by Claudy Conn
“Ah, so you meet with them.”
“I do.”
“Keeping the peace?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Well … is that all you are going to tell me?” Impatience showed on his handsome face.
“Breslyn, the Daoine are the Keepers of Nature. They are distressed with conditions on earth. What happens to the Earth … to all the elements on earth, affects them as well as it does us. They thought to enlist the Dark King of the Unseelie in their efforts to control the humans’ assault on the planet. But …” The queen smiled whimsically. “The Daoine Council members that visited with the Dark King were lucky he allowed them to leave.”
“Is he so powerful that he could stop a Daoine?” Astonishment widened Breslyn’s silver eyes.
The queen considered him for a moment. “The Dark King was Daoine before he left them to create his own world. His power is above theirs … above mine.” She smiled secretly. “He did not choose to stop them from leaving, because I know that he doesn’t have the patience to deal in politics.”
“And you know this because …?”
A secretive smile played with her lips. “He and I have been … friendly.”
Breslyn’s brow went up and his curiosity played with his mind, but he allowed the answer to stand as it was. His eyes had narrowed though, and he asked softly, “And what of Morrigu?”
The queen’s chin rose. “She is Seelie Fae, and she chose to follow him into the Dark Realm all those eons ago. She wanted to be a ruler though she does not even have an ounce of royal heritage. Now she rules a kingdom of monsters, and she is prisoner.”
“Aye, by Danu, but it is said she has a coterie of black magic at her hands.” He shook his head. “This is building upon itself, my Queen … there is serious trouble ahead.”
“Yes … there is.”
Breslyn knew that the queen and his fellow Fae believed that he was enamored with humans. He was. He adored them. He found them worthy and capable. He found them dear-hearted and bright and passionate. He believed them on the brink of greatness. He did not want to see them harmed. He did not want to see them attacked by such a powerful, magical race as the Daoine, who had no treaty with Man at all.
“So they are the ones interfering with our time travel?” the prince asked on a frown. “To what end?”
“I know not. For now and when we weren’t expecting it, yes, they took control of certain matters. I have someone working on that for me,” the queen responded mysteriously.
It would do no good to ask her who this someone was, as she was not ready yet to tell him and he knew it. “Then, my Queen, I will make it my business to discover the traitor in our midst.” Violence lit in Breslyn’s silver eyes. “I personally will crush him …”
She smiled fondly at her prince and then iced up again. “I would like to grant you that boon, but this time, my Prince, you will find him … and then you will give him to me.”
* * *
Maxie reminded herself that she didn’t faint. She recalled that when she was fourteen she took a devastating fall with her horse, and he rolled over on both of her arms. She didn’t faint. She held fast to her consciousness, and somehow, with her friends watching in astonishment, she managed to climb back on her horse. Yes, later she would discover both arms were broken. Didn’t faint. Couldn’t get off the horse when they returned to the stables, but no fainting.
At that time she had it in her head that if she brushed it all off as no big thing, her dad would not forbid her horses and riding. Her parents rushed her to the hospital, and a doctor in the emergency room stuck a thin slab of wood in her mouth and said to bite when it hurt. She bit right through the slab of wood. No fainting. Fainting since then had never been part of her make up.
She also reminded herself that the sight of blood had never bothered her before. She had made it through life—in spite of the fact that she was a bit on the clumsy side—looking at blood and staying on her feet. No fainting. However, when she looked at the bullet wound and realized she had been shot—Maxie fainted.
When she woke up she had her legs stretched out on the ground and her upper body in Julian’s tight and comforting embrace. He was calling her name. What did he want? She could hear him saying, “Max … Max … come on, Max!” She closed her eyes again. Not now, her mind answered. Can’t you see I’m busy in a faint? Don’t want to know anything. Don’t want to do anything—but he wouldn’t stop!
“Max, Max, Max!” He kept shouting at her, and then he was pouring water from his saddle flask onto her face.
She spluttered and felt her eyelids flutter open once more as she heard him say, “Indeed … there you are. There are those magnificent green eyes of yours … sparkling and smiling and ready to conquer the world. There’s my girl.”
Maxie smiled idiotically and thought, He called me his girl—am I dying? I must be dying. That’s right. I’ve been shot.
It didn’t matter. She was so tired, and his English accent just swam right through her senses, making her feel warm and safe. She continued to smile. There didn’t seem to be a reason to do much more.
Julian asked tentatively, “Do you think you can get up? I would like to get you out of here … We are in the open.”
We are in the open. She tried concentrating on these words. In the open of what?
Ah, it all came back. Someone had tried to kill Julian. Wait! Not someone—not just someone. Julian didn’t even know yet. It didn’t make any sense, but there it was. Someone trying to disguise himself had taken aim and shot at Julian.
“Wait, Julian, I have to tell you …” She was sure it had something to do with her vision the night before. She had not even had an opportunity to tell Uncle Kennet the details of her vision. Maxie had been mulling it around in her head, but obviously it was something that Julian needed to know immediately.
“And so you shall tell me, as soon as I have you home safe and sound.” He had seen the shooter vanish in the thick of the woods, but he still wanted out of the clearing. His tone would brook no argument, and besides that it sounded like a good plan to her. She was light-headed and beginning to shiver.
