The Lord of Stariel

by A J Lancaster

  Now Hetta looked up at the monster, close enough that she could see its warm breath pluming out towards them. It folded its twin sets of wings tight against its body and resolved itself into the shape of something very like a gigantic black lion, all fur and muscle and grace, except for its beak-like muzzle. Its long ears twitched towards them.

  Jack fumbled with his rifle, trying to reload. The creature’s dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and its mouth opened in what Hetta could only describe as a grin, fangs glinting as it huffed out a breath. Fear boiled through her, quickening her heart, driving the breath from her lungs. She flung out her hands, and the fear flowed from them to the creature, white hot, uncontrolled, vast.

  The monster had no time to move, no time to do more than utter a cut-off scream as the inferno enveloped it. The fire burned white, blinding, briefly outlining the shape of the creature as a crumbling shadow, then burned away. The fire burned on after the shape of it had disappeared, fear overriding thought and urging her to keep burning, to burn until every shadow of the night lit up, to make sure that there was nothing hiding in the dark. She pulled on strength she hadn’t known she had, strength outside herself, a tidal wave of fear and fire and magic pouring from her hands.

  33

  Wings

  She became aware of someone shouting, and it distracted her enough that she managed to stop, the magic cutting off with painful abruptness, leaving her winded. She panted in the cold grass, tired beyond anything, terror-stricken.

  The dark and cold was a relief after the intense light, and Hetta felt a strong urge to close her eyes and drift off. Someone shook her, speaking words that it took her several moments to comprehend.

  “Hetta! Hetta!”

  It was Jack, and she opened her eyes to tell him to stop shaking her, but the pale terror on his face stopped her. In any case, he ceased his shaking when he saw she was awake. She sat up and looked towards where the creature had stood. There was a smell like roast meat. “Is it…?”

  Jack swallowed. “It’s dead.” He was staring at her with more alarm than he’d wasted on the draken. “You…” he trailed off.

  Hetta looked down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. She’d had no idea she was capable of conjuring such destruction with her pyromancy. She couldn’t quite comprehend it. She turned her hands over, searching for some sign of violence upon them, but there was nothing. She’d been worried about what Wyn hid beneath his skin. Perhaps she should have been worried about what lay beneath her own.

  “Wyn!” she said, abruptly trying to stand. She managed it, but only when Jack offered her an arm to lean upon. She felt weak, each foot a lead weight.

  “He fell in that direction.” Jack pointed into the woods. “Wait here. I’ll go and find him.”

  Hetta wanted to object to this manhandling, but as she was currently having difficulty connecting with her limbs, she was unable to do more than scowl after him as he hurried away. She stumbled over to the nearest tree trunk and leaned against it, taking deep breaths.

  She wanted very much to be away from the smell of roasted meat. Her knees began to wobble less, and she found a stout branch to use as a walking stick. She was about to head in the direction in which Jack had fled when there was the crunch of heavy footsteps and the two men came into sight.

  Well, one man and one fae. The recent aerial battle she’d witnessed hadn’t prepared her for the sight of the great silvery-white feathered wings that rose from Wyn’s shoulders, nor for the dark horns rising from his head. Her hand jumped in startlement, shining the flashlight directly into the two’s eyes. They both flinched, and she lowered the beam with a mumbled apology.

  Her attention was drawn back to the wings. They were folded unevenly behind him, the right one trailing awkwardly. He was bare-chested, but much of his exposed skin was covered by what Hetta recognised as Jack’s scarf, which she assumed was binding his injuries, although it was impossible to assess the full extent of them in the torchlight. He looked paler than usual, washed of colour, though his skin glittered with faint luminescence.

  It was as if someone had taken the Wyn she knew and then stripped away at him to reveal some deeper, more concentrated essence. His hair was moon-white gilt with silver, swept back from pointed ears. The bones of his face were more prominent, cheekbones sharp as knives. His eyes gleamed with a brilliance of colour that shouldn’t have been possible in the low light, but they were still human compared to Gwendelfear’s whiteless gaze.

