Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7

by Christy Nicholas

  “I suppose that’s the best I can do for now. I’ve planned every step. Once I get the other tools, I can start the actual work.”

  The raven’s call in his ear made him jump to one side and fall on his hip. “Blood and bones, Sawchaill, did you have to sneak up on me like that? May the devil use your backbone as a ladder to pick apples in the garden of hell!”

  The bird flapped his wings and hopped three times. He glanced back at Conall and waited.

  “What, am I to follow you? I’m working on the Queen’s project.”

  He squawked again and hopped three more times. Another glance over his shoulder made Conall narrow his eyes.

  “Are you sent to take me back to Ammatán’s for my rest? Is that it?”

  The bird nodded thrice and hopped again. With a prayer he interpreted the raven’s actions correctly, Conall took a deep breath and followed.

  The trip to Ammatán’s roundhouse seemed much shorter than the first trek had been. Maybe the anticipation and fear of the first trip had colored his sense of time, or maybe distance became a mutable variable in Faerie. Possibly both. Either way, by the time he reached the now-familiar roundhouse, his energy had drained away.

  Ammatán came out of the building as he approached, called by Sawchaill’s caws. Lainn followed after and ran to him, hugging him tightly. “You’re back safe! I worried she might chew you up into little quivering bits for the birds to feast upon.”

  He laughed with a slight edge of hysteria at the gory vision her words evoked, but hugged her back. “I’ve got a commission and one that will take me a long time. At least I’ll be useful, earning my keep.”

  He smiled at the phrase and glanced at Ammatán. The Fae looked drawn around the edge of his eyes, and the lines in his face appeared deeper. He had worried.

  After extracting himself from Lainn’s embrace, he stepped to the Fae and took his hands. “I am safe back, Ammatán.”

  The Fae’s hands felt warmer than he’d remembered. Ammatán’s skin normally remained unnaturally cool, like the wood of an autumn tree. Now the warmth flowed through his hands, almost warmer than a rock in the summer sun. Conall drew in that warmth, thankful for the salving effect. He squeezed the Fae’s hands and drew him in for an embrace.

  Conall no longer cared if Lainn watched, or if Sawchaill disapproved. He put his arms around Ammatán and hugged him tightly, thankful the Fae returned his ardor with fierce affection. Ammatán gripped him with his own need, his elegant fingers digging into his back. The pain and pleasure from the nails brought an intense fire within Conall’s belly.

  Lainn’s gaze fell upon them both. With an apologetic glance to his sister, he drew Ammatán into the roundhouse. Lainn nodded and did not follow. Sawchaill flew to accompany her as she walked away into the trees.

  Now he’d made his choice clear, Conall grew nervous. He sat on his cot, pulling Ammatán down next to him, still holding one hand. He didn’t know how to proceed. Luckily, Ammatán had no hesitation.

  The Fae put a finger on Conall’s jaw, turning his head, so they faced each other. His soft kiss tickled his lips and made the hairs on his arms stand up, especially when Ammatán leaned in, and their teeth scraped slightly.

  Conall leaned back as Ammatán leaned forward. Soon he lay on the cot, the Fae above him. Ammatán kissed his neck, sending shivers all along his body. He didn’t want Ammatán to stop. Every muscle, every bit of skin tingled with anticipation and longing, and he wanted this amazing sensation to last. He’d never been so alive, so vibrant, as in this moment, in Ammatán’s arms.

  The Fae’s long fingers traced his chest, down to his belly button, along the tops of his thighs, and back up again. In return, Conall ran his hands along the muscles in Ammatán’s back, down to his buttocks and up along his waist.

  With breathless frenzy, both removed their clothing, so they touched skin to skin. Every place his skin touched Ammatán’s burned with desire and quivering nervous energy. Conall wanted to touch everywhere at once, but he wanted this to last forever. He caressed the thin skin along Ammatán’s neck and watched as the Fae closed his eyes in response. Then the Fae shivered and smiled, making Conall smile back. He kissed Ammatán’s neck, shoulder, and down his arm. Ammatán caressed the nape of his neck with his other hand.

