by Chant, Zoe
Why am I getting away with this? she wondered as she threw a banana like a boomerang. She risked a quick glance at Maeve, and found the high sidhe queen was sitting motionless in the midst of the chaos, crimson eyes fixed on her. The pair of guards at her side had summoned their swords—but one upraised finger from Maeve held them back.
A chill went down Tamsin’s spine. For once, Maeve didn’t wear an expression of languid amusement or ostentatious boredom. She looked…interested.
“No! Shining Ones, no! Please!”
Tamsin froze at the scream. The sorceress was flat on her butt, cowering and begging for mercy. Cuan crouched over her in wolf form, jaws clamped around her arms.
His lips wrinkled back in a snarl, revealing that those massive teeth were barely denting the sorceress’s pale skin. He wasn’t hurting her—but it would only take one short, sharp crunch, and the woman would never cast a spell again.
“I yield,” the sorceress said again, breathless with fear. “I yield.”
Tamsin sagged with relief. She lowered the melon she’d been holding poised above her head as Cuan released the woman and backed off.
“Well now.” Maeve flicked a speck of smashed pineapple away from her plate. “I must say, that was entertaining. And informative.”
Cuan shifted back to man form to bow politely to his defeated opponent. As he straightened, he seemed to notice the state of the unseelie court for the first time. He started, staring around at all the scowling faces and stained finery. By the time his gaze found Tamsin, his expression was a conflict of horror and hilarity.
She shrugged at him, mouthing sorry not sorry. His mouth twitched, as though he was struggling to contain laughter. Very solemnly, he bowed to her, far more deeply than he had to the sorceress.
“So you have bought each other one more day.” Maeve’s drawling tones jerked Tamsin’s attention back to the high sidhe queen. The woman leaned back in her throne, stroking a finger against her chin. “Though one wonders what you intend to do with it. Tell me, little human. Why do you delay the inevitable?”
Tamsin sat down again, breathing hard. “If you have to ask that, you really don’t know anything about humans. Generally, we’re not keen on having our souls sucked dry by psychic vampires.”
“Yet that is not your only possible fate, is it?” Maeve gestured at Cuan, who was now washing the blood from his face and hands in a basin held out by a short, wrinkled woman. “You have another option.”
She knows! How does she know?
Tamsin did her best to keep a poker face. “I don’t know what—”
“Do not play dumb with me,” Maeve interrupted, eyes narrowing a fraction. “My dear beast is many things, but a fool is not one of them. If I can deduce that you two are fated mates, then he must surely have recognized you at first sight. Indeed, it is the only explanation for his behavior. And he knows all our high sidhe customs and traditions, desperate as he is to be one of us. He has proposed that you form the mate bond, has he not?”
“Would that work?” The words slipped out before Tamsin could stop them.
“Ah. So he has found that loophole.” Maeve toyed with her wine glass. “Yes, little human. It would not break the tithe-bond, but it would give you the rights of an unseelie fae. You would no longer be our plaything, but a member of my court. Was it doubt alone that was keeping you out of his bed? Will you fling yourself into his arms now?”
Tamsin glanced at Cuan. He’d finished cleaning himself, though there were still deep bruises across his throat and arms. He bowed to the tiny woman who’d brought him the water—though none of the other high sidhe were even acknowledging the existence of the short, gnarled servants who scurried around the dining hall.
He was a good man. And if Maeve believed in this true mate thing too…maybe there was something in it after all.
But then her eyes fell on the rest of the high sidhe court, in all their beauty and cruelty, and her heart shrank within her chest. She couldn’t imagine living here. Not even with Cuan.
Maeve’s low, throaty laugh made her look round. The high sidhe looked as smug as a cat with a mouthful of mouse.
“Ah,” Maeve breathed. Her red markings shimmered with a faint wash of fire. “So it was not doubt alone. He has admitted that mating would bind you to him even more tightly than the tithe-curse binds you to this realm. And you cannot bring yourself to abandon all hope of returning home. What beautiful torment you inflict on your mate, demanding that he risk his life, and all for the possibility of losing you. Such perfect cruelty.” She sipped at her wine. “One might almost think you high sidhe.”
