TWENTY-SIX
FAELAN
I stand at Sage’s side, getting ready for the demis to begin their introductions. The awareness of my blood on her forehead is nearly overwhelming, the small crescent moon showing me as her chosen shadow, tied to her as long as she wishes. And after what I did beside the fountain, that idea is . . . terrifying.
Some of the most powerful demis in the West are here to witness my soul’s suicide—even the Cast’s envoy is looking on with sharp eyes. It’s rare for so many to be present at an Introduction. The Emergence ceremony is where the full court gathers. Tonight, however, there are several representatives from every line in attendance. The curiosity about the newblood is strong. And I have a feeling Marius is about to have serious competition for her loyalty.
Sage is a ruby appearing in an ash heap, and the world’s head is turning to see it catch the light.
She’s standing tall in spite of the fear I can feel on her. I wait just behind her on the small platform as each House approaches to place their gifts and their intentions on the table.
But first the envoy to the Cast comes forward, the representative of our lords—or, more accurately, our babysitters. He looks Sage over, head to toe, taking stock, and allowing those on the Otherside who are watching through his eyes to take stock as well. The silence of the moment stretches out as he studies her. Then he tips his head, like he’s listening to something.
“Our lords wish to welcome you to the fold,” he says. “They see you are well settled with a protector and will be watching your Emergence closely. The Balance must be kept.” When Sage doesn’t respond to his words with the usual “May Danu aid us,” he adds, “I’m sure you agree,” his tone becoming low. A warning.
Sage doesn’t know the meaning of the man’s words, but she nods, which seems to be enough for the envoy, thank Dagda.
I should’ve prepped her to meet an envoy. I just didn’t expect one to be here. They usually leave the Introductions to the local powers. This is a clear sign of how seriously the Cast is taking a new female demi from the line of fire: with watchful caution.
The envoy bows his head and mutters the blessing of Danu under his breath in Gaelic, “All is life, all is death, may the Mother be with you,” before he turns and walks away, his duty complete.
The weight in the air lifts as he goes, and the head druid priestess moves forward to begin calling out the Houses and demi titles.
They are announced in reverse order of importance, so the lowest House walks up to Sage first, the House of Brighid, with Marius as the master, and two of his druid children: Aelia and the eldest daughter, Riona, who must’ve come in from Paris. And from behind them appears Sage’s brother Sean, that hand-carved pipe perched between his lips as always. He’s the only useful or respectable demi of Brighid’s line left besides Sage—the others have all been sanctioned, decapitated, or cast into the Pit.
He takes his pipe from his teeth and kneels at her feet, saying his hello quietly. That unusual open smile of his fills his features, and his red curls are as unruly as ever.
Sage barely seems to hear him or see him, focused intently on those at the end of the line.
She’s got her attention locked on Kieran and his sister Mara. Their party is last, a larger group made up of half a dozen demis, along with their consort underlings and druids.
Her gaze finds them every few seconds, like she’s expecting them to pounce on her. Luckily, Kieran would never risk harming her here.
I lean over and whisper in her ear, in case she’s missing the importance of what’s happening. “This is your older brother.” Then I repeat what the priest just announced: “Prince of Morning and Keeper of Music. He’s the third son of Brighid.”
Her features open in surprise. “Oh, sorry. Hello.”
Several seconds of silence pass while Prince Sean puffs on his pipe. Smoke curls up around his shoulders, and he tilts his head, almost childlike, before finally commenting: “My, aren’t you a doe.”
She frowns. “What’s that mean? People keep calling me that.”
“It means you’re delicate,” I say, trying to help things along. She seems relieved for a second, but then she’s frowning again, obviously equating delicate with weak.
“It’s good to see you, sir,” I say to the prince to fill the awkward space.
“Right, right. Let’s hope this one lasts, aye?” He chuckles deep in his chest, then wanders off in a trail of smoke.
Sage watches him go before she turns back to Marius and Aelia.
Aelia winks at me, then curtsies in a mocking way in front of Sage before giving her the signal to text her as she and her older sister, Riona, follow Prince Sean. Marius smiles as he walks up. “Your tribute,” he says, holding out a key fob. She takes it, and he adds, “It’s parked at the Cottages. The red convertible.” When he sees Sage’s mouth open in shock, his smile widens. “We’ll speak again tomorrow evening. You two just try to have a lovely night.”
