Cruel Enchantment

by Bast, Anya

  “Make your decision, Blacksmith,” said the guard. “I won’t stand here all day.”

  You can’t do me any good in here. Are you hearing me? Yeah, he heard her. Maybe he could do her some good beyond these walls. Maybe she was hoping he could.

  She needed hope.

  But, damn it, no. He couldn’t leave her alone, not in her current mental state.

  She stared at him, brows knit and jaws locked. Then she limped to the bars and curled her fingers around them. “Come here,” she ordered.

  He pushed up and went to her, wrapping his fingers as best he could around hers. “Yes, cupcake?” he drawled.

  Her eyelid twitched. Ah, he was annoying her. There was the Emmaline he’d come to know and admire. “You want to get me out of here, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then go be my hero, Aeric. Go.”

  He hesitated, but it was going to be painful leaving her here, not knowing what the Summer Queen had in store for her.

  “Aeric, go,” Emmaline pleaded softly. “Please.”

  He slid his fingers through to touch her cheek. “I’m getting you out, Emmaline. No matter what I have to do. Do you understand? Are you hearing me this time?”

  Fear flashed in her eyes. She was worried he’d use the piece of the bosca fadbh to bargain for her, and she had reason to be worried. “Don’t tell her—” She glanced at the guard. “Don’t, Aeric. I’ll find a way to get free on my own. Don’t do it.”

  “No promises. You can’t stay in here. I saw just how much damage she did to you yesterday and that means you need to get the fuck out of here before she does more.” He pulled away from her.

  She tried to grab him as he backed away. “Don’t do it, Aeric. Do you hear me? Don’t!”

  He walked away from her, toward the guard. He could still hear her yelling at him clear down the corridor. She was strong, that woman, for not taking the easy way out of this mess.

  He hoped she could stay strong for a little longer.

  WRAPPED in charmed iron, Emmaline knelt at the Summer Queen’s feet. She parted her lips and forced out a strong voice despite her weakening from the effect of iron against her skin. “I won’t go back to working for you.”

  “Who said you have a choice?”

  Magick flared along Emmaline’s skin, soft and seductive, coaxing her to let down her guard and allow it past so it could have its way with her will. The lucky thing for her was that she was older now—much. And she was more experienced. In the years since she’d left Ireland, she may not have fully dealt with the atrocities of her childhood, but she had found her inner strength in other ways. She was no longer the vulnerable, starving child she’d been, willing to give up her soul for even the ghostliest illusion of a mother figure.

  “I have a choice and my choice is to remain free.”

  The magick grew heavier, less like silk and more like sandpaper. She squeezed her eyes shut, her body going tense. It would get worse and worse, more painful. She remembered.

  The bitch wasn’t getting her this time.

  “Emmaline, give in to me. This way is much easier than the gentling.”

  That’s what she’d called the stripping of Emmaline’s will back when she was a child. The forced nudity, the sack, the weeks of confinement. Gentling.

  Emmaline didn’t respond. She only kept her head bowed and endured the rasp of the Summer Queen’s magick along her body, denying it entry into her mind. The fact that the wound on her shin throbbed didn’t help, nor did her incredible fatigue. It took all her concentration to reject the queen’s power.

  “Perhaps you’d like to see an old friend, then?”

  Oh, gods, please, no. Not Lars. Pleasepleaseplease.

  There was a rustling of fabric and the sound of booted footfalls on the floor. Then an object was placed on the marble floor in front of her.

  Her crossbow.

  “I had it preserved using magick. It’s as pristine today as the day you left it on my throne. Do you want to touch it? It’s almost as if I can feel it yearning for your fingers on its wood, Emmaline. The weapon always did seem a little sentient, didn’t it?”

  It did. And, Danu, it was a beautiful weapon even by today’s standards. The Summer Queen had spared no expense having it made, since it had, by default, represented her as queen. The stock was of polished oak. She could remember the way the wood had warmed in her hand and she could see the slightly worn areas where her fingers had fit. Normally a crossbow’s string was difficult to pull back, but not this one—this one had been charmed to make it easy, allowing her to get off shot after shot when she needed to.

