Table of Contents
Enemy of the Fae
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Fae Name Pronunciation Guide
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
A Note from India Drummond
More by India Drummond
Enemy of the Fae
by
India Drummond
Copyright
Enemy of the Fae
Copyright © 2012, India Drummond
Editing by Susan Helene Gottfried
Book design by Trindlemoss Publishing
First Trindlemoss Publishing electronic publication: December 1, 2011
http://www.trindlemoss.com
eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organisations is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United Kingdom by Trindlemoss Publishing, 2012
ebook ISBN (epub): 978-1-908436-18-4
ebook ISBN (mobi): 978-1-908436-09-2
paperback ISBN: 978-1-908436-10-8
Acknowledgements
I owe a thank you to my editor, Susan Helene Gottfried. She willingly jumped in mid-stream and generously put up with my quirks and foibles. All the while, she held my feet to the fire and helped me produce a much better book.
Thanks also to my beta readers: Marsha Moore, Herb Wamboldt, and David McIntire. Their equal measure of criticism and encouragement helped me navigate the more challenging aspects of this story. I’m truly grateful.
And lastly, I’m convinced there will be a special place in heaven for Inspector Dorian Marshall of the Tayside Police, if such a place as heaven exists. If there is no heaven, there really should be just for him. As I look back on these first three books of this series, I realise none of it would have been possible without his input. What I treasure even more than his ruthless honesty is his friendship. Thank you, good Inspector, for your time and the hard work you devoted to reading my early drafts and correcting my mistakes.
I should also declare that any errors in police policy or procedure are completely my own. He did his best to keep me on the straight and narrow.
Fae Name Pronunciation Guide
In order of appearance:
Leith: LEETH
Griogair: Gree-GAIR
Cadhla: KY-lah
Eilidh: AY-lee
Beniss: BEN-iss
Galen: GAY-len
Setir: SEHT-eer
Qwe: KWAY
Cridhe: CREED
Tràth: TRATH
Flùranach: FLOO-ran-ak
Vinye: VEN-yay
Oron: oh-RON
Jetrim: je-TRIM
Ríona: REE-oh-nah
Oszlár: AHZ-laar
Muime: MOO-eem
Zdanye: ZDAH-nie
Chapter 1
Leith sat, proud and utterly still. He would not shrink away from his visitor, this human. Leith might be a prisoner of the Caledonian queen and a convicted traitor facing execution, but he was fae and would face his enemy with dignity.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Of course,” Leith said, raising his chin defiantly. Although hungry and unwashed, he shrugged with a bare movement, as though not at all troubled by his predicament. The human druid, Quinton Munro, was bonded to the queen. Every faerie in every kingdom recognised his face. Leith had seen him in person six moons before, on the day the queen had taken Prince Griogair as her mate. Griogair was a real traitor. He’d been the mate of the previous monarch, Cadhla, but hadn’t missed the opportunity to ally with the new queen. Some say he killed her, but Leith knew better.
The holding cell was more a small ruin of a house than a prison. The real imprisonment came from being cut off from the flows of magic. Two Watchers sat in an adjacent room, focusing their power on disconnecting Leith from his. In the early days of his imprisonment, Leith had felt panicky and trapped. Even in his sleep, he reached for the flows, and he’d wake with a start when he realised he couldn’t touch them. It took a moment every time for the truth to sink in, and when it did, the frustration turned to resignation.
“Then you know why I’m here,” Munro said.
“I can guess. Like the joint conclave, you believe I am part of some conspiracy against the queen, no doubt. All who observe report that she jumps at shadows.” His lip twitched into a momentary smile.
“I’m here about Cadhla. You know where she is.”
Leith thought quickly. How could this human know what few even dared to suspect? “Queen Cadhla lives?” he asked, feigning surprise. His heart pounded. What did this mean for the small group who worked in the shadows, searching for any opportunity to destabilise the current queen’s reign?
“Eilidh is queen now.” The human’s tone held a warning.
The prisoner bowed his head. “So she is.” He paused, hardly daring to glance up. “But if Cadhla survived as you say…”
“Cadhla is dead. She must stay dead.”
Doubt played through Leith’s mind. He inched closer to the druid, meeting his blue eyes. Only fetid air separated the two. The human had nothing to fear; Leith’s magic was contained, and without it, he was weak, frail even. They both understood the truth, and Munro didn’t cringe as he might have done if Leith had access to the flows. Leith looked away first and licked his lips. “Do you wish me to pass her a message?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the soiled stone floor.
“I have a message, but it is not for Cadhla.”
Leith looked up in time to see the human’s eyes flash strangely. His voice pitched upward as he muttered a few words in the ancient fae tongue. How could this human incant like a faerie?
