“No, I don’t think so. Why?”
He shrugged and finished his drink. “I’ve been doing some digging into fae who’ve chosen to live in the human realm and this SIRE Unlimited thing keeps coming up. I couldn’t find anything on who runs it, where it’s headquartered, what they do—nothing. Then, about the time Mairead went missing, I had a break. Malcolm Dagniss—does the name mean anything to you?”
Rori scanned through the years of knowledge she’d either collected or read and came up with one possibility. “Not really. I remember there was a Dagniss family long ago, but that line has been extinct for centuries. I don’t recall there ever being a Malcolm, though.”
“Very good. You paid attention to your studies.” Cian patted her on the head and she snapped as if to bite his fingers. “Easy, little dragon.”
She grinned at the nickname. “What about him? Is he involved with Mairead’s disappearance? Or with SIRE?”
“I’m not sure, but my gut tells me both. Why, I couldn’t say, but I’m determined to find out.”
Rori stifled a yawn and Cian’s face softened. “How did you get yourself captured?”
“No freaking idea. I was at the pub with Tug, then I woke in the forest three days later. I didn’t see or hear whoever drugged me. I don’t remember anything past singing with my mates.” Admitting this truth to her brother hurt. She hated that she’d failed in the one aspect of her job she should’ve bested anyone at—protecting herself.
“If it’s Acelyne, then no wonder. She’s a master enchantress. Midna thinks she’s here in the palace at this very moment, but I’m not so sure.”
Rori’s nerves twisted and a shudder rushed down her back. She’d die before being put into a glass prison ever again. “She made me see things, Cian. I saw the princess in her palace, but then, a woman appeared who said Arianna was her daughter. Queen Eirlys is the princess’s mum. It was all quite confusing, like an illusion within the illusion. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Cian’s long fingers stroked his chin. His dark brows crowded one another as he frowned. “You’re exhausted. Get some sleep, and Rori, please, don’t leave your room tonight. It’s a new moon and Midna is restless.”
She squinted in thought, deciding not to argue with him. Besides, she had a lovely tub in the next room. She’d run a hot bath and soak away her cares.
“I promise. I’ll be good.”
“For once.”
They both laughed and he kissed her forehead before leaving and taking the tray with him. At the click of the door latch, she turned the key, knowing if anyone really wanted into her room, there were probably half a dozen secret passageways that would allow access. Or, all they really had to do was use magic on the lock.
A little thrill ripped through her belly. She’d promised Cian she’d stay in her room, and she would. But if someone happened to sneak into her room uninvited, she’d have every right to attack them, wouldn’t she? Rori patted her two daggers, still somewhat surprised Midna allowed her to remain armed. She’d make sure to sleep with a dagger under each pillow. Just in case.
12
Screams rent the night air, waking Rori from a fitful sleep. She reached for her daggers and found nothing. The bedsheet beneath her pillows was empty. Alarmed, she sat up in the huge bed, her mind racing, eyes searching. She took a deep breath, stilling the frayed nerves that craved panic. The curtains were drawn on the four-poster, blocking most of the light. A faint glow could be seen beyond the fabric. She felt again beneath the pillows, gritting her teeth at the empty sheets. Those daggers were a gift from Eirlys. When she found the pig-faced nipple pipe who stole them, she would rip their head off.
She stared at the bed curtains and recounted her steps after her bath. She’d sat by the fire until her hair was nearly dry, then slid beneath the covers, too exhausted to care that she was wearing her dirty clothes. What she couldn’t recall was whether or not she closed the curtain. Her instinct said she hadn’t. She drew another long breath to slow her hammering heart.
After Cian had left, she’d locked the door, and she’d checked it again before getting into bed. Her hands went to her neck, where she’d tied the key to a ribbon and secured it like a necklace. Frilly lace met her fingertips and she paused, unsure what she was feeling. She’d gone to bed wearing her jeans and T-shirt. What the bloody cockleberry was this Victorian dressing gown bullshit she had on?
