by Holly Bargo
“It always does, my dear. Now make room for me so I can pry into this one’s knowledge of the world I left behind.”
Corinne’s eyes blinked in rapid succession as she realized that she faced the fabled moon-born, soul-bonded mate to Captain Thelan of the Seelie Palace Guard. But hadn’t Catriona been assimilated into fae culture for at least two or three centuries? Maybe more? Corinne’s confusion must have shown on her face.
“Time between the realms is fluid,” she replied, using the same words as had Oriel, the soul-bonded mate to the fearsome Erlking. She leveled her violet gaze at Corinne and asked, “Who was president when Uberon brought you over?”
Before Corinne could answer, the collection of ladies in the room squealed in awe and fright, some going so far as to swoon as the door swung open and Uberon stepped into the room.
“Blithering idiots,” she heard Catriona mutter under her breath.
His gaze instantly locked onto Corinne, like an arrow sinking into its target. Corinne’s mouth opened, her expression going slack as she took in the barbaric magnificence of his crowned, bare-chested glory. He extended his hand toward her and said, “We leave. Now.”
Corinne rose slowly to her feet and stammered, “But the queen—?”
“Ought to be relieved of the imbecile she mated,” Uberon grunted. “Come with me.”
She could not help but look at Catriona and Daniellisande. Both ladies shrugged their shoulders and said nothing, although their expressions offered only a mere hint of sympathy. Corinne sighed, knowing that she’d not get that comfortable bed, hot bath, and good meal she wanted. She also knew better than to cause a scene in potentially hazardous territory. Except, perhaps, for the moon-born and the archivist’s mate, she had no friends in that room. So, she walked toward Uberon and obliged him by placing her palm in his.
As soon as their hands touched, she felt the immense rage within him seeking an outlet. Her gaze flew upward and he met her eyes.
“I will not harm you,” he murmured under his breath. “But if we do not leave, then I may level this palace to the ground and all who reside within it.”
She nodded and allowed him to draw her from the room.
“Give the queen my regrets!” she called out.
Catriona and her daughter nodded.
The door slammed.
“Foolish, bigoted imbeciles,” Uberon muttered as he practically marched through the corridors.
“Uberon, what happened?” Corinne’s breathless question reminded him to slow his pace so she could keep up.
“That pissant of a Seelie king attempted to force me to ally with him as his vassal.”
Corinne knew Uberon’s attitude toward the expectation that he bow or kneel to anyone.
“How could he force you to do anything?”
“First, he attempted to secure exclusive trade agreements. Then he offered to send a guard to escort us and then occupy my kingdom—a guard answerable to him. Then he threatened to hold you hostage.”
“Oh, dear.”
His teeth flashed in a savage smile. “He’s lucky I did not decapitate him right there.”
She swallowed a lump of nervous worry. “Uberon, what did you do?”
“He still lives.”
Well, that doesn’t bode well. Corinne shut up, figuring she really didn’t want to know more at that point. Perhaps later, when they’d outdistanced the Seelie army which was surely hunting for them. Another question occurred to her and she blurted it before thinking better of doing so.
“How are we going to get out of here?”
“I’ll commandeer a dragon if necessary.”
“The dragons don’t like you.”
“They hate me. They know I did not capture one of their kind, but they also know I did nothing to stop it or set it free.”
The old quotation from Edmund Burke came to Corinne’s mind: “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” She shuddered. How did one, even someone as powerful as Uberon, commandeer a dragon?
They exited a door Catriona did not remember and passed into dwindling sunshine. A white dragon, its scales gleaming like opals, snorted. It turned a dark eye toward them and lowered its serpentine neck so that its massive head held level with the fae.
Mount, Unseelie king.
“You!” Uberon blurted, his surprise astonishing Corinne who thought nothing could surprise her ancient mate. His eyes narrowed. “Why should you assist us?”
My Rider begs this favor of me. The mighty lizard’s scaly lip peeled back from fearsome teeth. And you shall owe her and all my kind a favor now.
