One Night With The Fae
By Claire Farrell
One Night With The Fae is a group of short stories detailing one special night at a faery festival. Each story focuses on a different character’s involvement and point of view.
Now comes with a preview chapter of Soul, the novel that was inspired by this collection.
Copyright © Claire Farrell
[email protected] www.clairefarrellauthor.com
www.facebook.com/clairefarrellauthor
Cover images provided by:
Theeravat Boonnuang
Inga Marchuk
Licence Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold.
Cara
Slightly drunk on the darkest night of the year, Cara was halfway down Conyngham road before she noticed the lights in the Phoenix Park. They hadn’t been there a minute ago, yet now beaming lights bounced and flashed in spectacular prisms of colour that echoed across the sky. She followed her friends, staring at the lights in wonder.
“What do you think those lights are for? A rave or something?” she said, half to herself.
Her best friend stopped shouting at her boyfriend long enough to look around quizzically. “What lights?”
Apparently unwilling to wait for an answer, Zoe turned her attention back to her boyfriend, continuing the shouting match as if there had been no interruption.
Cara gazed at the park, longing to go over and see. It didn’t matter that Zoe hadn’t noticed. Nobody ever noticed the same things as Cara.
Her group of friends were heading home together after a typical night out. Cara was already late, and when the others stopped into the nearest chipper for a few bags of hot chips doused in salt, vinegar and grease, she hesitated. Maybe she could cross the road and check out the strange lights. Just for a minute. She would be back before they even noticed her gone. Besides, Zoe was used to her wandering off on nights out; her friends would wait. She hoped.
Cara crossed over when the traffic lights turned red and the cars stopped, weaving in and out to cut across two roads before making her way straight through the entrance of the park.
She put one foot past the gate, heard the strangest music of all time, and made up her mind. She had to see. She followed the lights but they moved further and further away all the time, as if beckoning her forward.
At first, she had expected to go as far as the monument, but she found herself heading past the zoo and not stopping even though her high heels were making her hobble onward. The music called to her; she could feel it vibrating in her veins with every note.
She wanted to stop. So stupid. Always doing the impulsive thing without thinking about it. She needed to turn back and walk the rest of the way home with her friends. Back to normality and the wonder at what she might have left behind.
But her feet kept moving forward, faster and faster in time with the music that was building up into a frenzy.
The park was dangerous at night, so she had to be careful, but she didn’t feel in control of her own body. Her mind was there, her thoughts and wants were there, but nothing connected them with the rest of her body.
Each streetlight that lined the main road cutting through the park extinguished as she passed it by. A fleeting look behind her showed nothing but an empty expanding darkness, each light snuffed out as if by a giant invisible hand. She had to keep moving just to stay within the remaining light. There was no going back.
Avoid the dark. That’s the rule.
She shook her head. No. Those were children’s nightmares. The dreams that had once haunted her sleep had never been true.
And yet the dark crept behind her, forcing her to move further into the park.
She hadn’t seen or heard a soul since she left her friends. The park was usually full of life late at night. Between drug dealers and prostitutes, customers and gardaí, it had never been so lifeless. Somehow their absence screamed of wrongness, of something lurking in the dark.
If the lights were from some kind of party then surely there would be voices, shouts, laughter, anything. The only sound she could hear aside from the drumming of music was the wind rustling in and out of the undergrowth of the many overbearing trees. In the dark, they leaned towards her, as if threatening to snatch her up in their barren branches.
Cara shivered, trying to push the childlike imagery of boogey men and evil trees out of her mind. She moved off the path and away from the road, already crossing the grass before realising she had wound up in a part of the park normally used by joggers, dog walkers and the odd junkie. She was soon surrounded by the thick trunks of ancient oak trees that she couldn’t remember ever seeing before. But the lights had stopped moving, and so did her feet. At last.
Glistening and inexplicably more compact and vivid than before, the lights hovered above a clearing. The ground looked dead; it was unexpectedly bleak in the middle of so much nature. Empty except for dead leaves and twigs. In the very centre was a large fissure in the ground. The lights dipped inside.
Her feet no longer led her against her will. It was her own curiosity that persuaded her to approach the widened gap in the soil. Peering downward she was startled to note a set of stone steps leading underground. Glancing around first, she took a tentative step forward. Immediately, the steps lit up, transforming them into something warm and inviting. The music she had heard was louder now and it no longer sounded strange. More appealing than odd.
Her hips swayed in time with the music. She danced down the steps, eager to see what was hidden within.
She stepped into a room and gasped. The party was nothing like anything else she had ever seen. This one was full of creatures unfamiliar to her eyes. For a second she assumed they were costumes, but as one particularly hideous being turned in her direction, she saw that its claws were real and its fangs unimaginably sharp. She backed up instantly, eager to leave, but the steps were gone. Only a stone wall stood behind her. Her eyes darted around anxiously, looking for a way out and seeing none.
As if her panic triggered something, a comforting sense of calm drifted over her, encasing her body, even as something deep inside her warned her to get out. An inner alarm bell set off by the sights around her. Her emotions conflicted and confused her. Something about the smell of the place reminded her of home, and yet a desperate need to run away as fast as she could persisted in her gut.
But if she left, she would never know. Never understand.
She moved along the walls; losing her bearings could be a mistake. Although, with no visible exits, remembering where she started didn’t seem so important. Her feet ached; a night of dancing in heels had made its mark on her soles. She took off her shoes, surprised to find she liked how the damp earth felt against her toes. The smell of the soil filled her nostrils in a surprisingly appealing way.
At least it distracted her from niggling worries about getting home. Not to mention who or what these creatures really were. Maybe her drink had been spiked. Maybe the whole thing was a massive hallucination.
Maybe.
But it all seemed so real. She ordered herself to think clearly. A quick appraisal of the room showed her a large, stone room. There was a dance floor, but no decent seating area. The space was lit by candles that hung high on the walls supported by ornately designed glass candelabras. They were at odds with the candles, like ice holding up fire. The flickering of the flames sent shadows darting into every corner.
She sidestepped around the room slowly, avoiding the crowds. All manner of creatures danced in the middle of the room, some laughing, some arguing, but all moving constantly. Her eyes followed their movements, intrigued by their focus. There was some hidden beauty in the way t
he monstrous looking ones pranced around together. They managed to come across as elegant despite their appearance. She watched them for too long, she realised, shaking her head to force herself to concentrate and keep moving. She remembered stories about faery rings and humans forced to dance until they died. That was enough to push her forward.
Tables full of strange food and drink edged the dance floor. She passed by many of them but didn’t recognise anything. Some of the food resembled familiar fruit except the colours were wrong and some of the food seemed to bubble on the platters. She was too afraid to touch them.
Most of the creatures carried ornate silver goblets that didn’t seem to need refilling. Cara picked one up out of curiosity. It was filled to the brim with a clear golden liquid that reminded her of thin honey. It looked safe enough so she took a sip, hesitating at first but then draining the cup greedily and licking her lips afterward. It tasted like heaven, a cup of liquid gold that settled warmly in her stomach and left her wanting more.
Staring into the goblet in amazement, she watched as the liquid refilled itself. She eagerly lifted it to her lips to drink again but a strong pale-skinned hand stopped her.
“That’s not for you,” said a pretty white haired boy with silvery wings.
His skin was so pale it was almost transparent. She thought he was much taller than her at first but soon realised he was hovering above the ground, his wings moving rapidly. Cara stared enviously at his wings.
He closed the space between them. “You don’t belong here, don’t eat or drink anything else.” Although he sounded angry, his dark violet eyes were kind.
“Sorry,” she said, putting the cup down. She turned back to speak to him some more, but he was already gone. She felt a vague sense of disappointment. It would have been nice to talk to someone. To find out…anything.
The drink was beginning to numb her senses, the room already spinning a little.
“Wow,” she muttered. “What was that stuff, moonshine?”
She had been tipsy earlier but hurrying through the Phoenix Park in December in high heels and a short skirt had done a good job at sobering her up. Now her cheeks grew hot; she tried to fan herself to cool down. She stumbled further along the room, almost knocking over a chair. She was beginning to attract attention, she realised. Mythical looking creatures gazed at her in surprise. Some of them laughed harshly, but none touched her. None spoke. Not like him.
