by Inara Scott
Garrett forced himself to remain calm. He’d long since lost any hope of convincing his assistant—who had worked for his grandmother before him—to keep his schedule private. And since he’d given in and taken a job with Jameson Enterprises six years ago, it wasn’t as if he could avoid attending functions with Portia. He used to search for ways to put some real distance between them, but after Max took his job with Portia, he had looked desperately to Garrett for help dealing with his position. Shortly after, Garrett had stopped trying. Between Max and Lexi, he was neatly pinned in place, and Lord knew Portia would never change. Besides, he’d had decades to build up his resistance to his grandmother. Lexi had not.
He gently touched Lexi’s dark hair, which had been styled to lie flat and straight behind a broad white ribbon. “Come on, Lexi. I don’t know about you, but I never liked tea anyway. Let’s go ride your pony.”
Lexi set her cup carefully on the coffee table. Her voice a whisper, she said, “Ma’am, may I be excused?”
Portia pursed her lips. Deep fissures formed in the skin around them, her perfect red lipstick marred by wrinkles of dissatisfaction. “Next time, I expect you not to spill.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lexi stood and gave a little curtsy. Garrett wondered where she’d learned that move. Portia probably had some etiquette teacher from the nineteenth century on staff at the Manor.
Lexi turned to him and flung out her hand, though she maintained a calm expression until they reached the hall. “Do you really think Sugar missed me?” she began to chatter excitedly, as soon as Portia was out of earshot. “Because I sure missed him!”
As they walked toward the stable, Garrett relished the feeling of her hand in his. He had no intention of having children. For Garrett, children would require marriage, which would require a wife, and wives were a disaster he hoped never to experience. Still, he adored his niece and cherished the time he had with her. In a small way, protecting her from Portia made up for all the times he couldn’t protect his brother, Max, when they were children.
“Of course he missed you, Lexi,” he said with a smile. “How could he not?”
§
Portia Jameson watched her grandson and great-granddaughter walk out the door, hand in hand. She did not stand until they had turned to walk down the hallway and out of sight. Then she gathered the cups and placed them on the large silver tray that sat on the table. She frowned at the untouched plate of scones with the creamy white frosting that her cook, Madeline, had thought Alexandra might like.
Ridiculous. Scones with frosting. Who had heard of such a thing?
The tray had been owned by the Earl of Devarrow, and was the first real antique Portia had purchased. There had been many more pieces, of course, but nothing meant more to her than that tray. She still stared at it sometimes, to remember what it felt like to be hungry.
She walked to the window and pulled aside the heavy velvet drape. Carefully, she arranged her body so that she would be hidden behind the thin crepe liner. From that vantage, she could watch Garrett and Alexandra walk down the drive, holding hands. Her mouth tightened when she realized that Alexandra was still wearing her tea dress. The girl probably expected she could simply throw on some old breeches under the dress and ride like that. The delicate tulle would almost certainly come back to the house spattered with mud, ripped, and smelly. A ridiculous waste of a beautiful garment.
Gesturing with excitement, Alexandra turned toward Garrett and danced away. The ribbon Portia had put in her hair fell down her back and landed, unnoticed, on the driveway. Wild. The girl was always wild. How many times had Portia told her to keep still, calm down, and not let herself become overwhelmed with emotion?
Portia’s fingers tightened on the delicate fabric of the curtain. Alexandra’s smile always reminded her of Victoria. The girl looked just like her. Even though it had been over twenty years since she’d seen her daughter, she still pictured her face every time she looked at Alexandra—or for that matter, every time she looked at Garrett and Max.
Damn foolish Victoria.
At least Alexandra tried to do what she was told. Victoria had always been fighting. Always pushing the limits. Following her pleasure. Allowing herself to become a slave to her art and music. Victoria had thought she didn’t need to listen to Portia. She had thought she could survive on her own. She had no idea that Portia had reasons for her rules, reasons she could never share. In the end, all of Portia’s work was for naught. Blood had won out, and her worst fears had been realized.
Well, Victoria was out of their lives now, and good riddance.
The large brass clock on the mantle chimed three, startling Portia out of her momentary reverie. Right now, Max would be struggling to get through his meeting with the management of the New York hotel chain they had targeted for takeover. She needed to check in on him. He didn’t like traveling to begin with, and he hated the sort of aggressive negotiations he was about to face. If Portia had been feeling better, she would have accompanied him—she’d never had any problem being a tough negotiator—but her arthritis had been bad lately, and there were days it took her hours to get out of bed in the morning. Besides, there was Alexandra to care for, and there was Garrett…
Garrett. She watched him lift Alexandra into his arms with an effortless motion and throw her up to his shoulder. He had his mother’s rebellious streak and her refusal to bow to authority. But he was here. She’d managed to do that much for him. Given him a home, a career. Managed to shield him from the damn music that threatened to swallow him whole. She’d helped him build a real life.
He was strong. Controlled.
He didn’t like her, but that was acceptable. She’d done her job. She’d protected him.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it was the best she could do.
