Chapter 12
Huck’s gut clenched with worry. He had to find a way to convince Munro to move the Druid Hall, but he suspected the former cop would never go for it. Too much pride. Too rigid. Acted more like a faerie than a human these days. With his gold-tinged skin and pointed ears, he looked more like them too. He told Konstanze he wasn’t a king, but he sure as hell acted like one. When he’d told Huck off for selling his crystals, he laid down the law. Huck hadn’t argued with him. As the least experienced of the druids, Huck had no clout. Because he still hadn’t touched the Source Stone, he was the least powerful as well.
On their way to visit Demi, they followed the same faerie who’d taken them to Konstanze, but this time six Watchers tagged along. Huck turned to say something, but Munro shut him down immediately. “Not here,” he said.
Yeah, Huck thought. Not a king.
Their guards led them outside the castle to a low building attached to the smooth outer wall. The stonework inside was the same, grey, but with none of the imperfections of a human-built structure. The eerie precision seemed sterile, like they were entering a high-tech laboratory instead of a prison.
Down two flights of stairs, they arrived at a closed door. Their guide spoke to the Watcher on guard. “Visitors for the condemned.”
The Watcher rose and started to bow, but stopped when he received a sharp look from the steward. “Through the door,” the guard said. “I’ve removed the barriers.”
“Thank you,” Munro said and inclined his head, acknowledging the unfinished bow. He paused before entering and asked, “She is well?”
“Yes, my lord druid,” the guard answered, then winced. He’d clearly been instructed not to show deference to the druids. “Yes,” he repeated.
Munro nodded, and he and Huck went through the door.
Demi sat cross-legged in the centre of the seamless floor, surrounded by a faint glow, which was the only light in the room. The room’s inside appeared much like the outside: grey, cold, and without ornament or flaw. She did not open her eyes when they approached, not until Huck said her name.
Munro closed the door behind them. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She glanced up with red-rimmed eyes.
Huck went and sat across from her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said. “I came as soon as I could.” Guilt welled within him. He should have stayed with her. They shouldn’t have rested during the day. If he’d run a little faster, taken less time to prepare, five minutes even, none of this would have happened.
“You couldn’t have stopped them,” Demi said at last. “Where is Jago? Is he all right?”
Munro stood behind Huck, between the seated pair and the door. “The queen agreed to let us check on him. I don’t believe they’ll hurt him. The fae protect children fiercely.”
“Their children perhaps,” she said. “I don’t trust them.”
Huck took one of Demi’s hands. “I’ll make sure he’s all right,” he said. “I promise.”
“He must be confused and frightened,” she said, choking back a sob.
“Your hands are freezing,” Huck muttered and reached for his fire energy. Without a talisman or focus, the process proved difficult, but he managed to create a well of warmth. He rubbed his palms over her fingers.
“What have they told you?” Munro asked.
“Nothing,” Demi replied. “I was separated from Jago and brought here. You are my first visitors.” She smirked, but the expression faded into a smile when she met Huck’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft.
“They plan to execute you in a couple of days for Ulrich’s murder,” Munro said.
“Jesus.” Huck found Munro’s lack of tact stunning.
Demi paled. “No,” she said. “I must protect Jago.” She glanced at the door behind Huck. “You have to get me out. I have to see him.” Her eyes widened, wild with panic.
“Calm down,” Munro said sharply. Then he softened his tone. “Jago will be fine. We’re doing everything we can, but no matter what happens, they won’t hurt him. He’s half fae and the queen’s nephew.”
She shook her head and withdrew her hands from Huck’s. Pressing her eyes closed, she rocked back and forth, hugging herself.
Huck turned to Munro, “Will you lighten up? Can’t you understand that she’s upset?”
Munro shifted his gaze to Huck, then looked back at Demi. “I need you to stay focused, Demi. We may have a chance to get you out of here, but for our plan to work, you must tell us exactly what happened in Amsterdam. Lisle told us her story, but she claims she couldn’t see from where she was hiding.”
Demi froze. “You talked to my grandmother?”
“She’s with us in the Halls of Mist,” Huck told her. “She’s safe.”