The next House steps forward, laying large gold-dipped seashells at Sage’s feet. The priest begins calling out the titles for the House of Lyr. There are three demis present from Lyr, two male and a female, none known to be very powerful. But Gwyn, the House master and princess, is looking between Sage and her brother, Marius, as he walks away. She likely wouldn’t want her brother to gain standing. And with Sage being added to the House that he’s the master of, that’s sure to happen.
Princess Gwyn bows her head. “Welcome to our community, Princess Sage. The children of Lyr greet you in peace. We ask for your consideration and present this tribute in your honor.” She motions to the pixie standing beside her. “Her name is Brea, and she will serve you well.”
Sage frowns at the pixie girl and then looks back and forth between her and Princess Gwyn. She asks carefully, “You’re giving me a person?”
“A pixie, princess. Not a person.”
Sage’s lips tighten and her cheeks turn pink.
I speak up before she can unload on the clueless woman. “Thank you, Princess Gwyn. The Daughter of Fire is honored by your gift.” The princess seems mollified by that and nods her goodbye.
Sage glares straight ahead as the House of Lyr all leave, each bowing or curtsying as they pass. The pixie, Brea, stays behind, kneeling a few feet from Sage.
As soon as the remainder of the House has trailed away, Sage turns to me and hisses through her teeth: “What the hell just happened? Did they just give me a slave? This is completely demented.”
I lean close and whisper, “Agreed. But for now, let’s focus on getting through the night. We’ll cure the injustices of our kind tomorrow.”
She doesn’t seem happy about that. She sets her jaw and keeps glancing down at the pixie, annoyed. The House of Lyr didn’t win any points tonight. They clearly took themselves out of the running.
The next to be announced are the two demis from the House of Arwen—Beatrix, the master, and her very creepy brother Picket, who has black eyes and the pointy ears of a bat. Several shade underlings trail behind them—thankfully, they didn’t bring along any wraiths, the House of Arwen’s weapon of choice.
They look down their noses at Sage as she fidgets with her torque, obviously uncomfortable. She doesn’t seem to want to look at them.
“We have no wish to be considered,” Queen Beatrix says, her tone dead. “No tribute will come from the House of Arwen.”
Sage nods, her features softening in relief.
This is good. Queen Beatrix is just as twisted as she is disagreeable to look at. Who knows what sort of madness she’d start in a contest like this if she were truly jumping in. And if Sage hated the serving pixie as a gift, there’s no telling how horrified she’d be with the typical gift from the dark family of Arwen—like the dismembered waxed corpse of Napoléon Bonaparte that they presented during my younger sister’s Emergence in 1834.
The House of Arwen wander off, and Sage releases a heavy breath. “Only two more, right?” she asks, her voice shaking. I know she’s worried about the last proposal. About Kieran—her eyes go right to him every time there’s a pause.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask. I don’t see her golden light on her skin—amazingly, she appears to be in control.
She shakes her head. “Who knows.”
Before I can ask her to elaborate, two of my own brothers of the House of Cernunnos are announced.
Sage straightens, giving her attention to the approaching party.
Duncan and Finbar step forward, both tall and broad shouldered. There are several alfar and shade with them, along with six of Finbar’s druid children in the background. They all strain to get a better look at Sage.
My eldest brother, Finbar, King of Ash and Oak, bows his head. “The House of Cernunnos would like to be considered as a home for you, Princess Sage,” he says. “Your beauty, your mind, and your heart would be greatly treasured by all within our House, but especially myself.”
She seems captivated by him, her eyes widening a little at his words. She watches him intently as he stands straight, his air of confidence obvious. He’s gained a lot of power since the last time I saw him, and it shows. The Cernunnos bloodline is known for its beauty, and my brothers both received a large portion. Hair full and dark brown, features stalwart, and that casual look of strength in their heavy-lashed green eyes. Sage is likely dazzled by them, since most females are.
I have to focus all my energy on not stepping between her and their hungry gazes. I know all too well how their minds work.
“We’ve brought a small token,” Duncan says. He sets a carved wooden box at Sage’s feet. I spot Astrid behind him, and my shoulders tense even more. She’s holding Duncan’s hand. She doesn’t even spare me a glance as my brother introduces her to Sage, and I wonder if she told Duncan that she spoke with me last night. He describes her to Sage as his near-Bond, and my teeth clench at the realization of how far gone he is with my old lover. Last I heard, he had merely taken Astrid on as a lead concubine after Finbar cast her off.