“I don’t understand.” Leith backed away from Munro. The Watchers in the next room had released their grip on his mind. This human now held the flows away. Leith glanced around the room, feeling more vulnerable and afraid than at any moment since his capture. “How can this be?”
“Queen Eilidh must never learn Cadhla did not die on Skye six moons ago,” Munro said.
“The queen doesn’t know her predecessor lives? Then how do you…”
Munro smirked. “Because I was the one who freed her.”
“What?” Leith no longer cared about his dignity. His hands shook. None of this made sense. He could feel power, previously masked, roiling from the human’s body. “What do you want from me?”
“Only one thing.” Darkness spread through Leith’s mind as Munro completed another enchantment. “I have n
o desire to be cruel. May you rest in the embrace of the Mother.”
The plain iron blade flashed as Munro slipped it from his pocket and held it up. With a smooth, practiced movement, he slashed Leith’s neck. Blood spurted over the human, and he frowned with distaste.
A strange fog in Leith’s thoughts made pain and worry slip from his mind as he slumped against the wall. His entire body had gone numb, and he understood he would die at any moment. Something told him this was right. His only regret was that his end had to come at the hands of a human. They were scarcely more intelligent than animals. Nothing about this made sense, but Leith no longer fought for understanding.
The druid loomed, his essence filling every dark corner of the small cell. With a bare touch of fire magic, Munro lifted his hand and carved a rune into the wall. Leith considered the mark with distant surprise. The rune itself was empty and meant nothing. But then, humans couldn’t possibly understand runes.
Munro turned back to Leith and tutted. “Aren’t you dead yet?” he asked. His voice had a peculiar timbre. It sounded almost familiar.
Leith slid to the floor, and his life drained away.
∞
Deep in the woods, a figure hurried away from the cottage. With another insignificant twist of the astral flows, the illusion faded. Quinton Munro’s face disappeared and the figure’s own angular features returned. The light hair reverted to the faerie’s natural shade. The rounded ears twisted at the top. The smooth but flawed skin of a human in his mid-thirties took on the barely wrinkled appearance of a faerie aged many hundreds of years.
Although the faerie wasn’t certain, it seemed unlikely the Watchers would remember Munro’s face or that Queen Eilidh would be able to retrieve any memory from the dead prisoner. Still, the deception was worth the small effort required, on the off-chance the queen’s druid might be implicated. With luck, they would think Leith’s death an honour-suicide, thus not calling any attention to dangerous places.
The trickery might cost Munro dearly, and that idea made the faerie smile. Queen Eilidh relied heavily on her druid, and some would say he even had her heart. The queen was responsible for Beniss’ death. Beniss had been a shining example of true beauty, a self-sacrificing embodiment of everything good in their race. For that loss, that crime, none would find redemption.
∞
Wearing a long, silk gown as she sat on her glass throne and listened to the droning pleas of her counsellors, Eilidh let her mind drift. She thought wistfully of the slouchy jeans she used to wear, of a time when she kept company with rats and hid her talents away. At least back then, she knew who to name as an enemy.
In the six moons since Eilidh had ascended to the Caledonian throne, she’d had to adjust to a new existence among the fae. No one, not even she, had anticipated the transition would have required any effort because life in the Otherworld was natural. Her time as an exile had been brief, a mere twenty-five years, something everyone expected her to put behind her without another thought.
She might have, if not for Quinton Munro. She had inadvertently woken his druidic powers, and in turn set in motion an ancient bonding magic that connected them at their cores. They’d fallen in love, a fact that had to be hidden from faerie society, but she kept him close. Just seeing him reminded her of the good things in the human realm—the little comforts she’d never thought twice about, like hooded sweatshirts. The one habit she had refused to change was wearing her brilliant white hair in a practical, spiky cut. Several other fae, both men and women, had copied the style, much to Eilidh’s amusement.
“Griogair,” she said suddenly, cutting off the elder faerie in front of her mid-sentence. She turned, but her mate wasn’t standing behind her, as he usually did during court sessions.
The three faeries who stood on the dais below her exchanged looks. Galen, one of her most trusted advisors and the one she’d interrupted, spoke up, “His Highness is meeting with the Tvorskane ambassador. Your Majesty, the prisoner must be dealt with immediately. You must show your strength.”
Eilidh tilted her head. Galen regularly gave sound advice, but this situation gnawed at the young queen. “I wish to speak with Griogair before I make any final determinations.” She stood, silently cursing the constricting formal attire.
Setir looked imploringly at Eilidh. “Allow me to send someone, Your Majesty. There’s no need to seek him out personally,” he added quietly.
