by Liz de Jager
In the kitchen I busy myself with the cups and kettle.
As the water boils, I pop my mobile out of my pocket, desperately sending Megan and Marc a text to call me ASAP. Where was Jamie again? Hawaii? If he was training government people it meant that he would be out of contact for the duration of his assignment. It was part and parcel of how he operated.
I try ringing the twins and Kyle’s dad, Uncle Andrew, who lives for part of the year in New York and runs a big part of the family business from there. He commutes between New York and London as the need arises. Their mum, my aunt Jessica, works closely with him as she’s a trained lawyer and is adept at both human and Fae law and lore. She welcomed me with open arms when Jamie brought me here after my nan’s death. She sat with me through nightmares and fevers that racked my body as my magic tore through me. Hers is the face I now associate with coming through that ordeal alive. There’s no answer at their brownstone in Boston or on either of their mobiles.
The kettle whistles and I jerk with fright, looking up from my mobile phone screen. ‘Would you like coffee or tea?’ I ask Thorn as I lay my phone on the counter next to me.
Thorn grimaces. ‘Tea,’ he says firmly. ‘Coffee doesn’t agree with me.’
I raise my eyebrows in question but he looks uncomfortable so I drop my initial reaction to ask him about it. I pour the water and as I wait for the tea to brew, I ring Aunt Letitia but there’s no answer; that worries me a bit. She never leaves her tower or her library, not even for big family shindigs. She trusts no one to care for the archives she’s in charge of and has more security and alarm systems set up in and around her land and in the tower than MI5 or the Bank of England combined.
I walk into the pantry and bring out eggs and fresh bread. ‘Are you vegetarian?’ I ask him. ‘Would you like bacon with your scrambled eggs?’
‘Bacon is good, thanks,’ he says. He sees the bread and smiles. ‘Your brownie, what does she call herself again? Mrs Evans? Her preserves are legendary in Alba. You must be very fond of her.’
‘About as fond of her as she is of us.’ I don’t tell him about sweet Mrs Evans, who is a royal terror to live with. She bosses us all around and guards her preserves and cakes more fiercely than a dragon does his treasure. Whenever she leaves the house I get to unpick her spells so we can feast on the stuff she’s left behind.
However, the best thing, in my opinion, about having a house brownie look after your home is that you have a practically unlimited supply of baked goods in the house. I glimpsed scones and a double-layered chocolate cake in the pantry as I rummaged for the bread and eggs.
‘Do you visit the human world . . . I mean the Frontier often?’ I ask him over my shoulder. ‘You don’t look as unfamiliar with things as I thought you’d be.’ I don’t tell him that I’m utterly clueless about what the Fae world is like. Do they even have electricity in Alba?
‘I spent a year here, staying with one of my father’s friends. We lived in a place, far from here. Canada, I think it’s called.’ When I nod he continues. ‘I was only young, maybe eleven. My father’s friend, he had a human job, working for the human authorities, looking after a nature reserve.’
‘That sounds cool,’ I say. ‘Did you learn much?’
Thorn shrugs and winces when he pulls the stitches in his shoulder. ‘I think not. It wasn’t very different from being on a really long fishing and hunting trip with my brothers. Gregor lives an isolated life and he didn’t really approve of me wanting to visit town and making friends.’
‘But you did, though? Did you go to school?’
‘No. I didn’t attend school, not here, anyway. I had tutors in Alba.’
‘Teaching you how to be a prince?’
‘Something along those lines.’
I scramble the eggs and toast the bread – only lightly burning two of the slices. The bacon’s a dream and I try not to drool on myself as I put our laden plates down on the table.
I sit down and devour half of my breakfast before I come up for air and see Thorn doing the same. We trade crumbly smiles, happy enough to be just stuffing our faces. After my fourth slice of toast I start feeling alive again and lean back in my chair. The tail-end of the headache I’ve had since I woke up the day before has eased up and my head feels clear.
I lean forward and grip my cup of coffee.
