by SM Reine
“Hold!” The command rumbled across the glen like a storm unleashed. Edern whipped around with a snarl as Alain reached a steadying hand to his brother.
Pel grit his teeth and even as I watched somehow found his way to the center of the magic that infected him. It was not a thing he could ever wield, not a thing he could ever banish. But it was a thing he could conquer, accept and find a place of strength in. He found that place now and rose like an avenging angel from under Alain’s hand.
I took a step toward Herne, looking to him for the answer to the question in my heart.
Edern shifted and ringed his arms around me, a gesture at once tender and possessive, making it clear to whom I belonged.
Yet I belonged to no one. Betrothed to, yes. Bonded to, indeed. But belonged to? Never.
With one hand against the hard, naked plane of his chest and one on the cross of his arms, I broke Edern’s grip and took another step toward his father.
Herne’s gaze fastened on me, a pained expression across his face.
I had only seen such an expression from him before when one of his fae had died. Dread knotted in my stomach.
“What means this?” he asked, though of course he knew the answer.
Edern drew close again, capturing me with a hand to my shoulder. “Yes, why do you pull away?” he breathed, curious and young, not yet wise as his father who, I now understood, was lessoning his son. “You live! Where is the joy to be had in your return?”
“It lies buried in my bond with these two men.” I ignored the urge to steal a glance at Alain and Pel, concentrating instead on Edern’s reaction. I tried to catch his eyes with mine, to send a silent plea that he not act in haste. But he would not meet my gaze.
It took but a moment for him to comprehend. I expected anger. I expected him to attack the princes in my defense. I expected the needed blood be shed to free me.
I did not expect the look of utter betrayal that crossed his mien. Or the blow he struck to my face with his open palm. No gentle slap, it felled me to my knees.
I heard a great commotion as I gathered back my wits.
In a blink, my world had changed.
Pel and Alain both appeared frantic to come to me, but the hounds held them back still, first one charging, then another as they danced around the blades the princes thrust their ways.
Edern had retreated a few steps, of his own, it seemed, though his father now towered over me, close enough to touch. For a moment, I thought Herne might offer me a hand to rise.
“Brinn, you disappoint,” he said instead.
“Disappoint? How is that possible?” I asked.
“You’ve—bonded—to these two—two—” Edern spluttered as if the words themselves held the same distaste as the deed.
“Not by choice! You abandoned me! Yet I’ve returned to seek your help—a way out of this. A way for me to honor my commitment to you. Why else would I have called you here?”
“You wish to return to us?” Herne asked. It seemed a simple enough question, yet there was a quality to his voice that suggested otherwise.
“You are my life, my kin—” I gestured toward Edern, “my betrothed. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Edern,” Herne commanded, though his eyes never for a moment gave mine up, “they are yours to bleed.”
The emerald shimmer of Herne’s regard filled my world, but on the periphery of that vision I saw Edern shift.
“This changes nothing,” he growled before he no longer had a voice to speak.
“Why do you punish me for this?” I cried the words, not sure whether it was Herne or his son who I wished to hear them. But if Edern were lost to me no matter the outcome tonight…
I wrenched my gaze from Herne. Edern stalked through the pack, belly low, plumed tail rigid, every sense upon the princes who stood yet guarding the other’s back, their swords poised before them.
Against The Hunt they stood no chance. Edern would claim first blood and the pack would ensure the rest. Then I would be free.
Wouldn’t I?
“No!” My anguished cry became a howl as I shifted in my grief. What cruelty would make me choose? In a dozen bounds I reached the brothers, the keepers of my soul. Edern crouched before them, daring them to drop their guard, prepared to wait until the rivers iced and the snow fell if need be.
I slinked around the princelings’ legs, claiming them clearly for the pack to see. The hounds—all save Edern—squirmed uneasily. Edern, his gaze transfixed and a snarl at his lips, did not move.
