Chapter Two

 

Bron let the sunshine warm her face and the soft sound of the wheat swaying in the breeze calm her. It was nearly time for the threshing, but she had a few days of peace left. When the time came, she would work from morning ’til just after the sun went down, and then she would barely manage to eat before she passed out from exhaustion.

She would sleep too deeply to dream. She would miss them.

How could she miss two men she’d never met?

“Issy! Issy!” A high voice pierced her solitude.

Bron smiled. Even after all these years, she still was somewhat shocked to hear herself called by another name. Isolde. She’d selected it when Gillian had finally given up on finding a way off the plane. She could still see Gilly’s face, the tears streaking down as she’d told her she had to give up her name.

This plane had been hard on her foster mother.

“Issy!”

“I’m here, Ove!” There was nothing for it. The little brownie would call out for her until she found her quarry. Ove was a tenacious little thing.

The shafts of wheat moved and shuffled as the brownie ran toward her. Bron braced herself for impact.

“Found you.” Ove launched herself into Bron’s arms.

“Yes, you did.” Bron held her, enjoying the feel of her frail body. She loved the brownies. Their rough faces and scraggly hair evoked a tenderness that called her childhood back. The nannies and housemaids had almost all been brownies, working diligently for their cups of cream.

Ove was a youngling, barely past two, but brownies aged differently. She was still a child but well on her way to her own work. Still, the light of youth was in her wide black eyes. She clung to Bron for a moment. Brownies were deeply affectionate creatures when they were allowed to be. Her own nanny had carried her until she’d gotten too big, and then Flanna had stroked her hair and held her hand whenever possible. Her mother had loved the affection between them, and her father had tolerated it.

Where was sweet Flanna now? Probably buried in the wide mass graves she’d seen Torin’s men digging as she’d fled the palace.

She shook off the thought and looked down at little Ove. “So tell me, little one, why were you looking for me?”

“The mayor’s coming.”

Three words and her whole day was wrecked. Micha O’Donnell was a pompous ass who eyed her with far too much familiarity for a man twice her age. Unfortunately, he was a pompous ass with power in this backwater part of the world. This village might be the ass end of the plane, but Torin still had some measure of control through the officials even here.

Bron set the brownie on her feet. “Did your mum know why he’s coming?”

Of all the people left on the plane, only Mags had figured out who she and Gillian were. The brownie, who sometimes helped with the house and the fields, had slipped up once a few years back and called Gillian by her title. It seemed she’d been born on the Unseelie plane. Bron had despaired in leaving her tower since it had become her home, but Mags had taken to one fragile knee and pledged to defend the Unseelie princess with her life. It had satisfied Gillian, and then they’d had an ally.

“Mum said she overheard there was talk of new restrictions.” Ove’s eyes grew round, a wealth of fear.

Bron took a deep breath. New restrictions meant new laws against magic and non-sidhe creatures. She took Ove’s hand and began to wind her way out of the field. She needed to change clothes if the mayor was coming. He tended to call her to task when she was seen in public in the soft leather pants she’d come to favor.

She regretted leaving the field. She could think out there among the wheat she’d planted. She could close her eyes and almost feel her Dark Ones. What would the mayor think if he knew she dreamed at night of two lovers, one with dark powers and the other who could light up the night?

He would be horrified and possibly accuse her of witchcraft. It was what they accused everyone of these days.

When she travelled to sell her wheat, they were everywhere—bodies strung up on the side of the road. Witchcraft. Collusion. Improper contact with non-sidhe creatures. Whispering the names Beck and Cian. All offenses punishable by hanging.

There were rumors that the ones who had been hanged were the lucky ones.

Gillian stood at the edge of the field, a stern look on her face. She’d dressed for the occasion in a sturdy but respectable gown that would prove completely impractical in the fields. “Where have you been?”

Bron looked back at the field pointedly.

“None of your sass, girl.” Gillian sighed and shook her head. “If your da could see you now.”

He would be perfectly horrified, but the thought brought a bit of a smile to Bron’s face. “He would demand to know where his daughter was. Well, if he noticed at all. Now Mama, on the other hand, would have a fit of vapors, and my brothers would laugh.”

“Go on then, I see the little ones have already brought the news.” She winked down at Ove. “Go back to your mum.” She passed her a small container. “Morning milk, to thank her. Stay out of sight. The less they remember you exist, the safer you will be.”

Ove nodded her scraggly head and took off, the shafts marking her progress.

Bron was halfway up the stairs when Gillian caught her.

“You have to be more careful. If the guards caught you holding hands with Ove, they would have every right to arrest you.”

Anger curled in Bron’s stomach. “Then perhaps we should do something about the guards.”

Like gather together and show them what a mob could do.

She marched to her room and flung her clothes off with a reckless hand. She slammed open the door to her dresser and pulled out her work dress.

Gillian sat down on the edge of the bed. “Could I talk you into the blue cotton?”

The blue cotton was her best dress, the one she wore to weddings and festivals. “I won’t waste it on him.”

She hated the mayor with his covetous eyes. She’d selected her work dress because it covered her chest and masked her curves. The mayor was looking for a wife, and he’d already asked Bron. She’d been trying to put him off.

“Will you please try to remember what your main job is?” Gillian asked.

This was a lecture Bron had heard almost every day of her life on the run. “I don’t know. Remind me.”

Gillian huffed a little. “One day you are going to make some men insane. I simply know it. Your job is to stay alive. Your job is to be a living, breathing woman when your brothers return.”

If they returned. “I will endeavor to not become a corpse in the next few hours.”

