Vow Unbroken: Faerie Tales 3

by T. J. Deschamps

  The way Aoife had described castle life, Fagan had thought his life would be all baths, large feasts, and festivities—he saw himself growing idle and fat. It may be that way for the fae nobility. Soldiers lived a different life than the high fae like Aoife and Queen Mab.

  Tamlin, the queen’s most favored of knights, did not seem to cherish his time at court, often saying he preferred the training yards.

  “Release!” the training master, a stout goblin with green skin and long ears, shouted.

  Fagan loosed the arrow with his exhale, hitting the heart of the straw-stuffed target. Again. He hit it every time, regardless of how tired, how sore, or how heart-heavy he grew…because he imagined the strawman to be Cu Roi mac Daire.

  A bell clamored, signaling drills complete and time for the soldiers to gather in their dining hall. Fagan fell in line with the fae. None of them spoke to him. They’d talk about him like he wasn’t there, but none did him harm. He sensed being a friend of the queen’s favorite made them wary of harming him.

  So it caught him by surprise, when a feminine looking fae with tall, pointed ears and a fine face said in a quiet tone, “Has her majesty summoned ye yet, Fergus?”

  Not needing to bother with asking to whom the fae referred, Fagan shook his head. He tried to walk faster, but she kept pace with him.

  “I’m surprised. Yer bonnie as a mortal comes. Must be Tamlin is wanting ye fer himself first. He likes to woo before he tups ye, building up anticipation until yer practically begging him for it.”

  Fagan grunted noncommittally. ‘Bonnie as a mortal comes’ He didn’t like the way fae were free about discussing intimacies and comparing him to fae and other humans. His chest burned each time they mentioned Tamlin. More than one fae had confessed in passing to have known the queen’s favorite intimately. Some had bragged about having Tamlin as if he were some exotic food they all wanted to devour.

  “Until that day comes, if ye have need of release, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  He had half a mind to tell the soldier to piss off, as he had told the servants summoning him to the chambers of several of the court’s nobility since he arrived. However, this was different. He recognized this offer as an offering of friendship, not some noble fae satisfying a curiosity about a human.

  “Aye? Is that so?”

  The fae laughed. “The offer comes with the caveat, I’d ask ye to return the favor.”

  “Fair enough. What may I call ye?” he asked, knowing better than to ask her name.

  “Ye may call me Deirdre.” She smiled, a lovely smile, all white teeth with little fangs instead of canines, and her eyes formed crescent moons. A genuine smile, not a mocking sneer, was gift from a fae.

  Fagan found himself smiling back.

  “Ye may also sit with me when we sup and bathe with me after dinner.”

  Excited he’d finally made a friend, his heart raced. “I’d be happy to sit with ye.”

  They entered a dining hall with rows of wooden tables. To the left, a brownie wearing nothing but apron served the soldiers bowls of milk fresh from an enchanted cow. Another brownie sat at a stool, backside bare for all to see, milking the beast right there in the dining room.

  Fagan kept his eyes on the serving brownie. The milk, having some sort of magical properties, had all the nourishment fae soldiers needed, Tamlin had told him. Fagan asked if the Queen and the court had the same liquid nourishment for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and didn’t hide how sick of milk he’d become.

  Tamlin had smiled but it hadn’t reached his eyes. “No, but there are plenty who would be glad to have just one bowl of this life-sustaining liquid, let alone three a day.”

  Fagan took his bowl, minding to forget every manner his ma had ever taught him and to remember all she’d said about the fae, not thanking the brownie lest he be in fae’s debt.

  Deirdre snickered behind him, joining Fagan on the bench of the nearest empty table. As if reading his thoughts, she said, “Tamlin is lucky Mab loves him. The fool thanked every fae who did him a kindness when he first arrived.”

  Fagan’s jaw dropped. “Nay?”

  “Oh, aye. There are some who are still sore Mab won’t let them collect their debts. So, the fae of the court find other ways to make good.”

  “How so?” He brought the bowl to his lips and sipped, swallowing down the sweet and creamy milk.

  “Ye have a fine mouth Fergus.”

  He lowered the bowl long enough to say, “And I asked ye a fine question with it.”

