“You might be under Autumn’s protection, Romany. But it will not help your…what have we here?”
Florian’s voice had been growing closer but stopped.
“Here. Look at this—it is the same cheap dress she wore to the Royal Palace, the best she could find to wear before the queen. Tell me again how she was never here, Romany. She’s in this room; I can feel it. Perhaps naked. And there’s blood on it—perhaps from fucking your friend Falconer. He is as dead as she.”
Lia’s blood turned as cold as the River Biar where it flowed out of the mountains outside the Winter Palace. There was nothing to do now but throw herself on Florian’s mercy and hope he killed her quickly. She would not get Faulk killed with her but would claim she’d taken another Hunter, someone whose name she never knew. Or she’d make one up.
She pulled out of Faulk’s grasp and motioned for him to stay where he was. Straightened the chemise. Finger-combed her hair as best she could. Wondered if her lips, swollen from Faulk’s kisses, would betray them both.
She gave Faulk one final look over her shoulder as she took a step toward the voice—and saw the second he figured out her intentions.
Lia moved fast, but Faulk moved faster, clapping a hand over her mouth and dragging her backward through the door between the trees.
Blackness.
Falling.
Tumbling in space and time.
Faulk had thrown them through the veil and back into Faerie.
11
Faulk landed in an easy crouch and never lost his footing but Lia, unused to the sensation of crossing the veil, fell again on her twisted ankle. He helped her to her feet in the dark.
“Can you walk on it?”
“I think so,” she whispered. “Where are we?”
No need to whisper here. “In the off-season larder of the Autumn Palace. Don’t move.” Faulk let go of her and followed his nose to the lantern, which was set up next to the fragrant drying apples. He used his plastic lighter from the human world to ignite it, ignoring the quick metallic burn to his fingers from the striker, and adjusted the flame to illuminate the room in a soft glow.
Lia turned in a circle, taking in the shelves upon shelves of dried, pickled, and pressurized fruits and vegetables, enough to feed the Autumn Court with the foods it loved while the other courts enjoyed their own seasons. Trading to the food-challenged Winter Court also supplied a source of income, especially now that the princes of Summer and Winter were in all-but-open warfare.
“So the door in the back of the forest room was a tear in the veil.” She turned back to him, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms. “Clever.”
Faulk smiled. “One always needs an escape route or two, and no one comes here often. It closes for a while once it’s used, so there’s no danger of being followed. Here, you’re cold.” He stripped off his t-shirt and held it out to her. When she slipped it over her head, he laughed. “Not stylish, but warmer.”
They’d need something warmer still, because unless the both of them planned to live on the run indefinitely, their options were shutting down fast. Even running wasn’t a true option. He might be able to send Lia back across the veil undetected, but Prince Falconer could not go into hiding without bringing down the wrath of the queen and the Summer Court onto his brother Yuri and the entire Autumn realm.
He prayed Romy would be safe. His friend could hold off Florian for a while since the prince knew the Romy carried the Autumn Court’s protection, but not forever. Whatever Faulk did, he had to do it quickly.
“Tell me what I can do.” Lia tested out her ankle and other than a more pronounced limp, it seemed to be no worse than before. “Even if it means sending me back to Florian. The last thing I want is to destroy you and your family. I’m not worth it.”
Faulk looked at this girl—this woman—who’d grown stronger in the past two days than she imagined. Sending her back to Florian would maintain the uneasy peace of Faerie and allow Autumn to remain neutral a while longer. But he wouldn’t do it, would he? He’d never send her into hiding where he might never see her again. He was too selfish for that.
There remained only one hope. He took her hand and led her toward the larder door. “Come on. We need warmer clothes.”
AN HOUR LATER, they hurried through the woods of the Autumn Palace grounds and slipped over the border into the Realm of Winter. Even the heavy cloaks they wore didn’t keep the snow and sleet from forming cold white crowns on their hoods.