  When he reached the fingers, he kissed each one with gentle care. With a pointed fingernail, Ammatán drew a line down Conall’s chest, putting just enough pressure to leave a red line in his skin. Not enough to draw blood, but the mark didn’t fade immediately. Then he licked along the line, down from the hollow of Conall’s neck to his belly button. A few black hairs circled this area, and Ammatán played with them a few times before shifting lower.

  Conall held his breath, afraid someone, anyone, would burst in upon them, denounce them as unnatural, and kill them both. The anxiety grew so strong, he gasped, making Ammatán glance up.

  “Did I hurt you, my dear?”

  “No, no, you did nothing wrong. I just,” Conall swallowed, trying to find the words to explain, “this is nothing I’ve done before. I’m not sure what to do.”

  With a puzzled frown, Ammatán placed his hand flat on Conall’s chest. “You need do nothing if you don’t wish to. You are under no obligation for anything. Would you like me to stop?”

  “No! No, I don’t want you to stop.” Conall had to smile, despite his fears. Ammatán returned his smile, made more feral by his pointed teeth, and he bent to kiss Conall’s hip. He nipped with those sharp teeth, making Conall squirm, but he kept smiling to show Ammatán he liked it.

  A loud caw broke into his thoughts, and the raven swooped into the roundhouse, flying at both their heads.

  “Damn that bird to the bottom of the Morrigan’s fen!” Ammatán glared at the bird. “This had better be important, Sawchaill.”

  After settling on his perch, Sawchaill cawed several times. Ammatán glowered and shifted to the side of the cot, much to Conall’s consternation. His excitement drained as Ammatán stood and dressed. The Fae stopped to caress Conall’s jawline. “I am so sorry, my dear. We must continue another time. Forgive me?”

  With a startled nod, Conall blinked back the disappointed tears, unwilling to show how upset the news made him. Ammatán exited, with Sawchaill following, leaving Conall to pull his Maelblatha over his head and calm his arousal.

  Conall had never imagined such need for another being before. His dreams, as exciting as they’d been, never came close to this fire, this burning frenzy. His heart, mind, and body craved Ammatán’s gaze and touch. How had he become so smitten? He’d only met the Fae a few days ago.

  Had it only been a few days? He tried to count the number of times he’d slept. Two? Three? More? The time had no measurement in Fae, no convenient way of counting the hours. Conall considered the possibility they’d been in Fae for over a moon, and daren’t discount the notion.

  However long they’d been here, Ammatán had filled his days, except his time in the Queen’s garden. Even with Ammatán out of his sight, dealing with whatever Sawchaill fetched him for, Conall thought of the curve of Ammatán’s smile, the sting of his nails down the skin of his chest, and the tingling of desire both created.

  Once again, his ardor rose, and he glanced down in frustration. He’d been about to go outside to discover what kept Ammatán, but now he’d have to wait.

  Sawchaill’s call cut through his thoughts, and the bird didn’t sound pleased. Concerned, Conall sent a firm reminder to his manhood it needed to calm down, and waddled outside.

  As he reached the doorway of the roundhouse, he noticed Lainn skulking behind a tree along the edge of the glade. Her gaze flicked to him, and she gestured urgently for him to join her. He glanced toward Ammatán, but the roundhouse blocked his view. Quietly, he made his way to Lainn’s spot, now able to see what she did.

  Ammatán stood toe to toe with another creature, even taller than him, with pale green skin and a tangle of hair so wild it looked like winter bracken. If Conall squint
ed, he just made out tiny, bright pink flowers in among the snarled strands.

  The stranger’s stance exuded threat and anger. Ammatán’s reflected hostility, though the difference in height made Conall nervous. He didn’t know Ammatán’s status in Faerie, nor his power, physical or magical. This adversary might kill his would-be lover on the spot, and Conall had no way of stopping it.

  Except that he did. Ashamed that he hadn’t thought of the brooch’s power first, Conall quested for the familiar thread of magic, just in case it might help Ammatán.

  He sent his will down through his feet and into the earth, searching for the anchor the brooch provided, to pull that power in through his body. However, as he pushed his will into the Faerie dirt below him, he grew so dizzy he had to grab the tree trunk to keep on his feet. The land itself swirled with a maelstrom of power, twisting and eddying through his mind in confusion and pain.

