Storm Warned (The Grim Series)

by Dani Harper

  “No,” she sniffed, blotting her eyes and wishing she could stop. Crying was giving her a headache again.

  “A’course not. That idiot prince is the one who took ya, but it’s kept me thinkin’ half the night that he must have a reason behind it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Made no sense to me either, leastways not until yer songs filled my ears. Has Maelgwn heard yer music?”

  Puzzled, she nodded. “I was playing in the forest above the farm when his hunt chased me down. He ordered me to play for them, and I didn’t see as there was much choice. I . . . I thought if I just amused them, they’d let me go.”

  “Aye, they might have. Or they might not. ’Tis difficult to predict what the Fair Ones will do. But tell me now, d’ya remember what was said afore ya became a grim?”

  She couldn’t forget. It was the scene that changed her life, and she’d replayed it countless times in her mind, always wondering what she might have said or done differently. “Maelgwn was determined that I should go with him, and it angered him when I refused. I tried to explain that my father needed me—and I took care to be polite about it, truly. I even offered to go with him of my own free will in twenty years’ time, but his temper just grew uglier.” Caris thought carefully. “There was a faery in green—Rhedyn is her name—who begged him not to take me. Maelgwn shouted something about kings needing weapons, and that I was a ‘sword upon the ground.’ It didn’t make a bit of sense to me, but I might not have heard it right.”

  “Or maybe ya did.” The ellyll folded his skinny arms and rested his chin on them. “The Fair Ones have stolen away mortals since the very beginning. Not an eyebrow would raise if the prince showed up with a pretty human woman like yerself. So I’m thinkin’ Maelgwn must have wanted to keep ya a secret from the rest o’ the Tylwyth Teg.”

  “By making me a death dog?”

  “Aye. No one in the Nine Realms would spare a grim a second glance, now would they? And under all that black fur, they’d never notice that ya were a tad different from the rest.”

  That was true enough. Grims weren’t treated like dogs in the human world. Instead, they were little more than silent shadows, fae creatures and yet outsiders. She’d felt completely invisible most of the time—except from the bad-tempered prince. “But why would he hide me?”

  “Yer music, good lady.” The ellyll folded his arms in front of him with certainty. “As soon as I heard it on the morning air, I knew. He wanted ya fer yer music. ’Tis a weapon indeed, and a powerful one.”

  Her eyes widened. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “I’ll tell ya a secret, Caris Ellen Dillwyn.” The ellyll lowered his voice to a whisper, but it didn’t diminish the impact of his words. “An old secret, one that few of the Tylwyth Teg themselves remember. Music has power, dontcha know. It enhances fae magic, and it makes magic of its own as well.”

  What? She could feel her face flush with indignation. “Well, then, why don’t they be making their own music? What did they need me for? The old stories talk about the Fair Ones singing pretty songs to lure mortals away. And Rhedyn talked about the songs I could learn from them if I came to their Court. Duw annwyl, they sang the great crystals of the Glass Throne itself into being! So whatever was the point of stealing me away from my da?”

  Ranyon reached across the little picnic and took Caris’s hand firmly in his twiggy fingers. As before, she was surprised by his strength, although he didn’t hurt her in the least. “Listen to me, good lady. ’Tis not a matter of singing the right song, ’tis a matter of singing a song right. The Tylwyth Teg can make all the music they wish, and ’tis true that it pleases the ear, and sometimes their songs can even bewitch a weak mortal mind. But I ask ya, are not the Fair Ones cold of heart? Do they have any deep feelings besides spite and senseless anger?”

  She shook her head. “Not really, no. In truth, they envy the feelings of mortals.”

  “Aye, that’s right. Emotion has power. And that’s the key when yer making yer music. How those songs are born outta yer very heart and soul, how they’re a part of you, is a complete mystery to the Tylwyth Teg, dontcha know. And that’s why older stories than the ones you know tell of mortal musicians being spirited away to the faery kingdom. D’ya think the fae created the Glass Throne all by themselves? They may have written some of the words, but they had to have human help, dontcha know. Because only humans can give power to a song.”