Gillian came up behind her, working the buttons up her back. When she was done, she turned Bron around and looked at her, smoothing down the small bit of scalloped edges of the neckline. “I am sometimes deeply glad that Torin planned his coup when you were a youngling since I could never make you pass for a boy now.”

Bron smiled, but it was a sarcastic thing. “I prayed for bosoms all my life. Now I rather wish I was slender.”

Gillian shook her head. “No, you don’t. You’re beautiful just the way you are. Don’t let the current palace fashions make you think otherwise.”

There was a knock on the door. Even his knock sounded short and officious, like the man himself.

Gillian took a deep breath. “I know you’re angry, love, but hold on for a bit longer. Things are happening. I can’t see them clearly yet, but something changed a few months back. I felt it. I still feel it. Something’s coming.”

“That might not be a good thing, Gilly.”

“Please.”

How in all the planes could she deny this woman? Bron nodded, giving her a silent promise to behave. Gillian called out the window to let the mayor know they were coming, and Bron followed her down the stairs.

Gillian had been a princess. She could have gotten out. She more than likely could have negotiated with Torin for her release. Torin had been looking for allies, desperate for them. He would have loved having the Unseelie king in his debt, yet Gillian hadn’t abandoned her. She’d sought a way out for them both, and when that failed, Gillian McIver had made a home for them here.

No matter how much Bron wanted to take her weapons and practice on the mayor, she would hold her tongue.

The door was opened, and there stood Micha and his ever-present guard.

“Ladies,” he said, bowing slightly.

She could hear him. Even in a backwater province, courtesy is required. She wondered if he would be so courteous when she gutted him.

Bron did what was expected and curtsied, though not as deeply as he would have wanted.

“May I come in for tea?” Micha asked with the smile of a man who knew the question was mere formality. “The palace has set forth some exciting new plans. I thought I would talk to my favorite citizens before they’re posted in the square for all to see.”

Gillian managed a bright smile. Bron’s stomach churned. He acted like it was exciting news when it more than likely was a new and inventive way to kill those Torin despised. Fae were starving across the plane, but Torin seemed more interested in coming up with ways to dispose of his enemies.

“Of course, Mayor, please make yourself welcome.” Gillian invited him in, her hand sweeping gracefully across the room, as though she were welcoming him into a palace, not the sad tower that was their home. “And your guards?”

Micha’s nose wrinkled as though it was common to even acknowledge they were there. “My guards will do their duties. Two will remain outside and one in the hallway. They have no need for anything so delicate as tea.”

The tightness of the guard’s mouth told Bron that perhaps he had been looking forward to some food. Even the guards were on rations, it seemed. When he noticed her watching, he gave a tight smile and a nod. Bron thought he was almost giving her permission to ignore him.

“I’ll get the tea,” Bron said as Gillian showed the mayor into what passed for the parlor.

Bron started the tea and gathered the bread and cheese they had left. It seemed a shame to waste it all on the mayor, who didn’t look like a man who had missed many meals.

“How is the crop looking this year?” Micha was asking Gillian.

“Better than even last year. Danu has blessed us.”

“The king will be happy to hear it. He’s requesting an extra twenty percent this year.”

Bron nearly dropped the teapot. An extra twenty percent after he already took half? It was outrageous.

Gillian’s response was measured. “An extra twenty percent, did you say? I worry that sending so much to the palace will mean our own people will starve.”

The mayor laughed. “Don’t you worry your pretty head now. We’ll be fine. The king has declared rations for all citizens. And he’s redefined citizenship. The king and queen will always take care of the sidhe.”

Bron forced herself to pour the hot water into the pot. So he’d done it. Torin had finally declared that only sidhe were true Seelie. The brownies and the trolls, the dryads and leprechauns, would be declared Unseelie and therefore undesirable. They would receive no rations. Any land they possessed would be confiscated. They had no protections.

She passed the guard in the hall. He didn’t see her or he surely would have tempered his expression. When the mayor mentioned getting rid of the riffraff, the guard’s face became fierce, a dark, vengeful look passing over his handsome countenance.

An ally?

She couldn’t be sure, and she certainly couldn’t walk up to him and say, hey, I’m the supposedly dead princess of the Seelie Fae. Wanna start a revolution? Nope. That would fall under the heading of “stupid things to do.” But if the mayor’s guard could be swayed to her side, there was no time like the present to begin the process.

She gave him what she hoped was her kindest smile and passed him a sandwich of soft bread and tangy cheese.

The guard’s eyes lit, and then he frowned. “Best not, Miss.”

He really was hungry. It no longer mattered what damn side he was on. Bron couldn’t help but feel for the man. She’d been hungry. She’d felt it gnaw at her stomach and prayed for anything to end the slow torture of starvation.

“Please. We have more than enough, and the mayor won’t notice.” She pressed the sandwich into his hand. “I won’t be able to enjoy a thing if I know you’re out here with your stomach rumbling.”

The guard smiled, the look softening his face. “My thanks to you, Miss. It’s said around town that you and your sister are kind ones.” He leaned over and whispered. “Tell the brownies to hide. Leave their homes. They need to go underground. He’s going to come for them.”

He stood back up, his face red as a beet as though he knew he’d just committed treason.

Bron nodded and put a hand on his. “I thank you, sir.”

Her heart pounding, she walked into the parlor. She prayed her rage didn’t show on her face.

“There she is.” The mayor looked up, satisfaction written on every line of his face. “Beautiful Isolde.”

Bron was glad the man didn’t know her real name. She would hate to hear it on his lips. She set the tray on the table, grateful that unwed women were supposed to be shy. He would think the fact that she wasn’t looking at him was charming.

“Come and sit with me, dear.”

