The Druid Next Door

by E. J. Russell

  “I don’t buy any of that predestination crap. Once you have all the data, you can make an informed decision. It’s when you don’t know the alternatives that you screw things up.”

  “I thought ignorance was no excuse.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Mal.” The voice booming across the circle wasn’t one that Bryce recognized, but it caused Mal to whirl, his eyes wide in his pale face.

  “Alun?” Mal closed his eyes and took a huge breath as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders. “Thank the Goddess, you’re all right.”

  Although Bryce had never met Mal’s brother in the flesh, the implacable man standing under the capstone opposite the altar didn’t look at all like he’d expected. For one thing, he didn’t look at all like someone who was happy to see his brother.

  Alun unsheathed the sword strapped to his back. “Maldwyn Cynwrig, in the name of the Queen, I arrest you for high treason against the Seelie Court of Faerie.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Mal stared at Alun, waiting for him to give over, but his face might as well have been carved from the same stone as the altar. Right. This is Alun. He doesn’t do jokes.

  “Come with me now. If you cooperate, perhaps the Queen will show you mercy.”

  “Mercy? She’s never shown mercy to anyone in her life.” Mal waved his right hand—no longer quite as crabbed, but not fully functional either.

  “You violated the consort law, one of the lynchpins of Faerie. The judgment was none of her doing.”

  “Bullshite. She’s the one who added that lovely little twist, that I can’t be whole until Rodric Luchullain is too. I think I’d rather cut my hand off and be done with it than give him the satisfaction.”

  Alun took a step forward, but he didn’t relax—or lower his sword. “Did you stop to think that maybe that was all she could give you? I’ve consulted with Cassie and her circle. According to them, without the Queen’s intervention, you would have died here that night.”

  “So instead I’ll die here tonight? Is that what this is about?”

  “If you have anything to say in your own defense, say it now.” Alun’s mouth trembled in the moonlight for just an instant. “Please, Mal. Give me a reason not to think you guilty. A reason not to imprison my brother for something of which I’d have sworn him incapable.”

  Bryce stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Mal. “Wait just a damn minute. Don’t you think he deserves to hear the charges first?”

  Alun scowled, but his gaze never wavered, as if he were afraid Mal would make a break for it. Not bloody likely. As long as Bryce was standing like a stubborn boulder, he couldn’t go more than a dozen feet away.

  Did Alun know that charming little detail? For that matter, what would happen if Mal got hauled off to the underworld, or chained to a rock like that poor bastard Prometheus? Would Bryce be dragged along, forced to endure the same punishment? Surely Cassie’s shackles could be severed then. But who knew? With druids, there was always a catch—maybe even for one of their own kind.

  “Who are you?” Alun growled. “You’re not fae. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Bryce glanced at Mal, and Mal could tell he was still pissed as all the hells. “I’m beginning to think none of us should be. But since we are, give us the reason for the arrest.”

  “For conspiring with the Unseelie Court to overthrow the Seelie Queen.”

  “What? That’s a load of shite, brother, and you know it. I would never—”

  “Mal.” Bryce’s voice was low, but the damn Stone Circle had better acoustics than a Greek amphitheater. No doubt Alun could hear every word. “Be careful. Don’t compound the charges by lying.”

  “I’m not. I—” The familiar constriction of his throat stopped his voice and his breath. Bryce grabbed for his own throat as well, his eyes widening, mouth open as if to try to pull in air where there was none. The pair of them looked like dying fish.

  Gwydion’s bollocks, the geas still gagged him. He wasn’t conspiring against the Queen, was he? He was only here to try to persuade, not to overthrow, not to kill, not to usurp. But Bryce was right about one thing: Mal should never have invoked the dagger spell without knowing for sure what it would do. Because I still have no bloody notion about Steve’s end game.

  But if he couldn’t talk about it, maybe he could talk around it. That’s why Steve had chosen him, wasn’t it? Because of his legendary powers of persuading anyone into his bed. He cut a glance at Bryce. Somehow, he doubted he’d be able to work that magic anymore. It had apparently deserted him along with the use of his hand and his connection to the One Tree.

