by C. T. Adams
“I’m naked,” Kenneth observed. “Where are my clothes?”
“In the trash. There was no saving them. But if you’re looking for the envelope, it’s in the drawer of the end table beside the bed,” Nick responded.
Brianna moved aside, and Kenneth pulled open the drawer. Sure enough, inside was an envelope of ivory vellum stationery with her name written in her father’s bold script.
With trembling hand, she reached into the drawer to pick it up. It was heavy, the flap sealed with wax affixed with the king’s seal. Cracking it open she found a key, and three pages, folded neatly, with no writing visible on them.
“The key to your shackles.”
Brianna stared at the key in her hand. He’d known then, before the dinner, before Kenneth had even left with David and Nick for the trip through the tunnels … but he still—it made no sense. She stared at the blank sheets, willing them to explain. There was a message there for her. There had to be. But how was she supposed to unlock the spell and read it?
“Did he tell you to say anything, give me any message?”
“No. He was angry with you. I know that. He had fed your friends, offered them hospitality as guests, which made it his duty as well as yours to protect them.”
That was true, in its way. The laws of hospitality were taken very seriously among the Fae. But while such protection was implied, it was not certain if left unstated—the king had to have known that: had to have. So why … to draw out the enemy, to let him know who he could and couldn’t trust.
“But when your sister attacked David he knew you would take matters in your own hands. It’s your way—just as it was your mother’s.”
“And he planned accordingly.” There was bitterness in Brianna’s voice as she took the key and slid it into the lock at her wrists. The bracelets fell to the floor with a clank. It was worse knowing that what he had done to her had been done cold and with calculation—the pain, the humiliation, all part and parcel of some spectacle that served the purposes of the king. Bitter and angry as she was, she decided to wait to deal with his message, whatever it might be. She was simply too hurt, too angry to deal with it right now.
Her eyes stung, but she blinked back the tears, unwilling to let either Kenneth or Pug see her weakness. Bending at the waist, she undid the shackles on her feet.
Once free of their encumbrance, and again in control of her emotions she gathered up the chains and passed them to Pug. “Put these somewhere safe, but out of my sight if you would.”
“And the key?”
“I’ll keep it.” It would be a reminder that Leu was always the king and a politician first, and her father a distant second.
As she spoke Brianna realized that the sounds from the hallway had stopped. It was finished then, at least for the moment.
“Eat and rest. Enjoy my hospitality and my thanks,” Brianna said formally.
“My thanks, Ard Reigh.” Kenneth gave her a sad, sympathetic look. “And my condolences on the loss of your brother—and … everything.”
Brianna’s vision blurred, and she found herself having to fight back tears. She would grieve, but privately. She managed to choke out the words, “Thank you.” Turning, she pushed past Nick, who laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
She turned to him. “You’re sorry?”
He continued. “I’m sorry about your brother. I’m sorry about the mess with your father. I’m sorry for the things I said in the hospital. But mostly, I’m sorry we forced you to bring us along. You didn’t want to. You knew there’d be trouble.”
He was right. She had. But in the heat of the moment she’d decided it would be better to have them at her back. If she’d known the cost … but no, only the oracles were given foresight, and even theirs wasn’t perfect. Things change—people change them, fighting to defy Fate and what she has planned for them.
“You need to eat and get some sleep,” Nick said gently.
“The mess—”
“Will still be there in the morning, waiting.” He gave her a wry grin. “We can work on it then.”
Brianna looked over at Kenneth, who’d eaten his meal and fallen back to sleep; and over at David passed out on the couch. They might sleep through the commotion of clean up, but they might not, and they really needed their rest. For that matter so did she. And while Pug would never complain, he had to be as exhausted as the rest of them. She wondered absently where he’d gone—he wasn’t anywhere in sight, but decided he probably wanted to be alone.
“I need food.”
“Good plan,” Nick said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Feel free.”
They ate—bread and honey with milk, which satisfied their Fae sides, but Brianna also sliced up some leftover ham in the back of the fridge and heated it up, and fried up a couple of eggs to go with it.
The food smelled wonderful, and Brianna realized just how ravenous she’d been. Breakfast had been too nerve-wracking a meal for her to eat much, and she’d simply been too busy to eat anything since, and while the meal was nothing fancy, it was hot, and filling, and she found herself digging in with gusto, as did her companion.
They were too busy eating to talk at first, but when the worst of their hunger pangs had been satisfied Brianna looked across the breakfast bar at him, taking in the details of his appearance for the first time since she’d gotten home.
He was clean, and clean shaven, but battered, with scrapes and bruises visible on his arms and a long, shallow cut across his right cheek. His skin didn’t have the grayish tinge it had back when he’d first been injured, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and worry lines creased his brow. The T-shirt he wore was obviously brand new, still bearing the fold wrinkles, and the sweatpants … his sweatpants were ill fitting and pink.
“Are those my sweatpants?”
“They are. Hope you don’t mind. Pug pulled them out of the laundry for me. They were the only things in the house big enough to fit me. The T-shirt is from your stock downstairs—so I owe you for that, too.”
