by A. E. Lowan
Etienne was continuing. “So enlighten us.” His tone was uncompromising.
Lana looked away from the group, frowning and thinking. After a moment she spoke, her voice quiet. “Ciaran did. I was his primary mistress at court and his mother denied him nothing.”
Winter’s brows knitted with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
Lana turned to her with a sharp expression and for an instant harsh words seemed to be forming behind her eyes… but she looked at Winter and paused. Her gaze softened. “Don’t be. I’m not.” She returned to contemplating her wine. “Ciaran was a blight among the Darkling Throng. He had a reputation among the lesser fae as a fate worse than death. His companions did nothing to temper his behavior, even though they were technically supposed to. I heard that it had been a power struggle with his father for years. His father would choose a companion, Ciaran would get him killed or drive him off and pick a replacement of his own. Finally, the king had to give up and let him have his way.” She took a drink. “I had some protection from the worst of his ‘fun’ because I held his favor, but I spent enough time with him and his boys that I knew exactly what would happen when he tired of me. So I worked hard to hold his interest… but I worked harder to get away.”
“Why didn’t you just leave?” Jessie looked confused.
“Where would I go?” Lana gave a bitter laugh. “Kid, you’ve got a really nice place here. Civil rights. Laws ‘by the people, for the people.’ Fucking… streetlights and police who come when you call and services for the poor. And you don’t even realize that it’s an island, an anomaly in your own realm. I watch the news. Most of your world isn’t like this. And even here, you don’t ‘just leave.’ I work alongside women whose men terrorize them, who are makeup masters with a bruise or who have to grovel for gas money out of their own tips, but they can’t leave for too damn many reasons to even start to get into with you. Stupid, simplistic question.” She sat back in her chair and looked at Jessie like she was an idiot.
Jessie’s cheeks colored.
“In our world there are three types of people; the strong, the protected, and victims. I’m not strong and I refuse to be a victim.”
“‘In our world,’” Etienne scoffed, repeating her words. “Speak for yourself. The Seelie aren’t like that.”
Lana turned to him and drew one fingertip slowly down the side of her face.
Etienne glared but said nothing more.
Winter looked in sympathy at the both of them.
Lana sighed. “No, Ciaran was a nightmare, but he was a powerful protector. With him I at least knew… I knew I could walk the halls in safety. I knew who was going to hurt me, and that he would, for the sake of pride and honor, punish anyone else who tried.” A look of shame flashed across her face. “…without his permission.” She emptied a wine bottle into her glass. “But when he was killed I lost even that. I don’t mourn the man. I mourn for my security and wellbeing.” She took a deep drink.
“If you are a handmaiden of the Queen, doesn’t that help you?” Winter asked, wanting to understand her distress. Wanting to soothe it.
Lana shook her head. “Not unless I never want to leave her quarters again. And I’m a succubus. I need to feed. The other handmaidens aren’t game for being on my menu, which is unfortunate. I do love pure sidhe when I can get it.” Her eyes fell on Cian and an inviting grin pulled at the corners of her mouth.
Etienne frowned hard.
Winter also frowned and shifted to hold Cian’s larger hand protectively in her own.
Cian looked around at the three of them, his red-gold brows raised in mild confusion.
“Well, since you stole Keeper from Ceallach, I can’t imagine you’re even a handmaiden anymore,” Etienne pointed out, his tone unfriendly. “He’s not going to greet your return with open arms – more likely an open torture cell.”
Lana tossed her hair back. “Ceallach will want vengeance more than he’ll want to punish me. I was counting on that when I took the blade. Maybe I won’t be able to present Midir to him on a spit like I had originally planned…” she paused, thinking, “But if I can point and say to him, ‘Your son’s murderer is in that black tower,’ that will be close enough. Then he’ll bring his army.”
“And when your Unseelie army is here among us, what then?” Etienne’s voice dripped with suspicion.
Lana’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? You racist bastard.”
“You really love throwing that word around, don’t you?”
Jessie looked from one to the other. “Wait… what?”
