Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae

by India Drummond

  She had acted as a timid queen, reluctant to exercise power and authority. She hoped a gentle rule would gain her respect, thinking if she treated people fairly, they would love her. Obviously, her plan hadn’t worked out. No, she needed to show her strength. She also had more than six hundred azuri fae in Caledonia, the only kingdom where an azuri fae could openly train. If it weren’t for them, there would be direct challenges to her throne and not the shadowy attempts at subversion. She also had the druids. When the rest of the Otherworld learned they were draoidh… Securing their loyalty to Caledonia was imperative. Quinton promised to speak with them, but that child had caused Eilidh yet another headache.

  “Your Majesty?” the scribe shifted slightly, and Eilidh met his eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “The letter? How would you like to finish it?”

  “How old are you?” Eilidh asked.

  “Fifty-seven,” he replied and glanced away.

  She studied him. She wanted to be patient, merciful, all of the things no one had been with her when she was young and training as a Watcher. But she was a queen under attack from within, and the situation called for a will of iron, not tenderness. “Have you ever done an exercise called counting rocks?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Go tell your mentor I suggest you begin immediately and continue until you can sit in my presence without squirming like an infant.” She waved her hand, and he fumbled with the papers, uncertain whether to take them or leave them behind. How under the sun had such a boy been chosen to serve her? “Go,” she snapped.

  After he left, she stood and straightened her dress. She didn’t like the clothing. The formal style didn’t suit her, and she felt as though she wore someone else’s gown. She needed to be a strong queen, but that didn’t mean stepping into Cadhla’s image. This would require some thought. Eilidh needed to become something else, not the angry porcelain doll her predecessor had been, but not the outcast in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt either.

  Eilidh shook her head. Her wardrobe would wait, although this was about much more than clothing. For now, she needed to secure the druids’ loyalty. When she strode out of the garden, a pair of Watchers took their place a step behind her. She wheeled around. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  They looked at one another, confused.

  “Did you serve Queen Cadhla?” she asked.

  “In rotation, Your Majesty,” one of them said. “But the rafta were her personal guards.”

  She nodded. The rafta who hadn’t been killed on Skye had been disbanded on her orders. “And did Cadhla have a constant escort, even in her own home?” She knew the answer. She’d met Cadhla three times, and never once had Eilidh noticed visible protection around the former queen.

  “No, Your Majesty,” he replied.

  “Who ordered I should have bodyguards on me at all times?” A part of her didn’t want to know. She feared it may have been Griogair.

  “The conclave ordered your constant protection,” he said.

  Eilidh’s mood darkened. Why had she not realised it before? “Which of them gave the command?” she asked.

  “I believe Elder Galen made the arrangements, Your Majesty, but the order was approved by the entire conclave.” He shifted uncomfortably.

  Annoyance stung Eilidh. Galen had grown overprotective. True, the elder nearly always supported Eilidh’s decisions, but this shielding made her appear weak. She stepped back from the pair of them. “Attack me,” she said. When they hesitated, she added, “I command it. And if either of you fail to strike me, I will send both of you to serve in the wastes’ borderlands for the rest of your lives.”

  The Watcher who had remained silent met her eyes and gave her a quick nod of respect. Without warning, a rock flew off the path and zinged past Eilidh’s head, deflected at the last moment by her disturbance of the air. Eilidh smiled. A child’s trick. Then another stone followed, followed by a barrage. The ground below her feet began to shake. This was more like it. She deflected the rocks with a wall of air, even as she reached down and touched the soil, whispering, “Soothe.” The rumbling stopped, but her flows battled with the Watcher’s. He would need to concentrate hard to hold her back. He could let go, but the spell would rebound against him. The rocks swirled in the air, ready to strike either of them if their focus failed.

