by Eileen Wilks
Instead of anger or denial, she got confusion. The gnomes exchanged puzzled glances. Tash frowned. "You think we are leaking? Not a leak in the barge, but in the passengers?"
The charm and the learn-language spell must not cover every possible usage. "Leaking information. The slugs with assholes on their faces found us within a day of our leaving the City. They came straight for me. They—or whoever sent them—knew too much."
"Is troubling, yes," Bilbo said. "But is many spells could track somethings as big and well known as chancellor's barge."
"Yeah? Well, that makes the decision to travel on this barge pretty odd, doesn't it?" She looked around the table. "Unless you wanted me out here, grabbing the attention of every faction who wants to keep you from finding your missing medallion."
"Is not making sense for us to—"
"It would explain a lot," Cynna said, raising her voice to speak over him. "I keep wondering why you had to import a Finder. Why even the sidhe can't seem to locate it. You don't really expect me to Find it, do you? You just want me out here trying, drawing all the hostile attention."
Bilbo's frown was so fierce she wanted to warn him about his face freezing that way. "Why you is saying sidhe can't find it?"
"Any people who can perform a translocation spell flawlessly on an instant's notice could find a missing object."
"Who? Who is doing… Theera! She is translocating? When!"
The word came out as a demand, not a question. Cynna looked at Cullen. They'd been undecided earlier about whether to reveal Theera's approach to him. He gave the tiniest movement of his head—not a shake, but a negative. "I'm not answering questions now," she said. "You are. Tell me why you're upset about Theera translocating."
Bilbo didn't like it, but after a moment he shrugged. "We is thinking Theera is not knowing when we planning to leave City. If she translocated back to Rohen, is meaning she knows we about to leave and no reason for her staying in City."
"What's Rohen?"
"Theera's liege is being her half sister, she who is called Theil Ná Rohen. Rohen is being Theil's estate, her land, you understanding? All sidhe who is ruling is having tie to land. Theera is no mage—she is not casting translocation spell. Theil is mage, but not of degree to cast such spell, either. But Theil's lord—who is true lord of Faerie, as he is having land in Second Realm—is very skilled mage. He makes charm device, gifts it to Theil for using to return to Rohen. Theil is letting Theera using charm. Only goes one place—Theil's home in Rohen."
Untangling Bilbo's syntax was giving Cynna a headache. "So Theera's sister has this device and loaned it to her. It's the device, not her own ability, that lets her translocate?" When Bilbo nodded she continued, "But it still takes tremendous power. Translocation is like opening a gate within a realm."
"Theil is having much power. She is tied to her land in sidhe way, so has much power to drawing on. Theera not having such power, but her half sister is letting her use device, so is using Theil's power, not own."
Maybe the sidhe here weren't as powerful as she'd feared. Still… "But they—the sidhe—are kick-ass spell-casters. Why can't they find it? Or do you think they already have?"
Glances were exchanged—this time among Bilbo, Tash, and Wen. Tash spoke. "The sidhe do not often act together. There are four major sidhe estates in Edge—Rohen, Gabotá, Leerahan, and Fa Nioth. They are sometimes friendly, always rivals. We think it possible that one of the estate lords has the medallion. If so—if it has reached that lord's land—neither the gnomes nor the other sidhe would be able to find it magically."
"And yet I'm supposed to."
Gan snickered. "That's your Gift, right?"
"Why is that funny?"
"It is!" Gan insisted, as if she'd argued with her. "Don't they all think humans are no-sums? Plain old worthless, huh? Now they have to admit they were wrong." She grinned at Bilbo—always an interesting sight, since she'd kept the pointy teeth of her demonhood. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. You were wrong."
There must be some powerful taboo against killing not-quite demons, Cynna reflected. Or Gan would be dead right now, judging by the look on Bilbo's face.
"Why not admit it, councillor?" Daniel Weaver said suddenly. "After years of suppressing us, treating us like the bastard stepchildren you think we should be, you've had to admit a human can do what you can't. What the sidhe can't do." He looked at Cynna. Real anger—old anger—stirred in his eyes and tightened his mouth. "It's the nature of a Gift, sweetheart. It takes an adept to duplicate through a spell what a lupus does naturally—change his form. It takes an adept to duplicate what any of the Blood do naturally through their innate magic."
