The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  She released a silent sigh of relief that her elemental nature had been accepted with little fuss. But she still didn’t trust Gwyn. Why would the king exclude his own people from his tower?

  “So how do we get out of this tower?” Nightshade demanded.

  “We summon the cunning man to remove the charm.” Gwyn reached beneath his chair and pulled out a brown bottle with a corked top. He held it up to Brian. “Time to show them your party piece.”

  The imp scrunched his face into a snarl, but stood and straightened his jacket. “Get on with it then.”

  Gwyn uncorked the bottle with a flourish. For a moment, Brian stood unmoving, then the air around him started to swirl until a whirlwind whipped him up. With a whistle of wind, the mini tornado arrowed into the bottle, and the cork popped back into place.

  Gwyn held up the bottle. “One bottle imp. Very useful when you want to throw him out the window to pass on a message.” He walked to a large window overlooking the quadrangle and unfastened the catch. Taking aim , he lobbed the bottle out.

  “Hah! I nearly missed the water and splattered imp everywhere.”

  Clutching Tamsy to her chest, Cordelia hurried to the window with the others. The bottle bobbed in the circular pool beneath the fountain. A passing Teg woman dressed in white robes fished the bottle from the water, and looked up at the window.

  “Take him to Mawgan,” Gwyn hollered down. The woman waved a hand in acknowledgment and hurried back the way she’d come.

  “Now I suggest you plan what you’re going to say.” Gwyn glanced between them. “When Mawgan comes, he’ll take you straight to the council chamber.”

  Cordelia went back to her seat, a trickle of unease exacerbating her fear. If Gwyn couldn’t disable the charm on the steps, he was a prisoner in the tower. He claimed he had no power, but if a member of the Ennead came at his summons, he must still have some authority.

  She beckoned Michael closer and whispered, “I don’t trust Gwyn, and there’s something strange about this room. I can’t sense any of you. Do you think the tower’s a prison?”

  Michael gripped the back of her chair. “I don’t understand Gwyn’s role.” He shook his head, staring into the distance. “I’m certain he’s not what he seems. Troy told me to seek out Master Devin. I must find him before we face the Ennead.”

  Chapter Eight

  The door to Gwyn’s room opened. Brian slouched back in, dangling his bottle between his fingers. He sniffed and jerked his chin over his shoulder. “Mawgan’s ’ere.”

  Holding Tamsy, Cordelia rose from her chair with a flash of expectation. Mawgan was the council member Gwyn thought would support them. A tall male Tylwyth Teg filled the doorway. He was the same height and slender build as Arian, but his long silver hair was tied back, and he wore white robes. His skin was pale with the same almost transparent blue eyes, but instead of the scorn that soured Arian’s face, Mawgan wore an expression of patient inquiry.

  His gaze flicked around the group, lingering a few seconds longer on Nightshade than the rest of them. He inclined his head in greeting. “You are welcome, piskies, even though your approach to the Ennead is unorthodox.”

  “We came to petition for release of a child you hold. We thought our best course was to appeal directly to the king.” Michael said.

  “We’re told he can’t help us because power lies with the Ennead,” Cordelia added, wanting to gauge Mawgan’s reaction.

  The council member’s gaze flicked from her to Gwyn, his expression guarded. “Gwyn ap Nudd is King of the Underworld,” he said in a flat voice.

  She would love to know what Gwyn’s posit ion really was. She’d never heard of a fairy king with no power.

  Mawgan raised a hand to attract their attention. “When you go before the Ennead, there are a few restrictions. You may not carry weapons or use magic in the council chamber, or your claim will be disqualified. Please accompany me.” He turned silently and made his way toward the steps with the stealth of a wraith.

  Cordelia glanced at Michael’s lower leg, where the Phoenix Dagger was hidden.

  With a slight shake of his head, he whispered, “I’ll not leave the blade with Gwyn. I have no option but to take it.”

  Flustered, Cordelia caught Thorn’s arm when he moved to follow Michael out the door. She had her doubts about leaving Thorn with Gwyn, but compared to facing a potentially hostile council interrogation, the king seemed the lesser of two evils. “May my ward remain here while we present our case?” she asked Gwyn.

