by Helen Harper
*
Dagda’s harp was wrapped in a makeshift case which Taylor had fashioned so there was no need to strap it to my back this time. Bob was pacing up and down in front of it, making a show of keeping guard. Ever since the ‘break-in’, we’d made sure that at least one of us kept an eye on it at all times.
The genie gave a tired salute. ‘’Bout time,’ he grumbled. ‘Deanna Troy will be missing me.’ He blew the harp a kiss. ‘Bye, darling.’ Then he blinked away in a flash of blinding light.
I scooped up the instrument from the corner of the cabin and went to the auditorium where the Artistry challenge was going to be held. I wasn’t due to play until the next day but I wasn’t taking any chances that the powers-that-be would suddenly change their minds and move me up the roster. And I felt better with the harp in my arm where I could keep my eye on it.
It felt lighter than before, almost as if it were sentient and was aware that, after years of disuse, it was going to be played again ‒ even by fingers as clumsy as mine. I picked my way back along the path, taking care not to trip as I cradled it against my chest.
With the harp in front of me, my vision was slightly obscured and it didn’t help that my thoughts were on what had happened back in the main hall. I was almost past the competitors’ village before I realised that there were three figures up ahead waiting for me and deliberately blocking my path.
‘Well, well, well, look who we have here,’ the larger of the three called. ‘It’s the murderer’s offspring.’
I peered round the harp and eyed their tartans: Clans Riddell, Kincaid and Blair. The Clans were working together to bully me. How sweet.
‘Is your hair white because your darling papa shocked you so much when he slaughtered a thousand Sidhe in front of you?’
‘He didn’t kill anyone,’ I replied in a calm, clear voice.
‘No wonder she’s friendly with the MacQuarries,’ the Blair Sidhe sneered. ‘She’s as crazy as they are.’
‘You don’t belong here,’ his Riddell buddy broke in. ‘You’re not going to win the Games and you’re not welcome. You should fuck off back to your own kind.’
The Kincaid idiot got in on the action. ‘Yeah. You should be with the dirty Clan-less. The Cruaich is for those of us who belong.’
Did they believe that they were so intimidating that I’d run off into the sunset with my tail between my legs?
‘Careful, Pike,’ the Riddell Sidhe said in a mock falsetto. ‘Piss her off and she might nick your wallet.’
Pike smirked and reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He flipped it open, took out a penny and threw it at me. Rather than sidestep, I let it hit my cheek. The three men fell about laughing.
‘There you go, bitch. That should be enough for you.’ Pike looked like he’d just found the meaning of life.
I sighed, laid the harp carefully on the ground and watched them all.
‘She’s not done yet,’ said the Blair bully. ‘Give her another penny. See what she does then.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ Pike raised his eyebrows and leered. ‘She’s quite pretty. I bet we could show her a good time before she goes.’
The Riddell guy looked repulsively excited. He licked his lips. ‘What a great idea.’
There weren’t many times when I regretted my pacifist stance but now was one of them. I even considered pulling out Bob’s letter opener and waking him up to ask for that wish but I didn’t want to give those idiots that kind of compliment. If I couldn’t deal with them on my own, I really didn’t deserve to be here.
Pike, apparently the ringleader, advanced. I leapt out of his path and performed a perfect landing onto the soft snow next to the path. He smirked as if he were already enjoying the chase. He wasn’t particularly canny, though. I’d landed feet away from the fire-cleared path; Pike chose to step across it, not realising that the pyrokinesis which had created the handy walkway had also melted the edges around the path. As the water re-froze it changed from snow to deadly ice. The second his foot landed he slipped, his legs flying out from under him. He landed flat on his back with a heavy thump and a loud groan.
‘Bitch,’ he muttered, like it was my fault he’d lost his footing.
His friends scuttled over to help him but he pushed them away. This time all three of them advanced on me.
It was handy that there were so many trees around. I leapt upwards and caught hold of a sturdy branch, swung out above their heads and landed behind them. I should have tried out for the Scottish gymnastics team; I would have given those bendy Russian girls a run for their money.
