Reign of Rebels (Half-Blood Huntress Chronicles Book 4)

by D. D. Miers

  Orson didn’t pick up when I dialed the shop or his cell, so I switched tacks and texted Tryst that I would be coming by, and he’d be waiting for me with a better attitude if he wanted a shiny crown of his own. Which he did…and everyone in Fairy and in San Francisco knew it.

  My phone buzzed as I stuck it in my pocket, making me jump, and reminding me that my nerves weren’t quite as over the attack the day before as I wanted to think.

  Come to the shop, right away.

  It was Penelope. My racing heart paused for the space of a few beats, my ribcage compressing my lungs until I saw spots in front of my eyes.

  "Gray," I breathed, and he was there, his heat against my back before I could force out another word. The instant he touched me, my chest released its death grip on my organs and my vision cleared. "We've got to go. Pen's in trouble."

  “Shit. Prescot.”

  I shoved my feet into my boots as he barked orders at Niall and the other shifters, then followed him out to one of the sleek black escalades parked behind the building. It was Gray who had decided that the pack needed a fleet of vehicles that would allow them to travel together, but it was Niall who had ensured that the fleet wasn't made of big, ugly vans he thought would draw even more unwanted attention.

  As he ran his second red light and turned down the hill toward the water, I wondered if shifters also came with some sort of sixth sense that allowed them to avoid both other cars and the police when they drove. Even when I followed the law to the letter, I still ended up pulled over, as the police, many of them sympathetic to the coven, found a reason to search my car. It was why I didn’t drive anymore, but I hated feeling like a perpetual passenger, and it was the worst when I was waiting for Gray to finally mistime a swerve and kill us both.

  Finally, he screeched to a halt in one of the parking spots marked ‘customers only,' and we raced inside.

  I don't know what I was expecting when I walked into the building still bearing the Tell's Bonds sign, but it wasn't an emissary from the Light Court in full regalia, standing guard outside Orson's office door.

  Penelope and Julian paced the floor wearing twin expressions of worry, and neither they nor the plumed and puffy-sleeved messenger.

  “Where’s Prescot?” Grays’ voice was level, carefully controlled, but I felt a push of…something, in the air, and behind me, his breathing became strained. His beast pressed against his skin, turning his aura from gold to crimson as I watched him fight something that seemed to be forcing him into his animal form.

  Pen shuddered and backed further toward the door, and Julian pulled her against him, helping her control her new and still untamed power as well.

  With a start, I realized where the push to call their beasts was coming from. “Hey. Knock it the fuck off, you pimple on a noble’s ass,” I growled at the pompous Fae guard.

  Gray’s red glow intensified, and without a conscious thought, Caorach was in my hand. I handed the sword to Gray, silently commanding it to draw off some of the Fae magic that was attacking him, and go in the guard’s face, pressing the toes of my boots to the daintily curled tips of his silk slippers.

  “You aren’t strong enough to change him, asshole, but you are testing my patience.”

  He sidled sideways to get away from me, and I backed toward where Gray was standing without looking, tracking his heat back to his body and placing myself between them. Behind me, Gray went rigid, so still, I could feel the space he was taking up in the room. Thinking he'd lost the battle to his beast, I stepped aside and got the hell out of his way.

  For the first time in the moments since we'd walked in, the messenger's smug expression faltered. Fear tightened the corners of his eyes, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His hand hovered over the pommel of his ceremonial short sword, but he didn't draw it.

  “Please, try it, you simpering little shit.” I gathered my power like I would when calling down a storm, then reached out and drank in Gray’s beast until he could push it all the way into submission. Next, I began to pull the power out of the room around us and into me, filling up ‘til even my fingertips sparked with raw Fairy magic.

  The Fae glanced between us, his fear naked on his face as his glamor failed. I’d drunk all the power in the room into me, creating a vacuum of magic, but I could only hold so much.

  “Would you risk turning the Light Court against you?” he hissed, but his voice shook with fear and sweat beaded on his upper lip and forehead.

