Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2)

by Tameri Etherton

  As much as he liked Rowan, the sorcerer’s cottage held nothing for the spy. All he needed was the use of Rowan’s doorway to the human realm. As far as Cian was aware, no other wizard or sorcerer in all of Faerie had their own personal doorway to other realms, but Rowan had made his with the permission of Faerie’s rulers more than one hundred years earlier. The two present queens knew of his portal and kept surveillance on it, but didn’t expressly condone or prohibit its usage. Even now, with Cian’s assignment necessitating his arrival in the human realm with haste, the queens would pretend ignorance of Rowan’s doorway.

  They could be exasperating, his queens.

  Well, what they didn’t know wouldn’t kill them. Cian took the back stairs two at a time, hoping not to encounter anyone on his way to Rowan’s study. His hopes were dashed at the landing when Therron’s tall frame blocked his path. If Cian were a betting man, he would’ve put money down that the elf purposefully tried to catch him before he left.

  “Excuse me.” He did his best to sidle past, but Therron refused to move.

  “A word, MacNair, if you please.”

  “Just one.”

  The elf’s eyes narrowed and his lips twitched. With an unkind remark he wouldn’t dare say, most likely.

  “You don’t have to like me, nor I you, but there is Rori to consider.”

  Cian wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or punch the guy. “There’s nothing for you to consider concerning my sister. Do everyone a favor—go back to Elvenwood and leave those of us who are truly concerned for Faerie alone.”

  “You think I don’t care what happens to Faerie?”

  They were of similar height and build, but Cian had no doubt he could best the thief in a fight. Verbal or physical. Still, he didn’t have time to renew the familiar argument.

  “I don’t. Fortunately for you, I’m needed elsewhere.” Cian shoved past the man, stopping when he’d crossed into the cramped hall. “If you want to convince me you care about our kingdom, you’ll make sure nothing happens to Rori while she’s at Midna’s palace.”

  A slight tightening of the elf’s jaw and flaring of his nostrils was the only sign Cian’s words affected him. “What your sister does with the queen is of no concern to me.”

  Now it was Cian’s turn to hide his feelings. This time, he was certain he wanted to punch the man. He looked Therron full in the face and dropped his voice low enough only the elf could hear. “We both know that’s a lie.”

  The faint smell of perspiration reached Cian’s nose. A rapid flutter at Therron’s neck gave away the quickening of his heartbeat. His face remained unmoved, placid.

  “I’m sure I don’t understand.”

  Cian backed away, bowing as he did. The terror that crossed the elf’s face was priceless.

  “Does she know?” Therron challenged.

  “Not that I’ve told her.”

  “I guess I should thank you for that.” Therron stretched a hand toward Cian. “I’ll keep Rori safe.”

  Cian grasped his hand in his own. “Yourself as well.” He let go, but Therron tightened his grip.

  “For what it’s worth, I never bedded Midna nor any of her skivvies.” A subtle challenge lingered in Therron’s words.

  “That’s very honorable of you. Nor did I.”

  He turned away, chuckling to himself at the look of surprise on Therron’s face. In truth, he was shocked the elf had been able to deny the Unseelie queen. She’d pursued him twice as hard as she had Cian. But then, Cian was merely a man with a long bloodline of spies and Therron was a prince. Still, Midna must be desperate for an heir if she was willing to risk the ire of the elf king to have a child.

  Whatever the Unseelie queen’s motives, Cian was happy his involvement with her would be delayed until he returned to Faerie. By then, he hoped the queen had moved on in her affections and found a suitable concubine. Her álainn obedience were much more than students, but few outside Midna’s inner circle knew of the power generated from their lovemaking. Midna fed on the emotions evoked from her many lovers, and in return, her magic protected all of Faerie, including the kingdoms and villages that claimed no alliance with the fae. Cian called it sex magic, but it was so much more than that. And now Rori would be a part of Midna’s ceremonies.

  With each step he took toward Rowan’s study, the further he forced thoughts of Midna, Eirlys, Therron, and even Rori far from his mind. His focus pinpointed to one thing—Edinburgh and finding Malcolm Dagniss.

