by C. T. Adams
She’d worked hard on her makeup as well, keeping it subtle but enhancing her eyes and the shape of her face.
She looked lovely and lethal: a true Sidhe princess. She forced herself to smile at her reflection, feeling uneasy. For all her preparations, Brianna had overlooked something. She just didn’t know what. But whatever it was, it lurked in the background, waiting to bite her in the ever-so-elegantly-clad ass.
Closing her eyes she wished fervently she was back in her own apartment getting ready for bed—or, really, anywhere but here, getting ready to play politics.
But as her mother used to say, “If wishes were horses, we’d be up to our armpits in shit.”
The memory made her smile. Opening her eyes, she stiffened her spine, and went out to the front courtyard and the waiting dog cart.
The gnome that was driving was the same one who had been stuck there earlier with a damaged vehicle, but the repairs had apparently been made, and he was dressed in his evening finery. His red peaked cap exactly matched his red trousers, his bright blue jacket with its gold braiding and brass buttons was neatly pressed and belted with a wide black patent leather belt that matched his glossy black boots. His snow white beard and hair had been combed and trimmed, and bright gold rings graced the tips of his pointed ears. He looked dashing, and Brianna told him so.
“Thank you your grace. And may I say you are looking especially lovely tonight?”
“You may. I just hope we arrive before the weather worsens, or I won’t be staying that way.”
It wasn’t raining … yet. But green-black storm clouds had massed overhead, lit by frequent lightning. Thunder boomed repeatedly. Brianna forced herself not to flinch. Often as not, the weather in Faerie reflected the mood of the ruler. If that was the case tonight, her father was in a fine fury.
Deities please, don’t let it be at me, was her silent, fervent prayer.
“Allow me, your grace.” Saturnino bowed almost double before opening the door to the open carriage with its gleaming black paint and silver accents. Brianna acknowledged the bow and used the little silver steps he’d unfolded from the carriage to climb in, lowering herself carefully onto the thick velvet seat. When Saturnino closed the door, the gnome called a sharp order to the matched pair of dappled gray mastiffs harnessed in front. The cart pulled smoothly forward and through the gates of Abracham House. As they neared the huge oak where Elena lived, a huge bolt of lightning smashed into the tree. Brianna threw out a magical shield on pure instinct as the tree exploded with a roar.
“Sweet God and Goddess … Elena.” Brianna rose, intending to rush to check on her old friend, the dryad who lived in the oak, then stopped. The tree was destroyed, which meant the dryad was dead. Only one man could control the weather in Faerie, the king. That he would choose to personally and publically execute one of his subjects thus couldn’t possibly mean anything good.
“Deities, Elena, what did you do?” Brianna’s words came out in a hoarse whisper. She hadn’t meant the gnome to hear, but he had, and he answered.
“Nothing good, you can be betting on that.” There was a hint of a growl in his voice. Brianna wanted to ask him what he knew but he’d already turned back to the dogs and starting them forward with a crack of the reins. Brianna was practically thrown backward onto the carriage seat. It began to rain; the gnome muttered something Brianna couldn’t make out and pressed the button to raise the carriage’s mechanical roof. Brianna was protected from the elements but completely cut off from any hope of conversation with the driver.
Brianna drummed her fingers against the seat. She couldn’t ask after her friend, not without risking infuriating her father—who was apparently already in a dangerous mood. But why?
The cart stopped; Brianna looked out the window to see that they were at the end of a line of carts heading up to the portico at the side entrance to the palace. Again, she had a sense of misgiving. Surely there should be more carts than this?
Finally they reached the portico. The footman stepped up, and placed the stairs by the carriage door, then opened it. “Your grace.”
“Thank you.” Brianna smiled at him, taking his hand and allowing herself to be stepped down to solid ground. Once there, she turned to the driver, “What is your name?”
“Grum, your grace.”
“Well, Grum, I am glad that you were able to get your cart repaired in time for this evening’s event. Please be sure to present the bill to the seneschal for payment from my personal account. The damages were incurred in my service after all.”
“Thank you, Ard Reigh.” A warm smile lit up his face, but faded quickly. “Be watching your step tonight, your grace. Something’s afoot, and there’s plenty’d do you harm if they could.”
Brianna felt her eyebrows rise in surprise. Though she would swear she’d never met this gnome before, there seemed to be genuine concern in his voice.
He noticed her surprise and answered the question she’d left unvoiced. “The Sidhe aint t’ only Fae, an’ not een the only ones t’ choose the ruler. Which is why you’ve found your place on the list at last.” With that, the gnome bowed low. For a long second Brianna simply stared. She’d done nothing to earn the lesser Fae’s support. Of course, she supposed, she could have won it by default. Just what had the others been doing in the years of her absence?
Shaking herself like a dog shedding water, she strode down the steps.
Brianna made it into the foyer without getting wet, despite the sheets of rain that were slashing down. Stepping into a small anteroom, she straightened her hair with the small comb she’d stowed along with a Derringer in the small clutch she carried.