She sat on a stool to settle herself and observed those around her. She felt as though she had been immersed in water. Her movements were sluggish and languid, and the sense of panic was long gone.
The music had slow almost hypnotically. Cara swayed in time as she looked around to see where it was coming from. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed before, but a group of creatures with instruments sat next to a huge gold throne at the top of the room. They were playing frantically; even from her viewing point, she was sure she saw blood dripping from their fingers. She wondered just how long they had been playing.
The thought passed quickly because Cara was distracted by the throne. A beautiful, haughty looking woman with wavy red hair and emerald green eyes sat upon the jewel encrusted golden seat. She appeared closer to human than anything else in the room despite wearing the strangest looking gown that Cara had ever seen. It was dark green in colour, showed way too much cleavage and the skirt was slashed with deep slits that showed just how long her slender legs were.
A tiny creature knelt at the woman’s bare feet, apparently to be used as a footrest whenever the woman felt inclined. It cowered low to the ground, the back of its bald head covered by long thin fingers and many pink scars. Some lights floated behind the woman’s head, but she was too far away for Cara to see how the lights drifted there seemingly unaided.
The woman was surrounded by huge muscular people with wings, pointed ears, and an arsenal of weaponry that made Cara’s stomach turn. Now that she noticed, it seemed most of the people in the room had wings or horns or even hooves instead of feet.
It was almost as if a film of calm was touching her skin because she didn’t panic like she should have. Her ability to be fully aware of what was normal was long gone. She noticed the red haired woman glare across the room. Instinctively, her eyes followed the path of the woman’s with interest.
Another throne, this time a silver one, was on the other side of the room facing the gold one. In fact, the room seemed to grow with every glance; it was more like a huge hall now. It hadn’t been so large a moment ago. Resting on the silver throne with her mouth curved into a sneer, sat a woman who looked remarkably like the red head except her hair was blonde and straight and her eyes an icy grey. She was adorned with far too much jewellery. She wore black leather trousers and a dark red corset that somehow seemed alive. Cara couldn’t stop herself from shuddering at how wrong it was. The warriors next to her were even scarier than the redhead’s. One in particular was a muscular woman with short brown hair cut into a choppy style. She seemed to be busy staring down the red headed woman. Cara was glad she wasn’t looking like that in her direction; she was terrifying.
The music changed again, the room seemed to fill with something darker. It wasn’t anything that Cara could say specifically happened but the atmosphere had transformed completely. A squeal on the middle of the dance floor alerted her to a tall dark being with enormous black wings. The man was attractive but his obsidian eyes were uncomfortably intense. She wanted to say faery but this one was terrifying, not exactly the same as the faery tales she knew.
The man smiled broadly, even as he took out his sword and beheaded the wizened creature before him. He didn’t bother cleaning the droplets of blood that landed on his own skin, but he made sure to wipe his sword on the creature’s companion who was shaking with fear.
Even though she was horrified, Cara felt herself stare longingly at the dark man; he was as beautiful as he was horrifying. She willed herself to stop looking, amazed by the lust she felt, but her eyes refused to obey.
As if he sensed her gaze, he turned around and caught her eye, his smile still wide and suddenly full of something that made Cara’s blood run cold. He left the dance floor and approached the golden throne. After he had bowed his head low for the red haired woman, he knelt by her side, looking up at her adoringly, that strange smile still on his face.
Cara stood, firmly deciding she needed to find a way out. Someone had just killed in front of her. This wasn’t where she needed to be. She kept her hands behind her, touching the wall and making sure she stayed alert.
A silent scream welled up inside her; she was truly panicking for the first time. Something had cleared her head. She was in danger. This was no game. She had to find a way out. She couldn’t find a door or a hallway or anything that would lead her away from the room. She caught a glimpse of the white-haired boy who was staring at her, his face creased into a frown. She stepped toward him, but someone else crossed her path before she could reach him. An ugly, foul-smelling old woman with long knotted hair and wart covered hands stood in her way.
“Come with me, dearest,” the woman said, her voice dry and crackling.
Cara shook her head and backed away, but the woman gripped Cara’s arm and pulled her along with ease. Cara prayed she was dreaming, prayed she would wake up, but the pain of the woman’s grasp was too real to ignore. The woman didn’t appear to notice Cara’s struggles to escape.
She led her into a bedroom. The walls were covered in nightmarish paintings. The four poster bed was huge and luxurious, covered with red velvet.
The woman pushed Cara onto the bed and offered her a basket full of red apples. She stood there and watched until Cara picked one up. It was shiny with health, bursting with juice. When Cara bit into it, the crunchy flesh startled her with its incredible flavour. This was what she was supposed to do.
The woman nodded with satisfaction as Cara relaxed instantly. She sank against the pillows, took another bite of the delicious fruit, and didn’t even blink when
the woman left and the doorway disappeared after her.
Brathnach
Brathnach could tell the Unseelie Queen had arrived even before he turned around. He was already feeling the bloodlust rise within him as it reacted to his own Queen’s charms. Licking his lips, his everlasting smile made the troll who had stepped in his way shake with fear. One swift slice of his sword beheaded the creature.
Brathnach felt better, he couldn’t bear the ugliness of trolls touching him. He debated whether to kill another, but the bloodlust was appeased for the moment, so he carefully cleaned his sword on another troll’s garments. The creature refused to look him in the eye, and that saved his life. Brathnach enjoyed this fearful respect. If he couldn’t kill any of the Unseelie Court then he would certainly make up for it with the solitaries and the hosting Irish fae.
But something made him turn and look across the room. Something small, but insistent. It didn’t concern him that he was compelled to do something. That was normal for him; he barely even noticed. It was the life he had chosen long ago, to lose his own will to fulfil another’s. He spied the human girl with pleasure. Her skin was draining of colour from dread by the time he caught her eye. She was afraid of him, but he could see his Queen’s lust working her magic in the human’s eyes. A pretty human, one who would make an excellent sacrifice. Her jet black hair would remind the Queen of her own father, always a plus.
He made his way back to his Queen, her auburn locks glistening under lights held by the smallest sprites who hovered behind her throne. They were there to highlight the Queen’s attributes, but as far as Brathnach was concerned, she didn’t need any help in this regard. She glanced back at him under her eyelashes as a reward when he knelt before her. Her fingertip stroked one drop of blood from his cheeks and wetted his lips with it instead. He licked eagerly despite the fact it was sour troll blood.
This pleased the Queen; she gave him a rare genuine smile. He savoured the sight, knowing it would get him through an otherwise dull evening. He loved his Queen. Idolised her, in fact. Mirela was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Even without her spell casting, he would have loved her completely. It was she who had cursed him with a smile that would last an eternity, but he forgave her for it because he was a devoted subject.
“My Lady,” he murmured so none would hear him apart from her. “There is a girl here. A human girl. She would make a most willing sacrifice tonight, would she not?”
His Queen jerked up her head and found the only non-fae in the room immediately. Her cruellest smile lit up her features, thrilling Brathnach to the bone. He would serve his Queen to the end. She ruled with love and lust and an innate cruelty that appealed to Brathnach’s nature. He saw how pleased she was and noted that this was an opportunity to step above the lesser Queen of the Unseelie Court. He despised that one with all of his heart. If he could break the treaty and destroy her, he would. But tonight was the one night in a century when the two courts came together and the rules were clear. Any unlawful bloodshed instigated by either Queen’s court would result in war and who knew what side the solitary fae would choose. It would be too dangerous to follow his heart’s desire because the solitaries were too stupid to be loyal to the One True Queen.
He had to quell his inner feelings and natural instincts for one evening. But he could make up for it by taunting the lesser Queen with a special sacrifice to his own Lady. She would be humiliated if he gifted the true Queen with a sacrifice on the one night it should be impossible. It would have major significance. It was forbidden for the courts to lure humans to the festival but if one should arrive uninvited, well, that was the perfect loophole. He had to take advantage. His Queen leaned over him and bit his earlobe sharply.
