by Dani Harper
“I have not carried stones in my pockets since I was a child myself. Perhaps I will have to do so again if it will encourage him to learn.” He sighed. “In truth, I have perhaps as much to learn as your son.”
“That actually gives me a lot of hope.”
“Why? I am responsible to train your child, and I have just admitted to weakness.”
“Some people say that’s the beginning of wisdom. And you’re not too proud to be willing to address the problem. A child like Fox requires constant learning—I’m always having to make adjustments.”
“How can that be? You are an excellent mother!”
“Thanks, but I’m very far from a perfect one. I just won’t give up, that’s all.”
He brushed his fingers over her hand then, the one with the symbol in her palm. “Nor will I give up.”
“I don’t believe you will,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as that cool tingle of connection sparked like an electrical charge between them. She shivered suddenly, and he frowned.
“You are cold.” Trahern strode to the center of the yard. “Tân,” he murmured, his hands palm down over the fire pit. “Tân araf.” Tiny tongues of marigold flame suddenly appeared from the cold, gray ashes. The rising glow haloed him as he turned back toward her, and Lissy caught her breath. For an instant, he was an angel in sleek black leather . . . It distracted her just enough that she didn’t even get a chance to protest before Trahern had already scooped her up and sat on the bench closest to the tidy blaze.
Lissy had to admit that the radiant warmth was welcome. The side of her that pressed against Trahern was warm as well, however, and another kind of heat sprang up within her. Good grief, Brooke was right. This guy’s dangerously hot. “What do the words mean—the ones you just spoke?” she asked, seeking a diversion while she tried to decide if she should get off his lap. She certainly didn’t want to, but . . .
“There are many kinds of fires. I simply called a small and steady one. Are you uncomfortable?”
More like too comfortable. “I don’t really need to be carried, you know.”
“At least I did not poof you.”
She laughed and gave in, even allowing herself to relax into him. Was it so wrong to just enjoy being close to a man—even if he was a fae? Trahern wasn’t manipulating her in the least; she was sure of that. Her physical reaction to him was to be expected . . . and perhaps even appreciated. It wasn’t like she was in danger of falling in love with him. And if fae women were as exquisitely beautiful as she had heard, Trahern would not be looking for anything serious with an ordinary human like her. All things considered, it might be ideal to have an uncomplicated and temporary relationship to practice with. Heaven knows I’m not ready to dive into dating. Yet.
The fire gradually grew, flickering with tongues of color—green, blue, violet, magenta. “You’ve seen where I live,” she ventured. “Tell me about your land. I don’t know anything about the faery kingdom.”
“One kingdom, true, but many lands. Most are very beautiful.”
“Okay, then tell me about the last one you saw.”
The thin smoke above the flames solidified into a round, opaque cloud. Trahern blew lightly at it, and the strange smoke swirled around, opening like an iris to reveal a window filled with vivid greens and jewel-bright hues. As Lissy watched in wonder, the colors coalesced to form a clear image.
“The forest of the Silver Maples,” he announced. “Ten thousand were planted a hundred of your centuries ago. There are many more now.”
The giant trees, obviously named for their dense canopy of glittering leaves, were far larger than any maples she’d ever heard of. This place could give Sequoia National Forest a run for its money. “It’s beyond beautiful,” Lissy said, wishing for words worthy of such majesty.
“As with most things fae, danger hides beneath the beauty,” said Trahern, and traced the long scar across his throat. “I have this to remind me of the place.”
“Is it okay if I ask what happened?”
He nodded at the image. Dark, lanky shapes with long tails trotted through unseen paths in the dense underbrush. Suddenly, one leapt upon a fallen trunk, running easily on clawed feet to emerge above the thicket. Striped and glistening with scales rather than fur, the powerful predator pointed its long, narrow muzzle into the air, releasing a series of rapid staccato yips as if calling its fellows. Lissy shivered at the glimpse of serrated teeth, and Trahern’s arms drew her closer. “What are they?”
“Warths. A large pack pursued my brother and me when we escaped,” he said. “There were too many to outrun, even with fae horses, and agents of the House of Oak were close behind. A warthen claw caught me in the neck during the fight. But death was preferable to capture.”
Hadn’t Ranyon warned her about this guy’s relatives? “So—uh—I take it you don’t get along with your family. They’re not the ones who turned Braith into a dog, are they?”
The vision of the faery forest and its predators dissipated until once again there was only smoke rising from the flames. Trahern was quiet for so long that she wondered if she’d overstepped a boundary. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse as if every word was dipped in sorrow.
“I did that.”
TWENTY-TWO
You turned your own brother into a grim?”
“No—yes—no.” Trahern released her and stalked away from the fire to an overgrown corner of the yard. The wild tangle of ivy resembled his thoughts at the moment. “It is complicated.”
“I’m sure it is.” She rose and followed him. “And I think you’d better explain it to me.”
“The hour is late for you. I should take my leave and return tomorrow.”
“Not a chance, mister.” Lissy put a hand on his arm as if to stop him. As if she could . . . yet he did not move.