For a second Cynna was so preoccupied with the casual way he'd called her "sweetheart" that she didn't catch up with his words. "But humans aren't of the Blood."
Gan snorted. "You are so stupid. All of you. At first I thought maybe you knew what you were talking about, but you don't. There's no difference."
Cullen had quit slouching. "Human magic doesn't look the same," he said slowly.
"So? I guess demon magic looks different from lupus magic, too, doesn't it?"
Cullen nodded. His face was closed down, revealing nothing.
"What does 'of the Blood' mean?" Gan said. "Means you have inborn magic. That's what a Gift is. Inborn magic."
Cynna was trying to think of why that was wrong. It had to be wrong, didn't it? Everyone knew humans were not of the Blood. Everyone. Witches, shamans, lupi all agreed on that. Could everyone be wrong about something so basic?
Being of the Blood meant being born with magic, innate magical abilities that you just did, no need for a spell.
Being Gifted meant the same thing.
Cullen leaned forward, quiet and intense. "Most humans can't do magic. Are you claiming that Gifted humans have nonhuman blood?"
"Don't know and don't care." Gan stood up. "I want to go swim."
"Wait until someone can go in with you," Cynna said automatically.
"He could." Gan pointed at Cullen.
"No, he can't. He hasn't finished healing the damage from yesterday."
Gan sighed. "Boats are boring if I can't swim."
"Bored is okay. Bored means no one's trying to kill us today." Of course, the "day" had just begun. Cynna looked at Bilbo. "What will you do if the medallion is on sidhe land? Attack them?"
"No!" Bilbo looked genuinely horrified. "Is no attacking. Is political matter. Sidhe politics very complex, but Harazeed is knowing how to bargain. We is making known who has medallion, and if no true holder yet, others is making sidhe land-liege return to us."
"Others?"
"Other sidhe. Is complex. You is wanting lessons in sidhe politics? Is having year or two for basic lessons in such?"
Sarcasm, used to distract her. "And if there is a true holder?"
"Is no holder yet. We is of Edge. Is knowing if medallion has formed bond with holder."
Bilbo hadn't exactly answered her question. Cynna looked at Cullen. They'd argued over which of them should play leader. He insisted it had to be her—she had the pull because of her Gift. Right now she wished she had a mindspeech Gift. She settled for arching an eyebrow at him.
Cullen shrugged. "Some truth, probably mixed with misdirection and leaving plenty out. Your decision."
Cynna didn't want to make the decisions. She wanted Ruben here. She wanted sunshine, hot chocolate, and a full-size bed—make that a queen-size bed. And for Cullen to be fully healed so they could put it to good use.
She wanted all sorts of thing she didn't have. She settled for taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Okay. For now, I agree to keep up the hunt as soon as the tritons get here. But I want to talk about how we continue. Is it better to get more of the guard here? Should we leave the barge?"
Cullen looked at her, his blue eyes steady. "You're forgeting one question."
Her jaw tightened. She hadn't forgotten. Denial, much as she loved it, went only so far. She gestured at
him to get it said. Asked. Whatever.
"Mr. Weaver," Cullen said, "why are you here?"
Her father's eyebrows shot up. "Why, to be with my daughter."
Cullen shook his head. "That might be your reason. But you aren't in charge, are you? Why have the councilors allowed you to come with us? Why do you even know that the medallion is missing? Every other human we've met has been a servant, a laborer, at best a small merchant. None have any authority."
Daniel's face reddened, but it was Bilbo who answered. "Daniel Weaver is bringing inventions to us, innovations from industry of his realm. We is profiting from them, so he is making deal, becomes adviser to chancellor. Cannot hide death of chancellor from his advisers. They notice," he finished with heavy sarcasm, "if they speaking with dead man."
"Bullshit," Cullen said.