Panic threatened to overtake her. Gillian shifted uncomfortably, her eyes going to the window where the silhouettes of the two guards Micha had left outside stood, their pikes held high. Bron had dreams at night of Gillian on the end of one of those hated pikes.

She sat down, trying to keep plenty of distance between them.

“Gillian, dear, might I have a word alone with your sister?” The words practically slithered out of his mouth.

Gillian sat straight up, and Bron could see she’d reached the end of her patience. She had to stop her.

“Please, Gilly. I’ll be fine. I can handle it. After all, being a good hostess is all a part of my job, right?” She placed careful emphasis on the word “job” since Gillian had just given her a lecture on what her true job was. Staying alive.

Her jaw tightened, but Bron breathed easier as Gillian got up. “I suppose I can go and find something a bit stronger than tea if Your Honor would prefer it.”

The mayor winked. “I think we might be needing that. Find something for a celebration, dear.”

Her stomach turned since she knew what was coming.

The minute Gillian was out the door, he scooted over, placing himself so close to her she could smell the rank heat of his body under his layers of proper clothing. No true country Fae would wear such fancy clothes, but the mayor liked to pretend he was going to the palace instead of running a small agricultural province.

“Now, my dear, have you given any thought to my proposal?”

Bron had to force herself to smile. She decided to go for simpering and brainless. “I have thought of little else.”

Since the moment the man who could have been her grandfather had blandly proposed marriage to her, she’d tried to think of anything but that old goat getting his hands on her.

A sly smile crossed his face. “Well, then, shall we announce it tomorrow at the festival?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. I don’t think I would make a good mayor’s wife. I’m a simple country girl.” She’d hoped for more time. She’d rather hoped that the man would find a wife at court who suited him more. He’d spent the last two months there.

He shook his head, reaching for her hand. His were clammy and soft, the hands of a man who’d never done an honest day’s work. “Not at all, my dear. You’re actually quite well educated. As is your sister. Your manners are far beyond a mere country girl. You have everything required to be an excellent wife for me. Once you’ve been cleaned up and are in proper attire, you’ll be quite pretty. You’ll fit right in. And I’m going places, Isolde. I spoke to King Torin himself. Our little kingdom is changing. He’s bringing us back to our rightful place. The Vampire Council is going to acknowledge Torin as the rightful king.”

She was sure she’d turned a little green. If the Vampire plane acknowledged Torin, the others would follow.

If Micha noticed, he didn’t show it, merely continued talking in his most pretentious tone. “King Torin was very interested in our little province, I tell you. Once he sees how well I enact his new laws, he’s going to understand that I should be given a much bigger place in the ruling class. But before I can request a new assignment, I truly must have a wife and family in place.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mayor.” She stammered out the words, not sure how to extricate herself.

His face turned cold, his thin lips nearly disappearing. “Well, you’re not supposed to think, are you, dear? Do you know what I think? I think it’s odd that a girl your age hasn’t married and had children. You’re what? Twenty-five?”

She nodded, not wanting to explain that she was actually twenty-seven.

“And your sister is at least ten years older. Odd then that she’s avoided marriage.” He leaned in, his words a cold chill running down her spine. “Some people around here whisper that your sister hasn’t married because she’s too busy practicing magic. I don’t like that rumor, do you?”

Tears threatened, angry, frightened, utterly impotent tears. “No. I don’t like it.”

That rumor would get Gillian strung up, and no amount of magic would stop it. Gillian could try, and she might take out a few, but Gillian’s magic tended to be more about helping than defending. And no matter how often Bronwyn trained with sword and knife and bow, she couldn’t stop the troops by herself.

“Can you think of any way to quell such a rumor?”

Bastard. “I think no one would believe it if her sister married someone as important as the mayor.”

He had her in a corner, and he knew it. They would be forced to flee, but not before the harvest. Everything they had was invested in that wheat, and until they had the coins in their pockets, there was nothing to do but agree and pray that planning a wedding took lots of time.

“Excellent.” He sat back, completely satisfied. “Pass me one of those lovely sandwiches, dear. And pour me some tea.”

Feeling like one of the clockwork dolls her cousin, Dante, had loved to bring her from the Vampire plane, she moved as though wound up and set to a task. Pass sandwich. Pour tea. Don’t thrust the knife in his neck.

“See, you do that with such grace. An excellent wife indeed. And I was describing you to the Queen. What a beauty. She’s eager to meet you, dear. I believe she’s planning a visit in the next few months.”

She passed him the tea and prayed Gillian found something stronger. She was going to need it. And she was going to need to run. The last thing she could do was meet the queen. Bronwyn had already met her—on the day the queen had pledged herself to Beck and Cian. Queen Maris had eagerly entered their uncle’s bed.

The mayor chatted on, but Bron prayed for darkness. Sleep was the only place she felt safe.

 

* * * *

 

Lach took his seat at the far end of the table, a bit of bitterness spreading through his veins.

“Don’t.” Shim sat down beside him, smoothing over the clean tunic he’d donned for this meeting. “You know why he does it.”

King Fergus sat in the middle of the long table on his throne. This was the room he used to receive his guests. It was a large hall that could hold a banquet or play host to a series of negotiations. Long ago, the twin smaller thrones that should have been set for the princes of the realm had been moved out, leaving room only for the king.

“Father is an idiot. He makes us look weak.”

“Because he thinks we are weak.” Shim sighed and looked up the table at the host of Fae their father considered more important. Including the Seelie twins. “He thinks we’re dying.”

For a long time, Lach had thought Shim would die, too. It was unspoken between them, but Shim had never fully regained his previous strength after that fateful night and the long period of a fugue-like sleep that followed.

