TWENTY-EIGHT
FAELAN
I was hoping she’d leave well enough alone, but Astrid has always been the most stubborn woman I know. So I’m not surprised when she slips away from Duncan’s side and approaches me.
I am surprised, though, that she’d let people see her speaking to me.
“Can we talk?” she asks. “Perhaps we can find a quiet spot, just for a moment.”
When I first saw her at the club last night, I was shocked. But after seeing her with my brothers, the way she lets them lord over her, the old anger has bubbled up, the wound she left tearing open a little.
“You don’t want to talk to me,” I say. “And I certainly don’t want to talk to you.”
Her brow pinches. “I know that I hurt you—”
“You betrayed me. There’s a difference.”
“I know,” she says. “There’s just so much you don’t understand.”
I’m shocked she’d make excuses. To me, of all people. Is she really so clueless that she doesn’t realize how low she sank? There’s a reason I’m an outcast. “I understood a lot more than I bloody wanted to sitting in that dungeon, Astrid. For seven years.”
“But it was all so long ago,” she says. “Much time has passed. And your brothers are sorry they caused you pain.”
I glare at her, wondering what underhanded thing she’s playing with. “They’ve said nothing to me.”
“They speak to me,” she says, then she pauses, searching my face. “And they wish to ask you . . . they’d like for you to return home once your time with the newblood has passed. I would wish for that as well.”
I want to laugh. It’s too much to swallow, with everything else. And now here this woman is with the lies, the manipulation. I’d forgotten how good she is. But I don’t have to listen.
I turn to walk away. She places her hand on my arm, stopping me.
“Please, Faelan.” Her voice breaks on my name, and when I look at her, there are tears in her eyes.
My gut clenches, and a part of me cracks inside. I used to be swayed by those tears. Once, long ago, I’d have wiped them from her face and kissed her. Now I watch, frustrated, knowing she’s merely using them for her own ends.
“I’m not doing this with you, Astrid,” I say, attempting to be gentle.
She nods and brushes a glittering tear from her cheek. “I thought you’d wish to make peace, regain standing. Forgive me if I overstepped.”
Regain standing? How can she not know that I never cared about that? It’s as if she’s forgotten the reason I wanted to leave my father’s House to begin with. But even so, why come to me for reconciliation now, after being silent for so long?
And why would Finbar send my old lover if he really meant to make amends? He knows how she betrayed me, how she used me in the end. He knows I’d never trust her. It makes no sense.
My brothers are up to something. Or Astrid is.
Either way, I’m not playing. “Go back to forgetting about me,” I say. “And tell my brothers to do the same. I won’t return to the House of Cernunnos. Ever.”
“I wish you’d at least hear me out. They have—”
An arrow of pain spikes my temple, shutting out her words. I clench my eyes and cradle my head, trying to push back at the pulse. It subsides nearly as quickly as it came, only a slight throb lingering.
I catch my breath and rub my temple. What the mangy hell was that?
“Are you all right?” Astrid moves closer and looks around us, her eyes wary.
Then I remember. I’m no longer simply me anymore. “I’m fine,” I say absently, searching the crowd. Where the feck is Sage?
“Faelan, I—”
“Enough,” I bite out.
And I walk away through the crowd.
I study all the faces, the figures I pass, not seeing her. I should be feeling her location if the connection is solid enough to spike me. It should be drawing me toward her. But I don’t sense any tug. I might be too pissed right now to feel it.
I make my way among the bodies, not worrying about the turning heads or the whispers. I need to get a tighter rein on this link so that—
I spot her red hair and the panic fades a little. She’s in the shadows, standing by one of the trees and—Kieran is reaching out to her. He’s . . . he’s bloody touching her neck. If he hurts her again, I’ll fucking rip his bastard lungs out.
I move fast, but he’s smoke before I get three yards away.
“Are you all right?” I ask as I come to her side. I turn her to face me, looking over her neck, her shoulders. She’s lit with a fading glow at the center of her chest. She manifested? I urge her deeper into the shadows. “What’s happened? Your power—did he hurt you?” If Kieran tried to attack her again . . .
She shakes her head, looking confused. “He put this on, and everything suddenly shifted.”
“What shifted, what do you mean?” But then I see it, the ancient torque resting on her chest, lying over the one I placed on her. Queen Lily’s torque. “You put it on?”
She shakes her head violently. “He did. And I didn’t stop him—what’s wrong with me, Faelan?”
“He placed it?” I can’t help the disbelief in my voice. That’s really not good. Why would she let him do that?
“I’m all wrong,” she says. “I can’t think when I’m around him. It’s like I’m not in control.”
“We need to go. We’ll figure this out.”
Relief fills her eyes. “Okay.”
“Stay close until we’re out of here, though.” I was an idiot to let Aelia and her coven whisk her off in the first place.