Abruptly Daniel shoved to his feet. "They aren't idiots, councilor." He looked at Cullen. "I know about the medallion because I found the chancellor's body, not because they trust me overly much. I'm on this barge because I am Cynna's father—which matters to me in one way and matters to them for quite a different reason. I suspect you've guessed why fatherhood bought me a ticket for this trip."
"You're supposed to persuade her to cooperate," Cullen said coolly. "If that doesn't work, you'll make a dandy hostage."
"No," Bilbo said sharply. "Daniel Weaver, you is telling him—"
"With all due respect, councillor—shut up." Daniel looked at Cynna then. His eyes were hard and strange—not the warm whiskey color she was used to, but a brittle amber. "Don't let them use me against you. Don't let me do it, either." And he stalked off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Two Sleeps Later…
Cullen's eyes shifted over those assembled to drive him out. Thirteen. Only thirteen proud I had taken the trouble of coming together to rid themselves of the dangerous contamination in their clan.
Such a small clan, and so proud, so honored by the other clans. Such great du. They couldn't have their honor damaged, could they? If he wouldn't break himself to suit their notion of honor, they'd do it for him.
Thirteen present… but not his father. Surely he'll come. He's late, but he'll be here. Even if he doesn't understand, can't speak for me before the clan the way a father ought to, he didn't mean what he said. He won't leave me to face this alone…
Thirteen men… and one woman. Old, bent, her eyes filmed with cataracts, the Etorri Rhej spoke. "Cullen Seabourne, step forward."
It was happening. It was happening now, and his father wasn't coming. He'd meant it. He'd said Cullen would be dead to him if he refused the Rho's order, and he'd meant it.
Cullen held himself rigid and stared at the old woman, who seemed to think he'd cooperate politely. His throat burned. His eyes burned. "I'm right here and you're only half-blind. Surely you can see me?"
"Step forward," the Rhej repeated.
He shrugged. "No."
The man on his left was built much like him, with elegant hands and a neatly trimmed beard. His voice was much deeper than his appearance suggested, baritone heading for bass. "Don't make this harder on everyone than it has to be, son."
Son? Heat prickled over him like lightning waiting to strike. And he could have struck. He could burn them all—which was why they were so eager to be rid of him, wasn't it? "You're my Rho," he said to the man who was also his uncle. "For another few minutes, anyway, you're my Rho. You are not my father. I'm told…" He had to stop and swallow, which messed up his delivery. "I have it on good authority that I don't have a father."
"This doesn't have to happen. You can still renounce sorcery, remain—"
"I could renounce the Change, too, no doubt." He'd told them that, over and over. They didn't hear, couldn't understand, that the one was as much part of him as the other. No more essential than breathing, either one of them.
"No." The old woman's voice was sharp. "He cannot. Blame me, Cullen Seabourne, if you must blame. I have Seen that you are not to remain. Your Rho has hoped to change my seeing by persuading you to renounce what cannot be put aside. He meant well, but he offers false hope. You were born Etorri, but your fate does not lie with."
She'd been right. The old bat had been right. His fate lay with Nokolai, not.
With that thought came the knowledge that he was dreaming—same tired old dream, one his subconscious ought to have grown weary of playing with years ago. But that knowledge was enough to shift the dream, not end it…
He was on the ground now, held down by strong hands on his feet, his knees, his arms. Mist swirled over him and them—they'd lost their faces to that mist, but the Rho's voice was clear and certain: "I call seco on Cullen Seabourne, born."
"Let me go, fool!" cried a woman, unseen in the mist.
Ah, yes—things were happening a bit out of order, but that would be his mother, who'd shown up to berate the Rho, the Rhej, the whole clan, bless her. Not that they had let her attend the seco itself, but she'd tried. Cullen braced himself for the next part—
"Or I'll shoot every sorry-ass one of you."
That was not in the script. Cullen turned his head as the mists cleared, and saw Cynna standing a few feet away with her legs wide, her .357 gripped in one hand and braced by the other in proper FBI shoot-'em-up fashion. She was extremely pissed. "Maybe I'll shoot you all anyway," she growled. "Bunch of damn idiots—let him up this second."
He smelled Cynna, smelled the spicy musk of her. She was aroused. And so was he.
