by M. C. Aquila
He rolled his eyes, taking a drink from his flask.
Cheeks burning, Deirdre stalked closer and pointed again, nearly jabbing his nose. “And you should stop drinking! If you have too much, it’ll make you sick! Why do you—?”
She was cut off when Cai splashed some of the gin right in her face.
Iain was shouting at Cai, but all Deirdre could hear as she wiped her stinging eyes was Alvey laughing.
You little—!
Anger at Cai and Alvey boiled over as her hands grew hot. Cai suddenly cursed, jerking to his feet. Deirdre turned, seething, to see he had dropped his canteen, which was rusting and corroding fast, beginning to even turn black.
No! Not again! Stop!
She darted down and desperately grabbed it, then let out a cry; something gnawed at her hands. As she pulled them back, she found the bottom of her palms were raw and bloodied.
Gasping, she staggered back, holding her hands away from herself. At the same time, they grew cold and the flask abruptly stopped changing, though it was damaged far beyond repair.
Alvey was the first to speak, helpfully saying, “That was stupid! Why did you do that?”
Cai looked from the flask to her, muttering, “Faeries. Typical.”
“You all right?” Iain stepped toward her, his mud-covered face full of concern.
“I-I’m fine.” She clasped her hands. “I’m fine. You should go get cleaned up.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” But as he began to walk onward, she followed, saying in an undertone, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have Cai with us. All he cares about is that amulet, and… and he’s already been so much trouble…”
She trailed off when Iain held up a hand, saying, “I really want to clean up first, okay? I’ll go ahead to the spring and wash up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“You owe me a new flask.”
Deirdre didn’t look up from bandaging her hands. The wounds were not as bad as she’d first thought, though the scrapes were wide, covering her palms.
“I said, faery,” Cai began again, “you owe me—”
“I’ll get you a replacement at the festival,” she said, not looking at him.
“Fine.” Cai sat down, glancing at the ruined flask on the stone beside him and briefly rubbing his left side.
Deirdre’s mind was racing. That was the same magic, uncontrollable magic, like I used at that cat-themed inn or on the Fachan. But what kind of magic was it? Why was it so hard to control? She sighed, biting her lip as she looked over her bandaged hands. I really thought I was on the right track with magic except for last night. Why did this happen?
As they waited, James, after poking around the clearing for a while, began to read. Cai was sitting, leaning his back against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Alvey rolled her chair over to Deirdre, sniffing the air.
“I can smell the spring. ’Tis less than a minute away.”
“Uh-huh.” Deirdre didn’t look away from Cai.
Alvey sighed and mumbled something. Then she giggled.
Deirdre glanced at her. “What is it?”
“’Tis just…” Alvey blushed, gesturing toward where Iain had disappeared into the trees. “It almost makes me wish I had eyes.”
Deirdre stared at her, brow furrowed. “Do you want to see the spring? It should be pretty—”
Alvey shook her head. “’Tis not that. Rather…” She went on a whisper, leaning forward. “Iain is so much more mature than James, aye? And he smells better. I would imagine he is far, far more handsome.”
“What?” Deirdre’s mouth fell open as she realized Alvey had a crush. “You like Iain?”
“I would have thought that would be obvious.”
“But he’s so much older than you! You’re just fourteen.”
“That means nothing. Truly, that age difference is an advantage.” Leaning forward, she said in a sly tone, “If I ever get tired of him after we wed, I will not have too long to wait for him to pass!”
Deirdre let out a horrified gasp. “Alvey! Don’t say things like that.”
“’Tis just practical!”
“It’s unkind! And… and it’s a bit early to talk about marriage, isn’t it?”
“Not at all!” Alvey leaned back in her seat, her cheeks still pink. “We shall have to get married earlier than later, for we shall have children, at least twelve.”