Etienne glared at Lana. “I’m not acting this ‘racist’ you accuse me of.”
Lana raised an ebony brow. “Fine, then. Why don’t you tell these nice people how ‘racist’ translates into our language?”
“It doesn’t, and you know that.”
Jessie’s face showed her confusion. “Then what word do you use?”
“Common sense,” he snapped.
The teen’s eyes widened. She scooted her chair away from his, closer to Lana’s. “Wow. I’m going to sit on the bigot-free side of the table, now.”
Lana laughed.
He scowled at her and then turned to Jessie. “This concept, your racism, is stupid among mortals. You base it on appearance, on differences in cultures, when all of you are at heart the same. You’re all human.”
“But you’re all fae, aren’t you?”
Etienne barked a laugh. “That word covers hundreds of sp… sp… what is the word? Kinds of creatures. Some are harmless. Some will rip off your leg and eat it before your eyes. Humans don’t do that.” He looked pointedly at Lana. “Creatures like that are dangerous, treacherous, and sadistic. Creatures like that are Unseelie.”
Lana gave him a spiteful smile. “Oh, and the Shining Ones never betray? Never rape? Never plot the downfall of their rivals?” She stroked her cheek again. “Never prey on the helpless?”
Etienne’s lip curled. “All the more reason to not call on any of the bastards for help.”
Erik drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I know you don’t like it, but if she can bring us an army, I’ll take it. Not dying tomorrow while facing down insurmountable odds is rather high on my priority list.”
Lana flashed Etienne a look of triumph. “I can do it.”
Etienne sat back, angry, and looked at Erik. “Fine, but they’re your problem when they get out of hand.”
The Vampire King nodded, thoughtful.
“I need to tell Anluan where Senán is.”
Etienne jerked as if he’d been burned. He turned to Cian. “Dammit, I said no!”
Cian dropped his eyes, but then looked at Winter for a moment. He raised his chin. “Yes. This is my re… re…”
“Responsibility,” Winter supplied.
Etienne pushed away from the table and stood over them. “No. I don’t want you anywhere near his court. We are not having this discussion.”
Cian’s eyes widened for an instant. Then he dropped his eyes again, beginning to wilt under the force of Etienne’s dominance.
Winter turned to face Cian and squeezed his hand. She probably shouldn’t get in the middle of this, she knew it, but Cian wasn’t a child. Etienne needed to stop treating him like one.
Cian looked up, meeting her gaze, and she smiled encouragement. He had saved her life and she let that fill her eyes, let him see her faith in his determination, his compassion, and his strength.
Cian returned her smile. His eyes darkened, taking on the shade of the deep forest, and he straightened his shoulders.
Etienne watched their silent exchange with a frown, and he focused on Winter, his tone harsh. “Don’t encourage him.”
Cian rose up from the table, taller than Etienne. “Don’t snap at her. This is between us.”
Etienne turned away, began to pace. He shook his head.
Cian moved around Winter’s chair to intercept him. “Etienne, it’s my duty. I’m Senán’s companion.”
“Bull
shit. You’re just a boy. You don’t have a duty to anyone.”
“I have a duty to my king and my kin.”
Etienne brushed his hand over his cheek, his arm. A nervous flutter of movement like Winter hadn’t seen from him before. He only did it once, but in that moment she knew – Anluan was the one who had scarred him. If not personally, then the king was responsible. But what Etienne said was, “That king tried to rob you of being a prince. He tried to make you a plaything.” He turned to face Cian, rage making the scars on his cheeks stand out. “He betrayed your father – my friend – for the sake of the memory of your dead mother’s beauty and to reduce the princely competition for power by one.”
Cian frowned. “I know you think that, but that’s not…”
“Yes, it is!” Etienne roared, making Winter’s eyes widen and Jessie flinch. “When I found you, you couldn’t dress yourself. But you could dance. You played the lute beautifully. But you couldn’t comb your own hair. You couldn’t mount a horse without assistance. And you, an adolescent prince, a grandson of Dagda, had never held a blade, or a bow, or learned even the most rudimentary of magics.” Etienne turned to Erik. “What say you, Viking? Was that training as befit a prince’s son, a king’s nephew and ward?”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “No…”
“Maybe he just hadn’t found the right tutors yet,” Cian protested.