“Dearest slave. Your loyalty knows no bounds. I shall accept a human sacrifice in my name. Go, find one of the hosts and bade them to take the human and keep her safe from prying eyes until we are ready. You may guard her if you wish.”
Brathnach nodded, eagerly panting like a dog. His Queen patted his head, content by his servitude. He hurried to look for a suitable task person and bumped into a banshee. He recoiled at her touch. He hated the lesser fae, especially the solitary fae, but he had a particular distaste for all of the Irish fae. They weren’t worthy of his time unless they were being useful.
“Excuse me, Lord Brathnach. May I assist you in some way?”
He chose not to wonder why she was so polite for a change. Banshees were notoriously troublesome. He assumed it was his magnificent presence before her that made her cower down to him, even though the Irish fae had never made a secret of the fact they despised both courts.
“A human has found their way here. As the Irish fae are hosting the festival, it is up to one of you to possess the girl. We cannot take her without breaking the rules. I wish to keep her hidden away from the lesser court until the time is right. Block the exits from the human’s eyes and hide her away from the Unseelie court. And be discreet. She will make an ideal gift for the One True Queen.”
The banshee inclined her head, accepting the task. “You do remember, Lord Brathnach, that the girl must be a willing…gift?”
He snarled at her impudence. “She will accept the terms, banshee. No rules will be broken. Worry not, lady of Ireland.” His tone was mocking but she didn’t rise to the bait. She simply nodded and slipped away to find the human. He waited until she grabbed hold of the girl and began to lead her away. Only then was he satisfied that she would follow his orders. He made his way back to his Queen to pass on the news.
“One of the hosting fae has the girl now. They have agreed to hold her until it is time to ask her if she is, ah, agreeable to our terms.”
“How hospitable of them,” said Mirela. “Brathnach, remain by my side for mere moments, and then make your way to the girl. I like not the way my sister looks at me. I fear she knows and plans to take my gift. Make sure the girl is mine tonight, and you will be rewarded.”
She didn’t look at Brathnach as she spoke, but she stroked his arm absent-mindedly. He stood rigidly by her side for a few moments before leaving to check on the human. He didn’t particularly like humans, but he was willing to endure the scent of this one for a while for his Queen. He found the banshee again and ordered her to lead him to the girl. She agreed without any problems. He was surprised by how easygoing the Irish fae were, considering the history. The Seelie Court had been dreading this particular festival for centuries because they had been sure the Irish fae would revolt in some way to get revenge on the atrocities of the past. Brathnach was glad to see they had learned their lesson and that they now realised they had gotten what they deserved.
He was led into a room that had been glamoured to appear as an opulent bedroom. The human lay on a bed, her eyes still dizzy from being entranced by the banshee. Brathnach was surprised to note that she didn’t smell particularly like a human. The banshee left the room after a command from Brathnach who sat on the bed and stared at the human. She was almost beautiful, for a human. She would never have the charm and grace of a faery, but she was pleasing enough to the eye. He was confident she wouldn’t displease his Queen who was as opposed to ugliness as he was.
“Sit up,” he ordered her. Her eyes flickered towards him, as dazed and stupid as he expected. Humans were even less intelligent than solitary fae. He pulled her upward roughly, ripping the sleeve of her top in the process. Her instant reaction to the damage amused him greatly. If he had been allowed to keep her, he would have revelled in ripping her skin to see what her reaction would have been. But she wasn’t for him to play with.
He decided to amuse himself without physically harming her. That was allowed. He held her face in his hands and pulled her towards him. He saw the different expressions cross her face, her eyes clearing up in the process. She was terrified but also curious as to what he would do next. There wasn’t much he was allowed to do, so he licked her cheek slowly and laughed when she recoiled in horror. Humans always had comical reactions to ever
ything; they were so uptight.
He called for a seamstress, one who would measure the girl and create a fitting outfit in as little time as possible. An elderly woman, one with needles for fingers, answered the call and expertly measured every inch of the girl’s body. The girl shivered noticeably when she spotted the woman’s hands. Brathnach sat in a chair, idly observing the girl’s red cheeks as she tried to hide her exposed body from him. He had no interest in her, but he delighted in making her think he wanted her. As if she would ever be good enough for him. Still, he enjoyed feeding off her fear.
The seamstress soon finished and hurried away to make a gossamer dress fit for a sacrifice. The girl kept her back to Brathnach as she dressed herself again, her long dark hair covering most of her back. He was surprised by how quickly the trance had fallen off her. Most humans took a few hours to be aware enough to feel fear. This one must be sensitive.
“Who are you?” the girl defiantly asked when she finally turned around.
“I am Bodyguard, Lord and Defender of the One True Queen,” he said. He didn’t like her tone but was proud of his official title and enjoyed stating it.
“But…I thought there were two Queens.”
Brathnach frowned. “My Lady Mirela is the One True Queen of the One True Court. The lesser Queen and her court are unimportant.”
“So what do you want with me?”
“I wish to present you as a gift to my Lady. I wish for you to announce that you are willing.”
“A gift? I’m not willing,” she said, sharply.
Brathnach’s eyes grew wide, adding an odd expression when combined with his constant smile. “You must be willing. You must agree.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said, stubbornly. It was almost as if she knew the rules, he thought. But that wasn’t possible. Humans were blind to the world around them. They rarely knew of or believed in the rules of the fae.
He had no time for discussions. He prepared to entrance her with his own charms but was interrupted by a solitary fae. A small, skinny, white-haired weakling who irritated Brathnach with his pretty femininity.
“Lord,” said the faery, panting. “Your Lady is in trouble! You must leave!”
Brathnach had been prepared to kill the solitary faery for interrupting, but this news made him leap to his feet in concern. Not his Lady Queen. He forgot all about the human, the sacrifice and even the irritating solitary faery and rushed outside. Before he could even focus, he was halted by the presence of Wyla, the bodyguard of the lesser Queen.
He saw her sword was unsheathed. Perfect, he thought, his bloodlust growing uncontrollably strong. He stretched out his broad arms before releasing his own sword with a sense of pleasure known to few. His enchanted smile grew wider with anticipation of what was to come.
Azarel
Azarel, the Queen of the Unseelie Court scowled viciously at her twin sister. She wanted to rip those red locks of hair out of her head in chunks. She would one day pay her back for their father’s death, but unfortunately, tonight’s festival was not the time. She hated these festivals; the centuries passed by so quickly that she felt like she was forced to look at her sister’s hateful face more often than not. At least the Irish fae had been no trouble. There had been whispers for a long time that this night would be historic for all the wrong reasons. Azarel almost pitied the Irish, but they had been ruled by a weak king who had lost his throne and his life for his own stupidity. Whereas her own father had lost his life out of his own carelessness combined with Mirela’s betrayal.
Azarel clenched her fist until her nails made her palm bleed. Mirela’s smirking mouth riled her beyond belief. Watching her grant her dog of a bodyguard a flirtatious look was almost too much to bear. How she wished the rules could be changed. She licked her lips, feeling her sister’s lust spread over her, much to Azarel’s disgust. She spiked up the bloodlust a few notches to gain the upper hand. Her sister didn’t react at all.
“Why is she so happy all of a sudden?” she enquired of her second-in-command, Wyla. The warrior Wyla was one of the most aggressive and feared faeries amongst the fae. She was almost feral in her attempts to protect her Queen, who considered Wyla to be a loyal friend as well as servant. She was the only one who understood Azarel’s frustrations and limitations, choosing not to see them as weaknesses as others might. For that, Azarel was grateful.
“I think Brathnach may have found her a toy,” sneered Wyla glancing over at the dark-haired Brathnach, his usual smile plastered on his face as he knelt before his Queen, whispering to her. They both hated Brathnach, Wyla’s counterpart. He was the Seelie Queen’s favourite, as a warrior and bedfellow.
“Her happiness never bodes well for me,” Azarel said. “I fear she is up to something tonight.”
“Shall I find you something to play with?”
“Only if it belonged to her first. Find Brathnach’s gift if it exists. Let her consider reacting to us taking it. Maybe then she will see that I am more powerful than she will ever be.”