‘So, do you have any idea what’s going on? Why were redcaps waiting for you in the forest here, in the Frontier?’
I get a small smile at my clarification about using the word ‘here’. While he considers his answer and drinks more tea, I can’t shake the feeling of pretend. Using the words ‘the Frontier’ to describe the human world while the faerie realm is the Otherwhere still feels awkward. Who came up with the names anyway? They don’t really trip off the tongue.
‘I’m not sure it has anything to do with Suola or the Sun King,’ Thorn says, taking a deep drink of his tea. The Sun King was the title for the Seelie ruler and his Court is also known as the Sun Court. Suola is Queen of the Unseelie and not someone I’ve ever actually met in real life, and I’m not keen to, either. Thorn’s dad, King Aelfric of Alba, one of the large countries within the Otherwhere, is Alba’s high king and both Suola and the Sun King bend their knee to him. ‘I’ve been on the road for several months, running dispatches for my father. I’ve been backwards and forwards between the two Courts and they could have taken me any time they wanted.’ He rubs his brow. ‘We’ve had skirmishes with some bandits and a tribe of goblins, but nothing serious. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not until maybe two weeks ago. We were camping near Mikkeli, getting ready to meet a band of ogres to sign a treaty with a bunch of farmers. The night before the meeting, a stranger rode into the camp. She identified herself as a King’s Rider.’
He’s too distracted to notice my blank look so I sigh and ask him. ‘What is a King’s Rider?’
Thorn turns to look directly at me and I notice how his bleak expression intensifies during his explanation. ‘A King’s Rider is dispatched only during state emergencies. They are messengers, directly from the king. Their word is the king’s word.’
‘What was the message this one carried?’
‘That the Citadel had been attacked. That the king and my mother had escaped through the quick thinking of their chamberlain, Istvan. They’ve gone into hiding, with three of my brothers and some of the Privy Council. Part of the Citadel was destroyed in the attack and one of my brothers, Kieran, has been confirmed captured. Two of my other brothers were on patrol in the North with their regiment when the attack happened. No one’s heard of them. They could be alive, or dead.’
What do you say to that? I open my mouth but he cuts me short, holding up a hand. ‘The Rider gave me a sealed message. The ring you had me take off was the only thing I could use to open it. It was a note from my eldest brother, Petur, urging me to leave Alba with all speed, to find help here, at Blackhart Manor.’
‘So you took your bodyguard and travelled to the nearest gateway . . .’
‘And we got attacked by a group of outcasts and redcaps. We rode for days, from one gateway to the next. Every gateway we visited had been destroyed. We were hounded by group after group of goblins and redcaps. Finally, we found the gateway I used last night. The rest you know.’
‘Do you know who attacked the Citadel? Do you know who the enemy is?’
The brief shake of his head makes me want to shout in annoyance.
‘Do you know what happened to your friends? What changed them?’
‘Dark magic.’ His gaze meets mine. ‘I don’t know how the magic they used on my guards works, but it’s not anything I’ve heard spoken of by anyone in Alba.’
‘Okay.’ I stand up and gather our dishes. ‘I think we need to try and figure out what’s going on, but before we even think of doing that, we need you cleaned up and dressed. I’ll do the same but in the meantime I’m going to try and get hold of my cousins or my uncles and see what they think we should do.’
&
nbsp; I lead Thorn up to Marc’s room and open the doors to the wardrobe. ‘You’ll find stuff to fit you in here. Marc won’t mind. I’m not sure about shoes, but we’ll find something.’ I look at his riding boots and at the torn trousers he’s wearing and am relieved that I have several boy cousins and uncles whose wardrobes we can raid. ‘Let’s have a look at the cut on your arm first. The bathroom is through here.’
Thorn takes a seat on the side of the bath and shrugs out of the button-up shirt. There’s definitely been some bleeding but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. The cut looks surprisingly good, with the edges starting to knit together, and my stitches look clean and neat. There’s bruising too, along his ribs, but the bruises look a few days old already, not fresh, as if they had happened a few hours ago.