“There’s no room for secrets in a relationship, whether you’re friends or—or whatever the heck you and I are to each other,” she continued. “You don’t get to drop a bombshell like that on me, and then just walk away!”
“You are not Tylwyth Teg. You would not understand.” The instant the words left his lips, he knew he’d made a serious mistake. Those wondrous sable eyes that never failed to mesmerize him now flashed with the same fierce temper he’d admired when he first saw her. And as before, that anger was directed squarely at him . . .
“I understand that Braith’s a dog because of something you did. And not just any dog, but some kind of never-eating, never-sleeping giant of a hellhound. Now you understand this: my son loves Braith, and if you want me to continue to let them hang around together, or continue to allow you to be my child’s magic instructor, you’d damn well better give me the full details.” She folded her arms. “So did you change your brother on purpose, or was this some kind of horrible magical accident?”
“There was no accident. To save his life, I was compelled to help cast the spell that transformed him into a hunting hound. An ordinary hound, nothing more.”
“Something did go wrong, then?”
“No. The spell worked as intended, though it was very painful for him.” For me as well. He recalled Braith’s agonizing transformation as if it were mere heartbeats ago. Daggers of guilt, regret, and sorrow pierced him anew. Meanwhile, Lissy’s gaze softened as she once again saw far too much.
“Trahern, your gifts are amazing. Because of my family and friends, I thought I knew something about magic. But you can do things that I’ve never dreamed were possible. What on earth, who on earth, could force you to do such a terrible thing to Braith? I know you care about him.”
“No one on earth has such power, but in the fae realms, some do. Like Eirianwen. As the grand matriarch of the House of Oak, she condemned my twin for disobedience—nay, treason. His crime was that he would not accept a pairing with a woman she had selected for him, one who would add to the political influence of the family.”
“An arranged marriage?” asked Lissy.<
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“Braith loved another and refused to comply.”
“Loved? Loved? Am I hearing that right? I thought you said love was a myth among the Tylwyth Teg.”
“My brother believed otherwise. Her name was Saffir.”
“So this Eirianwen person punished him for having a mind and heart of his own. In doing so she punished you, too. Sounds to me like she wanted to control you.”
He paused, appraising her for a long moment. “I was incorrect when I said you would not understand.”
“I want to understand.” Lissy was well aware that he read her thoughts as if testing her sincerity. For once, she didn’t seem to mind. I want to know all of it. Tell me.
“Very well. But seeing is far easier than words,” he said at last, and lightly pressed the tips of his fingers to her temples. His mind brushed against hers, asking, just asking. Lissy trembled but did not shy away.
There’s a tickling in my head. It feels like you’re teasing my brain with a feather.
It is a spell called cyswllt meddwl—our awareness will join.
What’s that weird buzzing sound? Hey, this better not be like the last time you used magic on me! I—
Lissy fell silent as the spell engaged and their thoughts were suddenly one . . .
Together they beheld the palace garden. It surprised him to see his own memories through her eyes, to feel her awe at the exquisite flowers, the vivid trees, and sublime statuary. And her voice in this strange shared state was even more familiar than in mind speech. There! I can see you, she said to him. And that must be Braith, right?
Any intention he might have harbored to censor those images, to pick and choose what he would share, vanished like a water droplet on desert sands. Was it that the past demanded to be acknowledged, or was it the esteem he had for Lissy—even trust? Because Trahern held nothing back. Not only that, but he experienced his memories anew as the woman before him experienced them as well . . .
Frustration and anger tightened Trahern’s shoulders, sharpened the pain in his heart, and intensified the already bitter taste in his mouth. It had sickened him to the core to lend his own magic to Braith’s blood-chilling transfiguration . . .
Not so the grand matriarch of the House of Oak. By all appearances, she’d enjoyed the spectacle immensely as her son’s screams fell on willfully deaf ears. After what was left in Braith’s place was dragged away, she took further delight in tormenting and testing Trahern. Knowing that his position required him to remain in attendance at her side, she had deliberately lingered at Court. Only for his brother’s sake had he maintained appearances by carrying out his duties to their mother, as she welcomed the fawning admiration of many. Rage roiled in his gut for what she had done, for what she had forced him to do. It mixed uneasily with fear as keen as an obsidian blade because Trahern still could not reach his twin through mind speech. Was Braith yet unconscious? Dying? Dead? The thoughts beat at him, bruised him, like a stone hawk’s wings when it was flushed from the rocks—yet he permitted no concern to cross his features. Instead, Trahern played his expected role perfectly, artfully affecting an air of well-mannered patience and exchanging superficial pleasantries with self-serving courtiers. He even smiled as if he enjoyed himself, though every particle of his being fairly screamed at him to seek out his sibling at once. It would be exactly what his mother expected, however . . . and so Trahern kept his apprehension locked away, his raw anger caged, even as she found new ways to goad him further.
It wasn’t long before she’d gathered a large audience, charming them with clever conversation. Merrily she jested that they ought to watch her remaining son lest he show any signs of contagion from his brother. Somehow, he found it in himself to laugh along with the courtiers, even as he knew they would take the joke seriously and be Eirianwen’s eyes and ears in hopes of winning her favor.
