The Fae on the right side were all female—the Seelie Court. The Fae on the left were all male—the Unseelie Court. Somewhere among those dozen dour, aged men was the father who’d killed and tortured his own children in the name of a war won long ago. Len examined them in turn, looking for a hint as to which one was Oren. In the middle of the pack, his eyes caught on a faint hint of familiarity hidden in the stubbornness of a jawline. That jaw was attached to a face so cold and unfeeling it sent a shiver up Len’s spine. The Fae had ash-colored hair going grey at the temples, and deep scowl lines etched into his skin. Len had seen a milder version of that cold glare directed his way countless times before.
He would have bet money that this was Albigard’s father.
Albigard came to a halt in the center of the open area beneath the raised stage, chained and dirt-streaked in his rumpled finery. Len moved to stand at his right shoulder, a step behind—the blue haired human barbarian, fitting in here about as well as a punk rock band in a royal ballroom. Self-consciousness circled around the edges of his awareness. Len buried it mercilessly beneath righteous indignation on his companion’s behalf, and lifted his chin in defiance.
Their escort cleared her throat. “Albigard of the Unseelie, son of Oren of the High Court... and his human vassal,” she announced, before bowing low and fading away behind them.
Oren’s gaze rested on Albigard, unblinking. His expression was one of utter contempt. Even being on the periphery of that dark glare made Len’s heart rate speed up, a fresh chill washing through him.
A regal woman seated at the center of the Seelie contingent rose and faced them. She was tall and slender, with riots of red curls braided and piled into a complicated hairstyle, and cheekbones that could cut glass.
“The circumstances surrounding this meeting of the Court are deeply regrettable,” she began, and Len got the impression she was addressing the crowd of spectators watching from the overgrown pews, as much as she was addressing them directly. “The Wild Hunt has slipped its chains, and torn through the veil between realms. We convene today to decide on a course of action, before the consequences become unthinkable.”
Oren rose to match her. “Magistrate,” he began in a sneering tone. “The course seems clear enough. My offspring has returned to face his sentence of execution. The Hunt will follow him to Dhuinne to carry out its duty, sooner or later. When it does, let the cu-sidhe perform their function and contain it within the Dead Forest, as they have for generations.”
“I beg leave to speak.” Albigard’s voice rang out clear and strong through the echoing space. Privately, Len wondered what that show of strength cost him.
“Speak, son of Oren,” said the Magistrate. “That is, after all, why you are here.”
Albigard bowed his head respectfully before straightening and addressing his next words directly to her.
“The Hunt has already killed one of the cu-sidhe. It did so without hesitation or compunction. There is no reason to think that the surviving cu-sidhe will be able to restrain its movements, once it has fulfilled its compulsion to destroy me.”
Len’s breath caught at Albigard’s casual reference to his own death.
Oren scoffed. “What nonsense. If the Hunt killed a cu-sidhe, it was only because that sidhe was foolishly standing in front of its rightful prey.”
“Not true,” Albigard retorted without hesitation. “The sidhe that died was attempting to protect an entirely innocent party. The Hunt is deranged, killing at random and on an ever-larger scale. An entire pocket realm adjacent to Earth and Dhuinne lies dead—drained of life down to the cellular level.”
“All the more reason to draw it back to Dhuinne where it belongs,” Oren blustered. Len wondered if he was being willfully obtuse, or if he really was that dense.
“Interesting,” Albigard said in a poisonous tone, “that the Unseelie agents who captured me recently in St. Louis seemed more concerned with throwing me through the gate to Hell, in order to draw the Hunt into the demon realm, rather than returning me here.”
The Seelie Magistrate looked at Albigard sharply. “The demon realm? You have proof of this accusation?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Oren sneered. “This Fae is a desperate criminal. A murderer.”
“The cat-sidhe was a direct witness to the plot to attack Hell,” Albigard stated. “Call them here to testify.”