  “I’d be delighted to have company.” Gwyn extended a hand and a Monopoly board appeared on a table in front of him. “It’ll make a change to play with someone who can count.”

  “I can count,” Brian grumbled. “I just hate board games.”

  “I want to come with you.” Thorn gave her a pleading look and she had an inspired idea.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I need you to keep Tamsy for me. I daren’t take her into the council chamber in case they sense magic in her and disallow our case.”

  Thorn huffed and scowled, then accepted Tamsy into his arms. She hung the cat bag over his shoulder with an affectionate pat. She stroked Tamsy’s chin and gave her a kiss. “Look after my baby for me, won’t you?” Thorn nodded. He didn’t realize she was talking to Tamsy.

  Cordelia hurried after the others, proceeding cautiously when she reached the steps where she’d sunk into the stone, but the chill of the charm was gone. The group waited for her halfway down. Mawgan indicated they should proceed while he reinstated the magical trap.

  When they reached the bottom of the tower, Michael paused and, with a smile, stroked his fingertips along her arm. “When you stayed behind, I thought you’d bailed on me.”

  She suppressed a little shiver of pleasure at his casual touch. “I’ve left Thorn and Tamsy with Gwyn.”

  “You comfortable with that?”

  “Not especially.”

  Mawgan caught up and she dropped her voice. “Thorn’s gullible. I don’t want Arian manipulating him to get at us.”

  Michael nodded, and Nightshade grunted in agreement.

  “Mawgan.” Michael hurried after the tall seer. “I need to speak with Master Devin before we present our case.”

  The white-robed figure stopped. A flash of surprise crossed his face. “May I ask why?”

  “I just need to talk to him.”

  “Hmm.” Mawgan rubbed his chin. “Master Devin is absent, I’m afraid. Maybe you can see him after the hearing.”

  When Cordelia caught up with him, Michael cast her a frustrated glance. “Without Devin’s advice, I’ll just have to play it by ear and hope Mawgan supports us.”

  After a short walk along the corridor, Mawgan led them through a door to the enclosed quadrangle in the center of the castle, then took a flagstone path that cut diagonally across the grassy area. The few Teg they passed peered at them curiously. So far, Cordelia had seen no Teg wearing the same black leather as Arian, Olwyn, and Dai. Most were clothed in brown trousers and jerkins.

  They followed Mawgan through a door into another bare stone corridor that looked like the one they’d recently left. He threaded his way along a maze of dingy passages leading deep into the castle. After a few minutes, he stood aside and indicated they should pass through a pair of huge metal-studded double doors. “The council chamber,” he announced.

  Cordelia entered and halted behind Michael. Just inside the door stood a tall gold statue of an imposing Tylwyth Teg male, his fierce visage immortalized by the sculptor. The room was large, with a high domed ceiling decorated by points of light against the dark background.

  “Like a planetarium,” Michael whispered, head bent back to take in the design.

  A circular gallery ran around the room with decoratively carved wooden chairs positioned every few yards along the perimeter. A quick count confirmed her guess there were nine. From the entrance where they stood, five steps led up to the gallery, and five steps led down to a lower level.


  Mawgan pointed at the descending stairway. “You’ll stand in the plaintiff’s pit while you plead your case.”

  Michael descended a couple of steps and examined the shadowy wall of the lower level. His lips tightened. “I’m not comfortable with this.”

  A wry laugh broke from Cordelia’s throat. “I passed comfortable a long time ago.”

  Michael ran back up the steps and laid his hand protectively on her back. “You stay here, lass. Nightshade and I will plead our case.”

  She was tempted to agree and annoyed she even considered letting Michael take all the responsibility. “I’m in this with you.” Hesitantly, she reached in front of Michael and slid her fingers through his. “I’m the one Niall left in charge of the piskies. This mess is as much my responsibility as yours.”

  Michael looked down at their joined hands. Her heartbeat faltered at her own boldness. When the familiar seductive twinkle lit his eyes, and he tightened his grip on her hand, she sucked a breath into her suddenly empty lungs.