I crept toward him, wanting only for him to leave off and take the others with him. Perhaps the Old Magic that ensouled me to the brothers clouded my desire. But as strong as that desire had been to find my way back to Edern and my pack when this night began, so was it strong now to protect the princes and go away with them.
Edern met my whimpered entreaty with a growl. When I persisted, edging closer, he nipped, hard, breaking the skin over my shoulder. A warning, not just to me but to Pel and Alain who rushed in from behind.
“If you have a quarrel with us, face us as a warrior not a cur.” Alain coupled the disdain in his tone with a ritual challenge, beating the hilt of his sword thrice against his buckler.
Edern flowed from hound to fae with practiced ease. “You think I hide my courage behind my pack? I will blood you and I will bleed you. Then I will do the same to your brother. Then to your mate.”
I yelped. Would Edern really turn on me? After the blood-bond was broken? As quickly as Edern had taken fae form, so did I now. “Are you mad? Let these men go. Let me go. I will not die so easily as you think.”
Alain and Pel crowded in to either side of me. To protect me, I knew, seeing only a slim, naked woman facing an enraged though quite equally naked man. If they forgot we were not mortal, it was because they had so rarely known me fae. I had been, for all intent, a woman in their camp. I would have lessoned them otherwise had not Herne stepped between his son and me, his great sword held before him.
“Brinn, you will not fight him to whom you were first bonded. But Edern deserves retribution for your betrayal. If he wishes it, you will choose a champion to defend you. As goes your champion’s fortune, so goes yours.”
“Herne,” I pleaded, “there is no retribution to be taken. I am spelled by mischance. They did not knowingly capture me nor did I knowingly bond to them. There are none here guilty of betrayal, least of all me.”
Herne passed his sword to Edern, who suddenly appeared smaller merely by the holding of the oversized weapon. I had never seen him with it nor did it appear to rest easy in his grip. In Herne’s more expert hands, the weapon Gram had lived up to its ancient name: Wrath.
Edern had the heart and desire certainly to deserve the use of such a weapon; I only doubted his skill with it. His inexperience alone would be the equalizer for a spell-bound weapon capable of crushing any mortal blade with a single blow.
Of course, I had lately seen skill above heart shatter an ensorcelled sword. And now Pel placed a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder, saying, “This fight is mine.” The strain in even the small muscles of his face said otherwise. The magic of the fae beat against his senses and in his blood with crippling consequences.
Alain saw his affliction as clearly as I. “Not today, brother.”
I glared at Herne, fear and anger giving me courage. Or perhaps proving me a fool. “Stop this nonsense. Now.”
He appeared only mildly surprised at the order that was not a request coming from one of the pack. If he even considered me that any longer.
“You know that isn’t possible.”
“Of course it is.” I felt the eyes of the hounds upon me. A neutral stare, one of neither condemnation nor approval, charged only with the air of expectancy.
Pel started to shake his head, swayed, then reluctantly agreed. He touched his buckler to Alain’s, a gesture of luck, and stood back as his brother strode the few short paces to the middle of the glen. Edern moved to face him.
“You are Herne!” I pleaded. “All things are possible.”
“Perhaps,” the leader of the pack agreed. “Let me suggest instead there are things I will not command. My son, tonight, is one of them.”
Moonlight caught Alain and Edern in tableau as they saluted one another, their weapons clanking together then scraping as they parted. Gloriously naked, the ripple of every muscle stood out in sharp relief as Edern began to circle, the hound’s instincts in him strong.
Alain’s modest tunic revealed the corded sinew of his legs and the tautly strained tendons in his arms. Had they been sparring only, I would have relished their masculine dance and reveled in the sheer maleness on display.
Gram was created of ancient metals and magic; it held no iron to deaden the blade or cripple its wielder. Compared to the thing Alain held—a fine and serviceable weapon, to be sure—Gram was vibrant, alive, seeming to strike on its own. It asked little more of its wielder than for breath enough to hold it.