The Sidhe aint t’ only Fae. She shivered. Her father was not old by Fae standards, but it was no secret that he’d never wanted the crown, so virtually from the moment he’d taken the throne, people had been jockeying for position as potential heirs. The thought terrified Brianna. She hadn’t lied to Lucienne—she didn’t want to rule. But she didn’t want to see almost any of her siblings in charge, either. Lucie wouldn’t be too bad, but the thought of any of Asara’s brood on the throne filled Brianna with dread. The second any of them took power, she could start counting the days left to her. They simply would not tolerate letting a possible rival live.
The best of the batch was Eammon, and he could be a pompous and overbearing ass. The others were all smarter, but had fewer scruples. Of course, there was a bigger question: were any of them strong enough to stand up to their mother, or would she finally rule through them the way she’d hoped to rule through Brianna’s father?
Not that I’d live long enough to see what happened one way or the other.
It was almost enough to make her throw her hat in the ring … almost. Still, were Brianna to have the vote of every lesser Fae, she still couldn’t rule—not without bloodshed. The Sidhe were the most populous, and the election was sacred. Only in time of war was the king permitted to choose his own successor. But assassins had struck before, and there were always duels of honor. Brianna was an excellent fighter thanks to years of training with both private tutors and friends in and out of the guard, but while on the list she wasn’t allowed to defend herself, and would have to choose a champion instead. Some members of her father’s court had spent hundreds of years perfecting their skills, but most wouldn’t willingly champion the daughter of Helena Washington.
If one of Asara’s children didn’t kill her, one of the nobles would, if only because it was widely believed that her death would put an end to the barrier between Faerie and the human world.
“Here you are!” Teo poked his head in the door. He, too, was in his full dress uniform, and while Brianna had never considered him a handsome man, he was striking, charming, and very intelligent. For the most part Brianna liked him, and he had always been unfailingly polite to her.
“I saw your cart, but couldn’t find you,” he said. “We must hurry. Your father awaits!”
“Of course.” Squaring her shoulders, Brianna too
k the arm he extended to her, and with as much grace and dignity as she could muster they made their way to the ballroom doors to make her grand entrance.
* * *
As the child of a ruling monarch Brianna had been either allowed or forced to attend many formal functions—though never before as one of the guests of honor. Her previous experience of state dinners was that they were boring and tedious. Well, aside from making sure her food wasn’t being poisoned or cursed, and that she didn’t say or do anything that could be construed as offensive enough to cause an incident, a duel, or both. So far, tonight’s event had held true to form. Thus far she had been listening to speeches and command performances. The food would arrive … eventually … hopefully before she expired from hunger.
She longed to be somewhere, anywhere, else. Her favorite possibility was at home, in bed, and preferably not alone.
Just thinking about it made her smile, then frown when the worry set in. Had Nick and David crossed the veil? If Pug was here, she’d know they were all right. But there was no sign of the little gargoyle, and the Diamond King was seated three places down from Brianna at the head table—too far away for conversation. Whether Adam looked grim because something had gone wrong or because he had been seated between Moash and Asara, Brianna had no clue.
Brianna wondered if her father was trying to use the gargoyle to start a diplomatic incident. The doxies’ actions had insulted the stone trolls at least as much as they had Brianna, and Asara and Adam loathed each other from personal history. Brianna forced herself not to stare, to keep her expression pleasantly bland, and to respond appropriately to the inane chitchat of the woman to her left, whose name she couldn’t have remembered to save her life.
“What are you thinking, daughter dear?” King Leu’s voice was cold.
“The musicians are quite good.” Brianna looked over at him and smiled.
He snorted and took a drink from his wineglass. Brianna saw the tiny pause in his movement as he used his ring to check it for poison or a spell first, as always.
“Have you noticed anything peculiar this evening?” he asked as he set down his glass, meeting Brianna’s eyes, his expression serious.
She thought for a moment. “The crowd seems a bit thin. And there are more men than women.” That was unusual. Most Fae women, and the Sidhe in particular, were viciously competitive. It was practically unheard of for them to miss a banquet or ball when there might be a chance to upstage their enemies.
“Yes, there are. Do you know why?”
“I have a suspicion.”
Leu stared at Brianna for a long, silent moment. She had no idea what thoughts might be going through his head. He loved her. She knew that. But the love of a Fae and a king was not the same as the love of a human parent.
“Do you know I am nearly as angry as I am jealous of your friend the gargoyle?” King Leu’s expression was bland, the words spoken so softly and lightly that the woman seated next to Brianna, who had turned away to flirt with Rodan, did not hear. But Leu’s eyes were dark as storm clouds outside, and Brianna could feel the power of his magic, kept in check by force of will alone.
She blinked rapidly. If she had been standing she would have dropped to a full obeisance. But they were at the head table and the king was deliberately being subtle. So she dropped her gaze. Keeping her voice and posture very carefully submissive, she answered, “I don’t understand.”
“You did not come to me as your father when an attempt was made on your life. You did not come to me as your king, though you must have known that the attempt was most likely a political machination against me. You did not come to me for assistance when your home was invaded, though the invasion was by members of a race of lesser Fae with whom I have standing treaties. And while technically staying as a guest, but under guard, you did not come to me when you heard of a threat against those to whom I’ve offered my protection. Instead, you asked a foreign monarch for aid. Do you believe me weak—or do you doubt my word?”