But a Bonding?
She’s more underhanded than I thought. Either that, or Duncan has finally lost his wits.
He reaches down and opens the box, revealing a small tiara coated in glittering diamonds. It may as well be an old shoe for all the attention Sage gives it. She’s too busy studying my ex-lover.
She casually says thanks to Duncan for the gift before asking, “So, you’re Astrid?”
Several faces turn our way when Sage speaks.
Duncan beams at the recognition, showing his usual haughtiness. “Yes, she’s a warrior, a hunter of great note,” he says, as if Astrid can’t answer for herself.
Sage pinches her lips like she’s thinking, looking back and forth between Duncan and Finbar, then she says, “And you’re Faelan’s family.”
The air goes cool with the sudden chill from everyone’s discomfort.
My brothers don’t seem to know how to respond. Technically, in the way humans look at it, I would be of their blood, therefore we’d be family. But my brothers would never see it that way. To them, I’m a traitor. I did the unthinkable—I broke my vow to our father and left the House that I’d promised my life to at my Emergence. I’m surprised she’d bring up the connection. I explained to her that I’m an outcast.
Astrid touches Duncan’s arm, maybe trying to get him to stay quiet.
Sage smiles sweetly, totally oblivious. “Aren’t you all so proud of him?” She glances up at me and gives me a wink, and I realize with surprise that she’s teasing them. She hooks her arm through mine and turns back to them, leaning in to whisper, “He saved my life just last night, even though I’ve nearly killed him twice already,” like it’s a secret.
Astrid merely studies her, cool as ever, but Duncan begins to cough.
Finbar fidgets with his tie. “Yes, well . . . it was more than lovely meeting you at last, Daughter of Fire. I hope you’ll consider the House of Cernunnos as your home.”
“You are very lovely,” Duncan says, absently. He turns to glare at me, like it’s my fault that Sage has no self-control.
Astrid seems reluctant to leave, adding, “Perhaps we could have tea sometime soon.” She actually sounds genuine, which I don’t see as a good sign. She probably wants to gain Sage’s trust to help the House win her.
Sage glances away, like she’s considering the idea. She nods. “Sure. That would be nice.” And then she grins her street-kid grin. “We’ll make it a thing.”
Astrid blinks, and it’s clear that Sage has caught the hunter off guard. “Yes, all right, then. I’ll have my secretary contact yours.”
Sage nods but her lips press together. “Sounds good.”
Once they’re gone she leans over and whispers in my ear, “Did she seriously just say her people would call my people?”
I’m relieved. It seems that she wasn’t taken in by my brothers’ power or beauty. Not yet, anyway.
The priest begins calling out the titles of the House of Morrígan, and we both go still, the air growing thick with tension. The last and highest House of the Penta walk forward like an unkindness of ravens descending, all black hair and pale skin, Princess Mara’s red dress a strike of bloody crimson in the low torchlight.
Kieran stays just behind his sister, his charcoal suit tailored to perfection.
Sage’s chin lifts like she’s trying to look taller and braver. But her fear bellows out in a thin gold mist that I’m sure Kieran and Mara can see.
Princess Mara nods slightly, looking sideways at Sage. The Princess of Bones is well known for how perfectly she embodies the dark power of her mother. She is the first daughter of blood, her eyes sharp and full of crafty ambition. A smirk twists her crimson lips like she has a secret. She would be a stunning beauty, but her skin is too pale, nearly violet. Thin veins web along her hairline, showing through at her temples and jaw, and dark circles rim her silver-blue eyes. A male shade kneels at her feet on a satin leash.
When Sage notices the rope tied to the thin young man’s throat, her head pulls back a little.
“Welcome to the fold, sweet child,” Princess Mara says, her voice silky. “The House of Morrígan covets your consideration. The blood of Brighid and Morrígan have a history of affection; our goddess mothers being sisters, your sister having been Bonded to my brother—these things make us sisters as well, I think.”
It’s difficult for me to accept her words. Words of kindness directed to the sister of the queen who killed their beloved king? But Mara is always hunting for more power. She would likely see Sage as a means to an end. As would Kieran.
Sage’s throat moves as she glances between the two of them, her wary gaze landing on Kieran.
