I shook my head. Expending my essence always drained my energy, but healing a Sidhe took less essence than healing humans. I was tired, however not exhausted.
"Now that we're here, let's show our faces and make everyone feel welcome." He gave me a knowing nod. He knew better than anyone that I didn't like this attention, and yet I would do what my Uncle expected of me.
The side of the camp closest to the stream was quiet and subdued. Mothers and fathers were putting their children in bed while a few older fae sat together, telling stories and smoking pipes. We walked past these tents without notice.
As we followed the path across the campground, an elderly woman sitting alone on a woven twig chair caught my eye. She wore her dull gray hair tied up in a bun on her head. Her dress hung from her boney shoulders and her joints bulged with arthritis. She hummed to the reel blaring in the distance while staring off into space. She held a meditation stone in her right hand, her thumb rubbing a section where its painted-on design had nearly worn off. The image she created caught my heart. I went over to her, Alexander following behind me.
"Mistress, are you here on your own? I asked. "Have you no one to tend to you?" I crouched in front of her and took her knotted hands into mine.
"Oh aye, my granddaughter is with me, a leanbh. She has too much energy to sit with an old woman all night. I sent her off to enjoy the music. I prefer to sit here and listen. My old ears can still hear it well enough from this chair." Her lips spread into a crooked grin and she returned to her humming.
From her weathered appearance, I took the woman to be at least four hundred years old. A gem to be treasured, as few of us lived that long. I couldn't believe her family would let her make what must have been an arduous trip for such an elderly person.
"Mistress, tell me: why would you make such a difficult journey just to see a wedding? Surely your years have earned you only comfort for the rest of your days?"
"Bah," she said and shook my hands away. "I am not so old that I need to be locked away."
"That's not what—" She held up a hand to silence me.
"Perhaps you haven't heard the news. Sit, and I will tell you." I sat on a flat stone that lay next to her chair. "You too, young man. You must hear this as well." She acknowledged Alexander for the first time, speaking to him in a scolding tone.
Alexander looked at me with a bemused expression before sitting on the grass on the other side of the woman's chair. She clearly didn't recognize us; a refreshing change from everyone else in the camp. I assumed her eyesight was failing.
"This is no normal wedding," she said. "Of course, if you are here, you know that the King's Jewel is to marry at last. I suspect you will say that's nothing special; all the Jewels over the ages have married without a hint of the prophecy coming about. It's but a good excuse for an extravagant party. However, I tell you: this time is different. I tell you: the prophecy is alive and well."
"How so?" I asked, curious what she would say.
"You haven't heard!" She laughed and clapped her hands together. "The Jewel is marrying Nuada's Heir. He's human, but the wise woman Deidre, God rest her soul, proclaimed him to be the true heir. And there's more," she said gleefully. "The Jewel has found two of the Treasures of our people already!"
"Two?" I asked, startled. She was correct, but we had been trying to keep the discovery of the second Treasure a secret.
"Aye, they have found Nuada's Sword and Lugh's Spear."
"And you came all this way because of this?" Alexander asked.
"I am an old woman; I will not live for many more years. For the first time in my life, I feel hopeful that the prophecy will be fulfilled before I die. Then I will get the chance to reach the gates of heaven. The ancients will be released from purgatory, and they will join me in paradise."
A heaviness filled Alexander's eyes as the woman spoke. He felt, for the first time, the weight of the responsibility I had carried for years. He stood, brushing leaves from the back of his pants before turning to address her one more time.
"Thank you, Mistress, for helping us understand how important this occasion really is," he said.
We left the old Sidhe and continued our way toward the sound of the party. A rag tag group of musicians played lively music; some of the crowd clapped along with the beat, but most of them danced exuberantly. It was difficult not to get caught up in the revelry.
