Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae Page 8

  Quinton. Eilidh’s voice reached his thoughts. Feeling her so intimately in his mind made him pick up his pace. There is difficult news. Prepare yourself.

  What news? he wanted to ask, and was frustrated he had no way to respond. He grumbled about her sending such a cryptic message. Why not tell him the entire story and let him be ready to deal with the problem? Such a vague warning only guaranteed he would be more on edge when he arrived.

  I’m mind-speaking with five people at once. Be patient. He laughed at her gentle scolding. Of course she would sense his impatience. He’d missed this closeness over the past weeks. Admittedly, he had feared she would send him back as soon as he stepped through the portal. She’d told him to wait for her summons, but once he’d read the Killbourne Wall, he needed her counsel more than ever.

  ∞

  Eilidh had chosen a small but formal audience chamber to hear Oron’s charge. She gave her friend and mentor every courtesy, but even though he protested, she allowed Rory, Tràth, Douglas, Griogair, and Flùranach to attend, along with four senior members of the joint conclave. Because this was not a trial, the entire membership didn’t need to be present, and the girl had been through enough in recent nights without overwhelming her with old, powerful faeries. Not to mention Prince Tràth, who blamed himself for what happened.

  Eilidh was glad Munro would soon be with them. She delayed the start as much as possible without insulting the elder so her druid could hear the story from each perspective. Although present on the night, Munro wouldn’t know what happened to Flùranach after he left or the many theories put forward from all corners. Despite his ignorance, someone should be present to speak for Rory, the subject of many accusations.

  Munro entered the chamber as Oron began to speak. The druid bowed to Eilidh formally, then nodded to Griogair, Oron, and the other three elders. Eilidh inclined her head in response, and wondered at the changes she sensed in him. Clearly something happened in the Halls of Mist. It pained her to have to wait to question him about his experiences.

  “Forgive the interruption, Elder Oron,” Munro said. “I arrived as soon as I could.”

  Oron looked uncharacteristically peeved, but then, Eilidh conceded, he’d been overwrought ever since Flùranach had fallen ill. He ignored Munro’s apology and turned back to Rory, who sat next to Flùranach on a low bench facing Eilidh’s throne. They’d told Flùranach to sit in the back, but she’d refused. She’d become an insolent and petulant young woman, but considering she’d become a young woman in mere days, Eilidh wasn’t inclined to insist. “Do you admit to putting the idea in my granddaughter’s head?” Oron asked Rory.

  “Look,” Rory replied. “I never meant for anybody to do anything. I told her I didn’t know how the bonding magic worked. I’ve only ever heard of three bonded pairs, two of which are right in this room. How am I supposed to know if you can bond with a child?”

  “You told her you might be able to bond with her if she were older,” Oron said. “Thus planting the idea she should try to use unnatural means to achieve those ends.”

  “How could I suggest something I didn’t think possible?” Rory appeared as shocked and flummoxed now as when he first learned of Oron’s accusations.

  Flùranach sat unnaturally still. Her eyes were glazed and distant. The girl’s vague expression troubled Eilidh, because it was so similar to the way Tràth sometimes disappeared into himself. At least the prince seemed to snap out of it quickly and could relate to others. When she did interact, Flùranach, on the other hand, had become like an unbroken horse.

  Eilidh held up her hand. “Prince Tràth, how likely is it the change in Flùranach can be reversed?”

  “I hold little hope.” The prince shook his head with a frown. “Elder Oron, if you want to blame someone, blame me.” His blue eyes swirled. He strongly resembled his father when he looked sad and serious.

  Prince Griogair interrupted. “No. You tried to save her, son. There is no fault for your part in this.”

  “I’m not taking the fall for this,” Rory said. “I don’t even understand what bloody happened.”

  Eilidh fought not to grin at his casual tone. He’d never adjusted to the idea of Eilidh being a queen. Most of the druids treated her the same way they did the day they met her, and she treasured that. She regretted being forced to question him. Her heart told her he’d done nothing wrong, but Oron was incensed, and questions needed to be answered.

  “You dare speak in such—” Oron began.

