The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Devin angled his head, the points of his ears peeping through his dark hair. The sight gave Michael a jolt of recognition, yet he couldn’t pin down the memory.

  “Perhaps you’d care to present your side of the incident?” Devin asked.

  Arian stood. With a coldly calculating glance, he made eye contact with each of the council members. “As one of the nine, I am not obliged to give testament. My loyalty lies unquestioningly with the King of the Underworld.” Dai and Olwyn nodded vigorously and frowned at the huntsmen, who appeared unimpressed. “In the interests of hastening this hearing, I agree to give an account of what happened two nights ago.”

  He paced back and forth between Dai and Olwyn, his boots clicking on the wooden gallery. Then he halted with a snap of his heels and spun to glare at Michael. “We responded to the illegal breach immediately on orders from the king.”

  Michael glanced at Cordelia, puzzled by the continual references to the king when he alleged he had no power. She raised her eyebrows with a shake of her head, obviously baffled.

  Arian resumed pacing, the echo of his steps punctuating his words. “We gatekeepers received little help from the piskies, who claimed ignorance of what had happened in their domain.” Arian flashed a skeptical look around the chamber.

  Michael bit his lips before he said something he’d regret.

  “The pisky king was absent,” Arian continued. “In his stead, the woman who stands before us took responsibility, even though the plaintiff pleading their case is the king’s sibling.”

  A ripple of confusion swept around the chamber, the council members exchanging frowns. One of the seers stood. “Let me clarify for the records. The plaintiff who stands before us was present when you closed the illegal access and he is brother to the pisky king?”

  “Correct,” Arian fired back.

  “Is this right?” the council member demanded of Michael.

  “Aye.” Michael had a horrible feeling he was incriminating himself, but he had to answer truthfully.

  “Then why were you not left in charge in your brother’s absence?” The white-robed council member stared down at Michael, his brow wrinkled. His manner was not accusatory, merely puzzled, yet warning shot up Michael’s spine. Arian had purposely taken the discussion in this direction to discredit Michael.

  “I was responsible for the king’s sons, not the—”

  “Sons, plural?” Arian snapped.

  “Aye,” Michael said, meeting Arian’s stare head-on. “Two boys. You saw only one.”

  “You were saying,” Devin prompted Michael, with a quelling look at Arian.

  “I was only responsible for the boys. I’m Irish, not of pisky blood. The pisky wise woman takes responsibility for the pisky troop in the king’s absence.”

  “Very well.” Mawgan nodded. The council member to his right took his seat, apparently satisfied.

  Obviously not ready to let the subject drop, Arian remained standing. “I naturally assumed the king’s brother would stand leader in his stead. His refusal to take the matter seriously led me to believe he was simple in the head.”

  Arian stared down at him, a vicious smile on his lips. Michael counted to ten, while Nightshade flashed his fangs at Arian and emitted a growl that reverberated around the walls of the lower floor.

  Eyes narrowed, Arian flexed his fingers against his thigh as if wishing for his silver spikes. “The pisky wise woman proved herself incompetent. She seemed unable to grasp simple facts about the situation. I was forced to compel their attendance by taking the child.”

  “That’s not true,” Cordelia burst out. “We offered to accompany them. He made us take Finian.”

  “Dai, Olwyn?” Mawgan prompted. “How do you remember the situation?”

  Dai stood, his expression neutral. “Arian speaks the truth.”

  Anger balled in Michael’s chest, even though he’d half expected the hearing to play out like this. Cordelia had her teeth clenched; her eyes were flinty.

  Arian appeared to relax now he’d riled them. He stopped pacing and leaned his shoulder against a pillar. “The plaintiffs claimed ignorance of the basic rules and procedures involved in their offence.”

  “What offence?” Cordelia shouted.

  “Is this accusation of culpability grounded in fact?” Devin demanded, staring at Arian over their heads.

  Michael massaged the tense muscles in the back of his neck, his head aching from lack of sleep and the awkward angle.