Maon, the king’s seneschal, walked up behind them. He looked down his patrician nose, his voice just the tiniest bit shrill. “Because you two are bloody dying and you know it. This is a power play. If you give in and take a bondmate, your father will restore your rightful place.” He softened a bit. “No one wants to see you here. You should be at his side. Your cousin Julian can bring you a mate within days. Say the word and it will be done.”

A bit of Lach’s rage quelled. Maon, for all his snobbishness, really was loyal. It would have been easy for a truly ruthless man to let them fade. Maon would likely be king since as far as everyone believed, Gillian was dead and he and Shim would fade. Still Maon pushed them, ever devising new manipulations to force them to take a mate and live. There was only one problem with the scenario.

“We already have a mate.” It was the only reply Lach could give.

Maon stood, and his mouth flattened in a derisive frown. “The princess in the tower. Yes, I’ve heard the tale. And you two wonder why you’re relegated to the bottom of the table. You’re lucky he allows you to be here at all. Your minds are going. And tell that damn gnome to keep quiet.” He tapped on the table. “Yes, we all know you’re here.”

Duffy’s squeak could be heard through the room.

Maon walked away, taking his place among the important men of the kingdom.

Duffy’s head came up. “I tried to sneak in quietly.”

Shim scooted over. “It doesn’t matter, Duffy. Come on up. They know you’re here.”

The gnome huffed a little as he pulled his body up and into the chair beside Shim. “Don’t know as I like the way everyone talks about you.”

Lach shrugged. “I do know how I feel, but no one seems to care.” He stared at the Seelie twins. They were everything legend would have them be. Perfect in form and function. They looked like twins. Neither of them had a ruined face and everyone took them seriously.

His hand slid over the left side of his face, touching the ruined flesh there. He stole a glance at Shim, who’d gone pale, his eyes sliding away, guilt evident every time Lach reminded him of that terrible day.

“So we’re meeting the Host, eh?” Duffy sat forward, watching the door with a fierce look on his face. He’d used the formal name for a group of sluagh. The Host. No one wanted to deal with the damn Host. Duffy’s tiny hands clenched into fists. “I think I can handle them. After all, they’re nothing but shade, right. Warriors of the Fae should be able to take them down no trouble.”

“They’re non-corporeal dead, Duffy. I doubt your axe is going to work on them,” Shim pointed out.

If Duffy could hoist his axe at all. Lach worried for the little gnome. Not because he thought Duffy would flee in a real battle, but rather because he knew he wouldn’t. “Let father handle the sluagh.”

Three faces turned, shock alighting on them. The guests around Lach gasped.

“Please, Your Highness,” one of them begged. The other two glanced back at the door as though the very fact that Lach had said the name might conjure them up.

Lach shook his head. “I can’t bring them down on our heads by saying their name. They’re already here, so why don’t we act like we’re not scared of the buggers.” He leaned over to one of the men, a sidhe from the village outside the palace. Madden was the king’s liaison to the villagers. “Do you know if they came from the caves?”

There had been a nest of sluagh living in the caves by the beach for as long as anyone could remember. They, along with the Planeswalker demons, could slip on and off the planes as they pleased, though none had figured out how. It was a deeply held secret. To discover it, one had to become a sluagh and no one came back from that. Lach glanced down at the box at his feet. It was filled with crap. Trinkets from his travels. A cheap broach he’d picked up, several combs, a set of cards from the Vampire plane. It was a load of junk he’d picked up and didn’t need, but it would be enticing to the sluagh, who lived for such oddities. He’d meant to offer it to his father, but he’d been told to take his seat.

He supposed no one had need for his negotiation skills.

“I hear they’re from the Seelie plane,” Madden explained. He threaded his fingers together, glancing back at the door. “They have news.”

Shim leaned in. “Why would they help? Sluagh don’t take sides.”

No. Sluagh took people. They took lives and slaves. They took rotted corpses when they wanted a meal. They did not take sides.

A sudden chill fell across the room like a wave slowly crashing on the shore.

The Host was close. Lach could feel it. A spark of power shimmered through him. Yes, the dead were coming. It was an odd thing, but he felt more comfortable, his body relaxing as though he’d finally found his place. He leaned back, his eyes focused on the door.

Madden shivered. “I don’t like this. Perhaps the king should bar the door.”

Lach felt a smile on his face. Oh, but he was suddenly hungry. “It wouldn’t work. They have no need of doors.”

They entered from every wall, their forms gliding through rock and wood as though neither existed. A hundred sluagh it seemed formed from near nothingness. Pale and wraithlike, their bodies showed the way each had died. Wounds on a sluagh were like jewels to a high-born lady, an expression of beauty. Even to the Unseelie, who understood the horrors of the planes, sluagh were monstrous.

And yet, Lach saw an odd beauty to them.

“We seek the king.” They spoke as one, their voices sending a fresh wave of chilled air through the hall.

His father stood, along with Beck and Cian Finn. They each nodded to the group of sluagh, not an ounce of fear showing.

“The Kings of the Seelie Fae welcome you.”

His father nodded as well. “As does the King of the Unseelie.”

A single sluagh floated to the front of the crowd that had now moved, coalescing into a single mob. The sluagh had obviously been a sidhe at one time, the long lines of his body a dead giveaway. The flesh at his throat was mottled and gnarled, signs of the rope that he had hanged from.

“The sluagh are grateful that such high-born men would stoop to speak with us. King Beckett and King Cian, you might be the rightful owners of the Seelie throne, but you do not sit upon it. King Fergus, you rule the Unseelie, but we have no use for you.” His head whipped around, eyes locking firmly on Lachlan. Every one of the sluagh turned in one motion, a great flock of wicked birds of prey. “We seek the King of the Dead.”