Azarel hated her sister with a passion more fierce than anything else. They maintained a balance together. An uncomfortable sort of peace, but peace nonetheless. The Unseelie Queen would have welcomed a war, but Mirela was far more interested in making her own subjects lust after her. She was a pathetic Queen whose deviant antics regularly disgusted Azarel. Wyla slipped away from the Queen’s side to beckon a banshee. Azarel forced herself to look away from her sister and view the crowds dancing and offering their loyalty and support to both Courts instead.
They all sickened her. She wished to be left alone in her own Court without all of these festivals to attend. What was the point in being in the same room as her sister if she wasn’t allowed to shed her blood or retaliate to her petty games? She sighed wearily, wanting to get back to her real life, the one that didn’t involve listening to solitary fae or watching them dance badly to poor music. The ones who were enchanted to dance all night were already looking weak and tired.
She hoped the next hosting nation would do a better job. The band had obviously peaked before she even arrived, she noted as some of them collapsed to the ground. They were stepped on by replacements almost immediately, but the whole set up seemed shabby to Azarel. The lack of effort was almost disrespectful. It riled her, but she couldn’t tell if the slights were intentional or simply a lack of anyone capable in charge.
After a few minutes of questioning, and plenty of threats, Wyla had apparently found the answer she was looking for because she returned to Azarel’s throne, seeming pleased. By this time, Azarel was fidgeting and agitated, but she could always depend on Wyla to do a job quickly and without waffle, unlike her sister’s poor excuse for a second-in-command who couldn’t function without a treat or a pat on the head.
“My Queen, there is indeed a human here. Brathnach warned the hosting fae to hide all exits from the human until he is ready to claim her for his lady. The banshee says she is in a room, locked to all those belonging to the Court of Unseelie.”
“Arrogance,” Azarel muttered in disgust. “Is my sister planning on showing me up tonight, I wonder?”
Wyla glared at Brathnach. “If Brathnach even considers such a thing, his head will be released from his body.”
“Remember the treaty,” Azarel warned. “We cannot afford a war right now, particularly not here. But I can’t pretend to be upset if the dog slave dies. If it could be seen as a mistake by one of the solitaries…”
Wyla smiled knowingly at Azarel, taking her words in carefully. Azarel hoped that Wyla would be cautious. It was a delicate situation, but her sister was asking for trouble if she thought to bring a human to the festival and force it to make itself an offering. It was the height of insolence, begging for punishment. The Queen fumed at her sister’s impudence and slyness, barely able to focus long enough to wonder how Mirela had bypassed the laws to sneak in a human. Always the same, she thought, sneaky and conniving in her bids to be on top.
Azarel bit her lip, trying t
o calm the bloodlust that was growing swiftly. If Mirela felt the change, she would be aware of the danger and alter her own plans. She was waiting for the chance to show up Azarel who always struggled to control the frenzy within herself. It was getting harder every time. Wyla, perhaps sensing the Queen’s trouble, offered her palm to Azarel discreetly. Azarel bent her head and bit hard, drawing blood instantly. The release of the blood of her own servant cooled her nerves straight away, allowing her to relax enough to tone down her influence in the air.
A solitary tear rolled down Azarel’s cheeks as the tension released. She sat back in her throne, sweating heavily. Some of the fights brewing on the dance floor eased off before any damage could be done, to Azarel’s relief. She was too hot-headed to control her own power sometimes, and that was why Wyla was so invaluable to her. She always knew what to do to calm Azarel down.
All the Queen and her servant could do next was to wait and see what move the other court would make. Brathnach didn’t stir from his Queen’s side for long moments. When he finally made a move, Azarel realised she had been holding her breath. She was surprised at herself; she wasn’t scared of her sister. But her power combined with Azarel’s own was a deadly mix; it made it almost impossible to stick to the treaty, particularly when the sly bitch made plans behind her back.
“Hold for a moment, and then follow Brathnach,” said Azarel, breathing deeply to keep calm. “Try to find the girl before he makes her agree to give herself up to my sister. Kill him if you have to, but make sure that nobody sees you. There are too many solitaries here to judge the numbers on our side.”
Wyla bowed before Azarel with respect, but her eyes were anxious. She obviously didn’t want to leave her Queen’s side. The Queen nodded at Wyla reassuringly. She knew her orders would be followed and only hoped that Wyla would survive the night if anything untoward happened. If Wyla wasn’t there to keep her in check, there was no knowing what Azarel would do. She waited impatiently for Wyla to return, amusing herself with fantasies involving her sister’s bloody and painful death.
Drake Part One
At first, Drake assumed she was fae. Her hair was long and shiny, her face delicate and pretty and familiar. But what he thought was a glamoured faery turned out to be 100% human. This made him curious.
She shouldn’t even have been at the festival because of the rules, not unless one of the hosting fae had invited her. She didn’t seem to be spellbound nor was she panicking like a human should. She seemed almost at ease. She swung her fringe away from her eyes as she took a sip from a goblet.
He hesitated, wanting to warn her but afraid of drawing attention to them both. He didn’t know whose guest she was or why she was there, but she didn’t seem to realise how much danger she was in. On such a night, it didn’t bode well. There were already whispers of something dark in the air, some undercurrent of treachery. The presence of a human confirmed some of the fears he already had. He couldn’t let anything get in the way.
When she seemed prepared to drink a second filling of the tainted liquid, he had no choice but to intervene. It was dangerous for a human to wander around the festival intoxicated. Another sip and she would be completely helpless. He glamoured himself so he wouldn’t be seen as soon as she looked away to put the cup down. She seemed confused by his sudden absence, and a little drunk, but she held herself together better than he had hoped. She almost fell over, but at least she could walk.
He watched her from afar, trying to figure out how she had arrived at a festival on the one night in a century when the Seelie and Unseelie Courts met. It was dangerous for them all, never mind a human. Had she really arrived by mistake? She still didn’t appear fully entranced, and her eyes showed horror at a non-important death so he had to wonder if it was an accidental visit. But that would mean…
The Unseelie Queen arrived, the air instantly thickening with a different sort of drug. Lust and bloodlust mingled together in that typically dangerous combination that prevented regular meetings of both courts. This was the one night when both Queens were at their weakest, the only night they could be in the same room. It was a long standing faery tradition.
Drake was a solitary fae but of course, he too was expected to attend this festival. He, like many others, had no real interest in being there, but his presence was a requirement. He didn’t want to offend the sensibilities of either Court by not showing up. That would mean a lifetime in hiding. He had his own reasons for showing, but his plans had fallen through yet again.
He hoped the human girl wouldn’t be embroiled in any part of the Court politics, but that was just too much to ask for. He sighed to himself as he watched a banshee take her away. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t attracted the attention of either of the warring Queens. For everyone’s sake.
Although they were officially at peace, both Queens would jump at the chance to claim a war had been initiated and the peace treaty broken. That would signal the end for most of the solitary fae who would undoubtedly get caught up in the middle of every battle. The courts actively participated in plans to provoke each other enough to make a move, but on such a night, the outcome could only be the bloodshed of innocents.
He followed the human and the banshee, wishing the girl would stop struggling, stop drawing attention. More than one of the fae had noticed, following her with curious gazes. A doorway appeared, and the girl gasped audibly. So she wasn’t used to faery magic. Still, he puzzled over how she had ended up in the middle of such an important faery festival. It made no sense. Even less was how compelled he felt to give her assistance. He normally avoided the company of others, human or fae. It was safer for everyone.
As soon as the banshee left the hiding place, Drake slipped inside to find the girl. The banshee had left her alone in a room with some fruit, obviously infected by a spell intended to keep her there, quiet and willing. Her dark brown eyes were dazed, a half-eaten apple clasped tight in her hand.
“Don’t eat any more,” he said, rushing over. He forced some water down her throat, even as she fought back, desperate to finish the apple. After the first sip, her focus improved surprisingly fast.
“Where am I?” she whispered, her eyes widening as she gazed about the room.
“Somewhere you shouldn’t be. Who brought you here?”
“Nobody. I followed the lights. And the music. Then the entrance disappeared. How did that happen?”