  He seemed taller, although perhaps that was due to the two dark, spiralling horns growing from his head. He had one arm around Jack’s shoulders, and it was evident that only through his support was he remaining upright. Weariness was etched in every line of him, but a ghost of a smile lurked in his eyes when they drew nearer.

  “Well, this is not how I imagined you seeing me like this for the first time.” He shivered. “My apologies for my appearance. I am afraid I do not quite have the energy to resume my more usual form just yet.”

  Jack made a low sound of disgust. “Let’s get back to the house. Can you walk, Hetta?”

  “Of course,” she said, for she could see no other answer would be useful here.

  The three of them made slow, limping progress back to Stariel House. No one spoke. Wyn seemed fully occupied keeping his feet under him, and Hetta was scarcely less so. Jack brooded, his expression dark. Only when they came in sight of the house, the light from its lamps spilling down to the lake, did he speak. “We’ll go in the south entrance. Give you time to recover yourself.” This was addressed to Wyn. “Unless you plan to reveal yourself to the rest of the family tonight?”

  “I would not choose this moment, no,” Wyn said lightly.

  However, as they drew closer, a lamplight bobbed around and fixed upon them. Wyn gave a resigned sigh. “But we do not always get to choose our moments.” He looked at Hetta as he said this. “So be it.”

  The torchlight came rapidly towards them, and its owner was revealed to be Marius. He was clearly about to express relief at the sight of them when he caught sight of Wyn and his mouth fixed open.

  “Surprise!” Wyn said faintly. “I’m fae!”

  “Don’t stand there gawping,” Hetta said briskly. “Help us get him into the house.”

  With Marius’s help, they got Wyn in through the south entrance and laid him out on a backless settee in the red drawing room. He went down with a groan and curled into himself a little, his wings shifting restlessly.

  “Are you all right, Hetta?” Marius asked.

  “I’m fine; just shaken.” The amount of magic she’d used tonight had made her tired down to her bones. “Go and get some hot water,” she instructed him, sitting down next to Wyn. He went with a worried glance at Wyn. She began to unwrap Jack’s scarf.

  “Again, not how I imagined you undressing me,” Wyn said, his eyes gleaming.

  She knew he was doing what he always did, using humour to distract, but she was impatient with this attempt to lightly skate over events. She met his gaze very seriously and quirked an eyebrow. “You did, however, imagine it?”

  He blinked, colour rising in his cheeks. “Ah—” His eyes flickered past her, to Jack.

  The charged intimacy of that moment in the ballroom lingered in her mind. It was the first sign she’d seen that the attraction she felt wasn’t one-sided—an attraction that she still wasn’t sure how to respond to. Wyn wasn’t, after all, human, and tonight even less so than usual, she thought, looking at his wings.

  “Perhaps this is not the time to discuss it,” she agreed, pulling away the last bit of material from his torso. Jack’s scarf was drenched in blood, but when she exposed the claw marks, they didn’t seem deep enough to be responsible for such a quantity of blood. She frowned and looked up at him. He shrugged back at her as a response, then grimaced as the movement pulled at his wounds.

  “I’m not human, Hetta. I can heal from wounds that would kill a mortal man.” He fingered one of his horns meani
ngfully. “But it takes energy to do it, and that is something I have difficulty with in my mortal form. When I am greatly weakened, I revert to this state automatically.” He made a thoughtful sound, and his feathers shifted with a silken rustle. “I haven’t taken this form for years. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.”

  Wyn did, indeed, seem better with each second that passed. Eventually he closed his eyes and…quivered. Between one heartbeat and the next, the wild fae prince disappeared, and Wyn, her old friend, was all that remained. He seemed not precisely diminished but, rather, compacted, as if he had furled part of himself under his skin. The power of it still leaked through.

  “It’s not an illusion or glamour, is it?” she asked him quietly. “When you change?”

  His eyes were closed, but he answered her, just as softly, “No. I am greater fae. I can shift forms.”