Duffy tugged at his tunic. “Damn me, Lach. I think they’re talking about you. Should I get me axe?”

“Hush, Duffy.” For once Shim sounded serious.

“What are you talking about?” His father’s voice boomed through the hall. “Leave my son alone. He isn’t well. Guards, take the princes out.”

Lach stood. He wasn’t about to be hauled out like an idiot child who didn’t know his place. He did know where he belonged. He hated it, but the dead called to him. He turned his eyes on the guards coming in. “Touch me and I’ll kill you. Once you’re dead, I’ll take control of your corpse and turn you on everyone you love. Do you understand?”

“Prince Lachlan, we must do as your father requests. He is king.”

The sluagh leader was suddenly right in his ear, a cold whisper across his flesh. “He is not the king of us, Your Highness, and you know this to be true. Your power is not whole yet without your bondmate at your side. Take power from us. We give it willingly. Show them. Show them all.”

He looked down at Shim, seeking sound counsel, but his brother’s face had turned cold and hard. “I feel it, too, brother, though it is not my power to take. Take it. Show them. ’Tis the only way to prove it.”

Ice edged through him, the sluagh pushing death power his way. He could command this. This was no flare of uncontrolled talent. This was raw power, and he was the master. He reached out to call the dead to him.

A loud wail went up. A grunting and then a scream as the boar that had been roasted and laid out on the table for feasting struggled to its legs. A headless fowl, plucked and covered in sauce, unfurled grotesque wings and tried to fly. The group of sluagh shimmered, their bodies humming with power.

“Enough!” His father roared through the hall. “Enough, son.”

Lach shut the power off with a wink and a great deal of regret. He could have gone further. He’d felt them all in that moment. He’d felt all the dead things of the palace rising again. He’d felt the animals lying dead in the fields and around the palace courtyard, small and large. He sensed the goblins who had died in a recent sickness. He’d felt the ogre they’d killed but days ago stir. He’d felt them all and realized he could have an army.

And then he’d felt a softer stirring and a gentle whisper.

No, Lachlan. Let the dead rest, son.

His mother. He’d reached out and caught his mother asleep forever in her tomb.

Lach fell back into his seat, his hands shaking with fear. Fear of what he could become.

The sluagh smiled, a ghastly thing. “You begin to see, Your Highness.”

His father was suddenly at his side. “What have you done to my son?”

Beck Finn was there, too, studying him. “How has your power manifested without the bond? We were told you refused to bond.”

“We bonded long ago, but our mate is trapped on the Seelie plane.” Shim stared at the Seelie king, waiting to be laughed at.

“Fuck me, they’re powerful,” Cian Finn said, his eyes wide. “They couldn’t have taken on the full bond, yet they’re able to do all of this.” He frowned. “Could you leave supper alone next time? I don’t think I can eat that thing now.”

Lach had to smile a bit. “I’ll try.”

Beck got to one knee. “They want to deal with you, Prince Lachlan. Can you handle them?”

“Yes. I can handle them. I know them well.” He’d always been fascinated by the sluagh. “Duffy, grab the box, please.”

The gnome hopped down and retrieved the box filled with trinkets. Gifts for the unshriven dead.

“Go on then.” Lach nodded to the sluagh leader.

Duffy flushed, standing there with the box in his small hands. “You want me to give it to him?”

“If you’re scared, I’ll do it.” It was said with a harsh edge. Duffy wanted to be a warrior. A warrior should be able to handle the simple passing of a box.

The gnome’s face firmed into a stubborn pout. “I ain’t scared of nothing, Lach.”

He marched to the sluagh and held up his box. “Gifts from the princes.”

A wicked smile crossed the sluagh’s face as he opened the box. “Treasures. Come and take your part.”

The group descended like a pack feasting on a kill. There was shuffling and the pressing of shade to shade, but finally they broke up, each holding some small piece in their hands. And one by one they faded away until only the leader remained.

“You are wise, King of the Dead.”

Lach shrugged. It had been a good bet he could thin the herd with a simple gift. “I listen to my people.”

“And they will listen to you.” The sluagh cocked his head, taking in Cian Finn. “I don’t like that one. Send him away.”

Cian. The Green Man. Light to his darkness.

“No.” Lach wouldn’t let a sluagh control this. If he was the King of the Dead, then he was king. He could feel his brother’s support. “The king stays. Now, sluagh, I’ve given you your gifts. I’ve allowed you to feel my power. Tell me your secrets. It’s why you’ve come.”

If there was one thing the sluagh loved more than small trinkets, it was secrets. They listened in, hiding always, to hear the great secrets of the planes, hoarding them like diamonds until the time was right to trade. And then they would whisper, a little touch here or there, sending one country into war and suggesting another go down a path that led to famine. Both would benefit the sluagh.

Lach knew he was walking along the razor’s edge.

“Torin is gathering power.” The sluagh waited.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Lach stood again, Shim at his side, moving as one. “Only today the Seelie kings have come with this news. This is nothing I can use. Be gone.”

He could feel the sluagh’s shock. “I have more, Your Highness.”

“Then you should tell me more or I will cast you from my kingdom.”

The sluagh frowned. “Fine. We have heard the plans of Torin and his hags. They mean to kill all the non-sidhe on their plane and then they will move on to this one. They will attempt to control the Vampire Council with fresh consorts, but each one will be spelled to turn on his or her master when the time is right.”

Beck Finn went white. “He’s promised a hundred consorts to the royals. He’ll bring down the whole plane.”

Dante Dellacourt stepped in. “The economic ramifications alone would destabilize us. You’re talking about the most powerful vampires on the plane. They control everything. And I doubt they’ll believe a damn thing I say. I became an outlaw the minute I chose to leave with Beck and Cian. Perhaps Julian could persuade them.”

