by Dani Harper
Ranyon’s voice was uncharacteristically hushed. “You defied a prince of the Fair Ones?”
“For all the good it did me. I was taken away just the same. The farm went to ruin, and my poor father died alone, never knowing what had happened to me.”
Morgan exchanged glances with Jay. “I’m so very sorry,” she said to Caris. “You’ve lost a great deal. The fae don’t think as we do.”
“Nay, make no excuses for them!” The ellyll was rarely angry, but he was standing on his twiggy toes, all but shaking with ire. Morgan wished she’d remembered in time that Caris wasn’t the only one who had suffered at their hands. Ranyon’s entire clan had been killed, leaving him utterly alone.
“The Tylwyth Teg are without an ounce of pity,” he continued. “They serve only themselves, and they leave naught but heartbreak and ruin behind them.”
“You’re right,” said Morgan, putting a hand on her small friend’s shoulder. “You’re absolutely right. Most of the Fair Ones are self-centered and insensitive, and many are deliberately cruel. All of them are damn dangerous. But it’s also true that some try to be different. Some have honor, like Lurien, and some have compassion, like Gwenhidw.”
Ranyon simply crossed his skinny arms across his blue shirt and refused to respond.
Caris, however, sighed and nodded. “There are yet a few with a small grain of kindness. A faery woman, Rhedyn, tried to talk Maelgwn out of changing me, and she spoke up for me more than once, although it angered him enough to strike her. And I’ve seen for myself how much the queen truly loves her subjects. But that’s little or no comfort to me when I think of my poor da, and what he must have gone through when his only daughter came up missing.”
A moment later, Morgan saw the little ellyll slip his twiggy hand into Caris’s. It was a childlike gesture but a kind one. The old stories often spoke about mortals being kidnapped and taken to the faery realm. How many lives had been stolen over the centuries? How many loved ones had mourned? She almost regretted standing up for Lurien and the queen; perhaps they didn’t enslave humans themselves, but it appeared that they tolerated the practice. If so, then how different were they, really, from the other fae? She didn’t know the answer to that.
Jay had questions of his own. “What was this Maelgwn guy doing with the Hunt? What happened to Lurien?”
“Prince Maelgwn has followers among the Fair Ones, every one of them ambitious or foolish or both,” said Caris. “He cares not for the true Wild Hunt, nor for Lurien’s lawful rule o’er it and the justice it metes out. Instead, Maelgwn calls together his own hunts, and they terrorize the mortal world for sport.”
“Like Liam’s poor farm,” Morgan said. “But why here?”
“’Tis true that they have never before ventured to this place. But the queen announced that the new territory would be fairly divided between all the faery races and governed by leaders of their own choosing. Her words angered many of the Tylwyth Teg, and especially Maelgwn.” Caris shook her head. “I’ve never seen him in such a rage.”
“’Tis the same as always,” muttered Ranyon. “They believe that only they should lead.”
“Maelgwn called a hunt straightaway,” she continued. “And I’m thinking he must have planned it long beforehand. The party was gathered much too quickly, otherwise, and well supplied as if for a long journey.”
“He’s using grims,” said Morgan. “Why not the white hunting hounds?”
“The Cŵn Annwn belong to Lord Lurien. But Maelgwn favors the grims because they strike fear into human hearts—and many of them are mad enough to kill if he commands it.”
“And you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why he made me come along. It pleases him to trouble me, I think. When I realized where he was going, I wanted to tell the queen. But a dog has no voice.”
“And no choice,” finished Ranyon. He yanked his Blue Jays cap from his leaf-laden hair. “My hat’s off to ya, good lady, for daring to try to escape once more. Glad I am that ya succeeded, and that the murderous lout didn’t kill ya.”
To everyone’s surprise—and the ellyll’s delight—she leaned over and kissed the top of his leafy head.
“Great, so not only do we have a rogue hunt, but now we have a dangerous faery prince running around,” said Jay. “Didn’t we just get rid of an evil princess? Are royal pains coming out of the woodwork now?”
