Changeling's Fealty (Changeling Blood Book 1)

by Glynn Stewart

  “Now,” she said firmly, putting her hand on my shoulder and gently pushing me back down on the bed. “Rest. You are still healing.”

  I woke up later to a series of gentle kisses across my forehead and a giggling Mary. Half-consciously, I reached up to grab her and then stopped, wincing in pain. Muscles and tendons pulled and complained, and I slowly opened my eyes to look up at her expression of concern.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” she told me quietly. “Niamh told me to wake you; I didn’t think.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured her. And it was. For all the aches and pains, I couldn’t think of a better way to wake up than with a gorgeous woman kissing you. “What does she want?”

  “Her brother is here,” Mary told me. “She wanted to talk to you before they left. Can you make it to the wheelchair on your own?”

  I nodded firmly in response, slowly and carefully swung my stiff legs around and off the bed. Equally slowly and carefully, I stood and took two stubborn, shaky steps toward the wheelchair. I then proceeded to fall halfway to my knees before Mary managed to catch me and help me make it the rest of the way, shaking her head at me.

  “Thank you,” I told her as we eased me into the chair. It had been a long time since I’d been wounded badly enough that it had taken more than day or two for me to heal. Fae, even changelings, healed quickly, after all. If I was still this weak, even after Niamh’s healing, I must have been nearly dead.

  The stunning blonde healer was waiting in my kitchen, sitting across the table from a gentleman who put her to shame. Easily three or four inches over six feet, the man was whipcord thin and visibly muscled. His eyes, green like his half-sister, seemed to pierce to my very soul. The silver-hilted sword he’d casually leaned against my table was unnecessary to demonstrate that this was not a man to trifle with—this was a Rider of the Wild Hunt.

  He faced me with a smile and inclined his head slightly.

  “Kilkenny,” he said quietly. “I am Oisin, son of Liam, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  We shook hands after Mary rolled me up to the table, and I looked at Niamh.

  “Thanks for your help,” I told her. “I doubt I’d be around to complain if you hadn’t come.”

  “The Queen asks, and we serve,” she said simply. “You are welcome. Take this,” she instructed, passing me a small black pottery vial. “I don’t approve,” she continued, eyeing the vial with distaste, “but the Queen insisted.”

  “What is it?” I asked, examining the vial carefully. A leather thong was threaded through a loop on the side, and I slung the vial around my neck. I was unsurprised that it hung just low enough to be tucked inside the armored shirt the Queen had given me.

  “Quicksilver,” Niamh said simply. “The Queen said to tell you to use it the next time you decided you had to fight someone outside your ‘weight class,’ as She put it.”

  I tucked the vial, precious beyond its weight, inside my shirt.

  “How do I use it?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Pop the stopper and drink it. Be very careful, Jason,” Niamh warned me. “Quicksilver is a huge surge of power; it will help you defeat an enemy, but it is also highly addictive. It is our kind’s cocaine but with an actual use as well.”

  “Some of the weaker Hunters are known to use it to make up for perceived shortcomings,” Oisin told me. “It is powerful. Which is, of course, a part of why it is so addictive.”

  “Thank you,” I told Niamh again. She smiled and stood to leave, but Oisin didn’t rise, instead staring intently at me.

  “Have we met before?” the Hunter suddenly asked. “You seem very familiar.”

  I paused, looking very carefully at Oisin. The tall blond with his pointed ears and green eyes was of a type not uncommon among the noble fae. Nothing about him screamed familiarity at me, though. I was pretty sure I’d never met him before.

  “I don’t think so,” I told him. “But I have bounced across many of the courts in the southern US; we may have met then.”

  Oisin laughed.

  “Kilkenny, how old do you think I am?” he asked.

  I looked at him, puzzled. A noble fae was likely older than he looked, but Oisin did look very young.

  “Sixty?” I hazarded a guess.

  “Add a century,” he told me. “I have lived a hundred and seventy-one summers upon this world and spent the last hundred of those among the Hunt.