A look of disquiet slid over the Magistrate’s face. “The cat-sidhe has been credibly accused of consorting with a high-ranking demon—one notorious during the war for his spy operations. Their testimony does not currently hold any weight in the eyes of the Court.”
Len’s stomach fell. At least that means they’re still alive, he tried to tell himself. But even so, it sounded like he and Albigard were down yet another ally... and they didn’t really have allies to spare.
The look of cold satisfaction on Oren’s face made him think there was no love lost between Albigard’s father and the little sidhe. Probably not a surprise, given that the cat-sidhe had always appeared to be on Albigard’s side, while Oren seemed to have an almost vitriolic level of hatred toward his own son.
Albigard’s jaw worked. “Then it appears you have only my word on the matter, unless you care to compel the guards who held me to testify.”
“The guards? What were their names?” Oren asked blandly. “Whom shall we interrogate?”
Len’s stomach sank lower.
“I do not know,” Albigard replied stiffly. “I thought perhaps you did, Father.”
Len winced, recognizing the sound of gloves coming off.
“Why would I?” Oren asked, dripping contempt with every word.
“Because you are behind the recent attempt to take power in the human realm and move the Fae Court from Dhuinne to Earth. Because you wish to restart the war, just as your old ally Caspian did,” Albigard said. He bared his teeth in a sneer. “Before I killed him.”
“Slander from a traitor,” Oren sneered. “A self-confessed murderer. Where, pray tell, is your proof of any of these wild accusations?”
Len clenched his fists in an effort to resist the growing urge to shake Albigard until his teeth rattled and yell in his face that this wasn’t helping. Fortunately, the Magistrate stepped in before the family feud could escalate further.
“We are straying from the point of this hearing,” she said, in a tone of absolute authority.
“And what is the point of this hearing, exactly?” Oren asked. Around him, several of his fellow Unseelie shot each other uncertain looks, as though they were unused to such open defiance from their own leader. It was only then that Len realized Albigard might be getting to Oren as much as Oren was getting to Albigard.
The Magistrate’s tone grew colder by several degrees. “As stated only moments ago, our purpose today is to determine the best response to the Wild Hunt going rogue.” She turned again to Albigard. “In your petition, you requested the presence of this human vassal, on the grounds that he possesses some unusual influence over the Hunt.”
Len cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Yes. That’s, uh... that’s correct, Your... Honor?”
“The proper form of address is ‘Your Grace,” she corrected, not unkindly. “And you are...?”
“Len Grayson, Your Grace,” Len said, reflecting that he didn’t think he’d ever felt further out of his element than he did at this moment. “My neighborhood was destroyed by the Hunt. I was gone when it happened, but I was there when it came back a few days later. Instead of killing me, it recoiled. I was able to herd it back through the tear in the veil, just by walking toward it. I’ve no idea why,” he added, lying through his teeth. “Anyway, I’m here to help however I can, because it seems as though my effect on the Hunt is unusual, and I want to help save my world if I can.”
The Magistrate regarded him with interest. “An honorable stance, Len Grayson of Earth.”
“And you are this one’s vassal, creature?” Oren flicked his fingers toward Albigard.
“Uh... yes?” Len said, not sure where this was going.
“Since when?” Oren asked.
“Not long,” Len told him. “A few days ago? We were in kind of a tight spot, or I wouldn’t have asked for a gift. It was better than dying, though.”
Oren dismissed him in favor of addressing the Magistrate. “So, this human knowingly pledged itself to a convicted criminal. By rights, the creature should also be executed.”
Len heard a sharply indrawn breath from beside him.
“No!” Albigard snapped, before the Magistrate could get a word in.
Every eye in the room turned to him.
TWENTY-THREE
THE EXCLAMATION echoed sharply around the overgrown, cavernous space. Len winced, once more overcome by the sensation of things going off the rails.
Oren turned slowly to his son, a look of near-glee on his sharp features. “What is this? You have an objection, traitor?” He raised a slow eyebrow. “Tell me, my wayward son... are you keeping pets again?”
