Too bad they couldn’t use the red-headed MacElvy Owen had identified as a fellow far-seer, then they could have killed this one and been done with him.
The dust settled and Haddon peeked into the room. The queen sat in the middle of the devastation, her robes torn, snaky curls standing on end as her wings slowed and grew still. A chill skittered up his spine.
He’d never seen her look quite like this, her demeanor an oasis of eerie calm.
“Haddon.” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes still swirled.
“Yes, my queen?”
“Haddon, I’ve been going about this all wrong.”
The wait for her to speak was interminable. As unbelievable as it seemed, this calm queen scared him more than the earlier, out of control queen. With her in this state, she was completely unpredictable.
“Haddon, I’ve been sending out people to do a job I should have been doing myself. Who better than me to understand the necessity of all of the MacElvys being gone? Who better than me to be sure my precious son is safely out of harm’s way? And who better than me to be sure the job is actually done?”
She rose and brushed at her face, leaving streaky smears of dust on her cheekbones. “Come, Haddon. You and I will concoct a plan to sneak in under the noses of the Fir Bolg. That ridiculous king will never know that we have violated the treaty. And once we have killed the girl and taken care of that lying son-of-a-bitch huntsman, we will deal with the stupidity of the Seven.”
She moved her wings slowly back and forth, gently shaking out the dust, and stepped over the old man. “Haddon, Owen will need new quarters so he can focus all his energies on finding this girl. See to it.” She swept from the room, adding over her shoulder as she passed him, “If the huntsman shows his face, be sure to take him alive. I want to deal with the bastard myself.”
This was bad. The queen hadn’t left the court for years and he liked it that way. He couldn’t allow her to violate the treaty between the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha De Danann. King Oberon would be up in arms, they would end up fighting not only the Fir Bolg, but the entire Golden Court and their allies. Few of their own people were truly loyal to the queen, especially after the prince’s failed rebellion. If they had to actually fight against Oberon, Goddess knew how many they would have on their side.
Granted, Logan’s uncles, the Seven of the Fir Bolg, were no longer the force they once were, but they had their own resources and connections. And if King Oberon discovered that the queen secretly plotted his downfall, well then, all bets were off.
If Haddon wasn’t careful, the queen would destroy them all.
“Owen, get someone to find you a new room.” He left the shivering old man huddled in the hallway and hurried after the queen into a small chamber off of the throne room. “My queen...”
One of the ladies of the court bustled in. “My lady?” The queen slowed, still encased in that eerie calm. “There’s a woman waiting, one of the Travellers. She insists she has to see you immediately.”
“Insists?”
“Yes, my lady. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but she says she has information about the location of the MacElvys.”
“Who is this woman?” The queen demanded. “What does she want?”
“She says she’s the head of the Boyd clan and she’s willing to turn the MacElvys over in exchange for your backing her takeover of their territories and wealth.”
The queen stilled, only her wings shivering with tension.
Her unnatural stillness was showing cracks. Feeling an imminent explosion, he stepped in. “My queen, this is our opportunity. Through this woman, we can penetrate the Seven Brother’s protection and keep the terms of the treaty.”
Set up or not, this was the opportunity to keep her here and finally have a source within the tight-knit Traveller clans. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of finally winding up this fiasco.
“Haddon, don’t forget, I want Logan Ni Brennan alive.” Her eyes gleamed. “I’m saving a special place in my toy room for him.”
“As my lady wishes.” He bowed low and waved her down the corridor to the throne room.
He’d make sure she interrogated the sod—after he had shown him the repeated use of all the implements in the dungeon.
THE HOT MID-AFTERNOON sun beat down on Trina’s scalp as she pushed through the hounds milling around Logan and Solanum. After his revelations earlier, she knew she stood between him, his freedom, and his commitment to the prince.
Didn’t someone say the definition of insanity was knowing what was real but not believing in reality? She was crazy to trust him. Crazy to let him go off without her.
“Take me with you. You can’t leave me here. I’ll go stir-crazy.” And she’d spend the entire time worrying about what he was up to.
“You’ll be safer here, lass. I’ll find Aoife.”
“I’ll be more use going with you than staying here.”
“Better crazy than dead.” He winked. His broody darkness of the morning had fled and he was back to being the lighthearted flirt. “It’s just for a little while.”
“I can help. I need to help. I just can’t stay here doing nothing.”
“No, I’ll be all over Underhill making contacts. There are those who would sell us out in a heartbeat.” He pulled her to him, his lips crushed hers and a rush of lust weakened her limbs. “I’m not risking you this time. In fact...”
Before she could react, he pulled the sapphire from around her neck and cupped it in his hands. Its heart lit up, the light fluttering in and out before dying. All her hopes of freedom died too.
“There. Now you can’t follow me.” His charming smile made her want to take a knife and cut his heart into little pieces, just like hers. “And when I return, we’ll see how crazy you are. I might like a little insanity in a woman.”
He waggled his eyebrows and swung up on Solanum, who waggled his own horse eyebrows in a disturbing way.
“What he means is, he’s going to fuck...Hey! That hurt!” Solanum shook his head and whinnied.