They moved silently, and while he couldn’t imagine what Lia was thinking, Faulk mentally practiced his petition before the Prince of Winter. In the long term, Prince Christof was the only one with enough power to save both of them without Autumn’s destruction.
Vanoli had gone as their emissary. Faulk hadn’t wanted to involve his brother. If things went badly, Yuri could claim innocence and pass any lie-detection challenge the queen might issue. The healers of all four courts were seen as impartial, though each was fiercely loyal. Vanoli would not betray the man she had raised, nor would she be treated harshly if Christof had not agreed to meet with them.
He had agreed, however, and as soon as Vanoli returned, chilled and breathless, Faulk and Lia had set out for the Winter Palace. Finally, they arrived; a guard waited for them near a rear entrance and motioned them inside.
The palace had been constructed of ice, or the illusion of ice. Faulk had never been sure. Hand-in-hand, he and Lia started up a stairway that glistened and smoked with condensation, yet was not slippery.
“Have you been here before?” Lia whispered. “Should I say anything to the prince?”
He squeezed her hand. “I’ll get it started, but stay on your guard. I don’t know him well. He keeps very much to himself and spends a lot of time in the otherworlds.”
“Liandra!” At the top of the stairs stood Christof’s sister Kirian, who wore a green gown of heavy wool that set off her dark red hair and fair complexion. She and Lia hugged with genuine affection, which Faulk hoped might sway Christof to help them—assuming he’d forgiven his sister for her latest antics.
“Greetings, Hunter.” Kirian arched an eyebrow at Faulk with a much cooler expression in her green eyes.
He bowed. “Princess Kirian, I hope you have recovered from your recent journey.”
“Escape, you mean, and I always enjoy a few hours with your man Romany.” She winked. “Come on, my brother is this way.”
They followed her down a long hallway along the length of an elaborately woven rug that rested on a floor of ice. Faulk had expected to enter the throne room, which was as far into the palace as he’d been previously, but they walked to the end of the hall.
“Go on in—the old bastard’s reading a human fantasy novel. Something about ice and fire and thrones. Go figure.” Kirian gave a curtsy filled with sarcasm and turned back down the hallway. Guess reading wasn’t one of her favorite pastimes, nor was courtly behavior. Faulk liked her and, judging by the grin on her face, so did Lia.
“Ready?” He waited until Lia took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, then. All or nothing.”
The room was a perfect square, with a roaring fire that sent rivulets of water down the walls of pale green ice but didn’t melt them. Somehow, it managed to be a cozy room, even inviting, with plenty of rugs and tapestries despite its decidedly icy color scheme.
A tall man sat in a plush armchair before the fire and, upon their entrance, put aside the book he was reading and stood. “Welcome, Prince Falconer.”
“Prince Christof, thank you for seeing us.”
Dressed in a forest-green sweater and black trousers—definitely from the human world, judging by their stylish cut—the Prince of Winter was dark-haired, but had the same brilliant green eyes as his brother Florian. Also like his brother, he wore his hair short, and had the cheekbones and sharp features of pure fae.
The power that came off him when they shook hands was like none Faulk had ever felt, however. He’d never touched Florian but sure
ly he had no more power than this. It was the power of a man who could be king.
Faulk hoped it was the power of a man who was sane.
“You must be Liandra,” Christof said. That would be Liandra who looked on the verge of fainting when Christof shook her hand. Somehow, Faulk doubted handshakes had been part of her introduction to Florian.
“Please sit.” Christof returned to his armchair and waved them toward two other upholstered chairs covered in the same pale blue fabric. All the colors here seemed to have been dipped in ice.
“Your healer Vanoli has explained your situation, and my sister Kirian has voiced her opinions. As you might have realized,” Christof added wrly, “Kirian has opinions on many things, as does her sister Tamara. But I should like to hear from you, Falconer.”
Faulk had practiced a complex explanation of politics and high principles, but under Christof’s intent, open gaze, he changed his mind and simply told the truth.