  As soon as the thought entered his mind, Cian remembered Rori’s words about their father being alive. Impossible. Yet Meg had confirmed her belief, too. Rori didn’t know that Cian had watched their father die. She’d been too young at the time to travel beyond Faerie and wasn’t with Cian that day nearly fifteen years earlier.

  His steps faltered. Rowan’s study was a few more paces, but he couldn’t bring himself to close the distance. Time slowed, then rewound to those last few precious moments when Cian was standing with his father atop the castle walls, looking out at the city that had utterly charmed him. The day was clear, with a crisp chill to the air Cian quite liked.

  “I should like to live here one day,” the teenaged Cian had told his dad. “Right there.” He pointed to a Georgian building opposite the gardens. “So that every day I can look up and see the castle.”

  Hagan MacNair rested a hand upon his son’s shoulder. “What? You’ve no desire to live at the castle?”

  Cian shook his head and pointed to all the tourists. “There’d not be any privacy, I think.”

  It was then Cian saw the man. The one in shadow he could never fully make out, even in his nightmares. Hagan saw him, too.

  “Son, go to the chapel and wait for me there. Go now. Don’t argue.”

  Cian had wanted to stay by his father’s side, but the look of calm in his eyes had falsely made Cian believe there was nothing to fear—despite his senses telling him the opposite. He obeyed and jogged up the slight incline to the chapel, but he didn’t enter the small building. Instead, he turned to see the man in shadow raise his arms. A sharp cry from his father was the last he heard before a bright flash of orange burst from the shadows, knocking Hagan backward.

  “No!” Cian cried out and ran down the stairs to his father.

  Those standing nearest to the body shouted and total mayhem ensued. The shadow man disappeared into the crowd. Police with automatic weapons arrived and made a space between Hagen and the tourists. Cian ducked beneath their outstretched arms to kneel beside his dad.

  The pall of death clung to his father. Someone tried to pry him away, but he told them to leave him alone, this was his father. A strong set of hands grabbed him and practically lifted him off Hagan. Cian watched in horror as men rushed to his father with their modern equipment of tubes and braces. Whoever had grabbed him kept them moving, up the little hill, toward the chapel. Cian fought against the progression. His father needed him.

  The last he saw of Hagan MacNair was a blanket being pulled over his face. It wasn’t until they were in the chapel that Cian turned to confront whoever had dragged him away.

  “Forget something?”

  Cian snapped his attention to the elf, to the hallway where they stood, to the present. Therron must’ve followed him.

  “I, erm. No, I think I have all I need. You’ll honor your promise?” He didn’t need another assurance, but the elf’s presence unnerved him.

  “If I say I’ll do something, I will. Don’t try my patience, MacNair.” Therron brushed past him toward the common room, where multiple conversations could be heard above the din of chair legs scraping the hardwood, dishes being washed, and life being lived.

  Silently, Cian wished the man well. Knowing he hadn’t slept with Midna raised his esteem greatly. For a solid month, he’d relegated the prince to something he wasn’t and now—well, now he supposed he had no issues with Therron except for his connection to Rori. But that was something he could deal with another day.

  A door
opened just as the elf passed and Rowan glanced down the hall toward Cian. “Saying your farewells?”

  “In a sense. Are you ready?”

  Rowan waved him inside and closed the door behind them. A key turned in the lock and several bolts slid into place.

  “One can never be too cautious.” The sorcerer’s genial smile barely hid the worry etched across his features. “Now then, where are we off to?” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

  “Edinburgh.”

  The color faded from Rowan’s rosy cheeks. “Are you sure, my boy?”

  “I wish I wasn’t, but yes. I need to start in Edinburgh.”

  Rowan blew out a long breath and nodded. “Of course, yes. Still,” his whiskers vibrated with his trembling, “I never thought after I found you that day that I’d be the one facilitating your return.”

  Nor did Cian ever think after Rowan had taken him through the portal in the little chapel that he’d ever have need to go to Edinburgh. In fact, for fifteen years he’d avoided the entire city, making sure his assignments kept him far from Scotland.