  He dug his fingers into the smooth bark of the tree, trying to focus his concentration. Down, through this bewildering storm of enchantment, he finally found the echo of familiar magic. Twice he reached for the brooch with his mind and twice he failed. The third time, he pushed with the center of his soul and latched onto the metal artifact. He cried out in triumph, making Lainn glare at him. “Quiet, fool! They’ll hear you!”

  Too late, both Ammatán and his adversary swiveled their heads to look at the humans. Conall wanted to shrink into a tiny non-butterfly, away from the censure of both Fae. They had spied him, so he stepped out from behind the tree. If he had the chance to direct their attention away and keep Lainn safe, he must.

  With unsteady steps and false bravado, he stepped forward, careful with his feet so he didn’t trip over the uneven terrain. He maintained a death grip on the tenuous thread of magic to his brooch, ready to shove the other Fae into the sky at the first attempt of physical threat to Ammatán, Lainn, or himself.

  The tangle-haired creature furrowed his brow and asked Ammatán a question, but the other Fae shook his head. Despite his concentration, Conall discerned no words.

  Conall finally reached the others and stood next to Ammatán. The Fae said nothing but raised his eyebrows. Conall gave him the barest hint of a smile.

  “What is this creature, Ammatán? Does the Queen know you’ve found a pet?”

  “She knows, Bodach. He is doing work for her.”

  The other creature narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. Indeed. So you found a pet with some talent, eh?” He sniffed a few times, leaning toward Conall. “He stinks of human magic. How can you stand that stench?”

  Startled, Ammatán smelled Conall, his eyes growing slightly wider. “I smell nothing unusual, Bodach. You must have gotten ill with some strange human fever. That’s what you get for haunting them so often. Speaking of such, don’t you have some child to terrorize?”

  The impossibly wide, feral grin that spread across Bodach’s face chilled Conall’s spine. His teeth looked more wicked than Ammatán’s, like an enormous, ugly pike. Conall fought every muscle in his body not to turn and bolt in the other direction. He gritted his teeth to clamp down on a scream. He wished he stood closer to his cot. The bronze knife would be incredibly comforting to hold just now.

  “Why yes, I have several current favorites. One might even go completely mad tonight if my craft is strong.” His grin morphed into a frightening frown. “You used to enjoy our jaunts, Ammatán. What changed?”

  Ammatán’s gaze flicked to Conall and then dropped.

  Bodach looked at Conall and back to Ammatán, his smile once again growing to alarming proportions. “Oho! I see how it is. You never could keep your heart straight, silly creature. One of these days, your penchant for a romp will land you in a world of trouble. If not with your lovers, then with your Queen.”

  “Neither of those matters are your concern, Bodach. Are you done here?”

  With another amused glance at Conall, Bodach nodded. “I suppose I’ll get no more answers from you on that matter now. If you hear anything more, though, I expect a complete report, understand?”

  “You’ll get information when I’m ready to send it.”

  Bodach’s pale green skin turned dark, and he bared his teeth. Rather than a smile, this became a palpable threat. Conall inched closer to Ammatán, tugging on the brooch’s magic, but Ammatán hissed, “Get back, you fool!”

  Reluctantly, Conall took a half-step back, allowing the two Fae to face each other with only a hand-span between their noses.

  “I tolerate no insubordination, Ammatán. Not in my ranks.”

  “And bullying will not encourage my loyalty, Bodach.”

  “You have bullied many people in your time.”

  “Even the Fae can change, Bodach.”

  After one painful, silent moment when even the leaves didn’t sway in the breeze, Bodach burst out laughing. His voice boomed across the countryside, shaking the branches, the thatch of the roundhouse, and forming tiny waves on the pond. Conall’s legs turned weak, and he almost fell down before he locked his knees.

  “You are so lucky you’re funny, Ammatán. Any other Fae I would have squashed like a beetle. Go then, have your little fun. I have other places to search for my prey.”

  With a final, calculating glance at Conall, the green Fae faded away. When the last hint of tangled green had disappeared, Conall let out a long breath and gave in to his weakness. He sat on the ground, crossed his legs, and cradled his head in his arms.