Drake frowned, ignoring her question. Something had led her to the festival, but why? Was she to be a sacrifice? Could he walk away and let that happen? He hated both Queens, but he knew that if either of them were displeased with him, he would suffer for it. He would never accomplish the one thing he wanted from life, the one thing he had spent years working toward.
Yet again, he had to consider the rules. Neither Court could entice a human into the proceedings on such a night, but now she was here, she was fair game. Something else had to be going on. A trick by the Irish fae, if the banshee was any clue. They were bound to feel spiteful. Rightly so after what had been done to them over the years.
“What are you?” the girl said, disturbing his thoughts and reaching out to touch his wings.
“Just a faery.” Her hands irritated him, grabbing like that. He stilled them with his own and told her to stop.
“Are you real? Is all of this real?”
Drake smiled at the awe in her voice. Most humans didn’t believe anymore. How easily they dismissed their own heritage as myth and folklore. “This is all real. The Irish fae are hosting a very important event here tonight.”
“It’s really…real?” Her face lit up with a delighted, childish grin, as if something wonderful had just happened, as if she wasn’t in grave danger.
“Listen to me.” He grabbed her face, seeing she was getting distracted again. The effects of the enchanted fruit were normally long lasting; he was lucky she was listening to him at all, no matter how much pure water she drank. “This is serious. You’re probably going to die tonight. The banshee
that took you into this room is not to be trusted. Don’t eat or drink anything she gives you. And don’t agree to anything. Nobody can hurt you unless you say you are willing.”
The girl gasped. “Why are you going to kill me?”
“Not me,” he said, impatient now. Humans were too slow for words. “You’ll probably be sacrificed to a Queen. It’s a great honour.”
She threw him a disbelieving look. “How many Queens are there?”
“Just the two.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t just kill people and get away with it. Somebody will look for me, for the murderer.”
“If you can’t get out then how will they get in? For this night at least, trust nobody at all.”
“Including you?”
He couldn’t help laughing. She was sharper than he realised. “That would be a good idea if I wasn’t the only one who doesn’t agree with human sacrifice around here. I think something else is going on. I’m going to try and find out what it is because I don’t want to die tonight either. I’ll be back.”
“Wait! Don’t leave me, please.”
He shook his head. “I must go. I’ll try to get you home. If I can’t… be brave. Sacrifices are normally quick, even painless they say.”
Despite her protests, he slid out of the door that was hidden to her eyes. He felt almost guilty for leaving her but he was no use to her until he figured out what was going on. He passed unseen among the other fae, trying to figure out who owned the girl, who had lured her and why. Perhaps the banshees had taken her to present as a gift to the Queens. Or to pit the Queens against one another. He wouldn’t put it past them. The Queens would enjoy deciding which half of her to take… if she were lucky.
He still wasn’t sure why he was helping her. It wasn’t altogether true that he didn’t agree with human sacrifice. Time had made him lose many of his opinions. But he knew that an open sacrifice during this particular festival could lead to an all-out war. He didn’t want to be present at the start of a war fuelled by the Queens of lust and bloodlust. He didn’t want to die. Maybe if he could figure out what games were being played and who the players were, he might find a way to save himself and the girl. Or even just himself. He didn’t even know the girl’s name. If he had any sense, he would leave before anything happened. And yet… he couldn’t leave her behind, couldn’t walk away. Maybe he hadn’t lost every part of himself, after all.
He wandered around for a while, hearing bits and pieces of gossip and growing more concerned as the minutes ticked by. If what he had put together was true, the night would end in a bloodbath. He needed to get the girl and himself out before any of the plans came to pass. As soon as he saw Brathnach’s form entering the bedroom the girl was being kept in, he knew he had to try anything. If anyone was going to start a war, Brathnach was the most likely candidate because he was foolish enough to fall for the slightest enticement.
Drake hurried around the room for a few minutes, desperately trying to figure something out. Inspiration came when he spotted the Unseelie Queen’s servant searching the crowds. He beckoned her to him, trying not to show how much he was shaking.
Wyla
Wyla heard her dearest Queen giggle aloud behind her as she left her side. She shook her own head despairingly. The madness that gripped her Lady grew more noticeable by the year. It was all she could do to control the court that could no longer pretend not to notice. They all knew their Lady was insane and unpredictable, but their loyalty was exceeded only by their hatred of the Red Queen who would control the Unseelie Court if her sister was declared unfit to rule. Wyla tried her best to help Azarel, but every day she woke to find the Queen still living was a surprise. If she didn’t commit suicide in a hysterical fit then she would be assassinated by someone who sought to replace her. But Wyla knew deep down that the Red Queen would be the only successor. That was something to avoid at all costs.
She hurried through the crowds, her thoughts and worries making her lose sight of Brathnach. She hoped her Queen could control herself until she returned. Brathnach was an awe inspiring warrior; it was a pity he was such a lowly slave dog to the Red Queen. If anyone in the Seelie Court could match Wyla, it was Brathnach. She had no choice but to kill him if she faced him, otherwise her Queen would be left alone to rule. That couldn’t happen.
Wyla’s shoulders tensed as she searched for the warrior. She felt a relentless weariness over her on a daily basis. The strain of keeping an eye on Azarel was taking its toll on her. But she had made a blood oath a long time ago, bounding her to Azarel until her death. She had been commanded to make that oath, but the order was never necessary. She would have given her heart on a platter for Azarel, the first faery Queen capable of tears. Her vulnerability had to be hidden from others, but it was the one thing above all that captured Wyla’s loyalty. How often she had held the Queen in her lap and soothed her grief. If anyone found out about her weakness, all would be lost. She had been the Queen’s rock since childhood. The Court knew this, and for the most part accepted it, but if she put one foot wrong, it would be the end of her and in turn, Azarel’s reign.
It didn’t matter that the Red Queen was weak-willed, violent and petty. She had power and control, even if her charms often focused on the wrong things. A faery had to have strength of mind, body, and soul to rule. Azarel had too much heart. That was her problem. And being so close to Mirela brought too many hurts to the surface. Wyla had been dreading this night for a century; she alone had seen how much the last festival had weakened Azarel.
Wyla was so involved in her inner thoughts that she barely noticed the silver-haired faery beckon her over to him. So shocked by his arrogance was she, she even deigned to oblige him.
“What do you want, little solitary? Do you wish to pledge allegiance to the Unseelie Queen?”
He shook his head, smiling slightly. “I know what you’re looking for. And that you will never find it until it’s too late. But I’m not Unseelie, so I can see her. I can get to her.”
Wyla paused, unsure of this cocky little faery’s words. Solitaries could be mischievous and spiteful, but she could see no hidden agenda or riddle in his words. That was the problem.
“What do you know?” It was true she would never find the girl alone, and she wasn’t too conceited to refuse help when she needed it.
The faery leaned toward her. None paid them any attention, although most of the fae avoided Wyla completely. “Brathnach is with the human as I speak. The doorway is enchanted to block out you and yours. I have no commitment to either Court, so I found the way in. I can show you where Brathnach will appear and warn you of his approach. It will give you enough time to surprise him. If that is what you wish to do, of course.”
Wyla considered this. “Why do you aid me?”
“I have no love for Brathnach or his Queen.”
“I doubt you have love for me or mine,” Wyla retorted. “I will accept your offer. But know this: if you betray me, you will not leave this festival with your soul. Do you recognize my terms?”
The faery hesitated for a split-second before agreeing.
Wyla was interested in this one. Brave enough to approach her, fearless enough to make a stand against Brathnach; there was more to the solitary fae than met the eye sometimes. It was a pity they wouldn’t swear fealty to her Queen, but at least they weren’t loyal to the Red Queen. Her own Lady could do with more servants like this unimpressive looking faery.
“Will you stay with the human while I… confront Brathnach?” she asked. She could have ordered him, but she wanted to appear fair and courteous. She didn’t want to offend the little one enough that he would warn Brathnach she was waiting for him.
“I will,” said the faery.
