by Hazel Hunter
“Oh, well, more for me,” she said cheerfully as she went over to a table heavily-laden with food, and scooped up a handful of berries. “Get anything for you, Boss?” she asked as she nibbled. “I’ve got that wine you like, the one made with that French girl’s tears or something.”
The big demon eyed Edane before he shook his head. “Enjoy yourself while you can. Once we return from the next cull, it will be your time, and this one will go to the arena to decorate a blade.”
“Aw, I don’t get to keep him?” Nellie pouted. “After all this bed training, too. What a waste.”
Danar chuckled. “It’s what he wants, more than you, little reader.” He trudged over to the wall and disappeared through another shower of white-blue light.
The berries scattered on the floor as Nellie rushed over to Edane.
“Have you lost your marbles? I told you not to look at Danar like that,” she said in a low, shaking voice as she released his manacles. “What if he’d hit you in the chest?”
He fell to his knees, holding her against him as sharp needles of sensation latticed through his numb arms, and relief flooded his heart. “Then I’d no’ be going to the arena, Mistress.”
She dragged him to his feet and tottered as she helped him to one of the softly padded chairs. There she pushed him down and used her sleeve to staunch his bloody nose while she muttered under her breath.
“Lass,” he warned. Although the demons rarely watched them, the risk she took was too great.
“I don’t care.” She knelt before him, and put her head in his lap. “They leave for the cull tomorrow, Danny,” she said, murmuring the words against his thigh. “They’ll lock me away with all the treasures before they go.”
Edane caressed her shining curls. “Aye, just as ye reckoned.” When she looked up at him, he stroked his thumb across the soft curve of her lower lip. “We’ve tonight, then.”
“Yes. All night.” Nellie delicately pressed her mouth to the bulge of his stiff cock before she smiled up at him. “Come to bed now.”
Opening her eyes to see Edane staring at her made Nellie flinch. She twisted out of his arms, scrambling to get off the bed, and backed away from him.
“What did you do to me?” she demanded. “How did you make me… What was that place? Why were you chained up?”
“Naught of my doing, my lady.” He stood and reached out to her. “You saw me in chains? Beaten by the large demon called Danar?’” When she nodded, he sat back down on the bed. “’Twas a memory of the underworld where, ’twould seem, I served as your slave.”
For an instant Nellie thought she’d be sick. “No. I’d never… I couldn’t.”
“’Twas some manner of scheme, then, to deceive the Sluath.” Edane touched his marked arm. “’Tis no’ that your skinwork differs from mine. I’m no’ marked as a slave.” He shook his head, a strange bitterness flattening his mouth. “They chose me as a sacrifice.”
She stared at him. How could he be so calm about it?
“You were in chains. I called you my slave. I said all those horrible things. I did nothing to stop that demon from hurting you.”
“’Twas a ruse, I’m certain. You were different after he left the chamber.” His gaze locked with hers. “I reckon there we became lovers, my lady.”
Nellie didn’t know what to say to him. “Why don’t I remember you, then?”
“They took memory of me from you.” He sounded almost glad about that. “’Tis late, and you should rest.” He went to the door. “On the morrow we must speak with my clan about this. Fair night, my lady.”
Edane left and Nellie couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from her. She’d done nothing to protect him in the underworld. Whatever he’d felt for her before the vision had been rubbed out.
It’s for the best. He’ll hate me anyway after I scram.
She went to her wash basin and splashed her fiery face with cold water. The shame she felt wasn’t the only thing torching her insides. She’d wanted him so much her body had practically steamed. It still did, and it tempted her to stay and come clean to him and the clan. Maybe they’d give her another chance if she told them everything she knew, and found a way to get them out of this prison.
Are you loony? They’ll never believe you, especially after Edane tells them what you did to him. They’ll know you’re a fake and a cheat. The way Kiaran hates you, he might even kill you for it.