  “But—but I don’t have power like that.”

  “Look around ya, good lady.”

  Caris frowned but did as he said. What she saw made her catch her breath—the ground was carpeted so thickly with yellow flowers that the grass was nearly invisible as far as the eye could see. As she watched, more flowers grew up and blossomed before her eyes. “What’s happening? Why are they doing that?”

  “Ya did it yerself. Or rather, ’twas yer music that did it.”

  It couldn’t. “That never happened before! Not ever!” she protested. “I’m not magic!”

  “Yer music is.”

  “No, it’s not!”

  He patted her hand patiently. “Good lady, the last time ya tucked a fiddle ’neath yer pretty chin, had ya been to the Nine Realms?”

  “I . . . No. No, I hadn’t.” A thought occurred to her that made her whisper: “Dear heavens, am I changed?”

  “Aye, a little,” said Ranyon. “Yer not fae, if that’s what ya fear. But truly, think of what yer poor heart and soul have suffered. ’Twould change anyone, dontcha know. Yer feelings will be all the deeper for it—and so will yer music.”

  “I suppose they will,” she murmured. “So what do I do now?”

  “I’m not knowing that. But we’ll figure it out, all of us together. And in the meantime, we’ll keep ya safe as houses, good lady.”

  “It’s not myself I’m worrying about. I can’t bring more danger upon Liam. It’s not fair to him. And Morgan and Jay should be warned as well.”

  “Aye, well, yer forgetting that Maelgwn and his cursed hunt have already set their sign on this farm, like a wolf marks his territory or a badger marks his trail. I know I said there was little left to interest the prince here, and that’s true, but you and I both know he’ll consider it part of his holdings forever on. So Liam has himself a problem with the fae already—he just doesn’t know it.”

  She shook her head. “It’ll be much worse if I’m here. I should leave, and quickly.”

  “Ya certainly should not! First, ya must know there’s no runnin’ from the Fair Ones. They’ll find ya wherever ya hide. Best to make a stand, like Morgan and Rhys have done.” He shook his twiggy finger at her. “But more’n that, d’ya think there’s no rhyme or reason ta things? Out of all the places in the worlds above and below, you were brought here, and here is where ya were made human again. I’m thinkin’ there’s purpose fer it.”

  Caris couldn’t imagine what that purpose might be. Her fears lessened somewhat, however, as she realized there truly might be more at work than she’d realized. Were there not two people in the house at this very moment who not only knew about the fae but were brave enough to live their lives in spite of them? And among their families and friends were Rhys and Aidan, who had once borne the grim curse as she had. Ranyon was right—what were the chances she’d end up here of all places?

  “Feel better yet?”

  She nodded as she wiped her eyes one last time. “Thank you, I believe I do.”

  “Here, then: I made this fer ya. Maybe it’ll even put the smile back on yer pretty face.” The ellyll placed something into her hand, and she gasped with pleasure. It was the nugget of blue stone he’d charmed when he first met her. Instead of being wrapped with grass stems, however, it was bound with exquisite copper leaves and vines, and suspended on a long copper chain with fine blue beads scattered throughout.

  “Ranyon, your work is so
grand,” she breathed. “It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “After hearing yer songs, I’m thinkin’ that fiddle is the loveliest thing you’ve seen.”

  She smiled then. “We won’t count that.” Caris carefully slipped the ellyll’s creation over her head as if it were made of spun glass, and tenderly cupped the pendent in her hands to admire it further. “How did you know I liked this stone?”

  “Because it liked ya too.”

  Laughing, she threw her arms around the little ellyll. She was careful not to squeeze him too hard, but although he looked like he could blow away in the next good gust of wind, Ranyon was surprisingly solid. Goodness, he is just like a tree!

  He chuckled and sat back. “A smart man would be givin’ ya a gift every day, just fer a fine cwtch like that.” His gnarled face sobered then. “But ya must know, the stone is much more than it looks. ’Tis as strong a charm as I’ve ever made. D’ya trust me, good lady?”