  Marius came back into the room. He checked himself on the threshold and looked relieved, though whether it was to see Wyn relatively well or relatively human, Hetta wasn’t sure. He had managed to retrieve the requested hot water and a cloth. Wyn’s flinch was nearly imperceptible when she pressed it to the wound.

  Jack spoke. “What in the hells was that, Wyn?”

  Hetta started, having forgotten that he was there in her preoccupation with Wyn.

  Wyn pulled himself a little further up the sofa, only the slow care of his movements and his paler-than-usual complexion betraying his pain. “A draken. One of the winged attack beasts of ThousandSpire. My father must have sent it.”

  “But I thought Gwendelfear was from DuskRose?” Hetta said.

  Wyn shrugged, then winced in discomfort. “There are plenty of spies in both courts.”

  Jack didn’t seem at all surprised at this talk of fae courts.

  Marius came over and sank onto the chair opposite. He raised an eyebrow at Hetta. “I feel almost gauche for asking, but what in the blazes is going on?”

  “I’m fae,” Wyn said mildly. “Your father knew when he took me on here.” He nodded towards Jack. “Jack, also, has known for some years; Hetta only recently.”

  That stung, though Hetta didn’t let it show.

  Jack looked at Hetta accusingly. “You knew?”

  “Don’t take that accusing tone with me, cousin. Since it appears you too have been keeping secrets.”

  “Well, I certainly feel included in things, don’t I?” said Marius bitterly. “A little more explanation would be nice.”

  “The fae are out for my blood,” Wyn said. “They have been for a long time, but they have not known my whereabouts for the past ten years. They know now. But this business with Stariel and the missing Stone…I am not sure how they are involved.”

  “Well…” Marius was taken aback at Wyn’s calm delivery. “Are we about to be overrun by fairies then?”

  Wyn frowned and turned thoughtful eyes on Hetta. “I am…not certain. I think Hetta’s disposal of the draken will have given them pause, at least. They will know that while Stariel is unclaimed, it is not undefended. But I do not know how long that will hold them for. We need to find the Stone—the lord will be able to fully reinstate the boundaries.”

  Although he gave this speech in perfectly normal tones, his skin tone seemed washed out from its usual warm brown, his breathing laboured.

  “For goodness’ sake, Wyn, lie back down. No one is going to be impressed if you faint,” Hetta told him sharply. He gave a weak smile but complied.

  Marius simply looked at the ceiling in despair. “This is madness. Fairies and charms and drakens.” He turned back to Wyn. “Was it your people’s doing, then, stealing the Stone?”

  Hetta could tell Wyn was unhappy with the way Marius had drawn a line between them, human and not, but he didn’t argue with Marius’s description. It spoke of his fatigue that she could read him more easily than usual, but it was also something of a relief to know he wasn’t inwardly as composed as his outward facade normally suggested. “I don’t know. It would be very like them to do so, if they thought they could get away with it, but the fact that they have not made any movement to take advantage of Stariel’s lordless state until now…”

  “Well,” Jack said, “I’ll be damned if I can make tail or head of fairies, but if it wasn’t them, then who else would want to set you up as Lord of Stariel, Hetta? I suppose your Meridon friends were delighted at your new appointment.”

  Hetta made a strong effort not to hit him. “It could be someone who didn’t want you to inherit. I don’t suppose you’ve made any enemies lately, Jack, with your elegant manners?”

  “Then why not make it seem to go to Marius? Why bring you into it at all?”

  Marius mumbled, “I didn’t touch the Stone.”

  Jack rounded on him. “What?”

  “I didn’t touch the Stone! I didn’t want it, Jack.”

  Jack was staring at Marius as if he had announced a desperate wish to become a ballerina or something equally improbable.

  “So whoever it was could well have intended the illusion for me,” Marius said. “I suppose. If the touching was the trigger for the spell.”

  “To hurt you or help you, though?” Hetta wondered aloud.

  Jack looked disgusted with the pair of them. “What do you mean, to hurt him? I’ve no idea what worm has gotten into your brain, Marius, but if you think someone meant to make you Lord of Stariel to hurt you, you’re mad.”