His cousin looked thoughtful. “I can try, but my influence is small compared to how hungry the royals are for proper consorts. We age without consort blood. Look at Lach and Shim. Look at me. I’m fifteen years older and yet I look younger than them. This is a royal’s birthright, and for thirteen years, Torin has held us hostage. They won’t want to listen to reason.”

Lach turned back to the sluagh. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

The sluagh sighed, his whole form moving in a lazy wave. “There’s always more, Your Highness.”

A long pause. Bloody sluagh. “We’ll fill your bellies for a month.”

The ogre alone would keep the carrion eaters happy for weeks. Another could be found.

“More, Your Highness.”

There would always be more if he didn’t take a stand. The sluagh would be greedy.

Shim whispered, his hand cupping his mouth. “There’s a reason they’re here, Lach. And it’s not for corpses. They wouldn’t pick a side if it didn’t benefit them. Think on it. Devastating the Vampire plane would be good for the sluagh. The Unseelie falling would bring more than enough corpses to feed their armies. Why are they here, then?”

His brother had a point. Lach’s mind raced with possibilities, but only one made a lick of sense. “Torin’s found a way to kill you, hasn’t he?”

The sluagh frowned. “Torin seeks purity of race, and the Host is an abomination.”

Now he had them. “Tell me more.”

The sluagh sighed, leaned in, and began to speak.

Hours later, Lachlan felt the weight of all the planes on his shoulders. Torin was coming. He wouldn’t stop until the planes bowed to him.

The sluagh left, racing away to the caves where his brethren hid. All around him was quiet. The Seelie kings spoke to each other in whispers, Dante at their side. The rest had an air of shock surrounding them. War was coming.

“Son, you did well.” His father sat beside him, his weathered face a mask of care. There was a long pause, as though he didn’t wish to broach the subject, but knew he must. “How did you do it? How do you raise the dead? Is it a spell?”

Shim’s eyes rolled. “He did it the same way I call forth fire. It’s inside him. It’s the powers we came into thirteen years ago.”

“King Fergus,” Beck interrupted. “I may not know the Unseelie, but grant that my brother and I know what it means to be symbiotic twins. Neither Cian nor I had a whisper of power before we bonded. Not a hint.”

“Yeah, Beck here told everyone it was a myth. He still owes me a thousand gold on that one.”

The Warrior King slapped at the Green Man. “Hush. This is no place for sarcasm. Tell them, Ci.”

Cian became serious. “I would bet the kingdom I don’t have yet that they’ve bonded. They’re what? Thirty? By the time we turned thirty, we were beginning to fade. These boys aren’t close to fading. They’re powerful. What happened to your bondmate?”

Lach took a long breath. “She was trapped on the Seelie plane.”

Beck nodded. It was probably a story he’d heard before. “She must be strong if you can still feel the bond.”

“We’ve never met her, but we’ve dreamed of her since we were children.” Shim watched the Seelie kings.

The Seelie kings turned to each other, a silent conversation happening in their heads. Lach knew because it happened between him and Shim. After a long moment, Beck looked over, his face tense. “How would you bond with a woman you’ve never met?”

“I don’t know what it was like for you two,” Lach admitted. “I only know that since I knew what the word love meant, I loved her. She came to me and Shim every night.”

“In our dreams.” Shim took over. “At first we simply played because we were young. We couldn’t hear her. We just felt. She talked. She talked a lot, but we just felt her presence. It calmed us each night, and we knew she was the one.”

Lach remembered those times. Bronwyn had been a comfort even then. “We could see through her eyes. She’s a strong broadcaster. Sometimes, even during the day, Shim can see her. It’s how we figured out who she was and where she lives. When we were young, we would see and feel her when her emotions were strong. There was a river by her house. Full of fish. She would swim with her brother, her mother watching on. She would strip down to her shift and throw her body in, a wild cry on her lips. She would look up as she floated on the water and wonder where her other brother was.”

Lach was well aware of what he was doing. He was pulling from her memories. He was baiting the Seelie kings. But he had to prove his truth or they could side with his father. Bronwyn had to be saved before the war broke out.

Cian’s body had tensed. “Tell me more about her.”

Shim seemed to understand what Lach was doing. “She’s the loveliest thing in all the planes. Brown hair and brown eyes. A sweet laugh.” He turned to Dante. “You pulled her pigtails and called her a brat.”

Dante’s mouth dropped. “No.”

Lach didn’t wait for further denials. “We bonded with her on the night she died. We felt it. Shim could see it.”

“I saw her run to her mother’s room. She was so scared. I tried to reach out, but she’d taken a knife to her gut.” His hand drifted to his side, where he’d felt the knife sink into their mate. “She thought she was dead, and then you came, Cian. You held her. You told her you loved her. And she died.”

Tears fell from Shim’s eyes. He felt it more deeply because he’d been there with her.

Cian shook his head. “She died. Bron is dead. I couldn’t save her.”

The words slipped easily from Lach’s mouth. “But we could.”

The Seelie kings stopped, their jaws tensing. Their expressions were utterly identical, pained and haunted and beneath all of it, a breath of hope.

“I don’t believe it,” Cian said. He finally moved, pacing the floor. He ran a hand through his hair. “I felt it. She was dead. I wouldn’t have left my sister. I couldn’t. I couldn’t have left her.”

“I don’t understand any of this.” His father looked almost as guilty as the Seelies.