  The other Watcher drew his elemental sword, which shone like ice. He leaped into the air and spun, dancing toward her with phenomenal speed. At least the conclave had chosen fae with some talent. With a whisper, she suddenly held a ball of fire in her hand, and she sent a blaze roaring toward him. He dodged and was forced to stop his lunging attack. His sword of ice morphed into a long whip that flowed like mercury. It snapped in the air before cracking toward her. She dodged the first blow but was surprised to glimpse another in his off-hand. He landed a sharp strike. Although she was able to duck to keep it from hitting her squarely, the whip glanced her cheek and stung hard.

  He must have drawn blood, and she grinned. He was good. Suddenly a thin sheen of dust scattered into her eyes and both Watchers attacked at once. It was time to stop toying with them. Putting her earth powers aside, she reached for the astral plane and touched their minds. “Subdue,” she whispered. They resisted at first, so she put more force into her focus. She added an illusion, making herself look older, more powerful, wings unfurled from her back and she radiated power. Sending her voice again into their heads, she shouted, Surrender! and let her voice echo in their minds, confusing their thoughts. She teased at their fear, using more illusions of utter blackness and obscuring their vision so they saw nothing but her.

  Their struggle was admirable, but soon they knelt before her, their enchantments withdrawn. With one last wave of her hand, she protected the pair and the rocks landed safely on the earth beside them.

  “I yield,” one of them said. The other echoed his words.

  She was about to tell them to rise when Griogair came storming through the garden gate, his elemental sword drawn. He went to his mate and pointed his weapon at the two Watchers. He opened his mouth, but Eilidh gently put her hand on his arm.

  “No, Griogair. Everything is fine.” She gently dropped her illusions, and the wings folded into her back, then disappeared.

  His violet eyes swirled. “Fine?” he shouted, before lowering his voice. “This is fine?”

  Eilidh grinned. “Yep.”

  “Yep?” He stared at her, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face at the distinctly human expression.

  “Will you stop repeating everything I say? It’s annoying.” She looked down at the Watchers. “Get up,” she said. “That was good, but you need more training in defending against astral attacks.” Then she added, “We all do. In trying to stamp out azuri powers, we have lost much of the ability to defend against them.” She added thoughtfully, “It bears some consideration.”

  “So you were—” Griogair began but stopped himself.

  “Training,” she said.

  “In a gown?” Griogair raised an eyebrow into a fine arch, releasing his sword into nothingness.

  “Do you think my enemies will wait for me to don something suitable? Besides, I don’t like this dress. It looks like something Cadhla would have worn.”

  The Watchers stood and bowed to Eilidh. One tilted his head. “Shall we report to the borderlands, Your Majesty?”

  She grinned and touched her cheek. His blow hadn’t broken the skin as she suspected, but a thick welt had formed. “Tomorrow we will train again. You will teach me more of your earth combat skills. I stopped my earth training in my youth, but I was never accomplished anyway. I could learn from you. I will teach you to strengthen your will and resist some astral influence.” She wiped a sheen of sweat and dust from her forehead. “And you can tell the conclave I don’t need bloody bodyguards in my own house.”

  They bowed in unison and waited for her dismissal before taking their leave.

  Griogair still seemed tense
and after their departure asked, “Is that wise?”

  “It makes me look weak. I have to defend from a position of strength.”

  He offered a handkerchief and she accepted it, using it to pat down her face and touch the tender weal on her cheek. “You can’t defend your throne if you’re dead,” he said.

  Eilidh knew he was right, but she was right too. “Come, we need to speak with the druids. On the way, you can tell me about Nir Doute. Is the news grave?”

  “There is unrest, but their will remains strong,” Griogair said as he went through the garden arch and offered Eilidh his arm.

  “And the rumours?” Eilidh asked, walking beside him. They walked around the high stone walls of Canton Dreich, taking the path toward the druids’ villa.

  “They have taken hold with a few, but not all. Right now, the city is reeling from the loss. If we are prepared with an answer when they ask who to blame, the voices of dissent will be silenced. I left a small contingent of Watchers to protect the city and to serve if their help is requested. They may be needed with the large number of death rites and the influx of those who have come to the city to help and to mourn. They will also be quietly looking for answers as to the cause of the deaths. Our healers have confirmed poison. They’re trying to narrow down which food those not affected didn’t consume. Then they will determine where it came from.”