The three boys below me – because they were boys – howled in frustration. I dusted snow off my thighs. ‘Give up yet?’
The Blair idiot screwed up his face. The air crackled and I realised with a sinking feeling that he was using his Gift – whatever it was. When a dark cloud appeared between us, twisting and turning before taking the form of a hooded creature holding a scythe, I rolled my eyes. Virtuosity – or Illusion as it was also known – held all manner of possibilities but creating a three-dimensional version of the Grim Reaper smacked of someone who wasn’t really trying.
Unfortunately for me, Blair was rather talented and this wasn’t an insubstantial vision. Death swung at me and although I scooted away just in time, his scythe caught the edge of my hair, causing several strands to float down. The boys laughed. Pricks.
‘I expend a lot of energy avoiding split ends,’ I growled, as Death took yet another swipe. ‘I don’t appreciate a damned Illusion undoing all that work.’
‘Tell you what,’ Pike said, ‘stop fighting us and we might leave your pretty hair alone.’
‘Aw,’ the Riddell Clanling protested, ‘but I like it when they fight.’
Something inside me tightened. I tilted back my head and concentrated on the snow-laden branches above the Grim Reaper’s head. It took very little effort to shake them and a heavy pile of snow dropped off, landing on his dark cloak. Like a roadrunner cartoon, his form collapsed into a puddle on the ground while his arm hung on for an extra few seconds, gripping the scythe until it too vanished. That was easier than I expected.
‘Get her!’ Pike roared.
I’d had enough of this. Using Byron’s Gift once more, I focused on the snow pile I’d just created. It swirled upwards, forming a whirling barricade between me and my assailants. I could just make out their flailing arms and hear their shouts of irritation. It wasn’t quite what I wanted, though. My brow furrowed and I drew in more snow from the surrounding embankments. It solidified into chunks, combining and coalescing. I lifted up my index finger and spun it round. The snowflakes bound together, forming bricks which I piled higher and higher around the three idiots. Their vision was so obscured that they didn’t realise what I was doing until it was too late and they were trapped by my snow tower.
I stepped over and prodded the outer edge. It might look like snow but it was as hard as the ice upon which Pike had slipped. Unless one of them had a match, a lighter or pyrokinesis, they’d be trapped there for some time.
‘You bitch!’ I heard Pike yell. ‘I’m supposed to be backstage getting ready! If I’m late, they won’t let me participate.’
He should have thought of that before he tried to attack me. I bent down to pick up the harp and turned my back, ignoring their shouts. I had to go; I didn’t want to miss Byron’s performance, after all.
*
When I finally arrived at the auditorium, a sniffy Carnegie official tried to make me leave the harp in a side room with the other Sidhe instruments. I shook my head and pushed past him. Fortunately for him, he didn’t try to stop me. I really wasn’t in the mood.
I stomped in, still fuming. When I caught sight of the stage and the vast crowd seated in front of it, however, I forgot my annoyance. This was something else.
The stage was huge, with varnished oak underfoot and hundreds of lights trained on its centre. There was a raised dais to one side with a lectern, whic
h was no doubt reserved for the Carnegie officials, and heavy red velvet curtains on either side. There were hundreds of seats in a gentle arc around the stage area. The self-styled important Clans were at the front, with Aifric sitting dead centre.
I avoided looking at him in case I drew his attention. Instead my gaze swooped round. Although the other competitors who wouldn’t be performing until the next day like me were visible, the majority of the spectators were other Sidhe proudly displaying their Clan colours. Some had made banners – and not all of their messages were positive. At least there was no confusion over who hated whom and which Clans possessed strong affiliations. I committed as many of them to memory as I could; Clan politics could turn on a dime but it wouldn’t hurt to know which Clans were working together right now. Every scrap of information was potentially useful.