Len saw the blood drain from Albigard’s cheeks. Even so, his companion drew himself up to his full height and sneered. The expression brought the family resemblance with his father into sharp relief, and Len had to suppress a shiver.
“Hardly,” Albigard drawled, pouring as much disdain into the dismissal as Oren had managed at his best. “The human has a unique ability to influence and repel the Hunt. Beyond that, his presence is a constant irritant and he is of no value to me whatsoever. Nevertheless, disposing of him under the current circumstances would be painfully foolish.”
It was a testament to Len’s questionable self-esteem that he didn’t give the words much thought, even though it was a pretty serious burn after the events of last night and their conversation this morning. Oren, if anything, looked a bit disappointed by Albigard’s response—making Len suspect that there was some subtext to the exchange that he was missing. Albigard’s complexion was still chalky white, which Len supposed wasn’t too surprising since he was standing before the highest Court in the land, arguing for their lives.
“Foolish, indeed,” said the Magistrate. “Very well. We will take your words under advisement and debate the matter further. Guard—return the petitioners to their cell.”
Len’s shoulders tensed. “Wait,” he said. “The escort at the gate said I might be able to get visitor’s accommodations instead? No offense, but I’m in no hurry to go back to that cell if I don’t have to. Two words—night scuttles.”
The Magistrate frowned. “That was before you confessed to pledging yourself to a condemned traitor, Len Grayson. His crimes taint you as well, even if you do not share his ultimate fate. You are now a prisoner within the Fae realm of Dhuinne, not a guest.”
Len froze.
Shit...
A hand closed around his upper arm, promising inhuman strength should he attempt to resist. Beside him, Albigard was undergoing more or less the same treatment. He seemed unsteady on his feet, like a shock victim, or someone who’d had too much to drink.
Movement caught the corner of Len’s eye. A female Fae had risen from the front row of spectators’ seats and was slipping out. Her outline wavered in Len’s vision, her hair shifting from the intricate braids and silken waves favored by every Fae Len had come across to date, into messy dreadlocks the color of old moss. Her neat and respectable clothing shimmered as well, revealing torn and ragged trousers topped by a shapeless tunic stained with dirt. He blinked, not sure what he was looking at, but she had already disappeared into the overgrown foliage choking the room as he was dragged down the aisle toward the door.
The magnitude of their failure to accomplish any of their goals during this hearing struck Len full force. He still had no way to replenish his protective cloak of dead animus. They hadn’t even broached the possibility of allowing Nigellus access to Dhuinne in hopes of retrieving Rans and Zorah’s souls if they managed to get the Hunt under control.
Plus, it sounded like Len might or might not be facing execution now, if he somehow managed to survive the Hunt without the benefit of his necromancy. And, to top it all off, Albigard appeared to be quietly losing his shit as they were dragged through the inner doors of the building, followed by the front doors.
One of the pair of male guards manhandling them cast a portal, and just like that, they were back inside a tree cell. The interior of this one was subtly different, but the important points were the same. Latrine pit, notable lack of any means of egress, folded blanket on the dirt floor with a water gourd and a paper-wrapped loaf of bread lying on it.
Terrific.
“Kneel,” ordered one of the guards.
Albigard folded to the ground—more of a collapse than an intentional movement. A moment later, ropes of light wrapped around him and sank beneath his skin, forcing his body against the wall and trapping him there. The guards turned without a word and trooped out, the portal snapping shut before Len could even contemplate lunging for it.
“Fuck!” he snarled, punching the interior of the tree trunk hard enough to bloody his knuckles. He turned to Albigard, ready to berate him for letting his father get to him... for getting thrown off his game so easily.
And he froze.
It was almost midday. Enough light reached the bottom of the tree cell to illuminate the look of barely controlled panic on Albigard’s grey features... the uneven hitch of his breathing.
“Hey,” Len said, his companion’s expression of utter horror enough to slice straight through his frustrated anger. “Hey. What is it?”