Uberon nodded and said, “Done.” He glanced at Corinne and added, “Follow me.”
Gathering the delicate fabric of her skirts, she clambered up the dragon’s surprisingly warm hide to take a seat at the great lizard’s withers. She wrapped her arms around Uberon’s waist and buried her face into the strong muscles of his back. The dragon’s wings snapped out and she flinched. The beast hissed, sparks of liquid fire spraying as it ran a few steps before leaping into the air. Those mighty wings beat the air, the sound deafening to Corinne’s ears as her body flexed and coiled with the movement of the immense body beneath her.
Where to, Unseelie king?
“Quoliálfur.”
The Quol is vast.
“Do you know Donshae?”
The northernmost port at the edge of Ursai territory where the Seelie Veil meets the Quol.
“Aye. Fly us there. I will not ask you to penetrate the Quol itself.”
You would spare a dragon?
“The Quol and the Quoli will not spare you, and I have no desire to rend the moon-born’s second soul by destroying her dragon.”
You are brave, Unseelie king, to defy the hunger of the Quol and to imply I belong to the moon-born.
“Aye, you do belong to each other. Tell me, dragon, do you share her fae or her human soul?”
None of your business.
Listening to the exchange, Corinne wondered whether she, too, had two souls, one human and one fae? If so, what did that mean and how would it affect her and, possibly, Uberon?
CHAPTER 12
If Corinne had felt a bit peckish when they fled the Seelie Court, she was absolutely ravenous when the white dragon landed near Donshae. Behind the concealment of a merchant’s warehouse, Uberon and Corinne dismounted.
“Remember your obligation,” the white dragon reminded the Quoliálfur king.
“Aye,” Uberon said with a curt nod. “Use my debt to you wisely.”
Immense, leathery wings snapped out as the great beast spat a single gout of liquid flame. Uberon turned his back on the dragon, took Corinne’s hand, and began walking toward the city. She noticed that, some time during the flight, her sturdy travel costume had replaced the fine silk gown and crown. Garbed in black leather trousers and shirt with a black wool cloak swirling around him, Uberon would have disappeared into the darkness but for the pale gleam of skin and the silver knots caught in his hair. Corinne’s own hair had fallen and hung in a wild tangle. She spared a thought for the difficult task of combing the tangles free even as every muscle in her body trembled with sore weariness and her belly rumbled with hunger.
She shivered, although the night was not particularly chill. Still, Uberon noticed and transferred his cloak to her, draping the pre-warmed weight over her shoulders.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked as she drew the cloak more tightly around her body.
“Not at all,” he replied and reached for her hand again.
She took it and let him guide her, if only because she had no idea where they were or where he was going. He’d pledged to protect her and she would hold him to that. Her annoyance with him took second place to pragmatic need. Damn it, she was tired of traveling and sleeping on the ground. She knew her peevishness unreasonable and childish, yet she could not quell it. Sometimes a woman simply needed her comforts.
She heard music and singing—
mostly off-key, which indicated varying levels of inebriation. She heard thumping and shouts, the smacks of fists on flesh or on wood. She heard the occasional squeal or moan. Foul scents assaulted her nose: refuse, inferior cooking, rotten food, spoiled wine, spilled beer, fish. Over it all came the roar of the tide and the scent of saltwater.
Corinne sighed. She supposed harbor towns were the same everywhere, filled with sailors and merchants and whores.
“Donshae used to be a nice fishing village,” Uberon commented. “I can’t quite remember how long ago that was, exactly.”
Corinne didn’t answer. Her stomach’s growling increased in volume.
“Ah, here.”
Uberon ducked through a door, tugging his mate with him. She collided with him, her face landing between his shoulder blades. With a muttered apology, she took a half-step back and blinked at the dull light gleaming yellow through a haze of smoke and body odor. Corinne did her best not to meet any patron’s eyes straight on, but to just let her gaze slide anonymously over the crowd.
