The door we had all just kissed swung open, and a tall man dressed in a neat black frock coat paired with trousers of the same shade peered down at us from a considerable height. His impeccable outfit reminded me of the period movies I was so fond of watching. Must be the cravat tied expertly at his throat. His outline glimmered with faint silver light, and when he turned his gaze on me, I started at the perfect whiteness of his eyes. He leaned forward, and a curtain of silvery hair slid over his shoulder. He was an ice sculpture come to breathtaking life. He smelled of fresh snow, and the iciness of his scent burned my nostrils when I inhaled.
“Ah. There you are.” He offered me his hand, which was gloved. “I wasn’t expecting you until dinner.”
“Are you King Rook?” I managed to ring his hand with mine on the third attempt. My eyesight remained wobbly, and my stomach twisted into tighter knots as he drew me to my feet. “I would curtsey, but I don’t know how, and I would probably fall over if I tried.”
“You are delightful.” His breath formed snowflakes in the air. “Alas, I am not the king but his humble servant. You may call me Bháin.”
“Juan?” Enzo attempted the pronunciation from his seat on the tiles.
“No.” Bháin clipped out the reprimand then returned his attention to me. “I will show you to your room.”
Isaac pulled himself up with help from the doorframe. “Thierry didn’t mention any accommodations.”
“My former mistress has acclimated to tether travel.” A glint sharpened his eyes. “She must have forgotten how taxing it can be for those unaccustomed to Faerie’s splendor.”
Isaac ignored the snide comment and helped Enzo stand. As the only full human in our group, he was suffering the worst, if his pale face was any indication. Either the scholars were wrong about witches having roots in Faerie, or their bloodlines were too diluted to offer him any protection.
As Bháin had yet to relinquish his proprietary hold on me, I used Enzo’s lurching as an excuse to break away from the fae and prop up my friend.
“My master wishes for you to stay the night and leave after breakfast.” Bháin performed a slight bow. “If you’ll follow me?”
The three of us ended up walking with our arms linked, and it reminded me of that iconic scene from The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy, the tin man and the cowardly lion set out down the yellow brick road. Except our road was paved with ice blocks.
Winter was a definite theme, and I was grateful wargs ran hot. Isaac, I startled to notice, had completed a partial shift into a blue-skinned creature with ropy green hair. Enzo had activated a spell or perhaps charmed his clothes to retain heat. Otherwise, his teeth would have been chattering by now.
Buoyed by the resourcefulness of my crew, half convinced we just might make it out of this alive, not even the macabre painting depicting old battles could lower my spirits. I did wonder at the artful arrangement of weaponry positioned next to the portraits. It was like the king was saying, See this battle? These are the swords and axes that won it. Had there been gore preserved on the edges, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
“The gentlemen will share quarters.” Bháin opened the door onto a lavish suite with two queen-sized beds. “The rooms are hard to heat. Sharing will alleviate some of the burden on our resident elementals.”
“The fires are alive?” I asked as Isaac growled in a bubbling voice to suit his new skin, “Where will Dell be staying?”
“I have prepared my former mistress’s suite for the lady.” Bháin inclined his head toward me. “I believe she will be most comfortable there. The elementals are a favorite of Lady Thierry’s, and she has tamed several to her hand that reside in her chambers.”
Isaac slid his hand into my pants pocket, holding my gaze the whole time. I brought him in for a hug to cover the movement from an eagle-eyed Bháin. We broke apart, and I helped Enzo reach his bed before the servant ushered me down the hall to my own room.
“You mentioned dinner.” Wargs could always be counted on to bring their appetite on any trip. Too bad I couldn’t indulge mine. “Will we be dining with the king?”
“Not tonight.” He entered Thierry’s bedroom, which was a lush space appointed with a king-sized bed and massive fireplace stocked with the promised frolicking elementals, but kept his position by the door. “He will join you at the morning meal and send you off properly as befitting his former lady’s companions.”
