The Exile: Book One of the Fae

by C. T. Adams

  “Grandma Sophie?” The words popped out of Nick’s mouth unbidden. “What the hell does Grandma Sophie have to do with this?”

  Dave gave him a startled look, as if he’d forgotten his older brother was there.

  “Nick, look,” Dave said, speaking quickly. “There’s more to reality than you know. There’s magic, and doxies, and faeries, and a whole ’nother world. Grandma Sophie was part of it. She taught me. She would’ve taught you, too, but you weren’t interested.” He turned to Brianna, speaking urgently, eyes blazing as he argued his point. “I’m coming with you. You’re already outnumbered and they may be sending for reinforcements. And you can’t go in with guns or edged weapons, that would be an act of war. Your father would have your head. I can help—even if it’s only by carrying the kittens while you fight.”

  Nick stared at his brother. This was a side of David he’d never known, never even suspected. And yet, looking back, he realized there had been half-remembered conversations, things his grandmother had said and done that were just not … normal.

  “Let him come,” the gargoyle growled.

  “If he’s coming, I’m coming.” The words popped out of Nick’s mouth without thought. David was his baby brother. Nick wasn’t about to let him go into danger without going along as backup.

  Brianna made a disgusted noise and threw up her hands. “Fine. Come. But I’m in charge. You’ll do as I order, without question or hesitation. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” David agreed. Nick just nodded. It made sense. She knew what they were dealing with, after all. Besides, judging from her little exhibition a minute ago, there was a lot more to Brianna Hai than her admittedly gorgeous exterior.

  She glared at them both, then started issuing orders.

  “David, go to the bedroom closet. Bring sunglasses, neck scarves, and heavy jackets. Also, bring me the cat carrier. We’ll take our prisoner with us. Nick, Pug, stay here while I get some things from downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

  Nick did as he was told, contenting himself with staring at the gargoyle and its captive, and wondering what the hell was really happening, because this, this just wasn’t right. He tried discreetly pinching himself, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t. Which meant he was standing in the middle of a pile of dead fairies, looking at a very live gargoyle.

  Holy shit.

  “You must be David’s brother, Nick.”

  The gargoyle’s voice sounded … gravelly. Nick had to fight down a burst of hysterical—and very unmanly—giggles at the thought. It was just so … appropriate.

  “I’m Pug. How’re you holding up?”

  “I’m a little shell-shocked, but I’ll be okay,” Nick lied. He wasn’t okay, and didn’t see any signs of getting that way any time soon. Reality had taken a left turn a few minutes ago. He was still hanging on, but it was by his teeth and toenails. David, damn it, seemed to be just fine.

  “Good.” The gargoyle nodded.

  Nick was saved from further conversation by his brother’s return. David had brought everything Brianna had ordered, along with a small padlock—like a luggage lock—to secure the cat carrier’s door.

  David and the gargoyle … Pug … caged the doxie. The gargoyle said something in a foreign language and Nick felt heat, saw a glow briefly surround the cage. Clamping his mouth shut on the startled exclamation that came to his lips, Nick began wrapping one of the scarves around his throat. He buttoned his overshirt and pulled on a pair of shades.

  When Brianna came back, she was carrying a pair of tennis racquets and a white, mesh laundry bag that shimmered in the sunlight in a way that made Nick’s eyes water behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

  She thrust one hand at him and opened her fist to reveal a necklace—a stone threaded onto a long silver chain. “Put this on. Make sure it’s touching skin.” Without asking any of the questions that leapt into his mind, Nick took the pendant and slipped it on, tucking it under his T-shirt. The stone felt oddly warm against his skin.

  “I thought that was for Max?” The lilt in David’s voice made it a question as he snicked the padlock shut.

  “I’ll make another one for her tomorrow. Right now he needs it more. You’ve still got yours?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” David reached beneath the neck of his shirt and withdrew a pendant similar to the one Nick had slipped on.

  “Good. Bundle up and put on your glasses. Remember, doxies work in swarms, they primarily go for the eyes and throat to disable the victim before they take them down and eat them.”