That barb cut deeper than Tamsin liked to admit. She covered the pang of confused guilt by lifting her chin, giving Maeve her best withering glare. “I don’t know why you’re smirking. One way or another, you’re going to lose.”
“I will not,” Maeve said calmly, and with utter certainty. “I never lose. You will be the death of your mate, little human, and I shall relish the taste of your shame and heartbreak. Because I do know humans. You are stubborn beyond all reason, determined to make your own destinies rather than submit to fate. You will not mate my beast. You will cling to the faintest chance of freedom until his dying breath. And do you know what makes that truly marvelous?”
Somehow, Tamsin doubted that Maeve meant that it showed the strength of the human spirit. She said nothing.
Maeve gestured her closer, eyes gleaming. Tamsin hesitated, then—as the guards started forward, hands reaching out—reluctantly leaned in. It took all her self-control not to flinch as Maeve took hold of her chin.
“Your hope is utterly futile,” the high sidhe murmured. “Oh there are ways to break the tithe-curse, make no mistake…but they are all outside your reach. Do you know why you were chosen as a sacrifice, little human?”
Maeve’s red eyes filled Tamsin’s vision. All she could feel was the tight, cold grip of the high sidhe’s fingers.
“You were given to us because you are an aging, solitary woman of no importance whatsoever.” The queen’s whisper crept through Tamsin’s ears and into her blood, spreading through her veins like poison. “You have no one. No lover, no life-partner, no family. You could disappear from the face of the earth, and no one would miss you. No one is coming to save you, little human. No one even cares what happened to you.”
The bitter truth of the high sidhe’s words sank in, cold and numbing. Maeve was right. She was nobody. Nothing. Less than nothing. She was an insignificant worm, especially compared to this beautiful, perfect high sidhe—
Those aren’t my thoughts!
“That’s—that’s not true.” Tamsin clung tight to a thin thread of pure fury, battling the foreign waves of despair beating against her mind. “I, I’m not alone. I have friends—”
“Friends?” Maeve laughed. “Oh, your ridiculous hopes are simply delicious. Other pathetic, powerless women? Do you truly think they will come to your rescue? They do not even know we exist.”
Maeve’s glamour still swamped her emotions, trying to drag her down…but suddenly, Tamsin could barely feel it.
Because Maeve was wrong.
Chapter 10
Cuan had been worried about leaving Tamsin to fend for herself amidst Maeve’s court while he fought the duel. Now, however, it was clear that he should have been more concerned for the high sidhe.
It was a mark of nobility and good breeding to maintain an aloof, jaded attitude at all times. Thus, most of Maeve’s court were still seated at table, sipping wine and pretending that they had not even noticed that they were covered in squashed fruit. Still, from the red faces and clenched teeth, etiquette was being sorely tested.
Well, they always claim to crave novelty. Cuan pressed his lips together, fighting to maintain a straight face as he circled the hall. They cannot complain when a guest surprises them, even if it is with a ripe plum to the face.
He had never in his life so badly regretted his lack of refined accomplishments. The whole scene deserved to be immor
talized in song. Tamsin’s Triumph, or The Ballad of the Bananas.
But he was no poet, sadly. As Tamsin hurried to meet him, he could only express his appreciation and astonishment by offering her another deep, heart-felt bow.
“I have never,” he murmured for her ears alone, “before realized quite how much I longed to see Sir Eogan hit over the head with a pineapple.”
“I’m just glad it worked.” Tamsin cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the high table, where Maeve sat on her silver throne. She raised her voice a little. “You’re hurt. We need to get you to the healer.”
“There is no need. They are but scratches.” That was a bit of a stretch of the truth. His high sidhe blood compelled him to add, “At least, compared to the cuts I took yesterday.”
She took his hands, turning them palm up. He’d fashioned impromptu bandages from strips of napkin, but the white linen was already spotted with crimson stains.
“This isn’t nothing, Cuan.” She brushed a thumb over the bruises blooming on his wrists, and heat shot through him despite the throb of pain. “You need to see Aodhan.”
