by Dani Harper
Someone would explain to him eventually how a faery queen came to be here on his farm. At the moment, Liam decided he wasn’t ready to ask those questions. He just hoped that Caris’s music would help the injured woman heal. On the other side of the barn, he could see Morgan and Jay sitting on a bale to one side of the bowered bed, Caris and Ranyon on the other. He pushed his way through the goats and looked up just in time to see Chevy’s appallingly enormous nose nuzzling Gwenhidw’s elegant face—but rather than be shooed away, the gentle mare won a broad smile from the queen that could have melted a glacier. Liam slipped into the enclosure—and got his second surprise. The foals, both of them, were up and playing together like a pair of fawns, capering around the bed with their short little tails wagging.
He was still staring at them in wonder as Caris came up and gently took the fiddle case from him. “Diolch i chi,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, cariad. I’ll wait until you’re gone from the barn before I start.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll leave when I have to, but I’ll stay here ‘til then.”
She paled. “Truly, I would feel better if you were in the house.”
He didn’t know what to make of that. He could understand if she was nervous about playing for a queen. She’s probably just as worried about me. After everything I said about music, she probably thinks I’m going to have a damn breakdown or something. Again, he shook his head. “Don’t even think about me, just do what you need to do—play our fiddle for the both of us, okay? Remember what you said about the twin foals? They’re here to tell us that things will turn out right—and just look at them.” He kissed her full on the lips. “It’ll all be fine. You’ll see.” A fleeting smile crossed her face, and it satisfied him.
Liam found a bale by the stable door and sat down to watch. He had every confidence in Caris. But in himself? Big fat zero. From his dreams, he could guess what he was in for—and after everything that had happened in the past day or so, why wouldn’t he believe in dreams too? He seriously doubted he could handle the wild music at all. But damned if he would leave while Caris was under such enormous pressure to perform. He would be here to provide moral support if it killed him . . .
“Aye, and it might unless you be listening to me now, Liam Cole.”
Liam stared as Ranyon sat beside him. “Did you just . . .”
The ellyll seized his ear and whispered fiercely. “No time fer that now. Maelgwn is comin’ to take Caris—no, don’t ya be gettin’ up.”
Liam’s instincts would have had him lunging to his feet. Instead, he suddenly discovered he could do little more than give the ellyll a dirty look as the little tree man continued.
“We cannot fight him here, Liam. Understand? You will die. Morgan and Jay will die, and the queen will die—and that fool prince will still be taking Caris with him. He’ll not hurt your good lady, dontcha know. He dares not hurt her. It’s her music he needs to give power to a spell.”
“The hell with that. He hurt her already. He hit her with one of those power whips you and Jay have been talking about. I saw her when she was still a dog, remember? Broken leg, busted ribs, burn marks . . . I’m not letting him have another chance at her.”
Although Ranyon had hold of Liam’s ear like some sort of fierce little grandmother, the ellyll also patted his arm with his other twiggy hand. “Maelgwn has a foul temper, true, but he won’t be letting it get the better of him again. Not with so much at stake. His entire plan to take over Tir Hardd is resting upon your lady’s music.”
“She’s got to be warned.” Liam stopped dead at the ellyll’s expression. “She knows, doesn’t she? She already knows that bastard’s coming to get her.” Truly, I would feel better if you were in the house . . . Dammit, they were going to have some words about this—if they got out of it alive. He shoved that thought aside. “You’re saying I’m supposed to just sit here and watch it happen? That I can’t do anything about it?”
Ranyon shook his head. “I’m saying ya can’t do anything about it now. But fer certain, we’ll be doing plenty about it after.” His bright blue eyes widened in his woodlike face. “D’ya truly think I’d leave the good lady in that idiot prince’s hands?”
Liam glanced up, but no one, not even Caris, seemed to be hearing their conversation or even looking in their direction. What did he do, put up a cloaking device like in the damn movies? Not for the first time he wondered about the true extent of Ranyon’s powers. “Okay, okay, let’s say I go along with this, this frickin’ stupid idea.” It ran counter to every instinct he had just to say the words out loud. “But you’d damn well better have a spell or a rocket launcher or something else up your skinny little sleeve that’s going to help us get her back.”
