The Wild Hunt. It was everything I hated about Faery.
Fergus wasn’t just part of it. He was it.
He made it so easy to forget about his alter ego, his other life. Because here in Faery, he wasn’t the terrifying mask of a man who stole away the things I loved. Here in Faery he was caring and kind. A friend, perhaps even an ally.
But he was also the hunter. Wasn’t he?
I’d ignored that part of him before, given him a free pass because he seemed so decent, but at some point, I had to acknowledge it. I needed to understand how he reconciled the evil of the Hunt with the good person I knew. And then I needed to decide where that placed him within my life.
I watched the steps up to the mansion—the place he’d disappeared—until the waves covered my ankles and splashed up the backs of my legs, until the day dimmed and night fell. I watched as whoops and yells came from behind Fergus’ home and four of the Wild Hunt took to the air—none of them Fergus—noisy silhouettes against the darkening sky. I watched until the barks of their hounds died away to nothing, caught between apologizing to Fergus and returning to my room without a word to anyone. But I couldn’t slink away and hide. I needed to ask Fergus about the Wild Hunt, and soon, but I hadn’t meant to ask him tonight, and never in that manner. I needed to apologize, and I needed him to hear me.
As I walked up the steps and between the bright colored chairs, tables and cushions set out around the pool, strains of haunting music floated toward me. It came from a pianoforte—I knew because, back when I went to school, a teacher had an old recording of one from before the fae destroyed all our instruments. One afternoon when I was about fourteen and not long before I gave up school entirely, I’d raced back into my classroom intending to get the pencil I’d left behind. I found my teacher leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, listening to the recording. Most people would have turned it off and denied ever listening to it, but Mr Hobbs must have seen something on my face. He turned the music down low to make certain no one else could hear it, then beckoned me over. I sat on the floor beside him until my backside grew numb, listening to the way the music rose and fell, to the tale the notes weaved. It was glorious.
This music was nothing like what I’d heard that day. This was mournful, angry and intricate. I moved toward the sound, skirting around the edge of the pool, past my room and along the length of the building until I saw him.
Sat beneath a wide veranda, his back to me, Fergus was playing the pianoforte. His fingers flowed across the keys while his hands varied between movements that were rough and sharp, to smooth and gentle. I felt like I was watching something incredibly private, but my feet wouldn’t let me walk away. As I listened, the hair on my forearms rose and tears pricked my eyes. The only other sound I’d ever heard which had brought tears to my eyes were Father’s screams as the Wild Hunt forced the life from him. But the tears that blurred my vision tonight didn’t make me want to hide or hurt someone. I just wanted to listen. I was sure I’d never again hear anything half as beautiful as this. It made me feel safe and strong, two things I hadn’t felt in a long time, feelings I’d never expected to come from music.
I don’t know how long he played. The night grew deeper, the moon bathing the house in gentle, warm light. While he played, I listened, not moving and barely breathing.
Finally, his fingers slowed, and the music ceased. He sat looking down at the keys, his shoulders rising and falling as if he were catching his breath. I couldn’t catch mine, either.
I turned to leave. I should have gone sooner, but there was nothing in the world that could have dragged me away while that music played.
“Going already? Without so much as a round of applause.” Fergus’ voice lacked the venom I was certain he wanted to lace through those words. Instead, he sounded tired.
I turned back to find him still staring at the pianoforte. I swallowed the urge to apologize. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
A deep breath shook his body. “That … wasn’t beautiful.”
I took a hesitant step toward him. “It was angry. And soulful. And it made me want to cry. It was stunning.”
He turned, the moonlight showing off a line of tears on each cheek. He brushed them away with one hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.
I moved closer still. “Do you want to talk about it?” That music had been about more than a few ill-spoken words between the two of us, I was certain of that.
His eyes narrowed. “About how I’m a killer and always have been? No thanks. It’s not news to me. It shouldn’t be news to you, either.”