She tugged the duvet off her body and shoved the curtains open. White cotton covered her from her neck to the tips of her bare toes. She curled her feet against the cold floor and shivered. The fire had died sometime during the night, leaving her room frosty. She searched the wardrobe for a cardigan or wrap, but it was empty. So were the two chests in the room. Her own clothes were nowhere to be found.
A breeze snaked its way up her ankle to her very naked private parts. A full body shiver racked her body and she hopped to the bed, where she grabbed the duvet to wrap herself in its downy warmth. Next, she searched the hearth for firewood, kindling, and matches, but couldn’t find anything to make a fire. She was certain Cian left the matches on the mantel, but when she looked for them, the box was empty. As was the log rack beside the fireplace where wood had been when her brother left. It was as if someone had come in during the night and taken everything out of her room. If this had been Eirlys’ palace, she would’ve blamed Dorchmeir, but she doubted that dimwitted ass licker would have the nerve to enter Midna’s kingdom.
Rori sat with a huff on one of the stiff chairs and debated her choices—stay in her room, bundled up until morning, or go in search of answers.
Another scream pulled her attention to the door. She listened hard, but the only sounds she heard were her own breathing and the blood rushing through her veins. It went against her training to intervene when someone was in trouble. Don’t get involved was a familiar mantra at the Academy. Stay invisible; keep to the mission. She knew these words as if they were written in blood on her heart. Yet there was something that drew Rori to the door.
Her fingers flinched from the icy knob. Wisps of condensation floated on her breath. She tightened the duvet and ambled through the doorway into the darkened hall. Lights flickered at one end of the long corridor. Voices came from the same direction and Rori turned toward them like a poppy tracking the sun’s rays.
Cocooned as she was made walking difficult, but there was no way she would traipse around Midna’s palace in just the thin dressing gown. It took her several minutes to make her way along the carpeted floors, counting each door she passed. She’d come to fifteen when the hallway opened to a gallery, where she found her source of lights and voices.
A balustrade kept her from falling to the marble floors, and a thick pillar concealed the bulk of her, yet gave her a prime view of what was happening thirty feet below. At first, Rori didn’t understand what she saw. Bodies—some clothed, most not—writhed like hypnotized snakes. Masked courtiers stood on the fringes, watching the spectacle. Music played from somewhere beneath the gallery where she stood. Its melodic beat set the rhythm for those below. They undulated and arched like choreographed performers on stage, their cries and moans counterpoint to the music.
The more Rori studied the scene, the more she realized these must be the rumored slaves of the Unseelie queen. And there, in the center of it all, was Midna.
The queen reclined on a divan, her wings fluttering to the beat, making nearby candles flicker. The interplay of light upon those near her was both ominous and sultry. They appeared as angels, then demons, depending on where any given shadow landed. Naked servants attended the masked audience, offering drinks and refreshments from glittering gold trays. Those on the outer rim of the room chatted with one another, sometimes pointing to one group or another. Rori wished she knew what they said. For one wild moment, she wished she were down there, as one of them.
Yet, which group did she long to be part of? The masked onlookers, or with the queen? Her gaze raked over the entwined bodies back to
the queen. Her wings curled in on themselves and stretched taut. One moment, her skin appeared translucent, a pearl upon the midnight fabric; a moment later, she shimmered in rainbow hues of pinks, purples, greens, and blues. With each alteration, her wings’ glow ebbed and flowed, fluttered, and furled. Rori stared, transfixed.
It had never occurred to her that wings were anything more than a status symbol. She’d never seen anyone expose them thusly before. In fact, she’d never once let her wings unfold to their full size.
A thrumming between her shoulder blades caused an itch that she sadly realized would never be scratched. She wasn’t royalty. Her wings would have to stay safely protected beneath her skin. She twitched her shoulders, quelling the insistent desire to let them free. Without success, she tried to recall when it had become law that only royalty could show their wings. Her back now felt inflamed, as if someone held a torch against her skin. It was unbearable. Was it law? Was it a rumor or empirical fact? She couldn’t remember. Somewhere, someone had told her no one but royalty was allowed to display their wings, but Rori herself had never confirmed the fact. If it wasn’t a law, then certainly just letting the gossamer folds open for a moment wouldn’t hurt.
