Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae (3 page)

“Obviously.” She neglected to mention that was only because she’d run away in the middle of class.

Aaron grinned. “Yeah, Rory. Obviously.”

“What is it going to be?” she asked. The stone wheel lay flat on the ground

Rory still held her. She liked that. Faerie adults never held children once they were old enough to stop suckling. She felt safe and happy. “We aren’t sure yet,” he said.

“How can you make something if you don’t know what it is?”

Phillip answered with an open smile, “That’s part of the fun.” She liked Phillip. Of course, she liked them all, feeling drawn to them for different reasons: Aaron for the way he laughed and the funny songs he played in the mornings, Rory for the way he held her and made her feel loved, Douglas because he was as much of a rebel as she was. Something about Phillip was constant and solid. He always did what he said he would. Even though humans had a habit of telling the truth, Phillip had a raw honesty about him that Flùranach trusted without question.

She looked at the rock and wondered what they were up to. She’d seen a druid-made object of power before. The one absent druid, Quinton Munro, had created one just for her, a delicate rose she used to extend her far-seeing ability. As far as she knew, this was the first time the druids attempted to craft an object together.

Urging Rory to put her down, she walked over to the low, mossy wall, on which lay a variety of tools. “What are these?”

“To shape the stone,” Rory explained. “Munro can do it without them, but when he’s not here, we work the old-fashioned way.”

She nodded, sad that they had to rely on such crude methods. “If you would bond with me,” she said lightly, “I would gain earth powers, and I could mould it for you.”

He smiled at her, but she noticed something in his eyes. “I wish I could, duckling. Maybe when you’re older.” He’d explained the problem to her a hundred times. The magic didn’t let them choose which faerie to bond with. It called to them. He’d told her perhaps she had to grow up before her mind would be ready for bonding, but she suspected that he didn’t want to admit the truth.

Flùranach wondered if the druids could guide the magic. That’s what faeries did. It was a part of them but didn’t control them. Why should they not direct the bonding magic to choose her? If she had a druid, she’d be even more powerful and might at least learn something new, rather than repeating old lessons a hundred times over. Plus, she could be with her druid all the time instead of having to sneak away.

Munro got his own room at Canton Dreich near Queen Eilidh, and Douglas and Tràth lived together too, while the other druids shared a villa. If she had a druid, maybe she wouldn’t have to stay with her grandfather anymore.

“Come on, Douglas,” Aaron said. “Help us find the lines again.”

Flùranach didn’t understand what they were doing. They used earth magic, alien to her since her gifts came from the astral sphere, but even more importantly, theirs was druid magic. Earth faeries had tried working with them before, but none mirrored the humans’ abilities.

Douglas, the youngest of the group and only ten years older than Flùranach, went and knelt beside the stone. She thought it unfair everyone treated the humans as adults. The eldest of them was barely over thirty, yet they worked on whatever they liked and never went to lessons. Faeries lived under their tutors’ thumbs until they reached at least fifty.

She started to skip toward Tràth, stopping when she realised what she was doing. He wouldn’t scold her, but she’d forgotten his station for a moment. “Hello, Your Highness,” she said.

She excelled at reading people, but something in Tràth challenged her. He seemed friendly enough, especially for a prince, but his temporal magic made him difficult. His mind didn’t work the same way as other faeries’.

He nodded to her, just as he would to an adult, which she appreciated. He never treated her like an ignorant child or tried to protect and hide her away, as the earth faeries did. “If I may?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” she replied.

“Don’t be in such a rush. Enjoy your childhood while you can.”

Frustration bit at her. “My prison, you mean?”

He sighed. “I understand. I didn’t have the easiest youth myself.”

She had never met his mother, Queen Cadhla. Her grandfather and the other azuri on Skye had killed the queen when she invaded their colony. Flùranach was born in exile, and Tràth had been prince of an Otherworld kingdom all his life. “I can do my lessons better than my tutors, and yet they have me repeat them over and over, never teaching me more advanced magic. They always say, ‘you’re too young,’ or, ‘be patient,’ or, ‘you’ll understand when you’re older.’ Why should my age dictate what I can do? The magic cries out to me, but I can’t wield it the way I’m destined to. Why won’t they let me
try
?”