Pain hammered away the voice as Nellie bent and dragged out the satchel and fleeces she’d squirreled away under her bed. The food and waterskins she’d packed made the traveling bag bulge. She had to comb out the fleeces with her fingers before she put them on the ticking and covered them with a blanket. Molding them into shape took some time, but at last she had something that looked like her body huddled beneath the wool. Hopefully it fooled Edane long enough for her to put some distance between her and Dun Chaill.
Pulling the shift over her head, Nellie dropped it to the floor. From beneath the ticking she took out a dark blue linen gown and brown wool cloak she’d filched from the laundry before Rosealise had begun the day’s washing. Because Jenna had been so kind to her, stealing her clothing seemed particularly cruel, but they were almost the same height, and the Mag Raith all had sharp eyes.
“Sorry, Jen.” She held up the soiled gown to her front. “I just need to be you until I reach the pass.”
Chapter Twelve
RIDING BACK THROUGH the night to the Sluath-occupied village gave Galan ample time to rethink his intentions. Even with the power Iolar had given him he could not hope to prevail over the demons, unless he resorted to using iron weapons and taking them by surprise. Although his anger had swelled beyond even his greed for immortality, he’d never be able to kill them all. Then Iolar would take pleasure in making him suffer horrors unimaginable before he choked or burned or beat the last breath from him.
“He needs me too much to end me, Fiana.” The dread he’d once felt over the prospect of dying as a mortal had vanished when he’d found her grave. Perhaps he’d gone a little mad, but he had been parted from her too long. He’d have her alive and breathing in his arms, this very night, or embrace oblivion without her. “But I’ll risk it, aye, and he’ll give you back to me.”
A cold ache spread down his back from the bag strapped over his wings. He had carried the memory of Fiana too long to be plagued by the weight of her bones, but the chill of them spread through him, making his hands stiff and his legs numb.
At the entry to the village Galan reined in his horse and dismounted, stumbling and scattering grave dirt around him from his filthy garments. He leaned against the animal’s side for a moment until his legs steadied, and noticed the white froth streaking its hide. White breath bellowed from the exhausted mount’s nose, wafting into his face.
Had he ridden here without stopping to water the nag? He couldn’t remember.
Unsteadily Galan made his way to the center of the village. The guards who moved to stop him from entering their prince’s abode took a hard look at his face in the torchlight, and then stepped aside.
“We’re no’ to be disturbed,” Galan said to them, entering the cottage and kicking the door shut behind him.
Braziers surrounded Iolar, who lay immersed in a huge tub of steaming, flower-scented water. He didn’t open his eyes but sniffed before he said, “You stink of the grave, Aedth.”
“And you of posies, my prince.” Galan looked at the pair of quivering mortal females attending the prince. “Get out.”
The prince sighed as the wenches fled the cottage, and sat up to regard him with exaggerated patience. “I see you did not bring Nellie Quinn to me. Do you think it wise to present your liege with nothing but your uselessness? Again?”
“I went in search of the wench, but found my wife.” He pulled the bag from his shoulders and cradled Fiana’s bones in his arms, rigid with the wrath of centuries. “You shall resurrect her for me, as agreed.”
Iolar studied his face as
he rose from the bath and wrapped himself in a long white fur. “I had expected this, but not this soon.”
Galan peered at him. “’Tis what you vowed to give me.”
“I don’t mean your lost love,” the prince said, sifting through his wet locks with his claws. “You’ve lost your mortal fear.”
“I lost everything the day Fiana died.” He looked down at the dirt-crusted bag. “Every lifetime since then I’ve sought the means to reclaim her, that I might once more live as a man. ’Tis all I’ve desired, this one boon.” He met the prince’s curiously calm gaze. “Aye, and I’ve done all you’ve demanded of me. I’ve abandoned the Gods and druid kind. I’ve brought you to sanctuary and turned helpless mortals to your aims. I’ve killed for you. You shall do this for me now.”
That he shouted the last words didn’t seem to offend Iolar, who even smiled a little as he poured wine into a goblet, and brought it to Galan. “I cannot bring her back, Aedth. The fact is, I do not have the power to resurrect the dead.”
