by Anya Bast
The combination of events had spelled doom for all the fae. The wars and the illness had outed them to humankind, who panicked in the face of legend becoming truth. Intimidated by fae magick, they were easily influenced by the Phaendir, who told them to strike while the fae were weak.
So many fae had died on the ships; many more succumbed during their resettlement in the fledging Piefferburg, which had been so starved for resources. No food. No shelter. No medicine. No heat. Not even clean drinking water.
The early days had been very hard for all but the Seelie, who’d been kept like royalty on the backs of all the other fae. The troop believed the Seelie were a shining symbol of the greatness of their kind and supported them, no matter the cost to the rest.
He leveled his gaze at her. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
It was an effort to keep the edge from his voice. It wasn’t Aislinn’s fault that the Seelie had caused the other fae to suffer at the time of Piefferburg’s birth. She hadn’t even been alive back then. It had taken Piefferburg years to get on its feet, build an economy, and suffer through the inferno that had been Watt syndrome, an illness Gabriel believed was Phaendir born.
“Your mother was Seelie, correct? Your father Unseelie?”
“My mother was troop. She had Seelie blood, but it was mixed with wilding fae, not pure enough for the Rose.” His jaw locked for a moment. “My father was an Unseelie noble, one hundred percent incubus.”
“And your father,” she said softly, “did he die of Watt syndrome, too?”
His jaw locked. “No,” he forced out. He hadn’t had to speak of these things in a long time. They were wounds still fresh, even though they were centuries old.
“Is he here in Piefferburg then?” She took another bite of her dinner, unaware she drew blood from him with every question she asked. It was an innocent enough query from a Seelie lady who’d known no hardship in her pampered life filled with people who adored her.
His hand tightened on his fork and he forced himself to relax his grip. “No, he never made it to Piefferburg.” A good thing for his father, since Gabriel would have killed him once he was old enough and strong enough to do it. As a child he’d been powerless against the bastard who’d sired him.
She nearly dropped her fork and looked up at him. “You mean he’s still alive? He evaded the Great Sweep?”
“Yes, but the way he lived his life, he’s probably dead by now.”
She studied him with eyes keener than he was comfortable with. Most likely she was weighing his words and the tone in which he spoke. She was probably wondering why his father had chosen freedom in the world over his family, or at least why he hadn’t tried to stop the Phaendir from taking his wife and child. Those were questions he didn’t want to answer. Fortunately, Aislinn had enough sense not to ask them.
She turned her attention back to her plate. “What did your mother do for a living?”
His lips twitched. “She was a whore.”
Her hand shook.
“It’s okay. I’m not ashamed. My mother did what she had to do to take care of us. She was a strong woman, a good woman, who did the best she could with the bad breaks life gave her.” He paused. “I have more of my mother in me than I do my father. I’m happy to be able to say that.”
She raised her gaze. “I would never judge a woman in a position like hers, in that time of history, alone and with a child to take care of. History has not been easy on us, on any of us.”
“I would debate that the Seelie have had a rough time.”
Her eyes snapped suddenly cold. “Why? We’re the ones who have lost the most, even if eventually we regained it. The Seelie are the ones who ruled the British Isles after wresting control from the Firbolg and the Formorians, and then lost control to the Milesians when the Phaendir allied with them. It was the Seelie who had to negotiate for all the other fae races when that happened. If not for the hard choices we had to make, the fae might have been wiped from the planet. So don’t tell me the Seelie haven’t sacrificed just like all the rest of the fae.”
The Milesians, simply a human tribe, had found a friend in the Phaendir and used charmed iron weapons in battle against the fae. With the Phaendir’s aid, they’d defeated the ruling Seelie Tuatha Dé. But since the fae could really never be killed off, they were forced to make a solemn promise to disappear from the sight and knowledge of humans. They’d gone underground. Sometimes literally, in the case of some wilding fae and the goblins, but mostly they’d just faded into anonymity, eventually becoming only the stuff of myth and legend to the humans. At least until the wars and Watt had outed them.
Gabriel sensed a disagreement in the air, but he just couldn’t leave it alone. He smiled, but he knew it was cold. “I think it’s interesting how so much of Seelie court life is based on illusion.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Seelie believe they’re better than all other kinds of fae because they ruled over all of us before the Unseelie organized and came to equal power. They think they’re entitled to the support they receive from the troop. They believe the Unseelie are all horrible bloodthirsty monsters, when they’re not—”
“They’re not?” She raised her eyebrows.
He spread his hands. “You’re making my point for me. Not all of us are. I’m not, am I?”
“I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment.” She blinked innocently and took another bite of pasta.
She was viciously honest. He liked that about her. The Seelie were known for their ability to dissemble, but she seemed to lack talent at that dubious art. She was also very intelligent. He wasn’t a bloodthirsty monster, but he wasn’t exactly harmless, either.
He dropped his eyelids a little, leaned in, and lowered his voice. “Sweetness, I want you to know me much better.”
Her eyes widened a little and she blinked. Good. It was time she got the hint that no matter what he might tell her, his intentions toward her were hardly honorable. Sensual, erotic, and most certainly sweaty—but never honorable.
