Fae Bound

by Hailey Woodward

  The cat stirred, and I hurriedly returned to my seat, beginning to play again, a few bars before where I’d left off earlier. The cat sat up, blinking dazedly. Then her expression cleared. “So,” she said. “You understand the correct manners for ridiri?”

  I nodded, grudgingly impressed with Saorla despite myself. The cat didn’t even recognize that she’d been unconscious. “Good,” said the cat. She stretched. “You likely won’t have much to do with any ridiri except Sir Conall—he’s Aerenia’s right hand.” The one with a reputation for violence. I swallowed. “You clearly have a good number of pieces memorized. I’ll need you to transcribe them,” the cat said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had new music from the mortal world here.” She looked suddenly worried. “You don’t use a different system of musical notation where you’re from, do you? The new world?”

  “It’s the same one that Europe uses,” I said, grateful for the change of subject. My mind went immediately back to Saorla, however, and I could feel the slight weight of the darkcloak in my pocket. A sinking sensation occurred in my stomach. Had I made a mistake in releasing Tisean from his promise? And then there was what Saorla had asked me to do… What exactly had I just fallen into?

  Chapter Fourteen

  The cat set me to work practicing writing musical notations with a quill pen on some scrap parchment, which was wise of her; quills, it turns out, are not easy to write with, and I kept accidentally splattering blots across the parchment. It didn’t help that I was distracted. My mind kept returning to my conversation with Saorla, and I wondered again about Dietrich’s choice of words when he’d presented me to Aerenia. I couldn’t fool myself into believing that he’d used imprecise language out of any sense of concern for me, but it was just possible that Mitchell had somehow pushed him to do it. I felt a fresh surge of anger as I thought of Mitchell. Had this been how he’d justified his actions to himself? As if having a half-formed plan to get me out of here made it somehow acceptable to sell me to some of the most vicious monsters alive. I ground my teeth as I jabbed the pen rather harder than I’d intended against the parchment, scoring it.

  “Useless at this, aren’t you?” the cat commented, leaping onto the table and padding across my practice attempts. She left ink-stained pawprints on the parchment as she did so. She spat on my hand, and I flinched back in surprise as the ink stains dissolved from my fingertips. “Perhaps I’ll just have you dictate and write it myself.”

  I looked at her skeptically as I set the quill down. “You can write?”

  In answer, she dipped a claw into the inkwell, then drew four swift lines across the parchment, along with a neat treble clef and key signature. Shown up in penmanship by a cat. How embarrassing. She flicked the remaining ink off her claw, then looked at me meaningfully. “You’ll need to practice before I let you near the good parchment.” She turned her gaze back over my attempts. “A lot.”

  At that moment, the door to the little music room opened, revealing Sir Conall. “Stand,” the cat hissed at me, and I obeyed, keeping my head bowed per the cat’s earlier instructions. The cat turned to face Sir Conall as he entered, approaching the two of us. “What do you think?” she asked, flicking one of her ears in my direction.

  His gaze swept over me appraisingly. “Much improved,” he said. I clenched my jaw. “How are her skills?”

  “Much better than anticipated,” the cat confirmed. I glanced up in time to see an odd look pass over his face, and the cat gave an unpleasant chuckle. I dropped my gaze again. “Don’t look so disappointed. There will be more like her here soon enough.”

  “True,” said Conall. He turned back to me. “Come.” He held out a hand and I passed the end of my leash to him wordlessly, though my heart was suddenly beating in my throat. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. And what did that comment of the cat’s mean, that there would be more like me here soon? I glanced at the cat, who was watching with an inscrutable expression as Conall turned away. She nodded toward Conall, and I forced myself to follow the Sidhe knight. He paused, nodding to the cello case that was leaning against the harpsichord, so I picked it up and followed him into the hall.