  Deirdre watched him drink before answering. She leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Tricks, traps, and other ways to make his lordship furious. He took to wearing those iron gauntlets to show us he’d learned a thing or two about fae.”

  “Why d’ye suppose he can wear them when another fae cannot?”

  Deirdre glanced over her shoulder before sharing, “Mab made him immortal and granted him power, but he’s not fae. Ye must be born one of us.”

  “How does Mab go about making one immortal?”

  She leaned even closer, tracing his lips with long, tapered fingers. “Any fae could do it. We simply bind your soul to our immortal one.” Deirdre licked the drop of cream she’d wiped off his lip.

  Fagan shuddered, half from arousal half from shock. He was right. Tamlin could never break his vow to serve Mab. There was something about Tamlin’s predicament that pained Fagan. Had the queen seduced the knight, thoroughly enthralling him and then binding him to her in a way so he’d never be able to return home? That was not love; that was entrapment. No wonder melancholy lingered about the knight’s eyes no matter how merry he seemed.

  “You go ahead and think on that, Fergus. I like my lovers quiet and brooding,” Deirdre said, lifting her bowl. “They’re always the most passionate.”

  Fagan went back to his milk, no longer interested in the fae next to him. He longed for companionship, but he did not want to bind himself eternally to anyone as a price.

  “Fergus,” Tamlin’s voice boomed from the entrance of the dining hall.

  Fagan downed his milk and handed his bowl to a brownie collecting them.

  Tamlin escorted him out the dining hall and down a corridor in silence. The knight seemed to be in one of his foul moods. Fagan stole glances, heart aching with compassion for this trapped man.

  “So, ye’ve heard?” Tamlin asked in a soft voice, not looking his way.

  “Heard what?”

  The redheaded knight shot him a pointed look. “Don’t play coy, Fergus. Ye ken my predicament?”

  “Aye. That I do.”

  Tamlin lifted his chiseled jaw. “Ye also ken it’s a great honor for the Queen of the Sidhe to have done so. She is not bound this way to even her husband. I am her true mate.”

  “Then why did ye call yer situation a ‘predicament’?” Fagan flinched inwardly as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

  “I cannae ever see my kin again. I have foresworn my title, my lands, and my life in exchange for eternity. My ma… I never got to say goodbye. I dinnae ken if she’s alive or—” The knight choked on the final word with a sob.

  Fagan wrapped an arm around Tamlin’s, pulling him into an alcove. The knight turned from him, embarrassed by his tears, no doubt.

  Not knowing what else to do, he gave Tamlin a truth. “I lost my mam to the plague. She was bonnie until the end. Had a voice like a lark. Sang me and my brothers and sisters to sleep every night. I grew so cold, so unfeeling because the pain of losing her and da, and even stupid Cuilén, grew too much.” He laid a tentative hand on Tamlin’s broad shoulder, wondering if the knight could even sense it in the iron armor. The same armor he only took off in the bath house or in the Queen’s chambers, Fagan supposed.

  Tamlin turned slowly, eyes red with tears. His whole body trembled. “That isn’t the same at all. Ye didn’t give yer mother up because ye liked tupping a fairy. Yer here because ye had nothing left to lose. I’m here because I didn’t appreciate all that I h
ad and didn’t care if I lost it. Yer trying to relate, but we are not the same. Yer a much better man than I. Because if I were a good man, I’d have given ye a bag of gold and sent ye to my family with a note to give ye employment.”

  “I could have left. Ye didn’t force me.”

  “Aye.” Tamlin posted a gauntleted hand on either side of Fagan’s head, boxing him in. They were men of the same height, but Tamlin was in full armor. Fagan was trapped but he didn’t feel trapped. His pulse raced and the base of his spine tingled. The longer the shared the same breathing space, the harder his tarse grew. Tamlin’s gaze dropped to his mouth. “I like my lovers willing.”

  The knight angled his head and dragged his lips slowly across Fagan’s mouth. Tamlin tasted like spiced wine, and his lips felt silken but firm at the same time. Fagan imagined those lips on his body.

  Tamlin drew back and smiled, green eyes crinkling in the corners. “Ye are willing, aren’t ye?”

  Fagan could only nod.