“Oh, aye.” Ranyon grinned then, a wickedly feral smile with a wealth of satisfaction behind it. He released Liam’s ear and rubbed his twiggy hands together. “I’ve plenty of charms fer that.”
Liam leaned forward and whispered in the ellyll’s ear. “Good. Because if a single hair on her beautiful head goes missing, I’ll swear I’ll find a way to make birdhouse out of you.”
Ranyon only laughed. “Yer a good man, Liam Cole. ’Tis hard ta have trust and faith in things you’ve never laid eyes on afore.” He laid one of his strange spindly hands on top of Liam’s, and his voice softened. “Have ya heard of a faery oath?”
Liam raised his eyebrows.
“’Tis rarely given, but ’tis unbreakable,” continued Ranyon. “There’s not a creature in the Nine Realms that can go against his own word. So here’s mine fer ya: we’ll get yer lady back, or I’ll die in the trying.”
They shook hands solemnly—and then the ellyll actually bumped fists with him.
Maybe he was just trying to distract himself or release the terrible tension, or hell, even lighten up, but he simply had to ask: “Where the heck does a faery learn to do that?”
“Why, baseball, a’course!” said Ranyon. “Like Jose Bautista and Dan Johnson right after the Jays beat Tampa Bay.” He adjusted his hat proudly, then wriggled back and made himself comfortable on the bale. “I’ll tell ya all about the game, but first we’ll let Caris work a little o’ her magic fer the queen.” They watched as Caris gently laid the leather-bound satchel on the end of the leafy tree bed, and drew the bow from its hidden drawer in the bottom of the case. Next, she unlatched the main compartment and Liam could swear he felt each fastener open. She reached in her small, strong hands and there it was—the fiddle. His fiddle. The morning sun seemed to brighten and set fire to the tiger maple of its back, dance over the golden-yellow spruce of the top. Caris plucked the strings, but Liam’s infallible ear told him it was in perfect tune. He didn’t notice, however, that his fingers had wrapped themselves into the twine that bound the bale he sat on, as if to brace himself.
Time seemed to stop as she drew the opening stanzas of a tune. The notes built softly and slowly, like a gentle rain, then came faster and stronger like a downpour in a desert. Caris’s long dark hair flew about her with each expressive sweep of the bow, and she danced as she played until her entire body was an instrument of joy.
In Liam’s dreams, she had been naked. Another time he might have joked that it was simply wishful thinking on his part, but now, in this moment, he thought it might have been symbolic. As she played, she hid nothing—he could see all that she was. Even her very soul seemed visible. With pitch and timbre, she created the primeval music of forests and fields, of rivers and earth. Liam had never heard such things in his conscious life, and he wasn’t so certain that he perceived them with his ears alone. Every cell in his body resonated with the notes that were both exquisitely assuaging and agonizingly painful. And once again, the long-dormant songs hidden deep in the recesses of his own soul called out to her.
The strange, wild music reached inside him with questing fingers, both merciless and merciful, lancing wounds he’d assumed were healed, teari
ng away the scar tissue that had grown over pain, and releasing the anger that poisoned him. Through it all, he could not have found the strength or the will to leave even if he’d wanted.
It was riveting. It was exhausting. It was a revelation. It was a benediction. When Caris stopped at last, she stood perfectly still, her head bowed and her long dark hair curtaining the bow and fiddle tucked against her.
All was hushed and silent—until the sound of a single pair of gloved hands clapping made Caris’s head snap up. The expression on her face, fearful yet fierce, told Liam all he needed to know.
Maelgwn was standing in the doorway of the barn behind him.