Demi exhaled slowly and straightened her posture. “Thank God. I told her to stay hidden. I didn’t know what Ulrich would do to her if he discovered she was there.”
“What happened in Amsterdam, Demi?” Munro asked again. “Lisle said she heard you fight with Ulrich. She saw you when he collapsed, but said you were nowhere near him.”
“I killed him,” Demi said flatly, her gaze distant. “He threatened me and swore he would kill me and take Jago. I had no choice.”
Munro continued the unrelenting interrogation. “How did you kill him?”
“What does it matter?” Demi asked.
“The truth matters,” Munro said. “I intend to push for a trial. The fae will recognise even a human has a right to defend herself. Did he touch you? Or just threaten to?”
“I don’t remember,” Demi said. “That night is a blur in my mind. So much happened at once. He insisted I give Jago to him. He held me with air bonds, but I fought his influence as much as possible.”
“Air?” Munro asked. “Your grandmother and Queen Konstanze both said air was his primary talent. That can’t be. Only azuri fae can bond druids as far as we know, and you said he tried to compel you to say the bonding words, right?”
“Yes,” Demi said, confused. “Soon after we came to spend time together, he said we would bond if I recited these words he’d learned. He attempted to coerce me again the night he died. This time, he seemed even more excited. He claimed he’d learned of other bonded pairs, but they were different from us.”
“Different how?” Munro asked.
Huck had a bad feeling. What difference did any of this make? Demi had defended herself. But no matter the circumstances, Konstanze said she would let Demi go. Why put her through all this? If they’d been alone, he would have challenged Munro, but Huck didn’t want to tell Demi about the offer. What if he couldn’t convince Munro and the others to accept the deal?
“He said the other bonded fae had some kind of corrupting magic, but his was pure. I had never seen him so fevered.”
“Did you ever witness him performing any kind of mental magic? Could he create illusions?”
“No,” she said.
“What about blood? Could he heal himself? Or time. Did he ever mention losing time?” Munro stepped forward, towering over Demi and Huck.
“No,” she repeated, shifting uncomfortably. “I only saw him use air and water.”
Huck glanced up at Munro. What was he playing at?
“How did Ulrich die?” Munro asked. “There was a lot of blood on the ground.”
“I…I stabbed him,” she said.
He barrelled the next question without delay. “Where’s the knife?”
“I don’t know. I must have dropped it.”
Munro turned to Huck. “Did you find a knife?”
“Lisle had a knife,” he said. “She came at me when I went inside the flat.”
“Did it have blood on it?” Munro asked.
Huck thought back. “No,” he said, watching Demi. “The blade was clean.”
“So she washed it,” Demi said impatiently.
“In the two minutes between when the fae took you and my arrival?” Huck didn’t want to disbelieve he
r, but her story didn’t fit.
“What’s your primary element?” Munro asked, suddenly switching tack.
“What?”
“You’ve had your abilities unlocked for what, five years? You must know, especially if your talents are defined enough to craft a ward able to keep Flùranach out.”
“I didn’t make those. My grandmother gave them to me. The lore has been in our family for centuries.”
“What is Jago’s primary element? Surely you have some idea.”
“No,” Demi said firmly. “I’ve seen no trace of magic about him.” She raised her chin. “He’s just a baby.”
The pair maintained eye contact for so long, Huck would have thought they were having a telepathic conversation. Demi looked defiant, and Munro appeared as though he was struggling to reach into her mind and yank out the truth. Finally, he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Time for us to return to the Hall.”
Huck wanted to touch Demi’s hand, to offer her reassurance, but she held her arms tightly around her body. “We’re going to do everything we can to get you out. We’re negotiating with Konstanze to arrange a fair trial at the Halls of Mist.” He stood. “Try not to worry. Do you need anything?”
Demi shook her head. “Tell Jago I love him.”
“Definitely.” Huck smiled and tried to look confident.
“Let’s go,” Munro said and headed for the exit.
“Thank you,” Demi said softly as they departed. The tears in her voice made Huck’s heart clench.