He leaned back in his chair. “To finish my point, the troop believe that the Seelie are worthy of their support, that the Seelie are the last vestige of beauty, nobility, and power that the fae have. The troop think of the Seelie as royalty and want to keep them on a pedestal to adore.”
She bristled. “It’s the way things have been for millennia. It’s how fae culture is constructed.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make it a good thing. How can it be when it’s all based on powerful false belief and illusion? I find it fascinating.”
“You’re saying the Seelie are just like any other fae, not the original genetic source from which all other fae spring, and therefore aren’t entitled to special treatment.”
With heavy-lidded eyes, he studied her angry face. She was even more attractive when she was riled. He should piss her off more often. “I subscribe to the belief that the Unseelie and Seelie were created at the same time. Dark and light to balance each other. That the troop and the wilding fae sprang from genetic combinations between the two.”
She set her fork down and pressed her lips together before speaking. “You seem a little biased against the Seelie for someone who is petitioning to join the Rose.”
“Not at all. My criticism of both the courts is equally scathing.”
“I understand you’re placed quite highly in the Black Tower. Seems like you must be comfortable there. I can’t really believe you want to give all that up just because you’re bored.”
He took a sip of wine. “Maybe I want to explore my mother’s Seelie Sídhe blood a bit, at least the little of it that she had. And I never lied about being bored, Aislinn. You’ll see. You tend to search for more exciting stimulus at such an advanced age, even if it means defecting one court for another.”
“You’re not exactly elderly.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure most women think you’re very . . . very . . .”
“Very?”
“Virile.” H
er cheeks turned a bit rosy.
He grinned. “And what about you? Do you think I’m virile?”
The rosy blush in her cheeks turned to red anger. “I’m done with men for a very long time, so you can get that thought right out of your head—and off your face, too.”
He’d let her hold on to that lie for just a little while longer.
“Yes, the gossip of your breakup with Kendal is all over the Seelie Court.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine, but I do want to say one thing. Kendal is an idiot. Every time I see him, I want to punch him. He never deserved you.” Gabriel leaned forward. “If you let one miserable man spoil all your future chances for love, that’s stupid on your part.”
She gave a short burst of unexpected laughter. “Thanks for that bit of advice I never asked for.”
His lips twitched. “Anytime.”
“You may not be as bad as I thought, Gabriel.”
“I’m glad you’re finally coming to that conclusion. I can’t help what I am, Aislinn. I’m half incubus and while I can control my magick to some extent, most of it comes naturally to me. It’s a part of who I am. Believe me, it’s not always easy. It’s got its downside.”
Lie number two. Occasionally it was tiresome fending off the advances of someone he wasn’t attracted to, but overall his magick was one of the better kinds to have, in his opinion. He never spent a night alone unless he wanted to. Of course, there was the stray person here and there who seemed unaffected by his charm. Like sweet miss Aislinn. But that only made things more interesting.
“Other than being pure-bloodline Tuatha Dé, what magick do you possess?” He couldn’t wait to hear her answer this question. Time to put her in an uncomfortable position. He leaned back and drained the last of the wine in his glass.
She cleared her throat and—was it his imagination?—did she go pale? How fascinating. “I have the power of prediction. I dream things that come true sometimes. Mostly I dream of people’s deaths.”
“That’s dark.” The words, of course, were calculated on his part.
She flinched. “It has its darker moments. It’s not an uncommon sort of magick for a Seelie to have, however. It’s not a magick that can kill or maim.”
“Did you dream the death of your family’s friend?”
“No.” Her gaze dropped into her lap. “My gift is unpredictable that way. I dreamed of someone else’s death last night.”
“Someone you know?”
She looked up, a wry smile flickering over her luscious mouth. “Yes, intimately.”
“I’m sorry. But you know death is a part of living. We might exist on this earth for centuries on end, but eventually we’ll all be collected by the Wild Hunt.”
Flinch again. Maybe having her first encounter with the Wild Hunt had thrown her a little. “True, but it’s still a sad thing.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Not always. Sad for those we leave behind, maybe. But I believe our souls pass into another life. There is no death, only change. You’ve seen the Wild Hunt in action, I’m sure, flying through the night. If nothing comes after death, there would be no reason for them to do what they do.”
She smiled. “It’s a nice idea. I hope you’re right.”
“I think I am right.” He surveyed the wreck of their dinner. “I’ll let you get some sleep, Aislinn, and see you tomorrow. You’ve had a long day and you’re grieving. I don’t want to impose any longer.” He rose from the table.
“Wait.”
He paused.
She smiled and pushed her index finger along the top of the smooth table. “Stay a little longer, just for a drink. I feel like I’ve treated you so badly.”
Gabriel gazed down at the top of her head, trying to get a handle on another rush of impulse. He wanted to stay. Suddenly, he needed to stay. Stay and have that drink, lean in at some point, ease the glass from her hand, and lick the leftover droplets from her lips.
That dark voice inside him, the incubus, whispered, You can make her want you. You can make her beg.