  “you struck out at the allies of the Light Court, my allies, and you think the consequences will fall on me?" I laughed aloud, the sound harsh and overly loud in the tense room. "I am the fucking princess of the Seelie Sidhe, only daughter of King Emris Stormkeeper. I will fry that ridiculous velvet tabard off your body and present your fucking head to my father for your insolence."

  Never had I even considered doing anything I’d just threatened to another being, but as I spoke, I realized even the magic wanted violence, and I thanked the Goddess I wasn’t holding Caorach, or I might’ve acted, instead of using my words.

  I tried to rein in the flood of raw magic, but I'd taken too much and couldn't manipulate it. Power leaked out around the edges of my threadbare control, creating wisps that zipped around the room in confusion. Grayson, Pen, Julian, and the messenger all ducked, and at least one of them cried out in alarm.

  When I raised my arms, they flew to me, landing on my outstretched limbs with a feather-light touch.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” Orson burst from the office. Knocking the terrified messenger over as he tried to hide behind my former boss.

  Behind Orson, Duncan appeared in the doorway. At over six feet tall and impossibly thin, he was the very epitome of the Seelie high Fae. He was also my father’s most trusted advisor. King Stormkeeper would not have sent him away from court on a whim. From behind him, Prescot peered out the door, his eyes wide.

  The messenger began to complain to Duncan in a whiny tone. “Sir, the witch…”

  “The Princess will most certainly not be addressed with such disrespect, Ryden," Duncan cut him off in a flat tone that sounded bored, but I knew held a warning for the squire. "Am I to assume this rudeness is the cause of your display, Highness?" he turned to me, and his voice softened as he stared in wonder at the baby wisps clinging to my body like I was their marsupial mama.

  “No. this is the power I was forced to swallow, that Sir Ryden was using to force our shifter allies into their animal forms.”

  Duncan's face looked like Ryden was about to meet a fate worse than the one I'd threatened. "My lady," he sighed. "Lord Alpha, Sir Leo, and mate." Somehow Duncan knew everyone in the room…

  Damn, he's got, good spies.

  Caorach, still safely gripped in Gray’s fist, silently agreed with my mental appraisal. Lord Duncan certainly had made an effort to know what was going on so far away from the evergreen forests of Arcadia, the land of Fairy.

  “Lord Duncan, may I assume your visit has nothing to do with me, and I can go somewhere to…vent all this extra energy?”

  "My apologies, Princess. Of course, you do whatever you need to feel comfortable…but you must know, it's been an age since anyone could create wisps. The pixie queen will be quite pleased, as will lady Ravenna, the healer."

  I remembered her. She’d been the only Fae to openly assist me when I’d decided to take on the Fae prison, an oubliette that leeched magic from the prisoners, draining them as the nobles stole the power for themselves. It seemed even after I’d killed my cousin to protect my father and the throne, the nobles who hated me the most, had been the ones using the oubliette to feed their greed for more power.

  “And how is cousin Ravenna?”

  "She is well and looks forward to your next visit, where she hopes you will have time to visit with her. I'm certain she will only be more insistent when she hears you've created new wisps, as will Queen Myst."

  “Is this a rare talent?” I had never considered where wisps come
from.

  “It is unheard of in the current age. Once, every queen of Arcadia had wisps follow them wherever they went, bursting to life spontaneously and renewing the lights of the palace.”

  Gray and I shared a look, and he handed me back Caorach. “Demon-blade, wisps, commanding shifters…what else are the Fae looking for, before they’ll accept you?”

  He had a point.

  “So, what brings you to San Francisco, Duncan? I hope you weren’t planning to visit Orson and slip away before I got to say hello.”

  Duncan cleared his throat as his head wagged slowly from side to side. “Still not much of a diplomat, are you?”

  “I thought that’s why the rulers had advisors like you.”

  He scoffed at me and barely stifled a sigh. “You are not incorrect, but those of us in that position always hope the next king or queen will have a sense of caution on their own.”