  “May god have mercy on me, evil sinner that I am.” Tamlin grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the alcove. “I will not use you so. ‘Tis my fate but need not be yers. Stay true to Aoife. She’s a rare lass, that one.”

  Hearing Aoife’s name, remembering that a foul monster held her captive—as his wife and all that entailed, no less—doused all of Fagan’s rising passion. He hung his head, ashamed. “She’s imprisoned by a sorcerer while I play at fae knighthood here. I should go. I’m no closer to becoming a knight and rescuing my love than I was when I arrived.”

  It was Tamlin’s turn to clasp Fagan’s shoulder. “Have faith. Aoife is no meek maiden. She’ll give as good as she gets or worse.” He grinned. “We only need my queen to grant ye power.”

  “Then I will slay this mac Daire,” Fagan replied, resolved to do so or die trying.

  “No, ye daft lad. Then we’ll go pay Cu Roi mac Daire a visit as her emissaries and find a way to sneak Aoife out. Subterfuge is much better than war.”

  Fagan cocked an eyebrow. “Subterfuge?”

  “Aye. It’s a word you’ll need to know in the Queen’s court.”

  Aoife

  The once revelers screamed. Some dispersed, fleeing for their lives. Others stood, frozen in terror, as the bloody horror that was the cottars’ son moved preternaturally fast, sweeping past them. Aoife wanted to turn into her kelpie form but feared trampling the humans.

  Instead of fleeing she marched toward the aberration. A water sword drawn from the nearby lake, forming in her hand. She turned the blade into ice and thrust the sword where the dagger had taken the poor lad’s life.

  The strike would take down a mortal man and many less powerful of fair folk, but the undead thing only laughed, grabbing Aoife by the throat. She fought the thing, but to no avail. Her thoughts clouded with lack of air.

  With the crowd clear of the scene, Aoife transformed into a kelpie. It brought on more terrified screams from the onlookers, or at least she thought it did. Swirling shadows caught her legs, preventing her from running. The shadows were so cold they burned. She swiveled her head left and right, looking for escape. Then her gaze focused on her enemy.

  The once-human creature cocked its head, curious. In a deep, echoing voice that chilled Aoife to her very soul, the thing spoke, “Ru froft cum cha—” The creature paused as a blade appeared through its throat, and then it swiveled toward its attacker.

  Roi’s eyes blazed with anger as he strode in their direction, speaking in what sounded like the same tongue. He withdrew the blade and returned it to his hand with a flick of his wrist.

  The once-boy and sorcerer king faced each other, speaking in the tongue that made every one of Aoife’s hackles raise. The power of the language was ancient and terrible, not of this realm or any faerie.

  The priestess remained behind the altar, watching with extreme interest.

  Aoife narrowed her eyes. Did the old woman order the monster to attack her?

  Finally, the argument between the monster and Roi ended. The creature turned its gaze to Aoife once more. Hunger filled the once-boy’s eyes. The thing wanted her, but she doubted it was carnal pleasure it sought. It stared for an uncomfortably long time before Roi said something with icy threat in his tone. The abomination marched off into the night.

  Released from the shadowy clutches of the monster’s power, Aoife turned to run. She would leave this world and go to her uncle…or her father. Surely, Mannan mac Lir didn’t know that Cu Roi mac Daire had summoned strange gods and had some sort of pact with them. All the fae should know, and…

  “Wait,” Roi exclaimed, desperation filled his voice. “It’ll hunt and kill ye if ye leave me.”

  Aoife wavered, not knowing if this was a ruse to keep her in place. She was tired of this prison and would risk her life just as Bláthnat had.

  “They’ll do worse than that, your highness,” the old priestess said in a papery voice. “The Fomorian wanted to absorb ye into its darkness, gaining your power yet taking control of yer body. His majesty threatened to banish them all from whence they came if they did.”

  “The only way to keep them from attacking was to bargain,” Roi said, now weary. “If ye go beyond my borders, they can have ye.”

  Aoife transformed to her fae form so that she could speak. “Ye brought evil gods into this world that are more powerful than ye can even imagine. Why would ye do such a thing?”

  Roi’s gaze lowered to her body. “Cover yerself.”