Ranyon carefully replaced his Blue Jays cap, as if trying to preserve Caris’s bestowal. “The queen is never out of danger, dontcha know. She may speak little of it, but the Royal Court is brimful o’ plots to relieve her of her throne. It has always been so. A good many of her own relations would be quick to plunge the knife if it meant they could have her power.”
“So how closely is Maelgwn related to her?” asked Morgan. “Please tell me he’s not the new heir apparent.”
The ellyll sniffed in disdain. “True it is that Maelgwn is a prince of the Tylwyth Teg, and the most toffee-nosed, arrogant fool of the lot. But he’s a prince in name only. He’s one of countless great-grandchildren of the late king’s sister and has no hope of ever ruling anything.”
“I only wish that were true,” said Caris, slowly. “I fear he has hope aplenty now, though not for ruling the Nine Realms beneath the Black Mountains of Wales. Maelgwn wishes to be king of all of Tir Hardd.”
Jay goggled. “Wait a minute. That’s—”
“Right here under our feet,” finished Morgan.
NINE
Liam slept. He didn’t ask anyone’s permission, and no one cautioned him against it. He was exhausted, his injured head throbbed in time to his heartbeat, and he was certain that the insistent hospital noises would irritate him to death long before he was released. He gratefully left all of that behind as he plunged headlong into slumber, as a swimmer into cool, deep waters.
And dreamed . . .
The ancient mountain forest was lush with new summer, so thick and full that the sun could penetrate the leaves only enough to scatter droplets of light like golden coins. But it was the wild, cascading tune that burgeoned with life. Drawn from a long-seasoned fiddle, that much Liam could tell, but the song itself was unlike anything he’d ever heard, or even imagined. The eager notes flitted through the trees one moment and lingered in the air the next, like a vast assembly of hummingbirds.
His first instinct was to follow the tune to its source. His second, stronger impulse was to head in the other direction, to block out the melody that stroked his senses as intimately as a lover. The dream gave him no choice in the matter, however. Liam found himself following the impossible music through narrow, green-shaded paths, up steep overgrown inclines, and across glittering streams.
At last, the trees parted before him to reveal a sunlit clearing, made all the more vivid by a sea of yellow cinquefoil and marigolds—and in the midst of that bright glory danced the source of the song. The woman was clothed only in the music she created, save for her long dark hair that swung back over her shoulders with each sweep of her bow and each spring of her small feet. The arc of her hips echoed the curvature of her fiddle, and he envied the instrument as it nestled between her pert chin and the round of her breast. Liam knew her sumptuous shape by heart, though he’d seen it only once . . .
But the tune that Caris Ellen Dillwyn coaxed so effortlessly from the dark golden wood was something he’d never known. Nor had he known such yearning. Primal, he thought. The music was as primal as the desire that pulsed through him to touch her, as basic and raw as the need to breathe—and to feel the woman’s resplendent form welcome his hard, muscled body.
Liam struggled at first, resisting the pull, shoring up the walls of his resolve to fend off all the things he had banished from his life. But he was powerless to keep the music from touching those dormant passions. For one brief moment, Caris looked up and appeared to meet his gaze . . . and the deep, dark songs of
his soul called out to her, as if they knew they would find expression if they could just reach her.
Yet she didn’t hear, didn’t see. Immersed in her music and rapt in her dance, she spun away, and his heart spun crazily with her—until the bright sun dimmed abruptly. Enormous black clouds swooped and swirled like live things, so low that they brushed the tops of the ancient trees and blotted out the light. As ominous as the darkness was, some instinct told Liam the real danger wasn’t from above.