  “Don’t worry, Duncan. I won’t embarrass you, or my father, at the upcoming festivities to welcome the new king of Fairy’s Dark Court. But seriously, why are you here, and why didn’t you think to contact me beforehand?”

  He glanced at the pale, trembling messenger standing almost tucked into his robes, and I understood without another word. Duncan had sent word and likely heard that I was too busy to be seen, or whatever little fungus-faced courtiers gave as excuses when they didn't want to have an audience with the king's people.

  Grayson cleared his throat to interrupt. “Uh, at any point, were we going to discuss the attack on your home, Morgan?”

  Duncan’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as I shrugged. “Yeah. Chthel paid me a visit. Seems to have had some miscommunication about her king.”

  “She decided Morgan wanted to, uh, marry, the Unseelie king and came to kill the competition.”

  My father's friend started to speak but shut his mouth when I shook my head vehemently. "Nope, we're not even entertaining that idea. I have a man and more other offers than I care to think about. My freedom is not going to be part of negotiations between the courts."

  “I would not have suggested it, Princess.” Duncan bowed deeply, his long, silver hair falling over his shoulder and trailing almost to the floor.

  No, you would not have suggested it, Kingmaker, but you would have made sure someone did. I sighed and gave him an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. Enough that I wasn't rude, but not so much that he'd forget that I didn't really trust him.

  It wasn’t even an issue for us, it was just the way of the courts. Duncan had been the one to teach me both to reserve my trust for my non-Fae friends, and how to compose myself to the courtiers and nobles to be better received at court. He’d never pretended to be my friend, though.

  Duncan Kingmaker had a surname once, but it had been forgotten across the eons of his life as the real power behind the throne. He had no need for a crown, he'd said it was just like wearing a target, and he preferred to pull the strings of a king than to be constantly under fire.

  But I knew he loved my father, even as he denied loyalty to any Fae. It was more than the office he protected, and more than curiosity I’d seen on his face the night I’d dueled my cousin to the death to save his king.

  How long had it been since either of them had a wife or lover to turn to? Anyone other than the two of them to trust? I looked at Pen and Julian standing with their arms around a pale Prescot, and Gray who still watched Sir Ryden, almost unblinking.

  My father, who had lived over a thousand years, had one friend. Suddenly, I felt like the richest princess in the whole world, and maybe Fairy too. Especially Fairy, where the courts have forgotten that Fae laughter used to summon Spring.

  “So, why are you here, Kingmaker?”

  “To summon Orson to Arcadia with honors. The king wishes to have Orson by his side for the festivities, assuming you will not miss him from your…entourage?”

  Yes, I needed the shifters…no, I didn’t want Orson on the wrong side of the room when we arrived.

  “I am not even going to pretend that I get to make any demands regarding my boss, Duncan. Especially not in our workplace.”

  Orson nodded at me as though I’d given him my permission, or maybe he just approved of my response. It was hard to tell, still lit up with all the power I’d swallowed. “I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive, my girl, at your father’s side.”

  With that, Duncan opened a portal I hadn’t noticed in all the fuss, not into the ‘tween space of the garden, and certainly not into the naiads’ pool, but into the throne room. I caught a glimpse of my father sitting at his desk near the throne, looking pensive, and (I thought) a little lost.

  He glanced up and met my eyes, then Duncan stepped into the doorway and blocked him from view. When Sir Ryden scurried through last, my father had disappeared from view, presumably to welcome Orson home.

  It was almost like I was back in Fairy, so close to having his attention, but never quite getting there. The emotions that rose in me sent the baby wisps scattering to the corners of the room, and I silently apologized to them for my lack of control.

  “Sorry, wee ones. My feelings about my family do tend to have that effect.” I glanced at my remaining friends and stifled a self-piteous sigh. We still hadn’t discussed what we were going to do for the feast, and I still had to get Tryst on board with not letting the celebration happen at all. It was going to be a long day.