“You’ve a hard head, beast.”
“I’ve a hard—”
Logan’s fist came down again on the puca’s skull.
“Ouch! You wanker!”
They wheeled away through the hedge.
“Wait!”
But he was gone, the sea of red hounds pouring after him through the hole in the hedge.
The growth began re-weaving back into her prison and she dove for the shrinking opening, jerking back when the thorny branches slammed together on her nose.
She wiped a drop of blood from her face and glared at the thick barrier of thorns. “Damn high-handed son-of-a-bitch!”
How could she go from feeling so good about him to feeling so bad? On their return from the tunnels, he’d dropped his dark mood and made her feel like she was a queen, flirting and laughing with her through lunch, and after, when they’d made love.
He’d made her come so many times, she’d lost count. His touch was masterful, assured, and so tender she’d grown confident he would treat her like an equal. Now this.
There was no doubt it was time to get off her ass and out of this trap. She didn’t know if it was the pure chauvinism of being hundreds of years old and male, or if he had plans of betrayal. Even if he’d stuck her here out of some confused sense of caring, it was wrong. She wouldn’t stay with a man who treated her like she was a delicate, fragile flower. She needed a man who saw her as a partner, not an encumbrance.
The sapphire gleamed in the sun, its surface undamaged despite the blockage he’d put on its power. Maybe, there was a chance. She held it in her hands, looked at the thorny bushes that blocked her way, and reached for the magic of the clearing.
Earth energy flowed up through the soles of her feet and pulsed through her body. She directed it into her arms, her hands, and then, the stone. She focused on the hedge opening and letting her through. Power flowed into the stone and back out but it lay inert on her palm, a pretty e
nough, rough-cut sapphire with no special glow or heat.
Her heart sank. “Damn.”
She went into the cottage and rummaged for the objects needed for serious spell-casting. Candles were easy, as was wine, and bowls for water, salt, and oil. She found a knife that would take the place of her lost athame, and carried it all to the flat stone at the center of the clearing.
Centered, Trina called the four directions and closed the circle. She asked for the goddess’s blessing and made an offering of the wine—a symbol of her willingness to give what was needed for the spell, and her willingness to give of herself. Taking a deep breath, she again turned her attention to the dull sapphire.
Now was the time to reach for the real source of power—the river of magic deep underground that fed feeding the clearing, and the cottage. The magic that she and Logan had accidentally accessed when they’d rocked the earth. And the magic she was afraid fed the lurking forest outside, just waiting for her to make a mistake.
Trina traced her power centers with her Gift, down her neck, down her abdomen, down her legs and through her feet. Down, deep into the earth where the node waited for her.
She dipped in with her Gift and a champagne burst of abundant energy flowed in and through her. She laughed, forgetting why she was there as effervescence bubbled through her, floating out of her body, the energy buoying her spirit-self up into the sky.
Rolling through the clouds and playing tag with the sunbeams, she thanked the goddess for the incredible gift of rushing through her. Down below, a tiny body lay on a rock in a small field of grass surrounded by forest as far as she could see. Something tugged on her spirit. She resisted and soared higher but the tug came again, harder. She fell. Tumbling through the clouds. The sky rushed past her and she slammed back into her body.
Her limbs felt heavy and strange. She blinked and tried to remember what she needed to do. And then she inhaled. With the first shock of oxygen, it all came flooding back. Gasping for breath, she bent her will to directing the bubbling flow of energy into the stone.
She tried for hours. Chanting and breathing, holding the sapphire and looking at it with her third eye, trying to see if she could discover how Logan’s fae magic had turned it off and if her witch’s magic could turn it back on.
But it was no use.
She dropped to her knees and clutched handfuls of grass in tight fists as frustrated tears welled up. Why shouldn’t she cry? No one was there to hear her. She could let go. No one but her would ever know that she’d gone and fallen in love with an elf. Who, even if he could love her, couldn’t be trusted and didn’t trust her.
A rustling came from the hedge. Its leaves and thorns shook and shivered. The branches reluctantly parted letting through an old woman, carrying an overflowing basket of trinkets in her clawed hands.
She was the picture of old Mother Hubbard come to life, her bent back clothed in a long black dress with a narrow white collar that could have been worn by a puritan in the 1600’s.
Trina’s mouth dropped open. “How did you get through?”
“Hello, dearie.” The stranger’s voice cracked as she hobbled across the grass towards Trina. “Have you a chair for an old woman to rest her bones in? Mayhap some water?”
Trina pulled power from the ground and rifled through the defensive spells in her head. “Who are you and how did you get in?”
“Why bless my soul.” The woman’s face stretched into a leathery grin. “I should introduce myself. I’m the Hag of these woods, the goddess’s representative, you know. I sensed a fellow witch in the area and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. It’s been a long time since anyone has lived in this old cottage. Can I come up onto your porch and sit a while?” She waved her basket. “I have gifts.”
Trina hesitated. The woman appeared human, but something wasn’t right. She couldn’t put her finger on it. There was no obvious threat but the Hag was a dark face of the goddess and not one she personally favored.
“I can leave, dearie.” The woman began to turn.