“Caris!” he yelled, desperate to reach her, to get her to shelter—because something was coming. He could feel a strange shuddering vibration in the earth beneath his feet, growing stronger by the second, creeping closer and closer . . . Something was coming, something huge and evil and cruel. But the dream itself turned cruel then, rooting him to the spot. He struggled and fought to move, his muscles bulging and straining, to no avail. Worse, Caris seemed unable to hear him, unaware of his plight or her own danger. She simply danced upon the golden flowers, her bow coaxing the wild song into a new key that seemed to pluck hidden strings within Liam. But at the farthest edges of the forest beyond, he caught a glimpse of movement in the deep shadows.
Something squeezed Liam’s arm, and he was abruptly freed from the paralysis of the dream. He was also very much awake and staring into the wide eyes of a startled nurse.
“You can let go of me now, Mr. Cole,” she said, with a strained smile.
“What . . . Oh, hell.” Liam released his death grip on her wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“Bad dream?”
“Not exactly.” No one could call any dream bad which featured Caris’s exquisite form. As for the rest of that vision, however: “More like weird.” And unwelcome—the strange, wild music from the dream was caught in his head now, like a shining fish struggling in a net.
“People often get bizarre dreams with a concussion.” She removed the blood-pressure cuff from his arm. “I’m just sorry to have to keep waking you. Gotta check your vitals, you know. Can I get you anything? Some water maybe?”
Liam didn’t have to think. “I need my phone.”
One by one, the goats were milked, the animals tended. In the early afternoon, one of Liam’s horses found its way back to the farmyard, and thankfully the big speckled stallion was unhurt. Caris wondered what it had thought upon finding its home in disarray, its owner missing, and three total strangers doing the chores. Fortunately, the horse appeared relieved and happy simply to be near people after the terrifying events of the night. A good feed of grain, along with a soothing brush-down by Caris, seemed to put its world to rights.
If only the human world was as easily soothed.
At least I’m not the enemy anymore, thought Caris. Thanks to the little ellyll’s truth spell, Morgan was no longer viewing her with suspicion, and Jay had relaxed considerably in her presence. They hadn’t asked any additional questions, and she hadn’t offered any further information—with all the livestock to look after, there’d been no time. It was a temporary but welcome relief, since Caris wasn’t quite ready to tell all. She was every bit as mortal as they were, but she was painfully conscious that she didn’t fit in. The world she’d known had vanished long ago, and there was no place she could claim as her own. I’ll just have to make it my world, she thought, pressing her lips together in determination. I’ll work hard until I belong here as much as anyone else.
It would be nice to call Morgan and Jay her friends one day; she couldn’t help but like them both, even though they’d been on their guard at first. She certainly admired their skill with animals, their loyalty to their friend, and their determined compassion. They’re good people. It would surely be good to talk with Rhys too—and hadn’t there been another man mentioned as well? If they had once been grims like her, maybe they could help her figure out how to build a life as a human once more. Just to speak with someone from my own dear country would surely be a treat.
Still, it was Liam who had impressed Caris most deeply, even with that brusque and reluctant way about him. Several times she caught herself not only wondering if the man was all right but also missing him. And how silly was that, when she didn’t even know him?
“Maybe ya know what’s important.”
Caris jumped as Ranyon abruptly appeared next to her. He’d been all over the farm, using his charms to coax badly frightened creatures out of hiding—over a dozen yearling goats, several more chickens, five gray geese, and even an entire family of barn cats. Every time he passed Caris, he had waved or grinned, as if they were the best of friends already. Now he looked up at her with a knowing expression.
“I didn’t read yer mind, ya know. You said it all out loud as you was a-workin’. Seemed only right to answer ya.” He winked and dashed away after another chicken.
Jay had wired together a few damaged places in the corral fencing so the goats wouldn’t escape, but Caris was still relieved when Ranyon charmed the boundaries as well. Goats were as bad as sheep: if one got out, the entire lot of them would follow. Next up was to clear the debris from the barn. It might not have a roof anymore, but everything inside—equipment, hay bales, buckets, and feeders—looked like they’d been stirred into a prickly batter by a giant’s hand. There was no choice but to set to work to put things right. Even open to the sky, the building would keep the goats and other creatures safe during the night. And it wouldn’t hurt to plan ahead and close them in early. That way, the does would be already gathered for their evening milking.
