Heir of the Dog Black Dog (11 page)

I valued life. I mourned its loss. I carried the guilt of every life I ended, and I never forgot my victims’ faces.

Unnerved by the silence, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Nice portraits.”

He glanced around as though he had forgotten they were there. “Mother commissioned them.”

That didn’t surprise me. “Is the macabre not your thing?”

He shrugged. “I avoid introspection if that’s what you’re asking.”

I did too, and our ages were no comparison. “So the art bothers you?”

“To admit I am disturbed by the art is to admit I am disturbed by my life.” He paused outside a slender archway. “Despite what you may think, your father did a service to you by allowing your mother to raise you. He would have been called home eventually and brought you with him. The fae realm is no place to raise a half-blood child, and even if he wished your mother to come with him, that favor would have been denied. You would have grown up without her, without your humanity.”

“If he stayed, innocent lives would have been saved.” I walked past Raven. “He could have taught me how to deal with a talent I still don’t understand.” When I spotted the dining table, I had to grin. “This is right out of a cartoon.”

Each side must have held fifty place settings. If I squinted, I could just make out the foot of the table. The tureen Raven had mentioned sat near the head of the table. A place was set there and before the chair to its right. I sensed there was significance attached to our seating arrangement I was missing, but the trek through Faerie had depleted me. All I had left was enough strength to stubbornly hold out for assurances from Raven that what I was about to eat wasn’t going to further obligate me to him somehow.

He positioned himself behind the chair to the right of where he must always sit and pulled it out for me.

“Before you deprive yourself of a meal, let me assure you what you eat here is freely given. The food is payment for your troubles. There are no bindings, spells, charms or hexes attached.” His tone held amusement. “We will dine here, replenish ourselves and then continue on to the Halls of Winter.”

I gestured around the room. “This isn’t the Halls of Winter?”

“This is my private residence.” He indicated the waiting chair. “Please, sit.”

“Not until you explain why we made a detour. Is this where your contact man is meeting us?”

“No.” He sighed. “Those matters will be discussed at the Halls.”

I scowled at him. “Then why are we wasting time here?”

“You’re tired and hungry. You need to be sharp when you meet the High Court consuls.”

I blasted out an exhale and sank into the chair. He had a point.

A Seelie King might sit upon the throne, but the Faerie High Court was the highest collective power in the land. Since Mac was one of three cabinet members, if anyone could help me, it was them.

“Their sole interest in meeting with you is to discuss the matter of your father’s disappearance. Under the circumstances, you can use their desperation to your advantage. You must bargain with them for the safe return of your mother and for passage home.”

“I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” I folded my hands in my lap. “So...thanks.”

“Be careful who you thank, Thierry.” He froze in place. “Some would see it as a favor owed.”

“Damn. That’s Fae 101.” I rubbed my face. “It just slipped out.”

“You’re exhausted, and you’re still transitioning.” He opened the tureen and ladled a dark brown broth into my bowl that smelled of marrow, garlic and onions. “That is why you are going to eat first, rest and prepare yourself to face them.”

Gratitude welled in me as I lifted my spoon and ran it around the bowl, stirring the mixture and inhaling the rich scent. “It’s kind of you to be so considerate.” Though I didn’t doubt there was a cost to his goodwill.

His soft chuckles brought a twinkle to his eyes. “It is my pleasure to serve you.”

I lifted a spoonful to my mouth and tried to be discreet when I inhaled. It smelled clean, no magic, poisons or other familiar dangers, and the whiff of mouthwatering fragrance perked up my stomach. The brown color made me think of beef. Living in Texas, well, everything made me think of beef. But there weren’t any cows in Faerie.

Instead of asking what sort of creature donated its bones to the pot, I waited for Raven to serve himself. Once he joined me at the table, I tucked into my meal.

The faint smile Raven wore as he ate concerned me, but not enough to bother asking him a question when I figured he would tap dance around the answer. Though I would have preferred some conversation to drown out the scraping of our spoons on porcelain, I wasted no time talking that could be spent eating. The faster I emptied my bowl, the quicker we left and the closer I came to going home.