The bag dropped from his hands as he stared at the prince. “You lied to me?”
“I agreed to foolishness spouted by a proud, ridiculous druid who dared to bargain with the Prince of the Sluath.” He pushed the goblet into Galan’s grimy hands. “I tell you the truth now because you’re no longer that fool.”
A soft roaring in his ears made it difficult to understand what Iolar was saying. “I’m no’?”
“Perhaps you should recall what I’ve already given you.” The prince tapped a claw against the center of his chest. “You endured the wings I built on your back so you could fly with the storms. You took my own power into your body to restore your magic. Each day since, you have lost a little more of your…foolishness. You’ve grown to understand the deamhanan and our ways. Soon you will awaken to what you were truly meant to be, Aedth. As for this obsession you have with your mortal mate…” He glanced down. “She’s lost to you.”
“You cull souls. I’ve watched you tear them from the bodies of mortals.” Galan stared down at Fiana’s remains. “How can you no’ return them, and bring them back to life?”
“We can take souls only from the living, in the final moments before they die. Once the life of the body ends, mortal souls go beyond our reach.” Iolar walked up to the pale stone platform to recline on his feather-stuffed cushions. “Only one known to us possessed the power of resurrection, and that was long before you were first spawned.”
Galan managed not to shout, but only just. “Who?”
“A Sluath halfling sired on a slave by my father when he ruled the underworld. During his rule we sometimes bred our own kind in that fashion. Something to do with the bastard’s Pritani blood allowed him to revive the dead, or so the ancients claimed.” He yawned. “He could not live as Sluath or mortal, and he went mad. That is why when I took the throne, I put an end to breeding with slaves. My half-brother fled to the mortal realm before I could kill him, and there died as miserably as he existed.”
Befuddled and blank of thought, Galan drained the goblet of wine, and then dropped it to the floor as he picked up the bag of bones. “I’ll leave you now.”
“Aedth, understand that I allowed you this little confrontation as my gift to you,” Iolar told him, his voice velvety with menace. “If you ever speak to me again as you have tonight, I’ll nail you to the floor and allow Meirneal to feast slowly on you. Starting with your cock.”
The threat did not terrify him. Like everything the prince had said it was a truth that no longer interested him. Galan left the cottage and walked back to where he had left his mount. He would ride into the ridges, and find a protected nook where he might rebury his beloved. There he would put blade to veins, and seal her new grave with his own blood.
A hulking shadow intercepted him halfway there. “You nearly killed that horse, you idiot.”
He looked up into Danar’s copper eyes. “Apologies. I brought my wife’s remains back. Iolar told me that mortals slaughtered the only Sluath who could resurrect her, so I’m done with you. Keep your facking horse.”
The big demon’s expression shifted from anger to bafflement. “Our prince never speaks of his half-brother. He’s slaughtered demons for reminding him that he once existed.”
“’Twould seem his ire has faded,” Galan said dully. “Mayhap he mourns him now.”
“If he died.” Danar’s voice dropped lower. “Before he escaped the underworld Iolar badly wounded the halfling. He’s never been seen or sensed by any of us. But we never found his body, or proof of his slaughter. To keep the peace, we told Prince Iolar he was dead.”
“Was the halfling immortal?” As Danar nodded, the roaring faded from Galan’s ears. “Tell me more of him.”
Chapter Thirteen
SINCE NELLIE QUINN had arrived Kiaran had begun spending the first half of the night in the newly-rebuilt tower. From there he could easily watch for movement in most of the roofless passages as well as remain connected to the eyes of his patrolling kestrels. Tonight, Dive and her mate had taken wing to glide and hover over the stronghold, their small heads still as they scanned below them with their keen vision. Like all their kind they preferred to work during the day, but they could hunt in twilight and moonlight to provide food for fledglings during nesting season.
The chieftain had ordered him to have his kestrels patrol the skies after dark for the Sluath, but Kiaran had commanded them to also watch for Nellie Quinn.