  She didn’t have to think about it, though she hadn’t known the little ellyll for long. “Yes. Yes I do. Absolutely.”

  “Good.” He held up a twiggy finger, and wagged it at her. “Now, fer the love of little fishes, never take it off. Not fer a single minute.”

  “But—”

  “Not even if Maelgwn himself threatens to do harm to ya, or to someone ya care fer.”

  “Wait, I can’t do that!”

  “Ya can, good lady, and ya must. He can’t see it around yer neck, dontcha know, but ya might think to bargain with it. Don’t.” The ellyll waggled his finger at her. “I can’t explain all the magical workings to ya, but ’tis fer good purpose. Some things ya have to have a bit o’ faith in.” He held out his skinny hand to her. “Will ya make a solemn pledge on it?”

  Caris swallowed hard. It wouldn’t be hard to keep a pledge when someone was trying to bully her. But if someone tried to harm Jay or Morgan or Ranyon—or worst of all, Liam—how would she ever keep her word?

  “It really is that important?”

  “Aye. Or I wouldn’t ask it of ya.”

  She took his hand and shook it solemnly. “Then I promise.”

  “Right then!” He slapped his knobby knee. “Let me just be teaching ya a few little tunes that might come in handy some day . . .”

  “Liam, you’ve come back to us!” The voice startled him, and in the same moment, eased something within him. Everything in Liam’s world was fine as long as the owner of that sensuous voice was nearby . . .

  Caris walked around the end of the couch, and it seemed to him that the room became brighter. She wasn’t in scrubs anymore, but wearing faded jeans and a simple blouse in tropical shades that loved her skin. Her long black hair was cleverly worked into a double braid that circled her head like a dark crown—and it was sexy as hell. But it was her broad smile that warmed him like good brandy. “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” His voice came out hoarse, and his tongue was doing an imitation of a dried-out sponge again. With the pounding in his head, simply smiling could be harmful or fatal—but what a pleasant sensation to want to smile! He wished she hadn’t caught him lying down, of course, but his body had insisted on more sleep right after Morgan left. “At least I’ve been up once, so that’s an improvement.”

  “Morgan was saying so.”

  “Been checking up on me?”

  “Well, now, someone needs to, don’t they? Here, I brought some water in case you were awake.” She produced a tall glass with a straw sticking out of it, holding it steady so that all he had to do was drink.

  He took a couple of welcome sips, swishing it through his dry mouth before he swallowed. “Christ, that’s better.” It was only water, but it was sweet and cold, and he could swear he could feel his tissues expanding as he drank. Still, Caris pulled it away just as he passed the halfway mark.

  “Your stomach’s likely to be tender still,” she cautioned. “Just let that settle a bit before you finish the glass while I make you a bit of lunch.”

  “Not going to boss me around, are you?”

  She smiled again. “Are you going to be needing it?”

  “Probably not today. Maybe when I have more energy.”

  “Let me know when that is,” she laughed. Liam decided he was definitely in love with her laugh. His sensible side said that wasn’t much of a basis for a relationship, but it made perfect sense to the rest of him.

  He reached over and took one of Caris’s hands in his larger one, holding it captive while he examined it gently. “A little bird told me you milked all the goats by hand last night.”

  She looked baffled. “Well, of course I did, and this morning too. I know you’ve got clever machines to do it, but they need electricity. Jay’s already got your generator running some of your other equipment to cool down the milk. Your cheese maker’s coming by today to collect it.”

  A small hand, yet strong. Her skin was soft, but there were also calluses here and there, badges of hard, honest work—and God help him, he’d do anything to feel those hands on his body. Liam looked boldly into her dark eyes as he brought her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed each fingertip. It was a delight to see the color rise in her cheeks, as a flurry of emotions passed over her beautiful face. Shocked, as he pressed his lips to the pad of her thumb. Apprehensive, as he kissed the first finger, and downright confused as he kissed the second. His lips lingered on the ring finger, long enough to shield the furtive flick of his tongue from view. Her eyes darkened with arousal, and crimson blushed at her throat. Caris tugged at her hand, but he didn’t release it until he had kissed her pinky—and nipped it lightly. She stammered something about making lunch and left the room as if it were on fire.