“Ah huh,” Max agreed and found him helping her to her feet. She looked herself over and discovered her favorite navy jacket was ruined. There was a gunshot hole—a large hole where the bullet had deeply grazed her arm—and there was blood, seemed like a great deal of blood for such a small hole. It annoyed her that her favorite jacket appeared to be ruined. She couldn’t stop herself from wailing with dismay. “Shit! My jacket …” She then realized that blood was still pouring out of her wound and down her arm, ruining her black cardigan set as well. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Fainting had been a good thing she decided, and she should try it more often. It had been a nice place to be, nowhere, no thinking … no ruined arm, no ruined clothes.
Julian was pulling at her jacket, easing it gently around and down her wounded arm. He had a pocketknife out and was ripping the sleeve of her sweater to expose the wound. He didn’t say a thing, but she knew from his expression that it looked nasty. She decided to look away. She knew he would have to get her back on the horse. She was shivering and feeling again as though she might faint.
Julian was quick, he was gentle, and he was easily draping her jacket over her one shoulder and keeping her in place at the same time. He was serious and focused, and he seemed to know what he was doing. He had his own jacket off and hung round her shoulders. He ripped off the long sleeve of his blue shirt, leaving his arm with its tattooed belt of Celtic knots and runes bare to the cold. Maxine reviewed the tattooed band around his bicep, and even in her present state of shock she was aware that it did something to her.
She watched him, thinking he was a wonder. She submitted to him as he wrapped a length of the material from his sleeve around her wound. He had slit long pieces of it and tied it all in place. He was scarcely audible, but she heard him say, “Thank God it is just a long, deep graze … a nasty
one, but at least the bullet didn’t lodge itself—you will need stitching.”
Stitching? She had had her share of stitches growing up. Okay, at least that sounded promising, but she was still desperately cold and shivering quite vigorously. He was cooing to her in a whisper, “I’ll get you back … you’ll be fine, my girl … you’ll be fine.” He got her jacket partially on her, draping it over the wounded arm and then draped his own jacket in place around her shoulders, safeguarding her wounded arm with the two jackets.
Maxie didn’t speak. She wasn’t quite herself and understood that perhaps shock was setting in. She watched his face and wanted to reach out and touch his cheek. She said his name, and it was scarcely above a whisper. “Julian.”
“Hush … now steady, love—you don’t have to do anything but hold onto me with your good arm. You can do that, can’t you?”
Again, she smiled at him and said, “Yup.”
He wanted to squeeze her, cover her face with kisses, and thank the heavens she was not seriously hurt. He thought her a brave good girl as he held her in place against his bay gelding. “Can you lean onto my bay for a moment?”
Maxie had no idea if she could but she said, “Yup.” She knew he wanted her to stand in place, so she did. She wobbled, but he held onto her with one outstretched hand as he tethered the reins of her mare to his saddle.
She grimaced with pain, but she had a feeling it was going to get worse before it got better, so she made herself ignore the pain as best she could. She had to get home, home where the aspirins were.
Julian had her propped up against his strong body as he spoke softly in her ear. “The only way I can think to manage this, Max, is to hoist you up—can you hold onto the saddle with your good arm? Can you do that, Max?”
“Yup.” Maxie wasn’t sure she could do anything, but she was damn willing to try.
“Sweet love … then once I have you up and in the saddle I will situate you comfortably in front of me. Are you quite ready?”
“Yup.” She loved his accent. “Quite ready.” She mimicked an English accent and giggled. To show him that she was up to anything, she reached with her good arm and grabbed hold of the saddle flap. She turned her eyes to him and saw an expression on his face that thrilled her. She thought he was about to kiss her, and she closed her eyes. Nothing! She opened them, and he was all business as he got her in place and firmly instructed, “Right then, on the count of three, love.”
“Hmmm.” was the word of the moment.
He counted, and although she wasn’t able to give herself much thrust, he was strong enough for the two of them. It wasn’t elegant, and she found herself lying across the saddle looking down at the earth on the other side. The blood rushed to her head, and she thought she was going out again. However, suddenly and easily he was on the horse behind her and helping her to sit up. She straddled the horse, crying out only once as he positioned her and the pain was more than gritted teeth could bear.
“I am so sorry, love … there … that’s it … I have you.”
Maxie groaned as another bolt of pain shot through her again as his big bay started off. He held her tightly so her cocooned arm wouldn’t bounce, and they headed for home.
~ Fourteen ~
THE PRINCE HAD left the queen to go in search of a trusted friend. He hadn’t been gone long when the queen called Princess Ete into her private chambers for a chat. Some royals thought themselves intimates of the queen. She allowed them to think so. It was diplomatic. However, she considered only a handful of her court as trusted loyals on whom she would rely. Princess Ete was her dearest cousin, and in spite of her youth was one of those whom she trusted implicitly.
Queen Aaibhe touched her young cousin’s shoulder and whispered sadly, “The Wheel of Being has been sorely tested, Ete my child.” She took up Ete’s hand as she rose and led her to the settee on the balcony.
“What does that mean, my Queen?”