  “You never did tell me what you were doing there that day.” A lump caught in Cian’s throat. “The day my father was murdered.”

  Rowan indicated a small brass gong on his desk. Two leather straps held it suspended between a metal frame. “The queens aren’t the only ones who keep watch over who comes and goes in Faerie. I knew your pa was taking you into the city and I kept watch over the pair of you, waiting for your return.” He turned away from his desk and the gong. Tears shimmered in his old eyes. They had once been as blue as the night sky. Now they had the gauzy appearance of faded silk.

  “Do they know? The queens?” Cian was curious how the queens might feel about Rowan spying on those in the human realm.

  “They know everything that happens in Faerie, don’t you doubt that.” Rowan tapped the bookcase where fifteen years earlier Cian had stumbled through with the sorcerer. “They allow me my hobbies as long as I remain neutral between the two courts.” A wry smile lifted the lines of his face. The perpetual rosiness of his cheeks returned, a blush staining them several shades darker.

  “I don’t believe I ever thanked you. And I again owe you my gratitude.” Cian clasped the man’s hand in his own. Rowan hugged him with his free arm and patted his back. “Watch over my mum and sister, will you?”

  “As I always do.” His sigh was like a breeze through a meadow. “Alas, you and I both know neither of those ladies would appreciate being protected. Still, must needs and all that.”

  It was true. Labhruinn MacNair had once been Queen Eirlys’s highest ranked officer. A warrior in a time of peace, but that hadn’t stopped his mum from kicking ass in the training arena. Any man who thought Labhruinn weak because she was a woman soon learned different.

  “I’ll see you again soon, my friend.” Cian turned to face the bookshelf and waited while Rowan said the mystical words that would turn the wall into a portal. This was one of the few doorways that Cian couldn’t activate by himself. Three others existed that he knew about, with certainly more scattered throughout the universe. Someday, he vowed, he’d travel beyond Faerie and the human realm to another world, galaxies away.

  But today he’d only go as far as his past.

  4

  The hairs on his arm stood on end as absolute blackness folded him into a claustrophobic embrace. Time didn’t exist in this place. Nor, he feared, did life. No sound, no breeze, not even a whisper of existence could be found in the void of space. Cian kept his thoughts focused on the small chapel inside Edinburgh Castle’s grounds. Some doorways led to a specific location on the other side, but Rowan’s could be manipulated to anywhere. Lulled by the calm darkness, Cian cast back in his mind to that day long ago when his father was struck down by the shadow figure and immediately the void began to vibrate with his anxiety.

  Never before had his mood affected the in-between and Cian jerked his thoughts to the present. To the little chapel. To his mission.

  The shuddering stopped. The void was once more motionless. He had the distinct impression the void had wanted him to get lost in the memory. To drown in his sorrow, even. A listlessness settled upon him like a heavy cloak.

  The tiniest of lights shone in front of him and he mentally grasped it. The brighter it became, the more his ennui departed. By the time his shoes touched upon the rough stones of the chapel, he was left with a bitterness in his gut. In all his travels through the portals, he’d not once encountered anything—malevolent or otherwise. Yet this time, on his return to Edinburgh, he had the distinct impression that something had tried to stop him.

  Never one to run in the face of adversity, he wouldn’t let whatever force was working against him succeed—despite the fear creeping through the dark places of his heart.

  Cian stood to his full height of two meters and stretched his shoulders, then cracked his neck. He needed precision thinking for this assignment, not willy-nilly concerns of the unseen. With a snap of his fingers, the velvet coat and black trousers he wore in Faerie disappeared, replaced by a sleek blue suit and crisp white shirt, a much better pairing to his black leather Oxford shoes. Just being in human clothes relieved some of the nerves swirling in his belly. If Earth had magic, he’d happily live among the humans full-time.

  But magic was nearly dead on this planet. Which made it difficult to do his job, sometimes. As a rule, the use of magic was forbidden.