  We walked—or rather, he led me—through a dark network of hallways. I didn’t dare ask where we were going. I tried to reassure myself by remembering the cat’s comment that I was a good enough musician to be worth the trouble of keeping alive, but that was scant comfort… especially since ‘alive’ was not the same as ‘unharmed.’ I had the unpleasant realization that at that moment, Tisean’s oath was still in effect. The competition had not actually started yet, so he was still duty bound to protect me. If I suffered any debilitating injuries in the next few hours, this would be over for him—and for me—before it began.

  Eventually, we came to a wide pair of double doors, ornately carved with a scene of a doe standing with its head bowed, a child laying its hand against the deer’s muzzle. There was a tenderness to the scene, but I suspected that I would think otherwise if I recognized the story being portrayed. Conall opened the door. Once I’d entered behind him, he dropped the leash. It clinked against the marble floor. He regarded me for a moment, then prowled around me in a full circle, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. There was a peculiar lupine grace to his movement. I swallowed, my skin prickling.

  “Odd,” he murmured to himself. He looked up to meet my eyes, which I averted quickly. “Do you claim any magical talent, mortal?”

  I shook my head rapidly. “None, Sir Conall.” Why would he ask that? Everyone else around here seemed to be able to tell that I was completely mundane in that regard. The puca had known immediately that I didn’t belong in Alfheim, and the dullahan had seen that there was no magic in me. Tisean had come to the same conclusion, though he had noticed a trace of spellwork around me—I swallowed as realization hit, fighting to keep it off my face. Could Conall sense that I’d been dealing with the Seelie?

  He regarded me for a long moment. My palms started to sweat. Finally, he turned away. “Wait here, and do not touch anything.”

  My knees trembled with relief as he left the room, the door closing behind him. I turned to look at where he’d brought me. There didn’t seem to be much to touch, actually. The room was about double the size of the music chamber I’d just come from, with wood paneling along the walls. Paintings hung every few feet. In the center of the room was a fountain, frozen in a graceful waterspout, which was ringed by stone benches. On the far end of the room was a long table, which had papers and what looked like maps strewn over it, though I couldn’t tell from where I stood, and I wasn’t inclined to snoop. I set the cello case down and turned my attention to the painting nearest me, then tore my gaze away, cringing. It was an image of a man being gutted by a troll. His face was twisted in agony, and his innards were painted in vermillion glory. My stomach wrenched in protest at the sight.

  “Do you like it?”

  I started violently as I recognized the voice, spinning to face Aerenia and dropping to one knee in the same movement, keeping my gaze down. I swallowed, realizing that she probably expected a response. “It’s very… evocative, Majesty.”

  She laughed quietly. It was a beautiful sound, a fact which disturbed me. It didn’t seem right that cruelty and beauty should coexist like they did with these creatures. “So. The mortals do still teach their young the art of tact.” She paused. “His name was Davin,” she said, motioning to the picture. “As far as mortals went, he was entertaining, but his recitations grew dull after a time… and my trolls were hungry.” I flinched. “Stand.”

  I obeyed, still keeping my gaze down. We stood in silence for a moment as she regarded me. “Tell me,” she said after a moment, “My courtiers inform me that you entered the Court unenchanted last night, while the Septagonal sorcerer’s apprentice was enthralled. Why was that?”

  I swallowed. “He had previously objected to the Alder Prince’s plan to present me as a tithe, Majesty,” I said. It was a minor miracle that I managed to say that without choki
ng on the words. “I believe they simply wished to keep him under control until it was done. I didn’t…” My voice faltered. “I didn’t know that was what they planned, so it wasn’t necessary to enthrall me at first.”

  “I see.” She sounded thoughtful, though I still didn’t dare look at her face. “There was some speculation that the boy was to be the tithe, and that you were perhaps his replacement as Shadow. It’s a pity that was not the case… it would have been intriguing to test the limits of his unusual abilities.” A chill ran over me at her casual tone. Was she talking about his supposed immunity? I still didn’t understand how that could be true, given that Isana had enthralled him.