Deirdre looked at her skinny figure, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am! And then all our children shall have large families, and bolstered by the elf blood in my veins, soon our descendants will be able to impact the entire population of England, shaping its future—and Iain and my love story will last forever!” She sighed, cupping her chin in her hands, her face now beet red. “We will be like Guinevere and Lancelot, Tristan and Iseult, Romeo and Juliet! But not stupid and dead and childless.”
Deirdre leaned away from the younger girl. She’d heard silly, lovestruck teenage fantasies before, but this was something else. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nay.” She sighed again, still smiling.
Scratching the back of her head, Deirdre briefly wondered what Iain would say about this. Of course he’d turn her down because she’s just a kid, but… I mean, I think guys are supposed to like blondes? And petite girls? Wait, wait, it’s just a little-girl crush! Of course it won’t go anywhere! She blinked, frowning. Why am I thinking about this so much?
Suddenly out of the woods came the sound of raised voices, followed by a loud splashing. Looking over, Deirdre gasped to see Cai had vanished.
Just then the bushes and trees rustled loudly, and Cai stumbled out, rubbing a mark on the side of his face, wincing in pain.
“What happened?” Deirdre demanded as he walked over to where he’d been seated before.
He sat down again, still rubbing the area. “Your boyfriend has a decent right hook, I’ll give him that.”
Alvey cut in. “He’s not her boyfriend!”
Iain burst out of the thicket in clean but wet clothes, his bag securely under his arm, face livid. “He planned this—getting me filthy so I’d let go of my bag for a minute! Well, the amulet wasn’t even in my bag!” He pointed to his neck. “And—he threw one of my pots at me!”
“Well, you’re the only reason I’m in this mess, aren’t you?” Cai snapped back, folding his arms. “If you’d just give me the bloody amulet—”
“I said no! You won’t get it back until I say so, and you’re not going to steal it!”
“Sure doesn’t look that way,” Cai muttered. “That’s what I get for trying to steal from a thief.”
“I didn’t steal it!” Iain pointed toward the way they’d come. “I found it in the cave—it reached out to me—if anyone stole it, the dwarf did!”
“Then you stole it from the dwarf.”
“The dwarf was dead. I killed him!”
“Oh.” Cai nodded his head. “I misunderstood. You’re the type to kill and then steal, hmm?”
“He was Unseelie—he was evil!”
“Fine, yes, I’ll give you that.” Cai held up his hands. “All right. You win.”
Iain and Deirdre kept glaring at him, not believing him for a second. The older man was entirely unaffected, beginning to pick at a bit of dirt under a fingernail.
Eventually he looked up at the two of them. “We going to the spring or not?”
Deirdre was about to scream at him when Iain suddenly turned to her and the others, saying, “We should refill our water. Come on.”
As they headed into the thicket and toward the sound of rushing water, Deirdre walked beside Iain. “Cai needs to go,” she whispered. “Who knows what else he might do to try to get it back?”
“I know he’s given us trouble. And you’re probably right, but…” Iain shook his head, though he looked even less determined than before. He gestured ahead. “Let’s just go.” Then he muttered to himself, just loud enough for her to hear, “I c
an’t believe I just punched a knight in the face…”
Then his eyes widened, and he glanced down at her bandaged hands. “You all right?”
“It’s not bad; they’re just scraped some.”
“It’s been a while since something like that happened.” His face was thoughtful. “Do you think that’s because you’re… talking to the magic now?”
She tilted her head. “Maybe? I know it happened because I got mad, just like before. But it was like all I’ve learned about Earth and Water Magic didn’t even matter!” She sighed, shutting her eyes. “I wish it would all just go away and leave me alone.”
“You don’t really mean that.”
Deirdre looked up at him.
“It’s a part of you, yeah?” He smiled, lightly clasping her shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”
She smiled, letting out a small sigh. “Thanks. I hope so.”
Suddenly Iain seemed to notice his hand was still on her shoulder, and he took it off quickly, pulling his arm down stiffly beside him, not making eye contact.