“Well, if it ain’t tall, dark, and handsome,” cackled a blowsy looking serving wench whose endowments overflowed the low neckline of her loose bodice. “What brings you back?”
Corinne peered around Uberon’s broad, solid form and noticed the serving wench was human. Had they left the Seelie Court’s territory? She hadn’t felt the tingle of the Veil, but then perhaps the rush and roar of cold air upon the dragon’s back had obscured it.
Donshae lies just beyond the Veil. It serves all nations, all races. It’s a fascinating place.
She didn’t respond, being more concerned with filling her empty stomach and getting some much-needed rest than with the trading center’s demographics.
Aloud, Uberon answered the tavern’s employee. “I need a table and supper for two. Then a private room.”
The wench’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the cloaked female standing closely behind her customer. “Agrikko don’t allow no private whores. You got an itch, you use one o’ the girls here.”
“She is my mate,” Uberon corrected, his quiet voice cutting through the din and smoke. “And she is due respect.”
“Aye, m’lord,” the wench snapped with a quick bob. “I’ll lead you to Agrikko’s best table. I assume you got coin to pay for it and the room.”
“Aye.”
Corinne followed the tug on her hand as she watched the woman’s broad hips sway. Conversation among the patrons died as Uberon wove through the tables and no hands dared dart out to pinch or grab the female trailing behind him. She heard mutters of “fae” and “Unseelie” as she passed through the multicultural throng. She saw sharp, pointed teeth and bi-colored hair on some, deeply red skin combined with black or gold hair on others, and the normal and familiar range of features on humans. She saw pointed ears, rounded ears, and furred ears placed like animal ears. She saw some of the platinum blond, narrow-framed features of the fae and even a table populated by six halflings, their large eyes and broad faces giving them a deceptive air of childlike innocence. Most of the different races segregated themselves from the others.
Practically weaving with exhaustion, Corinne almost didn’t notice when Uberon stopped walking.
“Sit here,” he said and guided her into a chair that had her tucked away in a corner with her back to the rough-hewn wall. He took the chair next to her, ensuring that his shadow fell over her to add a smidgen more concealment. He removed his gloves.
The serving wench returned shortly to slam heavy mugs of ale on the marginally clean tabletop. “I’ll be back with yer stew, m’lord.”
“Thank you,” he replied with grave courtesy. Before Corinne could reach for the mug’s handle, he covered its mouth and dipped in a bare finger. Corinne fancied she heard a faint whisper, but knew that couldn’t be true because the crowd’s noise level kicked back up once the king took his seat without smiting any unfortunate onlookers.
He removed his hand from the mug and said, “It’s safe to drink.”
She nodded and hoisted the heavy tankard to her mouth for a sip. Although not as cold as she would have preferred, the ale was surprisingly good. She took another swallow, then set it down. Best to get some food in her belly before drinking any more and having the alcohol go straight to her head.
“Do they know who you are?” she whispered.
“They know I am fae and highborn as well. They need know nothing more than that.”
She nodded, suspecting that knowledge of his identity would send patrons fleeing in terror. After all, that had already happened at one establishment where they paused for a meal and someone had guessed Uberon’s identity. She did not miss the pained look in his eyes, though she doubted anyone else noticed it.
What, she thought, must it be like to be so feared that the mere mention of one’s name caused terror and panic? The magnitude of his loneliness gnawed at her.
Heavy bowls of thick pottery landed on the table, filled with the rich savory aroma of fish stew and accompanied by a steaming loaf of fresh bread. Although her belly rumbled loudly with eagerness, Corinne waited until Uberon pronounced the food safe to eat before diving in.
“This is actually quite good,” she complimented with surprise.
“The ambiance leaves a bit to be desired, but the innkeeper’s wife cooks well,” Uberon replied. “She will likely have some kind of fruit tart if you’ve room for it.”
Corinne nodded and doubted whether she’d have room for it, for the bowls were large and filled to heaping.
“I shouldn’t be surprised by the bouillabaisse, but I guess I was expecting something more like beef.”
