He couldn’t worry about it now, though—not with guards charging toward them from all directions. A translucent barrier whirled into existence around their group just as the first blast of magic flew at them. It exploded against the shimmering shield, and Len chanced a glance over his shoulder to see Nezri and Danon with their hands raised in a strong blocking gesture.
The cat-sidhe strode forward as more blasts slammed against the twins’ protection, slipping through the shield as though it didn’t exist and swiping aside a stray blast from the guards with a sharp gesture of one hand.
“Do. Not.” The sidhe snarled, sounding every bit the part of an angry cat.
The female Magistrate who’d questioned Albigard and Len during their last visit to this room stood warily as the cat-sidhe approached the dais. She raised a quelling hand as some of the Unseelie gathered in front of the Court made as though to attack, and addressed the sidhe directly.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, imperious and cool despite the sudden appearance of an armed contingent inside her domain.
Len glanced behind him again, thinking that this would be a really good time for the Hunt to make an appearance through the portal that was still flaming away in the middle of the aisle. There was no sign of the damned thing.
The cat-sidhe marched through the mass of gathered Unseelie. They melted aside with clear reluctance—making just enough room for the little shape-shifter to pass by without bumping shoulders. The sidhe didn’t stop, climbing the steps onto the dais without hesitation.
Len scanned the raised platform for Oren, and found him in his customary place at the center of the Unseelie Court. He was on his feet like most of the others, his shoulders tight with tension and his expression rigid.
“Stop this duplicitous creature!” he barked.
The sidhe didn’t back down. “You already tried that once, Oren of the Unseelie,” they said, in a tone dripping ice. “I would urge you not to try it again.”
Oren sputtered. The cat-sidhe ignored him and walked straight up to the Magistrate’s desk.
“Explain yourself, Elder,” the Magistrate demanded.
“You’ve traitors inside your nest, Magistrate,” said the shape-shifter, lifting a hand toward Oren. “This Fae and his allies have conspired against the best interest of Mother Dhuinne. They have courted chaos in two realms... and, on a more personal note, they have laid hands on a sidhe.”
Albigard stepped forward, though he was careful to stay inside the twins’ protection. “Oren and his allies captured the cat-sidhe on Earth, and chained them in iron in a secret underground location outside the city,” he said evenly, his voice cutting across the confusion in the room.
Oren straightened as though someone had shoved a ramrod up his spine. “Are we to listen to the ravings of this condemned criminal?” he demanded. “Or to a sidhe who conspires with demons? Call more guards—crush this rabble who would dare violate the Court chamber!”
The sidhe turned to him, the movement slow and dangerous as the guards arrayed around the room wavered, unsure whose orders they were supposed to be listening to.
“Do you deny the accusation?” asked the shape-shifter. “No Seelie or Unseelie may lay hands on a sidhe. I was here before your ancestors started banging rocks together to make tools, Oren of the Court. It is likely I will be here long after you are gone to dust. Answer with care.”
Len held his breath. Beside him, Albigard’s spine was a solid line of tension.
Oren lifted his chin. “I have no need to answer one who gives aid and comfort to Dhuinne’s enemies. The words of such a creature are not to be trusted.”
The cat-sidhe reached into a pouch hanging from their belt and pulled out a tiny iron collar attached to a length of iron chain. They held it out mockingly for a long moment, and let it clatter onto the Magistrate’s desk without a word.
Silence fell over the room, brittle as glass.
“This is a serious accusation,” the Magistrate said slowly. “Yet it does not explain your unprecedented invasion of the inner Court chamber. You descend with armed barbarians and escaped criminals, rather than making your complaint through the proper channels.”
“There is more you need to hear, Your Grace,” Albigard said. “Despite the best attempts of this body to deny the scope of the problem and obstruct any viable solution, the Wild Hunt has been contained—reabsorbed into Dhuinne through the roots of Chaima, the world-tree. But much remains to be done before Dhuinne may once more be whole... and it will not be done as long as you have vipers hiding among you.”