  “What more do we need to know?” Arian made eye contact with each council member except Devin. “Cornwall is the piskies’ domain. The illegal breach occurred a few miles from their ancestral home, yet they claimed no knowledge of the gate. They’re either criminally negligent or liars.”

  His gaze slid down to Michael, a malevolent light of triumph in his eyes. “Either way, they owed a debt of blood to the King of the Underworld as reparation. The plaintiff denied responsibility on more than one occasion. I had no option but to demand blood payment from the king’s son.”

  “You never asked for his blood.” Cordelia stood tense and so angry Michael sensed the air vibrating around her.

  “If you had asked for Fin’s blood, I’d have said no,” Michael added softly, knowing this sentiment would not help their cause.

  “Arian!” Mawgan rose to his feet, his robes swishing around his legs as he stepped forward. “Am I to understand that you trapped this child intentionally?”

  “Of course.” Arian stepped forward, arms rigid at his sides. “The King of the Underworld demands blood price for such disrespect. I serve my king without question.”

  Dai and Olwyn nodded enthusiastically, like bobblehead dogs in the back of a car.

  Arian glared, his gaze challenging. “If you sanction disrespect for our king, vote against me. I stand by my actions.”

  Mawgan dropped back into his seat, his shoulders heaving with his breath. A spurt of desperation shot through Michael. They’d lost. He could read the verdict in the council members’ faces.

  “We vote,” Mawgan said wearily. “All who support the plaintiff’s call for the boy to be released stand.” With a glance around the chamber, Mawgan heaved himself to his feet. The other two seers joined him. Michael watched Devin, willing him up from his chair. If Devin supported them, there was an outside chance the two huntsmen might follow.

  Devin stared at Michael, his face impassive. He didn’t move.

  Arian grinned. “Your plea is hereby rejected.”

  Chapter Nine

  Master Devin rose to his feet and paced silently along the gallery. After running down the steps, he headed out the double doors without sparing the pisky group a glance. Cordelia stared after him, so drained and weary she could hardly think.

  “I was sure he’d support us.” She pushed her trembling hands in her jacket pockets.

  Michael stared at the door, a look of bewilderment on his face. “From what Troy said, I thought Devin would be on our side, yet he voted against us.”

  “Maybe he didn’t realize who we are.” She rested a consoling hand on Michael’s arm.

  “ Whatmanner of creature is Master Devin?” Night shade asked, a husky burr in his voice.

  “A powerful one.” Gripping the back of his neck, Michael winced, reminding her of the ache in her own neck.

  As Cordelia rubbed her muscles, she pictured Master Devin’s darkly exotic appearance. “He looks like a djinn with his golden skin and pointed ears. They’re notoriously tricky and dangerous.” Yet there was something compelling about him, too.

  Nightshade’s nostrils flared. “I’ve never tasted a shadow elemental.”

  “I’m guessing you won’t be tasting Devin, either,” Michael said with a sideways glance at the nightstalker.

  When the last council members had left the chamber, Mawgan descended the five steps and waited for them by the door. “I’m sorry about the child. Will you return to Cornwall?”

  “No.” Michael set his jaw, his face harsh
shadows and angles.

  Cordelia intervened, fearing Michael was about to lose his temper. “Cunning man, will you escort us back to the king, please? My ward is waiting with him.”

  Mawgan led them back the way they’d come.

  “I should find Devin,” Michael said when they started walking. “Despite the fact he didn’t support us, he might still give me advice about the dagger.”

  “How can we trust him?” Cordelia placed a restraining hand on Michael’s arm. “He didn’t vote for us and he didn’t even wait to talk to you.” She realized she didn’t trust anyone Troy had recommended. Her brain ached trying to work out what was going on. Was the charm placed on the steps meant to imprison Gwyn or to exclude intruders? How did Gwyn get food and drink? Where was his restroom? Goodness, she needed a restroom.

  Mawgan showed her to a primitive toilet, then led them back up the spiral stairs to Gwyn’s tower.