A chill whispered up my spine that had nothing to do with the subzero temperature of the place. “I appreciate your assistance and hospitality, Mr. Bháin.”
“Only Bháin,” he demurred, a hint of irritation that I hadn’t thanked him outright flashing across his beautiful face.
I didn’t know as much about fae as I should, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here now. But Cam had drummed that one rule into my head, and it was becoming reflex. Never thank the fae.
He showed himself out, and it wasn’t until he left I wondered if I had been meant to give him some token for his assistance similar to the tip offered to bellhops. Having never been in a royal palace and having never met a fae born of Faerie, I could only hope I hadn’t committed a terrible social faux pas. Well, another one.
Alone in my room, I dropped my pack of supplies and began exploring the suite. Curiosity urged me to check my pocket, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of the black disc I found there. I had just located the bathroom and decided to test their magical plumbing, assuming the water ran warmer than the rest of the place, when the shush of well-oiled hinges informed me I was no longer alone.
Chapter 3
Reflexes slowed by the transition sickness, I caught movement from the corner of my eye too late to avoid getting spun out of the bathroom and flattened against a hard male chest.
“You do not want to be spinning me like a top right now.” I clutched Isaac’s shoulders while my stomach roiled. “How are you not as queasy as the rest of us?”
Of course, Isaac would invite himself into my bedroom as though he had a standing invitation. He wrapped his arms around my waist, plastering our bodies together. My chin came to rest on his shoulder, and he tightened his hold until I wheezed.
“I’m a full-blooded fae” was his answer. “I’m nauseous, but I’ve had worse eating Mom’s cooking.”
Note to self: Avoid Dot Cahill’s kitchen at all costs.
“Dell.” He breathed my name against my ear. “Can I just hold you a minute?”
“It’s only been three weeks,” I grumbled, battling a pleased flush I wanted to blame on the wolf but knew belonged to me. His warm breath feathered my skin, and my stomach clenched. “Oh fine.”
Since I had all the resolve of a cup of pudding, I slid my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his pectorals. His scent perked the wolf, who was still shaking off the effects of the restrictive magic piped into the cells at Macon. Her joy at his closeness made me ache with regret for what we might have been.
“Your sixty seconds are up,” I informed him, extricating myself from his grasp using a touch of my warg strength. He had released his aspect and thus resembled his usual self. Whatever extra muscle the blue-skinned creature might have afforded him was gone. “What are you doing skulking around the castle?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He broke away to examine my accommodations. “Your pal Bháin locked us in our room. Did he tell you that?”
“He’s not my pal, and no.” I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the balmy thirty-two degrees in my room. “How did you find me?” I remembered his hand slipping into my pocket. “The disc is a tracker?” He offered a sheepish nod and clarified it was a short-range beacon. “What do you think Frosty the Butler is up to?”
“Not sure.” He finished his circuit and stopped in front of me. “It depends on how much Thierry told the king about the real reason why we’re here.”
“They are exes,” I mused. “I’m sure there’s some animosity there. Isn’t there always?”
He grunted
a noncommittal noise. “The location of the tether can’t be helped. We had to get dumped out here. I expect even the king would allow such trespass as a favor to Thierry. But why would he invite us to stay considering we’re here to re-kidnap a rival for his throne?”
“Thierry said Tiberius was important because he’s being groomed to lead.” I pondered that. “Tiberius is a Seelie prince, but the current king is Unseelie. How does that work?”
“New rulers are chosen every one hundred years by right of hunt.” Isaac rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Black Dog of Faerie?”
A faint memory tickled the back of my mind, but I came up blank. “The name sounds familiar.”
“How about the Wild Hunt?” he tried again.
“Now that I do know.” As a warg, the title alone had piqued my interest. “They’re a pack of spectral hounds led by the Huntsman. They’re set free to hunt the souls of fae who died on Earth on All Hallows’ Eve and return them to Faerie.” In their bellies. “The lore wasn’t clear on how the souls got from inside the dogs into the Ever-After, which reads like the fae equivalent of Heaven, but I hope that doesn’t mean that one day you’ll become ghost-dog poop.”