Oren’s fingers were curled into claws on the polished wood of the desk in front of him. “The Hunt clearly is not under control, traitor... since you still live.”
Hatred for this man—who would see his own son dead for refusing to support his shortsighted and cruel actions—raised gooseflesh along Len’s back. Or... maybe that feeling was caused by something else, since a wave of clammy queasiness washed over him a second later.
“You think it is not under control? I must beg to differ... Father,” Albigard replied in a poisonous tone.
The Hunt poured through the portal, spilling into the chamber like ink poured into a glass of water.
The room erupted into screams. Roughly two-thirds of the people still present scrambled for the nearest exits, apparently unable to portal away with the Court’s protective wards in place.
Len kept a tight grip on his own instinctive panic, which had only been mildly diminished by the Hunt’s recent behavior and the cat-sidhe’s reassurance about the Fae archetype’s abrupt change of heart. It was just about all he could do not to tackle Albigard to the ground again, as the oily mass rolled past without touching them. If Albigard shared Len’s lingering fear, the Fae hid it perfectly beneath a granite mask.
To their credit, none of the Court members joined the fleeing masses... nor did the group of Unseelie higher-ups who’d gathered to meet with them. It might have been courage. Or it might have had something to do with the fact that up until recently, the Court had called the shots regarding whom the Wild Hunt targeted.
“Where is the cu-sidhe?” Oren demanded, his voice gone high-pitched.
“Probably still in the crypt where you sent them,” the cat-sidhe said, perfectly deadpan. “To guard me.”
Len, who’d been keeping half an eye on Teague out of enlightened self-preservation, saw the backstabbing bastard send Albigard a wide-eyed look as the Hunt poured into the area where he and his fellow Unseelie were standing. It swirled over them and up the steps to the dais without slowing, obscuring the entire front of the chamber for long moments.
Albigard stood frozen next to Len, his fists clenched at his sides. It occurred to Len that no one was really sure what it meant—in real-world terms—that the Hunt was now serving Dhuinne. Had it just killed the entire Court, along with the gathered Unseelie higher-ups, effectively lopping the head off the Fae government as they stood by and watched?
Would it be a bad thing if it had?
After a seemingly endless stretch, that probably lasted less than twenty seconds in reality, the dark cloud ebbed like a wave retreating from the beach. The cat-sidhe stood, unmoved—still locking gazes with the Magistrate, who looked pale as a sheet... though undeniably alive.
The other members of the Seelie Court were also still standing. As were... some of the Unseelie Court members. Len heard the faint, punched-out noise that slipped past Albigard’s control. An instant later, he identified one of the half-dozen or so figures slumped across the long wooden desk as Oren.
Dead at the hands of the same force he’d tried to unleash on his son.
The Hunt retreated from the area below the dais, revealing another four dead Unseelie lying sprawled on the moss-covered floor. Len was distantly surprised to see that Teague was not among them. Like the others who’d survived, Albigard’s protégé looked dazed, as though he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what had just happened.
; The cat-sidhe turned to survey the carnage, green eyes falling on Oren’s collapsed body. “Well,” they said in a philosophical tone, “I did warn him that I would outlive him.”
Behind Len, one of the Forsaken let out an indelicate snort. Danon, maybe.
Len brushed fingers over the back of Albigard’s hand, trusting that everyone else was too distracted to notice the small gesture. The Fae’s skin was ice cold, and he gave a small flinch of surprise at the contact. In the next moment, Len felt as much as saw him draw that same ice around him like armor. Every hint of vulnerability fled, locked tight behind a glacial bearing and haughty demeanor that would have done Oren proud.
With a deep breath, Albigard straightened his shoulders and strode out of the protection of the twins’ magical shield. Despite his misgivings, Len let him go, knowing that this was something he had to do alone. Dhuinne was not Len’s world. It was Albigard’s—and the Forsaken’s, too—even if its leaders had tried to renounce them.