“Oh, and Senán’s weren’t good enough, then?” Etienne asked with derision.
“You weren’t there. You don’t know. Anluan was always good to me.”
“I imagine he was, boy,” said Erik. “It was in his best interests to be.”
Cian turned toward Erik, a hopeful light in his eyes, but when he saw the vampire’s speculative expression he seemed to realize he would find no ally there. Frustration and confusion played across his face. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. Anluan isn’t like that. You’re twisting things.” He frowned, determination tightening his jaw, and he turned towards Etienne again. “And even if it was, it wouldn’t matter. Midir is my uncle. I have blood guilt and I’m honor-bound to help make him pay for his crimes.”
Etienne rolled his eyes. “Damn Sons of Dagda. Boy, Anluan is your uncle. Ceallach is also your uncle. The only male sidhe of rank you’ve ever met who isn’t related to you is me. I’m not a Son of Dagda because by some miracle no one in my mother’s line ever spread her legs for him. It’s said Dagda’s sons are numbered among the stars. You know why? Because there are so damn many scattered through the realms that nobody has ever gotten an accurate count! The one and only reason your father Eoin was acknowledged as the youngest was because Dagda wandered off or died or whatever the hell happened to him right after he was born, and no others have turned up.” Etienne shook his head in disgust. “Blood guilt? In my opinion the only one who has blood guilt is Midir. Don’t saddle yourself with his stain.”
“That’s just your opinion. I’m still honor-bound, Etienne.” Cian took a breath. “I’ll go alone if I have to.”
Etienne paced away. “You can’t. You don’t know the way.”
“Lana, do you…?”
Etienne moved back across the kitchen faster than Winter could track and stopped just in front of Cian. He reached up and clasped one hand around the back of the youth’s neck. Winter could see the fear in his gray eyes as he spoke from just inches away from Cian’s face. “Don’t you understand? If you go back, he’ll try to keep you.” Etienne’s voice trembled. “I can’t stand against him. Not in his court, surrounded by his knights.” His grip tightened. “I won’t be able to stop him.”
Cian’s cheeks colored and he reached up to lay his hands on Etienne’s shoulders. His smile was earnest and his voice gentle. “It won’t be like that. You’ll see.”
Etienne’s eyes widened for a moment. He pulled Cian down and pressed his forehead to his… and then broke away, turned on his heel and pushed his way out the sliding glass doors to the garden.
Cian stood where Etienne had left him, his breath shaking and his face flushed.
Erik cast a sympathetic look at the boy while Lana drank her wine with a smirk of amusement. Jessie watched Etienne disappear around an overgrown berry bush in confusion.
Winter stood up from the table to follow the faerie knight. She brushed her fingers over Cian’s hand as she passed, giving him what she hoped was a touch of reassurance.
The paving stones were chill under her bare feet. Winter hesitated for a moment in the courtyard, thinking of the shoes left behind in her bedroom, and then shook her head and forged onward, the dusting of sand gritty against her soles. She was needed.
Finding Etienne was fairly simple. Even though the gardens were extensive, all she had to do was follow the trail of stressed pixies. Apparently he hadn’t been patient with their curious nature. Four inches-tall, they fluttered about her hands, eager to tell her of their rude intruder. Winter soothed them as best she could and continued on her search.
She finally found him in one of the many grottos, the plantings run riot and intertwined with the enthusiastic care the pixies provided. He paced, stalking from one side to the other with a killer’s grace, his auburn hair now loose around his shoulders. He ran one hand through it in a gesture of agitation, and Winter knew how it had come undone. She looked, saw where his hair tie had fallen, and stepped forward to pick it up.
Etienne turned at her approach and anger filled his eyes.
