When Magic Dares Page 3

  He had no way of knowing the fox was her ainmhi.

  She smiled and quickly slipped the cord over her head. “Thank you.”

  He stepped closer, pressed a brief kiss to her cheek, and then disappeared into the night.

  Arianne still wore that pendant every day, though the leather cord had been long ago replaced by a thin silver one. A constant reminder that no matter how lost she felt, if she kept a level head and remained patient, she would find her way out. Even if she required a little help.

  Without thinking about it, she reached up and fingered the small pendant, hidden now beneath the bodice of her gown. She was going to need all the help the little fox could give her if she was going to convince the O Cuanas to go along with her plan.

  “This way, princess,” the tall, dark-haired guard told her.

  What had the prince called him? Tearloch?

  From the marking on his jacket, he was of high rank in the royal guard. Perhaps even captain. He was one of the pair that had stood beside the prince when he called for an audience with her father. The one who had seemed almost impressed when she volunteered herself as prisoner.

  There was no sense of approval from him now.

  “Thank you,” she said as she preceded him up the stairs.

  At the top, she paused, waiting for further direction. In truth, she was surprised to be taken to the living quarters. She fully expected to be dragged into the dungeon upon arrival.

  Especially after the attack on the carriage. She could not be certain, but it seemed likely that her urgent raven to Callistra had precipitated the attack. It made sense.

  Not that she would mention that probably to the Moraine. Whatever conclusions they came to, she did not wish to point guilt in her clan’s direction. If it came to that, she would take full blame.

  The prince and his warriors had been silent the rest of the journey. She could not guess their thoughts.

  “Last door on the right,” Tearloch instructed.

  They walked in silence. Next to the imposing guard, she felt small. Delicate.

  She supposed some might consider her such. But only those who knew her not.

  At the end of the hall, Tearloch opened the ornate door, and gestured her inside.

  Rather than follow her in, he remained in the hall and closed the door between them.

  Arianne spun in a slow circle. “So this is to be my prison,” she whispered to the empty room.

  As far as prisons went, it was quite lovely. A plush bed, soft carpets, and a window that overlooked the courtyard. Of course, there were thick iron bars on the window. But if she transformed into her ainmhi she could likely squeeze between them.

  Assuming she had enough power to transform. Which she did not. She had not been able to transform outside her la ainmhi—the one day each month that fae must spend as animal in order to maintain their magic—since her sister left the palace. Since the curse that decimated her people and left them virtually powerless. She could no more transform into a fox than she could—

  “I see you are enjoying the view.”

  Arianne jumped and turned at the sudden intrusion. She had not heard the door open, had been too lost in her thoughts. Somehow, Queen Eimear stood but a few feet away.

  Arianne curtsied as deep as her gown would allow. “I did not expect such nice accommodation.”

  “Did you think we would throw the girl who nearly married my son into the pits?”

  The queen’s velvet slippers came into view. Arianne felt a pressure on her elbow as Eimear lifted her back to her feet.

  As she rose, their eyes met, and for a moment—just a brief, passing moment—Arianne felt as if she could tell the queen… anything. There was a softness in her golden eyes, a knowing gentleness. It was a look Arianne had once known well, but had not seen in many years. It was a mother’s look.

  It made Arianne ache for missing her own mother. For the talks they might have shared, for the guidance she might have given.

  Something in that look urged Arianne to spill her soul. To tell the queen everything—about her missing father, about her clan’s devastating curse, about the lies and secrets Arianne had been carrying to keep her dying clan alive. But as soon as the thought entered her mind, Arianne shoved it to the Everdark. None outside the Deachair knew of the curse. None outside her inner circle knew of Drustan’s absence. To tell anyone else these precious secrets would expose her clan, her people, to far too much risk.

  So, instead of confiding the heavy secrets within her, Arianne swallowed them down. Locked them away, where they couldn’t escape. Not even if she wanted them to.

  “I did not know what to expect,” she replied honestly.

  Over the queen’s shoulder, Arianne saw Tearloch standing just inside the door. Prepared to protect the queen. What did he expect Arianne to do? Attack? Even if she had the inclination, such an act would be suicide. He must think her quite stupid.

  “My son seems to believe this is some kind of deception,” Eimear said. “That you have given yourself to our custody as part of some nefarious plot.”

  Arianne shifted her gaze back to the queen, chose her words carefully. “I can see why he would think as much.”

  “Then he is wrong?” the queen asked.

  “No, your highness,” Arianne replied. “He is not.”

  The frowned, surely stunned by the unexpected answer.

  “There is no nefarious motive in my surrender,” Arianne hurried to explain. “But there is a plot. One that will benefit us all, if we are successful.”

  Eimear arched one brow. “Go on.”

  “I do not know where the traitor Ultan lies,” she began, “but I know one who might be able to help us find him.”

  When Arianne said the word us, the queen’s head tilted slightly and from the edge of her vision Arianne saw Tearloch do the same. Though it might seem strange that she would ally herself with her captors, in truth she had no other choice.

  “And who might that be?” the queen asked.

  Arianne took a steadying breath. “Callistra.”