Chapter Six
Boyd lounged in his seat, his bruised knuckles locked together on the table in front of him. A pasty commanding officer sat across from him, looking over the report from the Forest Caves. Usually soldiers who ended up in a stark-white room like this were all clammy-skinned or wobbly-kneed because they’d done something wrong and were facing punishment. But Boyd didn’t break a sweat.
Philip always got onto him about not noticing or caring enough when he was in trouble. He could imagine being given a hard time for this—for not preparing enough or for not sprucing up first.
He could imagine how Philip would explain seriously why he should respect the law, why he should be concerned. Then he’d wave it off, and they’d have a drink and listen to a match on the radio. Just like that, all would be right again.
But he knew he wasn’t in trouble now; there would be nothing in any report that would incriminate him. The gun he’d used to dispatch Walker had been the one he swiped from Iain, a deserter, which no one would question. The dwarf’s magic could easily be blamed for any friendly fire that happened. And the only witnesses left were on General Callaghan’s side of things.
“’S like I told you in my initial report, Commander,” Boyd said, his mouth quirking into a smile. “It’s all there. Former Warden Callaghan confiscated my gun from me, shot Commander Walker, and fled the scene with the faery suspect.”
Shortly after the soldier finished reading his papers, he dismissed Boyd and told him to await orders. General Callaghan would be arriving soon, and he’d requested Boyd in his battalion.
As Boyd walked from the room and down the hall toward the canteen, he twisted his identity tags around his fingers and squeezed the metal until his palm stung. He realized he was angry.
The Iron Guard may not blame him for what had happened at the caves, but General Callaghan certainly hadn’t seen it that way. There was no mistaking the disappointment in his voice when he’d last called. It would be Boyd’s fault the faery had slipped his grasp.
The canteen was as stark and white as the interrogation room, but it was crowded with rowdy soldiers in training who were laughing riotously and the silent infantrymen who glared or shook their heads at them. Boyd got a tray of food and took a seat at an empty table beside another that was full.
As he ate, he overheard the conversation at the table next to him.
“I can’t picture it myself. An Iron Warden, dying in a blaze of glory, facing down a monster like that Fachan? And all that other nonsense from that radio call—it’s complete rubbish.”
“Especially being—what’d they call him—a Fancy Prancer?” another asked.
“That’s ’cause his name was Prance. It doesn’t mean anything else.” An older soldier interjected patiently. “And it’s true what happened. General Windsor confirmed it. He’s the one who got the call.”
Immediately the soldier’s words were drowned out by the others calling him a liar.
Boyd stopped eating midbite. He lowered his fork and knife, cutting his eyes over to the table.
One of the younger cadets asked thickly, “He confirmed that we’re going to war against the Summer Court?”
“No, you daft— He really did get that call from the Deserter and the Rogue Faery. The Deserter really is accusing the Iron Guard of assassinating the king. Prance was the one who started the rumor in the first place.”
Boyd’s tray slid across the table and crashed to the floor before he even realized he was throwing it. The group beside him looked up, startled.
“That’s not true.” Boyd stood abruptly, knocking his chair back.
“All right, mate,” the older soldier said, holding his hands up. “Just having a laugh.”
Boyd jabbed his finger at them, grounding out, “It’s not bloody funny either. Is it?”
“No—not in the slightest.”
“Brilliant. That was Prance’s brother…,” one of them said as Boyd turned away from the table.
He thundered out of the canteen, blindly, pushing down any thoughts that came to the surface of his mind. He had to focus on General Callaghan’s next orders. He had to focus on making Philip’s death mean something.
* * *
passed the security checkpoint, and stepped out of his truck. The base was located near the Peak District in a forested area. The ground used to house a church that was now in ruins, and what was currently the base was once a factory warehouse. The rules of sacred grounds still applied to Unseelie Fae, no matter how long the church had been in ruins, and they could not walk upon the land there.