  The door opened, and Aerenia glanced over her shoulder as several other Sidhe entered the room, including Conall. I tensed. Aerenia made a gesture dismissing me over to the stone benches by the frozen fountain. “Play your instrument quietly over there, mortal. I will determine if I agree with the cat’s assessment while I attend to some business.”

  I had to fight my instincts to bolt away from her at the dismissal. I stooped to pick up the cello case and obeyed, sitting down on the bench furthest from the table as the Sidhe gathered around it. They sat down after Aerenia did, and I began to play, picking a piece that had some tricky technical aspects but wasn’t particularly flashy; I didn’t want to be viewed as a distraction in a meeting between what I assumed were some of the most important—and thus, lethal—fae in the Unseelie Court. The less they noticed me, the better. I looked sideways at the assemblage. Two ladies, four lords, and Aerenia. They began discussing something intently, though I couldn’t distinguish any words over the sound of my own music. Somewhat to my surprise, Aerenia spoke very little, seeming to be more focused on listening to what the others had to say. Not wanting to be caught watching, I turned my focus more fully to playing. I ran through a number of pieces, mainly classical, but with a few film scores thrown in. I knew I should be on edge about my playing, since I was in effect doing the most important audition of my life (even if the judge wasn’t really paying attention to me), but the music did a good deal to soothe me. I wouldn’t say I was relaxed—I was, after all, trapped in a room with seven dangerous and unpredictable fae creatures—but I gradually lost the feeling of complete dread and terror.

  “Mortal,” Aerenia said, pitching her voice exactly loud enough to carry over the notes. I stopped playing immediately. “Come.”

  So much for feeling less than terrified. I forced myself to breathe as I laid the cello down in its case, then approached the table, eyes downcast. Aerenia held out a hand, and I passed the leash to her, careful not to touch her as I did so. My heart pounded in my ears.

  “Mortal, in your time traveling here, did the Septagonal sorcerer mention anything of his allegiance to Titania?” Aerenia asked.

  I swallowed. “It was mentioned several times, Majesty. He sometimes refrained from taking certain actions out of fear of angering her or one of her creatures.”

  “I see.” I could feel her gaze on me. What was this about? Out of the corner of my eye I could see that I’d been right earlier—there were several maps on the table. I didn’t recognize the coastlines and landmarks on most of them, but one looked like a modern rendering of Europe. Long, swaying lines had been drawn across the continent, though. Worldlines? “Did he speak anything to you about his purpose in coming here?”

  “No, Majesty.”

  A bolt of pain shot through me, and I, caught unawares, collapsed with a sharp cry. “I believe you traveled with the Alder Prince’s company for… oh, three to five days?” Aerenia asked pleasantly. My breathing ragged, I pushed myself to my knees. “Surely you can recall something.” There was a warning prickle of heat from the collar.

  “I wasn’t…” I stuttered over the words, and I forced myself to smooth out my breathing. I almost said something about how determinedly they had kept me in the dark, but I had a hunch that Aerenia wasn’t the sort to listen to excuses. “He mentioned having a purpose that was bigger than any one of us. Isana—the Lorelei—accused him of turning his back on his life’s work.”

  “Interesting.” She leaned back in her chair, watching me. I considered standing, but decided it was wiser to stay where I was. “And how did he respond to this accusation?”

  I thought back, which was difficult, given how my thoughts were tripping over one another. “He was… indignant, Majesty,” I managed. “He said that the best thing for everyone was to ensure that Dietrich would win this competition. He didn’t say why.”

  Another bolt of pain raced through my blood. I fell against the floor. “You know, I haven’t used an iall na braighdeanas on a mortal in years,” said Aerenia musingly. I pushed myself to my knees again, though I was trembling almost too badly to manage it. Anger crept over me, pushing at the edges of the fear and pain. Why did she expect me to know anything? “It is certainly a convenient tool. Particularly since I find myself suspecting that you are omitting information.” More pain shot through me, and black spots blotted the edges of my vision.