The queen screamed and Rori took a half step toward the barrier. Her focus snapped to the queen, to the source of what had woken her. The itch across her back faded to nothing more than an irritation. Another cry ripped through the air, as if murder were being done, except Midna looked anything but a victim. Two faeries suckled the queen’s breasts, and another settled his head between the monarch’s legs. The onlookers applauded politely, their attention drawn to the divan.
Midna’s arms drooped to the side, her body limp after what Rori could only guess was her release. The three fae didn’t stop, not even when another fae joined them. His Glamour sparkled like glitter beneath a sheen of sweat. His tall body swayed as if drunk and the queen reached for him. Roughly, she grabbed his hardened cock and pulled him to her mouth.
Rori turned away, mortified at what she witnessed, and even more so by the dampness between her own legs.
Cian had warned her not to leave her room. A quickening of her heart kept her from turning back to the orgy. Her brother might be down there. An image of the tall fae swept through her mind. Similar in height and coloring to Cian, she hadn’t been focused on his face. Every nerve pinched and tightened in on itself as she debated what to do. Knowing she could never forgive herself, she cocked her head to look past the balustrade.
Rori avoided looking at Midna, tried to ignore what the queen’s mouth and hands were doing to the fae, and focused on his face. Eyes closed, his chin tilted toward the ceiling, she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t Cian.
Bloody hell, what are you doing, Rori? Go back to your room. You don’t need to know.
Yet she did. Had to be certain it wasn’t her beloved brother servicing the Unseelie queen.
One last glimpse.
She stared harder, willing the fae not to be Cian, and was rewarded with the man turning toward her, his face illuminated by a floating candle. The look of sheer bliss marking his features tore at her heart. For an instant, she wanted it to be Cian. Wanted to know her brother had experienced this kind of rapture. But the fae wasn’t anyone she knew.
His glow captivated her. Longing feathered from low in her pelvis, over her thighs, up her abdomen, across her chest. The duvet slipped from her shoulders as one hand traveled between her legs, and the other cupped her left breast. Her thumb rubbed over her hardened nipple, creating more want, more desire.
To be with the others, to feel their hands on her, their lips caressing her skin—she craved their touch. The male fae at Midna’s side arched. A long moan echoed above the music. Drums beat louder and the bodies shifted with the increased tempo. Men with men, women on women: a mix of both genders entwined. They convulsed and grunted, their bodies slick with perspiration. Rori’s fingers ground against the cotton fabric in a frantic need to find release.
Another scream from the queen.
So close.
Sparks edged her vision. Her breathing came in short pulls and her body rocked to the beat of the drums.
One of the masked onlookers turned toward her, his (her?) stare like a snare. Rori gasped, aware suddenly that she was standing at the edge of the banister, where all of the crowd could see. Another step and she would’ve toppled over the edge.
Her body ached for her to continue, but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t give in to the lust twisting like a raging storm through her body. She bent to pick up the duvet and cracked her forehead on the granite pillar. Pain ricocheted across her skull. The duvet caught in her feet and she stumbled forward, tugging on the stupid thing as she raced down the hallway. At the grand stairway that led to the room below, a lone figure ascended the stairs. Rori sped faster, clasping the duvet to her chest.
The door to her room stood wide open and she raced through, spinning around to slam it shut. For several minutes, she waited with her forehead pressed against the wood, listening. No footsteps followed her. No one knocked on the door. Gradually, her breathing slowed and her heartrate lowered. The lust she’d felt dissipated to a familiar wanting, nothing more. Whatever happened with the queen, she didn’t want to be a part of it, even as an onlooker.
She crawled into the huge four-poster and curled the duvet around her body. A profound sadness wormed its way from her frazzled thoughts to the tips of her extremities, suffocating her in its severity. Why she felt as she did perplexed Rori. She didn’t want to be part of an orgy, nor did she fancy having sex with the queen. Then what?
The answer lay in her denial. No stranger to sex, Rori had never allowed herself to enjoy it, at least, not in the way she’d witnessed in the queen’s room. She lay her head upon the pillow to sort out the puzzling emotions. In fact, she couldn’t recall a time she’d enjoyed sex enough to cry out, to be completely unbridled with her body. The sadness coiled and snapped within her heart. Duty first, pleasure never.
