Griogair twined his fingers together over his chest. “I believe the charge was treason and conspiracy against the crown.”
“They should understand why I won’t exile him to Scotland. Our cast-off criminals can wreak unfathomable havoc on human society.”
“As you did?” he teased.
She glared at him half-heartedly. “As Cridhe did by seeking out and killing human druids.” The memory made her shudder. Cridhe had been the only blood faerie she’d ever encountered, and his magic was as dark and corrupting as many once believed her own would be. “Even Tràth, although his intentions were not ill, caused damage when he lost control of his temporal abilities.”
Griogair stiffened at the mention of his son. The prince was still recovering from the trauma of the previous year, and he would need a long time yet to master his magic. He’d not spoken of his mother, Queen Cadhla, since her death, as far as Eilidh knew, but how could the loss not affect him?
Eilidh softened her tone. “I don’t blame him, my mate. No one does. The harm done was, in the end, minimal, although those humans he encountered will have strange stories to tell for the rest of their lives.” She glanced at a tapestry hanging on the wall, a gift from Queen Vinye of Andena, the kingdom whose borderlands touched Caledonia’s in the south. Something about the artwork’s soothing colours comforted her. “If visiting their realm were not crucial to the survival of our race, I’d close the Otherworld gates forever. How many ways do we touch their society without intending to?”
A tug in her awareness told her Quinton Munro approached. Their bond allowed them to sense each other’s emotions and proximity, and as time went on, they discovered new depths to their connection. Faerie society didn’t yet know what to make of the five human druids who had come to Caledonia, but they had begun to carve out their place in the Otherworld. That gave Eilidh some comfort. She had feared Quinton would feel as much a prisoner in this realm as she had in his.
Sending a quick thought message to the Watchers in the corridor, she instructed them to allow the druid to enter. She wished she could leave a standing order, saying he had permission to pass without challenge, but that command would give rise to rumours she could ill afford at this unsettled time.
Griogair didn’t even look up when Munro walked in. As her prince-consort, he had little say in what Eilidh did. More importantly, he understood her bond with Munro and had no intention of trying to come between them.
Eilidh rose when he entered, and she slipped her arms around his waist, giving him a quick kiss with her embrace. He looked more handsome every day. She’d quietly suggested he at least try some fae apparel, and he’d managed, over time, to make a few rather pleasing choices. Today, he wore a fine kidskin shirt in a dark shade that complimented his deep blue eyes. His hair had grown lighter and his skin glowed with a sheen she found alluring. Neither of them knew if the changes were caused by the druids’ exposure to Otherworld air, or if their awakening magical abilities made them appear more fae-like. Either way, Eilidh approved.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
Eilidh inched back from him and smiled. Although she still felt the weight of her decision, his presence comforted her. “Help me get out of this ridiculous dress.” She stepped through to an adjoining chamber, her dressing room.
Griogair raised his voice as the pair departed. “You have maids for that.”
“Hello, Griogair,” Munro called toward the next room. He signalled for Eilidh to turn. When she did, he expertly unbuttoned the gown, then helped her slip into the soft, flowing robe she often wore between public appearances.
When they returned to the sitting room, Griogair said, “I hate to admit it, Eilidh, but the elders are right. You must order this traitor’s death if you won’t exile him.”
Eilidh sighed. “I want to hear from him myself. I will question Leith this evening, before our dinner with the Tvorskane ambassador, and announce my decision in the morning.”
Griogair stiffened in his seat. “That isn’t wise,” he said.
“Shall I kill a man who’s had no chance to defend himself?”
“He was convicted by the conclave.”
“I find it strange,” she said, “the conclave didn’t invite me to witness the evidence. His crime was supposedly one against me.”
Griogair’s expression told her he was a hair away from telling her not to be stupid, but, as always, he restrained himself. “They have done what is proper under the law, and advised you as to their decision. To question this prisoner would indicate you don’t trust their judgement. You will undermine their authority and, at the same time, appear foolish.”