I held my palms out, hoping to calm him. I didn’t want to argue. Especially not after hearing his beautiful music. “I should never have said that. I’m sorry. It was unfair.”
“It wasn’t unfair. It was entirely accurate.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face, the self-loathing so sharp on his features I wanted to run up and hug it away. “I’m so used to people knowing everything about me—knowing things I wish they didn’t. I forget you don’t.” He shuffled over on his stool, making room for me to sit.
There was barely room for two, but I wasn’t ready to be alone, and I didn’t think he was either, so I sat. Our legs touched from thigh to knee, but neither of us moved away. Every part of me wanted to ask what he was talking about. To beg him to tell me all those things I didn’t know. But I hadn’t forgotten my manners enough to ask. When he was ready to tell me, he would. And right now, he didn’t seem inclined. But there were other things I wasn’t too polite to ask about. “If you worked out I was a Seelie princess, what else do you know about me?” Because I had vast gaps in my knowledge and he was the one person I could ask.
He sucked in a deep breath and loosed a long sigh. “Very little. Everything that happened in Seelie with your mother, happened when I was a small child. No one in the Unseelie Court has spoken of Aoife since.”
“Until now,” I prodded.
“I don’t think I can tell you what you want to hear, Bria. All I know is that your mother created a problem in our court. When she and her baby daughter died during the child’s first year, there wasn’t a single tear shed for her.”
“Do you think she faked our deaths?” Whatever Mother was running from, it must have been bad.
“It’s looking that way. Your mother must really have not wanted to be queen.”
It made no sense. The person I knew would never walk out on her duty, especially if it meant leaving someone like Rhiannon in control. As a healer, I’d seen her go many nights in a row without rest to make sure her patients were comfortable.
We could go round in circles trying to guess what we didn’t know. I opted for a change in subject. “Don’t you get in trouble for creating music in Unseelie?”
He gave a harsh laugh. “I already told you, the rules around music are the same in Faery as they are in Iadrun. If anyone I didn’t trust heard me, I imagine the king would enjoy the punishment he’d get to hand out.”
I glanced at his profile, trying to decide if that meant he trusted me, or just that he knew I couldn’t get off the island to tell anyone.
“I use music as an outlet for my magic.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. “You created those beautiful sounds with your magic?”
He shook his head, a faint smile gracing his lips. “No. It was all me. And today it was an outlet for … my anger at myself. But usually I play when I haven’t been … out with Obsidian…” Meaning when he didn’t ride with the Wild Hunt. “If I have an abundance of magic, because I’m not using enough, playing, or singing, calms the magic in my veins, stops me overreacting or taking out my anger in ways I might regret.”
I shook my head, stuck again on thoughts of him with the Wild Hunt. “I don’t understand how you keep the two sides of your personality so separate.”
He frowned. “You think I don’t act like a prince?”
“This has nothing to do with being a prince
. This is about Fergus Blackwood versus Xion Starguard.” Two sides of the coin. Black versus white. Different in every way.
Understanding crossed his face, and he lifted a shoulder. “You learned when you were young never to trust me.”
“I learned never to trust Xion. Yet when I’m with Fergus, I see very little reason to do that.” And the one time I’d seen him as Xion since I found out who he really was, he had saved my life.
He stood and strode away, stopping when he reached the edge of the pool to look out at the ocean. “When I’m around, people die.”
I thought about the guards I’d killed in Rhiannon’s prison. Of my magic shooting toward Jax’s face. Perhaps the same could be said of me.
He shook his head and I could just make out the hard line of his jaw. “Don’t say it. Those guards aren’t the same. You didn’t love them.”
My mouth dropped open. “You killed someone you loved? On purpose?”
“What does it matter if it was on purpose or not? Either way, they’re still dead.” He tried to keep his voice hard, but it broke on the final syllable.