  Eilidh nodded, losing herself in her thoughts. Then she realised Griogair had not heard the news. She told him about the changes in Munro, his ability to read runes, and the visit of the keepers. Explaining that the druids must stay under the control of Caledonia, she explained her plan to offer them land of their own, titles, whatever was required to keep them content. Since she realised she no longer liked the feel of Canton Dreich, she suggested offering them the castle. She had many residences to choose from. Ceding one to the druids would serve their needs well and offer a powerful message.

  He immediately understood her concerns, but stopped her as they approached the villa. “I assumed you were visiting the druids to break the news about Rory in person.”

  She spun sharply and faced her mate. “What news?”

  “Flùranach attacked him.”

  “She what?” Eilidh cast her thoughts toward the castle and searched for Rory’s presence, then Flùranach and Oron. All were there, alive, and in close proximity. “Is he injured?”

  “Yes.” Griogair spread his hands apart then tapped his fingertips, an elegant gesture he performed when he wanted to avoid saying something. It spoke volumes.

  “How badly?”

  Griogair looked at her. “Very.”

  “But why? She loves the druids. Was it self-defence?” Eilidh liked Rory, but she had an easier time imagining a human attacking a faerie than the other way around.

  “I’m sorry,” the prince said, taking her hand. “She used her astral abilities to violate him and forced an unnatural bond.”

  Eilidh blinked, her mind reeling. “What…” She didn’t want to contemplate the consequences. “What has she done?” she asked quietly.

  “Oron said it may be similar to the bond you hold with Munro, but it only works one way. He is, in essence, her slave.”

  “Poor Rory.” Eilidh’s heart ached. “That wretched child.” She sighed, then glanced through the trees. She could make out the flat rooftops of the villa ahead. “They don’t know?”

  Griogair shook his head. “Oron told only me and asked me not to tell anyone else until he had a chance to report to you himself. He is…” Griogair paused, searching for a delicate way to say it. “Enraged.”

  Eilidh nodded. “As am I.”

  “I left him to attend other affairs, then a short time later, I heard the disturbance in the garden. I thought you were under attack.”

  He still held her hand, and she gave his fingers a small squeeze. “I can defend myself. I am not one to be trifled with.”

  “Against two Watchers, yes.”

  Eilidh frowned. She didn’t want to think about her own safety at that moment. She was more worried the conclave was using her Watchers to spy and keep her under control. She’d not forgotten that the faerie who’d killed Leith had been a trained azuri and was likely someone she trusted.

  “What will you do?” Griogair said, nodding toward the villa. “You might wait, make the offer of Canton Dreich, and then let them hear the news when Munro returns.”

  She shook her head. “No. We must tell them. If they suspect I hid the truth for political reasons, we will lose them for sure.”

  “And if they are draoidh as the keepers suspect?”

  “They are. When you see the changes in Quinton, you won’t have any doubt.”

  “Then the druids won’t be the only ones angry at Flùranach’s abuse. Powerful kingdoms will accuse you of mishandling and mistreating the few ever regarded as more important than the royals themselves. We may lose what allies we have.”

  “Only if the druids abandon us. Hope isn’t lost yet.” Eilidh pressed her eyes closed. She gripped Griogair’s fingers. “Come with me, my mate. I need your strength.”

  “Of course,” he said and kissed her hand. “I will stand beside you always.”

  So much hinged on this and other events completely outside Eilidh’s control. She had to do this right. Their response might end up unravelling her reign.

  Chapter 20

  Munro took a detour before returning to Canton Dreich, hopping through the Otherworld gates to travel quickly from Aberdeen to Perth. He needed to ask his old sergeant, Hallward, for a favour, one that might give Munro answers or might just lead to more questions. The added journey took a little time, but he needed space to think anyway. He’d always been a quiet thinker, one to weigh and measure before jumping in, and no amount of fae magic would change that.