  The queen gasped, clutched a hand to her chest in shock.

  “The witch?” Tearloch demanded, at his queen’s side in an instant.

  Arianne nodded. “The very same.”

  “And why would she help us?” he spat, snarling the final word like a curse.

  “Because,” Arianne said, knowing she needed to reveal at least this one secret if she were to have any chance at convincing them, “she is my sister.”

  Chapter 6

  After securing the princess in her chamber, Tearloch was the last of the party to enter the seomra rioga.

  At one time, the royal hall had been a gleaming, glittering display of magical opulence. It dazzled all who entered, from the lowest peasant to the highest royal. Over the centuries, as the Moraine had fallen so had their palace. A crumbling clan with a crumbling seat of power.

  That one of their own had sought to bring the brittle remains crashing around them was the vilest sort of betrayal. They would go to any length to stop him.

  Cathair and the queen had eschewed the royal thrones in favor of one of the long stone tables that ran the length of either side of the hall. Eimear sat at the head while the prince stood at her right. His love, Winnie, sat in the chair next to him.

  Liam stood nearer the wall, almost in shadow, while Aedan lounged in a seat to the queen’s left, his boots resting on the stone table. It was a testament to the gravity of the situation that Eimear did not scold her younger son for the behavior.

  Though Cathair and Aedan shared many features—dark hair and amber eyes—their temperaments could not have been more different. Where Cathair was responsible, Aedan was reckless. The high prince was often serious, considering, and reserved. The young prince was… none of those things.

  Tearloch walked to the chair next to Aedan’s and knocked the young prince’s feet to the ground before setting one of his own on the seat and resting his weight on the back.


  Aedan rolled his eyes.

  “The council has been briefed on the princess’s proposal,” the queen told him. She turned her gaze to the others. “Opinions?” When none spoke immediately, she turned to Liam. “Master of the Watch?”

  Liam inched forward, out of the shadow and into the torch glow. “I do not think we should blindly trust the princess.”

  “Nor do I,” said the queen, “but that does not mean we should not trust her with our eyes wide open. Aedan?”

  The princeling shrugged. “I don’t see what other choice we have.”

  “There is always another choice,” Cathair said. “It is only a matter of whether we have the time and patience to seek it.”

  “And your opinion, high prince?” she asked her elder son.

  “In light of Winnie’s observations, I am inclined to say yes.”

  “Observations?” Tearloch asked.

  The human girl blushed. “I have been working on my lucid dreaming,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “Trying to learn how to control my dreams so I can… dream something useful. Last night I saw Ultan meeting with a purple-haired woman, somewhere surrounded by water.”

  “It is not much to go on,” Cathair explained, “but it suggests that he is somewhere other than with the Deachair.”

  Tearloch knew of Winnie’s dual powers. She was both a seer and a dreamer, meaning she could not only see fae in their magical form but in dreams she saw their world as a projection in her mind. He had not, however, considered the practical benefits her gifts might bring his clan. He was certain Cathair’s feelings for the human had nothing to do with that—the prince was quite obviously in love—but none of them would turn away her help.

  Still, the details she provided were far from conclusive. And the potential consequences of making the wrong choice were too high to hope she was correct.

  Tales of the witch Callistra were told far and wide in the fae realm. Witches and fae were natural enemies. While fae derived their powers from being of nature, witches stole them from nature. Which meant that, given the opportunity, they could steal a fae’s magic.

  Callistra was the most powerful in a generation.

  The idea that they would willingly go to a witch—to this witch—for help, that she might actually help them, was ludicrous. Though possibly no more ludicrous than the idea of the witch and the princess being sisters.

  He had to push aside the memories he had of young Princess Arianne. They were too many years gone to be any kind of reliable, and he of all fae knew how much could change over that space of time.

  “What if it is a trap?” Tearloch suggested.

  Cathair nodded. “I have considered this.”

  “I think we must consider the possibility that the princess is sincere,” the queen said.

  “Just as we must consider that the princess is plotting against us,” Tearloch argued. “I am not convinced she was not in some way responsible for the attack on our carriage this evening.”

  “You saw her face,” Cathair argued. “She was just as shocked as we all were.”

  “She may be a skilled actress,” Tearloch countered.

  “She would not have risked her own safety,” Liam said from the shadows. “Had you not dispatched the riders, stopped the horses, we Moraine would not have been the only ones in pain.”

  Tearloch had to concede that point.

  “What do we have to lose?” Aedan asked. “It’s not as if we’re sending the entire army into a trap or letting her go on her own. She only needs one as escort.”

  “Are you volunteering, princeling?” Tearloch teased.

  “Of course not,” the young prince replied. “I’m just being the voice of reason.”

  “Aedan is correct,” the queen said. “Though believing the princess is a risk, the opposite is also true. We cannot risk not following every lead to finding Ultan.”

  “Agreed,” Cathair said. “We should send one of our numbers to escort Princess Arianne to find her sister, and at the same time pursue other resources that might lead us to the traitor’s location.”

  Tearloch was not certain he ascribed to the prince’s logic, but he understood it. They were duty-bound to follow any lead, no matter the source.