None of this showed on his face, of course. No one survived at Court without developing a flawless mask, and Trahern had mastered that skill early. Yet his mother turned to him more than once with a self-satisfied smile on her golden lips, as if she knew exactly what he thought . . .
Lissy jerked and tossed like a sleeper in the grip of a dream. Instinctively, Trahern wrapped his arms around her, echoing their mental embrace as it rocketed them forward through countless remembrances until at last they neared the present. When they beheld Braith leaping the bonfire the night they met at Palouse Falls, Trahern shook himself free and severed the connection.
“Omigod!” Lissy’s hands shot to her head. “Omigod, omigod. Your own mother did this to you? Your mother? It was so damn cruel!” To Trahern’s horror, she burst into tears.
“No! I did not mean to give you pain!” He cupped her face with both hands, trying to brush the tears away with his thumbs, to kiss them from her cheeks, her eyes. The tide could not be stemmed, however. Lissy slid her arms around his neck and buried her face in his hair—and he suddenly understood that the terrible grief was for him. All for him.
Shocked, all he could do was hold her tightly to him until her shoulders stopped shaking and her breathing eased.
“Sorry about that,” she said at last, her face still pressed to his chest. “I really wasn’t prepared for that little revelation, although I don’t know how anyone could be.”
“It is I who should apologize to you. I did not realize you would feel so deeply on my behalf.” Though he wished he was not the cause of her distress, Trahern couldn’t help but be fascinated anew at how mortals lived their lives not only with rich emotions but with those emotions unmasked. And perhaps because of their recent connection, he could even feel Lissy struggling to digest the information. Truly, as a mother who openly cared for her child, it would be difficult, even impossible, for her to comprehend the machinations and intrigues, the continual plays for power, that characterized the leading Tylwyth Teg families.
“Why did she make the spell permanent?”
“That I do not know.” Bitterness welled up inside Trahern like bile. “As you saw, by the time I reached him, it was too late.”
“You had no choice, no choice at all,” she said, and looked up at him. “You blame yourself, but I saw you devote every spare minute to trying to change him back. All the work, all the study, all the experiments, all the sacrifices. And you still do it. You’ve never given up.”
“Nor have I ever succeeded. I will never stop trying, but it is increasingly difficult to have hope.”
Lissy reached up and stroked his brow as if she knew that every word he uttered was like pushing heavy rocks off his heart. And she does know. Trahern stood frozen for a long moment, a maelstrom of unfamiliar emotions whirling within. The sheer wonder and relief of being understood brought with them an intimacy he had never imagined. His mouth sought hers, intending perhaps a gentle thanks for such a rare and wondrous gift—he would never know. Because everything changed the instant their lips met. Without warning, the attraction that had flickered between them from the beginning ignited. He was in the very heart of a star, blind and burning with need.
And she is ablaze with me.
Lissy already had her hands knotted in his hair as she drank in his kisses and gave back with a kind of tender ferocity that erased language of any kind from his fevered brain. Words and spells were replaced with the urgency of sensation. He drew her warm breath into his lungs as if it were more life-giving than the night air itself, and he sought her heated skin beneath her clothing. The soft weight of a rounded breast filled his hand, the press of the nipple insistent in his palm. His other hand fumbled with his own garments, seeking to ease the confinement of his gwyllt when suddenly she rocked her shapely hips and rubbed herself against him . . .
With that simple action, the ground seemed to drop away beneath him. He lifted her then, and her legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring and claiming him as surely as he was adrift and wanting. Trahern carried her to a bench by the fire while he could yet walk.
Straddling Trahern’s hard thighs, Lissy pulled
back from a bone-melting kiss just long enough to peel off her shirt and bra. She might not be a flawless faery princess, but she was damn well comfortable in her own skin. Pleasure shivered down her spine, and dampness blossomed between her legs as he bent to her, as his lips and teeth slowly worked their way down her throat, lower, lower . . . And all the while, his unbound hair skimmed across her sensitive skin. In her hands, his hair felt like silk. Now it seemed different—softer, finer, more like the luxuriant brush of winter fur. Scents teased at her senses, the high, clear air of a mountain, the petrichor of rain, the tang of ozone before a lightning strike.
At last he arched her backward to give his mouth full access to her breasts. She locked her legs around his waist again for balance and this time made full contact with the bulge in his leather pants. Lissy groaned deeply in pure anticipation—and found herself abruptly pulled upright. Concern was written all over Trahern’s elegant face.
“Are you well?”
“Of course I am!”
“That sound you made—”
“I make a lot of different sounds when I’m aroused.” She grinned wickedly. Want to hear more?
His mouth twitched, and an answering grin appeared, the first she’d seen from him, and it delighted her. You look like a pirate. She could feel his puzzlement and enjoyed that, too, as she reached for the intricate fastenings on his tunic. The strange closures, so far removed from mere buttons, should have stymied her, yet the memories she had shared with Trahern guided her fingers. It was quick work, then, to push apart the leather to reveal his chest. The firelight caught the amber patterns that warmed his marble skin, symbols and spirals and what could only be words, perhaps sentences, in an unknown language—