  The weapon really did seem to call out for her to touch it. A part of her felt compelled to pick it up, hold it, and make it hers again. In an odd way, this crossbow was a part of her. Yet the weapon also repulsed her because it represented that horrific part of her life.

  But the real reason she didn’t touch it was because the Summer Queen wanted her to.

  The queen sighed as if sorely put out. “Fine. I can see this is nothing like the old days.” The displeasure in her voice kissed Emmaline’s skin with ice. “But don’t think I don’t know what you have nightmares about, Emmaline. Don’t think I don’t know where your weak spots are. I know very well indeed. Lars!”

  Emmaline began to shake as soon as his name hit the air. Lars. Oh, she remembered him like it was yesterday. Her body remembered it, too, clenching up and shivering—like a beaten dog, that was how the queen had always described her reaction to him.

  Heavy black boots hit the floor in front of her nose. She closed her eyes against the still-familiar scent of him. Just a little like the freshly turned earth he worked in, coupled with a faint trace of evergreen and a dash of old blood. She’d hoped that Watt’s had gotten him, but here he was, her worst nightmare made flesh.

  Swallowing hard and centering all her willpower, she looked up. He hadn’t changed at all, maybe he was just a little older. Light blond hair cut short, fine form dressed in hunting leathers. Beautiful. Looking at him, you’d never expect the monster that lived behind those pale blue eyes.

  He smiled, showing perfect teeth. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to come back to me, Emmaline.”

  Her gaze dropped to his hand. He held a knife.

  FIFTEEN

  BACK in the Shadow Queen’s receiving room, Aeric paced back and forth while Aislinn, Gabriel, and Niall Quinn watched. “What did you give the bitch to get me back?” His body trembled with a fine, cold rage. Aislinn had bargained for him, and he’d had to leave Emmaline behind.

  Aislinn had petitioned the Seelie Court for another audience, this time so Aeric could meet with the Summer Queen, but they were being stonewalled. The Summer Queen knew what he wanted, of course, and didn’t want to hear what he had to say. That left Emmaline over there in her evil clutches, subject to whatever torture she planned to dish out. He felt powerless, ineffectual, fucking impotent. It was pissing him off so much he’d punched a hole in his apartment wall.

  Aislinn didn’t even blink at his language. “The cauldron.”

  Aeric swore for a full minute. The cauldron was rare and very special. It had the power to give those who drank from it powerful visions, usually of a dark nature, visions that would help the drinker through his or her personal demons. More than that, it was a piece of Unseelie history—a piece they’d just lost to the Seelie.

  “You’re worth it,” said Gabriel. “You’re the Blacksmith and part of the Wild Hunt. The Summer Queen knows all that and she squeezed Aislinn hard because of it.”

  And Emmaline was still over there in her bloodless grip.

  “She wouldn’t negotiate with me at all for Emmaline,” Aislinn continued, “and I had no way to force her to make a deal since Emmaline is Seelie.”

  “Yeah, the bitch has a serious hard-on for her.”

  “I noticed that. She’s very”—Aislinn pressed her lips together as if searching for the right word—“proprietary where
Emmaline is concerned.”

  That was the correct term. To the Summer Queen, Emmaline was nothing more than a valuable arrow in her quiver, or an expensive and deadly sword to keep sheathed at her side. He was only afraid that the queen was attempting to re-sharpen that sword even as they stood here talking.

  “I’m going over there. If the bitch won’t see me voluntarily, I’ll force the issue.” He stalked toward the door, but Gabriel and Niall got up and stood in front of it. “Get out of my way.”

  “No,” stated Gabriel with a hint of violence in his voice.

  “Are you crazy?” Niall growled at him. “You’re just going to barge in there with your hot temper and your potty mouth again? We just got you out, Aeric, and the Unseelie Court is running out of priceless relics to trade for your mangy hide.”

  “Get out of my way,” Aeric growled again.