My heart ached. I may not have killed Father, but I knew how it felt to lose someone you loved. I stood and walked over to him. “It matters a lot.” I slipped my hand into his. Physical contact always helped me when I was feeling the way Fergus was. I hoped it was the same for him.
For a moment, his fingers tightened around mine. That slight movement making my heart lurch. Then he pulled from my grip. “Don’t. Or there might be another name to add to that list.”
I stared at my empty hand for a moment, then shook my head. “I think you’d have to lose control for another name to go on that list, and I’ve never seen you out of control.”
“Spend some time with me in the Unseelie Court and you might just see it. Better yet, come with me when I’m with the Wild Hunt.”
I shook my head. “You don’t lose control with the Hunt. You’re the exact opposite of that.”
He blew out a breath, and some of his tension, looking down at me. “You’re right. I don’t lose control with the Hunt. I do exactly what is expected of me.” His voice was still hard.
I gave him a weak smile and bit down on my tongue. There were so many things I wanted to know, but after the way I’d phrased my question earlier, I couldn’t voice them.
“Go on,” he said, the faintest of smiles on his lips. “Ask me. Whatever it is you want to know, just … ask. I promise I won’t storm away again.”
Fine. If he was answering questions, I would ask. “What happens when you become Xion Starguard? Where does Fergus go?” I asked softly. Because I saw none of one in the other.
His shoulders stiffened. “Nothing happens. I put on a mask is all.”
I shook my head. Xion and Fergus couldn’t be more different. There had to be more to it. “And suddenly you enjoy stealing people away to Faery, killing them if you deem it necessary?”
“I’m under my father’s command.” His voice was strained.
“Your father demands you steal defenseless children? He demands you drag away adults, leaving their families to starve? And you have no say in it?” I wanted him to nod and tell me I was right, that he couldn’t do anything but what his father commanded. I wanted to blame someone else for the horrible things Fergus did, because I liked him. Really liked him. And it was easier to feel that way when I ignored Xion. Or when there was someone else to blame for the way Xion Starguard acted.
“Father demands it. I guess I could refuse if I wanted to. I just never saw the point.” His voice had gone distant, and he turned his back to me. Like he knew I would judge him, and he knew what my judgement would be.
He was probably right. “You never saw the point? You have a sister, right? How would you like it if the people of Iadrun trapped her next time she visited our lands, then tortured her to death?”
“My sister would never go to Iadrun, so your example is unlikely.” He turned to face me but refused to meet my eyes.
A spark of anger ignited in my chest. Why wouldn’t he look at the Wild Hunt from a different point of view? “Use your imagination, Fergus. I dare you.”
He sighed, his voice softening. “I don’t need to imagine. I already know how devastated I’d be should anything happen to her.” He ran his hand down his face.
“How could you take Tobias? He was just a tiny baby.” The question I’d been too scared to ask since the moment I found out who Xion Starguard really was finally crossed my lips. I didn’t understand how he expected a child that young to survive without his parents long enough to make it to the Army of Souls. It hurt my heart to think what Selina’s much-loved baby brother might become. All because of a person I was beginning to like. When he didn’t answer straight away, I turned to leave. His silence was all the response I needed.
“Bria.” He laced his fingers around my wrist, holding just tight enough to stop me walking away. “Wait.”
I shook my head. “I should never have asked.” I pulled my hand away and began to walk.
“Tobias was sick.” He paused, perhaps waiting for me to turn around. When I didn’t, he added, “You know it’s true.”
My steps faltered. The coughing sickness had found Tobias in his first week of life. Mother and I had tried everything to make him better. We thought we’d succeeded. The wetness of his cough had decreased, and he no longer fought for air each time a fit overtook him. But most babies that contracted the sickness died. Often just as we thought they were recovering. “I fail to see how that makes you look any better.” Because that was what I wanted. Fergus to come out of this looking like he was good. How stupid was I?
“I’m not trying to make myself look better. Believe me, I know what you see when you look at me. I see the same thing every time I look in the mirror.”