  “The boys were my responsibility, lass. You stay up here out of harm’s way.” When he couldn’t use his silver tongue to win her over, he had to resort to old-fashioned arguing.

  The sound of footsteps echoing around the chamber signaled the council members were entering through a door on the upper floor. To forestall an unseemly disagreement, she released Michael’s hand and made her way down to the lower level.

  “Cordelia!” She ignored his urgent whisper and hoped he’d forgive her.

  He ran down to join her, his brows pulled together. But he didn’t say any more. Nightshade followed cautiously, snapping his wings as he scanned the gallery.

  When she reached the lower level, she bent, examining the tiny blue mosaic tiles on the floor. A jolt of fear pinched her guts when she noticed manacles hanging from the walls. She clasped her hands together, made her way to the center of the pit, and looked up. The chamber was designed to make the plaintiff uncomfortable, surrounded on all sides by council members. No matter which way she turned, she couldn’t keep them all in view.

  Tiny high windows in the gallery provided just enough light to see the Tylwyth Teg who took seats. The hair on the back of Cordelia’s neck stood up when Arian strode in, his boots drumming across the wooden floorboards. He dropped negligently into one of the chairs before Olwyn and Dai slid into the seats flanking him. Mawgan sat almost opposite Arian, a white-robed male Teg on either side of him. Mawgan and Arian eyed each other with ill-disguised contempt. The air prickled with tension. Two men wearing brown garb took two of the other chairs. All eyes focused on the last empty seat, an expectant hush falling over the room.

  Whoever was going to fill the final chair must be important.

  Someone entered through the same door they’d used and ran up the steps to the gallery. A young man wearing brown working clothes scrambled past the occupied chairs and panting, slithered into the vacant seat.

  “I apologize for my tardiness.” The late council member half rose and gave an awkward bow.

  “No apology necessary, Avery,” Mawgan said, the censure in his tone belying the words.

  “Shall we get this hearing started?” Arian’s voice rang with the same cold superiority Cordelia remembered. She had a horrible feeling this was a farce, the decision already made before they’d opened their mouths.

  “Who is the council leader?” Michael asked, pointedly turning his back on Arian to face Mawgan. Arian puckered his mouth at Michael in disgust.

  “There is no leader, plaintiff. We’re an assembly of equals. Each of us has one vote to cast as he sees fit,” Mawgan said. “Addressusall.”

  Cordelia ran her gaze around the faces of the nine. The seers both looked to Mawgan. Olwyn and Dai watched Arian. The other three councilors appeared confused and uncomfortable. An assembly of equals? Whom did Mawgan think he was fooling?

  Michael smoothed back his hair, and Cordelia tensed beneath the gaze of the nine inquisitors, not sure what to do with her hands.

  The sound of urgent voices in the corridor outside broke the silence. A few indrawn breaths hissed from council members; then a man stepped into the open doorway. He paused for a few beats, silhouetted against the light. With a swish of his long coat, he paced forward and stopped at the top of the steps, staring down into the pit. “You were going to start without me, I see.” He glanced at the young man who’d been last to arrive, now cowering in the chair. “Even gave my seat to a huntsman.”

  Cordelia stared, mesmerized, as the incomer tossed back his long dark hair to reveal pointed ears. His skin glowed dusky in color like moonlight through clouds. He managed to appear both dark and bright. Satin and velvet of purple, navy, and forest green shimmered in the low light, trimmed with muted gold. A strip of ermine edged the trailing sleeves of his floor-length coat. His face was perfect, exotic, eyes darkly outlined, and rubies glittered at his ears and fingers. With a flourish, he swirled the opulent folds of fabric away from his legs and ran up the steps to the gallery. Glamour shimmered around him, trailed in his wake. The man in his seat scurried off into the shadows.

  The new councilor nodded to Mawgan and Arian, then returned his gaze to the pit. Cordelia’s cheeks heated under his scrutiny, but his attention was focused on Michael. For long moments, he stared at Michael, his eyes intense; then a smile broke across his face. “Greetings.” He inclined his head to them and took his chair.

  “Master Devin.” Mawgan stood and bowed. “We thought you were detained.”