Eilidh shook her head. “I don’t care. I must hear the confession from his own mouth. I wish to give him a chance to convince me not to kill him.” She glanced at Munro, whose troubled blue eyes reflected the frown curving his lips. Through their bond, she could sense he too was restraining himself from speaking his mind. His disapproval bore down on her. Funny, she thought suddenly, how the fae had always considered humans barbaric, and yet he was disgusted at what she might be forced to do. If only she had a choice.
Griogair stood. “I will speak to Oron, then, and smooth the way as much as possible.” He straightened his tunic. “Unless you wish to put me under an illusion?”
His thoughtfulness gave her heart a pang. He’d accepted that although he was her life mate, she was in love with Munro and bound to him irrevocably. Without being asked, he would offer to let Eilidh to use her powers of illusion to give him Munro’s face. Then he would leave, allowing others to believe she was alone with her mate. This deception helped maintain the appearance of propriety, and they had so far avoided scandal. Griogair found his pleasures elsewhere, accepting his role as friend and confidant, never seeking anything more. Fae society gave little thought to monogamy, but the idea of a queen bedding a human, druid or not, would elicit ruthless gossip.
“No,” she replied, “but thank you. I need to be alone with my thoughts, and your suggestion to smooth the way was a good one.”
Munro appeared less than happy at being sent away, although he said nothing. He also seemed to understand the pressure bearing down on her.
She loved them both in very different ways, she realised as they departed together, leaving her alone with her impossible choice.
Chapter 2
As the night’s darkest hour approached, Flùranach sped through the trees, heart pounding as she ran, brushing aside the tangles of hanging moss. There would be trouble. Such trouble. Her small feet easily found purchase as she rushed and tried to outpace the dread that followed.
It wasn’t her fault she was so much better at her lessons than every other faerie her age—and those children decades older. At eight years old, nearly nine, society still regarded her as an infant. Coddled, protected, and underestimated, only allowed out of the nursery because of her extraordinary abilities. The condescension infuriated her. The ninety-two years between her and adulthood may as well have been a millennium.
The wind whipped at her tear-streaked face. She’d mastered the nine circles of illusion, the sky voice, far-seeing, some things even her instructors didn’t understand. What she couldn’t do was hold herself in the aloof way faeries did, even faeries as young as twenty or thirty years. Her emotions ran riot. Perhaps that’s why she loved the human druids so, why she headed to the River Hai, where the druids had worked for over a moon on a secret project.
Breaking through the forest edge, she raced toward the wide stone terrace where she knew they’d be. She saw Rory’s shock of red hair before the others, and she made a beeline. His hair had grown long over the past moons, and his ears had developed an adorable point at the top. He stood with Aaron and Phillip, looking down at an immense stone wheel. Douglas sat with Tràth, Griogair’s son and the only temporal faerie known to exist in the kingdoms. The pair was always together. They’d bonded soon after they all came to Caledonia from the Skye colony, when Eilidh had been made
queen.
Flùranach loved them all, even Tràth, but Rory was her favourite. He waved to her as she approached. Rather than scold her as the faerie adults would have done, he went to one knee and let her rush into his arms. As soon as she was safe in his embrace, he stood and swung her around until she laughed. Her strawberry-blonde hair flew in every direction.
“There’s my little giggle-goat,” he said. “Back from lessons already?”
“Obviously.” She neglected to mention that was only because she’d run away in the middle of class.
Aaron grinned. “Yeah, Rory. Obviously.”
“What is it going to be?” she asked. The stone wheel lay flat on the ground
Rory still held her. She liked that. Faerie adults never held children once they were old enough to stop suckling. She felt safe and happy. “We aren’t sure yet,” he said.
“How can you make something if you don’t know what it is?”