  Eat them? Nick’s stomach roiled and he glanced at David, protective instincts on full alert. His brother’s face expressed a determination Nick had never seen from him before. Suddenly his “little” brother looked older, and far more dangerous, than Nick could ever have imagined.

  Hai looked at the brothers, her expression grim. “David, you’re on rescue.” She handed him the laundry bag—which Nick abruptly realized was a net. “Your job is to get the laundry basket and the kittens. The net’s been bespelled to entangle and capture anything that flies toward it, so as long as you have it, anything that attacks you should be captured before it can hurt you.”

  She offered Nick one of the tennis rackets, handle first. “I want you to guard David’s back. If you have to slam them into trees or rocks, do it. A hard enough impact will put them out of the fight. They’ll most likely heal … eventually.” Seeing his raised eyebrow, she added, “It’s not an edged weapon so hitting anyone with it won’t be considered an act of war.”

  Nick wasn’t sure that explained anything, but what was one more note of madness in a morning like this one? Were there other mornings like this one?

  Slipping into a leather jacket, Hai zipped it up all the way, then turned up the collar and began wrapping a long scarf around her neck. Grabbing both the second tennis racquet and the caged doxie with her left hand, she gestured with her right. The air in front of her shimmered and parted.

  The gargoyle stepped between her and the portal. He looked at her steadily, with a grim expression on his stone face, and said, “Pudorum tui invoco.”

  With those ceremonial words he invoked an honor debt. Brianna blinked. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, I did. Now you can honestly tell your father you had no choice.” Pug’s narrow smile still managed to show too many teeth. “Let’s do this.” He turned and stepped through the doorway that hadn’t been there a moment before. David was right on his heels. Taking a deep breath, Nick followed, stepping into the unknown with Brianna Hai at his back.

  11

  The four of them stepped into the middle of the doxie camp. Before the enemy could react or sound the alarm the gargoyle was on them, teeth and claws cutting down the small, deadly beings like a scythe mows through wheat. Never would he have believed a creature made of stone could move so fast. David ran straight at the group guarding the kittens, howling a war cry that scattered the doxies like startled birds. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. Seconds later they were grouping into two separate formations to dive-bomb him from opposite sides. Brianna, meanwhile, was swearing like a sailor as she swung the tennis racquet for all she was worth.

  David turned toward one set of attackers, trusting his brother to take the other. The net Brianna had created opened wider than Nick would have thought possible, with a noise like a vacuum it sucked four or five of the incoming doxies inside; a few survivors zoomed away to regroup. Nick shook himself and turned to take on the creatures coming from the other side, swinging his tennis racquet in a frenzy of forehand and backhand strokes. At first he tried to aim, but there was no time, or point. The doxies were everywhere. So he just kept swinging, feeling a shudder through his arm each time the racquet made contact with a scaly body.

  Despite his best efforts, two or three of the nasty, screeching things got close, grabbing at the glasses protecting Nick’s eyes and clawing and biting at his neck. Their claws and teeth fouled in the thick
yarn of his scarf. He could smell their fetid breath. The acidic saliva burned his skin after eating through the thick denim fabric of his outer shirt.

  “I’ve got them!” Nick barely heard David’s shout over the shrieking of the enraged doxies. He turned to see his brother running toward Brianna, bent over the laundry basket he was carrying. Reaching down, Nick grabbed the net with his left hand. Stuffed with doxies, it was too heavy to lift, so he dragged the awkward bundle over the rocky ground as he made his way toward Brianna who stood in the midst of a pile of stunned doxies. All the while, Nick kept swinging the racquet. His right arm felt like lead, his head was pounding from the din, but he didn’t dare slow down or pause. The damned things just kept attacking.

  David stumbled in front of him but stayed upright. Only a few more feet and they’d be home free. Beyond David, Nick could see Brianna standing behind the gargoyle, her hand raised to split the air and make a doorway.