  Eight

  I didn’t expect to sleep at all, worried about another attack, but Gray held me until my muscles melted and I relaxed into a deep, dreamless slumber, my nose filled with his scent as we lay wrapped together with my cheek pressed to his heartbeat.

  It wasn’t until morning that I learned Niall had set guards in the hall outside my apartment, and outside Gray’s door, in case the hunters returned. But Komodor had been the only one to send word. I opened the metal box his redcap had delivered with reluctance, and the contents made gorge rise to my throat.

  “The soldier said that the Unseelie King sends his apologies for such an inauspicious start to negotiations,” Gray’s second in command reported. “it smells.”

  I nodded and tried to clear my throat. “Yeah, that’s the smell of a hunter’s blood and flesh,” I shoved the box toward him and slid the cover back a little. “Specifically, Chthel, who’s had scars removed for disobedience.”

  The box held a wide swath of skin that had been cut from the huntress, marked with several shiny pink scars. "It's likely they'll heal her, so the skin is smooth, losing the honor of whatever battles she was in when she got them."

  “That’s a terrible punishment? Do we even know what battles?” Niall’s voice was incredulous.

  "We probably won't ever know, since I have no intention of ever having another conversation with her. But, depending on how angry Lothar was with her, they could be from a minor skirmish or her greatest victory. It could have caused her great mental anguish to lose that record."

  “Damn. That actually sounds terrible.”

  For a hunter, it is terrible. To lose proof of your deeds when you operate in darkness is to say they never happened, that you lost your prey. She had lost hers, whether her attack was sanctioned or not, but that Lothar had bothered to engage the goblins as emissaries when he was having such difficulty controlling them meant he was desperate for a diplomatic solution.

  He’s not as strong as people think. I felt the blade waken and shushed it impatiently. But he is weak. We should attack before he gains strength.

  Aloud, I mused to Gray and Niall, “He really isn’t as strong as he thinks he needs to be to accomplish his goal, whatever that is. The problem is, that doesn’t mean he isn’t still really fucking dangerous to us. We need to talk to Orson, see if he can shed any light on what the Unseelie King could be aiming for.”

  Niall released the guards and reported that my new door had already been ordered, but it would be another day before it was fixed. Gray directed them to leave the guard outside my apartment, not because we thou
ght the Unseelie would be back, but to remind the pack of my importance.

  To keep their females from fucking up my shit, I thought to myself. "I'll call Orson and check in with him, see if the Seelie have sent any word of warning to him since they've not bothered with me. Then we can go see Tryst together. Hopefully, this attack will help steer him toward an agreement."

  I stepped into the bedroom to call Orson, blushing as the smell of sex and musk hit me as I got close to the bed, a scent that Gray's lieutenants would've caught the moment they stepped into the apartment. Briefly, I wondered if I could bring my challengers up and rub their damn noses in it, and if it would make them understand I wasn't going anywhere.

  Orson didn’t pick up when I dialed the shop or his cell, so I switched tacks and texted Tryst that I would be coming by, and he’d be waiting for me with a better attitude if he wanted a shiny crown of his own. Which he did…and everyone in Fairy and in San Francisco knew it.

  My phone buzzed as I stuck it in my pocket, making me jump, and reminding me that my nerves weren’t quite as over the attack the day before as I wanted to think.

  Come to the shop, right away.

  It was Penelope. My racing heart paused for the space of a few beats, my ribcage compressing my lungs until I saw spots in front of my eyes.

  "Gray," I breathed, and he was there, his heat against my back before I could force out another word. The instant he touched me, my chest released its death grip on my organs and my vision cleared. "We've got to go. Pen's in trouble."

  “Shit. Prescot.”

  I shoved my feet into my boots as he barked orders at Niall and the other shifters, then followed him out to one of the sleek black escalades parked behind the building. It was Gray who had decided that the pack needed a fleet of vehicles that would allow them to travel together, but it was Niall who had ensured that the fleet wasn't made of big, ugly vans he thought would draw even more unwanted attention.