  “Elder,” Eilidh interrupted him. “If I may.” She turned to Tràth without waiting for an answer from Oron. “Tell me, as best you understand, what happened. I know you tried before, but anything you can offer would help. After all, you are the only faerie with experience touching temporal flows.”

  Tràth related events from the moment he and Flùranach travelled together. She’d heard the story through Griogair, but the tale was even more haunting first-hand. “The darkness roared around us. I did my best to hold on, but she slipped. I let go…” his voice trailed off.

  “No,” Flùranach said. “I let go. I saw a future I wanted, and I reached for it.” Her voice was distant, as though she relived the moment. “Time took me.” A tear trickled down the young woman’s cheek.

  Eilidh remembered first meeting the girl and hardly recognised her. She had difficultly remembering the lovely woman in front of them was only eight years old. Her body had matured to that of a faerie in her mid-twenties, but her eyes had something in them that looked much older.

  “The druid did this,” Oron said, pointing to Rory. “He formed an attachment to the girl, and contrived to bond with her.”

  “No,” Flùranach said. “The druids are special to me. Their magic rings in my mind. I am, in a way, bonded to each of them.”

  Eilidh looked at Munro. “What do you know of this?” He had been quiet and thoughtful throughout the hearing.

  “Flùranach feels like family,” he said. “I think I’ve known from the moment I met her. I don’t understand how, but if she says she can sense druidic magic, I believe her. A similar talent was used to find four of the five druids now in Caledonia, so the possibility shouldn’t be a surprise.”

  Eilidh nodded. “Flùranach, I am the first to say we do not fully understand the consequences of your impulsive and childish act. But to chastise a child for behaving like one is a folly. Many bear some share of blame for these events, yet none will suffer as you will.”

  “Why should I suffer? What is so wrong with what I have become? Am I not beautiful? Am I not even more talented? Open to more magic? I see things. Wonderful things.” She glanced at her grandfather oddly. “Horrible things.”

  “You are only a child,” Oron said.

  “Not anymore,” Flùranach said stubbornly. Her eyes grew distant and she repeated the phrase quietly. “Not anymore.” Something in her voice made Eilidh shudder.

  “Elder Oron,” Eilidh began, “as much as I understand your grief and the loss and uncertainty you’re experiencing, I cannot see any reason for this druid to bear the weight of blame alone. Perhaps he did encourage Flùranach to grow up faster, but how could he have foreseen these events? Perhaps Tràth acted unwisely in taking Flùranach on such a journey, but when things went wrong, he did everything to prevent disaster. Even you must admit the girl has a way of persuading those around her to do as she wishes.”

  Without waiting for the elder’s response, she continued, “Flùranach, I do not understand what happened, but no one can deny you have changed deeply. Until we do have some understanding, I charge you to stay with your grandfather. Submit to whatever tests and teaching he may devise for you, and, for now, keep away from the druids. You conjured unfamiliar magic, so for their safety and yours, we must act with caution. We cannot risk any of them falling prey to whatever happened to you. Your link with them may alter their abilities in a way we can’t predict.”

  The girl’s eyes widened with horror at the thought. “I won’t leave them.
They’re mine,” she spluttered and flung herself into Rory’s arms. The druid held her uncomfortably.

  “You will,” Eilidh said, her words sharp. “I will risk no harm to them. They are under the protection of Caledonia, and you will not defy my command.” She tried to soften her tone. “This is not a punishment, child. We are only concerned for their welfare and yours. Your grandfather and I will confer as time goes on. When we deem it safe, you will be allowed to return to their company.”

  “I hate you!” Flùranach screamed, looking very much a child, despite her features and her peculiar pale eyes.

  “Be that as it may,” Eilidh said and nodded to Oron, who bowed in response. He collected his weeping granddaughter and guided the wailing girl from the hall.

  Eilidh sighed as the noise subsided. “Thank you all,” she said, then smiled. “My mate tells me a queen does not need to say such things as please and thank you, but I find myself humbly grateful.” She stood, signalling an end to the gathering. “Griogair, would you bring Munro to confer with me after he has a chance to rest and eat after his journey?”