Phillip answered with an open smile, “That’s part of the fun.” She liked Phillip. Of course, she liked them all, feeling drawn to them for different reasons: Aaron for the way he laughed and the funny songs he played in the mornings, Rory for the way he held her and made her feel loved, Douglas because he was as much of a rebel as she was. Something about Phillip was constant and solid. He always did what he said he would. Even though humans had a habit of telling the truth, Phillip had a raw honesty about him that Flùranach trusted without question.
She looked at the rock and wondered what they were up to. She’d seen a druid-made object of power before. The one absent druid, Quinton Munro, had created one just for her, a delicate rose she used to extend her far-seeing ability. As far as she knew, this was the first time the druids attempted to craft an object together.
Urging Rory to put her down, she walked over to the low, mossy wall, on which lay a variety of tools. “What are these?”
“To shape the stone,” Rory explained. “Munro can do it without them, but when he’s not here, we work the old-fashioned way.”
She nodded, sad that they had to rely on such crude methods. “If you would bond with me,” she said lightly, “I would gain earth powers, and I could mould it for you.”
He smiled at her, but she noticed something in his eyes. “I wish I could, duckling. Maybe when you’re older.” He’d explained the problem to her a hundred times. The magic didn’t let them choose which faerie to bond with. It called to them. He’d told her perhaps she had to grow up before her mind would be ready for bonding, but she suspected that he didn’t want to admit the truth.
Flùranach wondered if the druids could guide the magic. That’s what faeries did. It was a part of them but didn’t control them. Why should they not direct the bonding magic to choose her? If she had a druid, she’d be even more powerful and might at least learn something new, rather than repeating old lessons a hundred times over. Plus, she could be with her druid all the time instead of having to sneak away.
Munro got his own room at Canton Dreich near Queen Eilidh, and Douglas and Tràth lived together too, while the other druids shared a villa. If she had a druid, maybe she wouldn’t have to stay with her grandfather anymore.
“Come on, Douglas,” Aaron said. “Help us find the lines again.”
Flùranach didn’t understand what they were doing. They used earth magic, alien to her since her gifts came from the astral sphere, but even more importantly, theirs was druid magic. Earth faeries had tried working with them before, but none mirrored the humans’ abilities.
Douglas, the youngest of the group and only ten years older than Flùranach, went and knelt beside the stone. She thought it unfair everyone treated the humans as adults. The eldest of them was barely over thirty, yet they worked on whatever they liked and never went to lessons. Faeries lived under their tutors’ thumbs until they reached at least fifty.
She started to skip toward Tràth, stopping when she realised what she was doing. He wouldn’t scold her, but she’d forgotten his station for a moment. “Hello, Your Highness,” she said.
She excelled at reading people, but something in Tràth challenged her. He seemed friendly enough, especially for a prince, but his temporal magic made him difficult. His mind didn’t work the same way as other faeries’.
He nodded to her, just as he would to an adult, which she appreciated. He never treated her like an ignorant child or tried to protect and hide her away, as the earth faeries did. “If I may?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course,” she replied.
“Don’t be in such a rush. Enjoy your childhood while you can.”
Frustration bit at her. “My prison, you mean?”
He sighed. “I understand. I didn’t have the easiest youth myself.”
She had never met his mother, Queen Cadhla. Her grandfather and the other azuri on Skye had killed the queen when she invaded their colony. Flùranach was born in exile, and Tràth had been prince of an Otherworld kingdom all his life. “I can do my lessons better than my tutors, and yet they have me repeat them over and over, never teaching me more advanced magic. They always say, ‘you’re too young,’ or, ‘be patient,’ or, ‘you’ll understand when you’re older.’ Why should my age dictate what I can do? The magic cries out to me, but I can’t wield it the way I’m destined to. Why won’t they let me try?”
“You are eight years old, not even old enough to be out of the nursery, and yet you can touch magic even some of the elders cannot. Perhaps they are afraid.” He spoke softly, as though lost in memories.