  In the next instant her expression changed to a look of shock and horror just as Nick heard, no … felt, something behind him. He turned to see a huge rift in the air. Pouring through it were hundreds of doxies, led by one the size of a Labrador retriever. Obviously male, his scales were mottled green and black and his wingspan looked to be at least six feet.

  Oh, shit. I’m going to die over a litter of kittens.

  The big doxie flew straight at Nick, and despite the screeching that filled his ears, Nick swore he heard the leader shout, “Charge!” in good old American English.

  He couldn’t run without exposing David and the kittens. The tennis racquet would be useless against something that size, so he dropped it and did the only thing he could think of. He opened the net.

  The impact when the huge flying doxie hit him knocked Nick to the ground. Somehow he managed to keep a grip on the net, holding it open and facing up into the screeching deadly swarm.

  The stone pendant flared, burning hot against Nick’s skin. The mesh became furnace-hot in an instant, searing his fingers and palms. He screamed in agony and tried desperately to tear away the talisman or drop the net, but he literally couldn’t release his grip.

  His ears popped and Nick felt the air around him shudder. The air pressure changed and there was a whirl of wind, as though the bag in his hands held a tornado, sucking in the oxygen he was trying to breathe and the airborne doxies with it. They struggled desperately against the inexorable current, trying madly to veer off.

  There was no way the bag should have held the king, let alone this many of the creatures, yet doxie after doxie was sucked inside.

  The net was a growing, crushing weight, pinning Nick to the ground. He saw stars, felt consciousness fade. Then, nothing.

  12

  KING LEU OF THE SIDHE

  It was a glorious morning. Leu rose with the sun, watching as dawn burst over the horizon in a glory of pink and gold, as the deep blue of night grudgingly gave way, as the last of the stars faded from sight.

  The hounds bayed in the distance, their calls followed by the thrashing of brush being trampled. Body tensing, he raised his spear. He waited, ready, holding his horse steady with silent commands of body and mind.

  The boar that burst from cover was a huge male, its shaggy black coat scarred from battle. Wicked tusks flashed as the animal turned sharply on two hooves, trying to gore the lead hound, which leapt nimbly aside at the last instant.

  It was all the opening Leu needed. He flung the spear with all his strength; the weapon whistled through the air and struck the enraged beast with a meaty thunk, burying itself deep in the beast’s muscled chest.

  The boar squealed in agony, turning its hateful red gaze to the man it correctly identified as the source of its pain. It struggled, trying to attack, even as deep crimson heart’s blood gouted from the wound and stained the ground red.

  It fell.

  The king’s huntsman dismounted first and checked to be sure the beast was dead, but Leu knew it was. The huge boar’s sides had stopped heaving. His horse, too, had quieted; though not much pleased by the scent of blood, it had been trained to war as well as to hunt.

  “Excellent throw, your majesty,” Ulrich said as he brought his horse up until he was nearly beside the king. Nearly. They were not, after all, equals. Ulrich’s horse was not unlike his rider; big, gray, strong, and rangy, it had a mind of its own and required a strong hand to control him. “It has been some time since we hunted thus, but you have lost none of your skill.”

  “My thanks. From you that is quite the compliment.” It was true. Ulrich was a great outdoorsman. There was no finer hunter, and few better warriors, among the Sidhe. This was the reason Leu had called for a hunt—so he could speak with Ulrich away from Asara. Leu knew well that oft as not it was his mistress’s honeyed barbs that fueled Ulrich’s rage at Brianna. Knowing what he now did, Leu needed to reconcile with Ulrich, for the Fae would soon need all of the old man’s skill at arms and military tactics.

  Ulrich bowed his head slightly, acknowledging Leu’s compliment.

  “The beast is slain,” the huntsman announced. There were cheers from several throats, and calls of congratulation, which Leu acknowledged with a smile and nod.

  “We ride back to camp. This day’s hunt has ended so early that methinks another day or two in the field would not be found amiss.” Smiles greeted this announcement. Riders formed up, waiting for Leu to take the lead, leaving the huntsman and his assistant to deal with butchering the carcass.

  “Ride with me, Ulrich.” Leu gestured to the space immediately beside him. “I would speak with thee privately.”