  Prince Griogair inclined his head. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he said with a small grin. She could tell he found her lack of formality amusing, so he made up for her lapses by doubling his own. One day, she thought, she would learn to behave as a queen should. Perhaps.

  Chapter 11

  Since stepping into the Otherworld from the Halls of Mist, Munro had detected two emotions consistently from Eilidh. One was anxiety and distrust, but sadly, she’d experienced varying levels of that from the moment of her coronation. She’d never been under the illusion that taking on the duties of a royal would be easy, but neither of them had anticipated how difficult and fraught it would be.

  The other sensation he perceived troubled him more. A shadow wrapped around the place she normally carried her love for him. He hadn’t grasped the mood until he saw her face-to-face. Once he stood in her presence, he couldn’t deny the subtle change. Her love wasn’t diminished, but doubt had crept in. What he didn’t understand was the source or character of the feeling.

  He and Griogair left the audience chamber last. “I can eat later,” Munro said. “Let’s talk to Eilidh. I need to find out what’s been happening. Was that really Flùranach?”

  Griogair tilted his head, a subtle gesture of disagreement. “You should eat first. We’ll talk.”

  Munro wanted to argue, but he knew Griogair well enough to realise the prince-consort had made up his mind and wouldn’t be swayed. Relenting would prove the easiest choice.

  “Why did you return?” Griogair asked quietly as they walked down the corridor. “My mate didn’t bid you to return.”

  My mate. It grated on Munro whenever Griogair made a pointed remark indicating he was Eilidh’s husband. “I thought I had free passage in Caledonia. If Eilidh didn’t want me here, she would have turned me back the second she sensed me stepping through the portal.”

  “Perhaps,” Griogair said, but again signalled his disagreement with a subtle frown.

  “Was it you who suggested keeping me in the Halls of Mist indefinitely?” Munro felt torn between his friendship with Griogair and the jealous pangs taunting him every time the prince took his rightful place beside Eilidh. The feelings surprised Munro. He thought he’d come to terms with their arrangement, yet he found it harder than expected to let go of everything his human upbringing taught him.

  “Yes,” the prince replied. He gestured for Munro to precede him to the terrace where they often ate together. Within moments, servants appeared, bringing honeyed froth and a platter of fresh fruit.

  “And did you also plant the doubt tangling her mind?”

  A flash of pity played across Griogair’s features. “I find it difficult not to like you,” he said unexpectedly and picked a piece of fruit from the plate. “Try the figs. They’re just coming into perfect season.”

  The tension fizzled, and Munro relaxed. Why had he become so suspicious? “Something is troubling Eilidh. Something to do with me. What’s happened?”

  “The queen demanded my silence on the subject,” Griogair said. “I argued the point. I reminded her that your suspicious nature would lead you to question me,” he added with a smirk.

  Munro took the remark good-naturedly. He’d been a cop too long not to be suspicious of nearly everything people told him. He wondered sometimes if he’d ever get over that tendency. He also noticed Griogair referred to her as “the queen,” which told Munro the prince would have defied anyone else.

  “On this, she wouldn’t listen,” Griogair said. Before Munro could respond, the prince shifted the subject. “How is Ríona? Does she serve you well?”

  “Yes,” Munro said but couldn’t disguise his unease at how he and the scholar had left things. “We’ve had a few breakthroughs. I’m eager to tell you and Eilidh about them.”

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Griogair said distantly.

  “Ríona?” Munro asked. “She’s a good translator,” he replied cautiously. “A hard worker. Passionate about rune study.”

  Griogair chuckled. “I thought you would find her attractive. She seemed most curious about you when I described the help you require.”

  “And you also told her of the rumours about me?”

  “Are there rumours?” Griogair asked with mock surprise.

  “I suppose it would kill you to be discrete when you’re wearing my face,” Munro grumbled. Did Griogair encourage Ríona to seduce him? Surely he knew Munro had always been faithful to Eilidh.

  “It might,” Griogair said.