She recognized the T-shirt. She’d designed it herself. It showed a blissed-out woman wearing a turban, sitting behind a crystal ball on a table with a moon-and-stars tablecloth. The caption: “I finally found a happy medium.”
It looked good on him, stretched taut as it was over his muscular frame. He was still wearing his talisman, as well.
“Consider it a gift.”
“Thanks. It made me laugh.”
“Good, it’s supposed to.”
“Pug said you designed it yourself.”
“I did.”
“And you can cook, too! A woman of many talents.” He grinned at her, and the worry lines disappeared, replaced by dimples that made him look a good ten years younger and a lot more like his brother than he usually did.
“Thanks.” She returned his smile, warmth spreading through her. Small talk, they were making small talk, even flirting a little. And despite her exhaustion, and the emotional strain of the past few days she felt her pulse speed up just a little.
“So, are you glad to be back home?”
“Oh, hell yeah.” The words popped out of his mouth without a second of hesitation. “No insult meant your home world,” he added quickly.
“None taken.”
“Are you glad to be back?” He gave her a penetrating look.
“Yes, I am. I wish it was under better circumstances. I hate being at odds with my father. But it is a relief to be able to just relax and be Brianna, not the Ap Reigh or Ard Reigh or Helena and the king’s daughter. I cannot wait to get back to doing stupid ordinary things like running the shop and working out at the gym.” Brianna began gathering up the empty dishes. There weren’t any leftovers, a fact which drove home the fact that another ordinary thing she’d need to do very soon was make a run to the grocery store.
As she squirted soap in the sink and started the water running Nick rose and came to join her. Opening the door to the dis
hwasher he began loading in the plates and glasses while Brianna put the frying pans into the soapy water and slid on a pair of rubber gloves. At that point he started chuckling.
“What?” She turned, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.
He shook his head. “It’s just”—he paused unable to continue for a second because of his obvious mirth—“those gloves with that dress.”
Brianna looked down at herself and started to giggle hysterically. The lovely ball gown she’d started the evening in was definitely worse for wear—but it was a ball gown; against it the gloves looked extremely ludicrous.
It felt good to laugh, and it was a wonderful way to relieve the stress of a long and arduous day.
When she finally caught her breath enough she struck a pose, saying, “Didn’t you know, this is what all the best princesses wear to do housework?”
That set him off again, and it took a while for the two of them to settle down and finish the dishes in warmth and companionship.
31
KING LEU OF THE SIDHE
Leu stared unseeing into the fire. His firstborn son was dead. Eammon … Leu remembered him as a boy, always so serious, trying so hard to be grown up, trying so hard at everything. Proud and stubborn, not as quick-witted as the others, but good, and strong. Of all the children, Eammon was the last, other than Brianna, whom Leu would have expected to betray him.
But he had. And he’d died of it.
It was more than Leu’s heart could bear.
But bear it he must. Just as he would have to bear the sorrow of what he’d done to Brianna.
“A king does what he must and the man lives with it.” How often had he heard his father utter those words? Leu had thought he’d understood that long before, but he hadn’t. Not really.
Perhaps if Leu had taken Eammon into his confidence? No, the plans were too delicate, too convoluted, and Eammon too impatient and clumsy. He’d have tried to help, and gotten himself killed.
Dead regardless, then.
God and Goddess, his son. Fate was such a bitch. Atropos had to have known, that night when she sat there dickering with him, but she’d never let on.…
Hadn’t Leu paid enough? He’d lost his whole family to Valjeta’s first coup attempt. Despite his grief and pain, he’d kept Faerie together. He’d done his best to rule as well and wisely as he knew how. He’d built himself a new family—his lovers, his children. And sure as the sun would rise, there would be more pain, more deaths, in the days ahead.
There was a familiar tap on the library door. Leu pushed the word, “Enter,” past the lump of grief and unshed tears that clogged his throat.
Ju-Long slipped silently into the study, his expression serious. He was dressed simply, in nondescript clothing. He spoke in muted tones. “My condolences, your majesty. It is hard losing a child, perhaps the hardest thing of all.”
Ju-Long would know, he’d lost several of his children. Dragons are hard to kill without using dragonsbane, but ridiculously easy to slay with it. There was a time when the Sidhe had sought to wipe out the dragons altogether. Only Ju-Long’s treaty agreeing that his people would serve the king and royal family had spared those few that remained.
“Thank you.” Leu walked over to the buffet against the wall and poured each two crystal tumblers of whiskey. He passed one glass to Ju-Long and sipped from the other before asking, “What is the news?”
“Valjeta is ready to strike. She has murdered enough humans with magic that she, personally, will be able to cross the veil using the magic she’s stolen from them. She cannot tear down the veil to bring troops, or enough of the human weapons to sway the outcome of the battles. But you should know that she has attacked your daughter and her shop in an attempt to take Pug, the gargoyle, so it would be safe to assume she has figured out the stone trolls are the anchor to Helena’s spell.”
Leu swore.
Ju-Long ignored the outburst. “Brianna’s shop is a fortress. The gargoyle is safe there, as is your daughter.”
“You presume they will stay there.”