  At his words the others fell discreetly back, although the guards remained close enough to be able to defend his majesty should it be necessary, their eyes ever watchful.

  “As my king wishes.”

  They rode together through the thick brush at the outer edge of old wood forest. Leu gathered his thoughts, choosing how best to approach this man who had once been his friend, and was now not quite his enemy.

  “I met with Atropos the other night.”

  Ulrich’s brows rose, his eyes widening, but he made no comment.

  “She needed a boon. I granted it in exchange for information.” Leu grimaced.

  “Am I permitted to ask what you learned?” Ulrich asked. His speech, usually so direct, was guarded.

  “My enemy lives. She’s found a way to break through the veil. The attack will come soon.”

  “That is ill news.”

  “You believe it so?” The question had a barb in it.

  Ulrich didn’t flinch. “You are a good king. You have always done well by Faerie. I do not agree with all you have done, but it is not my place to judge your decisions—or your taste in women.”

  Leu threw back his head and laughed. Ulrich was not a subtle man. Besides, he had a point. Leu’s women were notoriously difficult. Truth be told, he liked a woman who could keep him on his toes, who had power of her own and was capable of commanding respect on her own merits. But that did make things … lively on occasion.

  Ulrich continued. “You are my king. You have my full support. My quarrel is with your daughter only.”

  “And if she becomes queen after me?”

  Silence except for the thud of hooves on mossy ground. Leu sighed. He’d expected as much. Ulrich was as proud and stubborn as Asara in his own way.

  “If she is proved innocent of your charges?” Leu asked.

  “I don’t see how that would be possible.” Ulrich’s voice was a low rumble. He was so certain … so very certain. Leu was not. Parents oft underestimate their children, but she had been so very young when Viktor had disappeared, and so very smitten with him.

  Ulrich turned, meeting the king’s gaze directly. “If she is innocent, and becomes queen, I will support her.”

  It was not what Leu wanted to hear, but it would have to be enough.

  At a nod from the king Ulrich fell back to ride with the others, leaving Leu alone with his thoughts.

  * *
*

  Ju-Long returned to the camp just after the midday meal and went directly to the king’s tent.

  “Well?” Leu asked as he acknowledged the spymaster’s bow. “What is it?”

  “Your majesty, we have a problem.”

  13

  BRIANNA HAI

  “Would you care to explain to me how I came to be called to a battlefield to negotiate a peace treaty between Moash, King of the Doxies, and one of my subjects?” Brianna’s father didn’t raise his voice, but the heat of his anger moved in a blistering wind across her back as she knelt with her forehead pressed to the one of the white marble squares of the floor of the throne room.

  David, Pug, and Brianna had been transported—under guard—from the battlefield to one of the king’s gates, and from there to the throne room. Nick had been carried away on a stretcher—Brianna hoped it was for treatment of his injuries. She was worried about him, but she couldn’t ask without making things infinitely worse.

  She tried to think fast, to quickly come up with the right words to explain. Apparently she wasn’t fast enough, because the king’s voice lashed out like a whip.

  “You would keep your king waiting?”

  “Of course not, your majesty.” Brianna’s voice was muted, careful not to cause offense by word or tone. “I was simply unsure where to begin.” She didn’t dare look up. Didn’t move. She might be his daughter and, according to her half siblings, his favorite, but Leu wasn’t her father now, he was the High King, and she’d dropped a major diplomatic incident into his lap.

  Taking a deep breath, Brianna started at the beginning and prayed that nothing she said would make things any worse.

  “I was coming home from purchasing a gift for you from a human artist and walked in on the tail end of a doxie raid. Apparently a war party had come through the painting that links my apartment to your study to steal a litter of kittens. I’m assuming it was for their fall festival.” It was an educated guess there. The fall festival was only a few days away and was one of three main holidays for many of the lesser Fae. This year’s celebration would be particularly grand as it would honor the twenty-fifth anniversary of Moash’s investiture as king. It was well known that fresh roast kitten was his favorite dish.