“Look around our Isle of Tir, Ete—how many children do you see?”
Ete thought about this with recognition dawning, “Few … oh my Queen, oh so few. I thought it was because there were so few … serious unions?”
“Indeed, child, that is in part a reason, but the Fae that wish to have children are finding it increasingly difficult. The world … even our world is off kilter. The fabric that is the essence of the walls that divide us from humans is thinning. There is something at work I cannot yet ken.”
“What can we do?” Ete clasped and unclasped her hands. She loved children. She wanted one day to be forever bound to the Fae of her heart, and she wanted his children.
“We must regain the balance of things, and, Ete, you will help me in this. There are a few that I trust. You and of course Breslyn …” The queen spoke his name and looked away, but she could see her young cousin’s reaction, and what she saw on Ete’s face pleased her.
Ete started to kneel, the queen stopped her, and Ete breathed most fervently as she clasped her hands. “My Queen, I am yours. Anything I can do, I shall.”
“Then listen to the gossip of your peers and bring that gossip to me. I want to know what the young Fae are thinking. I want to know what they sense, and what they actually know.” The Queen sighed. “We Fae all have our own individual powers, as you well know,”—the queen smiled fondly at her—“and dissimilar powers can pick up on different nuances in the cosmos. I am certain no one has yet found these compendiums of much consequence and therefore have not brought such findings to me. However, they would mention such things to a peer, to you, Ete.”
“My Queen, I have already heard much …”
“Then tell me all, and I will decide what is pertinent and what is not.”
There was a knock on the queen’s chamber door, and a male Fae announced without coming in that he wished an audience with his queen. Aaibhe knew this Fae, had known him for thousands of years. He had been a part of her court from the beginning; they had much history.
“Come in, Gaiscioch.” The queen smiled warmly. He was not a royal, but he was quite outstanding. His height was well over six feet. His black hair had one single streak of silver that gave him an air of mystery. He always seemed to wear it loose and slicked back. His stance was that of a warrior. She had considered him her faithful friend for more years than she could remember.
He bent over her lovely hand and yet managed to turn towards the Ete as he rose and gave her a flirtatious smile. “I am sorry …” He said quietly, “I interrupt a cozy tea with your lovely cousin, my Queen?”
“Not at all. Join us …” the queen offered and watched as he took up his cup and sipped.
“I see, Gaiscioch, that you have something on your mind … tell me.”
“My Queen, the Council would like you to call a special meeting.”
“About?”
“About the ritual of Beltaine.”
The queen stood. She was displeased and allowed her displeasure to show. The room went icy. “What about Beltaine?”
“May first is fast approaching, and there are some members of the Council that feel perhaps the present Druid priests are not … fully up to the job.” He said this last on a purposefully gentle tone.
Her cool vibes swayed into the frigid zone. “The Druid lines that have performed these rituals have always served me and our race faithfully for thousands of years! I hand-picked them for these rituals, and there is none more qualified, none more devoted than my elite selection of Druids priests.” Her iridescent eyes were particles of ice. “Tell me, which members of my Council have asked for this meeting?”
Now, Gaiscioch had to tread carefully. He had manipulated two members of the Council into talking about a special meeting; however, they had not actually requested one. In truth, it was a meeting he himself wanted. He was dissatisfied with the present politics of the Council. “My Queen … forgive me, they asked me to first see if you were amenable to such a meeting. They did not want their names involved.”
The room became less cold
as she considered her old friend. “Gaiscioch, I am going to ask you plainly and wish a simple answer. Do you think my Druid priests are neglecting the rituals?”
It would not do to say that he did. He knew otherwise, and he knew that she knew this. She had invited him to watch them perform the last ritual and witness their dedication and expertise. Her Druid priests were all too aware of the thinning of the walls and had even added their own blood to the ritual to insure that the fabric between the worlds of Fae and Man contained enough power for yet another season. Indeed, he would have to tread most carefully. He said gently, “Magic … over time is corrupting. It breeds arrogance and pride …”
“Did you witness such arrogance, Gaiscioch, for I swear I, who know these Druids well, did not.” There was a challenge in her tone. She was studying her old friend, considering him in another light.
Her inner sight was too comprehensive. Her instincts too refined. He dare not show his hand by taking this any further. Gaiscioch bent over her fingers once more and then quickly got to his feet. “It is all nonsense. The walls are thinning, but as you say, your Druids are not at fault.” He started to back out of the chamber.
Ete got to her feet and youthfully curled her arm through his. She was as adorable as she was sexual, and Gaiscioch was intrigued with her fresh style. He smiled and patted her hand as she said she would walk him out.
“Ah, so kind, Ete … you do not wish me to leave feeling … defeated.”
She looked into his ancient eyes and smiled warmly. “Oh no, Gaiscioch …” She was demure and admiring. “I daresay you … are never truly defeated.”
He gave her a lingering look, and a soft laugh escaped him as he whispered, “You are a delectable piece, over and above your Lianhan qualities. However, I am a bit old for you, my dear.”
“Are you? What I see is … not age but expertise …”
He released a hearty laugh and gave her rump a quick pat at the door “Later, my pretty.”