Once outside the door, he turned on Munro. “What the hell was that about?”
“Not here,” Munro said, nodding towards the Watchers near the building’s exit.
Frustration and anger bit at Huck. No matter his reasons, Munro didn’t have to be such an ass, did he? “Fine,” he said.
Before they left, Munro stopped and spoke with the guard. “Would you provide her with some blankets? She’s cold.”
“Yes, my lord druid,” the Watcher said quietly.
“Thank you,” Munro responded with a polite nod. Then to Huck he said, “We’ve wasted too much time. Let’s go.”
∞
Douglas watched Rory work with a wooden ring and stylus. Guilt weighed on him. He should have been here practicing and studying over the past few months. No way would Prince Tràth want to move to the Halls of Mist, though, and Douglas didn’t like being away from his bonded faerie. Not that he couldn’t leave Tràth alone. He just thought he shouldn’t.
And, if he was honest with himself, he liked the rock-star lifestyle he and the prince enjoyed. They ate when they wanted, slept when, where, and with whom they pleased. They travelled, had an entourage, and what parties they went to! Tràth introduced him to a type of smoke that didn’t make him sick the way alcohol did. The herb heightened Douglas’ senses, making every experience more vivid. And the women. Douglas usually stayed quiet around women, but his bond with Tràth changed everything. The prince had enough confidence for both of them and shared his secret through their new link.
Faeries had a different attitude towards sex. These perfect, gorgeous people would walk around naked with no shame, approach anyone they pleased, and suggest things he’d never had the nerve to consider before. Douglas figured he’d spent more time with his clothes off than on these past six months. He’s seen and done things he never would have imagined. No amount of exposure to internet porn could prepare a person for what happened when an ordinary orgy went magical, not that he’d been invited to orgies before.
The thing that amazed Douglas, and perhaps the only thing keeping him from feeling overly guilty, was somehow it helped Tràth. Maybe the benefit came from the smoke, or perhaps the constant distraction did the trick. The prince’s lapses and struggles with the temporal magic that haunted him, and by virtue of their bond plagued Douglas as well, had lessened over the past months. Tràth seemed stronger, more solid somehow. If the medicine he needed was drugs, sex, good food, travel, and wild parties, who was Douglas to complain?
Perhaps the distractions helped Douglas too. Although he’d not been attacked by that blood faerie like Munro, Douglas had trusted Cridhe. His life before meeting Cridhe had been a hollow mess. Never good at much of anything, he hadn’t felt needed or important. When the faerie unlocked Douglas’ magic, suddenly the world made sense. Cridhe’s betrayal devastated him, but meeting Tràth erased the pain. When the pair bonded, a better, smarter, more confident, deeply magical part of Douglas was unleashed.
Douglas fought self-reproach as Rory and Aaron worked together on a cross-section of an enormous oak. As water druids, the three of them had more affinity with wood than stone. With a stroke of his stylus, Rory’s magic sculpted a rune into the wooden surface. The glyph wasn’t one Douglas knew. He should stay here more, be more helpful. With a bit of convincing, Tràth might come with him sometimes. Despite not recognising the marks, Douglas easily read Rory’s intent. Portal.
“How can a slab of wood make an entrance?” Douglas asked. “Don’t we need to make something gate-shaped?”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Is the Source Stone portal-shaped?”
“Prat,” Douglas muttered.
Rory ignored them and ran his hand over the rough-hewn surface, muttering something unintelligible. After a few moments, he said, “He’s right.”
“What?” Aaron and Douglas said at once.
“There’s something missing. Maybe the problem is the shape. The rune responds, but I can’t break through.”
Douglas considered the little he understood about runes. He’d not studied much beyond being shown the Killbourne Wall. That rune grouping had led Munro to understand where druids came from. They knew druids were great sorcerers in ancient times. One interpretation said they’d created the entire faerie realm, but Douglas had trouble imagining it. Of course, he hadn’t made anything in a long time. His thoughts kept returning to that one artefact. “We sweated into wood,” he murmured.
“What the hell are you on about, kid?” Aaron asked. “Sweated into wood?”