  “By blood and by my Vassalage to our Queen, I have the right to leave the Hunt,” he continued, “but if I did, I could never return. While I am bound to the Hunt, my ability to travel apart from it is limited, and the Hunt travels outside Europe rarely and never as a whole.

  “I have not set foot in the southern United States since Calebrant led us, some two score years ago,” he explained. “So, no, I have not seen you in the Courts of the South. And yet you are familiar.” He shrugged and finally stood to join his half-sister.

  “You are a mystery, changeling and Vassal of my Queen,” he told me. “Someday, you and I may work out the answer to that mystery, but as I said, my movements apart from my duties to the Hunt are limited. I must return my sister and myself to the Old World.”

  “Pass my respects and thanks to the Queen,” I told them, somewhat grudgingly. I was grateful She’d saved me, but if She hadn’t dragged me into being a Vassal and trying to investigate this plot She feared, I wouldn’t have been beaten on in the first place!

  “We will,” Niamh promised, and then laid her hand on her brother’s arm. Oisin bowed his head to me, stepped Between and was gone.

  21

  The rest of Sunday passed quietly. Still stiff, bruised and dizzy, I wasn’t up for much. We threw in a movie and cuddled, talking of inconsequential things. To be more precise, Mary talked of inconsequential things—growing up in Calgary, putting up with her brother becoming a doctor, working in a gaming store, that sort of thing.

  Every so often, her talk would touch on Tarvers, and she would be quiet for a while, both of us pretending to only pay attention to the movie. There was nothing I could really say or do about the Alpha’s death. I could only hope that something in my investigation into the whole mess with MacDonald would turn up details or evidence I could use to punish Winters for the murder.

  In the end, exhaustion from healing claimed me, and Mary helped me to bed, where I promptly passed out.

  In the morning, I called my boss.

  “How are you doing?” were the first words out of Bill’s mouth. “I called your cell and got an ER nurse; she said you’d been in an accident and she wasn’t sure when you’d be back at work.”

  “Stiff, bruised,” I told him honestly. “I got bounced off the front of a car,” I lied, “nothing broken in the end, but I am beaten to shit.”

  “You’re a lucky fuck,” he told me. “Look, take today and tomorrow off; come back in Wednesday. We can do without you for two days, and I’d rather you didn’t make things worse.”

  “I should be fine to come in tomorrow,” I insisted, knowing that with my natural healing, I would be.

  “Did you get the idea this was arguable?” Bill told me with a grunt. “Get off the phone and go rest. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  I thanked him and returned to cuddling Mary. The rest of the morning passed in a gentle fog of cuddling and quiet conversation.

  Eventually, however, the time came to go to the funeral for the brother and sister who’d died because I hadn’t warned them fast enough.

  Mary helped me into the wheelchair and then to the car. We drove to the small chapel that the Court apparently maintained for their own purposes, like this. The parking lot was mostly full as Mary pulled into an empty stall.

  “Let’s leave the wheelchair behind,” I told Mary. “I’d rather not appear weak in front of the Court,” I admitted.

  “All right,” she said after eyeing me for a minute. “But I’m not leaving your side, and you’d better lean on me if you need me.”

  Still stiff and
sore, it took me a minute or so to get out of the car, which allowed me a few good long looks at the black SUV parked next to us—and the stylized K decal in its window.

  At least some of the Enforcers were there.

  Leaning somewhat on Mary, I made my way into the chapel. As soon as we passed through the doors, I knew that no mortal had ever set foot in the building—it would be hard to conceal from the inside that it was probably four or five times as large inside as out and was in no way, shape or form the Christian place of worship it appeared from the outside.

  Six hundred feet from entrance to nave, the temple inside shared the same shape as the chapel outside, but that was the end of its resemblance to a mortal church. Unlike the chapel whose shell it occupied, the temple had no internal walls. The entire space was open, four steps leading down to the massive, thirty-feet-on-a-side balefire pit. Today the fire in the pit blazed high and hot, flames licking ten or twelve feet into the air, almost reaching the level of the entrance.