“I’m asking for your protection for Liandra.” He briefly described his different meetings with Florian. “I understand the enormity of what I’m asking, but I cannot turn Liandra over to your brother, especially when I wish her to become my lifemate.”
Faulk hadn’t planned to say that, and wasn’t even aware he’d been thinking it. It felt right, though. He glanced at Lia, willing her to wipe the shock off her face and play along.
Christof chuckled and replenished his glass of what looked like brandy. “Would either of you care for a drink?”
Lia shook her head and Faulk did the same. He might throw up. Where had that lifemate business come from?
“Liandra, does Falconer’s summary of the situation agree with your own?” Christof turned his focus to Lia.
She reached across the small table between their chairs and grasped Faulk’s hand. “It does. All of it.”
Thank the gods. He squeezed her hand, although he still reeled from his own admission.
Christof leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “You realize this will put me further at odds with my brother? It also will imply that the Autumn Court has thrown its support behind my bid for the throne. Is that true?”
Faulk had been prepared for the question. “I cannot offer the court’s support without first speaking with my brother, but he has been clear that the ultimate choice will be mine. I will never support Florian as king.” Lia had been right; the man would destroy all that was good about Faerie.
“Are you saying, then, that you will issue that support to me?”
“Informally.” Faulk wasn’t ready to openly throw himself behind Christof while Florian was obviously closer to the queen. The repercussions on the people of his court would be too great.
Eventually, however, he would back Christof. “If and when negotiations between you, your brother, and your aunt reach an impasse, I will formally place the Autumn Court at your disposal. At that time, you also will have the support of all the Fae Hunters under my command. We will be your soldiers should we be needed.”
“I fear you will be asked to fight, if things do not improve.” Christof sipped his drink and stared at the fire, then looked up at Lia. “I also need the promise of support from your future mate.”
Faulk stared at Liandra in surprise; she appeared to be on the verge of taking flight. Her voice shook. “From me, your highness? Of course you may have it, but I have nothing to offer.”
“On the contrary.” Christof leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Kirian tells me of your skill in making a blend of metalwork that can be held in the bare hand of a faery without damage.”
She nodded. Pulling her hand from Faulk’s, she removed from her wrist two sparkling bracelets that looked to be silver. “Here are two of the simpler ones.”
Christof examined them, squeezing them between his palms to test their strength and running his fingertips over the designs she had carved into them. “Can you make larger things from this compound? Is it scalable?”
By the gods, Christof was brilliant. Faulk saw where he was going with these questions. “Lia, could you make weapons using your metalworking skills? Weapons that could be wielded without gloves?”
Her mouth opened in surprise. She looked down a moment, thinking, then looked up with sparkling eyes. “Of course. I could make a dagger, for example, that had a safe handle and blade except for perhaps a tip of iron, or one edge, so that it would still be effective.”
Christof smiled. “I repeat then. Liandra, do I also have the promise of your support should matters reach an impasse between myself and my brother, with the throne of Faerie at stake?”
12
LIA WATCHED AS FAULK walked down the narrow alley off Ursulines Street and opened the door to The Hunt Club. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go in with him?”
“No, give him a few moments.” Christof, with his short hair, denim trousers, and white button-front shirt, blended perfectly with the humans walking around them.
Faulk looked back toward the street and motioned them to come ahead before he disappeared inside. Lia wanted this showdown with Florian to be over, and she was about to get her wish. Faulk had said he’d motion them in only if there were no humans in the bar and Florian remained.
“Time’s up, Falconer.” Florian rose from his corner seat as soon as Faulk cleared the doorway; he hadn’t yet seen Lia or Christof. The sight of him filled Lia with rage. He must never become king. “Present the bitch to me now, or I’ll send word to the queen to issue orders for your removal. She’s waiting for word.”
Lia prayed Christof’s confidence in his ability to control his brother was well founded and took a step into the abyss.