In other circumstances, Pel’s skill and strength would have been a worthy adversary for it. But while Alain’s skill was as serviceable as his blade, he lacked Pel’s berserker mindset when pressed to his limits. Without that, it took no great gift of foresight to see how this fight would end.
Alain acquitted himself superbly, though, in the face of such overwhelming fate. Not once did he falter as he delivered blow after blow against Gram. Not once did he back down from any of Edern’s advances.
Still, the outcome was as clear to Pel as to me. His anguish was mine, coursing from him to me by virtue of that damnable bond.
My own agony built alongside his as the fight drew on, both of them wearying, both determined not to be the first to give ground.
Alain swung his buckler at the blade. It connected, deflecting the downward momentum as the blade slid off the small shield. Edern brought his knee up to drive Alain back. Alain reeled into the falling blade, Gram catching him high on the forehead, biting then sliding away in a glancing blow.
Even as he fell back, Alain shifted his weight while Edern’s guard was low and swiped his buckler Edern’s way. The rounded edge caught the fae’s chin and Edern staggered two steps back.
I could bear no more. “Enough!” I cried, flinging myself between them while they were momentarily parted. I was fast, but not fast enough. Already they’d arrested the momentum of their weapons and forced them back around.
I saw surprise give way to horror on their faces. I saw the strain of their muscles as each of them forcibly changed the arc of their swings.
Dropping low, I tried to avoid the worst of the confusion. A knee hit my shoulder and spun me as Edern and Alain scrambled apart. I had thought arrow wound and hip both healed, but the pain that stabbed at me said otherwise.
I felt hands on me then. Strong yet gentle, helping me to stand. I peered through the strands of hair that fell across my clouded vision and saw it was Pel.
To either side of us Alain and Edern stood, legs spread, breathing hard, both from the effort of the fight and from the fear of harming me.
Blood dripped across Alain’s forehead. I half-stumbled toward him, feeling Pel catching after me, and cupped my hand over the gash. A shallow cut, though head wounds could be notorious for producing frightening amounts of blood.
“Don’t,” Alain breathed for my ears alone. He pressed the hilt of his sword into his buckler hand then circled his sword hand around my forearm to tug my hand away.
Blood seeped between my fingers.
I fought him. He desperate to brush off what he thought were my ministrations because he refused to show weakness before his enemy. Me because this fortuitous wound and the blood it spilled would counter the magic of the binding. All the better if he thought I was helping him when I was actually helping myself.
“There is no shame in another staunching a wound you cannot see,” I argued reasonably. Then I raised my voice for all to hear. “This fight is done. There was no victor here. In this matter, I am the one who decides my fate.”
“Are you so certain of that?” There was no challenge or rancor in Herne’s tone. In fact, he seemed somewhat amused at my bold statement. Because I didn’t want to believe otherwise, I attributed his tone to relief his son still lived.
In my heart, I too was glad for Edern. No longer could I see being mated to him, for his prejudice seemingly ran deep, but there was much about him still to cherish, still to love. I knew I would need to mourn the loss between us when circumstance afforded the time. For now, I wanted one thing—to be free of the bond that ringed my soul. To be bound to no one. Beyond that, all else would work itself out.
Hand over Alain’s wound, with tiny rivulets of blood still dripping through my fingers, I awaited a change. How would I know the bond that magicked me to the mortal world had broken? Would I feel different? Would there be pain? Would I simply be forced into a shift and find the knowledge suddenly there as before?
Because none of that was happening.
I turned frantically to Herne. “Lesson me in this,” I pleaded. “Help me to be free.”
He shook his head, a small gesture, wise and paternal. “The blood you hold in your hand is not nearly sacrifice enough. When it is—if ever—call us and we will come. You are a part of The Hunt. A part of us. We will always welcome you.”
“Not Edern.” I cast my gaze down in sorrow not shame. “Not any longer.”