I grabbed Alexander's hand and pulled him along with me as I joined the circle of dancers, who absorbed us into their midst. Alexander gamely tried to mimic the steps to the folk dance the others were doing. The ladies around him encouraged him, teaching him where to move next. The song ended with the fiddle player scratching his bow abruptly over his strings.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the fiddle player called out. "The bride and groom have been kind enough to join us this evening. Put your hands together and perhaps we can get Princess Tressa up here to sing for us!"
The crowd clapped wildly, but he had already won me over just by my using my name instead of calling me 'The Jewel'. I let them coax me up the hill to their makeshift stage. I chose an old standard to sing; it was a song the musicians would undoubtedly know. A murmur of approval spread through the crowd as I sang the first few words and they recognized the old ballad.
My audience swayed as they listened. When a few voices started singing along, I encouraged everyone to join in. Alexander leaned against the trunk of a tree, watching me with a relaxed smile. I smiled back and realized I was enjoying myself. Most of the Sidhe are performers at heart, and I am no exception.
Something moved in the darkness behind him. I squinted and saw a figure in the shadows wearing a hooded cloak. I couldn't make out his face, and when he saw me staring he faded further into the woods.
I scanned the audience again as I finished the song and a different face caught my attention. Mixed in with the sea of opalescent faces, a red-haired Leprechaun sat on a large boulder, smoking a stinkweed pipe. His leathery skin and large hooknose stood out in stark contrast to those around him.
I accepted my applause and came down the hill before anyone could suggest a second song. Holly had told me earlier that a Leprechaun was looking for me, and now one had appeared among the Sidhe. This didn't seem like a coincidence. I headed in his direction.
"Tradesman," I greeted him. Something whizzed past my head and I jumped, spinning to look behind me. Before I had the chance to get my bearings, someone crashed into me, knocking me off balance and sending me sprawling to the ground. Women screamed. Several men ran into the woods, hot on the heels of the would-be assassin. Alexander stood over me, sword drawn, searching the crowd.
The noise echoed in my ears, making it all the harder to understand what had happened. I reached down and touched something warm and wet on my pant leg. I pulled up my hand to find it covered with blood.
"Tressa, are you hurt?" Alexander yelled.
"No, but someone must be. What happened?" I scrambled to a crouching position and looked around me.
"I moved too slowly. I was almost too late," he muttered to himself as he held his protective stance in front of me.
That's when I noticed the Leprechaun, who lay beside me with an arrow stuck through his shoulder. Murmurs rose from the crowd:
"Someone tried to kill the Jewel!"
"That Leprechaun saved the princess!"
"He wields the sword…"
I scrambled to my knees and pulled my bag from my back, dropping it to the ground as I knelt over the injured Leprechaun. I blocked out the panicked voices around me, knowing Alexander would keep me safe as I examined the wound.
The arrow hadn't hit any vital organs. If I could get the head out without his losing too much blood, I felt confident I could patch him up. I touched his shoulder and he groaned in pain.
"Bear with me, Tradesman. I need to get this out before I can help with the pain." A crowd had begun to gather around us, their voices hushed as they whispered amongst themselves.
"I need
some clean rags to dress his wound," I said to the group at large. They stared back at me with wide eyes, silent and unmoving. I singled out one of them. "You, lass, go find something to use as a bandage."
"Tressa, we need to get you out of here," Alexander yelled. "If you won't flit home, at least get under a tent."
A young athletic looking man jumped to action. He lifted the Leprechaun and laid him on a cot in the closest dwelling. The girl came up behind me with a pile of clean white cloths in hand. I nodded to her; they would do. Without waiting for my instruction, the man who had carried him in pulled the arrow from his shoulder. The Leprechaun yelled in agony before passing out from the pain.
Blood spouted from the wound as I tore the Leprechaun's shirt aside to get a better look. I grabbed a cloth and pressed it tightly over the torn flesh and began to send a small, even flow of my essence into him to help clot the blood and start healing the torn tissue. I sang an incantation to aid the process as I looked around for my bag. A familiar dark caramel hand held it out to me.
