by Lynn S.
The road forked in different paths—some echoed terrible cries, others blanketed in the deepest silences, leading to one destination.
Whatever the alternative, whomever embarked on such pilgrimage had to leave something behind. Shadows fed on loss of hope, but whatever they saw on Alexander was worth leaving untouched.
As the Sidhe approached, stairs to a vast tabernacle materialized, guiding his steps. Pillars of obsidian flanked the stairs; angles that tricked the eye cut across, leading nowhere. Francis was forced to let go of all but the illusion of Esteban’s flesh to be able to concentrate on his surroundings. It forced him to deprive himself of magic in order to avoid a pitfall.
It was then that he saw it, a throne of opalescent white, a mockery of Light born out of the dark stone. It was almost perfect in its beauty and craftsmanship, unmarred by the blood and misery surrounding it. Another trick, no doubt.
No one sat on that place of power. It was a distinction reserved for the Mother of Shadows. The Queen of Evils, however, had not entertained the idea of holding such a position for the longest time. She simply walked in its vicinity, her shape playing in chiaroscuro.
“Dia duit.” Alexander ventured a greeting the dark. “It looks as if you have been hurt, my lady. So much, I’m afraid your heart might turn against those who love you well.”
As he waited for an answer, ice crystals swirled, reminding him that he still had breath and, therefore, could be struck dead at any minute—a simple consequence of her displeasure. Still, Francis smiled, admiring the irony of it all, at least for shortsighted humans who’d rather conceive a fiery hell.
“I am hurt. You have said so. And even if I decided not to sit on my throne, I’m still the mistress of this place. I have all the right to mourn what has happened of late. You see, my son, the Leanan Sidhe, or at least the head of their household, has struck new allegiances against both Light and Shadows. Such plans are a blatant rebellion against the Altar of Shadows, and the graceful mistress who has protected them for so long.”
Her voice was sweeter than that of Meav, and even for someone with enthralling skills as Francis, there was something impossible to resist about that call. He could slip and allow for his treachery to come in full view. Careful. For the first time in a long time, a fairy had to be aware of words spoken.
He turned toward her, lifting his gaze and meeting slate gray eyes gleaming with orange. They looked like embers, cradled by the reddest hair, promising warmth in that never-ending winter. Another trick, no doubt. The Mother of Shadows spoke, continuing her monologue, forgetting to acknowledge the fairy before her.
“Shadow Acolytes keep my hands tied. They have conceded this is a matter for the Morrigan…” As she moved past Francis, the train of her dress dragged, tattered and torn. Alexander recognized the smell impregnated in the fabric. Human skin worked into leather.
“However,” the woman continued, “as clever as they believe themselves to be, they have allowed for the Sidhe they all have a claim on to breach their enclaves. They might not be able to trace you, Francis dear, but I can. And let’s say you are not dead simply because you have always brought the best of offerings. Don’t let me down now. Tell me there is something for us behind this little theater of yours…”
For centuries, the Acolytes of Shadow had discarded Caorthannach, leaving her to wither away along with a number of forgotten deities. She had suffered the indignity of oblivion and had not so gracefully given her rights to stronger, newer powers. Alexander counted on her hunger and greed to get a sorely needed extra boon. When he found the time to speak, he knew it had to be all about her, even if his initial plans had nothing to do with the demon-witch.
“It was always in my plans, venerable lady. Meav wanted to rid herself of a son and I agreed to help her. In time, I would have moved a debilitated Killian from Aval’s prison and brought him to your presence. You could force him to recognize things about himself he hasn’t even acknowledged yet, and perhaps even find out how deep runs the guilt of the Morrigan. The secrets of the prince, if ever they come to light, might even make slaves out of blackbirds.”
Caorthannach’s sudden interest gave Francis hope. He allowed for her to fill in the blanks. “You mean to tell me that your intentions to deliver Killian of Fae to us were thwarted by Mikka? The Morrigan herself stripped the Queen of Aval from her mantle of power and placed a crown on Auberon’s head? They know well the new king will never ask the right questions, for his brother’s sake. You have told me nothing, Francis, other than The Phantom Queens seem to have cornered you and played you for a fool. As entertaining as Court gossip might be, you’ll have to do better.”