TWENTY-FIVE
Such a rough and rustic place for such superbly crafted music,” said the prince, as he strode confidently toward her. The goats could hardly move fast enough to get out of his way, parting for him like the Red Sea. Maybe they were repelled by his fake charm. Liam certainly was—and worse, he could see the loathing on Caris’s face. If it hadn’t been for Ranyon’s hand on his arm (and whatever binding spell the ellyll had thrown over him like a goddamn net), Liam would have inserted himself between her and the prince in a heartbeat.
“I’m liking the company here,” she said, with her chin high.
“It must be all that time spent as a dog that’s made you so comfortable with ill-smelling animals.” Maelgwn smiled at his own witticism as he passed by Liam, though there was no warmth in his voice.
He can’t see us! The realization shot through Liam’s brain. In some incredible feat of camouflage, Ranyon had hidden both the humans and the fae in the barn. Caris stood squarely in front of the strangely crafted bed that sheltered Gwenhidw herself—but the prince perceived only the woman he’d come for!
“No matter,” Maelgwn continued. He seemed almost amiable . . . or was it smug?
You think you’ve already won, you bastard.
“You can sleep among the grims if it pleases you, just as soon as you play a few songs for me,” continued the prince, as though he were speaking to a recalcitrant child. “Come along now, I have much to do, and you’ve already kept me waiting long enough.”
“And if I do not?”
The witty charm and amiability disappeared. “Then you’ll come anyway, and I’ll burn this entire farm down to naked bedrock, including every living thing that has ever set foot on it. Surely you must have friends around here somewhere, four-legged and two-legged, whose lives you value?”
“You are truly all-powerful, good prince.” She bowed her head, but she was far from finished. Although she was in jeans, Caris curtsied prettily and very low. “As you are soon to rule Tir Hardd, it has ever been a human custom among royalty to celebrate their coming coronation by granting gifts to the poorest of the poor.” She dropped to her knees then. “I beg for your kingly word that the farm and all in it will be safe. And it will be my greatest pleasure to play for you every song that I have learned.”
“Always the little bargainer, aren’t you? I’m sure you recall how well that went the last time you tried it,” he taunted, yet it was plain that he was pleased by her subservient display. “Fortunately for you, however, I’m feeling somewhat benevolent. I already rule Tir Hardd, and my position will be unassailable by mortal dawn on the morrow. As my first celebratory gesture, then, I will extend my royal word that what’s left of this paltry farm will be unharmed by me or my followers. As for those you care for, they will be unharmed as long as they do not leave this place.” There was menace in those last words, although he gave her a mocking bow. “That is as far as my generosity and my patience will extend. Enough games.”
In a single blur of movement, the prince crossed the floor and seized Caris’s arm. The two of them vanished from sight.
Ranyon’s spell abruptly ceased to hold Liam back, and he nearly stumbled as he ran to the spot. Strangely, the fiddle and its bow had been left behind. He scooped them up from the straw, holding them tenderly as if he were somehow holding part of Caris. He looked toward the queen then, who was being helped to sit up by Morgan.
“She did this for you, didn’t she?” demanded Liam. “She knew that bastard was coming for her, and instead of trying to escape, she played her music to help you. She sacrificed herself, do you understand that?”
“I understand far more than you know,” said Gwenhidw. “Caris Ellen Dillwyn showed rare courage and great love, but it wasn’t for me. She had to protect both the human and faery worlds, in order to save all of you. That is what she gave herself for—and I have the feeling that she is far from beaten yet.”
It was the first time Liam had heard the queen speak, but that was not the amazing part. Even though her voice was weak, his perfect ear detected something within her voice very like a cascade of crystalline bells. The unique sound reached deep within that part of his soul that created music and resonated there . . .
“We have no time to waste if we are to stop Maelgwn,” the queen continued. “Morgan, you must help me get a message to the Lord of the Wild Hunt immediately. Maelgwn himself has verified Rhedyn’s words: he plans a full-out rebellion, and Lurien will need that information. There are plans and preparations for us to make, and quickly.”
Liam shook himself free of the strange effect that her voice had on him and stared instead at the fiddle and bow that were still in his hands.
“Why are these still here?” he asked suspiciously. “If all he wanted was her music, why didn’t he take her instrument?”
