Seelie (The Falcon Grey Files Book 1)

by Sarah Luddington

  “I don’t think it really matters how it turns out, I just have to try to stop him,” I said.

  “It matters to me,” Paris said. “I care very much what happens to you, Falcon. We need to make sure you are focused. How do you feel?”

  I stepped back. “How do you think I feel?”

  He closed his eyes and sighed, obviously seeking patience. “I don’t mean Marcus,” Paris said. “I mean can you face Aquila? Leo’s death must be having some kind of effect on Elfhame.”

  I considered his words for a moment. Did I feel anything from Elfhame? Fratricide wasn’t unknown among the royal family. “Right now I can’t feel anything but Marcus,” I said.

  Paris nodded and patted my shoulder. “Then we go and hope there won’t be a problem we can’t handle.”

  I glanced at the cage. Paris stopped moving, noticing my hesitation. “I can’t leave him, Paris. He’s been alone for so long without me... All that pain...”

  My friend stood beside me instantly. “Don’t, Falcon. If you think like that you will lose. You have to separate Marcus from everything else. You know that. If you lose we lose and if we lose, we lose everything. Aquila will use you, not Leo, and keep your father alive and suffering. He will force you to become his puppet and king, you don’t want that,” he spoke quickly, trying to fill my head with positive words. Words that would help me face down the enemy. “Marcus isn’t there, love,” he said finally and gently. “He no longer cares whether you are here or not.”

  I nodded, squared my shoulders and walked out of the room that held the cage, holding Marcus. I buried the pain under thoughts of death. We quietly retraced our steps and I might not be able to feel anything right now but Gimlé certainly did and the city began to react to Leo’s death. The palace grew cold. While we ran through oddly quiet halls and corridors, my breath started to show in the frigid air and the mottling on the walls rippled and changed. The black stains grew darker and shifted through a range of colours. The walls cracked and crumbled.

  “This isn’t good,” Paris said.

  “This is more than Leo’s death, this is the real war. My father needs help,” I said. We upped our speed and raced through the long passageways.

  We retraced our steps and I drew the rapier and dagger, flexing my hand on the hilt. I felt odd, different, the grief washing away for a moment. Paris was right, Elfhame had begun to reorganise who and what she dealt with; unfortunately this was leaving me weak and disoriented.

  I grabbed Paris’ arm. “Something is happening. I’m not right,” I whispered.

  “You have to be. I can’t take Aquila on – I’m not strong enough. You saw what Leo did to me. He’d finish me in moments,” Paris hissed.

  I nodded, he was right, I had to fight. I straightened and opted for the sensible option, cutting myself off from the growing chaos I felt slowly reaching out from the life force of Elfhame. I staggered under the impact but it left me more in control of my own mind. I felt like I did when I walked to work, I felt human and that made me weak. Controlled but weak.

  “Let’s hope Aquila’s not paying attention,” I muttered.

  Shock and awe are sometimes the only way to make an entrance and I knew we didn’t have time for subtlety. I opened the door just slightly, checked the interior briefly and kicked it heavily against the wall, the crash making everyone in the room jump. I rushed Aquila and my mind sorted out the images on the way.

  My father stood and resembled the man I remembered from my childhood. Tall, elegant, noble and naked. His long blonde hair was a lighter shade than mine and almost swept the floor. Aquila – his hard warrior’s body was now a mess of small wounds. Gifling – tiny against the huge man – her eyes bulging out of her skull as Aquila tried to throttle her. The small meadow elf held a peeling knife in her hand and she waved it randomly, cutting the Commander wherever she could reach.

  I slammed into Aquila and knocked him from Gifling. My body, strong and fit for a human, wouldn’t stand up to a concerted attack from a Seelie warrior, but blood poured from wounds in Aquila and I could see the fear in his eyes. He was losing. Gifling had almost stopped him.