It was Matt, Alexander's assistant, who managed the security on the estate among other things. I was glad to see a friendly face in the sea of strangers, but wondered how he got there.
"One of the Brounies heard the ruckus," he said, answering the unasked question.
I tried to rummage through the bag with one hand, keeping the other pressed against the wound. Matt pushed my hand out of the way and kept pressure on the wound with his. I still fumbled with the bag, even using both hands, so I dumped the contents on the ground. I grabbed a bottle of aloe and faery cnónna oil and lifted the blood-soaked rag from his chest. The bleeding had stopped and a thin scab was forming, but the wound inside still needed work.
The strength in my legs gave out; I nearly fell as I took a seat on the cot next to my patient. Steadying myself, I squeezed a large dollop of the oil onto my fingertips and began massaging it into his shoulder. By the time I was finished, the cumulative loss of my essence had exhausted me. Luckily, I felt sure he should be fine with a few hours of sleep.
I used a second rag to wipe up the spilled blood that covered him as I checked for any other wounds. A mark under his left arm on his ribcage worried me, but on closer examination, it turned out to be a small tattoo of a Celtic harp. Nothing to worry about.
"Matt?" I called, as my eyelids grew heavy. "I think I need someone to help me get home."
CHAPTER SIX
ALEXANDER
Matt and I sat in lawn chairs on the patio behind the guesthouse where Sophia and I had lived when we first came to Pine Ridge. My original intention in coming had been to help a feisty old woman; little did I know I would end up falling for the beautiful, skittish redhead next door. It felt like it had been years since life had been that simple.
Matt, who was nine years my junior, had become a close friend while serving with me in Afghanistan. Afterwards we had made good money together mining gemstones. Matt lived in the guesthouse now, my trusted partner in keeping fae secrets and keeping our friends and loved ones safe.
It was well past midnight. Tressa, Sophia and the twins were secure in the Manor House, but adrenaline still coursed through me, keeping me hyped up and alert. I held the sword loosely in my hand, its weight offering some small comfort.
Matt was examining the arrow that had injured the Leprechaun.
"I haven't seen this metal before, have you?" he asked. "Lightweight, thin, strong… this makes for a lethal weapon."
"I assume it's from Faery."
"And nobody saw the guy who shot it?"
"Tressa said a hooded man was in the crowd, but no one else noticed him. It may have been him. Two retired King's Guardsmen chased after the shooter. They could hear him running through the woods, but they lost him before they ever got a good look at him. Evidently he was heading toward the road back to town."
"Not for nothing, but if you're a Sidhe who has just tried to assassinate someone, wouldn't you flit as far away from the crime as possible so no one could follow you?"
I flinched at the word assassinate, it reminded me how close I'd come to losing Tressa, but couldn't argue with his logic.
"Which begs the question: if it wasn't one of the Unseelie Sidhe, who else would want to attack Tressa?" I asked, hanging my head with a sigh.
"What are you thinking?" Matt asked.
"That keeping this woman safe might be the death of me. I'd lock her up in the house if I thought she would let me."
"I know what you mean," he replied, his tone so heartfelt that I turned to examine his face. He shrugged. "I would feel better if Holly were back on the estate."
"Good luck with that," I said with a mirthless laugh. "Why Holly, by the way? What about Alison, isn't she supposed to be the girlfriend?" Matt shrugged a second time.
"I think of Holly as part of the fight. If the fae find out she can see through their glamour, she'll be in trouble. Alison doesn't have that problem. She'll be okay."
I nodded, but something told me the guy was lying to himself.
"I'm too hyped up to sleep. Why don't you get some shuteye? When the sun comes up we can check to see if the Guardsmen missed anything. We aren't likely to find any clues they missed in the dark, what with their better vision."
"I'm good," Matt said, shaking his head. He went back to examining the arrow in his hand.
Matt shoved the small digital camera we used on rock hunting trips into the pocket of his jeans. He grabbed a set of binoculars, and we headed out just after dawn. The dew-covered grass soaked my hiking boots as we crossed the wide expanse of lawn between the house and the encampment.