“You are eight years old, not even old enough to be out of the nursery, and yet you can touch magic even some of the elders cannot. Perhaps they are afraid.” He spoke softly, as though lost in memories.

That was Tràth’s way. He often went silent for long periods, and she sensed his thoughts drifting beyond reach.

“They are afraid of you too,” she remarked, then glanced up quickly to make sure she hadn’t offended him.

“Yes,” he agreed. His dark hair contrasted with his pale skin, and he sometimes looked sick, even though she didn’t think he was. On the same day Queen Cadhla had died, he’d spent a lot of his magic trying to save the people of Skye from his mother. Some say it cost him dearly. Others say he’d had problems before that anyway.

“Is it lonely? Being the only one?” She’d wondered, but never before had the nerve to ask. As often as she saw him, she rarely spoke to him one-on-one like this. Usually, one or all of the druids were around. They loved her, she knew, but they sometimes ignored her if others were present. Was she so terrible to want to be noticed?

“I’m not lonely now that I have Douglas.” His eyes found the druid, watching him as he worked with his friends on the other side of the terrace. They’d decided to take the enormous wheel toward the water, discussing the best way to move it.
They really should ask Tràth for help
, Flùranach thought. When he bonded with Douglas, he gained access to the four spheres of earth magic, something that made every azuri faerie long to bond with one of druids.
So much power.

“Rory said he may bond me when I’m older,” she said.

Tràth turned his eyes toward her. “I’m sure he will if he can, but the choice is not his to make.”

“Time will tell,” she said, certain Rory would choose her the moment her magic ripened.

Tràth chuckled as though she’d said something funny, then she realised she had. Time. None understood time the way Tràth did. He’d moved back and forth within it, hiding their entire colony in a time bubble when the azuri elders battled Tràth’s mother.

Flùranach had scarcely spoken to her own mother in years. She encountered her at festivals, but her mother seemed as any other of the fae women and had grown even more distant since they’d come to Caledonia.

“Tell me about time,” she asked.

Tràth looked into the sky, as though reading the stars. “Time is an ocean, and we driftwood, floating on its surface, eventually washing to shore.”

She longed to touch his mind, to see what he did, but even at her young age, she knew the idea was dangerous and ill-advised.

“I thought I might find you here,” said a familiar voice nearby.
Grandfather.
She’d expected her tutors to come after her themselves, as they often did, and drag her back to her lessons. If they had, she would have felt the spark of their mental touch as they searched for her. The idea her grandfather might simply
walk
had never occurred to her. She scolded herself. Of course he knew where the druids worked and that she would come straight here.

“Elder Oron.” Tràth stood and gave him a respectful nod.

“I’m sorry if my granddaughter has disturbed the druids’ important work.”

Flùranach hated the way he talked about her as though she was invisible. “They aren’t working,” she said. “They’re arguing with a rock.”

Oron looked down at Flùranach. “We who follow the Path of Stars do not understand the Ways of Earth, even less so the lost arts of druid magic.”

“Tràth will tell you. They are working
against
the stone, trying to pierce its defences,” she insisted, frustrated she couldn’t find the right words.

“Come, child,” her grandfather said. “Let us concentrate on the things we do understand, like why you have again defied your mentors.” He began to lead her away. “I suggest you spend your fifth hour of contemplation on empathy.”

Flùranach grumbled to herself and gave Tràth a wave as she left. The druids were so engrossed in their stone, she didn’t have a chance to tell them why their enchantment wouldn’t succeed. Tràth waved back, a small smile on his face that gave her comfort as her grandfather dragged her toward his house near Canton Dreich.

Munro had slowly grown accustomed to the nocturnal ways of the fae, so during the night he often ate with Prince Griogair if the prince’s duties allowed. It surprised Munro how much he liked Eilidh’s husband. Only a year ago, Munro had been PC Quinton Munro, a Scottish beat cop with no clue about his own dormant magical powers. Never in a million years would he have imagined leaving his home to live in the Otherworld, bound by love and magic to a faerie queen. That she’d married someone else only complicated things further.