“There will come a time when they will pay for their offenses.” The Mother of Shadows had mocked him, and though Francis had to swallow his pride to get what he wanted, his rage was visible. “There’s enough treachery in the Morrigan to say, in all confidence, that I had great teachers. But that is my vendetta to care for. As far as your interests are concerned, the oracle of New Orleans summoned a dweller against me. Not just one of the spirits trapped in the mirror world, but one who has been at large for quite a while…”
The Mother of Shadows made the best of efforts not to betray her curiosity, but the change in her tone and the swift pattern of her words told Francis he had hit it on the head.
“A rogue dweller, you say. Does it have an uncommon interest in the violin, by any chance?”
Bingo.
“I can’t tell if it is the host or the creature, but yes. Garan Nolton is known to dabble in strings.”
“Interesting.” The Mother of Shadows considered that, sitting on her throne. Leaning forward, she invited Francis Alexander to reach closer. “I could do with a rare bird. It might soothe my soul in this solitude. Come, come, Francis. I’ll give you the means to build a cage.”
Chapter XXIII
Secrets of the Seelie Court
The rooms designated by Brigitte of the Cemetery to the deposed Queen of Aval spoke for themselves.
When Mikka brought the once powerful fairy queen before the oracle of New Orleans, Meav refused to give Brigitte her due, requesting to speak to someone of her stature. The loa expected such a request, the queen, however, did not see Brigitte’s answer coming.
It struck her, palm open, right across the face.
The Lady of the Cemetery smacked the sass out of that arrogant fairy with one quick, sweeping motion. The slap left behind more than pain. It worked its way through Meav’s cheek. Stinging at first, it cracked her porcelain skin like an egg shell. Beyond chastising, it was judgement. Neither Light nor Shadows objected to conferring onto Brigitte the fairy’s power. Raw magic made the oracle’s skin tremble. Debts were to be paid.
Brigitte took everything, even Meav’s beauty. Fairies objected to the passage of time and the oldest among them weaved complicated spells to keep the illusion of youth. Brigitte didn’t need such trickery, but still, there was a sense of satisfaction in stealing the shine off the queen. Where there had once been pupils of liquid gold, now yellowed eyes stared with hatred, framed by a haggard and worn face. The queen’s hair, golden strands injected with life, fell on the floor, leaving behind just several locks attached to a dried scalp. Meav was meant to turn into a twisted memento for the crypt, worthy of the loa of death’s collection.
When Killian reached the queen’s designated abode, Meav looked like a human over a hundred years old might have. Everything about her was brittle, except for her pride.
“Mother.” Killian and Meav hardly ever acted on one accord and the queen had always been dismissive toward her younger son. However, seeing her in such a detrimental condition moved the prince. He extended his hand to help her to her feet, but she rather took her time, managing to stand on her own. Meav met him with her usual frigid stare, a disapproving look that recaptured the golden glint in her eyes, if only for an instant.
“Have you forgotten, son of mine? Wherever we may be, no circumstances excluding, we
are Sleagh Maith, the Seelie Court. I will see your Fae façade. That vulgar oracle might as well grant me that.”
Meav referred to Brigitte’s requirement that all supernatural creatures in the city were to abide by human rules and wear human skin. Killian came to her as Aidan Faraday, and Meav despised his chestnut hair and olive green eyes. The prince had considered keeping the disguise when coming to see her, if only to spare her a bigger blow. But looking at her through Aidan Faraday’s eyes, Killian wondered why he was being so careful about Meav’s feelings.
He owed her nothing, be it as mother or as queen. The prince could count the times she’d ever been kind to him. The decadent spectacle of a woman before him would never rule over Aval again. Sympathy toward her could only be perceived as a weakness.