“Then lead me to the hiding place of the treacherous Brathnach,” she said, trying to sound as unafraid as possible. She didn’t fear her own death, only her Queen’s reaction to the abrupt cutting of a sworn blood oath. It would be too painful for her to bear alone. She would one d
ay soon need to organise another willing enough to partake in a similar oath so that her death wouldn’t be as awful for Azarel. Perhaps this little fae, she mused, glancing down at his determined face.
He led her through the crowds, never pausing or slowing down. She trusted he knew exactly where he was going. She didn’t have a plan once he had led her all the way. The only way was to entice Brathnach to attack her or else attack him and hope for the best. Perhaps the Irish fae wouldn’t claim the treaty was broken. Perhaps she could scare them enough so they wouldn’t interfere.
Abruptly, the solitary stopped walking and turned to her. She could tell there was an enchantment nearby. Nobody stepped close, and there was a certain smell in the air, a scent she hadn’t expected. She inhaled deeply, trying to make sense of it. Surely Brathnach had noticed.
“Is that the human?” she asked. The faery didn’t answer; he pointed at a spot on the wall. Although Wyla knew the area was enchanted, she wouldn’t have been able to tell exactly where Brathnach would appear without the help of the solitary fae.
“Someone is coming,” the solitary warned.
Wyla flinched when someone appeared out of nothing. A seamstress, she realised, much relieved. She stopped the seamstress to question her.
“Did you just measure the girl?”
The seamstress nodded, keeping her eyes low.
“For a sacrificial gown?”
Another nod.
“Good. Make that gown, but give it to the Unseelie Court when it is finished. Understand?”
The seamstress bowed deeply, so Wyla let her pass. She glanced at the solitary who seemed nervous.
“What is your name?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Drake.”
“Well, Drake, you will be heavily rewarded for your effort tonight. But I have one more request. I like not standing here waiting in full view of the crowd. Go to Brathnach and make him come out while my sword is ready and waiting.”
“How?”
“Tell him his Lady is in grave danger. That will make him piddle on the floor and fall over his feet trying to get to her. Go.”
Drake hesitated.
“Go, I said.”
He took a deep breath before stepping into nothing and disappearing completely. Wyla ignored the premonition of doom that appeared before her eyes and prepared her sword. The few seconds it took to take out her sword felt like hours. She could smell her own fear and hoped it was just her imagination. She was about to fight to the death; she needed her opponent to worry about her skills. It would not work in her favour if he could smell her fear too.
She heard Brathnach before she saw him, but she still jumped when he suddenly appeared before her. His constant grin unsettled her and made her miss her chance to strike first. He quickly armed himself. She cursed her mistake; she could already see the bloodlust rising in his eyes. He succumbed to it completely, while she had spent a lifetime scrambling away from the haze threatening to drown her awareness. It would make him harder to beat, but he wasn’t used to the frenzy so was more prone to making stupid mistakes.
She balanced herself to deflect his first strike. Their swords sparked together, gaining the attention of those closest to them. She prayed her Queen wouldn’t see them battle. She prayed she would survive. She couldn’t disappoint her Queen. She couldn’t upset her Queen. She couldn’t let her Queen’s heart to break a second time.
Brathnach circled her, trying to put her off balance. She didn’t like his form so took the aggressive approach, spinning her body around as she swung her sword at his neck. He ducked just in time and grabbed her leg with one arm, lifting her slightly with a husky laugh. He dared to toy with her. Her sword was too long to do enough damage in that position so she used the hilt and pounded on the back of his neck. He made a gurgling noise and let go, springing backward with surprising haste. Luck was against her; in another fight, that strike might have broken his neck.
Panting, Wyla repositioned herself to attack again. If she kept trying, keeping up speed, he was sure to make a mistake. If she pushed hard enough, he would slip. She swung again, not as carefully this time, wishing she had a shorter sword that was easier to handle. She had taken her most impressive looking weapon to the festival but not the one she was best at using. Brathnach’s sword was covered in scratches, but he was obviously familiar with it. For once, he had been smarter than she. They clashed swords together again, over and over; each trying to use strength to their advantage. Each strike using up more of their precious energy. Evenly matched, Wyla could only hope that Brathnach had less stamina than her. Even wiping the sweat out of her eyes was proving to be too much of a hassle.
More noise echoed around them as most of the room figured out what was happening. It was too late for discretion. The fae gathered inward, watching intently to see the outcome of the battle. Breathing heavily, Wyla bent low and swung her sword deftly below Brathnach’s block drawing first blood and making him stumble.
She had hardly taken a second to feel relief or take advantage when she noticed the pale-haired solitary fae behind Brathnach, leading the human away by the hand. He caught her gaze and hurriedly rushed back into their hiding place. Traitor!
Outraged, her attention wandered for a split second, but that was long enough to delay her block. Brathnach’s sword managed to neatly cleave her head from her body with one strike. As Wyla’s soul left her body, she was almost certain she heard an unearthly shriek coming from the Unseelie Queen.
Mirela
Mirela observed her sister with interest. She knew that Brathnach would take care of the rest of her problems, but the Unseelie Queen was one she would have to deal with herself. Although it might not be as hard as it once was. Azarel seemed to be losing control.
As Mirela watched, Azarel twitched nervously in her chair, her wild gaze darting around the room. Interesting. The Seelie Queen had spent her entire childhood trying to provoke the insanity she knew was settled deep within her twin sister’s soul. Who knew it would become apparent when she only had to spend one night in a century in the same room as her sister.
Mirela almost laughed aloud at what her twin had become. She had always been the strong one, the leader. Her idea to kill their father had been almost perfect. How sickening it had been when Azarel had been the one named as Queen of his court. She had no choice, but to kill her mother to even the score and take back some control. There was no way she could let her insane twin have power when she had none to speak of. It was only right that she should rule too. It had worked out so well that in the end she took over the Seelie Court, but she wanted the Unseelie side too. She wanted everything, to end the courts and rule all as the old king had. She wanted her sister to have nothing.
Their mother’s death hadn’t concerned either of them too much. She had never been interested in them or their father, even when it was her turn to care for them. She had always been too busy with her lovers to bother with her offspring. Her marriage had been one of convenience, to stop a war, but it was more of an inconvenience to the previous Seelie Queen.
Their father was a different story. His death had been the beginning of the end for Azarel. In life, he had doted on her twin sister. The weak one. The crazy one. He had no time for Mirela even though she was the great one. He had protected Azarel from her sister until Mirela despised her.
And now it was all for nothing. Everything he had tried to seam up in Azarel was coming undone. It was obvious to anyone who looked at her that she was losing all control of herself. Even the bloodlust was going haywire. That would please Brathnach. He was her sworn slave. She had cursed him a long time ago to test his loyalty, and he had passed without fault. He was her puppy, one she liked to tease and toy with but he was, if anything, dependable.
She hoped he destroyed her sister’s bodyguard; the bloodlust alone would help him. She had always hated Wyla. Her father had shown more love to even Wyla, a servant, than to his own daughter. Wyla was the only reason her precious Azarel
had kept it together for so long. Mirela had always suspected that her father had given Wyla some task concerning Azarel. Why else would she spend so much time protecting her?
Mirela suddenly realised that the room was on alert. The dancing had all but stopped. Only the few remaining solitary fae she had cursed were still moving on the floor. Their eyes focused across the great hall to a deadly battle. Mirela ran her tongue over her teeth. Her very own Brathnach against the repulsive Wyla. Perfect.
She leaned forward, anticipating a close battle. She almost rose to her feet when she saw that Wyla had drawn first blood, but the stupid faery didn’t take advantage of the strike and almost stood still, allowing Brathnach to slice her head from her body. Mirela’s lips curved upward in a triumphant smile.
She savoured the moment she watched her sister lose all control. She had been waiting for it most of her life, after all. An unearthly shriek from Azarel’s throat signalled the undoing of the Unseelie Court. She clawed at her face, the tears pouring from her eyes mixing with the blood. It streaked her face unattractively. She pulled chunks of her own hair out in her grief and despair.
“What a spectacle,” murmured Mirela, almost purring with contentment as her sister threw herself to the ground in her misery. The Unseelie Court Faeries tried to console her or at least to stop her harming herself any further. They were humiliated and ashamed, and yet they still stood by her side. Better that they kill her instantly, thought Mirela. She would have. And perhaps she should.