“I could not trouble Aodhan for such a minor matter.” He drew his hands out of her grip, tucking them out of sight behind his back. “And in any event, I do not wish for you to miss the rest of the meal.”
That was the real reason for not wasting time tending to his injuries, of course. If he was to have any hope of persuading Tamsin to accept the mate bond, he had to show her the wonders of the fae court. Surely once she had experienced all the delight and magic of the high sidhe, she would no longer wish to return to the ugly human world.
Of course, this was the woman who had elected to turn the first course of the feast into impromptu weaponry. It might prove more difficult to impress her than he’d thought.
He gestured at the procession of servants who were carrying in the second course. “See, they are setting out the honey-pastries. You will never have tasted such light and delicate sweetness. And after that there shall be baked snow-custards with fresh cream, and then you must sample—”
Tamsin put a hand on his arm, silencing him. Her eyes bored into his with odd intensity.
“I’m not hungry. And you’re bleeding.” She still spoke overloud, in tones that even Maeve at the high table could not help but overhear. “Let’s get you to Aodhan. Right now.”
Understanding finally hit him, like a flung banana. He caught Lady Maeve’s eye and gestured at the doorway in silent request for permission to leave. She fluttered a gracious hand, dismissing them both.
As he escorted Tamsin away from the dining hall, the back of his neck prickled. If he’d been in wolf form, his hackles would have risen. He didn’t look round, but he was certain that Maeve was staring after them.
Tamsin maintained a wary silence all the way back to his room. Her tiny orange beast—Cuan was still having a hard time thinking of it as a dog—bounded up to his mistress the moment she entered, tail wagging furiously.
“Hi baby.” Tamsin scratched her pet behind the ears. “Were you a good boy?”
“Good friend. Good company.” Motley unfolded himself from a crouch. “Told me a lot. And we played tug.”
“My gratitude to you for keeping him entertained.” Cuan cast a pained look at the well-chewed leather strip dangling from Motley’s hand. “But did you have to use my finest belt to do so?”
“Yes,” Motley said serenely. “Best use for it. Told you before. Bad memories.”
“It was a personal gift from Lady Maeve herself.”
“Exactly.” Motley flipped the ruined object into Angus’s waiting jaws. “Bad.”
Cuan held back a sigh. It was in a raven’s nature to steal treasures, after all. He just wished that Motley had the usual compulsion to hoard shiny things. Sometimes it seemed that the lesser fae was on a personal quest to destroy everything Cuan owned.
Which may be why he had apparently made fast friends with Tamsin’s animal. From the look of the torn furs scattered around his bed and the fresh tooth-marks in his armor-stand, the two had bonded over a shared interest in ruining Cuan’s possessions.
Still, Cuan owed the lesser fae his life. And, more importantly, Tamsin’s life. If Motley hadn’t fetched Aodhan last night, Tamsin would even now be a plaything of Maeve’s court. For that, Cuan would eternally be in the raven shifter’s debt. The total destruction of all his worldly goods was a small price to pay.
“Thank you for looking after Angus for me,” Tamsin said to Motley. “But I need to ask another favor, if that’s okay?”
Motley’s smile faltered. From experience, Cuan knew that it was nothing to do with the request itself. Something in his fractured mind had shifted, leaving him lost and uncertain.
He laid a hand on Tamsin’s shoulder, drawing her away a little before she could further unbalance the unstable raven shifter. He lowered his voice. “Do you have something you could give him?”
Tamsin’s brow creased. “You mean he needs payment?”
“Not precisely. He needs a token to remember you by. It need not be something of value.” He touched one of the small pearly buttons that clasped her blouse. “This would be ideal. May I?”
What in the name of the Shining Ones? was written all over Tamsin’s face, but she nodded.
Cuan summoned a sword, carefully slicing the button free without tearing the fabric. Tamsin’s blouse gaped a little wider. Tearing his attention away from that riveting slice of soft, enticing skin, Cuan turned back to Motley.
“You know Tamsin.” Cuan handed the raven shifter the small button. “Remember?”
Motley stared down at the button for a moment, then blinked. Focus returned to his black eyes.