Brianna was speechless and horrified. But he hadn’t offered David and Nick protection—not officially. And she’d tried to contact him—he’d been unavailable. As a result it hadn’t occurred to her that her actions could give him offense—but they very obviously had. When Viktor had tried to kill her, she’d gone to her mother, too embarrassed by her own stupidity to talk to her father and king. She had assumed Helena would tell him what had happened; after all, at fifteen, she’d been little more than a child as the Fae reckon time.
But there was no excuse for the rest. She’d been thinking like a human, trying to solve her own problems when she should have been thinking like a Sidhe, and her father’s subject. She’d pricked his pride, publicly humiliated him, and made him look weak. It was unforgivable, and stupid. Brianna tried to think what she could say to make it better, but nothing came to mind.
The king waited as the silence between them grew long and leaden. Brianna kept her head lowered. When she finally spoke, it was in a bare whisper, and she tried to put honest contrition in every word. “I am sorry, your majesty. I meant no offense. I’ve been among the humans too long, and forgot the proper way to think and act on this side of the veil.”
She became aware that the room was growing quiet, that people were realizing something important was going on at the head table.
“Your words, and your presence offend me.” Her father’s words were like ice. The king rose. “Guards, escort the lady Brianna to the veil portal in my office. When she is through, close it against her.”
The head guard stepped forward, clicking his heels and bowing in acknowledgment. He selected half a dozen of his compatriots from throughout the room, and they gathered at attention before the high table.
Brianna rose at the king’s gesture, her vision blurred with unshed tears.
King Leu’s voice rang harsh, yet clear, through the now-silent room. “Brianna Ard Reigh, you are hereby banished from this realm under pain of death unless said ban shall be lifted by the high ruler of the Sidhe.”
There were gasps throughout the hall.
“Be thou gone from my sight.”
29
NICK ANTONELLI
“I’m not sure we want to go out in that,” David observed.
Nick glanced out through the open stable doors and saw that his brother was right—the weather looked even worse than it had earlier, and he wouldn’t have thought that was even marginally possible. The sky was filled with dark clouds that had the greenish tinge to them that hinted at hail or even a tornado. Fierce winds howled through the trees. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.
“Not good traveling weather,” David continued with a sigh. “And I don’t know about you, but my feet are killing me. I don’t want to take another step for at least a week. Maybe two.”
“Then you’ll be glad to hear I’ve found us another means of travel.” Kenneth entered the stable, followed by a woman in what looked to Nick like a dress uniform. Both were carrying armfuls of black clothing.
“You have?” David didn’t bother trying to hide his eagerness.
“What did you have in mind?” Nick asked a bit more cautiously.
“It’s simple, really,” Kenneth answered. “I’ll explain while you change.” The two guards passed over stacks of clothing to each of the brothers.
“This is Syrelle,” he introduced the female guard to David and Nick in turn. “She is a senior officer, but has volunteered for the duty of escorting her kinsman’s body home with the honor guard. The normal contingent is four guards and a driver, but frequently friends in the guard will join the procession as they travel on the same route, so it won’t be unusual for there to be a couple of additional men. Can either of you ride a horse?”
“I’ve ridden a couple of times,” Nick admitted, “but I’m no cowboy.”
“Good. It will look less strange with you mounted. David?” Kenneth asked.
“I’ve never been on a horse in my life.”
“Then
you’ll ride in the cart next to the driver.”
Nick stripped out of his clothes, glad to be rid of them. It had been hard for him to put them back on after his shower, but then there hadn’t been a choice.
The black trousers were of a heavy grade of what felt like wool, woven fine, they felt a little slick, as if they’d been treated with some sort of water repellant. The matching black shirt was cotton, with long sleeves and button cuffs. Both fit him well enough, but the boots weren’t even close. There was no way he could force his feet into them. There was a black suede tunic with silver trim and the Guard’s emblem that he pulled over the shirt. It was worn belted with a black leather weapons belt that had a frog for a sword on the right hip, and a holster for a gun on the left. There was even a pouch for additional ammo. A knife sheath buckled over each thigh, the daggers long, wicked, and deadly.
Nick knew the sword wouldn’t be much use to him. He’d never used one in his life. But the gun was a Glock 9 mm, and that was a very good and welcome thing. He checked it from habit, and found it clean, well-tended, and fully loaded. Flipping on the safety, he slid it back into its holster with a sense of satisfaction. He really hadn’t realized how naked he’d felt running around unarmed until now.
His final bit of clothing was a hooded cloak, also black, with a silver wolf clasp. It was heavy as hell, delightfully warm, and treated with the same stuff as had gone into the trousers. While it hadn’t actually been weighted to do it, it fell naturally and smoothly to Nick’s knees. Still, he did wonder how useful the thing would be once they got out into the howling storm outside. Most likely it would be flapping around, getting in the way rather than keeping him warm.
Nick hadn’t realized how comfortable the stable was until he stepped outside. The temperature was dropping like a stone. He could see his breath misting, as was the breath of the huge beast that was saddled and waiting for him.
