Scattered Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 1)

by S A Archer

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  Details can be found at the end of

  SCATTERED MAGIC

  or at

  SidheTouch.com

  Books by

  S.A. Archer and S. Ravynheart

  Scattered Magic

  Remnents of Magic

  Into Magic

  Bastion of Magic

  Knights of the Red Branch

  Introduction

  A Quick Lay of the Land

  The Sidhe series takes place in the modern world, where most humans are unaware of the magical and paranormal beings living among them. ‘The fey’ are all the races of beings that come from the fey realm, known as ‘the Mounds’, and we base them loosely on Celtic mythology. These include elves, fairies, dwarves, Brownies, Changelings, goblins and many other races. Among the fey, the most magical, and therefore the ruling class, are the noble elves. They are also called ‘the Sidhe’, pronounced ‘shee’. Because the Sidhe are so powerful, all other fey are known as ‘lesser fey’ by comparison.

  To some degree, all fey have the ability to teleport and use Glamour, which is a magical illusion usually used to disguise oneself or to hide something. In addition to this, the Sidhe as a race possess a common magic known as ‘the Touch’, which is a form of sharing magic. The Touch is a bonding and beautiful experience for the Sidhe, and is a gift when presented to lesser fey. However, the Touch is dangerous to humans, who become forever addicted to the magic. Touched humans will need to have that magic replenished every few weeks, or they suffer the same withdrawal symptoms as drug addicts, and they will eventually be driven insane by the need. Besides teleportation, Glamour, and the Touch, each Sidhe possesses a single ‘aspect of magic’ which dictates how their personal magic will manifest. For example, Lugh’s aspect of magic is the sun, so he can produce light and heat, encourage the growth of plants, manipulate fire, and so forth.

  The Sidhe have always been divided into two philosophically opposed courts. The Seelie Court, also known as the Light Court, values civilization, pageantry, beauty, and subtle intrigues. They are all about the presentation of chivalry and gallant performances, regardless of what truth may lie beneath the lovely facade. The Unseelie Court, also known as the Dark Court, doesn’t waste effort on pretending to be anything other than what they are. They are blunt and to the point. They embrace freedom, individuality, and are headstrong in their dislike of all that is ‘fake’ about the Seelie.

  The predators hunting the fey include vampires and werewolves, who find the magic-laced blood and flesh intoxicating. There is also a sect of humans known as wizards who have discovered ways to strip captive fey of magic, usually killing them in the process, to power their own enchantments.

  In the very back of the book is a glossary and a pronunciation guide for the more unusual fey names.

  We hope that this little introduction gives you a framework for understanding, as we begin our tale…

  Chapter One

  “Celebrating prematurely, aren’t you?” Lugh used his glass to indicate the party filling the grand ballroom of the Seelie Court. It was as spectacular an event as any other victory gala he’d ever partaken in, with the notable exception that this time victory had yet to be secured, and to Lugh’s mind, probably never would be.

  “Have faith.” Manannan offered a handsome smile full of arrogance. The Seelie king cut a dashing figure in his brocade doublet of a color that matched his ocean blue eyes. To gaze upon him, one would have believed nothing could tarnish his confidence, not even the rather inconvenient truth.

  “Faith? I know the Unseelie. They shall never submit, not to you or any other Seelie king. That is at the very heart of the Unseelie, to never surrender their wild ways.” Lugh scanned those in attendance. All Seelie, which rather proved his point. The brightly attired Sidhe danced the familiar waltzes in the center of the rotunda to the traditional songs. The conversation groupings milling around the fringes were in the usual pairings, so much so that Lugh could almost with certainty describe the topics of conversations without even guessing. He knew the ones discussing politics, or domestic trivialities, or the gossip about the latest romances. All of the trappings of civility and pleasantries that the Seelie did so enjoy, and would have sent an Unseelie’s skin crawling.

  Manannan tilted his head back to finish his drink, and then said, “This time, they shall accept our invitation. Danu herself is presiding.”

  That did capture Lugh’s attention. He searched the guileless, even expression on Manannan’s face. Perhaps a shade too controlled. Something lurked unsaid just beneath the surface. To be certain, the king owed him no explanation, but Lugh rather wished he would accept his council in the spirit with which he offered it. Though he did not wish to see Manannan fail, in this matter he saw no conceivable way he could succeed. Save one possibility which could never be. Although it should have gone without saying, Lugh reminded his king, “Danu would not compel the Unseelie to obey her. Not in a matter such as this.”

  “Certainly not,” Manannan dismissed the notion, “But they are the weaker court. Their strength is waning. The time for division is declining. We shall soon embrace our wayward brethren in one united court.”