He knew he could seduce her this very night if he wanted to. All he had to do was get close to her, get her to allow him to kiss her, touch her. He could make her sigh in need for his body, whimper in desire. If only he could get his lips and hands on her. His cock stiffened at the thought and he had to grip the edge of the table to keep from trying it all on her right this very moment.
Gods, he was beginning to want this woman so very badly. He was starting to lose control and he never did that. This woman was dangerous to him, dangerous ambrosia. At some point the lure would become too strong and he would sample her.
But it was too early.
It wasn’t just her body he was trying to seduce, although that would definitely be part of it. He had to seduce her heart and mind, too. That was the tricky part and the thing he had so little practice in—no practice, to be truthful.
Even though he fumbled in the face of developing this deeper relationship with her, he knew he had to take this slowly. He had to wait. He had to allow her to come to him. She needed to warm to him a bit more, open to him more.
He simply needed more from her.
Once she took the bait, then he could set the hook.
Even though it killed him to do it, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “No, you need to go to bed, Aislinn. I don’t want to keep you up any longer. Tomorrow night we can have a drink.”
She smiled. “All right.”
Tomorrow night they would have that drink, and hopefully a little more.
FIVE
GIDEON watched at least twenty black vultures circle the spires of the church near the spindly and reaching white branches of the tree the birds roosted in. This place was a famous roost for vultures, and watchers came from all over to see them. The place where the birds rested their heads at night was above the Church of Labrai’s cemetery, very fitting . . . for a nightmare.
His gaze listed to the left, the way it always did, toward the massive wall that separated Piefferburg from humanity. Spanning hundreds of miles in diameter, to the Atlantic on both ends, and sunken twenty feet into the earth, those massive walls weren’t what kept the fae in. That work was done by the invisible warding that the Phaendir reinforced day and night, keeping the evil contained and away from the rest of the populace of the earth. He and his people made such huge sacrifices for humans, but did they appreciate it? No. They only took their efforts for granted.
Labrai, the one and true God, would smite them all when he came down to punish the sinners, the magicked, and the nonbelievers. Then the Phaendir would be raised up to the heavens and rewarded for their toil and hardships.
He moved his hand, allowing the light yellow curtain of his office in the Phaendir’s headquarters to fall back in place, showing black shapes circling lazily in a piss-colored sky.
“Brother Gideon.”
He turned to find the tall, black-haired figure of Brother Maddoc, his boss, standing in the doorway. “Yes, Brother Maddoc?”
“I had a report that you’d made some cell phone calls into Piefferburg. They were magick-laced?” Brother Maddoc’s eyes were narrowed.
They were always at odds, he and Maddoc. They wanted different things for the Phaendir and, ultimately, for the fae. That difference in their agendas could be trying on their relationship.
Gideon answered with the ease of the innocent. He’d always been good at lying. He hooked his hands behind his back and met Maddoc’s eyes. “Indeed. I needed to relay information to Brother Rhys about the incoming film crew from Faemous. The patrol searched them before they entered, but I still suspected they might be carrying in HFF propaganda and wanted Brother Rhys to keep a close eye on them.”
Emily, Maddoc’s personal assistant, came up on Maddoc’s side. Her shoulder-length red hair was twisted up behind her head and secured with a claw clip today and she wasn’t wearing her contact lenses. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched on the end of he
r small, cute nose.
His composure slipping a bit, Gideon shuffled his feet and glanced at the warm brown carpeting of his office.
Emily slipped a sheaf of papers into Maddoc’s hand, their fingers brushing just a little longer than necessary. She glanced at Gideon and then eased away.
Maddoc studied the papers, frowning, while Gideon fumed. Maddoc was fucking her. He just knew it. His fingers clenched at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms. Maddoc had everything Gideon was supposed to have—the power, the prestige, the respect, the title.
And, now, the woman.
Rightfully, it was all Gideon’s. He was the one with the better plan for the future, and he had plenty of backers in the Phaendir to prove it. More every day.
Maddoc made a mumbling response to Gideon’s answer and shuffled away, nose buried in the papers. Abruptly, he turned back. “I forgot to tell you that we may have a lead on the Book of Bindings. The archivist has been tracking the trail of possession to a fae family, name of Finvarra. Seen the name in your research? They’re apparently an affluent and well-connected Seelie bloodline.”
Oh, be careful, man. Danger. He frowned. “It doesn’t ring a bell, but I’ll look through my notes.” He gave him a pleasant smile.
“Thank you. If we can locate a document with information on who is still living in that family, we may be able to deduce which of them has the book. I don’t need to tell you that this is of the utmost importance.”
Gee, finding the Book of Bindings, the book that held the spell to obliterate the warding around Piefferburg was of the utmost importance? What a revelation.
Gideon smiled and bowed his head. “Of course, Brother Maddoc.” When he lifted his head back up, the imbecile was gone. He stared at the spot where Maddoc had been standing a moment ago, feeling the burn of magick through his veins and spearing the spot as though he could light the former occupant on fire with his hatred alone. His body shook with it, his face flaming and his eyes popping.