  “I remember them being more fragile than this,” said one of the Sidhe lords thoughtfully as my muscles convulsed. I clenched my jaw shut. I was not going to give them the satisfaction of hearing me scream again. “I would have expected her heart to burst by now.”

  “I am using very little force presently,” said Aerenia. Well, that was a matter of opinion. I forced myself to take a breath through my clenched teeth. Conall was watching me with a faint smile. “Though certainly I could apply more.”

  “Ian Mitchell is an eel,” I spat, the pain and fear destroying my ability to modulate either tone or word choice. There were marks on my palms where my own fingernails had dug into them. “He swore to work to protect mortals, then approved of kidnapping me so I could be given to this Court. And when his apprentice, who trusted him without question, realized what Mitchell had planned for me, Mitchell had him enthralled!” I pressed my hands against the cold floor, trying to force them to stop shaking. It didn’t work. “He’s a lying traitor. I have no reason to protect him.”

  “Ah, she does have a backbone,” said Aerenia. Several of the others chuckled. “Good. I have little patience for weakness. Mortal, what I wish to know is if you feel his allegiance to the Septagonal is still in force.”

  I thought quickly. So the question was whether he was acting of own accord in helping Dietrich, or acting on orders. More specifically, she probably wanted to know if he’d been telling the truth last night when he’d said he was here as a gesture of goodwill from the Septagonal. I didn’t know, but it was clear by this point that saying so wasn’t an acceptable answer. I swallowed. “I know very little of the Septagonal’s workings, Majesty,” I said. “But I heard no indication that he was acting against orders.”

  At that moment, the door to the meeting chamber opened, revealing a warty goblin-like creature covered in coarse red fur. “Your pardon, Majesty,” he said, sinking into a deep bow. I slumped in relief as Aerenia’s attention shifted from me. “Queen Titania has sent a delegation, which awaits you in the main hall. It seems that Sir Tisean and his retainers undertook this journey without her knowledge or consent.” Uh oh. What happened to me if he was pulled from the competition?

  Aerenia’s eyebrows rose. “And she wishes to parley for the life of her knight, does she?” She frowned thoughtfully. “It is too late, but we shall see what her messengers have to say.” She glanced at me, then back at the goblin. “Return the mortal to the catsidhe, and tell her that she may play in one of the alcoves tonight prior to the competition. Do not let the delegation see the mortal,” she added. “I have no desire to listen to cries about violations of their precious Pact.” Sir Conall leaned toward Aerenia and murmured something to her. Her gaze returned to me sharply. I didn’t even breathe. “Ah,” she said. “Yes, I see it. Thank you, Conall. You are as observant as ever.” She turned back to the goblin. “And instruct the cat to determine what that thread on her is, beneath the tithe bindings. I doubt it
is anything significant, but if the Rhinelanders are attempting some foolish ruse, I would know of it sooner rather than later.” She waved me away, dropping the leash.

  I practically bolted, stopping only long enough to pack up the cello, which I accomplished in record time. You know your life has taken a turn for the worse when you think being escorted somewhere by a goblin is a relief.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You look terrible,” the cat told me for the second time that day. The goblin had delivered me along with Aerenia’s message, then left. “Why are you twitching like that?”

  Haltingly, I told her about my ‘audition’ with Aerenia. She listened carefully, her ears flicking back occasionally.

  “Hmm,” she said, once I’d finished. “She liked you.”

  I stared at her. “Did you not hear the part about her sending scorching pain through my body?!”

  “Yes, but she didn’t kill you,” the cat said in a reasonable sort of tone. “Why don’t you sit down for a little while? I imagine you could use the rest. How much sleep do mortals need? It’s been so long…”

  “About eight hours a night,” I said, sinking down into one of the padded chairs. “Give or take.”