“Is it true that you had a hand in my defeat by the Leanan Sidhe?” By the time he had finished asking his question, his eyes were the color of red wine and his hair had grown long in silver layers. His face shifted, uncovering sharpened features and living, inky patterns underneath his skin. Even his clothes changed to accommodate his stature as an emissary of Aval. Gone were the dark t-shirt and jeans, replaced by the lengthy, golden attire of those representing the Seelie Court. Killian now wore what had been Auberon’s investiture: three shades of gold and a band of white upon his head.
Meav’s pain was apparent. Auberon decided to send his final word on the matter, introducing his younger brother as the heir to Aval. She was compelled to lash out.
“I bestowed upon Francis Alexander the Court’s seal. There is no point in trying to deny it. The Morrigan is forcing me to speak the truth.” Meav’s wrinkled neck showed the furious reminder of Mikka’s mark, burning red against her skin. “You will probably think it was all about you, but fear not. Your dismissal was only collateral benefit. Time is running short for Aval. The Light declines to lend its ear and the Altar of Shadows will soon start requesting double the tithe.”
For centuries, they were forced to abandon the earthly plane, fairies had been subject to the designs of both Light and Shadows. Forever bound to answer to disparate factions, they spent half their time worshiping Light and the other half committed to Shadows. It was a secret unknown to humans, as well as many of the supernatural kind. More than one had theorized about the unusual behavior among the Fae, to no avail. Even Sebastian, Marissa’s father, had spent the short time he had with the order trying to figure out the root of the chasm between the Seelie and Unseelie. After all, being of the same brood, the Sleagh Maith seemed to have an affable disposition, benign or at least tolerant, while the Leanan Sidhe spent most of their time working dark arts.
It had been Meav’s decision, long ago, when their predicament had barely started. She waited for the right son of Aval to arrive and, understanding Francis to be more capable than her own brood, gave control of the dark side of the Fae to House Alexander and their blood thirsty minions.
“I did it to save my son,” she asserted before the prince. “Auberon has the makings of a kind ruler, and that is meant to be his undoing. He took it upon himself to answer for the tithe, and when the Shadows saw this, they asked for more. The Light didn’t care much about your brother, Killian. They are all about sacrifice and love. Therefore, they turned the other way when your brother stepped in and offered half his soul to the altar of Shadows in exchange for lives spared.”
“He did what?” Killian was taken by his mother’s confession. It was said that fairies had no soul, but it was not true, at least not among the royal lines. They were allowed to keep their soul in order to answer to the Universe. Discovering his brother had lost half of something so precious shook him to the core.
“Ah! One of the many things that happened while you were sleeping, dear…” Meav stopped. There was more to the story, but while Mikka made her say truths, she didn’t force her to say it all.
Auberon had always suspected his mother, as well as House Alexander. He sacrificed himself not only to save his people, but to gain control of both Seelie and Unseelie. Under his vigilant eye, the whole Court would stay in place, in Aval, where they belonged. Meav, however, had bestowed unknown powers to Francis Alexander in their quest to get rid of both Light and Shadows and stake a claim once more in the human world.
“If anything hurts, it is knowing that Auberon will think me a traitor. When all I did, all I ever did…was on his behalf.” Meav’s voice almost broke before she found strength in her hatred of Killian once again. “And now I see that investiture upon you and know he’d find a way to make all I attained crash and burn. He will lift you…he will see possibilities in you!”
Killian then understood she didn’t only mean to do away with him by imprisonment. Meav wanted to kill him, as she foresaw the inevitable consequence of Auberon’s love for his younger brother.
“You’ll have questions, I know,” the queen continued. “But there’s not much to understand, Killian. I love one son and despise another, and even as much as I love my first born, I don’t see him worthy of undertaking the task at hand. Our duty to Aval is not only to survive, but to regain what we once lost. That is why I hold Francis in higher esteem, because he knew when to dirty his hands. Neither of you are worthy of being my sons, though your brother has my heart.”
“Mother…” Killian used the word as a deterrent.
“And you still hold to that word. Foolish child. What else would you have me do? Unbless you? The only thing I’ve ever owed the Morrigan was the joy of watching you be dragged into oblivion for seven hundred years.”