“It would make sense for her to stay home.…”
Leu gave the dragon a long look through narrowed eyes.
“If your majesty wishes, when we finish here I will contact Mei and instruct her to keep the Ard Reigh Brianna and the gargoyle in the shop.”
Leu nodded. Brianna could overrule Mei, but she wasn’t likely to. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the best he was going to get unless he was willing to forego the protection provided her by her status as an exile. So long as her enemies believed the fiction that she was not to be his heir they would see no reason to attack her. That, too, wasn’t perfect, but the best he could manage, so he moved on. “What of our troop deployments?”
“Your speeding of time on this side of the veil has been fruitful. We’ve accomplished much this past few days. Ulrich is in position, as are the others. The Diamond King has stationed legions of roc on all the roads heading into the city. King Moash has filled the woods surrounding it with doxies.”
“The pixies?”
“Conspicuous in their absence.”
“I should’ve fried them all when I had the chance,” Leu grumbled. “Next time I won’t be so merciful.”
Ju-Long declined to comment on that, continuing his report instead. “The gates have all been activated and are ready for orderly movement of troops. The courtiers know something is afoot. I’ve put word out that the troop movements and such are a show of force based on recent events. I don’t believe anyone suspects that you’ve caught wind of Valjeta’s plans.”
“What else? There is something you’re not telling me, Ju-Long.”
Leu watched the dragon over the lip of his glass. They had known each other a long time. They’d seen, and done much together. So while Ju-Long’s face was an unreadable mask to most, it was not to the king.
“There was a raid on Eammon’s estate. Ruala and the boys are dead.”
“His daughters?”
“Escaped, I think. My man found no trace of them.”
Leu turned to stare into the fire. Ruala and the boys, his grandchildren, dead. He closed his eyes against the pain and accompanying rage that threatened to overwhelm him. When he trusted himself to speak he asked, “Was this Valejta’s doing?”
“I don’t know sire, but it seems likely. Her supporters have begun moving in from the north and the western wilderness; there have been raids on some of the outlying settlements.”
“Valjeta needs killing, Ju-Long. She’s twisted, evil. If she can’t rule, then she’ll see it all burn.”
“You think that Faerie will fall without you?” Ju-Long raised his eyebrows in surprise. Leu gave a bitter laugh. “Me personally, no. But without a king or queen that the magic accepts and molds to—Faerie will end. You know it as well as I. That is why Fate spared me. There had to be a ruler, one of my family, who was acceptable to the magic. Because Faerie would not—will not—accept Valjeta.”
“So one of your descendants will take the throne?”
“It is what I bargained for.” He took another pull of his drink without bothering to turn away from the flickering flames. “What of Chang?”
“He has been working to find out more about the rumors against Ard Reigh Rodan. Unfortunately, he’s been unable to find any witnesses. It seems every lesser Fae who might know something has met with an unfortunate accident—he’s run into nothing but dead ends.”
Leu stared into his nearly empty glass. “So, there is no proof. It could be a setup, meant to make me doubt him.”
“It could, but you should know that the lesser Fae fear and hate Rodan. Should he take the throne, they will not support him.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve made my choice. Have Chang stop what he’s doing. I want him to find Paria and Ilsa and bring them to Brianna. She can shelter them, and offer them as much safety as can be had in the human world.”
Ju-Long didn’t say anything, but Leu felt his stare even th
ough he watched the flickering firelight reflected in the trace of amber liquid that remained in his glass. “The nobles all would have supported Eammon, had he lived.” It was true. Eammon would not have been a great king, but the Sidhe would have supported him—if only so they could use him.
“I’m sorry, sire.” Ju-Long’s words were gentle.
The silence grew long between them. In the end, it was Leu who broke it.
“I loved Eammon. I would never have imagined he’d betray me.” Leu downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp before throwing the crystal tumbler into the fireplace. It shattered with a satisfying crash, sending shards of glass spewing outward. One or two struck the king and Ju-Long, cutting them. Neither man moved nor flinched.
“I will stand beside you, until the end,” Ju-Long said softly.
“No, friend, you won’t. That is the very last place you will want to be.”
32
NICK ANTONELLI
Nick slipped the cabbie a twenty and told him to keep the change. He’d hated to borrow money from Brianna, but hadn’t had a lot of choice. His truck had been towed from in front of the shop and was currently in impound, his wallet, keys, and cell phone were all missing—probably lost somewhere in Faerie along with the clothes he’d been wearing.… God, had it only been yesterday? Really? It felt like a lifetime had passed. He was tired, sore, and desperately glad to be back home.
There wasn’t a news crew camped out in front of the apartment complex anymore—that was a blessing. And he was able to break into his apartment with very little effort—too little. He really needed to spend some time working on home security. How embarrassing would it be for a cop to have to report a break-in? And he did not want to have to explain having his weapon stolen.
But that was another worry for later. Now he just wanted to find out how Juan was doing and get back to the real world.
Nick called his mom first. She’d be worrying about him having a bad reaction to having shot the kid, and Juan’s injuries, and everything else. She was his mother, after all.
She picked up on the first ring. “Oh, Nick, thank God. I was worried.”