  “Well, I can’t think of anyone who would want to do either,” Marius snapped, but Hetta frowned.

  The sense that Marius was hiding something was also apparent to Jack, for he too gave his cousin a closer look and said, “You have thought of someone, haven’t you?”

  Marius shook his head, eyes alarmingly bright. “No, I haven’t.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Marius. With this draken…Stariel itself might be in very real danger. If you know something that you’re keeping quiet for some reason…” Jack said.

  Hetta wasn’t convinced that pushing Marius when he was in a stubborn mood would do any good, but she was broadly in agreement with Jack’s sentiments, so she said nothing. Her brother had been keeping secrets for far too long. But before the argument could go any further, the doors to the room flew open and Aunt Sybil burst in, followed swiftly by Lady Phoebe, Alexandra, Gregory, and Laurel. Aunt Sybil tried to pause on the threshold in astonishment, but the momentum of those behind her forced her to make an awkward shuffling motion and move out of the way. Still, she recovered quickly and said, “What is going on here?”

  Little Laurel had spotted Wyn lying bandaged on the couch and burst out, “What’s happened to Wyn?”

  This had the effect of distracting everyone present for some minutes while Wyn reassured them all that he was in no immediate danger of dying and really, he was almost fine, and he really did not need tea, or his wounds rebandaged, or a doctor to be summoned on the instant. Hetta watched all this fuss with an odd lurch in her chest. She’d known that Wyn had ingratiated himself into her family quite firmly, but she hadn’t previously realised what affection so many of them held him in. She was glad that he’d been able to assume his human form before they’d arrived—she doubted they would have been quite so solicitous of him in his other skin.

  Eventually the fuss wound down and turned to demands for an explanation. Hetta kept quiet, wondering what the others would say. To her surprise, Jack, after a swift look at Wyn, said, “Well, we saw off a fairy monster, that’s what.” He nodded grudgingly at Hetta. “Hetta helped too.”

  Hetta did not much appreciate being the focus of her family’s incredulous stares, but by now she’d had sufficient practice to not become completely speechless. She chose to merely nod back at Jack.

  Laurel’s eyes rounded. “What did you do, Hetta?”

  This reminded everyone of her presence, and she was summarily banished to bed, the topic not being thought appropriate for children. Hetta felt sorry for her and managed to wink surreptitiously in her direction before she was hurried away, w
hich made her perk up a little as she left.

  Hetta felt the full weight of fatigue settle on her as the others turned back to her for more detail. She took her leave of them, heartlessly leaving it for Jack and Marius to explain. But, she thought as she mounted the stairs, Jack was right. This was serious now, and never mind Jack’s arbitrary deadline of the Frost Faire. The draken changed things; it was no longer just scandal they faced. The time for a fake lord had come and gone; tomorrow they would have to tell everyone the truth.

  34

  Changes of Heart

  Hetta woke to the image of a draken outlined in fire. It was a more vivid awakening than she was used to, but undoubtedly effective at destroying the last cobwebs of sleep. She lifted her hands in front of her eyes and fanned out her fingers. By rights, she felt, something so extraordinary ought to leave an indelible mark, but they were just as they always were.

  This had gone far enough. Last night had made her fully realise that not having a proper lord wasn’t just inconvenient but dangerous. Without a lord, there was no way to stop another draken crossing the boundary. She would need to call the family together and explain how matters stood. The thought did not inspire her to action, and she stared up at her ceiling. Really, it didn’t warrant the intense examination it had been getting these past few weeks. The main conclusion Hetta had come to after scrutinizing it was that it could do with repainting. And how could such a mundane necessity exist in the same world as drakens and plumes of flame?

  She was procrastinating. This would be a very awkward business, and it was natural to want to put it off. But the few moments of quiet contemplation had given her time to sketch out a plan. She, Jack, and Marius would present the news as a united front.

  She walked the floors, searching for her brother and cousin, and eventually found Marius in the library. To her amusement, he had bundled himself up in a feather duvet but still kept to his favoured windowseat, resembling nothing so much as a dark-haired caterpillar. He looked up as she came in.