No sooner did she snuggle into the downy softness than a hard knock at the door rattled her anew. She sat upright, swearing a stream of curses at whoever had the nerve to disturb her in the middle of the night.
But when she glared at the door, sunlight streamed through the windows. Dying embers glowed red in the fireplace, and she was once more dressed in her own clothes.
“Rori, open up. I’ve got breakfast,” Cian shouted from behind the thick wood.
She felt along her neck and found the ribbon with the key. Her right hand slipped between her legs where an uncomfortable warmth remained. A dream. She’d had a bizarre dream. Had to be.
“Give me a second,” she called out and slid from the bed. At the door, she put a hand to her forehead and shook the remnants of her dream from her mind. The key made a gravelly sound as she turned it, followed by a satisfying click. The door popped open and there was Cian, looking even more haggard than the previous day, but with a huge smile lighting his face.
“I thought I was going to have to break down the door. I don’t recall you sleeping so hard, but you did say you were exhausted.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Rori took the tray and placed it on the table. “Can you stoke the fire? It’s chilly in here.”
“No time, I’m afraid. We have to eat and run. Queen Midna’s almost ready to leave.”
Still rather distracted from the dream, Rori nodded and sat down to tuck in to her meal. She barely tasted the porridge and fruit as she shoveled huge spoonfuls into her mouth.
“I didn’t mean it literally, Aurora.” Cian put a hand on hers. “Slow down. Chew, swallow, breathe.” He cracked a poached egg and handed it to her. “Did you sleep well?”
She took a bite of the runny goodness and swallowed before answering. “I think you might be right about Acelyne being here. I had the strangest dream.” Cian glanced at her, his greenish brown eyes showing concern. “It seemed so real. Bizarre, though.” She scooped another spoonful of egg into her mouth.
“You stayed in your room like I asked, right?”
“I did.” But my dream self didn’t. Her cheeks burned with the memory. She rubbed her temple, noting a tender spot on her forehead. Where she’d bumped into the column. Icy pinpricks tickled across her skin. It was a dream, she insisted. A dream, nothing more. A flush warmed her cheeks and she changed the subject. “Will the queen give us horses to ride?”
He eyed her for several long moments and she prayed he didn’t ask any questions. After a bite of his own egg, he said, “We’re traveling in her carriage.”
“With her?”
“Of course with the queen.” Cian made a face and shook his head. “Honestly, Rori. What’s gotten into you? Are you losing your edge?”
“Never!” She reached for a dagger, but they were still beneath her pillow. She hoped. “I might not have as many missions clocked as you, but there’s nothing you can do that I can’t.”
His raised eyebrow served as an answer. She didn’t argue it further. Why bother? Cian was the best. Always had been; always would be. They both knew there were several things he could do better than her—fire a gun, for one. As much as she’d tried, she hated firearms. The sound, the feel, all of it repulsed her. Knowing him, he could fire a direct shot at forty paces with his eyes closed, a cup of tea in one hand and still hit his mark. Friggin’ Mr. Perfect.
“Rori.” His voice dropped and her body tensed, as if a trap were about to spring and she’d find herself caged. “Is this what you wanted? Being an intelligence officer? Or are you only doing it because of the family?”
MacNairs had been spies for one queen or another for as long as they could trace their history. It was in her blood, as the saying went. She’d never thought about doing anything else but gathering intelligence, as Cian liked to call it. She cocked her head in thought.
“You want to know if I had a choice, right here, right now, would I choose this profession? Would I choose to put myself at risk every day for our queen?” He nodded, his eyes focused on her. “Yes, I would. Mum gave me a choice, you know. When I was thirteen, she asked what I’d like to be when I grew up. Kids never know, do they? They’ll tell you a sorcerer, or a blacksmith, because that’s what caught their attention that day, but I’ve always known. Even before Dad disappeared, I knew I wanted a life bigger than Faerie.”
Relics and Runes Anthology Page 40