That was Tràth’s way. He often went silent for long periods, and she sensed his thoughts drifting beyond reach.
“They are afraid of you too,” she remarked, then glanced up quickly to make sure she hadn’t offended him.
“Yes,” he agreed. His dark hair contrasted with his pale skin, and he sometimes looked sick, even though she didn’t think he was. On the same day Queen Cadhla had died, he’d spent a lot of his magic trying to save the people of Skye from his mother. Some say it cost him dearly. Others say he’d had problems before that anyway.
“Is it lonely? Being the only one?” She’d wondered, but never before had the nerve to ask. As often as she saw him, she rarely spoke to him one-on-one like this. Usually, one or all of the druids were around. They loved her, she knew, but they sometimes ignored her if others were present. Was she so terrible to want to be noticed?
“I’m not lonely now that I have Douglas.” His eyes found the druid, watching him as he worked with his friends on the other side of the terrace. They’d decided to take the enormous wheel toward the water, discussing the best way to move it. They really should ask Tràth for help, Flùranach thought. When he bonded with Douglas, he gained access to the four spheres of earth magic, something that made every azuri faerie long to bond with one of druids. So much power.
“Rory said he may bond me when I’m older,” she said.
Tràth turned his eyes toward her. “I’m sure he will if he can, but the choice is not his to make.”
“Time will tell,” she said, certain Rory would choose her the moment her magic ripened.
Tràth chuckled as though she’d said something funny, then she realised she had. Time. None understood time the way Tràth did. He’d moved back and forth within it, hiding their entire colony in a time bubble when the azuri elders battled Tràth’s mother.
Flùranach had scarcely spoken to her own mother in years. She encountered her at festivals, but her mother seemed as any other of the fae women and had grown even more distant since they’d come to Caledonia.
“Tell me about time,” she asked.
Tràth looked into the sky, as though reading the stars. “Time is an ocean, and we driftwood, floating on its surface, eventually washing to shore.”
She longed to touch his mind, to see what he did, but even at her young age, she knew the idea was dangerous and ill-advised.
“I thought I might find you here,” said a familiar voice nearby. Grandfather. She’d ex
pected her tutors to come after her themselves, as they often did, and drag her back to her lessons. If they had, she would have felt the spark of their mental touch as they searched for her. The idea her grandfather might simply walk had never occurred to her. She scolded herself. Of course he knew where the druids worked and that she would come straight here.
“Elder Oron.” Tràth stood and gave him a respectful nod.
“I’m sorry if my granddaughter has disturbed the druids’ important work.”
Flùranach hated the way he talked about her as though she was invisible. “They aren’t working,” she said. “They’re arguing with a rock.”
Oron looked down at Flùranach. “We who follow the Path of Stars do not understand the Ways of Earth, even less so the lost arts of druid magic.”
“Tràth will tell you. They are working against the stone, trying to pierce its defences,” she insisted, frustrated she couldn’t find the right words.
“Come, child,” her grandfather said. “Let us concentrate on the things we do understand, like why you have again defied your mentors.” He began to lead her away. “I suggest you spend your fifth hour of contemplation on empathy.”
Flùranach grumbled to herself and gave Tràth a wave as she left. The druids were so engrossed in their stone, she didn’t have a chance to tell them why their enchantment wouldn’t succeed. Tràth waved back, a small smile on his face that gave her comfort as her grandfather dragged her toward his house near Canton Dreich.
Chapter 3
Munro had slowly grown accustomed to the nocturnal ways of the fae, so during the night he often ate with Prince Griogair if the prince’s duties allowed. It surprised Munro how much he liked Eilidh’s husband. Only a year ago, Munro had been PC Quinton Munro, a Scottish beat cop with no clue about his own dormant magical powers. Never in a million years would he have imagined leaving his home to live in the Otherworld, bound by love and magic to a faerie queen. That she’d married someone else only complicated things further.
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