Making plain his distaste for the brazen little wench had not swayed the clan against her, but Kiaran felt sure she would soon betray herself. She certainly gave herself away to him every time she opened her lying mouth. Her carefree, laughing façade concealed a selfish, calculated nature, one that she took great pains to conceal.
He’d argued at length with Domnall about allowing Nellie to remain at Dun Chaill, especially as they knew so little of her. The chieftain had remained unswayed.
“Why shouldnae we offer shelter to her?” Domnall asked. “Whatever her past, ’tis plain she hasnae anyone to protect her. I’d reckon you’d fathom her plight better than any of us.”
Kiaran did understand, but not for the reasons his chieftain assumed. He had recognized what Nellie Quinn truly was from the first time he’d watched her artful pretense. She wanted the clan to believe her frivolous, shallow and unskilled. She had charmed them all to believe her clever lies. Even Edane, who usually had more sense about others, had been wholly taken in by her. Only Kiaran had picked up on the signs of her deception, and the depth of it.
One dark heart cannae remain masked from another.
Many times since awakening in the ash grove Kiaran wished he had told his brothers the truth about his boyhood, and the massacre of his tribe. Yet that would mean admitting what he had done on the day of their final hunt. Although he’d spent his immortal lifetime trying to make up for it, it had been his final betrayal that had damned them all.
In the tower niche Kiaran braced his back against the mortared stones and closed his eyes to reach out to the patrolling kestrels. Seeing Dun Chaill from the air through his connection with his raptors also gave him a sense of how far the restoration had progressed. By winter the clan had to ready the stronghold to withstand the highland’s harsh winds and heavy snows, and provide adequate shelter for the stock to keep them alive through the cold season. Much remained to be done.
This foolishness with the American wench had them all distracted from their work. Was that part of her aim? Even now were the Sluath preparing to attack Dun Chaill?
Dive caught a flicker of movement near a gap in the curtain wall, and descended to perch on a birch branch. Although she didn’t think in words as Kiaran did, he felt her wings shift and her talons ease, as they did in the presence of a clan female. That would suggest she saw either Jenna or Rosealise, but neither lady would have gone out alone in the night.
Domnall’s last warning echoed in his head. Assume naught about the lass until you’ve proof.
Kiaran used
his power to peer through the bird’s eyes, and made out a slight figure concealed by a dark hooded cloak. The kestrel had a limited sense of smell, but could see colors beyond Kiaran’s own vision. He knew that, to the raptor, Jenna’s power showed through her garments in a pale violet silhouette of her form. Dive now saw only her hands as dark amethyst. Had she been taller, he would have known her to be Mael’s mate, but she stood too short to be Rosealise.
Nellie Quinn. Seeing her creep toward the barn flooded Kiaran with sharp satisfaction. What do you now, you wee impostor?
He sent a command to Dive to shadow the American, and then rushed down the stairs and out through the tower’s arch. He found Domnall alone banking the fires in the great hall, and gave him the hand signal for an unknown intruder sighted. It wasn’t precisely correct, but he needed the chieftain to catch the wench at her mischief. That would serve as his proof.
Domnall tossed him a sword, and followed him out of the stronghold at a fast, silent run.
Kiaran pointed to where Dive had last seen the wench, and then used hunting signals for them to split apart, flank the barn and come at her from either side. The chieftain wordlessly agreed by tapping his chest before he followed the ambling curve of the curtain wall. Kiaran did the same in the opposite direction.
He smelled a flowery scent just before he came upon her from behind, and snatched at the back of Jenna’s hood to reveal her small head of gilded curls. Nellie spun around, a dagger ready in her hand, and then with a quick movement tried to conceal it under the cloak.
“Say naught,” Kiaran said as her lips parted, and leveled his own blade even with her thin throat. “On your knees. Join your hands behind your neck. Now.”
Domnall came up behind her, and as soon as he realized it was Nellie sheathed his sword. “Mistress Quinn, I reckoned you abed.”