“Then tell me how you live with it. Tell me how you get out of bed every day knowing that you might have to go out and steal away someone’s baby. Or someone’s father. Tell me what you say to yourself to make it all right. Because it makes no sense to me.” I was positive this would be the end of the conversation. Each time I’d asked him about the Hunt in the past, he’d tell me a little then refuse to speak anymore. We were probably at the point in this conversation where he would shut it down.
He closed his eyes. “It’s complicated.”
“Luckily, I’m good at understanding complex things.” My voice was so hard, it didn’t even sound like my own.
He was silent and I could see him considering whether or not to tell me. He took a breath so deep his shoulders lifted. “I have a quota to fill, Bria. A number of humans set by the king to replace those slaves that die each month in his army. If I don’t provide what he requires, I receive six lashes of his magic to my body for every human missing. As do each of my men.”
“The marks on your back?” I’d seen them when I removed the suppressors.
He nodded once.
I turned to him. “But you could stop him. You’re strong enough to shield your men.”
“Perhaps. But even if I could do it—and I’m not convinced I can—there is no one else in this kingdom strong enough to shield against Father’s magic.”
Understanding tumbled over me. “Doing so would show him who Xion is,” I mumbled.
“You’ve only seen the worst parts of the Wild Hunt. Here in Faery, there are some nights of the year when seeing the Wild Hunt ride in front of the moon is considered a blessing, nights when we ride around Unseelie just for people to see us and think good luck has visited them. Together, our elemental magic is strong and if my father allowed it, we could keep crops yielding year round, keep prey in the woods for hunting, fish in the ocean. Every one of us hopes one day the king will let us do this again. We could make life in Unseelie so much better.” Hope lit his eyes.
“But you can’t because you have a quota to fill.”
“Eternally.” He nodded. “The Wild Hunt has been good for me. Good to me
. Filling Father’s quota is the only way to keep him from hurting them. If I could shield them from pain any other way, I’d do it.”
It all made sense, but it didn’t make Fergus into the person he’d become in my head. He was still a conscienceless killer, and I’d allowed myself to forget it. “So you ignore what you’re doing to humans because you’re saving the Wild Hunt—your friends—from lashings.” All he’d done was shift the pain elsewhere and ignore those humans he was hurting. The humans who didn’t heal as easily or live as long as his fae brothers did.
Fergus looked out across the pool. “So long as I bring the right number of living, breathing humans through the Crossing and into Faery each month and most of them end up serving in the Army of Souls, no one checks anything else. The Hunt finds murderers, child molesters, and people who are violent to their partners, and I bring them across the border for the border guard to mark another tick on his checklist.” He spoke angrily and hit his chest. “I do it, Bria. I do it so my people don’t have to feel the guilt of putting your people in an environment they aren’t meant to survive.” His voice shook, but his chin dipped to his chest as anger and guilt warred over which emotion he felt stronger. “Sometimes they don’t come easily. Sometimes we hurt them before taking them. Occasionally we hurt them so badly they die—but that is never our intended outcome.”
I stared at him. If he hadn’t taken Tobias, I’d almost have forgiven him after that explanation. He was taking away only the worst of our society.
Except he wasn’t. “Tobias wasn’t any of those things. He hadn’t even had the chance to prove himself yet, so you can’t even say he was going to be like that.” My voice rose in pitch as I fought off tears. Protecting his own people might have helped Fergus, but it devastated me.
“No.” His voice grew soft, and he repeated what he’d said earlier. “But he was sick.” He took a step toward me, his hand out like he was going to run it down my arm for comfort, but he stopped short. “The child was always going to die the night we visited, whether or not we took him. He was an easy check mark on my quota list. One I didn’t have to feel guilty about because no one in Faery hurt him and he didn’t have to go to the army.”
Kingdom of Yesterday's Lies (Royals of Faery Book 1) Page 20