“We’ve thought about this a lot. We’ve talked about it, asked some Fae who know about bonding, some vampires who understand consorts. They think Bronwyn is an incredibly strong broadcaster. I know that any bondmate could balance us, but you know that there’s a difference between the bond and that perfect mate. Her mind reached out, even as a child, and she found us. We held to the bond. If Bron is a broadcaster, then Shim is a receptor.”

Beck’s face was a careful blank. “Let’s accept the fact that Bron is alive somehow.”

“She’s alive,” Shim insisted.

“How did you save her?” Dante asked.

Shim shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s all muddled. I remember feeling her die and grabbing on to Lach.”

Lach didn’t like to think about that night. It was a nightmare in his head, a collection of fear and pain. “It was the first time our powers manifested.”

“The night of the fire,” his father whispered, looking at his face.

“Yes. We all almost died that night.” He stared at his father. “We lost her for a long time. That was when we started to fade. We couldn’t be sure she was alive. And yet the bond was there. It was like bonding over that distance broke the connection for a while.”

Shim sighed. “And then one day, I was sleeping and I felt her at the edge of my consciousness. Every night the connection got stronger, and now I can feel her during the day when I concentrate.”

“That’s why you seem to be fading. That’s why you lie around. You’re seeing her.” His father sat back and seemed to have aged twenty years. “Do you think she knows what happened to my Gilly?”

This was a piece of information they had withheld. They had thought about it, but with their father not believing them, it seemed cruel to tell him.

“Gillian’s alive.”

The room erupted in chaos. The news that the Unseelie princess was alive and potentially in danger somewhere on the Seelie plane lit a fire under the nobles’ asses. His father sat, taking it all in. There was already talk of a raid, a quiet retrieval mission, even of hiring a hag to contact her. This was another reason they had kept quiet. Until they were ready to rescue their bondmate, they couldn’t risk detection, and they worried their father would be reckless, thus costing both women their lives. Amidst all the discussion, the Finn twins walked away, quietly speaking among themselves.

He looked at Shim who nodded, understanding what they needed to do.

They stood up, moving toward the Seelies. It was time to talk to their brothers-in-law.

Even before they’d made it to the Finns, Cian Finn had turned, walking their way with an angry look on his face.

“Why the hell haven’t you said something before now?” Cian got right in Lach’s space.

Lach had no intentions of letting the Green Man intimidate him. “Should I have walked around informing everyone that Bronwyn Finn is alive? Do you think that wouldn’t have gotten back to Torin?”

Beck seemed calmer, but there was a cold look in his eyes. “You could have told us. We both have relatives on the Vampire plane. We’ve probably been in the same city at the same time, and yet you kept this a secret.”

“We told our father. Not her name because we understood the danger to her, but we explained the situation, and he refused to believe. If you hadn’t seen what Lach could do tonight, you wouldn’t have believed it, either.”

“You bloody well could have tried,” Cian spat.

“Tell me something, Prince Lachlan,” Beck began with lazy menace. “Does my sister know she’s a princess of the Unseelie Fae?”

There it was, that churning in the pit of Lach’s belly. “The connection is difficult to explain.”

“Yes, you seem to have that trouble a lot,” Cian said.

Shim was getting angry, his hands twitching. When Shim got angry, fireballs tended to descend from out of nowhere.

“Shim, calm down. Torching our brothers-in-law won’t make the situation better.”

His ever-more-reasonable brother smiled grimly. “It will make me feel better.”

“I’d love to see you try it,” Cian ground back.

Beck managed a little laugh. “He’s my calm half.”

A kinship opened between them. “Shim is my happy half. I’m a righteous bastard.”

“Well, I’m all sunshine and daisies,” Beck replied, his expression relaxing. “Cian, stop overreacting. I know how you feel, but you know damn well that I wouldn’t have taken a meeting with the Unseelie until very recently.”

“It wasn’t like I didn’t try,” his father said. “I would have tried harder if I’d listened to my sons.”

A little fracture started in Lach’s stubbornness. He knew it was coming from Shim, but he welcomed it. Being angry with his father hadn’t gotten them anywhere.

“I still would have resisted,” Beck Finn admitted. “Until we found our Meggie, we were the ones who were fading. I couldn’t consider any sort of an alliance. It wouldn’t have worked, and then I was just concerned with bonding with Meggie and keeping her safe.”

“You can’t hide anymore.” The quiet statement came from Dante Dellacourt, who looked so much more serious than the entertainments on the Vampire plane had made him out to be. Lach never would have expected the vampire to give up everything to follow his cousins on what was likely a lost cause.

It can’t be lost. It can’t. Not yet. After he and Shim had gotten their bondmate out of Tir na nÓg, then it could all go to hell, but not before then. After Bronwyn was safe in the Dark Palace, the Seelie plane could rot for all he cared. They would close the Unseelie plane and live in peace. Let the other planes duke it out. This wasn’t Lach’s fight.

“I know I can’t hide, Dante,” Beck allowed. “The time has come.” He turned back to Lach and Shim. “We were talking to your father about the plan Dante’s come up with. In a week and a half, a formal group of ambassadors from the Vampire plane will be welcomed into Tir na nÓg. That means Torin has to open the plane.”

Torin’s hags had managed to shut off Tir na nÓg for over thirteen years. Some managed to sneak in. There were always cracks a smart Fae could slip through, but not an army, and that’s what the Seelie twins would need. But if the magical walls were down, a crack in the veil that held the plane closed could be widened by a decent enough witch. Then a small force could get through. What had his father promised them?

“You intend to raid Tir na nÓg?” Lach kept his voice measured.

Cian took a deep breath, obviously calming himself. “We have to. Single assassins haven’t done the trick. We tried that at first, and Torin always finds them.”