She nods and moves closer to me. The smell of her spice fills my head, and without meaning to I lean toward her, breathing it in. The memory floats through me of our kiss only a few hours ago, the feel of her in my hands, and I absently reach out, about to touch her, to try and comfort her.
Thankfully, a pixie comes forward, saving me.
I bloody well need to get myself past this.
But then I realize it’s Brea, the gift from the House of Lyr.
“I have the poultice,” she says, bowing slightly as she blocks our path, holding up a small glass bowl. “I will place it on her temples, and then she can feed from me.”
Sage shrinks back, repulsed. “Oh, God, no.”
“You aren’t needed,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I’m fairly sure she’s more likely a spy for the House of Lyr than any sort of loyal servant. “You can return to your previous mistress and tell her the tribute isn’t accepted.”
Brea gasps loudly, and several heads turn our way.
“Is this true?” she asks Sage.
“Well, yes,” Sage says.
Brea opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “You heard what the princess said. Now, go.” And then I nudge Sage past, not wanting there to be any more of a scene.
But I might be too late. We’ve collected quite a few onlookers. I put my hand on Sage’s back and steer her along the path, heading for the exit.
“You didn’t need to be mean,” Sage says under her breath.
“I thought you didn’t want her.” I watch her fiddle with the medallion on her new torque. “Was I wrong?”
She shakes her head. “No. It all just sucks.”
I have to agree.
“I need to get the hell out of here,” she says, her voice trembling.
It’s past time. After a few tense seconds of weaving our way out of the crowd, I ask, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“No,” she whispers as we walk across the grass to the main building.
“The pixie will be fine, Sage. She was just a spy, anyway—”
“What? No, it’s not that.” She pauses. “The girl was a spy? I should’ve guessed.”
“What is it, then?” I ask.
Several seconds pass before she says, so quietly I almost miss it, “It’s like I know him.”
“Who?”
“Kieran.” Fear is clear in her voice.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I felt like I had no free will around him until he put on this necklace. He looks at me with those eyes, and crazy thoughts wash over me, like memories. What’s wrong with me? Why haven’t I just kicked him in the crotch like I would any other prick who pushed me like that?”
Those eyes? Could he be strong enough to glamour her? I can’t imagine—demis don’t get tricked by mirages. But then, Sage is still young in her powers. “What sort of memories are you having?”
She shakes her head violently. “I can’t say it; it’s just too crazy. And wrong.”
I put a hand to her arm, stopping her forward momentum. “You can’t let him wear you down, Sage. That’s what he does—he gets in your head and torments you. You have to say it. What do you see?”
She looks up at me, her expression tortured. Her breath quivers as she whispers, “We’re, you know . . . having sex.”
The impact of her words fills the space between us. I have no idea what to say. How could she have a memory of having sex with Kieran? Unless he really has managed to glamour her somehow, giving her false images in her head that she’s confusing with memories. It’s obvious neither of the torques are working properly on her, that something about her energy is different or . . . gods, could it be malformed, like Kieran said in the alley the other night? But she seemed to be finding balance in the greenhouse this afternoon.
“See?” she chokes out, mistaking my silence for disgust. “It’s horrible. The guy’s a monster, and some sick part of me wants to have sex with him, or thinks I’ve had sex with him, or something. I’ve never even had sex before.”
Someone behind us clears their throat, and we turn.
Finbar, Duncan, and Astrid are standing in a small alcove around a table with Kieran, Mara, and several druids. The House of Cernunnos and the House of Morrígan are probably doing the usual business of contracts and deals that would occur at any tribunal, making arrangements for their holdings or firming up territory lines. I hadn’t even remembered the alcove was there. Bloody fucking brilliant. I wonder how much they heard.
My brothers look on with twin frowns. Astrid is blushing, turned away a little, as if she doesn’t want to snoop. Or doesn’t want to see my face.
Kieran smirks, and I get the urge to cut his throat. It’s becoming a familiar feeling.
“Is everything all right with our newblood, hunter?” Princess Mara asks in her silky voice.
But I barely hear her because the scent of death fills my nostrils. My gaze moves lower.
Horror fills me as I realize what I’m smelling. Her pet shade is hunched over what looks like one of the human waitstaff, just under the table. The flesh is torn too much to see if it’s a male or female victim. Blood is pooled on the tiles and smeared on the wall behind them, the evidence of the shade’s massacred meal everywhere.
Sage makes a choking sound and brings her hand to her mouth.
Mara is studying Sage with her sharp silver-blue eyes, still casually holding the red silk leash. “You should send the girl to us,” she says to me. “My brother would be pleased to teach her, tame her, as the King of Ravens tamed her sister.” A slow smile crawls up her face.
I take Sage by the arm and lead her away.