Heir of the Dog

by Hailey Edwards

  But they didn’t come back.

  When the tally shot to five missing teens, the conclave caught wind of it and sent us to investigate. Turned out to be freshwater mermaids. They used the area’s underground river system as their own private hunting grounds and migratory system all rolled into one. Nasty things, mermaids.

  Standing on the lip of this gateway into the Halls, I kept flashing back to those weeks spent at Blue Hole. How often had I swam there as bait, expecting a hand to grab my ankle and drag me to a watery grave, trusting Shaw’s reflexes were fast enough to save me if something tried?

  I hoped we washed ashore after confronting what awaited us in the deep.

  “It’s an illusion,” Rook said under his breath. “You have nothing to fear.”

  The Watchers each stepped to one side of the hole and waited. I guess we were going first.

  The soothing presence at my side had vanished. I sought out Diode. “Are you coming?”

  “If I must.” He pressed against me and scowled at his reflection in the water. “Disgusting.”

  “You’ll be fine.” I clutched his ruff. “If you’re not, you can take it out of Rook’s hide.”

  “Pleased to be of service,” Rook said dryly.

  I patted his chest. “I never doubted.”

  “The consuls await,” the Watchers reminded us.

  I tried meeting their eye—eyes?—and ended up crossing mine. “Can’t have that, can we?”

  Rook cleared his throat. “Everything you say and do before them is seen by the consuls.”

  “I figured.” I stood on the edge of the pool. “I just don’t care.”

  They had kept me bent over a barrel since I arrived, hell, before I arrived, and I just wanted to go home. I had participated. That meant Mom went free. The rest wasn’t outlined, and I hadn’t signed any papers. Our verbal agreement, my obligation, was met to the letter.

  Rook slid his hand into mine. I squeezed his fingers and let him guide me. We stepped onto, not into, the water. The sensation of falling tensed my knees, but he kept me standing as the water rose, never touching us, and the pit of my stomach stopped hovering overhead and dropped back into place.

  Once the illusion of water receded, we stood in a cylindrical room made of what must have been glass or crystal. Beneath us, water rushed. It cascaded down the sides too. Overhead, a circular patch of blue sky illuminated the uncluttered chamber.

  A low growl pumped to my left. Diode’s fur bristled, making him twice as imposing.

  Poor guy, this had to be a cat’s worst nightmare.

  A breeze stirred the loose hairs hanging from my braid, announcing the Watchers had joined us in the chamber. They crossed the room to where two clear benches extended from the wall, and sat. Over their heads, the rushing waters parted, and the same two likenesses as before appeared as watercolor portraits. Neither of the consuls looked pleased to see me.

  “Thierry Thackeray.” Liosliath inspected me. “Your presence here is...most unexpected.”

  “You agreed to take your father’s place in exchange for the return of your mother.” Daibhidh stared daggers at me. “Yet there you stand, as he has never stood.”

  “Sorry, guys.” I kept my tone neutral. “This Black Dog gig didn’t come with an instruction manual.”

  Air distorted to my right, and the Huntsman appeared with a snort.

  “You laugh at this?” Liosliath spoke. “She murdered your hounds in cold blood.”

  “Cold?” He chuckled. “No. Cold-blooded would be stealing a girl’s mother, ripping her from her life to participate in a game you savor playing every century. That this is the first time one of your houses has broken their blood oath and murdered a reigning king is the only surprise here.”

  Liosliath’s reflection rippled with the force of his anger.

  “This is not the first time a prince has died in pursuit of the throne, nor will it be the last. How many times have we crowned kings while their rival’s blood still stained their teeth?” The Huntsman drew himself taller. “The loss of both princes in one hunt is regrettable, but as we have offered past victors amnesty for crimes they committed in the heat of battle, so must we make allowances now.”

  “Do the lives in your care mean so little?” Daibhidh asked.

  “My hounds die in this tourney. Just as princes do. The beasts are made from my own blood and bone, my own soul and thought. When they die, it is I who pays the price,” he snarled. “Never think I don’t mourn their loss.”