Killian knew himself to be the spitting image of his father. Still, even as a child, and while Crisden, King of Aval, held the seat of power, elements of the Court dared snicker and gossip. After his father’s demise, there were even some who took to calling him bastard, until his sword silenced those arguments. Both his father and brother ratified his position, and yet…somehow, he knew. He always knew. He just had to ask.
“Why do you hate me so, Meav? Who am I to you?”
“Who?” The queen’s eyes fixed upon his face. This time the glamour could not account for her disdain. Before, the hatred in her stare had been masked behind her golden eyes. “The better question to ask it what you are.”
The queen squared before the prince, and spat on the floor. There was a lingering sense of satisfaction about her, something close to a smile was about to curl her lips. Killian knew she’d say something good enough to render him to pieces. But it didn’t come to be.
Meav’s mouth was filled with dark bile; she had become incapable of dealing with her own venom. The mark in her neck burned to the point of charring skin. As she screamed, more bile came forth. Killian felt a pain that resonated with his mother’s, the mark on his own side made him bend in agony. There was only one explanation for it. A Phantom Queen was near.
Annand owed herself to no one. Therefore, her presence didn’t have to be approved by Brigitte, or any other being between heaven and Earth. Still, even if her feet never touched the ground, the Morrigan acknowledged the presence of their hostess. Brigitte allowed, if only as a formality, for which she was grateful. The loa appeared to witness the descent of the mightiest of the Morrigan, a spectacle to behold.
The austerity of Annand’s black cloak gave way to the silver of battle armor. Dark as the point right before dawn, her hair fell down her back, contrasting against the purest of white in her wings. A corvine bird held fast to her left shoulder, digging deep as it cawed, demanding silence. While at her right, an ever-bleeding hand rested upon the hilt of a silver sword.
“You were warned.” The Morrigan concentrated on Meav. Ignoring Killian immediately relieved the prince of the pain and discomfort of the mark. “The moment Mikka of the Battlefield placed her hand upon you, your geis compelled you to tell truths that pertained only to yourself. You should have used your words wisely. Against good judgment, and instead of asking for mercy, you decided to bring to light your duplicity and disposition to do harm. This is your son, presente
d before the throne and to the Court of Faerie. There is no other truth. Whatever you are thinking of spitting from your lips had better stay there.”
The few tendrils of hair left on Meav’s head regained the malleable golden quality they used to have. But instead of beautifying the queen, the golden threads cut through her skin, twisting and turning as her lips sealed.
The Morrigan turned toward the prince. Killian knew well that her blinded eyes saw everything, and he wanted his answers. He’d challenge her, right then and there, even if it were to cost him dearly.
“Don’t you dare make me forget what I have heard. Don’t even think about commanding me not to find out. Now, more than ever, I am sure that if I’ve ever courted with misfortune and misery, it is because of you…”
“I have no quarrel with you. I will do what is required, and then return to the Spheres.” The Morrigan’s eyes were cold, but then, it was nothing new. “What I will ask of you is to act accordingly. Meav’s words were meant to hurt you, but they do not relieve you of your dignity or stature as a prince of Aval. Your own brother counts you as second in succession and you will behave as such. Killian of Fae, if Francis Alexander is defeated tonight, you will pass judgement accordingly, as you will do now.”
Her fingers, wet with blood, touched Killian’s lips, reinforcing his words. His declarations would be heard across worlds. The Morrigan asked a son to pass sentence.
“Meav of Fae, by the power invested upon me by Auberon, monarch of Aval…” His eyes didn’t leave those of the woman he called mother. “I witness, that for your own testimony, you have declared yourself an ally to our enemies and in open rebellion against both Light and Shadows. Therefore, you shall live the rest of your remaining days away from Aval, in the mortal world. The seat of your exile will be this crypt, and you shall subdue your power to Brigitte of the Cemetery, as long as the Lady promises not to use such against the good will of Aval, nor give away our secrets to those who might want to possess them.”
