“Mind your tongue.” The sword jerked, and Alun saw a trickle of blood trail down David’s throat and turn the white collar of his dress shirt dark in the moonlight. “Even a sacrifice must show proper respect.”
Alun’s grip tightened on his sword hilt, and he willed David to stand down from his brash attitude. A little humility would give Alun time to maneuver into position. If they ignited the Consort’s legendary ego-driven temper, though, the fool might forget his intention and kill David out of hand.
Stall. Stall until I can get into position.
David’s eyes widened as if he had heard Alun’s thoughts. Or maybe David was smarter than the Consort gave him credit for.
“Honestly.” David propped his free hand on his hip. “You people seriously need to spend about ten years in kindergarten to learn some common sense. Haven’t you ever considered that a willing sacrifice has more power than one taken by force?”
“Blood is the nature of sacrifice.” A flicker of confusion crossed the Consort’s face. “Who would volunteer to die?”
“Blood. Death. Blah, blah, blah. Sacrifice doesn’t have to be that permanent. What about an offer to help? Partnership? Cooperation?”
The Consort laughed, throwing his head back, his white teeth glinting like a wolf’s. Alun took the opportunity to move farther around the circle’s circumference until he stood in front of the altar. If the Consort intended to slaughter David there, he’d have to go through Alun first.
“Cynwrig, stand aside. You have no place in this Court anymore.”
“You forget my oath of not three days since.”
The Consort scowled. “You cannot oppose me lest you be foresworn.”
“How?” Alun inched forward. “I swore my allegiance to the Queen and the Realm. Not to you.”
“I am the Realm!” he roared. There it was—the ego ascendant.
“You are not. You’re the Queen’s appendage.” What did Mal always call him? “Her sidecar, nothing more.”
The Consort lunged for Alun, dropping his sword from David’s throat.
“Run, David!”
David tore his arm from the Consort’s grip and staggered away, stumbling once and falling to his hands and knees. He didn’t run, though, damn it—simply scrambled over to slump against the king stone.
Alun advanced on the Consort. They circled one another, each searching for an opening, assessing weaknesses. Alun hadn’t wielded his sword for over two hundred years. The Consort had probably used his within the last hour.
Although Alun wasn’t his sworn subject, the man was still the Queen’s consort, and Faerie consort laws were immutable: harm a consort, and ye shall lose whate’r you seek to take. Can I kill him, knowing that I’ll die too? His gaze flicked to David, huddled against the towering menhir, blood darkening his throat.
Yes. Without question.
He caught a flash of movement under the trees at the edge of the clearing. White skin, red hair, green gown. The Queen.
“I’ve noticed something different about you, Rodric,” Alun said, pitching his voice as he would speak to his most disturbed clients. “You’ve changed. You’re broader.”
“I train with the guards. Every day.” He bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. “I doubt you can say the same.”
“Can training increase your height by four inches?”
“No.” He lunged, and Alun parried. Barely. “Achubydd blood did that.”
“You killed that whole clan—men, women, children—so you could be taller?”
The Consort laughed. “No, you fool. I killed them so I could be King. But it didn’t work. Not quite.” He jerked his chin at David. “That will change tonight. After I kill you, nothing will stand in my way. I’ll fuck your little pet, and then I’ll kill him. His blood will grant me my rightful place at last.”
Alun’s vision narrowed to the spot in the Consort’s chest where he itched to bury his sword. “Rightful? How is it rightful if you rise by stealing the lives of others?”
“They aren’t Daoine Sidhe. They’re not even fae. They exist only to serve, so what better way than to grant me this ultimate service?”
A rock sailed over Alun’s head and thumped against the ground at the Consort’s feet. Oak and thorn, Dafydd, don’t draw attention to yourself.
But when the Consort’s gaze shifted away, Alun took his chance. He lunged, knocking the Consort’s sword out of his hand, and aimed his own sword at the man’s black heart. “Hold, Rodric. You deserve no one’s allegiance, no one’s sacrifice. You don’t even deserve your miserable, useless life, and I am happy to oblige the gods by extinguishing it.”