“You do care.” He smiled a crooked smile that set my pulse fluttering. “Do you want to hear the story? Dad used to tell it to Theo and me when we were little. I think I remember how it goes.”
His dad had passed away a year before Cam was born, and I had never asked how old that made him at the time. Five or so, I guessed, if Isaac remembered him so well. His mother, Dot, had never recovered from the loss and raised her boys alone. A dangerous occupation, raising three special children without the help of her family.
Isaac cocked his head as though listening to his father’s long-ago voice, picking up the story at the pertinent section.
“And the Huntsman scented dawn on the horizon, lifted his horn and called the Wild Hunt to heel until the next year. On his way to the tether, he and his pack of sleek, black hounds crossed a battlefield. Their guts were distended with spirit flesh and their hunger temporarily sated when their noses led them to one last feast. Two souls, one Seelie and one Unseelie, stood with their hands clasped as though unaware the hunt was upon them.
“The pack leader ran ahead of the others. Confused when the spirits stood their ground, he approached them, sniffed them and allowed each to stroke his silky midnight fur.
“The Seelie held the hound’s gaze while the Unseelie spoke. ‘Only in death have we known peace. If we had raised our voices instead of our swords, much of our grief might have been circumvented. Loyal beast, reaper, it is our final wish that Faerie never endure the misery of another Thousand Years War.’
“‘Mark this day, Black Dog,’ the Seelie intoned. ‘Tonight you are the hunter, but one hundred years hence, you shall become the hunted. One prince from each of our houses will hunt you across Faerie wearing the skins of hounds, goaded by your own Huntsman while you wear the skin of a sidhe noble. Your blood will anoint the new ruler and usher in one hundred more years of prosperity for the fae.’
“Instead of consuming the spirits as the Huntsman had decreed, Black Dog bowed his head to their will. That simple act of defiance shattered the bonds between himself and the Huntsman, and Black Dog gained awareness. As a gift to aid him in the trials ahead, the Unseelie entered his left eye and the Seelie his right, so that Black Dog might always view both sides of any argument with impartiality.
“Black Dog also gained the form of a man so that he might stand toe-to-toe with kings. He named himself Macsen Sullivan and established the Faerie High Court, choosing one Seelie and one Unseelie consul to join him, and instituted the Right of Hunt.
“Once a century, the Seelie and Unseelie heirs are transformed into hounds, and they hunt him. He is run to ground and torn to pieces. His blood is spilled to determine the next king. His sacrifice avoids the slaughter of thousands that would occur if the houses went to war over the crown. For the seven days after he is laid to rest in Faerie’s soul, the realm mourns him. Lore claims those tears seep into the soil and restore him, and he rises at midnight on the seventh day made whole again.”
I tugged on the collar of my shirt, all too aware we stood in a land where such legends passed into reality. “Is that story true?”
“You should ask Thierry the next time you see her. Better yet, invite her out for a run.” He chuckled and wiped a hand over his mouth. “Rumor has it, he’s her father.”
“Shut the front door.” Warg strength forgotten, I shoved him back so hard he rocked on his heels. That’s why the title had sounded familiar. Galina, Tiberius’s mother, had called Thierry the daughter of the Black Dog. “Does Cam know?”
“She wouldn’t allow Thierry near the pack without digging into her background first. That doesn’t mean she can share what she found or has been told. The conclave loves enforcing their gag orders with spells that literally gag a person on a certain topic.”
Cam had worked for the conclave so many years, it was a wonder she could talk about more than the weather. “Does this mean Thierry is a shifter?”
“She’s a legacy. That much I can verify.” He wiggled his fingers. “I touched her, and that’s all the classification I got.”
“Legacy.” I scrolled through past conversations with Cam for context. “That means Thierry has at least one fae parent born in Faerie, right?”
“Yep. In this case, her father. Since he’s the Black Dog, my money is on her being a shape-changer of some kind.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Have you ever noticed her scenting the air? And her hearing is off the charts. I bet her eyesight is too. Not to mention those runes. She’s definitely more than she appears.”