  Nine alcoves were cut into the walls on the top level, each centered on a statue and containing a hanging banner. The statues and banners were identical to those in every similar temple in the world, carved and woven to designs that had existed when Rome was born. Each honored one of the Nine, the High Court. We didn’t worship the Powers, per se, but they stood head and shoulders above the rest of us.

  As I understood it, none of the High Court were the original holders of their titles, and the statues were of the original Nine. Certainly, the statue in the Queen’s alcove bore no resemblance to Mabona, though the stylized silver tree on the blue banner seemed just right to something in me.

  The hall looked half empty, but after a moment’s glance around, I realized that almost all of Calgary’s less than a hundred fae were in the building. A dozen or so shifters other than Mary, presumably friends of Dave and Elena’s, stood on the third level, looking down at the slightly denser crowd on the second level.

  The first level was almost empty. Oberis stood closest to the fire, and Talus and Laurie stood next to him. I caught myself glaring at the trio and controlled myself with an effort. It wouldn’t do to betray my current anger at the fae lord in public. Besides, this was neither the place nor the time.

  Two more fae, male and female older gentry, stood on the first level with the Lord and his two courtiers. From the family resemblance, they were Dave and Elena’s parents.

  The only other occupants of the bottom level of the Hall were two stone biers, each carrying the cloth-wrapped body of one of the two we had come to mourn. I was a little surprised there was enough left of them for that—they had been very close to the claymores when they had detonated.

  Mary and I slowly made our way down to the second level, where the fae and changelings gathered. The fourth and topmost level was empty except for a few new arrivals arriving behind us; the third held the shifters and a single pair of black-suited Enforcers. I recognized Percy, Michael’s boss, as one of them and wondered if he’d actually known Dave or Elena, or if MacDonald had just picked names out of a hat to send as a gesture.

  When we reached the second level, I caught a few mutters at Mary’s presence—this level was supposed to be limited to fae only. Between my current aggravation with fae protocol and my need to have her to physically lean on, I found the mutters easy to ignore.

  I settled into one of the plain chairs that encircled the level with a carefully concealed groan of relief. From one or two sharp glances my way, it wasn’t concealed enough. None of them said anything, though, and the arrival of Eric a moment later silenced any comments anyone would have made.

  The gnome paused at my chair for a moment, long enough to squeeze my shoulder in sympathy, and then joined the quintet on the lowest level. Oberis inclined his head to the Keeper and looked up to survey the levels above him.

  Oberis obviously felt that everyone who was coming was there, as he killed the lights in the uppermost level with a gesture of his hand. All of the electric lights dimmed, and sparks flew from the balefire to light rows of candles on the edge of each level. After a moment, the balefire and the candles provided the only light in the Hall.

  “We are gathered here, in this place that stands outside the world, to honor and remember two of our own,” Oberis said softly, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall.

  “Dave and Elena Cunningham served me loyally and well for years,” he continued. “It was in this service that they fell. While investigating reports of a vampire cabal in our city, we were betrayed, and Dave and Elena, along with several others, were led into a trap. A devious combination of old and new was used to attack them with cold iron, killing them before they even knew they were under attack.”

  The fae lord let silence hang in the Hall for a long time before finally speaking again.

  “They died in my service, and there are obligations to be paid,” he said, facing the Cunninghams’ parents. “Any service you would ask,” he told them, his voice even softer than before. “Any Boon I can give. Ask what you will, and it will be done.”

  The Cunninghams nodded, bowing slightly in acknowledgement of the debt. Mr. Cunningham stepped forward, cleared his throat and began a clearly prepared speech, reciting memorized words.

  “Our children believed from a young age that the gentry had a duty, a responsibility, to help maintain order in our world,” he said slowly. “While no parent believes their child to be truly perfect, Dave and Elena certainly tried their hardest to live up to that belief. All their lives, they were there for those in need, choosing service over themselves.