The three of them kept their arrangement secret. No one, not even the elders, Eilidh’s personal attendants, or the other druids knew. Munro didn’t like keeping secrets, especially from his friends, but he understood why it had to be that way. Some of the fae still thought of humans as barely a step above animals. Only recently had the mentality begun to change, as word spread of the druids and how they enhanced the magical capacity of the faeries they bonded with. It also helped that they could create objects of power. Still, their abilities made some think of them as sources to be used, mere servants with a purpose. If anyone knew Munro was Eilidh’s lover, the gossip would undermine her position, and not only within her own kingdom. Things were hard enough for her. Munro had no desire to give fuel to her detractors, even if he had to stand in the background, watching Griogair by her side.

“What’s up with this prisoner everyone’s talking about?” Munro asked, biting into a large strawberry as they lounged on the terrace.

Griogair shrugged. “A Caledonian traitor. He was involved in a conspiracy to assassinate the queen.”

Munro sat up. “What?” he asked. His gaze moved in the direction of her presence, which stayed with him night and day since they bonded. “Is Eilidh in danger?”

“She’s a queen. Of course she is. Discontented elements will always plot against her from within and without.” Then, as though just noticing Munro’s distress, he added, “She is well protected and not defenceless even on her own. Her substantial powers grow with each passing moon. Soon, she will be stronger even than Cadhla, and that’s saying something.” He put down the slim, curved eating utensils. “In one respect, her hesitation to order his death will prove useful. She shows a certain thoughtful independence. In the end, however, she will do what she must.”

Munro nodded. Eilidh always found the strength to do what she had to. He just wished he could do more to help her.

“I’m curious,” Griogair said. “I understand you druids have been trying to meld your powers in one large talisman. Any luck?”

“I should go down today,” Munro said, “to find out how they’re getting on. The other four have an easier time combining because they’re all water druids. My stone talents disrupt their flow. We’ll keep trying though.”

“The star you gave me is still an object of fascination to many. I haven’t forgotten its use also saved my son’s life last year. Your work with the others has added greatly to our kingdom.”

Munro chuckled. “So far, we’ve managed to roll a rock around. We’re still missing something. We can’t just go to the library and check out a manual.”

“Why not?”

Munro glanced at him. “You have books about druids?”

Griogair shrugged again, repeating the flawless and economical movement. “Perhaps not books as you would recognise them. We have rune stones and stories going back thousands of years. But you would need a lifetime of research to glean a sliver of what you want to know, even if you could read, which of course, you can’t.”

“What makes you think I can’t read?”

“Our writings do not work the same way as yours. Even if you understood the ancient fae tongue, you wouldn’t be able to decipher the magic of the runes.”

“Would you teach me?” he asked. He’d not even tried to learn the language of the Otherworld. Most of the fae spoke English well enough, some with only a shadow of an accent. It seemed almost disrespectful to attempt their native tongue, like attempting to play an instrument in the presence of a virtuoso.

Griogair opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp flash of anger seared Munro’s mind, anger like he’d rarely sensed from Eilidh before. Munro cut Griogair off with a clenching of his fist and a muffled cry of surprise.

Without having to be told, Griogair stood and rushed to the door, Munro close on his heels. “What did she say?” the prince-consort asked.

“Not words,” Munro choked out, still reeling from the force of Eilidh’s emotion. Griogair had one thing right: she was getting stronger. “Something terrible has happened—” He corrected himself, “is happening.”

Eilidh glared. “I demand to see the body.” She glanced around the assembled elders who’d descended, uninvited, into her personal quarters. As soon as she received word of their arrival, she’d known something was wrong. Although she was friendly and lacking the ruthless confidence some royals seemed born with, no one dared invade her private sanctum until tonight.

Attendants appeared from nowhere and followed Eilidh into her dressing room. She chose wool trousers and a capelet, black—to match her mood. One of the maids tried to suggest a gown, since Eilidh intended to leave the castle, but Eilidh brushed her aside. “I’m going to a prison, not a ballroom.”