“Fate is a mistress that can’t be thwarted. The choice is neither yours nor his. In time he will understand and accept, just as you must. Until then…”
In time? No. No more time. I wished my freedom now. “How much time will be enough?” I cried.
“More than you think, child. Perhaps more than you’re willing to take, more than you’re willing to give.”
“But—”
“Patience. Nothing will be decided tonight. Edern has deep heart-wounds to heal. And if that one,” he nodded toward Pel, “is not taken from here soon, he will go mad. As for the pack,” his hand swept out to encompass the red-eared hounds ringed about us, keen to know what would happen next, “we will celebrate a life we once thought lost. We will ride in your name tomorrow, and we sing your name tonight. But now, you must go.”
Pel gently loosed my hand from his brother’s brow and bound Alain’s head with a strip of cloth rent from his tunic. He was panting heavily, the strain of fae magic obvious in his every move, his every breath. “The horses won’t come closer,” he told Alain. “We have to go to them.”
Alain waved away Pel’s sheltering strength. “I can walk. The blow was not that hard.”
Pel insisted anyway, compromising with a hand under Alain’s arm as he guided him away.
Once I was alone, the pack stepped closer. Rhian was first to raise her muzzle and begin the howl. One by one the others joined in, all but Edern who stood by still, a scowl of disappointment twisting his handsome face, his father’s great sword slack in his hands.
Tears welled as the pack—each member so precious to me—sang their farewell.
At the edge of the clearing came a commotion. Pel and Alain arguing whether Alain was strong enough to sit his own horse. If nothing more, he was strong enough to win the argument.
Mounted, the brothers waited.
“You have only to call,” Herne reminded.
I nodded, slipped into my hound form, pointed up my nose and sang a brief, heartfelt counterpoint to the pack before I turned my tail to The Hunt, to Edern, to what life had been mine, and coursed alongside the pair of princelings back to the small camp in the wild wood that awaited our return.
24. Alain
The rain began at daybreak, soaking into a ground still damp from the storms only two days gone by. I couldn’t recall a wetter summer, but better nourishing rain than debilitating drought—or so I believed. Brinn hadn’t slept the night. I only knew that because I had wakened at least a half dozen times myself and each time I saw her sitting by the fire, staring first at Pel, then at me, t
hen into the darkness beyond the camp.
I had thought she would stay with her kith of The Wild Hunt. I had thought Herne would break whatever spell it was that bound her to us still and that she would return to her old life, coursing through the night and protecting—though there were many who would name it avenging—her island home. That neither had happened remained a mystery. To me at least, though she seemed resigned to Pel and my company, and by that I figured she understood the mystery far better than I.
As much as I wanted to think she stayed with us by choice, I could not favor that belief. Not when Brinn sat sleepless by the fire.
Sleepless and naked.
More than once I had dreamed of her naked and eager in my arms. That she was fae and wildly dangerous in any state only made my dreams more vivid, her place in them more alive. And when I looked upon the very real flesh of her in the dark or by the light of day, my body shamed me in its desire for her.
I was not fool enough to not realize she wanted—desperately—something from Pel or me. That she sat here with us out of need—possibly not even of her own volition, despite her claim otherwise. It was no simple deception at play here but a fundamental lie that colored her every thought, her every action. And it was that prevarication that caused me shame rather than giving me leave to delight in my body’s swift and hard reaction to her nearness in all its natural glory.
“Brinn,” I asked, as the rain spattered in the dying fire, “why are you here?”
From his blanket not two paces away, I heard Pel rouse. None of us were sleeping well these nights.
“Because I am bound to you—to both of you.” She seemed to honestly believe that answered all questions about the matter.
“But you think the binding can be broken. Is that not why we confronted Herne in the first place?”
The morning light was just enough for me to see her mouth crook into a wry smile. “There is no ‘confronting Herne.’ You mistake the balance of power between you and he if you so believe.”
“Then why are you here with us and not back with them? Why not loose whatever it is that binds you here and be done with it—with us, who are so mistaken of our own worth?”