  Ammatán knelt and squeezed an arm around his shoulders. “You fool! Why did you come closer? Bodach could have snapped his fingers, and you’d be nothing but a pile of gray dust!”

  Conall took more deep breaths, trying to regain his wits and calm his thoughts. “I wanted to distract him from Lainn. And I couldn’t let you stand against him alone!”

  Ammatán closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Conall, my dear stupid human. Do you have any idea how little power you have compared to Bodach? Or even to me, for that matter? Here in Faerie, you are about as helpless as a mouse is in your own world. That’s the word for the small, furry creatures living in the thatch, right?”

  With a nervous giggle, Conall nodded. “They like cheese.”

  This earned him a smile from Ammatán. “Well, some Fae enjoy cheese, too. I know one who would kill for it. At any rate, under no circumstances are you ever to confront another Fae, do you hear me? I won’t have you obliterated for misplaced bluster.” He pulled Conall to his feet, and Lainn emerged from her hiding place. “This encounter has rattled us both, and I’m sure all three of us would appreciate some food and rest. What say you?”

  With shaky legs, Conall allowed the Fae to lead him back into the roundhouse. Lainn followed, with Sawchaill on her shoulder. Ammatán then made them both eat, though Conall didn’t taste the food. He didn’t remember what he’d eaten. Soon, Ammatán tucked him into the cot and commanded him to sleep. “Tomorrow will be a new day, as you humans say.”

  Conall mumbled, “There are no days here. No nights. It’s…strange.”

  Ammatán brushed a stray hair from his eyes. “All things are strange in this world and the next.” He kissed Conall’s forehead. Calm spread across his body, and soon he slept.

  * * *

  The raven’s caw dragged Conall from an intense dream of Ammatán’s hands all over his body. He glared at the blasted bird for interrupting the sweet intensity of his fantasy, but then glanced around, in case Ammatán himself might be nearby to finish the dream.

  Alas, no one else seemed inside the roundhouse but the raven. “Did you wake me for a reason, Sawchaill? Or just to be mean?”

  The cursed creature chirped with all innocence, fluffed his wings, and preened underneath, ignoring Conall. He took this to indicate no immediate urgency and stretched his aching muscles. Yesterday’s tensions still held tight to his body, both the terrifying and pleasurable situations. Would he have time with Ammatán before he must go back to the Queen’s work?

  The Fae in question popped his head in. “Oh! Goo
d, you’re awake. I’ve food before you must leave. We’ve worked out a more convenient mode of transportation.”

  Once Conall had dressed and eaten, Lainn and Ammatán led him behind the roundhouse. Lainn’s grin threatened to crack her face in two. “My suggestion! Ammatán helped with the magic, of course, but this should make your journey much easier.”

  She gestured her arms in a dramatic flourish, revealing…a raft. Five tree trunks lashed together with twine.

  Conall, still yawning, crossed his arms. “This? How is this going to help?”

  Lainn lifted her eyebrows. “Ammatán? Would you be so kind?”

  Ammatán winked at her and lifted one hand, palm up. As he did, the raft rose into the air.

  Conall looked sideways at the Fae. “Is this allowed?”

  “The Queen won’t mind, and she’s the only opinion that matters. If she mentions something, it’s to make certain you arrive at your task rested and ready to work.”

  Conall might have moved the raft himself with the magic from the brooch, but he’d arrive each day tired from the effort. Also, using such magic in front of the Queen made it dangerous. He didn’t know what she’d do if she discovered the brooch, but he didn’t want to find out. He hadn’t even told his sister or Ammatán of its significance. Perhaps he would never need to.

  “Besides,” Lainn poked the dirt with her toe, looking bashful, “I needed to do something, too. I can’t spend all day watching butterflies.”

  “They are…I don’t know the human name for them. Festival wings?”

  “Festiwings! I can call them festiwings.” Lainn skipped around as several of them landed on her head and hands.

  Conall chuckled, hefted his pack of tools, and climbed onto the raft. “Will I need to bring my tools here each day, or can I leave them in the Queen’s glade?”

  “Do you think any creature would disturb anything in the Queen’s own retreat?”