The Consort smiled, but sweat glistened on his brow. “You would not dare. You forfeit your own life.”
“If it sends you to the underworld, it’s worth the cost.” Alun pulled his arm back for the killing blow, and the Consort cringed, covering his head with his arms.
“Alun, no!” David’s voice rang across the circle. “This isn’t you. Not anymore. You don’t kill. You heal.”
As much as Alun wanted to run the Consort through—damn Rodric for a two-faced bastard—he stayed his hand. “He would have killed you, Dafydd. He’ll try again. He deserves a worse death than this.”
“He may deserve it, but you don’t. You’ve paid for his crimes for two hundred years. Stop.” David appeared at Alun’s side, and Rodric took the opportunity to scoot farther away. “Don’t rob me of a chance to be with you. Don’t give him that satisfaction. Besides . . .” He placed his hand on Alun’s arm. “If you’re dead, you can never have supply closet sex with me again.”
A rusty laugh rose out of Alun’s chest. With one last contemptuous glance at Rodric cowering in the grass, he gazed down at David and ran his fingers across that perfect cheek. “That’s the only thing that could sway me.”
He leaned down for a kiss, but David jerked away, eyes wide with terror. “Alun! Duck!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Alun glimpsed the glint of moonlight on steel. But even as he turned, the sword arcing toward his neck disappeared in a sweep of metal, the grate of shattered bone, and a fountain of blood.
“Alun, you idiot!” Mal’s voice held nothing but mild irritation. “Never turn your back on a psychopath.”
David’s knees gave out, and he crumpled to the ground next to Alun while the Consort wailed, clutching his handless arm to his chest. Blood. So much blood—splattered on the grass, soaking the Consort’s doublet, staining the blade of Mal’s sword.
“Mal.” Alun reached over David’s head and gripped Mal’s shoulder. “I didn’t expect you.”
Mal shrugged. “You said you needed backup.”
“I should have known I could count on you. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Consider it my way of putting you in my debt.” He smiled wryly and let the sword fall to the ground at his feet. “I have a feeling I’ll need to collect sooner rather than later.”
David could handle the blood—he couldn’t be a nurse otherwise—but swords? Not so much. He averted his gaze from the blade. Somewhere above him, Alun and Mal were still talking. Someone else too. The Queen? David wasn’t sure, because the Consort’s keening was all he could hear now, drowning out all other sounds and setting David’s teeth on edge.
I could help him. I could—but why should I? He wanted to kill me. If it weren’t for Mal, he’d have killed Alun for sure.
But the notion of ignoring someone in pain cramped David’s belly until he could barely stay upright. Ow ow ow. Maybe achu-majiggers have their own version of the Hippocratic Oath—help or else.
“Dafydd?” Alun kneeled next to him, wrapping an arm around David’s shoulders. David shuddered and leaned in. “Are you all right, cariad?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Come away. You needn’t have anything more to do with Luchullain.”
“Don’t I?” David stared at the Consort, who was barely whimpering now, although the sound pierced David’s brain
like a bullhorn. He’s an asshole and a psychopath, but I’m not judge and jury.
I’m an achubydd.
He pulled away from Alun, refusing to lean on him for this. Focusing on his center, as he had in Aunt Cassie’s bedroom, as he had when he’d broken Alun’s curse, he could make out the Consort’s core, throbbing in his solar plexus. Ewww. It was dark and mottled, like rotten meat, but the lines of energy were as easy to map as if they’d been drawn with glow-in-the-dark Sharpies. There, at the wrist’s ragged edge, the lines pulsed and fluttered.
I could do it. I could work with those. I might even—could I make him a new hand?
David reached out tentatively, but Alun gripped his shoulder and held him back. “Oak and thorn, Dafydd, don’t. He’s not worth it. He’ll take everything you’ve got, just as he planned.”
David glanced away from the Consort, and noticed that they’d drawn quite a crowd—the Queen and a whole passel of her guards stood watching, but David couldn’t pay attention to them, not now.