  Though ruled by their king, the Seelie Court moved by Danu’s bidding. She crowned the king for whatever term she deemed appropriate. Lugh himself had held the crown twice, and served his court with the love and dedication that ruled his life. While each king governed in his own fashion, no other had drawn more controversy than Manannan, crowned only a mere century earlier. Almost immediately the prophetess of the Unseelie Court spoke against him. Aoife predicted a grave doom would befall all fey should the courts be united, and that Manannan would drive them toward that doom with a relentless passion. Before she’d spoken of it, Lugh would have never even suspected such a thing as uniting of the courts would be possible, but Manannan embraced the prophecy as a challenge, as a prediction not of doom, but of his success and the Unseelie fear of it. A legacy no other Sidhe could outshine. The unification of the Sidhe. One people. One court. And, of course, all ruled by one king.

  Ambitious, even for the arrogant Seelie.

  Lugh gave no credence to predictions, Aoife’s or anyone else’s. Too often circumstances changed, defeating the disasters before they even manifested. But there were many that saw conspiracy woven into every action and every utterance, unconsciously determined to fulfill the very prophecy they claimed to battle. This movement among the fey, this undercurrent of fear, alone should have been enough to defeat the summit’s goal to find peace between the courts. In truth that was probably the very reason Aoife spoke of it, a political maneuver rather than a true vision. How Manannan thought this time would be any different than any other, Lugh could not fathom. The Unseelie queen and her king declined to even attend the last several times Manannan invited them to discuss the issue.

  The king raised his empty goblet in a comradely salute, “Don’t trouble yourself about this tonight Lugh. Let us freshen our drinks and find ladies in need of a dance.”

  As Lugh casually surveyed the room, he noticed one of the wood elf waiters moving too quickly through the crowd. He did not offer the glasses on his tray to any of the guests. In fact, his gaze was fixed on his destination. His target.

  Lugh’s heart nearly stopped, the wrongness struck him that bluntly. Though he had no doubts that the su
mmit would once more fail, there were those who feared it enough to do even the unthinkable to defeat it. It would not be the first time an assassin struck in public.

  Lugh departed from Manannan without taking his leave. He cut through the crowd. Closing the distance.

  The elf headed for Kaitlin, a princess and Manannan’s sister-in-law. The princess saw the elf coming. Her chin lifted. Eyes lit up. She breathlessly froze in anticipation.

  Lugh slowed mere strides before reaching the elf. Had Kaitlin seemed frightened, or even unsuspecting, he’d have quietly detained the elf and discovered his true intent, for serving drinks certainly was not it. The elf removed a folded napkin from his tray. As he moved passed Kaitlin he passed the napkin to the girl without slowing down.

  Kaitlin accepted it and then cast an anxious glance about her. Lugh turned away before her eyes could fix upon him. He murmured a random compliment to one of the ladies and she rewarded him with a musical laugh. When he pivoted back toward the princess she no longer faced in his direction, but rather slipped through the crowd with haste. The silk of her dress flowed about her lithe, dancer’s figure. Her loose hair spilled down her back before curling into soft ringlets that bounced youthfully against her back, too eager to make her escape to depart without noticeable excitement.

  Curiosity sharp, he trailed behind her. The barrier over the castle prevented Glamour as well as teleportation. Not that following the young princess required an inordinate amount of stealth. Once he saw her safely to her private chambers, he suspected he knew her intentions. And the potential dangers.

  Chapter Two

  “The Wild Hunt shall sharpen their teeth upon your bones, Chancellor, if you waste my patience.”

  Until that moment, Jhaer merely half listened to the minor petitions submitted before his queen. The Unseelie Court fell silent in anticipation. Only about thirty Sidhe attended this session, a woefully thin number that continued to dwindle in recent decades. A smattering of other dark fey with whom the queen found favor or advantage added to the number. Even still, the queen conducted court in the smaller Eastern Hall rather than suffer the empty echo of the Grand Hall.

  Jhaer repositioned himself in the shifting crowd. Very few knew his true calling as the head of the Queen’s Elite. Nothing about his manor or his clothing differed from the other Sidhe in the Dark Court. If anything he was unremarkable in his black silk shirt and tailored dark slacks, which fit him with a certain understated elegance and yet provided him with freedom of movement.

  Sweat beaded across the chancellor’s brow as the fey of the Wild Hunt salivated at the very mention of Sidhe flesh. “As you wish, Highness,” he bowed his head and backed toward the entryway. “Your Majesty might forgive me for wanting to clear the docket of mundane matters first, once you learn of the great issue before the Court.” The chancellor collected an ornately-carved, gold canister from the Scribe who served as his aide. As the chancellor turned the lid, breaking the magical seal, an explosion of sparks burst forth into the hall only to rain slowly down in a shower of twinkling multicolored pixie dust. None of the Unseelie reacted with anything that resembled wonderment at the gaudy display of Seelie magic.

  The chancellor removed a scroll from within the canister and unrolled it. He skimmed over it before clearing his throat to speak. Undoubtedly he paraphrased, for the Seelie never said anything so directly. “The Shining Court invites your Majesty and the king to a summit to be convened immediately. The All-Mother herself is to preside. They claim it is to address the sovereignty of the Courts and negotiate a peace that will bring a lasting balance and unity for all Sidhe.”