  Aoife crossed her arms and laughed. “I almost got eaten by a monster. D’ye think I care a wit about ye seeing me naked?”

  The king breeched the distance between them. “Why must ye test me at every turn, Aoife of the Sea Folk? I have offered ye wealth, position. I risked my very life and kingdom to save ye just now and all I get is contempt.” The truth of his words was in the images in his head. He’d truly feared the Fomorian creature would have forced her into a fate worse than death.

  “Ye trapped me into this marriage.”

  He shook his head. “No. I won ye and we consummated the marriage. That arena nonsense was yer idea! Besides, t’was yer father who betrayed ye. I fought with honor.”

  “I changed my mind when I saw the way ye wanted to demean and humiliate me. Ye hunted me down like a wild beast, not a wife.”

  Roi swiped a hand over his face. “What ye saw was a little test. I’d heard ye had the sight and I played a joke. Can’t a man have a fantasy in his head he doesn’t intend to truly carry out?” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I would not have another lay his eyes upon ye, let alone witness what transpires between ye and I. It was a beautiful thing, our love making, truly. I wanted to get ye back to make things right. When I found ye had lain with another man, a peasant with nothing to his name and no means to care for ye, I lost my head. Ye mean so much to me and I meant so little.”

  He let her in, let her see the pain she’d caused him. Aoife didn’t understand the jealousy, but she understood the hurt. In Roi’s eyes she had loved him as much as he loved her. The confusion, the sense of betrayal was very real. Even her father’s meddling.

  “I could have been killed by those hounds.”

  His eyebrows drew in and his jaw clenched. He trembled as he said in a quiet voice, “Hounds? I sent no hounds.”

  All she could see from his head was the image of Cuchulainn.

  “Word of yer search for yer betrothed must have reached yer enemy. He would have killed her or kidnapped her to harm ye,” the priestess said, joining them. She handed Aoife a shawl. “Please. It is not yer custom, but it is ours.”

  Aoife relented, just as Roi’s soldiers gathered round.

  “I need to assure the people they are safe,” Roi said quietly. “We must settle things between us. By the laws of this realm, we are married.”

  Aoife didn’t know what to think. He sacrificed mortals to eldritch creatures called Fomorians, but these were seemingly protecting the land from what swept over the rest of the world. There was more t
o Cu Roi mac Daire than she’d originally thought.

  “I’ll escort the princess, sire.”

  Roi cut the priestess with a sharp look. “See that she is safe. If any harm comes to her, crone, I will have yer head.”

  The priestess only waved him off. She offered a frail arm with a gnarled hand to Aoife. “Come. Ye’ll catch yer death out here.”

  Chapter 7

  Roi

  Cu Roi mac Daire exhaled a long sigh of relief as Aoife walked off with the hag. He’d almost fouled his entire arrangement with the Fomorians for that damned fae. What he didn’t have time for at the moment was considering it.

  “You two. You are my swiftest riders. I want ye to follow the Fomorian and make sure it takes its post.”

  Two of his men split, dashing off toward the castle’s stables to carry out his orders.

  “The rest of ye will find everyone in attendance tonight and assure them that their queen is safe, they are safe, and that my sweet bride woke, unknowing the danger to herself. I had not placed a protection on her. The creature thought her an enemy,” he lied.

  As his men dispersed to perform their duties, he waved one of his men over.

  “Seek the widow of the Master of Hounds. Take her to the border. Provide her a bag of coin and tell her to keep her mouth closed or a Fomorian will find her. Tell the new Master of the Hounds to replace the two missing and to be quiet about it.”

  Roi waited until his man left before retrieving his grey mantle from behind the altar. He wrapped the cloak about his shoulders, disappearing from the dais. The king reappeared in the brownie halfling’s chambers, where he had her locked away for her protection.

  A sneer curled his lip.

  She was fast asleep in her bed, a four-poster bed with an overstuffed down mattress. Soft linens covered the maid. Her entire room was as finely appointed as any lady would want, a gift for serving him well. Yet this foul creature had betrayed him just as her mistress had.

  Roi pulled back the covers and grabbed the sleeping brownie by her throat. Clutching her by the neck he lifted her clear off her bed.