“Most likely, the prince has procured a faery fiddle as a way of controlling her,” said Morgan, but her face was pained. “Fae instruments are often spelled so that mortals can’t let go of them. In the old stories, human musicians would play until they collapsed or until the faery party was over, whichever came first.”
“Ha!” Ranyon snorted and folded his spindly arms. “I made sure she has a charm fer that, one that he can neither see nor remove. A faery fiddle—or any other spell Maelgwn tries on our Caris—won’t be having the effect he’s hopin’ fer. ’Tis in the blue stone I gave her, ya see.”
“Starr says that most blue stones enhance truth and inspiration,” said Jay. “She uses them in her therapies to calm people and help clear their minds.”
“Aye, but this particular stone is good fer protection as well.”
Liam leaned over to speak into the ellyll’s ear. “Please tell me you used your multiplication spell on it, like you did with the feather bed. She’s going to need all the protection she can get from that dickhead.”
“Our Caris is as safe as she can be fer now, and she has the freedom to play what she pleases.” Ranyon grinned up at them all then. “And, well, ya see, I may have taught her a tune or two meself. Just in case, ya know.”
Morgan simply dropped to her knees and hugged him, and Liam almost felt like hugging the ellyll as well. At least she didn’t go unarmed—though what kind of tunes Ranyon might have taught her, he was afraid to ask.
“Glad to hear it. Now where do I have to go to get her back?” demanded Liam.
“To the entrance of the Great Way,” said Gwenhidw. “According to Rhedyn, Maelgwn needs Caris’s music to power a spell that can seal up the Way forever.”
“That’s at the top of Steptoe Butte, believe it or not,” offered Jay. “The same place your farm is named for.”
“The butte? Why up there?”
“The story goes that Native Americans used to call it the Power Mountain. If you climbed to the top and you were worthy, you would receive a gift of power from Bull Elk, a guardian spirit said to live there.”
“I’ve heard that legend since I was a kid, but it doesn’t help unless this Bull Elk tosses Maelgwn off the butte for me.”
“Well, I just meant that people have known for a long time that there’s something different about the place. Turns out that Steptoe Butte is far older than the surrounding hills. They’re made of fifteen
-million-year-old basalt, but the butte is like an amazing island of pure quartzite about four hundred million years old. We think the electromagnetic properties in the quartzite help to create a wormhole effect.”
“Jay!” hollered Morgan and Ranyon together.
“Right. Too much information. Okay, here’s the skinny: the Way will look like a tear in the sky, kind of a rip in reality, if it’s open. It’s a door that leads directly to the old faery kingdom beneath Wales. Oh, and it’s full of monsters that feed on magic, especially on anything fae.”
And you don’t want a thing like that sealed up? Liam decided against asking any more questions. Better to keep things simple. “Okay, well, see you later.”
“Wait,” said Morgan. “You can’t just go charging off. We haven’t got a plan.”
“You do whatever you have to do. I already have my plan,” said Liam. “It’s called ‘I’m going after Caris.’” He left the barn without looking back.
“’Tis a good plan,” said a voice at his knee. “But ya won’t be going alone.”
Thanks to Aurddolen’s gut-churning herbs, Lurien was on his feet. He had no energy to speak of, but he threw everything he had into acting as if he did, as if he were yet a force to be reckoned with. And mentally, he was. He called a meeting of the seventy-nine envoys in the throne room, including those who had already left the palace. Some had made it all the way back to their territories, but no matter where they were in their journey, they were politely retrieved by his hunters in one way or another.
Lurien stood tall on the green jasper dais, a few steps away from the clear crystal throne. He wanted the association with it—he was the llaw dde, after all—but didn’t want anyone to think he had designs on it. Aurddolen had suggested wearing something less formidable than his black riding leathers, but he refused. Formidable was exactly what the delegates needed to see right now. Drained of their magic on that hilltop by their attempt to enlarge the Great Way, they were frightened and confused and missing their queen. They needed to see strength, even if he had to fake it.