“Tamsin. Yes.” Motley curled his fingers over the button. “Clever. Brave. Your treasure. Help you keep her safe.”
“That’s right. And you keep that safe. With the rest of your memories.” Cuan looked back at Tamsin. “You can ask him again now.”
Tamsin cast him a look that stated that they would be discussing this at length later. However, for now she asked no further questions, instead turning a warm smile on the raven shifter.
“Motley, Cuan got hurt in the duel.” She gestured at his injured hands. “He needs to see Aodhan again. Can you take us to him?”
Motley tilted his head, frowning. “I thought Aodhan was already here.”
“That was yesterday,” Tamsin said, who’d clearly picked up on the trick of steering Motley through a conversation. Cuan liked the way she spoke to the raven shifter; neither impatient nor pitying, just straightforward and kind. “You brought Aodhan here, to heal Cuan. But now we need to go to him. Can you make a portal, please?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” Motley perked up. “Look, I’ll show you.”
The raven shifter swung back the door, revealing a narrow path winding between slender silver tree trunks. With a delighted bark, Angus dashed between Motley’s legs, bounding through the portal.
“Angus!” Tamsin plunged after her pet. “Come back!”
Cuan followed her, gesturing Motley to come through as well. From this side, the portal lay in a natural arch formed by two intertwined young trees. He’d never quite worked out all the rules governing Motley’s talent, but he’d observed that the raven always seemed to need some kind of nominal doorway to be able to make a portal.
“Best shut it again,” he murmured to Motley. “Let us not leave an open path for any curious sidhean guard to follow.”
“Motley, open the door. Motley, shut the door.” The lesser fae heaved a put-upon sigh as he reached back through the portal. It winked shut with a twinkle of light, replaced by an ordinary view of sunset-lit woodland. “Why can nobody ever manage a door for themselves? It’s not hard.”
“Only for you, my friend.” Cuan stretched his legs, hastening after Tamsin. “Come, and stay close. These woods are not safe.”
Motley shimmered into raven form, swooping between the tree trunks like a wind-blown ghost. Cuan k
ept one hand poised to summon a sword, all his senses on high alert. The forest seemed peaceful enough, but they were a long way from the protection of Maeve’s court. Aodhan’s territory lay between the borders of the unseelie and seelie lands, unclaimed by any sidhean. The reclusive alicorn had always refused to bow his head to anyone—though many high sidhe from both sides had tried.
“Angus!” Tamsin shouted from up ahead. “Angus! NO!”
The sudden fear in her voice yanked him into a sprint. Without conscious thought, he shifted into his horse form, flying over the ground at top speed. Dodging past Tamsin, he burst out of the woodland into a wide clearing.
Cuan had only the barest fraction of a second to take in the scene, but it was enough. He hurled himself at the charging Angus, shifting as he went so he intercepted the tiny yapping creature as a man rather than as a horse. He hit the ground hard—the impact sending fresh pain through his body—and rolled, his arms clamped around the furious fuzzball.
He was only just in time. A gleaming golden horn stabbed past him, close enough that he felt the sharp point score a deep gouge in the shoulder-plate of his armor.
Angus, of course, repaid Cuan for saving his life by sinking sharp teeth into his wrist.
“No! No!” Motley swooped around Aodhan’s head, cawing in panic, as the alicorn reared up for another attack. “Friend! Friend!”
To Cuan’s great relief, the alicorn backed off, dropping down to four hooves. He leveled his horn at Angus. “What in the name of the Shining Ones is that?”
“A dog.” Cuan winced as Angus bit down harder. “Allegedly.”
Aodhan stared from Cuan to the growling dandelion-puff. An equine face was not made for conveying expression, but Aodhan managed to radiate disbelief anyway.
“Angus!” Tamsin caught up with them all, panting. She flung her arms around Angus and Cuan alike, hugging them both. “Oh Cuan, thank you, thank you! Is he okay? Are you okay?”
At that moment, Cuan would gladly have tackled a hundred miniature monsters for her, regardless of which parts of his anatomy he had to sacrifice in the process.