Without responding, she walked down the aisle and past the three conclave elders, then exited the throne room by way of the large arch at the rear. It annoyed her that they expected her to act like someone she wasn’t. They followed her as she wound through the corridors toward the East Hall. Servants and Watchers scurried around them, some trying to get out of the way, some alert, as though her behaviour was so alarming, danger must be near.
Eilidh bit back her frustration. Half a year she’d made her home here, and still they treated her as though she was Cadhla. The former queen had been a typical royal, cruel and distant, but surely it shouldn’t take six moons to realise Eilidh was neither of those things. She didn’t intend to be.
She made her way through the large, offset walls that served as the characteristic entryway in Canton Dreich. These offered some privacy but did not go as far as having doors, something Eilidh also missed from the human realm. As she approached, a Watcher stepped in front of her and announced to the chamber, “Queen Eilidh of Caledonia.”
With a glance, she muttered, “This is my own bloody house. You wouldn’t think I’d need an introduction when I walk into a room.”
Griogair rose from the white-draped table where he been sitting with at least a dozen officials. He grinned at her, looking amused, as usual, at her distinctly common manner. Everyone in the room bowed as she entered except him. That never ceased to cause consternation among those close to them. She’d made him promise not to, unless strict protocol had to be observed in public.
Their personal arrangement was secret even from friends and advisors. Eilidh felt fortunate her mate was also her closest companion and confidant, other than Quinton Munro, her bonded druid and lover. While Munro didn’t understand faerie politics, Griogair navigated that world with ease. For hundreds of years he’d been mated to Cadhla and was a prince in his own right. His pairing with Eilidh had been arranged, as had his union with Cadhla—neither of them having much say in the matter— but Eilidh hoped his current situation proved to be more satisfactory than the last. At least she had never tried to kill him.
“Do pardon the interruption, Griogair. I wish to consult with you. Perhaps when you’re finished?” She turned to the officials from Tvorskane. “I apologise. I’ll only keep him a short while.” She caught the horrified expression on Setir’s face. Thinking he worried the conversation might take longer than she’d indicated, she added, “Or perhaps we can arrange a dinner before sunrise to make up for the inconvenience? Can you stay, or do you plan to head home soon?” She focused her attention on the one with the most formal clothing, assuming he must be the ambassador, although she didn’t recall meeting him before. She probably had, of course, but the previous moons passed in such a blur. She’d met more people since becoming queen than in her entire hundred and twenty-five years before.
“Accepting your invitation would be the deepest honour, Your Majesty. I’d not anticipated having the pleasure of encountering you on this trip.”
“Good,” she said. “We’ll arrange something then. I’m certain it will be no trouble.” It would, she knew, be a lot of trouble. Those who served her seemed to like to fret about her sudden changes in plans. She already saw a few servants scurrying as discretely as possible, off to organise whatever would need doing.
She said a polite goodbye to the ambassador and lingered in the corridor, waiting for Griogair to wrap up his business. Within moments, he fell into step with her and they headed to her private quarters.
When they arrived at the door, she said to the elders, “I require time alone with
my mate.”
Setir and Qwe both looked frustrated, and even Galen showed a flicker of impatience in her eyes. “Your Majesty,” Setir began, “we cannot delay. The joint conclave expects us to advise you about the matter. His Highness is a trusted advisor. He is, I would remind you, neither a conclave member nor an elder. Certain protocols must be observed.”
“Nonsense, Setir,” Galen said, looking more regal, Eilidh thought, than she could ever hope to. “The queen has made her desires clear.” To Eilidh, she added, “Your Majesty,” with a deferential inclination of her head.
Gratitude washed over Eilidh. How many times had Galen created a subtle buffer for her, when the conclave became demanding or she needed a moment to think? Eilidh nodded to the elder faerie who had become an ally, despite the tragedy that had introduced them a year before. Eilidh glanced at the Watchers, who had taken positions on either side of the entrance to her private domain. “See that we aren’t disturbed.”
They saluted with hands over hearts, and Eilidh left them all standing in the corridor. She hated being rude to Setir and Qwe, but their chatter made her head ache.
Griogair draped himself across a plush lounge chair in her sitting room. She couldn’t help but smile. He was one of the few who treated her as he always had. His violet eyes swirled with earth magic, so different from her primarily azuri talents. In many ways, he a royal, she a commoner and once an outcast, were an unlikely couple, but as the moons passed, they’d adopted a pleasant and growing friendship.
She slipped off her shoes and took a chair beside him, curling her legs beneath her. “They want me to decide what to do about this prisoner, Leith, but they give me no options I can live with. Death or exile? What kind of choice is that? What has he done, truly?”
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