  “Both of them sacrificed so much,” he said sadly. “Neither had much in terms of relationships; few lovers or friends could compete with their steadfast devotion to duty. But they made a difference. Here, and elsewhere where they went on their business, people are alive who otherwise would be dead.

  “They spent their lives protecting others, and died doing what they chose to do,” he finished, choking on his tears. His wife didn’t say anything, simply quietly weeping.

  Eric stepped forward, glancing around the levels above him and those watching from there.

  “We ask anyone with memories of Dave and Elena to share them,” he told the crowd quietly. This was tradition. We saw too many of the realities behind humanity’s myths to really believe in an afterlife. All that remains of us once we pass on is the memories we leave behind.

  One of the shifters stepped to the balcony before any of the fae moved, and Eric gestured to him to speak.

  “I will never forget the day I met Elena,” the shifter began, his voice rough with emotion. “A rogue hippogriff had just wiped out a small human farm, and I was hunting it through the Rocky Mountains. It surprised me, and I crashed my van. I was wounded and alone, and the beast was hunting me. I thought I was dead, and then Elena arrived. She’d been hunting the same creature, and her timing was perfect. I’d have died that day without her.”

  The shifter sat back down, and one of the fae stepped forward, with a story of a fight with vampires in Winnipeg, where he’d stood shoulder to shoulder with Dave.

  The stories that followed all had much the same theme. The process made the sibling’s fathers comments about their choice of lifestyle clear—all of them were of people being saved, battles being fought. No stories of jokes, or pranks, or lovers. Just of them as protectors and warriors. That was the life they’d chosen.

  Eventually, even those stories died off, leaving only silence. Eric waited a few more moments, to be sure no one else was going to speak up, and then turned to the balefire.

  “We commit the bodies of our friends to the eternal fires of the hearth, which shall never go out,” he said loudly. “Let the smoke join the air of the world, let the ashes join the earth of the world, let the fire raise them up and may the water know them. Let them return to the world that birthed them.”

  The Keeper nodded to Oberis, who gestured. Slowly, the two stone biers lifted up, carried by his power to the balefire a
t the heart of the hall. The biers slid into the flame and lowered, the flame wrapping around them and slowly igniting the wrappings around the bodies.

  The wrappings were soaked in herbs and spices, obviously, as the scent that came from the burning flesh wasn’t the burnt-pork smell I remembered from the night of the explosion but a mixed scent of woodsmoke and what was probably sage.

  The balefire of a faerie hall was hotter than a natural flame, and the bodies of our fallen were consumed quickly. When the last of the scent of sage and slight tinge of burnt pork faded into the clean woodsmoke smell of the fire, Oberis faced the north side of the hall—where the Enforcers sat.

  “There is one last thing we must address today,” he said harshly, his voice loud and no longer soft. “Dave and Elena died at the hands of a vampire cabal. The prevention of the arrival of these creatures in our city was part of what was promised as the guarantees for which we conceded authority to the Magus MacDonald under the Covenants of this city.

  “Yet a cabal is here,” he continued. “Dave and Elena are the only inhumans we know to have fallen to them, but we know of many human deaths we can attribute to their actions. We know how they arrived. We must assume that, like all feeders, they are hostile to us.

  “What we do not know is how this came to pass,” Oberis said grimly, and I didn’t envy Percy having that stone gaze turned on him. “Our Covenants say that the Magus will prevent this. Our Covenants say that the Magus will investigate and destroy any vampire incursion into the city.

  “But the cabal is here, and MacDonald has not acted,” he concluded. “Humans are dying, and he has not acted. Our people”—he gestured to the balefire—“have died, and he has not acted. So, we have acted ourselves.”

  “And yet, despite the Magus’s lack of action, when investigations into these vampires by an ally of ours—by a signatory to the Covenants—clashed with his Enforcers’ daily operations, those Enforcers murdered Alpha Tarvers, Speaker for the Clans, in cold blood.