  On the steps where the charm had been set, she hesitated. But she felt no chill or lethargy. When she entered Gwyn’s room, Thorn grinned at her over his shoulder. “I’m winning, Dee.” Tamsy mewed and rose from where she’d been lying on the cushion beside Brian. Cordelia winced inwardly at the thought of her cat touching the grubby, hairy creature.

  She hurried across to Thorn, put her arm over his shoulders, and let him explain the state of play. Gwyn lolled back in his chair, one bare foot against the table leg. “Thorn’s a master at Monopoly. He’d make a fortune as a property developer.”

  Gwyn smiled at her. Despite her uneasiness, she smiled back. While he was relaxed, she’d try to get more information out of him. “I’ve been wondering about your situation. If you don’t mind my asking, why are you confined in this tower?”

  He gave her a wary glance, then counted some Monopoly money and handed the notes to Thorn.

  Michael came up beside her and folded his arms.

  With a beleaguered sigh, Gwyn leaned back. “Very well, if you must know, a righteous fool took exception to something I did and cursed me to spend eternity within the walls of this tower. No food. No drink. No women.” His gaze roamed over Cordelia. With a sudden flash of unease, she stepped back.

  “Don’t worry, pisky. I couldn’t touch you even if I wanted to. I exist in a dimension between the mortal world and the Underworld. But one of these days I’ll be free of this place.”

  His urbane expression fell away, leaving his face carved with bitter resentment. His gaze drilled into her. “Does that answer your question?”

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “The one who put me here will pay for his actions.” Gwyn walked to the window and stared out across the lake.

  Michael beckoned her to the far side of the room, to join Nightshade. “After what Gwyn’s just told us, I’ve realized why we can’t sense him.” Michael pulled up the leather thong he wore around his neck and gripped the three linked stone rings hanging there: his fairy Magic Knot that held the essence of his mind, body, and spirit. “Someone has broken Gwyn’s Magic Knot, separating the three parts of him. My guess is his mind and spirit are incarcerated in this room, while his body is trapped elsewhere,” Michael whispered. “He’s creating the appearance of a physical presence to fool us.”

  “Gwyn’s body must be somewhere,” Cordelia said.

  “Aye. But ’tis not our business.” Michael bent and tapped his shin where the Phoenix Dagger was hidden. “We must concentrate on rescuing Fin.”

  At the reminder of the dagger, Cordelia’s fears for Michael flooded back. “You’ve decided to exchange your life for Finian’s, then?”

  As Michael opened his mouth to answer, Nightshade gripped his shoulder. “Find another way,” he urged.

  They all looked across the room when Thorn called Gwynback to the game.

  “Do you feel we’re in the middle of a much larger game?” Michael glanced between her and Nightshade. “Everyone here seems to have their own agenda.”

  So does Troy, Cordelia thought, but kept quiet, because she didn’t want to upset Michael.

  “Arian and Mawgan were scoring points off each other using us. I’m sure Gwyn is manipulating us as well. And Devin…” Michael pulled a face. “He breezes in as though he owns the council chamber, has them all kowtowing, then backs Arian.”

  “It’s called politics, Michael.” Nightshade snapped his wings.

  “I bet Arian thinks he’s beaten us. He’s probably congratulating himself for having Devin take his side. I’d like to see his face if I walk back into that council chamber and offer meself in exchange for Finian.”

  Fear swelled inside Cordelia when she imagined Arian’s glee. “He’ll be pleased. He hates you.”

  Michael grinned tightly. “He’ll not be happy when I return from the dead.”

  Cordelia visualized the shock on Arian’s face when Michael woke up after being “killed.” She couldn’t deny a spurt of satisfaction.

  The momentary pleasure disappeared beneath the horror of reality. “You’re really going to offer your life in exchange for Fin’s?”

  “Aye .”

  “No!” Nightshade elbowed Cordelia away and stepped before Michael. “I cannot lose you, bard.”

  The nightstalker’s distress echoed darkly through her. She didn’t want to lose Michael either. She’d only just started to understand him. He was kind and brave, not at all the shallow womanizer she’d imagined when she watched him in her divining mirror.

  “Cordelia?” Michael took her hand. “Please say you’re behind me on this, lass?”