  “Out with it, then. Details. Tell me what you think I’ve done.”

  “We have evidence that you’ve consorted with Unseelie minions.”

  “‘Consort’? What’s that supposed to mean? I’d never kneel for Unseelie scum.”

  “That’s right. He only kneels for me.”

  Ah—he’s done it, my bloke—the power voice. It echoed across the hilltop, shivering up Mal’s spine and causing a below-the-belt reaction totally inappropriate to the setting.

  Alun’s eyes narrowed. “Druid. I knew you didn’t belong, but not how out of place you truly are. No druid has set foot in this circle since—”

  “Never.”

  At the sound of that rumbling voice, Mal whirled. Steve was standing at the foot of the altar, his cloak billowing in his personal localized wind. He crouched unhurriedly, retrieved the dagger, and wrapped it in a blindingly white cloth that he tucked away under the cloak. “No druid has ever stood inside this circle. The ones in the Outer World, yes. But not here. It is a first.”

  Alun tensed, shifting his stance to divide his attention between Mal and Steve. “Who in Arawn’s hells are you?”

  “Clearly someone not in Arawn’s hells.” Steve’s rumble echoed weirdly in the circle, pinging off the stones in the same way that Bryce’s power voice had done.

  Alun strode forward, his sword raised as if he were ready to strike first and question later, like any meatheaded guard.

  “Alun.” Mal moved into his path, trusting Alun not to take his head for interfering. “Stop. I know why he’s here.”

  Alun’s headlong rush across the circle slowed to a halt. “You know him?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “You brought him here?”

  “I think he brought himself.” Mal eyed Steve, wishing for a bit of help, but Steve had apparently decided to impersonate one of the standing stones, the arsewipe. “Although I probably opened the door, which would have been bloody nice to know about beforehand.”

  Steve inclined his head, but didn’t speak.

  “And you claim not to kneel for Unseelie scum.” Gareth stepped out from behind the stone where Alun had appeared.

  Mal whirled on Steve, wishing for nothing more than to crush that gargantuan windpipe with his one remaining hand. “You bloody bastard! I did what you asked. You didn’t need to bring him. You promised you wouldn’t.”

  “He didn’t,” Alun said, still standing on the balls of his feet as if he were about to launch himself into battle. “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “If you had been wrongly accused, who better to defend you than a bard?”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in that sentence,” Mal growled.

  “But if the allegations are true, if you’re guilty, this is the last chance he’ll have to see you alive.” Alun’s voice wobbled for a moment. “Would you rob him of that?”

  Mal clenched his fist, his belly roiling. After everything he’d done to try to keep Gareth out of this mess, why did Alun have to stomp in and ruin it? “I’d have spared him the pain—as you should have done. He’s had enough of that.”

  “Both of you stop talking about me as if I’m not here.” Gareth’s velvet voice was broken by fury. “As if I’m not capable of making my own choices or fighting my own battles.” He glared at Bryce. “Or seeing what all of you are too blind to see.”

/>   Gareth. When Bryce had pleaded with Mal to give him something, some token of trust, the story he’d related hadn’t been as random as Bryce had thought. “Nothing I could ever do for him would make up for that.” While Mal might have other reasons for his actions, clearly he was still trying to protect his brother, to atone for that long-ago betrayal.

  Although from Gareth’s attitude, Bryce wasn’t sure he deserved Mal’s devotion—and certainly not his guilt.

  “Gareth?” Alun didn’t take his gaze off Steve and Mal. “Explain, if you please.”

  “First, can’t you see that our brother is bound to this druid?”

  “Cassie’s the one who put the tether on us,” Bryce said. “She did it for my benefit, because I needed a tutor.”

  “I’m not talking about that bond. I’m talking about the one you forced on him when you fucked him.”

  The blood drained from Bryce’s face. “That was— I didn’t know it was a . . . a biological imperative. Once I found out, though, I wouldn’t have. Only if he wanted it. Only if wanted me.”