The twins’ barrier spun itself out to nothing, no longer necessary with the Hunt swirling around their ragged group in clear and unmistakable warning. Dead silence fell over the echoing chamber, broken only by Albigard’s boot heels as he strode up the stairs to the dais, his leather battle armor melting back into silk brocade and sleek black breeches as he ascended.
When he reached the Unseelie side of the Court, he came to a halt in front of Oren’s corpse, collapsed across the polished wood of the long desk. After staring down at the unmoving body for a long moment, he placed a hand on its shoulder and shoved it away. It slid to the floor behind the desk and landed with a dull thump, out of sight.
Someone gasped.
Albigard turned to face the chamber and leaned his hips against the solid length of wood, supremely unconcerned by the presence of the surviving Unseelie Court members at his back. He looked across the divide at the Seelie, the picture of lethal elegance.
EIGHTEEN
THE MAGISTRATE met Albigard’s gaze, lifting her chin as though steeling herself. “The Wild Hunt,” she said. “Have you somehow taken control of it?”
“Hardly,” he replied.
“And yet it does your bidding,” the Magistrate shot back.
“Not my bidding,” Albigard told her.
“Then whose?” she demanded.
“The Wild Hunt now serves Dhuinne,” Albigard said. “And none other.”
The Magistrate’s eyes flew to the cat-sidhe, who shrugged.
“Why are you looking at me?” they asked. “Do you doubt his word?”
The Seelie leader’s mouth opened, but no words came out. After a moment, the sidhe took pity on her.
“These Fae are part of the group known as Forsaken.” The little shape-shifter gestured to the ragged band of warriors arrayed around Len. “They puzzled out what the rest of us did not—that if the Hunt could be lured into the caverns beneath Chaima, the world tree’s roots might reabsorb it, easing the imbalance between Dhuinne’s creative and destructive magic. So that is what we did. Now that the Wild Hunt has been reintegrated with the Mother’s magic, it acts in its own best interest. In other words... the best interest of Dhuinne.”
Shock flashed across the Magistrate’s delicate features.
One of the surviving Unseelie managed to regain the power of speech. “And the best interest of Dhuinne is to murder one-quarter of the Fae Court?”
Albigard twisted around, fixing the man with a perfectly bland stare. “Clearly so.”
The Unseelie sputtered with outrage.
“Oren has long sacrificed Dhuinne’s wellbeing in favor of his own lust for power,” Albigard continued coldly. “He has been working behind the scenes for years to destabilize the Fae realm. And now, he is dead at the Hunt’s hands—along, presumably, with those who secretly supported his schemes.”
“Which brings us neatly to another issue,” said the cat-sidhe.
“Two issues,” Albigard corrected, and Len caught his breath as he realized this could finally be their chance to right a wrong that he had come to accept might be unrightable.
“Three issues,” Danon growled, because apparently the Forsaken had some grievances to air as well.
Little wonder, really.
The Magistrate looked warily between Albigard, the cat-sidhe, and the Forsaken. “To what do you refer?”
The sidhe crossed their arms. “First. The imbalance in Dhuinne’s magical fields long preceded the Hunt going rogue. In fact, it began not long after the conclusion of the Last Great War... when the Court started sending Unseelie to Earth to rule the humans from behind the scenes.”
Len watched with interest as the Magistrate looked blank for a long moment... only for slow realization to widen her eyes.
“Are you implying...” she began, only to trail off as other members of the Court began to exchange startled looks.
“I’m doing more than implying it,” the sidhe replied.
Albigard took up the thread. “Interestingly, it took a human to deduce an answer so obvious that no one in the Fae realm had stumbled upon it in more than two hundred years.” His gaze brushed Len’s, softening infinitesimally before once more turning cold. “Our people have been sending Unseelie to another realm by the thousands, only to wring our hands afterward, and bemoan the fact that the creative and destructive elements of Dhuinne were falling out of balance.”
The self-possessed Magistrate was genuinely gaping at Albigard’s words, her perfect lips parted as the truth hit home.
“The Unseelie on Earth must be recalled,” Albigard continued mercilessly, “or Chaima will topple and Dhuinne will fall into chaos.”