  But unless he was very mistaken, she was the one who’d been set alight . . .

  SIXTEEN

  We have accomplished a very great deal this day,” declared Gwenhidw. “And I think it well worth celebrating. I know that we had planned to do more, to attempt an even greater merging of our magics to send the first small seedings to Tir Hardd, but I believe we would do far better after a refreshment of the mind and spirit. Tomorrow will be soon enough to carry on our work. For now, let us rest and make ready, then repair to the great throne room when the moon reaches her height. It has been far too many years since we danced there. Let us remedy that together with a party, shall we?”

  The envoys cheered her suggestion mightily and hastened to their quarters, laughing and talking as if they were the best of friends. Lurien didn’t know which was more astonishing—that the diplomats were getting along so well, or that Gwenhidw had suggested an actual social event.

  As for the vast throne room, it was seldom used at all, never mind for a celebration. In fact, outside of the queen’s recent gathering to discuss her plans for Tir Hardd, there hadn’t been a crowd in the throne room since . . .

  Since the king died.

  For some reason, the thought of the merriment to come filled the Lord of the Wild Hunt with a curious melancholy. Perhaps it was because the assassination of Arthfael was never very far from his mind. Though Lurien had arrived in time to save Gwenhidw from the murderous attackers, he would never be rid of the terrible sense of failure that trailed him like a hungry wolf. As for the queen, she had mourned her husband for nearly two millennia.

  Did the announcement of a party mean that she might be healing at last? Or was she, as always, simply doing what she felt her people needed her to do? He didn’t know.

  Nor did he know what an actual party would be like. Lurien searched his memories, trying to recall past fêtes. He hoped to Hades it wouldn’t be like the chaotic Court. The shallow and chattering assembly was perpetually seeking amusement and diversion, competing for the attention and admiration of their titled peers. Luckily, their lustful galas and raucous entertainments were restricted to the outermost ballrooms.

&nb
sp; Lurien never attended the Court unless it was to escort and guard Gwenhidw—and thankfully, her appearance there was rare indeed. She hated the silly and small-minded assemblage as much as he did. In fact, battling the snapping beaks of adar gwyn, the white-headed gryphons, during a hunt was far less dangerous than an hour spent with the sharp-tongued wags of the Court.

  No, he thought with relief, Gwenhidw’s party would be nothing like that. She would host something tasteful and elegant. It would still be boring to him, of course—after all, his own ideas of entertainment involved untamed faery horses, ghostly hounds, and a fresh trail to follow over rough countryside. But while the envoys enjoyed the festivities, he would simply focus on guarding his queen and ensuring her safety. He would assign every one of his hunters to the occasion as well and . . .

  “Lurien.”

  Startled, he bowed instantly at the queen’s voice, but in the wrong direction entirely, causing her to laugh aloud. A thousand crystal bells were blended into that unique laugh, and the sound was all the more breathtaking for its rarity.

  He turned to smile at her, an expression uncommon to his own face. “My apologies, Your Grace. Once again, you have surprised me. One might think you enjoy doing so.”

  “I believe you may be right.” Her face was exquisite as always, her flawless gown capturing the delicate saffron hues of wild rock-roses. The crimson-spotted flowers were plaited into her shining hair, where he knew they would remain fresh and living as long as they stayed within the energy of her aura. The queen of the Nine Realms gave life to everything and everyone around her. Only Lurien, with the perception of long acquaintance, could see the weariness in her eyes.

  “Do you think it wise to have this party so soon?” he asked. “I would sooner see you rest, your Grace.”

  She groaned. “Do not ‘Your Grace’ me again,” she said quietly but firmly. “We are quite alone in the courtyard now. You are my oldest and dearest friend, but you have become far too formal, even to the point of stuffy, since I called you to be my llaw dde.”