Thank goodness for Ranyon, thought Caris. As his mortal friends did the heavier work at ground level, the nimble little fae climbed the timbers like a sailor climbing the mast and spelled the few remaining bits of the roof and rafters to fuse together. By midafternoon, the barn was fit for tenants—yet the poor goats continued to huddle at the farthest end of the corral. They wanted nothing to do with the barn, and Caris could hardly blame them after what they’d been through. But it was a problem she could deal with, one that required no magic to solve. She simply poured a big bucket of feed onto the cleaned and raked dirt floor. In seconds, every goat, big and small, couldn’t wait to get inside.
From the barn door, Morgan gave her a thumbs-up—then reached in her pocket to answer the tinny musical summons of her phone. What a clever little machine, Caris thought. As a grim, she’d witnessed the inception of telephones in the human world, of course, but had never used one herself. Now these tiny glowing devices were everywhere, no longer restricted to the wealthy or the privileged. Maybe I’ll have one too, some day.
Morgan didn’t seem to be enjoying hers at the moment. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. No, not that, I mean—yes, everything’s under control. We’re making real progress. Just give us a little time . . . Look, do I have to call Tina to make you see sense? She’ll come down here, you know she will.” Finally she put the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Of course you can, just a minute,” she said, and held out the brightly lit rectangle to Caris. “It’s for you.”
Caris just stared. “I . . . I don’t understand.”
“It’s an expression. It just means the call is for you, that someone is waiting to speak to you,” Morgan whispered, cupping her hand over the phone’s face as if to keep it from hearing her. “I had a hard time explaining that to Rhys at first—he thought I was giving him the phone as a gift. Pick it up like this so you can hear, and then just say hello.” It’s Liam, she mouthed, and made herself scarce as Caris gingerly put the strange device to her ear.
“Hello?” she said, trying not to sound as timid as she felt.
“Caris?”
Oh yes, it very much was him. His voice in her ear seemed incredibly intimate, and she could feel her cheeks burning bright. “Are you well then, Liam?” Caris managed to get out. “How is your poor head?”
“I’m going to have a headache for a while, a couple weeks at the very least, but it seems my thick skull protected my brain.
The doc’s insisting I stay overnight, of course. I just wanted to talk to you, make sure you’re all right before I decide if I should listen to him.”
He was that concerned about her? Caris put a hand to her feverishly hot face. “Well, of course you ought to listen to the physician. You needn’t be worried about me—I do thank you for asking, but I’m well enough. I milked out the goats, and Jay’s just finished looking after the ones that were hurt, and then Ranyon”—she caught herself just in time—“er, I mean we ran about, and we found thirty-eight does and eighteen yearlings.” Caris heard his sigh of relief.
“That’s all of them but four,” he said. “Much better than I dared to hope. Any sign of Dodge and Chevy?”
“Dear heaven, are there people missing too? You might have told us that first!” she admonished.
Liam started to laugh, then groaned. “Damn, that hurts the head. No, no, I meant my horses. They were pastured with the cattle when the storm hit, and they’re probably in the next state by now.”
“There’s a stallion that came to us, with a spotted coat.”
“That’s Dodge!” he exclaimed. “Is he . . . ?”
“There wasn’t a thing wrong with the big beauty that some feed and affection couldn’t fix. He likes his curry brush, that’s for certain.”
“He’ll take as much of that as you feel like dishing out,” Liam agreed. “I’m glad he’s okay. I hope Chevy is too—that’s the mare. She’ll be foaling soon, and I’m really worried about her.” He paused, as if to measure his words. “I’m actually more concerned about you. Are you all right? Are Morgan and Jay looking after you?”
“Your friends have been good to me, though they’d be hard pressed to be as kind as you were when you first found me.” It was nothing but the truth, but Caris wished she hadn’t said it the instant it left her lips. He wouldn’t welcome any reference to her time as a dog. Not when he doesn’t believe me.