  That did not mean he had to like the situation.

  “Who shall we send?” the queen asked.

  Tearloch did not hesitate. “I will accompany her.”

  Everyone in the chamber turned to look at Tearloch. As if he had lost his mind.

  “You?” the queen asked.

  “You have been the one arguing against this plan,” Cathair said.

  “That makes me the perfect escort.” If he was the most skeptical, he would be the least likely to let the princess get away with some scheme or another.

  “He’s right,” Liam said. “He should be the one.”

  “You just want alone time with the princess,” Aedan teased. “She is a pretty one. I’ll wager she has you kissing her feet before long. Come to think of it, maybe I should be the one to go. I’m sure my charms are more powerful than hers.”

  Winnie giggled, but quickly slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Everyone else in the room ignored him.

  “Then it is agreed,” the queen said. “Tearloch will accompany Princess Arianne to seek out the witch.”

  Cathair grimaced. “I do not like that you go alone.”

  “I can well protect both myself and the princess from any harm,” Tearloch assured him.

  “Of that I have no doubt,” the prince said. “Still, I would feel better if you were accompanied by a pair of royal guards.”

  Tearloch bristled. “They will only slow the journey.”

  The prince studied him for several long moments, and Tearloch knew him well enough to see the uncertainty in his golden eyes.

  He stood firm. They could not afford to delay this expedition by adding extra fae to the party. The swifter they traveled, the sooner he would return with the information needed to hunt down the traitor who had nearly killed his friend.

  “My prince,” he said, meeting his friend’s considering gaze with surety and strength, “I will return with the information we seek.”

  The room was tense with silence and Tearloch was eager to begin making preparations for the trip. He waited, his impatience growing with every heartbeat.

  When Cathair finally nodded, Tearloch wanted to cheer.

  Instead, he bowed his head and said, “I will not let you down.”

  Chapter 7

  Arianne had never been to the sanctuary in fae form. Only as a Cascade red fox during her la ainmhi. Walking in at her full height gave her an entirely new perspective on the lush valley. She had only ever seen it as a protection, the safe refuge of the unseelie fae when vulnerable in ainmhi form. But today she saw that it was also beautiful. The floor of the valley a rich, vibrant green grass, dotted with clusters of oak and pine trees and surrounded by towering mountains.

  It was at once strategic and beautiful.

  “Tearloch,” a jolly male voice called out, “I didn’t think you’d be coming around here so soon after the—“

  The seer guard, Peter, froze mid-sentence when he noticed that Arianne walked by Tearloch’s side. Though she had seen him many times during her la ainmhis, he had never seen her like this. She did not wonder at the look of shock on his face.

  “Who’s your friend?” Peter asked.

  “Arianne,” Tearloch replied, gesturing to her. “Princess of the Deachair.”

  The human’s brow dropped and his jaw tightened. His hand went instinctively to the dagger she saw hanging from his belt.

  Though the seer guards were meant to be neutral, shared equally between the unseelie clans, it was clear that Peter held a special affection for the Moraine. And did not extend such feeling toward a royal of the clan purported to have betrayed his friends.

  In his shoes, she would have probably felt the same.

  “She your prisoner?” Peter asked,
not looking away from Arianne.

  Tearloch shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly.”

  Arianne could have exerted the power of her title, reminded the guard that as a royal she was, in a sense, his employer. His master. Other royals would. But she never liked to make such distinctions. She preferred to lead through respect, and she respect all peoples, all classes equally.

  “My clan has no quarrel with the Moraine,” she explained. “Nor alliance with the Morainian traitor. I wish to help however I can.”

  Peter’s eyes narrowed, but she thought she saw a spark of uncertainty within. Perhaps he believed her. Or wanted to, in any case.

  “We are undertaking a journey into the White Mountains,” Tearloch said. “We stop here for your advice on the current trail conditions.”

  Peter let out a low whistle. “The White Mountains? That’s—“

  “Dangerous,” Tearloch said. “Hence the need for guidance.”

  Peter nodded. Without another word, he led the pair toward a small cabin near the edge of the valley.

  Both she and Tearloch wore packs on their backs, although she suspected that his carried far more than her own. They did not intend to be gone for long—she hoped the journey would only take a day and a night up followed by a day and a night back. But when it came to the White Mountains, it paid to be prepared.

  “I have several maps,” Peter said, opening a cabinet in the tiny kitchen. “We should be able to pick out the best path.”

  He carried the maps over to the table and started spreading them out.

  Tearloch shrugged out of his pack and set it by the door, then reached to take Arianne’s off her back.

  As if she needed his help.

  Before he could reach for her, she had slung her pack on the floor next to his and was taking a seat at the table. If she had learned anything in her times as de facto queen, it was that often times a show of strength was more important than the strength itself.

  Peter’s eyes widened as he gave Tearloch an amused look.

  Arianne ignored them both, instead focusing her attention on the nearest map. It was hand-drawn on weathered parchment. The edges were cracked and crumbling and someone had spilled a liquid across the northern portion. Recently, if she had to guess, as the surface was still sticky.