  The anguish in his voice resonated with me. “I’m sorry for my part in their deaths.”

  “No one is truly sorry when they won and lived.” He sighed. “But I do accept the sentiment.”

  “We sit here discussing dogs when each of the houses has lost a prince.” Daibhidh glared.

  “The question set before us is this—” Liosliath spread his hands, “—do we forgive your trespass, allow you to atone by offering yourself as tribute for the next hunt, or do we behead you now as recompense?”

  Rook stepped forward. “I propose a third alternative.”

  That same taste of apprehension soured my mouth.

  The Huntsman cocked his head. “What do you propose?”

  “Your final words were, I believe, ‘May the best hound win.’” Rook addressed Liosliath’s image with a tight smile then swept out his arm to indicate me. “I would argue that the best hound did.”

  Utter silence. Complete stillness.

  Then the room caught its breath and the consuls exploded into shouted arguments with Rook.

  “Silence,” the Huntsman bellowed. “I will have silence.”

  “The fact remains.” Liosliath cleared his throat. “She is not a hound.”

  “She is the daughter of Black Dog, who once led the Wild Hunt and was one of the Huntsman’s first and best hounds.” Rook snapped his fingers, and the Unseelie prince’s pelt appeared draped across my shoulders. “She claimed my brother’s skin as hers. She was a hound when she slayed the Seelie prince.”

  “You are no doubt claiming this was an Unseelie victory,” Liosliath seethed.

  Daibhidh’s reflection jolted as he grasped the implications.

  “Perhaps we ought to hear him out,” he said thoughtfully.

  “You can’t be serious,” Liosliath spluttered. “She killed our princes.”

  Daibhidh waved a hand. “There are more princes where those came from.” He swept his gaze over me with renewed interest. “Now a princess...that would be unique.”

  My jaw would have dropped if I hadn’t clenched it shut.

  “A princess,” Liosliath echoed with a grimace.

  “An Unseelie princess,” his counterpart confirmed.

  “If we allowed her to ascend,” Liosliath argued, “she must replace the king we lost. She must become a Seelie princess if such a title is bestowed, and how can it be? She is neutral, if you recall.”

  Again Rook cleared his throat. “What small knowledge I have gleaned from her and her father’s condition leads me to assume that she devoured Raven’s essence prior to his death and the removal of his skin. That means my brother was with Thierry, physically and spiritually, as the Seelie prince died.”

  “If she becomes a crown princess,” Liosliath argued, “what of her position in her world?”

  My job, my life, my income was all being decided right in front of me like I wasn’t even there.

  “I don’t want a crown,” I spoke over them. “I don’t want to rule.”

  I had come to love my position with the conclave. I would not be blackmailed into this.

  Rook returned to my side and gathered my hands in his. His thumbs rolled across my knuckles. “You won’t have to,” he promised me in a low tone. He then projected his voice for the High Court’s benefit. “My wife is young and modern. She was raised among humans. Thierry doesn’t understand the ways and traditions of Faerie, as evidenced by the fact we are all standing here having this conversation.”

  “Do
n’t sound so disappointed not to be rid of her,” the Huntsman rumbled.

  “You can’t comprehend the depths of my gratitude that she survived the ordeal.” He touched my cheek. “A lesser woman would have fallen victim to the hounds. Mine tore the skin from those who dared hunt her and ended their lives for their trespass against her. She is worthy of any crown.”

  “As I recall...” Liosliath folded his arms, “...she is not alone in her humble origins. It seems to me that you were one of the Morrigan’s follies among men. Only she chose to raise you alongside her heir after her lord husband learned of your existence and threatened to see her wings clipped permanently. Your origin is as clouded as your bride’s, Rook Morriganson.”

  “I lived twelve years among men,” Rook answered. “I have lived centuries among the sidhe.”

  Face lit with avarice, Daibhidh asked, “What are you proposing?”

  “That I rule in her stead,” he said in a loud, clear voice so steady he must have practiced the line.