I look away to find those blue eyes watching me closely. I’ve seen boys look at Megan like that in the past but personally I’ve never had to deal with anything this intense. And to be honest, I’m not entirely sure I dislike it.
I clear my throat, lean back and attempt to ignore my suddenly pounding heart.
‘It looks okay,’ I say lamely. ‘How fast exactly do you heal?’
‘Here, a few hours, maybe a day at the longest. By tomorrow morning the cut will be a pink scar. In the Otherwhere it’s faster, depending how close I am to the songlines.’
I’d only read about the Fae’s ability to heal rapidly. It is what gives credence to rumours of their immortality. I am also charmed by him using the term ‘songlines’. It’s another word for the earth’s energy, the ‘leylines’ that criss-cross the world.
‘You can definitely die, then?’
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. ‘Why, are you planning something?’ When he sees the shock on my face his lips curve into a smile. ‘Sorry, that was a stupid joke. But, yes, if the damage done to our physical bodies is severe enough, we can die.’
Now that’s really interesting. The magic and energy from the songlines in the Otherwhere must be linked to the Fae’s longevity. I wonder what would happen if I ever visited there, how my magic would react. Would my lifespan become longer? Would I become tougher to hurt and kill?
‘We have some books in the library at the Citadel that will help explain it,’ Thorn says, watching me with curiosity. ‘It’s clearly something that interests you.’
I smile. ‘I promise to look after the books,’ I say. ‘I won’t even drop them in the swimming pool or anything.’
He senses that it’s a joke and grins at me, standing up. ‘Well, that’s good. They are very old books and the librarian is very fierce.’
For a second the awkwardness kills me as he’s very close, but then I remember why he’s here in Marc’s en-suite. ‘Shower is right there, clean towels, soaps. If you need anything, just shout.’
He gives me a grateful smile and I click the bathroom door shut behind me. For the briefest second I lean against the door, listening to him moving around behind it.
What have I let myself in for? This is going to be big. I can feel it in my bones. The banshee’s words come back to me, the smug way he spoke of darkness and not being able to cope with what’s coming my way. I almost regret not hurting him more.
Chapter Nine
My shower takes longer than I would have liked. I felt tired and had trouble getting redcap blood from underneath my nails and resorted to using a spare toothbrush to clean them. Soon enough I find myself in Kyle’s room, dressed in jeans, a clean T-shirt, hiking boots and my spare hoodie. The place is as immaculate as a dormitory. The bed is made with hospital corners and looks pristine. An old large floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, triple stacked with well-thumbed paperbacks, is propped up against the one wall. It contains everything from spy novels, political journals to heavy computer coding to contemporary literary fiction. There are also books in Latin and a scroll that looks very fragile, and I wonder if he had to fill in forms to get permission to take it out of the library.
I send off a series of urgent emails to everyone in the Blackhart registry that I know, hoping to get help from anyone and soon. Next I check the database that Kyle’s built up to satisfy Aunt Letitia’s obsessive record keeping. I find the folders on Alba easily enough and after half an hour of rapid reading I’m not really much wiser. King Aelfric came to power six hundred years ago through a series of wars and deaths in his family. I skim back and my eyes cross over when I see the long line of his lineage. They seem to have always ruled Alba, since a time called the Sundering. Aelfric is a modern king, well thought of, and he’s a firm and fair ruler, having managed to prevent out-and-out bloodshed between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, which are, even at times of peace, forever at each other’s throats. He is progressive and has gone out of his way to strengthen ties with the human community, negotiating intricate business deals in both realms. He maintains strong relationships with various politically powerful families known as the Free Fae who have long ago decided to declare themselves ruled by no sovereign.