  Cordelia closed her eyes. The word no echoed inside her head, pulsed in her lungs, burned her tongue, but that was her selfish heart talking. Michael would do whatever was required to rescue Finian. He needed her support to give him strength and confidence.

  She massaged her temples with shaking fingers. “Yes.”

  “No.” Nightshade crowded her, trying to intimidate her into changing her mind. She wrapped her arms over her head and leaned into Michael’s protective embrace.

  “That’s enough.” Michael shoved him away Nightshade stood, arms tense at his sides, nostrils flared like an angry bull.

  “Kill yourself then, fool. But I’ll have no part of it.” Stalking away, he ruffled his wings against his back, and disappeared out the door.

  Michael eased back against the wall, taking her with him. She kept her forehead pressed to his chest, wishing the moment could last forever. “Maybe it’s best we let him go,” Michael whispered. “There’s no telling what he’ll do if Arian agrees to my suggestion.”

  Hope flared. With every fiber of Cordelia’s being, she prayed that Arian rejected Michael’s sacrifice.

  Nightshade ran down the steps from the tower room, his head throbbing with waves of anger. How could Michael be foolish enough to believe he would rise from the dead? Any idiot could sense Gwyn ap Nudd was not telling the truth about anything.

  And that damn woman encouraged him.

  Cordelia Tink obviously didn’t care for Michael at all. All she cared about was saving Finian so Niall wouldn’t roast her skinny hide. If only Niall would banish her from the pisky troop. The possibility brought a grim smile to Nightshade’s lips.

  At the bottom of the steps he turned right, choosing the route they’d taken earlier to reach the council chamber. Michael might be a fool, but Nightshade intended to do all he could to protect his friend.

  With his excellent sense of direction, he had no trouble following the winding corridors back to the council chamber. The double doors groaned as he shoved them open and entered. The room was empty, the air heavy with silence as he made his way up the five steps to the gallery. He rested his hands on his hips and gazed down at the blue mosaic tiles decorating the pit floor. The pattern had caught his attention earlier, but was impossible to interpret at ground level. In the low light from the small gallery windows, the blues varied from that of a velvet night sky to a pale summer morn. Viewed from above, the design became clear: a maze. The same pattern they’d s
een on the rocky doorway that led to the Teg’s domain.

  Nightshade descended the two flights of steps to the pit and crouched, running his fingers along the gaps between the tiles. A faint draft through the cracks confirmed his suspicion. The floor to the pit opened. Whatever was below, he didn’t want to find out.

  He tracked the circular wall, grasped one of the chains securing a set of manacles to the stone, and yanked. The fixing didn’t shift. The restraints were strong, the metal clean. Still in use.

  Although he heard nothing, a tingling sense of power stole through his body. He swung around, already sure whom he’d find. “Master Devin.”

  The djinn stood on the top step. He was still dressed elaborately, but the long coat had been replaced by a jacket of embroidered bloodred satin, the same color as the jewels glittering at his ears.

  “You’re suspicious.” Devin descended a couple of steps. “A man after my own heart.”

  The djinn’s exotic fragrance flavored the air, making Nightshade’s fangs ache in his gums. A low growl of desire broke from his throat.

  Devin laughed. The way his lips curved and his eyes sparkled reminded Nightshade of Michael. Was he forever doomed to compare all men to Michael?

  Yet tasty as he looked, the djinn had not been on their side in the council hearing. Nightshade curled a lip to show the point of one fang. “I advise you to keep away from me, dark one. I have a yen to bite you.”

  Devin’s grin widened. “Maybe sometime, Nightshade, but not here, not now. We have more pressing matters.”

  Having expected a categorical refusal, Nightshade was momentarily stunned by the djinn’s response. He stared at the dark, enigmatic glint in Devin’s eyes. Then everything he’d said sank in.

  “You know my name.”

  “So I do.” Devin reached the bottom of the steps and leaned a shoulder against the wall.

  “How?”

  Devin tapped the side of his nose with a slender finger tipped by a pointed nail. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”