to erase Tarian from Mab’s memory. They were the perfect match. Tarian’s bloodlust and battle lust almost outstripped the Queen’s.”
Cassie blinked. “They were lovers?”
Einion smiled, remembering. “For a while. Mab enjoyed taming Tarian, being tamed by her.” His smile dimmed. “But Tarian grew weary of their constant arguments, their battles of wits. Her bloodlust waned, but Mab’s did not. Tarian tried to find another way, distanced herself.” He sighed. “And in so doing, she hurt and angered the Queen.”
“What happened?”
“Exile.” He shrugged. “It was that or unmake her. But Mab loved her too much for that.”
“And that was, what, two years ago?”
He nodded. “After Tarian, Cadel was restful, straightforward. He’s a man of simple needs—a battle, a fuck, a feast—he likes nothing better. At first Mab found him refreshing, but now . . .”
Cassie could see where this was leading. “Let me guess. She wants Tarian back?” Anwar moved his paw on her leg, and she ruffled his coat with her fingers.
“She does.” Einion grimaced. “Those of us who are her friend as well as subject have tried to make the Queen see that it’s a lost cause. She won’t believe it, but in the end she surely must.”
“What will happen then?”
“I fear this time she will unmake Tarian.”
Cassie felt a jolt of alarm. “You keep talking about unmaking. What do you mean?”
The gaze he turned on her was grave. “We are not like your kind, Cassie Lewis. The Fae cannot die, they must be unmade. And in Faerie, the Queen alone wields that power.”
TARIAN LOOKED UP as the Queen and her page entered the pavilion, Olwydd padding at their heels. The wolfhound recognised Tarian at once and came over to greet her, but Mab called him away. With a mournful look, the dog obeyed.
Tarian gave a perfunctory bow and continued dressing.
“Just like old times,” said Mab.
She grunted and straightened her tunic.
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Mab’s eyes danced. “You know you’ve missed me. Deep down, you’re glad to be back.” She gestured, and her page scurried across the tent, grabbed one of the two stools, and carried it back to her. She nodded her thanks, smoothed her gown over her thighs, and sat down.
“We had an agreement,” growled Tarian, buckling her belt.
Mab pretended to be puzzled. “Yet here you are.” She gestured to her page again. He hurried to the trestle table in one corner and began to pour mead from a ewer into a cup.
“Only because you took Cassie Lewis hostage.” Tarian sat on a stool and pulled on one of the soft leather boots before reaching for its mate.
Mab accepted the cup from her page and gave Tarian an arch look. “Do you expect me to believe you came back to save a mere mortal?” She sipped her mead.
“Yes.” She stamped her feet into the boots until they felt comfortable. “Because it’s true.”
The Queen laughed. “If I believed that, you would indeed no longer be the Tarian I knew.”
“Believe it.”
Mab’s smile vanished. “Have a care, Tarian. To prize the welfare of a mortal above that of one’s Queen is treason. And we both know the penalty for that.”
Olwydd stopped licking his privates and snapped at a fly that had been buzzing around the tent.
Tarian folded her arms and regarded Mab. “Why are you doing this?”
“I would have thought that was obvious. I want you back.” The Queen gestured at Tarian’s attire. “There. Doesn’t that feel better?”
“No,” said Tarian. “Let the mortal go, Mab.”
“Why should I?”
“Because she’s done nothing to hurt you or any of the Fae. And because I ask it.”
“Nothing, you say.” Mab swirled mead round her mouth before swallowing it. “This Cassie,” she spoke the name with obvious distaste, “captured your attention enough that that you fought in her defence.” Her eyes flashed with the rage Tarian remembered, and she knocked over the stool as she stood up. The page scurried to right it but Mab waved him away. “My champion fighting to defend another, and a mortal at that!” Reacting to his mistress’s mood, Olwydd rose, his gaze flicking between Mab and Tarian. His hackles rose and his lips drew back from his teeth.
After two years, she’s as jealous as ever, realised Tarian with a jolt. “I’m no longer your champion, your majesty,” she reminded. “Cadel holds that position.”
“Not for much longer.” As swiftly as it had departed, the Queen’s good mood returned, and she smiled. Olwydd padded over to sniff something interesting in the corner of the pavilion.
Tarian bit her lip. It was as she had feared when she entered the pavilion and found some of her old clothes laid out ready for her. “Am I to fight Cadel?”
“Of course.”
“And if I refuse?”
Mab played with her girdle then looked up. Her eyes had gone hard. “The mortal dies.”
“Very well. I will fight your contest.”
Mab clapped her hands. “I knew you’d see sense.”
Tarian grunted. “Who has the choice of weapons?”
“I do.” Mab flashed her a smile.
“And the prize?”
The Queen’s smile became tinged with cruelty. “The mortal, of course.”
The thought of Cassie in Cadel’s clutches made Tarian feel ill. Mortals were such fragile creatures. “You would give her to that savage?”
Mab gave her an arch look. “My dear Tarian. He’s no more savage than you are.”
Perhaps that was true of me once, but now . . . “Answer me, Mab. Would you truly give her to him?”
The Q
ueen pouted. “Oh don’t make me out to be so heartless.” She crossed to the tent flap then turned and looked back at Tarian while Olwydd hurried to catch up with her. “After all, her fate hangs in your hands not mine.”
Chapter 9
Cassie watched the Queen of the Fae emerge from Tarian’s pavilion, her wolfhound at her heels, and make her way towards the plush red throne set ready for her on the grass. Since their last meeting, she had changed into a green satin gown embroidered with yellow silk, and a delicate silver girdle encircled her waist. She acknowledged the bows and curtseys with a wave and a smiling nod before taking her seat.
“She’s in a good mood,” muttered Einion. “Tarian must have agreed.”
“To fight Cadel?”
He nodded. “The Queen can be very persuasive.”
I bet. Cassie pursed her lips. “What weapons will they use?”
“That’s up to Mab.” He held up a hand for quiet and strained to hear the instructions the Queen was giving to a liveried herald and a page. The page bowed and darted off, and the herald strutted into the centre of the arena. As he did so, the flaps of each pavilion were thrown back and their occupants emerged.
A cheer went up as the two combatants took their places on either side of the herald. Tarian’s forest green tunic and the tan breeches tucked into her boots made her look like the Fae she was. Cassie wondered why she had not seen it before. Because we see what we expect to see, I suppose. And since I didn’t know that the Fae exist, how could I possible imagine one was living as an artist in Bourn’s Edge?
Something odd struck her. “Shouldn’t they be wearing armour?”
“Only a coward would,” said Einion. “Wounds are an integral part of such contests. After all, we can use our magic to heal ourselves.”
“I see. But . . . they’re unarmed too.”
“Not for long.” He pointed, and Cassie saw that the page had returned, and with him were two servants each carrying a pile of weapons. She squinted and made out spears, a bow and quiver full of arrows, and something that looked like a short wooden handle with a nasty-looking spiked metal ball attached to it by a length of chain. Einion’s face fell.
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