As she processed that thought, a scream curdled through the hall. One of the pitiful Irish fae, a banshee, proclaiming treachery. Mirela rolled her eyes, but even she was affected by the banshee’s mournful cries. They had lost the source of their real power, but they were still capable of powerful magic. Before the echo had ceased to be heard, an assorted group of faeries leapt up to face Azarel. Mirela watched with great interest as they took on her sister’s bodyguards fearlessly. Azarel appeared to be begging them to end her life. Mirela was ashamed to be the sister of one so pathetic. Noble blood wasted on a wretched coward who pleaded for death.
An UnSeelie pixie was the one who wielded the knife that killed her sister. The pixie’s hands burned from the iron knife she used. That stirred something in Mirela’s mind, but she was too busy enjoying her sister’s death to let it concern her. Azarel sank slowly to the ground, a peaceful expression on her face for the first time in years. Mirela waited until the last breath had been taken before she jumped to her feet ecstatically.
“I am the new Unseelie Queen! Bow before me, despised Court of the Dark.”
She was so caught up in her triumph that she failed to notice when both her footstool and one of her light carriers ditched their bonds. The sprite caught her by the hair roughly, making Mirela gasp. The sprite yanked her head right back before any of the bodyguards could react to the tiny creature’s action. The being that was once known only as the stool somersaulted in the air, knife in hand. The blade sliced once across Mirela’s throat, but that was enough.
She died long before her loyal puppy screamed in horror at the loss.
Realtín and Grim
Grim winced as his Queen kicked him in the stomach. Her strikes were not out of anger or spite, just habit. He hated her. He hated her court. One day she would pay. He consoled himself with thoughts of his love, Realtín. Despite the fact they weren’t the same, despite the fact they were enslaved, and despite the fact they would both be tortured at best if anyone found out about them, they had become firm friends a long time ago, united in their hatred of the Seelie Queen. They consoled each other over their poor treatment. Gradually, over the centuries, the common ground of despising the Queen had turned into companionship and at last love. Thoughts of Realtín regularly got Grim through the day.
Only Realtín could have convinced him that the traditional festival had been the time to make a stand. For centuries they had endured, persevered and planned, patiently waiting the turn of the Irish fae. It had been a long struggle. If he was to die, at least it would be for a good cause and with his own true love next to him. All he hoped for was that he and Realtín didn’t suffer too much. He seriously doubted they would survive the night.
Realtín almost dropped her light a number of times. She cursed herself, knowing that a suspicious Queen was a dangerous one. She hoped that things would work out or that the two Queens would turn on each other and save everyone else some hassle. If the Seelie Queen wasn’t so cruel or if she was even a little forgiving then it might have been different, but their ruler delighted in death and pain. Mental pain was just as satisfying to her as the physical kind. The twin Queens had always been unbalanced, even as children. Their father had been the only thing controlling either of them. Since his murder, the fae had been unstable all over again, and the combined power of all the fae had been seriously weakened.
The unimportant fae, like Realtín and Grim, had been trampled on for far too long. It was time for a new leader. Realtín couldn’t bear to watch Grim suffer any longer. The daily growing need to smash something over Queen Mirela’s head was something Realtín was fed up struggling with. She knew that she would die for it, and it would almost be worth it except for the pain Grim would go through. Besides, if the Queen ever realised that her sudden violence was on Grim’s behalf then he would be executed, too. Or worse. The Queen was highly imaginative when it came to pain.
Realtín bit her lip anxiously. Watching the Queen made her want to scream. She sat on her throne, dangling her leg and kicking Grim in the head with every movement. Realtín could barely wait for the signal; she felt pure joy when it finally came.
The wail of the banshee made her heart feel like stopping; it felt so cold and full of death. As soon as she cried out betrayal, Realtín’s excitement soared. But Grim remained shaking on the ground. Hesitating, Realtín thought sorrowfully, for the first time disappointed in her love. She willed him to look at her; she knew she could persuade him to do anything she wished. Luckily for Realtín, the Queen was too distracted by her pleasure from witnessing her own sister’s death to realise that Realtín had stopped hovering behind her and that Grim had raised his head in her presence for the first time in centuries.
Grim trembled as he met Realtín’s eyes. He knew she was angry, he could see it in her face. She gestured toward the Unseelie Queen’s throne pleadingly. The others had already done their job. They were late. He had to hurry and make a decision. The Seelie Queen rose to her feet and began declaring her power, as pompous as ever. Grim made his choice. He nodded to Realtín, treasuring the smile she gave him, knowing it might be the last smile he ever saw.
Realtín dashed her light to the ground, her heart overflowing with love for Grim. He would help her; he would save them both from a lifetime of slavery. She flew at the Queen in a wild temper, gripping her hair firmly and yanking it backward to make sure that Grim had the best possible advantage. He only had one chance. Her body shivered with adrenaline combined with anticipation of freedom. The Queen’s bodyguards were slow to move for a change, or were they too guilty of betrayal.
Grim leapt into the air neatly, his limbs agile even though he had been curled up on the ground for hours on end. Realtín had made him practice the move incessantly for a long time. He had it almost perfected. He was a little low, but the dagger he had hidden within his clothing made up for the distance. He was almost surprised by how neat the wound was in the end, how quickly the Queen fell to the floor. The bodyguards all stood still, blinking with surprise, not knowing what to do. Technically they had no command now, and as they all disliked the Queen, they weren’t keen on getting involved further.
But Grim heard a warning howl. Brathnach. He cursed under his breath, knowing that the dog wouldn’t stop until both he and Realtín were dead. He grabbed hold of Realtín, pulling her to the ground and urging her away. They sped as far away from the Queen’s throne as possible, weaving through the crowds, trying to lose Brathnach. For the first time ever, Grim was thankful
for his small height. Risking a glance around, he saw that Brathnach had lost their trail and was now barrelling after another faery and a human.
He stopped Realtín and gestured toward the scene. “Should we do something?”
She shook her head, horrified. “We need to leave. Now, Grim! We can’t stay for what happens next. I never thought we’d make it this long, but now that we have…”
She didn’t finish, but he knew she was right. They had to get out while they could and forget about the dog’s revenge. If they had a decent head start, he may never find them again. They sped toward a stairway.
“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving, little ones.”
They both whirled around to face a banshee. Realtín was defiant in her fear, but Grim couldn’t speak. The daughters of death were terrifying, even without their true power. He stared back at the banshee, wishing he had some sort of power to speak of.
“I need you two,” the banshee said, a little more gently this time. “You did a fine job tonight, but now I need you both to help with the summoning, and then, of course, the new King will want to reward you both for your aid. Leaving tonight is not an option for any of us.”
Grim glanced at Realtín in despair as the words sank in. They had just traded one form of slavery for another.
Drake – Part Two
As soon as the two Queens’ bodyguards began their battle, Drake slipped back into the room where the girl was being held. A banshee smiled at him as he passed but didn’t stop him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.
The girl jumped in fright when he entered the room, her clothes ripped. He wondered what Brathnach had done to her. He was surprised by how annoyed the thought made him, but she seemed physically unharmed.
“You’re back.”
“I told you. We have to leave. Something big is going on. Neither of us wants to be in the middle of it.”
“But how can I go? I can’t even see the door!”
“I’ll figure something out.” Drake tried to work out the magic, but it disappeared before his eyes.
“I can see the door!” she said, relief in her voice.
“Maybe they died,” he said under his breath, not fully understanding why they were able to leave. He dragged the girl through the door, hoping to make it outside before one of the bodyguards killed the other. But the one from the Unseelie Court spotted him, her eyes narrowing in cold anger. He pushed the girl back through the doorway in a hurry.
“What the hell?”
“We were seen; hold on a moment while I think. We must wait, maybe she’ll be the one who dies.”
“And if she doesn’t? If he wins and comes back?”
“Don’t think about it.”
The girl sat on the bed, her face blank.
“I’m going to die.”
“You won’t. Look at me, what’s your name?”
“Cara.”