Lach’s father answered that one. “It’s the hags. It’s why sneaking you into Tir na nÓg won’t work.”

Dante agreed. “It’s like a magical alarm system. At some point in time, Torin stole hair or blood from both of you. It contains your signature, like a scent to a wolf. The minute you step on the plane, Torin will know. So when it happens, it has to happen fast, because Torin will be ready.”

Simon Roan, the vampire mercenary, stepped forward. “That’s what I’m here for. I can sneak onto the plane and start gathering Fae supporters. I’ve been running small missions on the plane for years, gathering consorts for wealthy royals. It’s been a small operation, nothing that could truly gain the pretender’s eye, but I’ve made many allies. There’s a network of Fae waiting to join the true kings when the time comes. Tomorrow, I’ll take a small squad and begin rallying the troops. By the time we meet up, the kings will have the army they need. Including, we hope, a contingent of Unseelie.”

Lach was just about to point out the problems with that plan when Shim leaned forward. “We’ll go with Roan. We’ll find Bron and Gilly and bring them back.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” his father said. “I don’t know that I want all of my children on that plane. It’s too dangerous.”

“And the plane is huge,” Cian pointed out. “You could walk for days and never come close to her. You have no idea where she is?”

Shim’s eyes went a little unfocused. He spoke, but not to anyone in particular. “She lives in a tower. It looks out over long fields of wheat. She works there, her hands pulling and plucking, working the plow.”

Lach watched as Beck paled at the thought of his sister working in the fields like a commoner. Lach could tell Beck that there was still nothing common at all about Bronwyn Finn.

“It’s almost always hot. Lately when I reach her and I can see through her eyes, she’s preparing for the harvest. Tomorrow there’s a festival of some type. Bron helped put up a pole, and there are colored ribbons on the top. What do you think they’ll do with those?”

“She’s in the Tuathanas District. It’s an agriculture district. They grow much of our wheat and the festival of threshing is celebrated with a maypole. The children of the villages dance around it. There is much merrymaking.” Cian looked at his brother, a smile growing on his face. “It’s perfect. It’s quiet and rural and days from the palace. No one would dream of looking for her there. Or think anything of men on the road at that time of year. Many traders are on the road. Goddess, Beck, do you really think she’s alive?”

“She’s alive,” Lach insisted. “And we’re going to get her out of there before the war begins.”

Beck nodded. “Yes. We have to put our plans aside. We have to save our sister, your sister.”

Dante’s mouth firmed. “No. Absolutely not.”

Beck turned on his cousin, but Julian Lodge stood at Dante’s side. “I agree with Dellacourt. You’re not seeing the big picture.”

“Our sister already survived one war. She shouldn’t have to do it again,” Beck insisted.

“We can’t leave her there.” Cian stared at the vampires.

The vampire mercenary stepped forward. “You won’t get another shot at this, Your Highnesses. If you allow the vampires to enter a full alliance with Torin, he’ll have access to all their technology. Think about it. Do you want to go up against a guard armed with sonic weapons when you have a band of peasants at your back? Even waiting a few days could be dangerous.”

“She’s our sister,” the kings said in one voice.

“And she’s a princess of the realm. You can’t have it both ways,” Dante said, his face harsh. “You have to choose, cos. Choose now. You can be kings or you can be quiet family men who put their sister first.”

Beck went red, whether with rage or shame, Lach couldn’t tell. “You know I can’t do that. Torin won’t allow it.”

Dante jumped on the words. “Then your choice was already made. Damn it, Beck, it was made the moment you were born. You are not an ordinary man. I know it’s unfair that you’re not able to think of your family first, but you have a kingdom relying on you.”

“More than a kingdom,” Julian said quietly. “All of the planes are at risk. You didn’t ask for this, Your Highness, but it is your burden to bear. The question is will you bear it or should we find another to take your place? I know I, for one, will not allow the planes to fall because your heart is too tender for the task.”

A loud clap of thunder shook the walls of the palace. A storm was gathering outside, and it sounded brutal. Even the floor seemed to shake a bit. Lightning lit the windows, electrifying the sky. Rain began to beat on the roof though moments before there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky. It seemed the rumors were true, and the Warrior King could call the storms to his aid.

“Now who’s overreacting?” Cian said with a hint of a smile. “You know they’re right, brother. We can love Bron all we want, but we’re killing her if we don’t take our throne. We’ll get our crown back or we will die. There are no other options. The time has come, and I welcome it. I want it to be over with so we can settle with our Meggie.”

“Or we’ll settle her into a grave,” Beck said, his voice tight. The rain softened, lessening to a gentle pattering on the roof.

“This life or another, we’ll be with her,” Cian said on a sigh. The Kings of the Seelie Fae stood together for a long moment, their brotherhood apparent.

Beck nodded. He brought his deep gray eyes up to catch Lach’s. “You’ll go then. I don’t really have to ask you, do I? You’ll do it because she’s your bondmate.”

His father stood, a hand on his forehead. “I cannot let my heirs go. I love my daughter. The whole idea that my Gilly is alive fills me with joy, but I can’t sacrifice my heirs. I will send others.”

Julian put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Then Lach and Shim will find another way, and they will be alone.”

Julian knew them well. Lach’s mind was already working. Now that they knew where she was, there would be no holding them back. Shim would follow him. They would get on that plane one way or another. “We’re going to find her, father. You can’t stop us.”

“We will have her,” Shim said, his voice a little deeper. His fangs had come out, and for once his brother looked savage.

If the evidence of their vampire half bothered the Seelies, they didn’t show it.

“Save our sister,” Cian requested.

A wild thrill went through Lach. Yes, the time had come. For the Seelies to face their fate and for him to meet his mate.