“You needn’t be afraid, princess,” Mara says. “My brother is firmly in hand. He’s been properly admonished for his clumsy encounter with you the other night. I can understand why you didn’t choose him as your protector. But perhaps in time your thoughts toward him will change.” Her secret smile appears again.
Kieran moves forward and bows deeply, playing his role, looking surprisingly contrite. “I ask for mercy, Princess Sage. You shouldn’t judge my sister by my actions. It’s clear that your power exceeds even my own understanding.” He rises and steps a little closer. He takes a moment to study her, his gaze lingering on her neck where he cut her. Then he whispers, “You outshine the moon tonight, little doe.”
Sage just stares at him, her chest rising and falling quickly.
It takes every ounce of my control to keep from grabbing him and using my dagger to shut him up. I’d get great satisfaction from cutting out that forked tongue.
He doesn’t even allow me the courtesy of checking with me—her protector—before he closes the rest of the distance between them and places a small black velvet bag at her feet. “A humble gift from the past. We hope it will bring you peace.”
Sage looks down at it but doesn’t move to take it.
“Open it,” he orders quietly, locking his eyes to hers.
Her breath catches. And she bends slowly to pick it up.
Ice crawls through my veins as I realize his effect on her. She’s spellbound. I can barely believe my eyes, but he’s clearly more than a threat to her safety. Is he really willing to go as far as to seduce her? Especially after what her sister did to his brother? It can’t possibly work.
Goddess, don’t let it work.
She unties the ribbon and opens the bag, then tips it over her palm. A medallion on a chain tumbles out. A necklace. But as she holds it up, I realize it’s so much more than that.
It’s Queen Lily’s torque. The ancient piece of jewelry was forged out of bronze metal, an intricate knotted design for fire woven in the circle, and an amber stone embedded in the center with a small moth preserved inside.
A piece of history that hasn’t been seen for centuries.
“It was your sister’s, long ago,” Kieran says to her.
“Where did you get that?” I ask, my harsh tone breaking the moment. I glare at Kieran, daring him to tell the truth. “That belongs to the House of Brighid.” It disappeared from the vault around the time of Queen Lily’s imprisonment. Marius assumed the goddess had taken it back, since the legend was that she’d given it to her first daughter personally. What is Kieran playing at?
Kieran ignores my objection. “I hope you’re pleased, princess. I know the torque you’re wearing is weak, and your power can be . . . unpredictable.”
Sage’s fingers shake as she drops the necklace back into the black bag. “Thank you,” she says, barely audible. She clenches the bag in her fist.
Princess Mara nods in satisfaction, and Kieran bows again. Just before they walk away, he turns to me, his eyes hardening in warning as he says under his breath, “Keep her safe for us, hunter.”
I glare back at him, forcing myself not to put a dent in his smug face. He’s a pompous ass, thinking Sage is his because of some forgotten ancient right. She’s not a toy for him to play with. Fortunately, he leaves, following Mara and the rest of the dark clan.
Sage releases her breath and deflates a little, leaning on me for a second.
“You all right?” I ask, trying to gauge her reaction.
She presses her fingers into her temples, shaking her head. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”
The pixie, Brea, leaps to her feet, bowing in front of Sage. “May I fetch you some poultice for your ailment, princess?”
Sage cringes back, her mouth open, like she’s not sure how to react.
This isn’t going to work. “That would be lovely, Brea,” I say. “The princess will have the winter mint, though,” I add, hoping to be rid of her quickly.
The pixie looks from me to Sage, but when Sage doesn’t say anything she must decide her princess is agreeing, because she stands, bowing again, then scuttles off to make her useless poultice. We’ll only be able to avoid her for so long, I’m guessing. “That should keep her busy,” I say to Sage once the pixie is out of earshot.
She just goes back to massaging her temples and groans.
“You did well,” I add, hoping to lift the misty cloud that’s filtering from her shoulders.
She shakes her head, looking lost. “I’ll never get used to this. It’s all so flashy. And proper. And how am I supposed to remember all those names and faces? Prince of this, queen of that. Holy Moses.”
“If it matters to them, they’ll make sure you don’t forget.” I decide not to tell her how much she’ll wish she could forget some of them soon. I’m guessing she’s already wishing that. Instead I ask, “Would you like to freshen up?”
She gives me a hopeful look. “Oh yes, please. Just make sure the bathroom has a window I can escape through.”