  Gabriel stepped closer to him, folding his arms across his chest. “You can try to make us.”

  Goibhniu, he didn’t have time for this. “We can give her the section of the bosca fadbh Emmaline’s going after. It’s a bargaining chip that will work.”

  The room went quiet.

  Aeric turned to the Shadow Queen. “We have to get Emmaline out of there. You don’t understand just how much trauma the Summer Queen caused twisting her into an assassin. Now she’s over there right now, trying to twist her again. Emmaline can’t take it.”

  Aislinn appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “We don’t know how the Summer Queen feels about the wards of Piefferburg being torn down, Aeric. I am not totally convinced she wants them gone. She’s a big deal in here, the celebrated focal point of the Seelie. Out there, among the humans, she wouldn’t be. When—if—it comes time for her to give up what she’s holding for the greater good . . . well, I’m not sure she won’t fight.”

  “She’s already got the first piece,” Gabriel added. “That’s bad enough. She shouldn’t have two.”

  Aeric whirled to face the two men. “Are you all insane? If we don’t get Emmaline out of there, there won’t be a second piece to fight over.”

  “We’re just saying that we need to find another way to free Emmaline,” said Aislinn patiently.

  “How?”

  No one had an answer.

  He stared hard at Aislinn, a woman he counted as a friend as well as his queen, and pointed at Gabriel. “He moved the very Netherworld to save you. Why does Emmaline deserve less?”

  No one had an answer for that, either.

  “You know,” said Niall into the suddenly quiet room, “I realize we have to help this woman because of the key, but has it struck anyone else how ironic this is? I’m one of the only ones in this room old enough to remember the wars—and I do remember. I recall very clearly what a scourge Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher was.”

  Aeric swung his gaze around to meet Niall’s and put all his rage into it. Niall didn’t take the hint.

  “And by the way,” Niall continued blithely on, “have you forgotten that this is the woman who killed Aileen? Now you’re all hell-bent on preventing her from being traumatized ? I remember a day when you would have ripped this woman bloody with your bare hands. Aeric, what the fuck is going on with you?”

  “None of your business, mage,” Aeric barked.

  “I’m afraid it is my business, Blacksmith.”

  “Stop wasting my time, all of you.” He made a sound of frustration and pushed past Gabriel. “I’m going over there right now. To stop me, you’ll have to fight me,” he growled into Niall’s face. “Good luck with that.”

  “I could kick your ass with magick, big guy,” countered Niall with a cool gaze. “You know that as well as I do.”

  Aeric practically pressed his nose to the mage’s in challenge. “Then either do it or stand aside.”

  Niall’s jaw locked and Gabriel swore loudly in Old Maejian, but neither man made a move to stop him.

  Aeric pushed past him, stormed out of the room, and was gone.

  THE Seelie Court fops all had their panties in an excited twist and the Faemous film crew did their best to waylay Aeric as he stormed down the corridors of the Rose Tower toward the throne room. The Unseelie never came here unless on official business for the Shadow Royal and they never just stomped in and started cracking Imperial Guard heads together.

  He could hear the sound of boots, the clang of rose and gold armor, and the creak of leather behind him now. Reinforcements. He needed to get to the Seelie Queen before they got to him. He broke into a run.

  Two guards stood at the double doors of the throne room. “Halt!” they yelled.

  Not a chance.

  He ducked the swinging blade of one and pivoted, catching the man in the gut and slamming him back against the wall. Gripping him at the edge of his armor, he yanked the stunned guard to the side, into the second. They collapsed in a heap.

  Aeric pushed through the doors so hard they slammed into the walls on the other side. The Seelie Queen sat on her throne, almost as if she’d been waiting for him.

  “Another piece of the bosca fadbh!” he yelled. The Imperial Guards stormed through the door and jumped on him. He fought them off as he bellowed, “It’s yours if you let Emmaline go!”

  “Guards, stop,” came the queen’s icy voice.

  The guards ceased trying to wrestle him to the floor and backed away from him.

  “What would you know of the bosca fadbh, Blacksmith?”