  Master Devin? She gasped at the name, and heard Michael mutter something. If only he had arrived earlier, so they could speak to him alone.

  Devin propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and glanced at Mawgan. “I was busy. You should have waited.” Despite his relaxed pose, steel laced his voice.

  To Cordelia’s surprise, Arian stood and bowed stiffly. “Master Devin. Glad you found time to join us.”

  Devin leaned back, a sardonic smile on his lips. “I’m sure you are elated to see me, worthy council member Arian.”

  Hope fluttered inside Cordelia. Devin didn’t like Arian. Maybe Michael had an ally.

  Mawgan cleared his throat. “May I respectfully remind all present that magical powers are not permitted in the council chamber.”

  With a self-deprecating chuckle, Devin inclined his head to Mawgan and the shimmer around him disappeared. Yet his appearance remained unchanged. Either he could disguise his glamour, which only the most powerful fairies were capable of, or he really was incredibly beautiful.

  Michael stared at Master Devin, sure he recognized him from somewhere. Yet he could not recall meeting him at the Irish fairy court, and he certainly hadn’t met him in Cornwall. Whatever manner of creature he was, he glowed like Troy.

  Nightshade rumbled low in his throat, a drooling expression on his face as he stared up at the newcomer. Even Cordelia hadn’t taken her eyes off Master Devin since he’d entered the chamber. Michael suppressed a twinge of something suspiciously like jealousy. Troy had told him Devin would explain how he should proceed. He hoped that meant Devin would support them.

  Turning slowly, Michael scanned the members of the Ennead. He stopped when he was facing Mawgan. His best chance of success was to win over Mawgan and his cronies. Although Master Devin might be an ally, he held only one vote. The council members obviously respected him, but Michael had the sense they treated him as an outsider and would not follow his lead. That meant there were two factions, and Michael had already lost the votes of Arian’s group.

  “Yesterday…” Had the trouble really happened only yesterday? Michael started again. “A few days ago, some humans opened a gateway to the Underworld in Cornwall. I’m guessing they did this by accident as the gate caused their deaths. The Cornish piskies knew nothing of their activities until the gateway was open.” He paused, licked his lips, and glanced around to gauge the expression of the council members. At least they appeared to be listening.

  “Three of your number came and closed
the gate by sealing it off.” Michael ached to turn and point an accusing finger at the gatekeepers. But he flexed his shoulders and sought to state his case without laying blame. “When they annexed the area around the gate, an innocent child became trapped within the Underworld. We ask that the child be released.”

  Michael scanned the nine faces ranged above him. Devin smiled enigmatically, an unknown quantity. The two dressed like working men, whom Devin had called huntsmen, glanced around, checking the other councilors’ reactions. They would follow the strongest faction. If only Michael could win Mawgan over…“I’m sure it was not your intention”—he cast Arian a sideways glance—“to trap a defenseless one-year-old boy in the gateway, for to do so is cruel and unjust. This child is the son of the pisky king. He is out of the country, so I’m here in his stead to request the immediate release of his son and heir.”

  Michael settled his gaze squarely on Mawgan, ignoring the ache of tension in his neck exacerbated by the awkward angle of his head.

  “So which was it, plaintiff? Yesterday or a few days ago?” Arian cocked his head, a smirk on his face.

  Trust the bastard to pick up on an irrelevant detail. Especially one Michael couldn’t pin down. “Your time passes differently here. By my reckoning, should be a couple of days ago.”

  “Should be? How can you lodge a plea when you don’t even know the dates of the occurrence?” Arian demanded.

  “We’ll assume two days past for the sake of the records.” Mawgan’s low authoritative voice filled the chamber.

  “Let that be recorded,” Devin confirmed with a flick of his fingers.

  Lip curled with contempt, Arian stretched out his legs.

  Devin glanced at Arian thoughtfully. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Scribe, who traveled to Cornwall two days ago to close an unauthorized access point?”

  Turning, Mawgan spoke over his shoulder. Someone recording the proceedings must have answered from the shadows. Mawgan turned back, eyebrows raised meaningfully. “Master Devin, I’m told Arian dealt with this breach.”