“I’m here, your highness.” She walked down the stairs and came to stand beside Faulk. Wearing a pale gold dress given to her and quickly altered to fit by one of the Winter Court in exchange for the silver bracelets, she didn’t feel like the same girl who’d fallen on her knees before the queen just three days ago.
Florian gave her a slow look up and down that told her she looked as good as Faulk kept telling her. And that was as close to his consort as he was going to get.
“Maybe I’ll use you myself after all—before I give you to the palace staff.” Florian walked to within spitting distance of her and stopped. Lia suspected he wanted to get no closer to Faulk, whose anger even she could sense. “Put her in cuffs, Hunter. I’m happy to see you came to your senses.”
Lia was unsure, but thought she heard Faulk mutter, “Sense this,” under his breath.
“I’m afraid there has been a change of plans.” Christof walked in behind them and Florian’s face visibly paled. Lia bit her lip to avoid responding. It wouldn’t pay to get too comfortable. She wasn’t safely out of the forest yet.
“Liandra, daughter of Caerne the Metalworker, is now under my protection.” If possible, Christof was even better at arrogant drawls than his brother. “I have instructed Falconer, as Captain of the Fae Hunters, that she is not to be harmed.”
Florian’s skin began to glow, and Lia looked at Faulk in alarm. He shrugged and nodded toward Christof, who didn’t seem impressed.
Florian held up one hand and formed a ball of fire. “I will burn this place to the ground, and all of you inside it.”
With a sweep of his arm, Christof sent a shower of wet, freezing rain on them all, enough to douse the fire. Then he gave an exaggerated yawn. “That the best you’ve got?”
Lia wiped water out of her eyes and looked suspiciously at Christof. He might be the saner of the two high-season princes, but she suspected he still might have a wide streak of crazy.
“I paid for her,” Florian said. “Her own father gave her to me for a foal, and she is mine.” Lia had heard spoiled toddlers use similar tones in the playgrounds of Faerie.
“I am no one’s but—Ow.” Lia rubbed her arm where Faulk pinched her. They’d be discussing that if there was to be talk of any future lifemating.
Christof waved a hand in dismissal of his brother. �
��I had a fine young foal from my personal stables delivered to your palace grounds an hour ago, along with a beautiful russet-colored mare you might wish to give the queen. You can say it’s a gift from you, of course. She’ll be quite pleased.”
Florian paused and frowned. “Perhaps…”
Clearly, Christof had anticipated that his brother’s desire to suck up to the queen would outweigh his desire to save face.
The Winter Prince crossed his arms. “You also can tell her you outwitted me to get the horse and that it was my fault your consort escaped. I won’t contradict you.”
Florian spat on the floor in front of Lia, then stalked toward the door. “Fine. She’s more trouble than she’s worth anyway,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll regret saving them both.”
As soon as the door slammed behind his brother, Christof turned toward them. “Be sure that what he says is not true about causing trouble. Don’t make me regret granting you asylum. What can be granted can be taken away.”
Faulk nodded. “Thank you. Would you like a drink to seal our pact?”
“No, I have a friend living at the Hotel Monteleone and I am meeting him for a late dinner. And if my hearing doesn’t lie, the Hunter Romany is locked in one of your back rooms.”
Lia had heard nothing. Then again, the tension of the last few days was draining fast and she’d had more alcohol than food. Her senses weren’t at their sharpest.
Faulk shook hands with Christof and went to rescue Romy, leaving Lia alone with the Prince of Winter.
“We shall see each other soon, Liandra. Your skills will be greatly valued by the Hunters and my other allies. Make a list of what you require to produce the weaponry after learning from Falconer what the Hunters need. I will make sure that you have it.”
Leaving what Lia would later swear was a swirl of snow in his wake, Prince Christof walked out of The Hunt Club.
The Consort: A Fae Hunters Novella (The Fae Hunters Book 1) Page 8