  Aeric straightened and walked closer to her. “Outside Piefferburg, Emmaline works for the HFF. They know where the next piece of the bosca fadbh is, but they need something from me in order to get it. Once they have the piece, they intend to bring it back into Piefferburg. If you let Emmaline leave with me right now, we’ll let you keep it.”

  She drummed her fingers on her throne and said nothing for several long moments, as though weighing the juiciness of his offer against the worth of her former assassin. Every heartbeat made Aeric grow tenser.

  “Emmaline can’t be worth more than a piece of the bosca fadbh,” Aeric said. Maybe he was trying to convince himself of that fact, since now he wasn’t so sure.

  “It’s a good offer. I won’t deny it. Had I known earlier, things might have turned out differently. However, I’m afraid I have some bad news about Emmaline.”

  Aeric took a step forward, his fists clenching. “What?”

  “She was mine to do with as I pleased. Mine to—”

  “What the fuck did you do to her?” he roared, stalking toward her.

  She flicked her wrist and the guards were on him in a moment, holding him back from doing her bodily harm. She sighed. “Fine, if you want her that much, you can have what’s left.”

  SIXTEEN

  GIDEON woke to white.

  White ceiling, white walls, white floor, white upholstered chairs. White everything, broken only by shiny, metallic medical equipment. Blessed Labrai Hospital. The one on the Phaendir campus in Protection City, Carolina, that catered to the unique physiological makeup of the druids.

  His world was soft, hazy. He felt like he was floating. Drugs. They must have him on something. He reached over and touched the IV that was attached to his arm.

  “Don’t move around too much,” said a nurse, leaning over him. She patted his arm and smiled into his face. “You’ve been out for several days. I’m glad to see you came back to us. We thought we might have lost you there, Brother Gideon.”

  She shuffled away and he closed his eyes. Labrai help him, he felt like he’d missed death by a breath for real.

  He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d ordered it, but that was not what he’d been going for. Someone was going to be in trouble for this one.

  “They told me you were awake,” said Brother Maddoc, entering the room dressed in an expensive blue suit. “I came right over.”

  Gideon moved his head with a difficulty he didn’t have to fake to look up at Maddoc standing at his bedside. “What happened?” he croaked. “The last thing I rem
ember is drinking my tea.” He fought through the drug-induced haze that gripped him. This conversation was important.

  Maddoc’s usually open face clouded. “Yes, your tea was accidentally poisoned, it seems.”

  He blinked and tried to sit up, only to fall back weakly against the pillows. “Accidentally? How does tea become accidentally poisoned?”

  “When the kitchen help making the tea mistakes the cubed rat poison for sugar. The worker has claimed responsibility for the mix-up and has been punished.”

  “Rat poison in the kitchen? Near the sugar? Cubed rat poison?” Gideon succeeded in pushing into a sitting position, wincing at the soreness of his body. “How is that possible?”

  “It was a freak accident, a series of unfortunate and highly improbable events.”

  “I’m aware of the meaning of the term freak accident, Maddoc,” Gideon snarled.

  “You should be.”

  “Yes, I should be.” Gideon stared up at him meaningfully, infusing his voice with just enough suspicion. “There have been quite a few freak accidents lately, haven’t there?”

  Maddoc’s jaw tightened. “There have. One might almost think they weren’t accidents.” There was a hard note of suspicion in his voice.

  “Are you accusing me of something? Right now? While I lie here in the hospital having narrowly escaped death?”

  “You have been the one to benefit the most from this string of unfortunate mishaps. I need not point out your use of the words narrowly escaped. Miraculously, you’re the only brother to have survived his respective . . . accident.”

  Gideon sputtered. “Are you suggesting that I somehow poisoned myself ?”

  “Or arranged for the poisoning, all the better to make you look innocent of clearing your passage through the hierarchy through murder, Brother Gideon. Here you lie, an innocent victim just like all the rest. Thank Labrai you made it through.” The note of sarcasm in Maddoc’s voice wasn’t lost on Gideon.