He entertains lavishly at his Court at winter, inviting the rulers of all the countries of the Otherwhere, and uses the festivities to network and sign new treaties for trade and continued peace. Spring is the time when he strengthens his ties to the human world. I sit back in surprise, remembering Marc, Megan and Kyle’s parents coming back from the States to attend the Spring Equinox Ball held in Hyde Park shortly after my nan’s funeral. I thought I was adjusting to my new life but when the detachment of Fae bodyguards turned up at the front door to accompany Uncle Andrew and Aunt Jessica to the ball, it felt as if I had been dropped into the middle of the filming of Lord of the Rings.
They were dressed in armour that fascinated me. It was made of metal of some sort but it looked more as if the blacksmith had taken large leaves from oak trees and moulded them into protective armour, covering the guards’ chests, torsos and backs. Their great helms, shields and even their weapons repeated the leaf design. The horses they rode looked as if they were made from sea foam and moonlight, until you got too close and saw the fire in the depths of their dark eyes and the sparks their hooves struck from the ground. When my aunt and uncle left with the Fae guards I watched them ride into the forest and knew that this was just one more thing signalling the end to my pre-Blackhart life.
I drag myself back to the now and open the folder Kyle created for each of Thorn’s siblings. They are all exceptionally attractive specimens. Very Viking-esque with strong shoulders, thick blond hair and handsome faces. I flick through their files but don’t see anything interesting. Six of them are married and five of them already have their own kids. I find Thorn’s file and open it. The first thing I notice is a photo of Thorn. It must have been taken a few years ago. He looks maybe fourteen and there is an arrogance there that I don’t recognize in the boy that’s having a shower only a few doors down. In the photo he’s wearing a black tunic and loose-fitting black trousers that resemble karate trousers. His hair is tousled and he looks a mess, as if he’s just come away from a sparring match. There is blood on his face and he’s standing with his fists clenched. The expression in his eyes is one of anger and dislike. I have no idea where the photo is from or how Kyle even has it in his database. There isn’t much info about Thorn, except to say when he was born (using our timeline) and so, yes, that makes him nineteen now, with his birthday having been on the summer solstice in June.
I push back from the screens before me and check the main inbox. Nothing. No emails from anyone. Where is everyone?
I close my eyes. What do we do next? Do we stay here, where we are relatively safe and protected by the wards on the house, or do we leave, travel to London to try and find help there? What do we do? I lean back in the chair and prop my ankles up on the desk, knowing Kyle would have a fit if he saw me putting my feet anywhere near his precious computers. I adopt a thinking pose – fingertips steepled together – and close my eyes to think.
There is someone in London who will be able to help; her name is Olga Kassan. She’s a friend of th
e family and I’ve met her a few times now. Marc calls her a witch, a bruja, which is Spanish for witch, but when he says it, he definitely means more than just a witch. At each equinox she travels down to the Manor to help Jamie and Marc (and now me) refresh the warding around the house. In return, they pay her a lot of money. The more I think about it, the more I think that getting to Olga’s is definitely our best option and because I can’t find any info on her in Kyle’s database, and therefore no number, we’ll just have to head to London and track her down at the shop she runs for her grandfather. I have the address in my phone so I’ll be able to set the satnav to navigate us there.
I hear a noise in the passage and turn to find Thorn standing behind me. He’s found a pair of jeans that fit his long legs and he’s wearing one of Marc’s well-worn surf T-shirts but it sits a bit tight at the shoulders.
‘Better?’
He closes his eyes in an expression of bliss. ‘Much, thank you.’ He looks past me and I’m tempted to swing around and turn the screens off, but it’s too late. He’s seen the photo of himself on there. ‘Research?’
I nod, finding it interesting that he doesn’t cross the threshold into Kyle’s room to come closer and inspect the computer set-up. ‘Yep. Just trying to see if there’s anything in our files that can help us.’
‘Any luck?’
I swing back to the screen and jab a finger at the photo of him. ‘No, but this guy intrigues me. He looks like a bit of trouble.’
I’m favoured with a full smile. My heart actually stutters and my insides all do on-the-spot breakdancing. No one should be allowed to be this dangerously cute!