I spotted the Polwarth Chieftain, made a show of turning towards him and bowing and noted the murmur as several other Clans took note of what I was doing. By acknowledging him first, I was giving Clan Polwarth superiority over Clan Adair. Not only would the Chieftain appreciate that I wasn’t going to forget his support during the opening ceremony, it might make him amenable to further approaches later on. I already had enough enemies; it was time to start making allies. I didn’t bow towards the Bull, though – I just winked at him and he glared in return. Ha! Let those nosy spectators make of that what they wanted. Although, in the evil-looks category, the Bull had nothing on Chieftain MacBain.
‘It would be wise to avoid antagonising the MacBains,’ a voice murmured in my ear.
I turned and recognised Angus MacQuarrie. ‘Believe me,’ I said honestly, ‘I’m not trying to do that.’
‘She can be … touchy,’ he told me. ‘But she does have many fingers in many pies. It would be good for you if that necklace showed up.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘So you also think I stole it?’
‘Actually, no.’ He leaned forward. ‘But I reckon if you tried hard enough you could get it back. I’ve heard you have a knack for doing such things.’
I scanned his face, wondering what he was getting at, but his face was innocent. ‘I have some skills,’ I said slowly.
Angus grinned. ‘When you have some free time, my Chieftain would like a word.’
‘I’m free now. I will meet with Chieftain MacQuarrie whenever he requires.’ I meant it; I owed him a considerable amount for his support. Not to mention what had happened with Lily.
‘He’s not here,’ Angus said. ‘He doesn’t like the Games much so he’s only going to show up when it’s absolutely necessary.’
My eyebrows shot up. ‘Why doesn’t he like the Games?’
Angus shrugged. ‘He sees them as yet another opportunity for the more powerful Clans to show off.’
‘But surely anyone can win?’
‘He reckons they’re rigged.’
I wasn’t surprised. And if Angus hoped to dismay me, then he was going to be disappointed. I’d lived most of my life as Clan-less and I was used to having to cheat, cajole, steal and manipulate. If anything, the MacQuarrie suspicions warmed my heart. Honour was just a pain in the arse: it was nebulous and, as Aifric kept proving, far too easy to set aside. Honest underhandedness was much more straightforward.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Chieftain MacQuarrie is welcome to come by our cabin any time. Just knock first.’
Amusement flickered in Angus’s face. ‘In case you’re not decent?’
I thought of Bob’s Brunei-borrowed opulence and grinned back. ‘Something like that.’
He gave a friendly farewell as I caught sight of my friends. I went to join them, sat next to Brochan and handed him the covered harp. He glowered at me. ‘What happened to your cheek?’
Puzzled, I raised my fingers to touch it. They came away wet, with a smudge of blood on their tips. ‘Let’s just say that people have been throwing money at me.’
The merman looked annoyed but Taylor watched me for a moment before smiling slightly. ‘Good for you.’
Pride flickered through me at my old mentor’s approval. I smiled at Brochan. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘How can I not be worried? We’re stuck here with a bunch of people who are trying to kill you. I can think of other things I’d rather be doing.’
My smile vanished. He’d been in a good mood earlier so what had changed? I looked at Speck and Lexie. Neither of them seemed particularly happy either. In fact, only Taylor appeared to be cheerily buoyant. Something stirred inside me. ‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘Nothing!’ Taylor replied sunnily. I knew that look.
I cursed. ‘You’ve been gambling, haven’t you?’ I should have known. This was a competition, after all; there were probably bets going on all across the auditorium. ‘Goddamnit, Taylor, it’s not like we have any money to spare. Where did you get your stake from?’
Lexie looked uncomfortable. ‘I gave it to him,’ she admitted. ‘He told me it was to get something to help you.’
I sighed. Taylor threw up his hands as if to ward me off. ‘It is to help you! We make money off this and it’ll help all of us.’
‘Taylor…’
‘Relax, Tegs.’
I ground my teeth in frustration. When that didn’t help, I glared at Lexie for lending him money and then at Speck and Brochan for not stopping Taylor from placing any bets. Finally, I crossed my arms and saved my best scowl for Taylor himself.
He looked back at me with puppy-dog eyes. ‘Integrity.’