“I doubt one will find many cattle this far north and this close to the Quol.”
“Venison?”
His lips curled in a small smile of indulgence. “No one with any sense goes hunting in the Quol. The jungle is more likely to eat them instead.”
She shuddered and said no more on that topic. Instead, she asked, “What keeps the Quoli from invading the town?”
“Tall walls and strong wards.”
“Ah.” She took a few more bites of bread and stew, another swallow of beer. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance of a bath here?”
“No, not here. But I’ll make sure you have wash water.”
“All right.”
He understood her sigh of acceptance, if not enthusiasm, even as he understood her preference for a real bath rather than the sweep of magic that refreshed her skin and clothing. He liked that sensual preference; it responded well to his touch. He reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“Allow me to brush your hair tonight.”
“Do we even have a brush?” She pursed her lips, not relishing the thought of borrowing a brush from one of the “girls” working in the tavern.
“We have everything we need,” he assured her.
They finished their supper and the serving wench brought them fruit tarts, liberally drenched in a sweet, spicy glaze that made Corinne moan with gustatory pleasure. Uberon enjoyed the tart, too, though his mate’s moan made his cock swell.
He left silver coins on the table and allowed the serving wench to lead them to a room at the far end of the balcony. With his hand resting possessively at the small of Corinne’s back as she walked ahead of him, he saw her cheeks flame at the carnal noises emanating from behind the doors they passed. He enjoyed that blushing reaction and hoped she never got so jaded that the delightful blush disappeared.
Upon entering the room at the end of the balcony, he held up a gold coin. The wench’s eyes gleamed with avarice and she reached for it. He snatched it back.
“Wash water, hot and lots of it, with soap and towels. We’ll need clean linens on the bed, too.”
The wench’s mouth thinned at the demands, but she nodded, bobbed a curtsey, and promised to have everything requested in short order.
“Do not touch anything yet, beloved,” he murmured and sent a pulse of power through the room.
>
“What was that?”
“Just killing vermin and removing the bed linens.”
She shuddered. “Oh my God, you mean—”
“Lice? Fleas? Bedbugs? Of course. This inn is frequented by sailors on shore leave who are more interested in food, drink, and women than in bathing. Neither does the innkeeper insist upon cleanliness. I daresay the bed linens have not been changed in months.”
She shuddered again at the very thought of lying on sheets soiled many times over. “Do you think the … er … bugs will return?”
“After we leave,” he assured her. “Do not doubt my protection, my dear.”
She sighed in relief, having assumed that “protection” only encompassed the sort of things bodyguards prevented.
“As least you’ll never have to take a bullet for me.”
“Humans remain inventive in ways to kill.”
She nodded knowing that many Bermuda Triangle transports arrived well after the invention of gunpowder and firearms.
“Do … does the fae … er … discourage firearms?”
“Our magic has little or no effect upon iron or anything made of iron,” he admitted with admirable candor. “Humans experiment and they know this weakness of ours; therefore, we do what we can to cause their mechanisms to fail.”
“People learn from their failures,” she said slowly, thinking aloud. “They improve their techniques, refine their knowledge.”
“Aye.”
“The fae won’t be able to hold technology at bay forever.”
“True.”
“What do you think will happen then?”
“Humans will either comply with the restrictions we place upon them or the fae will annihilate them.”
“I get the feeling that humans aren’t well tolerated to begin with.”
“Your instincts are correct. Yet, the humans managed to carve two sizeable kingdoms from formerly fae territories. If the humans’ technology proves intractable, then we may well find ourselves allying with trolls who fear no bullets and have not the intelligence to fear cannons.”
“Trolls,” she repeated faintly.
“And djinni. We consider them a treacherous folk, yet they can manipulate sand and small particles of silicone to foul the works of any mechanism. The vodnici manipulate water. Allied with the djinni, steel mechanisms will rust overnight and turn inoperable. Not even the most advanced human forges can manufacture an army’s worth of firearms that quickly.”