Cullen woke with his heart pounding, his skin damp with fear-sweat, and the smallest of smiles on his lips. The air was filled with the scent of Cynna curled up behind him, spoon-fashion… and her hand was on his cock.
His breath hissed out as she stroked slowly up, the tip of her finger stroking over the glans. Lust swirled through him, hotter and so much cleaner than the mist in his dream. "Cynna…"
"Shh," she said. "Go on back to sleep. Don't mind me."
He had to smile. She meant to turn the tables on him, did she? And God knew he wanted to, wanted to sink inside her, ride her hard. But… "I can't."
"Um… you sure? Because evidence has come to light…" Another slow stroke, this one ending at his scrotum, where she scratched lightly. "That suggests you can."
Cullen closed his eyes. Her touch was sweet, the temptation clear and lovely… but he couldn't look at her. He couldn't. He held very still.
After a moment her hand retreated. "You worried about your heart?"
"Yes," he said, glad for the excuse. "I think it's healed, but better safe than sorry."
Cynna made a low sound, maybe skeptical. But she didn't push him, and for that, too, he was grateful.
Cullen lay awake far too long after that, sifting the shades of darkness in the tiny cabin with eyes uninterested in closing and a body disgusted with him for turning her down. Finally sleep began dragging at him once more.
That's just what she would have done
, he thought as he drifted closer to the other darkness, the one that birthed dreams. If Cynna had known him back then, she'd have shown up, ready to kick ass. She wouldn't have let him face it alone.
Horses were not Cynna's idea of fun. Riding one for hours in a drizzle kept her frownie face glued on. Once the medallion's trail left the river, though, horses became inevitable. Or so everyone told her.
"My ass is never going to forgive me," she muttered, shifting position for the thousandth time.
Cullen grinned. "Maybe they'll have some liniment in the village. I'll be happy to rub it in for you."
They were all keeping their mage lights near the ground so the horses could see where they were going. Cullen's pair of lights hovered near his horse's knees, and the underlighting made him look like a beautiful devil.
God only knew what she looked like… and she hoped He'd keep that info to Himself.
Cullen seemed entirely at home atop a horse, which annoyed her no end. When they bought their mounts at the port where they left the barge, he'd expe
cted to have trouble finding a horse that would accept him, since they mostly didn't like the scent of lupi. But horses here were used to odd-smelling riders, and his gelding had turned out to be a cheap date. A couple carrots and it decided Cullen was its new best friend.
Cynna slid him an appraising look. After the way he turned her down last night, she ought to be pissed or hurt or both. Somehow she wasn't.
He met her eyes, wearing his bland face. Bland on Cullen looked about as convincing as a peacock pretending to be a sparrow. "Sure your heart's up to all that rubbing?"
"Did you say something about liniment?" Steve steered his horse closer. "Man, I'd kill for something that took the ache out."
If anyone was having more trouble with the horseback bit than Cynna, it was Steve. Not because he'd never ridden. Unlike her, he'd grown up in the country and had tootled around on a horse sometimes as a kid. But that was years ago, and he'd come off the injured list recently. Major injuries, too. Cynna at least had strong legs and a fit body… though curving those legs around a horse's barrel for hours at a time was teaching her about muscles she'd never known existed.
"Better save your ammo," Cullen advised him. "The way things are going, you'll need it."
The two of them fell to talking about the area they were riding through. Cynna's aching butt to the contrary, they weren't that far from the river—maybe twenty miles—in low, rolling hills dotted with trees. There was a road, fortunately. Dirt, like most roads here, but traveled enough to be maintained.
Ahead, though, were mountains. Not terribly high mountains, but they loomed large to Cynna. They were in Ahk territory.
The trail headed right up into them.
Bilbo was all in a lather about that. At first he'd said they would wait for more of the guard to arrive. Then he'd decided it would be worse to enter their land with a lot of soldiers. They'd wait until they got permission. Only problem was that, according to Tash, the Ahk didn't get the whole notion of visitors, so permission might be a long time coming. If you were on their land, you were either Ahk or a trespasser. They weren't kind to trespassers.