§
Kaia stood beside the gleaming marble dais that held Queen Zafira’s empty throne and fought to maintain her composure. The herald raised his crystal bugle and trilled the impending arrival of the queen. Unlike the jostling that typically followed at the Anniversary, today the crowd was subdued. Quiet.
The music came again, and the entry doors were flung open as the procession began. As usual, all of the faerie races were present, but today they marched with a singular, sad presence. Tears rolled down ivory faces of the night faeries. In the crowd, banshees softly wailed as the faeries took their places around the dais. With long white hair and dark red eyes, banshees were tragic creatures that sensed death and impending disaster, but could do nothing more than keen their foresight to the world around them.
The Handmaids—minus Kaia—flared their wings to impress the crowd and the usual hum of excitement followed their display, but it was tinged with fear. Rumors had been flying around Faeria ever since the imp had been dispatched to bring Kaia back to court, and now all anyone wanted to know was what Zafira would do next.
Kaia had been to two sentencings. She had seen the sad procession, heard the banshees cry for what they could see would happen next, and felt the heaviness that followed. Zafira liked to continue with a celebration after the sentencing, as if to prove the glory of Faeria and all that the sentenced one would leave behind. Tonight, after Kaia’s sentencing, there would be songs and music, dance and tributes made to the queen and the remaining Handmaids.
Not Kaia.
Her chest tightened with fear. She had no idea what awaited her. Would she be banished from Faeria? Something worse? Fear slowly mixed with fury—fury with herself, and fury with a man. A man with sandy blond hair, cold blue eyes, and hands that left her mindless with pleasure.
Damn you, Garrett Jameson, she thought, stifling the sob that threatened to burst from her chest. Damn you to hell and back.
Chapter Nine
The crystal bugle sounded again. Kaia bowed her head, spread her wings wide across her back, and bent one knee as Zafira took her throne.
“Handmaid Kaia. Step forward.”
Bile leapt up in her throat. K
aia closed her eyes for a moment, and did as she was bade.
Zafira looked down on her with a countenance that showed no sign of pity or regret. “Kaia, you know the rules for dealing with men, do you not?”
Kaia nodded.
Zafira pressed forward, thumping her scepter on the ground to punctuate her words. “Never lose control, never yield. Is that correct?”
Kaia nodded again.
“And you, Kaia, did you break this rule when you lay with a man just one night ago?”
Kaia’s heart began to pound. “I did allow a man to pleasure me, but—”
Zafira stamped her staff into the ground and interrupted her with a harsh cry. “Tell me the truth, Handmaid! Did you, or did you not, break my rule?”
“Queen Zafira, I did, but I only allowed him to pleasure my body. I did not yield my heart to him. You must believe me.”
Zafira shook her head, and for a moment her expression softened. At least it seemed that way to Kaia’s desperate eyes. But then it hardened again and all hope of pity or mercy faded along with it.
“You know as well as I do the power men have over the Fey, Kaia. They destroy our birth plants and send the souls of our daughters back into the universe before they have a chance to bloom and be born onto this earth. We have no recourse, no way to multiply or regenerate our numbers once our souls have been lost. We were meant to be guides to men and advisors to help them understand and communicate with the earth, but over the last hundreds of years they have refused to listen to us. They have brushed us aside like leaves in the fall, and only acknowledged us when they had some need of our services. They pray to our dryads when they need the trees to grow, or call to the sirens when they want their ships to survive in a storm. But they do not honor us. They have never honored us.”
Zafira began to stride back and forth across the dais, pounding her scepter as she did. The sylphs took their cue from her anger and they flew higher and faster, the air from their wings sending her hair rippling back so it appeared that she was flying in place. When Zafira reached one end of the stage she spun around and pointed her scepter directly at Kaia. “Like you, I trusted a man once. I yielded to him. When he touched me, I melted with pleasure, and he used that weakness against me, just like this man could have used your weakness against you.”
Kaia shook her head. “No. I would never have let him. I am no fool, Queen Zafira. You have so often told us of the treachery of men that I could not have possibly allowed myself to become vulnerable to him.”
“So you are no fool, is that it?” Zafira said softly. “You would never succumb to a man’s sweet words? His fiery kisses? His hands, his lips, his mouth, all of them telling you how special you are, how different you are from all the others, how much he cares for you?” She smiled and snapped her fingers. The sylphs flew away in a single, fluid wave of feathery wings. “You would never be deceived by the tenderness in his eyes, or the warmth in his touch?”
Too late, Kaia realized what her words had implied. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no,” Zafira said, her voice calm and mild. “I understand. You don’t believe it’s possible that a man could mislead you like he did your queen, and I am glad for your confidence, Kaia. Truly I am.”
“It’s only that I had the benefit of your wisdom.” Kaia gripped her skirt to stop her hands from trembling. She glanced at the other Handmaids, but their wide-eyed expressions only made her more terrified. She continued on, though she could feel herself sliding into a deeper and deeper pit. “I have dedicated my life to exposing the weakness and perfidy of men. You have seen the pictures and heard the stories of the men I exposed for being liars and cheaters. How could I forget all that I have witnessed? All that I have experienced?”
Zafira nodded. “If you are so certain of yourself, your punishment will be easy.”