  The whispering began, laced with fear. In previous centuries Danu remained neutral throughout all the wars between the Unseelie and the Seelie. For the All-Mother to preside openly over any matter was unprecedented, for no fey bound to the Mounds could withstand a direct battle of wills with Danu. Through the creatrix all magic flowed.

  The evil in the invitation circled tightly around the notion of unity. The very moment the chancellor uttered that word, the pit of Jhaer’s stomach soured. The head of the Unseelie Elite didn’t need Aoife’s prediction to know that would never succeed. The polar opposites of the Seelie and Unseelie could never co-exist in a single, harmonious Court. Only separation and sovereignty brought temporary peace to the Mounds, all conditions that had the Seelie foaming with self-righteous indignation. Even as he knew this for himself, many fey placed their faith in the prophetess, Aoife. Her visions frightened many fey into fleeing to the surface, preferring to live as exiles, for if her vision came to pass, the Mounds themselves would be destroyed.

  The queen processed the possible consequences of such a venomous invitation with stunned silence. When at last she spoke, the knife edge so familiar in her voice faltered. “This invitation comes from the Seelie Court? Not the All-Mother herself?”

  The chancellor rolled the scroll tightly closed. “Yes, your Majesty.”

  As she rose with renewed determination, the whispers died down. “What messenger bore this treachery from the Seelie to this Court? Bring him before me.”

  Sounds of a scuffle filtered into the silent hall as a young elf was forced bodily before the queen. A guard clutched each wrist and kept the elf’s arms outstretched away from his sides. The troll behind the elf cupped his massive hand over the lower half of the boy’s face, muffling his protests. The thick fingers of the troll’s other hand controlled the elf by his long, blond hair. Wasted though the effort was, the lad struggled with all the strength he possessed, even under the deadly glare of the queen.

  “Bring him to my chambers. I shall speak with him alone before he carries our decline to the Seelie.” She slipped out of the hall in a flow of scarlet satin that shimmered like thick blood, a small reminder that the queen gained her throne through the dominance of her power and not from some trick of negotiation or contest of popularity.

  Though one might not have guessed that the elf could fight harder, he certainly managed to jerk and jump against the restraints of the guards’ bodies with even more frantic energy. As the guards dragged him off, and the Court descended into gossip and tense murmurings, Jhaer melted into the shadows. He teleported himself into the queen’s chamber. The queen saw him materialize behind the wide marble pillar on the balcony. Once they made eye contact, she turned from him and he wrapped a Glamour around himself so that he was invisible when the guards deposited the elf at her feet with a shove hard enough to lay out the young man on his stomach. They retreated as quickly as they’d come, leaving the elf to the mercies of the queen.

  “Why did they send you?”

  The elf struggled up to his elbows and swiped the back of his hand across his bloodied lip. “I volunteered.” He glanced up at her, no more fear in his youthful, silver eyes. The elf lifted himself to his knees.

  “Do they suspect you?” The queen traced the cut on his mouth, catching the blood smear on a tapered fingertip. Concern laced the gesture, but Jhaer knew from the stiffness of her spine that the queen performed this more for show than what was heartfelt. Few truly won her limited store of sympathy. Her reputation for cruelty stayed the hand of would-be challengers far more often than her magic. Under her rule the Unseelie held fast against the constantly mounting pressures of the Seelie Court, something no one of lesser conviction could have maintained.

  “No, but I had to convey this information myself.” The elf rose to his feet. Absently, he straightened his clothing and hair in an instinctual manner. Beautiful and vain, certain races of lesser fey tended to preen at inappropriate times, especially those of the Seelie alignment who mistook physical beauty as evidence of righteousness. “I overheard Danu speak of the prophetess with Manannan.” His excitement left him breathless and grinning. “She is imprisoned in the Glenveagh Forest.”

  Jhaer watched the elf closely: his body language, his v
oice, his expression. The elf either surpassed Jhaer’s skill to detect a lie or he believed what he spoke.

  The queen rubbed the smear of blood between her forefinger and thumb as she considered this. Jhaer knew her feelings about the prophetess. The Unseelie queen inspired obedience through fear. The prophetess inspired them through faith. With Aoife by her side, they could rally support from factions in the Seelie Court. Together they could defuse the threat of unity once more.

  “You risked much to bring this to me and I know your sacrifice.”

  “To prevent the disaster Aoife predicted, I would surrender my very life.” This elf, most certainly a Seelie in every aspect, believed in the prophetess, even a hundred years after she disappeared. No amount of threats of violence could instill that kind of faith.

  The queen nodded, as though well aware of the elf’s sentiments. “Then you will resume your mission?”

  “Yes.” The elf steeled himself. “I know what you must do. Just please make it quick.”

  The queen reached out a hand toward him. As she closed her fist his body arched forward, as if his sternum were attached to some rope she gripped. With a sharp jerk of her hand, dozens of shallow knife cuts opened across his flesh. The elf screamed with agony. He crumpled to his knees, his hands covering the wounds on his face. It was unavoidable. If he returned unharmed, the Seelie would be suspicious. The injuries guaranteed the safety of his cover.