  We rolled and I remained in human form, too afraid of the consequences to touch my more powerful half form, but Aquila did the same. A falcon against an eagle, I shouldn’t stand a chance but I held my own as we exchanged a series of vicious blows. I heard Paris scream something and agony erupted in my side. The Commander had managed to find a kitchen knife and I hadn’t noticed. It now stuck in my ribs. I smashed my forehead down on his nose. It exploded and he screamed. I grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled it from my side, blood cascading down my flank. I ignored it.

  “This is for Marcus, you fucking bastard,” I panted. I thrust upward into his guts and Aquila’s eyes widened.

  “Leo...”

  “Dead,” I said. The glee in my voice probably wasn’t necessary but it felt good.

  “You always were good, Falcon, but not as good as me,” Aquila grinned.

  “No!” I shouted. Too late, Aquila muttered and a series of flashing sparks surrounded him. Aquila folded out of Elfhame and into the human world. I closed my eyes, ready to follow, when my father spoke to me for the first time in close to one hundred years.

  “No, son. Let him go. You must live.” His voice was soft and the words were so perfectly pronounced I just stopped in astonishment and looked at my father. He smiled at me. “You came home.”

  Sweat mingled with the blood on my cheeks. “I returned for my friend. Leo killed him. She is dead, father.”

  “I know. I feel stronger by the moment now my dear Elfhame knows to return to me,” he said.

  “Don’t you care about Leo?”

  “I have other children.” And that summed up my father. We never did understand each other.

  I dropped my head toward my chest, the blood from my side pumping steadily. “I need to go home.”

  Paris approached. “You need to remain here and be healed.”

  “I need Marcus’ body and his pelt,” I said.

  “Silly Birdie,” Gifling said from the floor. I’d forgotten about her. I limped to her side and knelt with difficulty.

  “Are you alright?” I asked.

  “Your mother is fine,” my father said.

  Gifling giggled and pushed a finger against my forehead, I toppled backwards onto my arse in shock, the words so odd I didn’t know what to make of them.

  My other friend and protector came to my side. Paris knelt beside me and held out a piece of cloth, pressing his hand against my ribs. “Stay, Falcon. You need to heal,” he whispered.

  I closed my eyes and let go. He caught me to his chest and Elfhame left me alone for a while.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Light. I groaned. A gentle hand on my head and some words hissed in irritation. I could make out the tone but not the words themselves.

  I lifted an arm and my hand was captured. Soft lips pressed against the back. “Wake up, Falcon. You are safe.”

  Paris. Elfhame. Gimlé. Leo. Marcus... My mother.

  The tears came with the pain. I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t have the strength to sob but it hurt, it hurt so deeply, far more deeply than the knife wound.

  Hands slapped the one holding mine. “Let him go, my job,” insisted Gifling. My mother. Was that real? I giggled. More tears – more giggling. Some more voices – these were very concerned and then sleep once more.

  Dark. I opened my eyes just a little; a head rested on the edge of a coverlet, a hand held one of mine. Paris. I gripped his fingers and he woke instantly.

  I held back the memories this time. If I concentrated on the present the grief couldn’t overwhelm me.

  He lifted his head and smiled, the worry in his eyes plain. “How are you?”

  “Water.”

  He moved instantly. “Of course.” He reached for a jug and cup next to the bed. He lifted my head and helped me drink. My side hurt like a bitch and when he lay me down I gasp
ed, my mind spinning with the pain.

  “If you open yourself up you’ll heal,” he said. “They don’t know how you’ve done it but you stopped Elfhame from reaching you.”

  “Good. I’ll heal without her the human way,” I said. “I need a hospital.”

  “You are all stitched up. You can stay here safely.” Paris placed his hands on my chest and I didn’t have the strength to fight him.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  He returned to holding my hand. “Well, it seems all sorts of things none of us knew anything about. Your father married Gifling, long before becoming King of Elfhame. They continued to be lovers after he married Elfhame’s choice for the union. When their union didn’t produce heirs he managed to convince both his wives and Elfhame that Gifling, real name Gylfa, should bear his children. Which she did, but the legitimate wife cast her out the moment you were born and raised you as her own. Gifling retreated to the world of men and stayed there, mad as a box of frogs, because when a meadow elf loses their heart and it gets broken it sends them bonkers.”