The woods were lined with silver birch trees that were just shedding their yellow leaves. The bark was peeling off like layers of paint, their black knots like blank, staring eyes. As Alan walked deeper into the woods, he felt another set of eyes on him.
“I hope no one spotted you.” The Master’s voice weaved through the forest like smoke; the birds singing overhead immediately stopped and all went silent. “What would your little army think if they saw you walk into the deep, dark forest to meet me? I daren’t guess.”
“I’m alone.” Alan’s eyes narrowed as he glanced about for the voice’s origin.
“How very profound.” The Master stepped out from behind a tree directly in front of Alan, dressed in black like a shadow. “Oh, you meant more than metaphorically alone.”
Alan raised his eyebrows. The Master was usually dressed in strange, old-fashioned clothing like a gaudy Edwardian painting. However, now he was wearing modern black trousers, a black T-shirt that looked too thin for the autumn weather, and combat boots.
Not missing Alan’s reaction, the Master threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, forgive me. I’m going to a festival, you see, and I thought I’d dress the part. It’ll be fun. In fact, I’m meeting our dear boy there.” The Master’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. “I’ll just be completing our arrangement and taking James off your hands—”
“You lying snake.” Quick as a flash, Alan struck out and grabbed the Master by his neck, shoving him back against one of the birch trees. The tree shook, and leaves scattered down around them.
The Master’s pale throat bobbed under his hand, and he squeezed harder as he felt a laugh vibrating, Alan’s hand shaking from the effort of keeping himself from crushing him.
The golden eyes like shiny coins widened briefly before the Master choked out, “Darling, you can’t kill me. If you could, then our arrangement dies with me—”
“Our arrangement,” Alan ground out, “is a farce. We agreed that the boy would be the exchange. Not her. She was never meant to be part of this.”
“Can you not even say her name?”
When Alan let go, the Master gasped and slid down the tree. But he soon recovered, brushing off his clothing. “You’ve found us out then? Our little charade is over?” The Master tutted. “Ah, women can never keep secrets.”
“James told me.”
The Master’s demeanor changed in an instant at the mention of the boy. He leaped upright, smiling, and spoke to himself as if Alan was not there. “He figured that out, did he? Perfect. Wonderful. It’s just as I thought…”
“What else have you been lying about?” Alan growled.
The Master noticed him again, his head snapping up. “Why do you ask? Honestly, I didn’t think you would care at all. Why do you care?”
He studied Alan with such scrutiny that Alan had to turn his head. He felt like an animal in a jar under lights, prodded.
“Fascinating,” the Master said. “Is that why you’re such a poor, wretched mess? Because you think I didn’t do as we agreed—not completely?”
“I don’t appreciate being lied to.”
Is that it? Is that what’s been… tormenting me? Alan wondered.
That did not seem right. It wasn’t just the lying. It was much more than that.
The Master took slow, careful steps, his hands raised as if Alan were some dark creature instead of a man. “Look at you. Your property is burned to the ground, your sons have betrayed you, and your wife…”
Alan felt his face twitch. He clenched his fists at his sides, watching the Master as he circled around.
“Oh, your lovely little wife has fled from you with all her might and shudders at the thought of you. So, if you were to kill me, for example, all you’d have left are memories. And we both know you’re not strong enough to bear that.
“And without being able to complete your glorious war, well, everything you’ve worked for your entire life, everything you’ve sacrificed, will have been for nothing. All for naught. I don’t scare easily, but that thought makes my insides quake.”
Then the Master reached into his trouser pocket and produced something that gleamed in the speckled light through the shade of the leaves. “I found this shoved in a filthy hole in my fireplace.”
He tossed it to Alan, who barely caught it against his chest. He sucked in a breath at the sight the tarnished gold wedding band with a red garnet gem at its center.
“Kallista left that at my estate,” the Master said. “Before she stabbed me.”