  Gareth’s eyes blazed with anger. Bryce had never realized that could literally occur, but then he’d never believed that he could be Tasered by an arrogant asshole with a silver hand, either. “You think he had a choice? Once the witch shackled you together, how was he to resist? She probably did it on purpose. In fact, you probably plotted together.”

  Bryce tore his gaze away from Gareth, whose long curly hair fairly writhed in the wind. What the hell was it about wind in Faerie? It didn’t obey any natural laws.

  Right. Because Faerie wasn’t natural. It was a construct, a supernatural biodome, like an experiment the elder gods had spun up and then abandoned.

  Mal’s arms hung loose from slumped shoulders, head bowed, as if he were willing to take whatever abuse his brothers chose to fling at him.

  Well, fuck that.

  Bryce closed the distance between them and grasped Mal’s left biceps. Christ, he was vibrating with distress, and Bryce’s temper rose in direct proportion. “You two need to back the fuck off.” He was astonished when his voice rang like a gong in the circle, creating its own unnatural wind that forced both Alun and Gareth to back up a step, blinking as if they didn’t know why they’d moved.

  Mal turned to him, face strained, eyes haunted. “It’s all right, Bryce.”

  “No, it’s not. I don’t care if these bastards are you brothers—”

  Mal’s smile was wry. “That’d make us all bastards, yeah?”

  “No.” Bryce’s fingers tightened on Mal’s arm, and Mal let out a shaky breath. “They need to slow down. Listen to what you have to say.” He glared across the grass at Mal’s brothers. “With an open fucking mind, damn it.”

  “Resorting to strong language now?” Mal’s joke sounded feeble. “I like it. It’s hot.”

  “You’re the one who told me fae are resistant to change. Maybe this is why. They never bother to fucking listen.”

  “Yeah, well, thing is . . .” Mal swallowed and pulled away. “This time, they’re right.”

  “What? You mean—” His mouth dried, and he reached for Mal but let his hand drop, because if it was true, if he’d forced Mal again . . . God, he really was a monster, wasn’t he?

  “I mean we’re bonded by more than Cassie’s wee tether. The third time we . . . when we made love. That was the clincher. Before then, it was just potential. But now . . .” He grinned, a death’s-head grimace. “Congratulations, mate. You’ve got yourself a fae familiar.”

  Bryce stared, open-mouthed. “I—”

  “So tell me, Mal,” Gareth said, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “who needs to back off now? Sure, he’s a druid, not human, but if you hid the truth about sealing the bond, if you knew the consequences and carried on regardless? You’ve forced an unwanted partnership on him, like any other renegade fae.”

  “Mal?” Even to himself, Bryce sounded pathetic.

  “Stow it.” Gareth strode forward to stand at Alun’s shoulder. “You can save the hand-wringing for later. There’s a more serious accusation on the table.” He pointed at Mal. “Did you conspire with the Unseelie scum?”

  Bryce could feel Mal trembling next to him, the constriction in his own throat, the stop of his own breath mirrored in Mal’s panic-stricken face. I feel what he feels. But was this nothing but a spell? The synchronization of their breaths, their pulses when they’d made love; the way he’d imagined he was attuned to Mal’s feelings; the connection he’d believed they’d established—

  Bryce nearly doubled over with revulsion. They had a connection, all right, but it wasn’t real. Or, at least, not the kind of “real” he craved—forged of love, not magic; choice, not coercion.

  But one thing he’d learned from that damned grimoire: any spell could be broken with the right tools, in the right time, and with the right will.

  Bryce’s will had never felt so strong. He intended to break this infernal bond and free Mal. Free himself. He ignored the inner voice hinting that he didn’t want to be free, that this was what he’d always wanted, what he’d been missing all his life.

  Because just like Mal, his inner voice fucking lied.

  “You can’t say, can you, Mal?” Gareth taunted. “Oh yes. I can tell a tynged when I see one too.”

  The constriction in Bryce’s throat eased, and he and Mal sucked in identical breaths. Mal coughed, rubbing his throat. “Shite. You can see that? I never knew—”

  “I’m a bard and we’re in the Stone Circle. Of course I can.” He glared at Mal. “But I never thought I’d see my brother stoop to consorting with the Unseelie.”