Not surprisingly at this hour, the camp was still and quiet. Most of the inhabitants were asleep, but for the sentinels placed sporadically along the perimeter to guard the borders. The heightened security was a new development, clearly a result of the previous night's incident.
The Seelie military communicated through a series of whistles, which I had made it my business to learn last time we were in Faery. I signaled 'friend approaching' as we grew close, not wanting to spook anyone. Someone returned my whistle.
A Guardsman came out to meet us. I had seen him before and had pegged him as the senior officer, judging by the way the others reacted to him. He was tall and lanky, as is typical for a Sidhe, with metallic green hair cropped short. I guessed him to be about a hundred and fifty years old, although by human terms he could pass for forty.
"I didn't get a chance to introduce myself last night. I'm Ronan, and of course I know who you are. You're the human: Xander Mannus." He looked over my shoulder as he spoke. The sword called to all warriors, and evidently this Guardsman could feel it.
"This is my second, Mattie," I said. I didn't like the specific way he addressed me. It sounded like he had tried to true name me. As a precaution, I only gave him Matt's nickname. If a Sidhe knows your true name, they can hold Dominion over you and control your actions. "We're going to search for anything that might have been overlooked in the woods, now that the sun's up."
"Excellent idea. I'll come along; I can show you where we lost him."
I nodded, grateful for his help though suspending judgment on his trustworthiness.
In the area surrounding the camp, the people had flattened the forest floor with their foot traffic. Not so in the terrain we hiked. It was easy to follow the broken twigs and bent plants that marked the path the Guardsmen had run the previous night.
We climbed to the top of the hill, Ronan leading us to a spot that overlooked the camp. Someone had cleared away an area of underbrush next to a tall oak tree.
"This is where I think he took the shot," Ronan said. I nodded; I had drawn the same conclusion on sight.
"See that?" I pointed to an imprint in the ground. "He must have knelt here. The soil was moist enough that his knee left a mark." Matt pulled out his camera and took pictures of the area. Ronan looked bemused, but I knew these could prove valuable later.
"There are boot prints going off in this d
irection," Matt said as he snapped photographs.
We followed the tracks until they became overrun by the footprints from the King's Guardsmen. The tracks were easy to distinguish; the Sidhe were lighter and moved faster. The shooter's feet were bigger and sunk deeper into the mud.
"We lost him once he got into that thicket over there."
Matt and I were following Ronan's graceful wave when a painful yell came from that same direction. We rushed forward, intent on finding whomever had shouted. The forest grew denser, almost as though it was intentionally impeding our progress. We moved further apart as we searched, pushing through overgrown scrubs and young trees.
"Over here!" Ronan yelled. Matt and I rushed toward the sound of his voice and found him crouched over a Leprechaun: the same redheaded Leprechaun Tressa had saved a few hours ago. He was dead, killed by an arrow piercing his heart. Ronan stood as we approached and wiped his blood covered hands on his pants.
"I don't think even our dear Jewel can save him now."
TRESSA
I rocked back and forth on the glider, waiting impatiently for Alexander to appear. He hadn't returned home the night before, though that didn't surprise me. I had known he would go after the shooter at early light.
Shamus, the short grumpy Brounie who ran our household, leaned against the old maple tree next to me with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked disheveled, his wiry hair sticking out in all directions. He hadn't even changed out of his flannel sleep pants and shirt; an unusual circumstance for this abnormally proper man.
"The sooner you get this shindig over with, the better," he said, his brow creased with annoyance. "Maybe then we can finally get some peace around here." I couldn't have agreed with him more, but I kept the sentiment to myself. "Are you sure you've told me everything?"
My mind ran through the previous night's events, combing my memory for any forgotten detail. Something about the children's circle tickled at my brain, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't the story, which had been a familiar tale about The Dagda, told and retold for generations… but there was something.
Deaglan's Deception Page 4