  “That bodes so well for me,” I said. “Doubly cursed.”

  Paris didn’t say anything, wisely staying away from mentioning Marcus.

  “Anyway,” he continued after a long pause. “Eventually wife number two did have an heir. Your brother. So you were right all along, he should be king. He’s just too young and your father is too bonkers, so you are still our best hope.”

  I ignored him. “How is he now?” I asked.

  “Sane as a sponge cake,” Paris said with straight face. It took a moment for the extended pun to work but when it did I had to laugh. That made everything hurt but the kind of pain which means you’re alive.

  Paris smiled at me. “It’s good to see you laugh.”

  I nodded. “Have you found –”

  “Yes. Sayta helped, the Hunters who support you are here. He found it. Marcus is safe and waiting for you to say goodbye,” Paris said. He spoke with such tender love.

  “I don’t deserve a friend like you,” I said.

  “I could be more,” he said.

  I already knew the answer to that one. “Paris... I can’t... I have a life in the human world. I want to go back to it. I want to make it work. I need to see my brother. I can’t have other Seelie near him. Not yet.” They were all excuses. I needed to retreat to something safe and lick my metaphorical wounds. I needed to mourn over my losses. I needed to be released from my grief for Marcus in my own way and in my own time.

  Paris nodded. “I know. Perhaps another time.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “I hope so,” I added.

  He didn’t say anything in reply.

  “Is my mother still here?” I asked after a long and increasingly awkward pause.

  Paris, returning from his own thoughts, nodded. “She’s refusing to be anything other than Gifling and is running rings around your father but she’s here.”

  “I’ll go to her,” I said, struggling to rise.

  “Birdie,” came the happy call. A small body rushed toward us and pushed Paris off his chair. She climbed up and threw her arms around my neck. “Birdie better.”

  I chuckled. “Birdie better, mother,” I said.

  Gifling hid her face in my neck and shook her head. “Don’t, Birdie. Too much. Too much. Healed the old fool. That’s all I can do.”

  She’d been alone for centuries and I wasn’t about to cure her with a single word. I stroked her head. “Alright, Gifling. Whenever you’re ready. And thank you. Thank you for everything.” I cradled her and she clung to me tightly.

  “Bad lion, sad bear,” she said.

  “Yes.” And the grief came. This time she cradled me and I clung to her. Paris retreated.

  In the end I arranged a Hunter’s funeral for Marcus. My father wouldn’t allow a slave to have anything like the kind of funeral a lord of Gimlé would expect, so I helped to carry his body on a bier, with Paris next to me, out of the city and twelve of us bid him farewell, his thick bear’s skin separate to his body but covering the mutilation. I did not weep. We sang our grief to the waxing moon and watched the fire burn him to ashes, then the wind blew those ashes away. It took a full night, a day and a night. None of us left the site; none of us ate or drank.

  When we’d finished we returned to the city and I quenched my thirst at last in the Hunters’ favourite tavern. I woke fully clothed with Paris lying next to me.

  The grief had maintained its hold and over the previous week I’d had enough of Seelie politics to drive me to edge of madness and murder on more than one occasion. The damned Hunters who supported me wanted me to fight for the role of Commander. I finally pulled rank, becoming the Crown Prince, and banished them from court while I was in residence. I’d tried to push the importance of finding and destroying Aquila, the Hunters who’d been allies of Leo and the Commander needed rounding up and those who were loyal needed to tear the human world apart trying to find him. My father, however, was more interested in celebrating his freedom from his daughter’s clutches. A long series of banquets were arranged and, considering the poverty in the city itself, the idea made me sick. I couldn’t sit there toasting my father when Marcus drifted on the winds of Elfhame.