In two strides, he was crouching in front of the other man, lifting a hand to his pale jaw. He slid his fingers down an inch, until he could feel Albigard’s thundering pulse gallop against his fingertips. This close, he could hear the rattle of air wheezing irregularly into and out of the Fae’s lungs.
“Albigard. Talk to me.” Len shifted his grip, cradling Albigard’s face in both hands. Blood dripped down his knuckles where he’d broken the skin, the scrapes throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
The Fae’s green gaze snapped into focus from the middle distance, pinning his with desperate intensity. “It wasn’t true,” he said with a gasp. “It was a lie... I didn’t mean it. I... I had to. If Oren knew the truth, he’d take you away. Hurt you. Use you to torment me. To control me—”
For a long moment, Len stared at him in utter confusion, trying to rewind the past few minutes and find the context that would explain Albigard’s panic.
It was a lie... I didn’t mean it.
“Wait,” Len said. “Is this about the ‘constant irritant’ comment? Dude. Take it easy—it’s fine. Seriously, take a breath, okay? My self-esteem will probably recover from the blow.”
“No—you don’t understand,” Albigard managed around the ragged hitch in his breath. “I lied. A Fae who intentionally misleads another is no longer Fae.”
“But... Albigard,” Len tried, feeling an irrational seed of panic taking root in his own chest. “Look—it sounds like you only did it to protect me, which... well, surely there’s an exception for something like that, okay? Even if other Fae would judge you for lying, all that really matters is that you know it was for a good cause. You’re no less Fae than you were an hour ago. Nothing’s changed...”
“My magic,” Albigard said weakly, cutting across him. “It’s gone.”
Len paused with his mouth open, his heart giving a startled double-thud. He snapped his jaw shut and shook his head slowly back and forth in negation.
“That’s...” he began, only to stop himself and try again. “No, that’s impossible. It’s... it’s probably just the iron. And... you’ve been raised to believe all of that ‘no lying’ crap. It’s just cultural conditioning making you think that you’ve lost your magic when it’s just suppressed right now—”
“No,” Albigard said, a hoarse whisper. “It’s gone. Being chained in iron is like being held underwater, or having a heavy bag tied over one’s head. The air—the magic—is there.
I can sense it, tantalizing—just out of reach. This...” His voice broke. “It’s like having my lungs ripped out.”
For a horrible instant, Len knew exactly what Albigard meant by that statement. His chest seized, refusing to draw in air. But he couldn’t panic now. He couldn’t. Len swallowed and pulled in a slow breath... then another. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a semblance of calm he didn’t feel.
“Okay,” Len said. “We’re going to figure this out, and we’re going to fix it. But for now, just breathe.” He slid his right hand down, pressing his palm flat against Albigard’s heart through the rumpled silk tunic. “Your magic may be AWOL for the moment, but you do still have lungs. Let’s worry about getting those under control first.”
He leaned forward, resting their foreheads together—trying desperately not to think about the fact that this had happened because Len needed protecting from Albigard’s fucking asshole of a father.
Albigard’s ragged breath shuddered against Len’s lips. Len took an exaggerated breath of his own, held it, and let it out slowly, repeating the process over and over until Albigard started to mirror him. He could feel the tremors cutting through the Fae’s body in waves, even as his breathing evened out.
“The Court,” Len said quietly. “It will be a while before they decide anything, right?”
He felt the tiny affirmative nod against his forehead, and shuffled around to kneel at Albigard’s side. They were roughly of a height, and the angle was horrible with Albigard stuck to the wall as he currently was. Even so, Len did his best to wrap his body around the Fae’s, positioning Albigard’s head against the crook of his shoulder and curling one arm around his chest protectively.
Albigard stiffened for only an instant, before melting into Len’s hold as much as his restraint would allow. Len let his chin rest on the silky crown of hair and closed his eyes.
Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3 (Last Vampire World) Page 36