  My head whipped toward him so fast I got a crick in my neck. From pauper to princess—or was it from fae queen to Rook’s pawn?—in under five minutes. That must break a Faerie dynastic record.

  Beware the Rook. I was growing warier by the minute.

  Diode snarled under his breath.

  “Ha.” The Huntsman tugged at his beard. “What have you done to earn the right to rule?”

  “More than my brother ever did.” Rook aimed his next remarks toward the consuls. “My crime was the circumstance of my birth, over which I had no control. I have been a loyalist of House Unseelie. I have sweated and bled and toiled—” his gaze touched on mine, “—and I have lied for them.”

  “Be that as it may, you can’t believe even your own people will obey you.” Liosliath frowned. “If you seek to sell us on Thierry’s merits—you have done so. She is worthy of her father’s legacy, but it does you and yours no good to thrust the girl upon a throne she does not want and will not occupy.”

  “She is fatigued from her ordeal,” Daibhidh countered. “Once she has recovered, she will see this unprecedented opportunity for the gift it is. Let her head clear before she answers.”

  “She is half mortal,” the Huntsman contributed. “She has eaten and slept little since the hunt began.”

  “A recession might be the best thing for it.” Liosliath sighed. “We will not reach an agreement lightly or swiftly. We have heard all the testimony from the tribute and her husband we require.” He glanced at the Watcher below him. “The final sequence of events we must view with our own eyes.”

  As one, the Watchers stood and crossed to the wall opposite the consul’s images.

  “Bring food and wine for them both.” The Huntsman’s lips curved. “Prepare them a room.”

  Heat stung my cheeks. Let them think they had made me blush. Anger burns brighter red, I think.

  Share a room with Rook.

  I would be delighted.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  An autumnal dryad escorted us to our room. I knew her by the vines tying back her yellow-orange hair and the rust-colored leaves tucked into her braids. Her skin was light brown and the tops of her arms rough like pine bark.

  Under different circumstances, I might have been awed by our accommodations, the way rays of sunlight warmed my skin through the sky-lit ceiling or how the tranquil blue wallpaper offered an illusion of privacy. Driftwood furniture bleached white by the sun called to mind long hot summers spent on Galveston Island. Periwinkle and sage accents reminded me of home, of the bungalow where I grew up, not the cookie-cutter subdivision where the conclave stashed Mom and me so they could keep an eye on us.

  “The High Court will reconvene tomorrow morning.” Her voice rustled like leaves stirred by gentle winds. “Until such time, I ask that you remain here in the quarters provided for you.” She reached in her hair and removed an ornament—a garden snail’s circular shell—and offered it to me. I accepted, and it grew to fill my palm. “Speak into the spout if you have need of me. I will hear your command and obey. The steward will be around soon with food, wine and changes of clothes for each of you.”

  I patted Diode’s shoulders. “My friend is also tired and hungry.”

  The dryad’s lips pursed. “I will see that a meal and bedding to his liking will also be provided.”

  “Tha—” I clamped my mouth shut. “I appreciate your efforts on our behalf.”

  She dropped into a curtsy made elegant by the simple earth-toned dress she wore.

  When she left, she shut the door behind her. I locked it and braced my forehead against it.

  Rook eased behind me, and the weight of his brother’s pelt vanished. He slid his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.

  Facing the carved panels was easier than looking at him. “Did you kill King Moran?”

  “No.”

  I nodded, not sure I believed him. “Did you kidnap my mother?”

  A slight pause. “No.”

  My throat tightened. “Was it your idea?”

  A longer pause. “Yes.”

  Slowly, I pushed away from the door. Rook stepped back and gave me room to face him. I rested my hands on his shoulders and studied his fathomless eyes for a scrap of remorse. Finding none, I used my grip as leverage, brought my knee up hard to his groin and ruined his chances of siring any heirs. I waited for a wheeze of pure masculine pain then shoved him aside and stalked across the room to Diode.

  “Your mother...” Rook cleared his throat and gingerly straightened his shoulders, “...is safe.”