  Did Griogair want Munro to fall into bed with Ríona? Only one thing would explain why that would be the case. “Do you love her?” Munro asked quietly. He took some fruit and ate, despite not feeling particularly hungry. He needed an excuse not to look at Griogair.

  “I barely know her,” Griogair said, brushing a speck of dust from his dark tunic. “We met a few moons ago when she accompanied one of the keepers here to receive an honour. I admit I find her appealing but never had the opportunity to pursue her.”

  “I don’t mean Ríona, and you know it.”

  Griogair shifted slightly, an almost imperceptible sign of discomfort. He raised his gaze to meet Munro’s. “What do faeries know of love?”

  Munro never considered Griogair might resent him. Six months ago, the prince suggested their arrangement, and they had a friendly relationship. He knew Munro and Eilidh shared an ancient magical bond. But if Griogair loved Eilidh, seeing her with Munro, being asked to step aside day after day so she could bed another man, would torture him. “I’m sorry,” Munro said and looked away. He breathed in deeply, taking his turn to switch topics. “I’ve missed Caledonia. The air in the Halls of Mist is thick. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” Griogair replied. “I do.”

  Munro wasn’t sure which question the prince was answering. Yes, he loved Eilidh? Or yes, he understood about the air being thick on the other side of the portal? Munro knew, if he was honest with himself. Why else would Griogair take such delight in spreading rumours about Munro’s supposed escapades? “She cares deeply for you. I think if we hadn’t bonded first…” Munro didn’t like to admit it, but he knew he was right. If he and Eilidh had never met, she might be happy with Griogair. On the other hand, if he and Eilidh hadn’t met, Griogair would still be married to Queen Cadhla, Eilidh would be an outcast, and Munro would have been murdered six months ago.

  He pushed aside the remnants of food. His appetite had abandoned him.

  “Shall we go meet the queen?” Griogair rose and gestured toward the door.

  Munro followed suit but wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “I know everything you do is for her benefit, even sending me away. You wouldn’t if you thought it would hurt her.”

  Griogair inclined his head. “I serve her always.”

  “Serve her any way you need to. I can be a selfish git sometimes. But, like you, I’ll always put her first.�
��

  “Any way?” The question rang with an equal measure of disdainful disbelief and a challenge.

  Would Munro really give Griogair permission to bed Eilidh? Not that Eilidh needed permission. She was the bloody queen. But he doubted Griogair would pursue it behind Munro’s back. He hadn’t really intended his words to come out this way, but there was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for her. She wasn’t a regular woman. Hell, she wasn’t even a regular faerie. “Whatever she needs. Besides, who are mere mortals like you and I to refuse a request from a queen?” Munro asked with a chuckle.

  “A request she’ll never make. She is bound to you in ways none of us fully understand. But thank you for your attempt at camaraderie. I can see how it has pained you to be apart from her this past moon, and how much your offer cost you, despite your sincerity. One thing I find refreshing about humans is how bad you are at lying.”

  Munro grinned. “We’ll have to share our pain like brothers then.” He’d intended it as a joke, but despite the surprised look on Griogair’s face, he meant it. They were brothers, of a sort. They shared more than Eilidh. They helped her carry burdens and secrets no one else understood.

  “What pain?” Griogair said with a smile, then added, “brother.”

  ∞

  Rory did his best to follow Flùranach despite her head start and nimble feet. He knew where she usually hid when in trouble or upset, and she headed there now. His mind muddled with confusion. A couple of weeks ago, he would have sworn he thought of her like a little sister. Then everything changed. She even acted different. Whatever she saw in the time vortex transformed more than her appearance.

  He came to the little cave opposite a huge copse of pine and took the precarious climb down. Water flowed on nearby rocks, making them slippery and uninviting, but he had to find her. Her heart had broken, and it was his fault. Confusion plagued her. The once confident, delightful girl had become a frightened, yet powerful, young woman. The way everyone was looking to place the blame made him angry. Nobody tried to help her cope with the terrifying changes. His own adolescence hadn’t been the easiest, but at least he had the normal number of years to deal with it. Flùranach had skipped adolescence altogether.