Winter did not pause. She lived her life facing down the rages of people who could tear her to pieces. She let it wash over her and bent at her knees to pick up the elastic ring. She then held it in her hand and stood there, waiting patiently for him to speak.
She did not wait long. “Why the hell did you encourage him?”
She turned her answer over in her mind. Etienne was angry, but more than that, he was afraid… and she sensed he was afraid on more than one level. “He needed encouragement.”
“Not in this, dammit.”
She looked at him with an open expression. “Yes, in this, and in the next thing and the next. Cian’s ready to stand on his own.”
“He’s only a child.”
Winter stopped and responded with silence. Arguing with him would do him no good right now.
Etienne turned and started pacing again. “No… I can’t let him go back to Anluan. Cian has this fantasy memory of what he’s like. He doesn’t understand the truth of the bastard, of what he’s capable of.” He shook his head. “I should take Cian and keep running,” he muttered.
“If we fall here, there may not be anywhere left to run to. We may need Anluan’s army to save this realm from Midir.”
Etienne stopped, looked at her. “Would you risk Jessie?”
She had just had to entertain this very thought. To bring other wizards to the city would place Jessie very much in harm’s way. “To save our city… our realm. Yes.” It would kill something inside her, but she would do it. However, she also didn’t feel about Jessie the way Etienne seemed to feel for Cian.
He frowned and spun away. “It doesn’t have to be here. I can take him back to Faerie, back to wandering the borderlands.” He stopped pacing. “That’s what I’ll do.”
Winter’s breath caught. He meant it. “But I won’t see you again.” It was out of her mouth before she could catch it.
Etienne turned back, brows raised.
Her cheeks warmed. She kept talking, the words continuing to tumble out. “If you go back to Faerie, I’ll have no way to contact the two of you.” She would lose both him and Cian at once. The thought set her lip to quivering, and she fought to still it. When had they come to mean so much to her?
Etienne’s eyes flickered towards the House and back to her, and then he turned away with a soft curse. After a moment he turned back, his expression softer. He approached, reached out, and cupped the side of her face with his rough hand. “I’d ask you to come with us, but I know the answer.”
Winter closed her eyes against his next words. Against
her next loss. She nodded. “You do.”
He was quiet for several long moments, his hand warm on her cheek. Then, “What sort of a mercenary would I be, if I abandoned my lady on the eve of battle?”
She gasped and her eyes snapped open.
Etienne wore a smile. Fear still lurked in the depths of his eyes, as well as something else she couldn’t identify, but determination had tightened his jaw and straightened his shoulders.
She covered his hand with her own. “You’re not a mercenary. You’re a knight.”
He snorted. “I’m a pathetic excuse for a knight.”
She smiled. “Not to me.”
His eyes warmed and he stroked his thumb over her skin. He shook his head and grinned. “Come on. Let’s go finish planning this debacle.”
“Well, as long as we’re being optimistic...”
Etienne chuckled and led Winter by the hand back to the House.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“They’ll really listen to a teenager?” Lana asked.
Winter pulled into the merchant parking lot behind Curiosity’s. Etienne’s old Harley growled an aggressive rhythm as he followed her with Cian. Lana had been quiet most of the way, thinking about her return to Ceallach’s court, Winter had imagined. The question about Jessie surprised her, but it was a fair one. “Some of them will. She’s easy to talk to – when she’ll hold still. And many of them speak to her rather frequently.” An affectionate smile spread across her face. “The rest of the leadership is familiar with her by name, at least. She’s not an unknown quantity.” They had decided that Erik would contact the leadership of the other preternatural groups and invite them to gather at Mulcahy House that afternoon. Jessie would speak for Winter at the meeting.
Winter wouldn’t be there because she was going to Faerie.
Her belly quivered with nerves again at the thought. Faerie, where her mother, Tersa, had come from and presumably returned to. Would… would she see her there? There were countless realms within Faerie. Statistically speaking the odds of encountering her mother were remote, at best. Would she even recognize Tersa if she saw her? Winter only had a few pictures of her and her own childhood memories of eyes and hair like flame.