“Maybe he’s not worth it, but I am. It hurts, Alun. Being able to help and refusing? It freaking hurts. Right here.” He pressed his hands to his belly. “Did you ever ask why Owain healed that stag? It’s because he had to. He didn’t have a choice. And neither do I.”
David turned back to the Consort, but before he could touch him, the stump of his wrist sealed over with new skin, and the energy lines were cauterized.
“Dafydd Evans.” The Queen’s voice cut off the Consort’s whimpers—or maybe the instant first aid had done that. “This burden is no longer yours.”
Alun helped David to his feet. “It should never have been his. He should never have been put in such danger. How could you not realize that your own consort was a traitor?”
“Calm down, Alun. It’s over now. I’m fine.” David turned to Mal and hugged him hard around the waist. “Thank you. Thank you so much for saving him.”
Mal chuckled and returned David’s embrace. “Why is it that every time I have a hot man in my arms, he only wants to talk about my brothers?”
David stepped back. “I seriously doubt that’s always the case, but brothers are—” David’s stomach clenched. “Brothers. Holy crap, Gareth. I have to go.”
Alun grabbed David’s shoulders. “No. It’s not safe. The Consort’s men—”
“Shall not touch him.” The Queen looked down her nose at—well, everyone. “For the remainder of this night, Dafydd Evans is under my protection.”
Alun released David and took a step forward, half-blocking him from the Queen. “With all due respect, Majesty, your guards may be compromised. Did you expect the Consort to betray you?”
She raised one flawless copper eyebrow. “A point. Nonetheless, none shall touch him for the remainder of this night.” She cast a disdainful glance at the Consort, huddled on the grass. “We have that much power at least.” Her gaze lifted to Mal. “Some would do well to remember it.”
David edged sideways, the need to go to Gareth prickling like needles along his skin. “I really have to leave now.”
“I’ll come too.” Alun reached for him, but his hand stopped two inches from David’s arm. He grimaced, his muscles straining as if he were pushing a giant weight. “What in all the bloody hells—”
“We said none shall touch him, not here in our realm, not for the remainder of this night. That includes you, Lord Cynwrig. As we said, some would do well to remember who rules in Faerie still.”
“Pettiness doesn’t become you, Majesty.” Alun gestured for David to precede him. “Let’s go, cariad.”
“No.” The Queen’s tone was hard as stone. “You shall stay here. Dafydd Evans may go.”
“I—”
“This is not a negotiation, Lord Cynwrig.”
“No, Majesty. It is not.”
This time, Alun led the way out of the Stone Circle, and David hurried to catch up.
Finally.
When they got back to the ceilidh glade, Gareth was still on the dais, slumped against a stool. The arrow was still protruding from his shoulder. Damn it, why didn’t I come sooner?
David rushed across the clearing, leaped up on the dais, and dropped to his knees. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known they would hurt you, I—”
“Never mind,” Gareth ground out between clenched teeth. “My choice. My risk.”
“Hold on. I’m going to remove the arrow now. It’ll probably hurt.”
“Can’t hurt more than it does now.”
Alun joined them and held out his hand. “Hold on to me, brother, if it will help.”
Gareth hesitated for a moment, his gaze locked with Alun’s, then clasped his hand. “Thank you.” He nodded at David. “Do your worst.”
David grasped the arrow’s shaft, but hesitated as he reached for Gareth’s shoulder. “Shoot. That thing the Queen did. I can’t touch him, can I?”
“None may touch you.” The Queen’s voice startled him. How did she get here? Teleportation? “The tynged does not apply to the reverse.”
“Swell.” David took a moment to focus on the lines of pain swirling in Gareth’s right shoulder. Crap. He’s a left-handed guitarist. If I don’t do this right, he won’t be able to play again. “Is this okay with you?” At Gareth’s nod, David took a deep breath. Then I guess I’d better do it right.
“Lord Cynwrig. Attend us.”
Alun didn’t loosen his grip on Gareth’s hand. “I’m busy, Majesty.”
“Our patience wears thin. Dafydd Evans can manage without you, as can our honored bard.”