  From the time Cian was a young lad, he’d heard horror stories of what happened to those unfortunate souls who had crossed the line in the human realm. Their fate wasn’t just determined by the queens, but rumors swirled about humans who hunted magic in a vampiric way. Scyvers, they were called. Somehow, they were able to suck power from those who wielded magic. Cian believed in them with the ferocity of a witch her spells. That’s why he kept magic use to as little as was needed—nothing more.

  Having never met a scyver, and hoping he never would, Cian had no desire to become a target. The small amounts he used wouldn’t alert Faerie’s watchers—or the humans. He hoped.

  He paused a moment to listen before taking the few steps to the chapel door. At this hour, there wouldn’t be tourists lurking at the castle, but there would be armed guards. Rori had taught him the trick of using Glamour to confuse the cameras, which he was grateful for, but even fae magic couldn’t prevent an attentive soldier from seeing a door open and close. He’d yet to learn how to float through something solid and until he sorted that trick, he’d have to use caution.

  No untoward sounds came from the other side of the door. He cracked the ancient wooden panels enough to see into the small courtyard outside the chapel. A huge cannon sat perhaps three meters from where Cian was, its muzzle pointed at the city. At one time, that cannon and similar, smaller ones were used to defend Edinburgh Castle from invaders. Now they sat along the battlements as decoration of a time long past. This morning, the cannon known as Mons Meg was being used by a guard as a prop to keep him upright.

  Cian stayed where he was, concealed by the chapel’s shadows, and studied the man. He wiped his palms along his trousers and licked his lips. Stay calm. Stay cool. He could handle a single guard, as long as he didn’t call for reinforcements.

  After several minutes, he decided the guard was either sleeping or dead. He’d not moved at all. Cian flicked a finger at a spot just to the guard’s left and the sound of a rock hitting the wall pinged in the quiet air. The guard remained motionless.

  From his angle, Cian couldn’t make out the man’s features, only a partial glimpse of his chin and slack lips. The soldier stood in profile, half facing the city. His hat had slipped over his eyes, making it difficult to see whether they were open or closed. A slight breeze lifted the edges of his kilt, but still no movement from the man. The browns and golds of the fabric blended into the dull greys of the castle walls. Mists shrouded the city beyond the battlements. Cian took in every detail surrounding the guard, from the lack of birdsong to th
e gloved hand resting atop the cannon, another at the man’s waist where a heavy sword hung near to the ground. Thick socks stretched over his calves to well-worn leather shoes.

  Warnings and red flags popped up in Cian’s thoughts, urging more caution than usual.

  He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the cool stone of the chapel to process what he saw and what his intellect told him. Nothing good. The Seelie queen’s guards were famed for being able to stand still for long periods of time, but this wasn’t Faerie. Something wasn’t right about the soldier. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, but a nagging disquiet shadowed his thoughts.

  His choices were clear—stay in the chapel until the guard left, leave the chapel and hope for the best, or use the doorway to go somewhere else.

  Cian needed to find Malcolm Dagniss, and his last known address was located half a mile from where Cian stood. Using the doorway to travel elsewhere made little sense. As did waiting for the guard to leave. By his watch, he’d already wasted quarter of an hour and the sun was starting its ascent. If he wanted to best use the last vestiges of night, he needed to move now.

  Cian pulled open the door and stepped into the bracing Scottish air. Fucking Edinburgh. It could be mind-numbingly cold year-round, but was especially so now, at the beginning of spring. Cian glanced at a nearby tree, at the tiny buds forming on otherwise naked branches. With a brief wave of his hand, a long wool coat covered his suit, with a thick scarf encircling his neck. Black leather gloves hugged his hands. Better.

  Still, the guard didn’t turn or acknowledge Cian.

  Anxiety pooled in his gut as he took one, then another step toward the cannon, avoiding looking to his right, where fifteen years earlier he’d watched his father die. Instead, he ambled left, away from the guard and his memories.

  The leather soles of his shoes made no sound on the cobblestones as he turned toward Foogs Gate. He kept one eye on the guard, alert to any movement he might make, and another on his surroundings. Sounds of soldiers waking and starting their day could be heard in the distance. He had to hurry or be caught where he ought not to be.