Thierry being the daughter of a Faerie legend explained a lot. Like how a lowly marshal had access to the tether to send us here in the first place, let alone the ability to activate it. The story also gave me a point of reference for her odd sense of honor and her desire to bring balance to the supernatural factions on Earth. It appeared she was following in her father’s footsteps.
“Okay, if the story is true, then King Rook isn’t a threat to us. He would lose his crown when the next Coronation Hunt rides regardless. So, what does it matter if we help out the competition?”
“He’s the first Unseelie king in memory, and in Faerie, memories run long.” Isaac rolled his bottom lip between his thumb and finger. “Fae are loyal to their houses unto death. He must want the Unseelie tradition to continue.”
Cast in that light, this situation reminded me of some of the children’s stories I’d read that warned never to accept fae hospitality. Time moved differently in this realm, and the unwary could get lost in sweet wines laced with drugs or foods stuffed with magic herbs that wiped memories. Fae weren’t cutesy fairies with wands who granted wishes. They were old magic packaged in flawless beauty with razor teeth hidden behind cupid’s-bow lips.
“Do you think this is a sham? Feed us who knows what, tuck us into bed, then leave us to wake up in a hundred years when the new king decides to air out his consort’s chamber?”
“Anything is possible.” Isaac crossed to the bed and tested the mattress with his hand like he worried it might conceal a spring-loaded bear trap. “I don’t like you staying so far away from us.”
“I doubt Bháin has designs on my person. I ought to be safe enough.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to go exploring?”
“The lock on the door was probably meant to discourage that,” he answered dryly.
“Was mine locked?” I hadn’t checked, which I realized now that my head was back on straight had been a potentially lethal mistake. “Or did you let yourself in?”
“Unlocked.” Clearly, he wasn’t thrilled with that. “I’m not sure what that says about our host.”
“Let me change, and we’ll go poke around.” A twinge of conscience had me asking, “Are you sure we should leave Enzo alone?”
“He’d prefer it.”
Isaac doled out sympathy. “He’s working on a counterspell for the nausea.”
“In that case, give me a second.” I pulled jeans, a thermal long-sleeve shirt and new underwear from the pack and ducked into the bathroom to change. I hesitated over my uniform. Toss or keep? I made an executive decision and bundled the clothes together. After I brushed my hair back into a low ponytail, I exited to find Isaac where I had left him. “Okay, let’s find out where our host keeps the spare towels.”
Isaac didn’t blink when I flung the clothes into the fire and let the elementals toss the fabric ball back and forth until it was nothing but ash. Neither did he discourage me from entering the hall or setting off in the direction opposite to the guys’ room. One, he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. And two, he was at least as curious as me if the eager twitch of his fingers was any indication.
We walked for what must have been a half hour down the winding hall with no end in sight. Only the creepy portraits, with beady eyes that gave the impression of following us, distinguished one turn from another. It was the oddest thing. We edged right several times, but only that direction. How was it possible? The king’s estate couldn’t be that large, could it?
I was about to suggest we give up and return to our rooms, which was what I began to suspect was the point of the discombobulating turns, when the landscape changed. The endless row of doors gaped, revealing a carved opening leading into what appeared to be some type of sitting room. Isaac and I exchanged a glance. By silent agreement, we crept up to the entrance and peeked around its edge.
A massive fireplace consumed one entire wall, and a dozen or more fire elementals danced in the soot. A single wingback chair upholstered in black damask had been pulled up to the hearth, and a tall fae man sat there with his feet resting on a matched ottoman. A crystal goblet hung from his fingertips, and a fall of hair black as a raven’s wing rested over one of his shoulders. His profile, what little I could see, was beautiful. But fae wielded beauty as a weapon, so good looks weren’t unexpected among the sidhe, the higher nobles. I had a good idea of who he was before I noticed the gold circlet resting on the floor beneath his chair.
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