  His life had changed dramatically in a span of months, and he hardly recognised himself anymore. Ríona claimed the fae race was over a million years old. Munro didn’t know much more than what he had learned in school, but that beat humanity by some way. For human druids to have been the forefathers or creators of the fae, they must have manipulated time. Strange, but not impossible. On the other hand, maybe he had gotten the interpretation wrong.

  Over a year ago, a blood faerie, Cridhe, had attacked and nearly killed Munro. Fortunately, Eilidh intervened and put an end to Cridhe. His body had been incinerated, but the police discovered another victim, Cridhe’s father. The police handled the details quietly, but as with any suspicious death, the body had been autopsied. Munro had wondered if a report of the coroner’s findings would offer him some answers as to whether the fae were related to humans or were something completely different.

  When Munro spoke to Sergeant Hallward, he kept the conversation brief. He couldn’t disguise his appearance, and although Hallward didn’t comment, Munro felt the weight of the many unspoken questions. He left quickly after arranging a time to retrieve the files he’d asked for.

  He returned to the Otherworld gate nearest Perth by midnight, and once through, he began the two hour run to Canton Dreich. The journey provided time to order his thoughts. He considered what he learned at the Halls of Mist, but also Leith’s murder and the subsequent clumsy frame-up job. He also reflected on Flùranach’s attack on Rory, the new druid, and the subversive attacks on Eilidh’s reign, including the poisonings at Nir Doute. He separated out the personal and unrelated. Although Rory’s situation angered him, he classified the tragedy as unconnected. Also, the new druid was a concern, but not something Munro needed to worry about yet. The rest all shared a common thread. Someone wanted to destabilise Eilidh’s reign or even kill her, but what would they gain?

  In his experience as a cop, and setting aside the usual substance-abuse related crimes, domestic violence, or plain stupidity, greed strongly contributed to the circumstance surrounding an untimely death. The fae didn’t do money the same way as humans. Individuals had status, sure, but their society didn’t possess a real sense of ownership, pro
perty, or wealth. Eilidh had no heir or obvious successor. The conclave chose a successor if a queen was killed or removed. Who would they select? Usually Munro would ask Oron questions like that, but the Flùranach situation complicated everything. Munro sighed with frustration.

  Of course, he had to keep in mind that Eilidh was a queen. Other royals didn’t like her revolutionary attitudes about azuri magic and probably feared her power. On the other hand, these attacks seemed personal, more like someone going after Eilidh herself, and not just her throne.

  That faerie couldn’t attack Eilidh directly because of her personal power. Someone very much wanted to hurt Eilidh, if not kill her. Munro had seen people murder for money and for love. Oddly, those who killed for love included those motivated by jealousy, spite, and good old-fashioned revenge.

  He pretty much discounted money as a motive, although he couldn’t dismiss power. Who would believe they would get Eilidh’s power by her removal from the picture? Would anyone hurt her for jealousy, spite, or revenge? The only name jumping out at him was that of Cadhla, the former queen. She fit every one of those motives a hundred times over. She’d hated Eilidh and been jealous of her before they’d even met because Eilidh’s popularity grew after she killed Cridhe. Great, Munro thought. One concrete suspect, and she’s dead.

  At least his thought process brought him to the conclusion the attacks must be personal more than political. Someone had what they believed to be a good reason to hate Eilidh. According to Eilidh’s own investigation, the killer had astral powers strong enough to confuse those Watchers and subconsciously convince them they had seen Munro just before the killing. The conclusion let Griogair and Tràth off the hook, much to Munro’s relief.

  Besides, Griogair hated Cadhla and had planned to kill her, so he wouldn’t seek revenge for his former wife’s death. Tràth was more complicated. He had every reason to despise his mother, but relationships between family twisted sometimes. Tràth might have resented Eilidh for taking the throne that should have passed to him. But Leith’s killer had been gifted with astral magic, the realm of the mind. Tràth had no ability in that area and had never exhibited even the smallest hint of ambition.