“Impossible!” cried one of the Unseelie from the group on the floor—not Teague, Len noted.
Albigard’s green gaze fell on the man like a heavy weight. “You think so?” he asked pointedly. “In that case, I would urge you to take up your objections with the Hunt.”
The Unseelie’s eyes flicked nervously to the dark cloud roiling behind the Forsaken. His jaw snapped shut.
“The second matter,” Albigard continued, “relates to a provision of the treaty with the demons. The survival of Ransley Thorpe, the last vampire left alive at the time, was one condition of the peace agreement. He and his soul-mate Zorah Bright were killed by the Hunt while attempting to help close one of the damaged areas in the veil between realms. Killed... by a Fae creature.”
The Magistrate appeared to have regained some of her composure.
“That is deeply regrettable,” she said. “But surely the matter is beyond redress at this point.”
“Not necessarily,” Albigard said. “Both vampires were bound to the demon known as Nigellus. If he could retrieve their souls from the Endless Void, it might yet be possible to save them.”
Several of the Court members appeared taken aback.
“Is such a thing truly possible?” asked another of the Seelie.
The cat-sidhe huffed out a breath. “Perhaps. It appears this one will not speak of it himself”—they indicated Albigard—“but he volunteered as bait to draw the Hunt to Chaima... and he died for it.”
Len couldn’t suppress his shiver as he remembered warm lips turning cold and still beneath his own.
“Dhuinne acknowledged his sacrifice,” the sidhe went on, “and returned his soul to his body as repayment. If Chaima could channel his essence back from the Void after the Hunt consumed it, perhaps the demon can do the same for his vampire wards.”
Please, Len thought. Please, let that be true.
“For what, precisely, are you asking?” the Magistrate demanded.
“The demon Nigellus must be allowed to enter Dhuinne with the bodies of Ransley Thorpe and Zorah Bright,” Albigard said in an absolutely flat tone. “After which he must be given access to the Hunt, and possibly to Chaima, so that he may attempt to use them as a conduit to wherever the vampires’ souls currently reside.”
Muttered conversation rose in the background, the tone sounding somewhere betwee
n shocked and scandalized.
“Unless you’d prefer to explain to the Demon Council why you were unwilling to even attempt restitution for a blatant treaty violation,” the cat-sidhe added helpfully.
The conversation faded away to silence.
The Magistrate traded speaking looks with several other Court members before turning back to Albigard.
“We are willing to take up these two topics for debate and a vote, given the rather extraordinary circumstances at play,” she said. “What is the third provision?”
Nezri and Danon stepped forward, heads held high.
“Diplomatic liaison and full amnesty for the Forsaken,” Nezri said.
“No more attacks on us,” Danon put in. “No more bounties on our heads.”
Albigard let that sink in for a moment, and raised a slow eyebrow at the Magistrate. “As you contemplate the matter, you might consider recent events. Doubtless the guards who escaped the aftermath of this morning’s raid gave a full report of what happened to their fellows.”
“The Hunt killed them,” Danon spelled out, “and spared us. I expect that means Dhuinne wants us alive, and won’t take kindly to anyone who wants us dead just because we refuse to accept your laws or your rule.”
“There’s a higher law now,” Nezri finished. The Hunt coiled behind her, silently menacing.
“So... it would appear,” the Magistrate said slowly.
“Make your decisions,” Albigard told her, rising and heading for the stairs leading down from the dais. “But before you do, ask yourself who you really serve. Do you serve Dhuinne and all her creatures? Or do you only serve yourselves?”
Silence followed him as he rejoined Len and the others. The cat-sidhe gave a small, satisfied smile before hopping nimbly from the dais and joining them as well.
* * *
Somewhat to Len’s surprise, Teague intercepted them to offer the use of nearby accommodations while they awaited the court’s decision. He approached Albigard with one hand raised to halt him, and Albigard stopped to speak with him as Len hovered a couple of steps away, watching the exchange warily.
Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3 (Last Vampire World) Page 48