  I tucked my hands under my arms to prevent myself from wringing his neck. “How safe?”

  “She’s at my home.” His chest heaved. “Bháin is protecting her.”

  So close. I had been so near her and had no clue. All of this, the hunt, the deaths, for nothing.

  “She was there.” I took a step. “My mom was in your house, and you didn’t tell me? I could have taken her home. None of this had to happen. People died.” I took another step. “I killed for you. None of this was for her. None of this was about me or Macsen. This whole thing was about you.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Did my father really fall off the radar, or did you offer him the guest suite across from Mom’s?”

  “Your father is, as far as anyone knows, still tracking King Moran’s killer. The parts of Faerie you have seen are tame. I kept you to the safe roads, the light places. Much of Faerie grows wild. He is a hunter. He won’t rest until he finds his mark.”

  “Diode?” I glanced at the unusually quiet cat. “Is that true?”

  The cat’s broad jaw flexed. All of this was Macsen’s current business. That explained Diode’s silence.

  I sank into one of the chairs near an end table. I couldn’t look at Rook. “Tell me you didn’t set all this into motion.”

  “Rooks are opportunistic pests.” Diode found his voice and hissed. “Filthy scavengers.”

  “He’s right,” Rook admitted. “When King Moran’s death was announced, it marked the end of an era. Since your father’s appointment, there have been no assassinations. The truce between courts has been upheld because your father led the High Court, and he, along with the consuls, mediated before disputes ended in bloodshed. But now all that will change. Already there are those eager to use Moran’s death as cause for war.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Peace doesn’t come naturally to the sidhe. It has been imposed upon us by those laid low by war. Amnesty worked far better than anyone expected but—”

  I leaned back and crossed my feet at the ankles. “I knew a but was coming.”

  “—but if war is coming,” he continued, “then I want my people to be on the right side of it.”

  The right side of war was an illusion. You couldn’t win a war. There was too much loss.

  “Is it that big a deal that the Unseelie haven’t ruled in...?” Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t think of a time when they had held the u
pper hand in Faerie. “I’m asking you—does it matter so much?”

  “The Unseelie are but a means to an end.” He stepped toward me, heard Diode snarl and turned. “What matters to me isn’t my house, but my people—the other half-bloods trapped in servitude here. Not everyone is like us, Thierry. Not all fae born have even one loving parent or a safe place to rest.”

  “All this because you want to liberate the half-bloods?” I heard the doubt in my voice.

  “I want them exiled from Faerie and sent to the mortal realm where they have a chance at a good life.”

  Part of me, the old me, the one who had thought she was human, whose mother kissed every boo-boo and bought cookies from our favorite bakery on special occasions, wished all children—human, fae or other—had that kind of champion in their lives. The other part, the one honed by a conclave education, staggered under the realization of what a mass exodus from Faerie meant for humans. People would die. Lots of them.

  Kids just like I had been would find themselves in the mortal realm and make the same mistakes as me. One or two kids would throw the conclave a curve ball. What Rook proposed numbered in the hundreds, and he said it was for all half-bloods. Children were the most unpredictable, but teens were volatile. Depending on the intensity of their gifts and their ability to control those powers, some adults weren’t much better.

  Rook was talking about dumping sharks into a goldfish bowl. “I don’t think exile is the answer.”

  “Exile means even the missing among the half-bloods must be accounted for and returned.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Missing?”

  “You are Black Dog’s only known child. That makes you unique.” A cruel twist of his lips. “As the Morrigan’s bastard, I am much more common.”

  The anxious twitch in my foot stopped. “What are you saying?”

  A whiff of subtle magic tickled my nose.

  Rook straightened his shoulders, jutted out his chin and dared me to look away from the force of his unrelenting attention. “I have a sister.” I saw his lips move more than heard the words. He was in my face, his hand clasped gently around my throat, his thumb caressing my fluttering pulse, before I could blink, before even Diode registered his intent. “Never speak of her again. Do you understand?”