  I rose quietly from the bed I shared with Paris, clutching the knife wound in my side; between that and the scratches Leo had torn in me while we’d been fighting I still hurt, but I wouldn’t allow Elfhame to take over. I’d heal slowly and I’d fill up my energy slowly, not giving into the drug which is Elfhame’s power. I gazed down at my drinking companion. Paris lay quietly, fully clothed and passed out. His handsome face was slack and his hair left dark trails over his face. I sighed heavily. I loved him but I couldn’t stay just for him. He’d been wonderful and I’d shared the Breath of Life with him, but we’d not made love again. I owed him a great deal but I couldn’t cope with any more responsibility in Elfhame, I needed freedom. I wanted to go home and London felt like home. I didn’t think he’d be happy in London; Marcus wouldn’t have been.

  I wandered the hallways of Gimlé and realised I’d lost more than the love of my life to the court of the Seelie. I’d lost the one person in both worlds able to control the dark and seething power I felt lurking inside my soul, waiting to devour my sanity. Marcus, as my Dominus, held my soul safe by controlling me, giving me structure and balance through my desires. Paris couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me that control and as I made my way outside the citadel, I wondered what would happen to me now I’d lost the restraints and tools I’d used during my time away from Marcus. He’d always been there for me, even when I hadn’t known it, because now he was dead I felt those restraints finally falling from my shoulders.

  Would living in London as a mortal be enough to control my dark and base needs? I had to hope so for all our sakes or I’d be back to Gimlé madder than my sister and committing patricide to avenge Marcus’ downfall.

  I retreated to a small garden which would give me the space I needed for doing what I wanted to do. I saw Gifling on a bench, her small legs swinging in the air.

  “Hello, Birdie,” she said.

  “Hello, Gifling,” I said.

  “Home?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She nodded and studied the ground. “Probably best.”

  “You coming?” I asked.

  She huffed and tugged on a lock of hair. “No. You have a path to travel. I have one too, they are different for now. I need to keep the foolish old man sane. While he is dealing with me he is sane.” She grinned and winked at me.

  I laughed. “You are a clever lady.”

  “Where do you think you find it?” she asked and tapped her head.

  I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Look after Paris.”

  She nodded. “I’ll try to fix him but can’t promise.”

  He still had no ties to Elfhame but others could give him the Breath of Life.

  “Thank you.”

  “Be happy,” she paused. “Son.�
�

  “I’ll try.”

  She swung off the bench and hugged my leg for a moment before running off faster than I could track.

  I stared around me for a moment studying Gimlé and said a silent farewell. Closing my eyes I concentrated and felt the familiar tingle spread from my feet. I became a being of light, the sparks a series of tingling pings from my crown to my toes. I ripped a hole between Elfhame and London, folding myself between one world and the next. When I opened my eyes I stood in the centre of Piccadilly Circus under Cupid.

  Traffic blared its horns and a policeman started shouting at me for being a bloody fool. I smiled and waved, calling out my name and rank, coughing happily on the smog. A large four by four screeched to a halt and caused instant chaos, more horns blared and traffic began to stop at the busy junction.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Bethan yelled out of the window.

  I glanced up at Cupid. “Thought it was time I returned from holiday. I knew you’d miss me,” I said. I opened the car door and climbed into the repaired Jeep.

  She stared at me in amazement. I glanced down at her leg, she wore a long skirt. “How’s the leg?” I asked.

  “Falcon, you’ve been gone for almost nine weeks,” she said. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Bet Hoggart’s not pleased,” I said.

  “Pleased? I’m driving to my disciplinary hearing,” she said, just a little on the shrill side.

  “I suggest you keep driving before London comes to a standstill,” I said, pointing to the road ahead.

  “Falcon...”

  “Drive, Bethan. You can’t be late for a hearing,” I said, brightly. “Paperwork is what drives the modern police force and we can’t deny them their right to make us fill it in.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she murmured. She knocked her Jeep into gear and began to drive out of the mess I’d made by coming home.