Curiously, the situation reminded her of the tests the fae enacted in the bedtime stories Aunty T used to tell her. That was less than reassuring. Most of the old tales had dire consequences for treating old fae ladies poorly.
Most of them.
“No. Stay. Where are my manners.” Trina let the power leak back into the earth. With all her troubles, she didn’t want toads and bugs to come pouring out of her mouth. For that matter, gold and jewels would be just as much a problem. “Come up onto the porch and sit.”
Ancient bones creaking her visitor moved slowly up onto the old boards of the porch and settled into one of the vacant chairs. Trina hovered on the grass, not ready to relax, but unwilling to evict her visitor and risk unknown consequences.
Humming a familiar tune Trina couldn’t place, the woman pulled her basket onto her lap and sorted through an assortment of pretty enameled combs, rings, and small inlaid boxes.
“Mmmm, now let’s see.” Her dark, beady eyes darted appraising glances at Trina. “I wasn’t sure what would be best for you, but now that I see you, I can tell.” Her voice sharpened. “What’s your name child?”
“Tri...” She stopped herself just in time. She resolved to continue to be polite, keep her wits about her, and surreptitiously maintain the link into the node through her contact with the earth. “Trish,” she lied. While Logan had assured her names didn’t have power, there was no sense tempting fate. Or suspicious old women.
She turned her attention back just in time to catch a flicker of something that looked like suspicion cross the old woman’s face, but it was gone before she could be sure.
“Trish McFearson.”
“Aaah, well that’s another matter then.” The old woman resumed her sorting. “McFearson is an upstanding name. Yes, a McFearson should have a special gift.”
Trina’s heart pounded. This wasn’t right. She’d tried her best to get through that hedge and it let this woman in with barely a twitch? While the old woman went on humming, sorting, and talking to herself, Trina focused her inner sight on the woman’s aura. A frisson of fear iced her skin.
The woman had no aura.
Everything alive had an aura. Either this woman wasn’t alive, or she was hiding it with a glamour—a strong one. Trying not to let her suspicions show, Trina began to draw power into her still bare feet.
“Mmm. Yes, and you have such lovely dark hair and those green eyes...should have known you for a...McFearson, did you say? Aha! Here is your gift. Practically calling out your name, it is.” She extracted a pair of golden, enameled hair combs from her basket, rose from her seat, and thrust them at Trina. “Go on, take them. Take them!”
The antique combs were of rare Dwarven workmanship, some of the best Trina had ever seen. Delicate whorls of gold inlaid with jewel-bright cloisonné, they hardly looked strong enough for her heavy hair, but somehow, she knew they wouldn’t fail.
“No, thank you.” She held up her hand, palm out, rejecting the gift.
“Don’t be rude, dearie.” The woman stepped off the porch and pushed the combs into Trina’s outstretched hand. “They were meant for you.”
Trina watched in horror as her fingers curled automatically around the jewelry.
As soon as she touched them, the gleam of the combs captivated Trina and she forgot to use her magic. The power drained back into the ground as she stared at the jewelry clutched in her fist.
“Try them on!” The woman urged, her face and hands corded with tension. “They were once a MacElvy’s, they should be again.”
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Trina knew the old woman had said MacElvy and not McFearson. Somewhere, she heard herself screaming not to place the combs in her hair.
The lure of the Dwarven gold called to her, smothering her common sense and fogging her brain. She could almost hear a far-away tune coming from the combs, seducing her to place them in her hair, drowning out the dwindling screams that no one but she c
ould hear.
And then, even she couldn’t hear them. In a daze, she swept her hair up, anchoring the combs one at a time in her dark tresses.
“Yesssss.” The old woman hissed through dry cracked lips. “They’re perfect for you.” She held up a small ornate hand mirror. “Look,” she commanded, her voice suddenly strong.
Unable to do anything else, Trina looked, her heart pounding. Her skin was a shocking white and her lips blood red. A great lassitude overwhelmed her. She struggled to throw down the mirror, to tear the combs from her hair, to reach for her Gift—but it was no use.
The last thing she saw before she fell on the porch stairs was the reflection of her large black pupils staring into the mirror.
Chapter Twenty-four
Logan rode home through the forest, his pockets stuffed with satins and silks for his lovely servant. For once, Solanum’s mouth was shut, the puca keeping his observations to himself as the hounds raced silently ahead through the trees. Logan’s stomach growled. Ten long hours combing through Underhill for any trace of the elusive Lady Aoife and he was ready for a meal, and his bed. He rolled his neck from side-to-side, the cracking echoing into the quiet night.
He pictured Trina’s reaction to the gifts he carried and a strange sense of elation curled through him, his blood humming with anticipation. The dresses, shoes, and tasty dinner he’d taken the trouble to acquire should please the witch. And she deserved them.
After he’d purged some of the darkness inside his soul that morning, the witch had received him with enthusiasm and grace. Her mysterious green eyes had driven him to new levels of performance as he’d bent her body over and pleasured her with his tongue. He envisioned long nights of pleasure ahead. He would keep her happy, safe, and smothered with gifts, and she would stay with him as long as he needed her.
Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 20