Gareth squeezed Alun’s hand, then released it. “Go on. I’ll be fine now. Your lad knows what he’s about.”
Alun nodded curtly and followed the Queen to the far side of the glade. He frowned, scanning the warriors clustered under the trees.
“Where’s Mal?’
The Queen regarded him stonily. “Gone.”
“I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t have left without checking on Gareth.”
“He had no choice. Maldwyn Cynwrig violated the sanctity of the consort bond. For that, he is stripped of his rank and privileges, and outlawed from Faerie until he makes whole what he cost us this night.”
What in all the hells does that mean? Put Rodric’s hand back on his arm? Not likely. “Your Majesty, that hardly seems fair. He prevented a coup. I’d call that a mitigating circumstance.”
“Fairness is not the issue. We can allow no convenient bending of the covenants. How do you think our ranks have so diminished over the years? Faerie is built on principles, traditions, and pacts. When you violate any of those, you threaten the fabric of our world.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Rodric shattered most of those when he tried to depose you by destroying an entire race.”
She inclined her head. “True. And for that he has been banished and declared no longer our Consort.”
“In that case, Mal should be in the clear.”
“If he had struck now, that would be true. But his blow landed before our renunciation. His crime still stands.”
Anger boiled in Alun’s belly. “But—”
“You, Lord Cynwrig, have little room to talk, ready as you were to strike our Consort down. However, you acted in accord with all four of the basic tenets of the Seelie Court, willing as you were to defend your honor to the death. Seeking to protect your true love, who we grant is beautiful, as are you once again. And the balance you sought to restore this night, by discharging the debt to Owain Glenross and his clan, is righteous and proper.”
Alun bowed his head, pretending acceptance of the Queen’s guarded approval, even though he hadn’t given a troll’s hairy ass for any of that. He’d only thought of David. Of keeping him safe.
For that matter, he’d seen her outside the Stone Circle during the final confrontation. Why hadn’t she intervened? She could easily have renounced Rodric after he’d proclaimed his ambition to take her throne, yet she hadn’t.
The anger that had burned in his veins tur
ned ice-cold. “You knew. You knew Rodric was a traitor all along.”
Her expression never changed, betraying no guilt, no remorse. “We had our suspicions.”
“So the whole charade—starting with that ludicrous oath ceremony—was nothing but a test. A bloody, thrice-blasted, Goddess-bedamned test. You put David in danger, allowed Mal’s life to be destroyed, just to find out if your Consort was the monster everyone else has always known him to be.”
She pressed her lips together, and her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. “The test was not only for our former Consort, but for you and your brothers. For Dafydd Evans as well. Any can be corrupted, Lord Cynwrig, with the right incentive—or even with the lack of sufficient reason to remain steadfast.”
“And have you remained steadfast yourself, Majesty? You would have let the last known achubydd die without lifting a finger. Considering what a gossip mill the Court is, every last one of your subjects will know that you’ve declared open season on David by morning.”
“You overstep. We have no intention of allowing Dafydd Evans to suffer. In our realm from this day forward, no achubydd may be touched with intent to harm.”
Alun remembered the first days of his own curse, when he’d been mad with grief, shamed by his appearance, and shunned by all who saw him. Rodric was no longer part of the realm, and he’d be desperate—desperate and psychotically vengeful. If he’d been determined to take David’s life before to further his political ambitions, how much more determined would he be now that he might see David as his only way back to physical wholeness, his only way back into Faerie?
“That’s not good enough.”
“We rule in Faerie, not the Outer World. This is what we can offer. We suggest you accept it with better grace.”
Alun gazed across the glade, where David was huddled next to Gareth, frowning in concentration. He won’t take steps to safeguard himself. If the Queen won’t take responsibility, it’s up to me. But how? If the Consort—
The consort laws. “Ye shall lose whate’r you seek to take.” If David were Alun’s consort, he’d be safe, just as Owain would have been had he accepted Alun’s suit that fateful night. This time, Alun wouldn’t take no for an answer, because this time he knew the true consequences of a refusal.
Cutie and the Beast Page 23