‘Don’t. Just don’t.’ It wasn’t really his fault because he was a gambling addict but that didn’t make me feel any better. It was fortunate for him that the Carnegies chose that moment to start the challenge.
A drumroll sounded and the same lordling strutted onto the large stage. There was nothing on it save a microphone on a stand; if that was all we were getting to support our performances, it was just as well I had the harp. I concentrated on breathing in and out, calming myself, as he began to speak.
‘Esteemed ladies and gentlemen. Thank you so much for attending our humble little Games. We are proud to be the organisers of these challenges and, considering the line-up of competitors, there is no doubt that you are in for a thrilling time.’
‘Yeah,’ Brochan grunted under his breath. ‘Amateur musical performances are always thrilling.’
Several people turned round and threw him nasty looks. All five of us returned their looks in kind and they hastily moved their eyes to the front again.
‘This place is packed,’ Lexie whispered. ‘Just think of what we could…’
‘No. No stealing.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s not what I was going to say.’ When she saw my disbelieving look, she smirked mischievously.
The lordling continued. ‘Each of the competitors will be granted five minutes to perform. Any and all instruments are allowed, whether living or otherwise.’ I swallowed my faint nausea. Dagda’s harp might possess magic I couldn’t understand but it was definitely not a living being. What kind of instrument was? A nervous giggle escaped me as I imagined someone playing a cow like a set of bagpipes. A few people turned and threw me dirty looks; even the lordling glanced my way in annoyance.
‘Performers are also permitted to utilise their Gifts if they see fit,’ he boomed. ‘But they can only do this during the individual performances and they will be judged by our wholly impartial panel.’ He swept an arm out to the side where a spotlight focused on a table where three older Sidhe were seated.
‘They’re all Carnegie?’ Brochan asked.
I squinted. ‘Yeah. They’re all wearing the Carnegie tartan.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘Difficult to say.’ I shrugged. We all knew there was no such thing as an impartial judge. There was also Angus’s warning to consider.
Taylor, apparently eager to make amends, leaned across. ‘The Carnegies are in a long-standing feud with Clan Jardine and Clan Darroch. They have strong allies with Ochterlony though. That m
ight help us.’ He met my eyes. ‘Coira Adair, your mother, originally hailed from Clan Ochterlony.’
I grimaced. ‘I’m not sure that will help. Let’s face it, she wasn’t exactly a highly placed Sidhe noble.’ It was about the only thing I knew about her. ‘Plus, they weren’t in a rush to speak up when I was looking for my three votes of support to enter the Games.’
‘You need to use every advantage you can. I’ve heard the word honour bandied around far too much over the past few days. I think they’re trying to convince themselves that they’re filled with it.’
‘The Clans doth protest too much, you mean?’
Taylor nodded. ‘Indeed.’
I considered his words. I’d been banking on Dagda’s harp to do all my work but if I could add some old-fashioned manipulation into the mix to help my cause, that would be all to the good.
‘Thanks.’
‘Does that mean I’m forgiven?’ Taylor batted his eyelashes.
‘Don’t push your luck.’
A fanfare sounded and Byron strode out, still wearing his kilt from yesterday. I ignored the looks which Lexie and Taylor sent me and focused on him. With his shoulders back and his head high, he looked every inch the heir to the highest-placed Clan in Scotland. It occurred to me that what I’d once believed was arrogance had more to do with self-belief. It must feel good to have such unshakeable self-confidence. I thought I did a pretty good job myself but I didn’t exude that kind of power.
Byron’s gaze swept round the auditorium as if he were searching for someone in particular. I couldn’t prevent a flash of hope that it might be me but that was a ridiculous notion. The stage lights were too bright so there was no chance he could see this far up.
When his eyes alighted on someone and he bowed and blew a kiss, my heart hardened. The object of his affection stood up and curtsied. Tipsania. Of course. I had no idea what game the two of them were playing but I meant what I said to Byron. It would be safer to keep as well away from them as I could.
A gigantic timer appeared over Byron’s head and was lowered so that it was visible from every angle. Five minutes flashed up, followed by a loud gong and his performance began.