  “Gareth—”

  “I’m done here. You made your bed, brother. One that holds a druid. May you have all the joy in it that you deserve.”

  He turned and strode for the edge of the circle.

  “Gareth! No. Wait!” Mal took off toward his brother at a run, but after ten feet, the tether binding them tore at Bryce’s belly, pulling him forward and onto his knees. Judging by the way Mal stumbled, his arms wrapped across his stomach, he felt the same.

  Or else his bastard of a brother had just cut out his heart.

  Mal huddled on the ground, arms around his knees. He barely registered the soft tread of Alun’s boots until his brother was next to him.

  “Get up, Mal. Time to go.” Alun held out his hand as if Mal were unable to stand on his own. Maybe he wasn’t.

  How could he have been so bloody stupid? Of course it was obvious now. Only someone with a deep connection to the One Tree and the power of a highborn could have done what Steve had. Only someone with a higher rank than Mal could bind him with a geas. But he’d never stopped to think, had he? He’d been so concerned with the what—the chance to regain the use of his hand, to lift his curse, to return home—that he’d completely ignored the how.

  Not to mention the why.

  Mal stood without the benefit of Alun’s assistance. Once in his brother’s custody, he had no illusions he’d be able to escape. Alun was too good at his job and too devoted to duty and honor. He faced “Steve” and posed the questions he should have asked to begin with.

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “You know why. To lift my curse.”

  Bryce stepped forward. “Are you the cause of the blight? The one we saw in Unseelie lands? The one in the slough behind my house?” Bryce held one of the charmed paintballs in his hand. A fat lot of good that would do here, against someone with Steve’s obvious power.

  “I am not.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth? It’s easy to lie.”

  “Perhaps. But it is easy for you to see the truth, if you but look.”

  Despite a situation that was growing more desperate by the moment, despite one brother who loathed him and another who was about to throw his arse in prison to rot or execute him on command, Mal was tempted to roll his eyes. Trust Steve never to give a straight answer.

  But, then, Mal had never given Bryce
a straight answer himself, had he?

  Bryce didn’t look perturbed by the statement, nor irritated like Mal, nor poised to attack like Alun. His eyes widened, and his right hand crept to the same spot on his belly where Mal always felt the pull of the tether. “You mean, all along, the only thing I had to do was try and I could have detected . . . That I didn’t need to even ask . . .” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding beneath his two-day stubble, then squared his shoulders and squinted at Steve, the light of the rising moon glinting off his glasses. “No. You’re not lying. Exactly. The blight—it affects you too, doesn’t it?”

  Steve inclined his head but didn’t say anything.

  “Then why the subterfuge? You should have known we’d help. Why all the drama?”

  “An excellent question.” The coiled power and buried anger in the Queen’s voice lifted the hair on Mal’s neck. He and Alun dropped to one knee at once as the she glided across the grass toward their pathetic little band. “One of many we would be pleased to have answers for.”

  Bryce gawked at the Queen, mouth agape. In a way, Mal could understand the effect she must have the first time someone saw her. She was beautiful—that went without saying since all Seelie fae were beautiful. But with her long red hair, eyes the green of new leaves, and skin that glowed like moonlight, she’d give anybody reason for a second look. Not to mention she was over six feet tall and wore her power like a visible cloak. No one could ever mistake her for anything but a queen, just as no one could ever mistake her for human.

  He managed to catch Bryce’s eye and jerk his chin down. Bryce got the message and dropped to his knees. Mal frowned. That’s wrong. He shouldn’t be on his knees, not for anyone.

  Steve didn’t kneel, but he bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of him.

  She stopped two paces in front of Alun. “What is the meaning of this gathering?”

  “You,” Bryce whispered, still goggling at the Queen.

  She shifted her gaze to Bryce. Shite. You never spoke in the Queen’s presence unless invited to do so. Mal tensed, ready to launch himself between them. Bryce might have survived Rodric’s attack—barely—but if the Queen decided to blast him for impertinence, neither one of them stood a chance.