Kaia gulped. The moment of truth had arrived. Zafira’s punishments were often harsh, but at least they were swift. “You are a Handmaid, and you have served me faithfully for many years. I do not intend to overlook that service.”
Kaia perked up. This was unexpected. The faeries she had seen punished by Zafira were given no hint of leniency.
“You have explained to me your confidence in your ability to resist a man’s charms, and to expose and punish him for his lying nature.”
“Yes, my queen.” A shard of hope stabbed in her chest.
“What I ask of you will be a simple matter. The man you slept with last night was special to me. I sent you after him to see him brought low. You failed me, Kaia, but you have exposed his weakness. He lay with you despite his better judgment. You had power over him. This pleases me.”
Zafira stepped off of the dais and approached her on the floor, her voice practically purring with warmth. “You will return to Garrett Jameson. You will let him make love to you, touch you, and do whatever he wants to your earthly body. You will make him fall in love with you, Kaia, and then you will break his heart. You will take him to the point of utter vulnerability and you will destroy him. Do you understand?”
For a moment, all was silent, and then the room erupted into noise. The Fey roared their approval of the creativity of the punishment that had been set forth. Kaia swayed on her feet. Make love to him again? Get him to fall in love with her? Break his heart? The commands sounded in her mind, one after the other, but she could not comprehend them.
“My queen, how will I… ”
Zafira held up one pale hand to forestall any further words. A ray of sunlight sparkled across the delicate gold band that encircled her wrist and wound around the back of her hand to end in a single point at the base of her middle finger.
“You are no fool. You will find a way.”
Kaia took a deep breath and nodded. What more could she do? There was no point in arguing with Zafira. Besides, how hard could it be to make a man fall in love? Humans did it all the time. Faeries had little experience with love, but surely it was not much different from lust, or desire.
She tried for a brave smile. “You are as wise as you are merciful, Zafira. I can only hope that my faerie magic will be up for the task you have set.”
Zafira’s face became a cold, mocking mask, and Kaia quivered at the sight. “Oh, but wait. I see I failed to mention one thing. Your weakness is a disgrace to all Fey beings. Until you have proven yourself worthy, you are forbidden from using your faerie magic.”
The room spun, and darkness crossed Kaia’s eyes. “Forbidden?” she whispered.
Zafira nodded with satisfaction. “I will not take your magic away—that process is irreversible—but know this, Handmaid: I expect you to live as a human until you have completed your task. I will be sending my imp to follow you. If he brings me word that you have used your magic in any form, I will consider that you have failed and earned my final punishment.”
“And what is that, your Majesty?” Kaia held her back perfectly straight.
Zafira paused, stroking the smooth wood of the Willow Scepter. “Black Ladies, step forward.”
A soft sound of horror came from one of the Handmaids on the dais. From the corner of her eye, Kaia saw Analise bite her knuckle.
The crowd parted before a trio of creatures clad in long black robes. Their garments hung loosely over bodies of indeterminate size, or, perhaps, no bodies at all. Dark hoods covered invisible faces, while a crimson glow lit the space where eyes might have been.
“Yes, Queen.” They spoke as one, their dry, grating voices blending to form a single vibration that echoed throughout the hall.
No one knew the origins of the Black Ladies. They were not faerie, dakini, or banshee. They existed somewhere between the realms of Fey and demon. Yet for whatever reason, they lived to serve the queen of the Fey, and their powers were terrifying.
“Black Ladies, this creature, this so-called faerie, has displeased me. I am sending her out into the world of man to prove that she is worthy to be Fey. Her time is limited—if she does not return by the night of the summer so
lstice, you will retrieve her and bring her back to me.”
Kaia felt the first tremor of fear pass over her. The Black Ladies could track a Fey creature anywhere she went. However, their methods of retrieval were so excruciating none would risk trying to escape. They used the darkest of Fey magic to render their prey harmless and obedient. The spells they used were so dangerous, and so painful, they often left their victims mindless forever after.
“And once we bring her back, Queen?” The discordant voices quivered with desire. Those Fey closest to the Black Ladies took an extra step back, for good measure.
Zafira gestured toward Kaia, and a strange sensation rippled through her wings, as if they’d been dipped in an icy river. Tendrils of frost snaked through every inch of the soft, fluid material, and what had previously quivered and flowed with every move of Kaia’s body became still and lifeless.
She craned her neck to look behind her and froze in horror.
Her wings, her beautiful glowing wings, the pride of her heart and the source of her magic, faded from light to black. As they drained of energy, they drooped, lifeless and dark, down Kaia’s back. Finally, the blackened bits turned to ash, and floated away.
“No!” Kaia could not restrain the cry of agony that ripped from her lips. Heartsick, she reached into the air, a single piece of ash brushing against her skin. The weight of her sorrow became too much, and she dropped to her knees. Her mind spun frantically with fear. Were they gone forever?
A moment later, Zafira laughed. “Just a demonstration, Kaia. And a warning of what is to come if you are not successful.”
Breathing deeply, Kaia fought to regain her dignity. She checked over her shoulder and relief flooded her body, leaving her limp. Her wings had returned, full and gleaming with silvery light.