Rory’s face lit up as recognition hit. “A quote from the Killbourne Wall,” he said. “I don’t remember the whole thing though. I only saw the artefact once.”
Douglas nodded. His bond with a temporal faerie gave him excellent recall. Sadly, the talent went unused most of the time. What did he encounter that was honestly worth remembering? The realisation made him cringe. Was he wasting his life? He pushed the worry aside and recited the section:
We bled into stone. We sweated into wood. We wept into water. We sang into air. Those of time formed the web. Those of blood shaped the flesh. Those of the stars cast the thought. Those of spirit invited the soul.
“That’s the section about creating the portal to the Otherworld,” he reminded them. “They also said they had to sacrifice something.”
When we finished the foundation, the clan appointed me as scribe, so I laid the words of power given by each of my brothers and sisters. Each one imparted their most dear wish and sacrificed their self.
“What in the world does that mean?” Aaron asked.
“You know how the runes work,” Rory said, “That was Munro’s interpretation of the author’s intent. When he said scribe, he probably meant the person who created the runes. So each of the druids that made the first portal contributed a word of power, perhaps a rune.”
“But what about the part with the sweat and blood?” Douglas asked.
“Maybe it’s like our expression when you put blood, sweat, and tears into something, in other words, working hard. They took more than a year to create their portal,” Aaron said.
Rory shook his head. “I don’t think so. Faeries don’t use figures of speech as much as we do, and runes are never metaphorical.”
“So, what, you want us to sweat on the wood?” Aaron chuckled. Douglas glared at him until he stopped.
“I don’t see why not,” Douglas said.
“Might as well try. Too bad the Halls of Mist are so bl
oody cold all the time,” Rory said.
“If Huck was here, he could light a fire and get us in a sweat,” Douglas joked.
“Or Tràth,” Aaron muttered under his breath.
Douglas studied the other druid. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before he could ask, he realised Rory had decided not to wait. He spit into hand and wiped the thick glob onto the wood.
Aaron groaned. “That’s disgusting, mate.”
Rory gave him a sharp glance. “Would you rather I piss on it?”
Before Aaron could muster a retort, a crackling noise silenced them. “What was that?” Douglas asked.
“I don’t know,” Rory told him. He smeared the spit on the surface of the wood. “Something is enhancing the rune. I can feel it.”
Aaron brightened. “Could be the kid came up with a decent idea for once,” he said. “Let’s try each adding runes like they said on the Killbourne Wall.”
Rory handed him the stylus. “Knock yourself out,” he said.
With an anticipatory gleam in his eye, Aaron accepted the stylus. Considering his options, he focused a few moments before sinking the stylus into the wood. He carved another rune Douglas didn’t know, but the meaning emanated. Connection. Copying Rory’s movement, he spit onto the surface of the wood and rubbed the saliva in.
Nothing happened, but the intent behind the rune flowed around and mingled with the meaning of the first, altering it minutely. “Strange,” Rory said, then asked Douglas, “You want to give it a go?”
“Sure,” the younger druid replied. Because of his lack of practice with runes, he didn’t have any faith in his abilities. He wished Tràth was here with his extra portion of confidence. He took the wood and stylus from Aaron. If Douglas wrote portal and Aaron added connection, what could he contribute to the mix? He supposed a portal had to link to something. But what? A place, of course. Hijacking a gateway that already existed might be easiest. The lone gate he’d travelled through went to The Isle of Skye, but what was the rune for Skye?
He closed his eyes. When Munro first created runes, he’d said he didn’t know the lines to draw either, so perhaps Douglas just needed to focus. Unbidden, the Gaelic name came to his mind, the same name the fae used for Skye: Eilean a' Cheò. He moved his hand and let the thought carry him. The shape didn’t come easily or flow as he might have liked, but he held the determination in his mind, focusing relentlessly on the words. When he opened his eyes, he saw a series of shapes formed an arc over Rory’s inscription. A bead of sweat flowed from Douglas’ forehead and dropped onto the wooden surface. The shimmering perspiration sparked when he touched it.
Caledonia Fae 04- Druid Lords Page 14