“Good name. I’m Drake, and I don’t want to die tonight, so I’m going to make sure we both get out of here.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“I… don’t really know.” Lies. He knew exactly why.
“Can I touch your wings?”
He sighed. “Go on then.”
“They’re soft, softer than I expected.”
He enjoyed the light touch of her fingers on his wings and sighed again. Hopeless. He tried to cover his pleasure by speaking harshly to her. “Your fringe is too long. You should cut it.”
For some reason that made her smile, as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking. He had long forgotten how dangerous humans could be. She stared directly at him, and for the first time in many years, he felt truly nervous and awkward.
They sat on the edge of the bed in silence for a few minutes listening to the two warriors battling outside.
“You know, this room is a hovel really,” he said, anything to distract from the violence.
“What are you talking about? It’s the nicest room I’ve ever seen! Look at the cover on the bed.”
“Just rags. Everything you see is an illusion, Cara. That’s why you can’t taste the food or drink; you don’t really know what it is.”
“What about you? Are you an illusion? Are you even helping me?”
He was spared from answering her by a banshee’s wail outside.
“Something’s happening out there. Come on, let’s go. We have to hurry, while they’re all distracted.”
He made his way out first, and then motioned for her to follow. Drake’s heart raced wildly. He had no idea if he would be able to pull this off. The Unseelie guard could be waiting outside for him. It took a couple of deep breaths before he had the guts to go all the way through the doorway. The smell of blood and death hit him straight away. He saw the Seelie Queen die and heard Brathnach’s mournful howl. Wyla’s body lay on the ground, her head nowhere to be seen. It was the perfect moment to escape. Everyone’s attention was elsewhere. Drake grabbed Cara’s hand and ran for his life, pulling her along after him.
He couldn’t believe his luck when he realised that Brathnach wasn’t behind him. Better yet, Cara’s entrance was revealed from under its cover. The good luck didn’t last long. Too soon, Brathnach’s eyes spied them, and in his vengeful state he came after their blood. Drake didn’t have time to worry or even feel scared. Cara was lagging, almost within Brathnach’s reach. Drake stopped and threw her forward and up the first couple of steps.
“Move!” he shouted when she hesitated. She ran. He tried to follow, but Brathnach’s grip reached the back of his neck. In his mind, he urged the human to keep running. Never stop. Never come back.
The Banshee
The Banshee could barely contain her mirth. Everything was going to plan. The idiotic Queens were so easy to play off each other. After this night, the Irish fae would once again be in charge and the laws of old resurrected. Her King would rule the night as was his place. Luring a True Child of Ireland to the festivities had been genius. The King insisted that the girl leave unharmed, so the banshee allowed the solitary who was helping her to move about unpunished. She had enough to do. If he kept an eye on the girl then she could perform the rest of her duties along with her sisters. The True Child of Ireland would be needed another time. She hadn’t even needed to perform any magic on the faery, he was helping voluntarily. She would keep that information in mind when the girl was needed back.
The bodyguards were already locked in battle. She had the right to declare treason, but it was safe to wait until at least one of them was dead. Two loyal guards were harder to defeat than one.
The first blood was drawn, and she already felt the trembles of her father around the hall. Both courts had unwittingly invited Death. She could barely contain her excitement at the thoughts of the power that would be released. Everything was falling into place, thanks to the presence of the human girl. The Queens were so weak that neither of them had noticed the difference. Their blood was poor. Their own father had known it was so, as bad as he was. She wouldn’t rest until his bloodline was completely destroyed. She owed him that much. The fae deserved to be ruled by someone worthy.
Finally, the bodyguard of the Unseelie Queen was slaughtered. It had been a long time coming for the banshee. A lifetime in fact. All working up to this one perfect moment. The death of Wyla instigated a ritual that could not be stopped. The banshee’s rewards would be many. The power of the ban sidhe would be fully restored.
Shrieking loudly of death and despair, she wailed to the great hall of the fae.
“Betrayal, betrayal. Death is walking amongst us this evening! The Queen’s favourites have instigated a war! The treaty has been broken. The solitary fae will speak tonight!”
The treaty warned against bloodshed between the two Courts during festival times. This was the most important festival of all. Brathnach and Wyla had broken the treaty, leaving the solitaries free to act. The Unseelie Queen surprised most of the hall by publicly lamenting the loss of her servant. So the rumours were
true, thought the banshee, watching the Queen descend into total madness. She almost felt pity for her, but that passed along with her memories of her own losses along the way.
When they came to kill the Unseelie Queen, she welcomed it. That took some of the pleasure out of her death. The banshee had hoped she would scream for mercy, but her death was quick and probably painless. The look on her face as she died said it was a welcome release for her. But what of the Seelie Queen?
The banshee watched the living Queen in concern. Her disloyal servants had not yet made a move. For the first time, her heart burned with the fear that it might all go wrong. The night couldn’t be wasted; it was her only chance to return her leader to the world in whole form. The arrogant Seelie Queen was already declaring herself the new master of both courts. But the two small creatures did the banshee’s bidding like they promised. As one, they worked together to end her life in a most satisfactory way. The only pity being its speed. The banshee was pleased.
The Courts were no more.
A crescendo of cheers echoed across the hall. The Irish fae were all aware of the outcome of the night. Some of the other solitary fae had been waiting for the occasion too. The ritual to resurrect the old King was ready to begin. The banshee hurried to get rid of the human before her master’s spirit was reunited with a bodily form.
Brathnach, covered in Wyla’s blood, chased the solitary faery and the human through the hall. He had howled in rage when he realised his Queen was dead and immediately tried to hunt down the perpetrators of the murder, but the banshee hid them so successfully that he gave up and turned his attentions to the faery and the human instead. So intent was he to kill that he couldn’t stop. The Banshee took the glamour off the exit to light the way for the True Child of Ireland.
Brathnach was like a rabid animal. He gained ground on the pair too quickly; the banshee didn’t have enough time to help. Her weakened power was already divided too much. Luckily, the faery stopped and pushed the human ahead of him. He tried to follow her, but Brathnach was already there, pulling him back and reaching for his sword, eager to kill.
The banshee and her sisters surrounded Brathnach, delighted for the opportunity to put down that particular dog. His love and devotion for his newly dead Queen had prevented them from living freely for a long time. He had been used as a threat far too many times for their liking. The faery fell away from Brathnach’s grip as the hands of death strangled Brathnach’s internal organs. He suffered delightfully, but the banshee decided she wasn’t finished yet.
She put her hand on the faery’s shoulder. “None can leave,” was all she said.
The End
Brathnach’s only consolation in the end was the chance that he would be with his dear Lady in death. His hand could no longer grip the faery. His heart was turning to ice. It hurt more than he expected. His one regret was letting his Queen die when he wasn’t by her side. He hoped the human suffered a death like his. Then he thought no more.
Drake tried to follow Cara up the stairs, but the entrance had sealed itself as soon as she made it outside. A hand on his shoulder forced him to turn around. The banshee looked back at him.
“None can leave.”
She and her sisters led him to the centre of the Great Hall where all of the dead bodies were laid on the ground in a pile of death. He saw the black candles on the ground and smelled the herbs they were using to make pastes. He was told to line up alongside several other male faeries and realised exactly what was going on.
The Irish fae were planning on resurrecting their long dead King into a living faery. Drake had no idea how, but by some means the King’s spirit was still in existence. Perhaps that was the punishment they had spoken of when they destroyed him and took his power. The stories had been vague, but this explained them all.
Drake had feared a battle between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, but what was coming was much worse. The returning King would wreak havoc on all of his foes. And Drake could end up right in the middle of it. If he wasn’t chosen, he would die anyway, but that was preferable to the alternative.
The chanting had already begun. Nobody could stop it now. Too much blood had been sacrificed. Death walked freely. Drake looked around at the others who had been chosen; they all looked proud. All except for him.
The Irish fae were already celebrating the return of their long lost King. Bodhráns drummed in unison as they waited for his arrival. The banshee marked Drake’s forehead with the paste, creating meaningful symbols. Drake closed his eyes and prayed that his death would be swift, if he was chosen or not.