Chapter Eighteen

My toes were tapping while I waited for Raven to finish his meal. When Bháin entered the room with a leather-wrapped parcel in his arms, I figured it must have been a delivery made while the lord of the manor was in the mortal realm. My surprise was genuine when he brought it to me instead.

“A gift from the master.” Bháin extended his arms so I could do the honors. “It won’t bite.”

This time the throat cleared was Raven’s.

Bháin lowered his head. “Forgive my familiarity, lady.”

“You’re fine.” I recoiled from the parcel. “I can’t accept that, whatever it is.”

“You must if you’re going to survive the rest of the journey.” Raven pushed to his feet and came to my side. He murmured in Bháin’s ear and then relieved him of the package. “You are dismissed.”

His response chimed like thousands of crystal glasses toasting the beauty of the sidhe language.

Raven’s expression darkened, and he responded in kind, his tone shattering the fragile beauty of the previous comments, a hammer that smashed those crystalline words into ragged shards.

Fascination tuned me in deeper to their conversation than was polite, but I lacked the facilities to understand their language, let alone speak it.

Raven raised his hand in Bháin’s face. “Enough. Your point has been made.”

Trying to affect a casual air before they deigned to notice me again, I faced straight forward and examined the frosted wall opposite me. Good thing I had glossed over its bleak portrait grouping before I ate.

I wasn’t much for beheadings.

Bháin cleared my place and then the rest of the table without uttering another sound. He finished and left me in the hall alone with Raven, who clutched the bundle to his chest while unlacing the ties.

“Be careful who you give your trust.” He snapped a knotted cord. “Even the guileless carry swords here.”

“I am being careful.” The broth had done wonders for clearing my head. “I appreciate what you have done for me so far, but I can’t accept a gift from you without further obligating myself.”

He dropped the bundle onto the table in front of me. “It’s your choice. Live to negotiate for your mother’s safe return. Or die before we reach the Halls of Winter and leave her at her captors’ mercy.”

“What you’re saying is I have no choice.” I toyed with the wrapping. “No surprise given how I came to be here.”

Well and truly stuck, I opened the parcel. “Is that armor?”

I lifted the topmost piece, a molded-leather breastplate I bet a month’s salary would hug all my curves. How those curves had been measured, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. A black shirt was under that. A pair of pants covered in lightweight scales sat on the bottom of the stack. No. I was wrong. Socks were in there too. What worried me most was the outfit reeked of magic...and elves. Not that it was wholly unexpected. Children’s stories limited elves’ creativity to footwear, but they crafted whatever struck their fancy. Armor included.

Those stories had been exaggerated in other ways too. Some fae were content to work for honey or other relatively inexpensive or common items. Cobbling elves weren’t one of them, and whoever went through the trouble of making and enchanting this outfit... They were walking around several gold bars lighter.

Raven caressed my cheek. “Try it on.”

“No.” I shoved the mound of clothing aside. “It’s too much. I can’t accept it.”

His other hand rose to smooth his forehead. “You are picking the wrong battles.”

“I’m protecting myself the best way I know how.” No gifts. No thanks. No perceived debts.

“Fine.” He scooped up the pile and strode down the hall.

I lasted all of five seconds before I leapt to my feet and followed. “What are you doing?”

“These were made for you.” He reached the door, opened it and flung them onto the icy ground. “You don’t want them, and no one else can trigger their magic. I have no reason for keeping them.”

I gaped at the senseless waste. “Those must have cost you a fortune.”

“I have resources.” He shrugged. “The cost was not an issue.”

Right. Princes must inherit small fortunes along with the title.

Waving a hand at him, I shooed him aside. “Get out of the way.”

He stepped to the left and unlatched the lock I hadn’t seen him trigger.

I opened the door and scowled at the heap of clothing smudging the winter-white landscape. Darting outside, I gathered the scattered outfit and ran back in to melt the snow stuck in my hair.

I dumped it all in a heap on the floor then returned to the hearth and the crackling fire elemental. It flared brighter at my approach, which earned it a smile, then flamed hotter to thaw my icy fingers.

“I knew you couldn’t resist.” The smugness in Raven’s voice was thicker than the honey I gifted Mable.

“Not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Some of us work for a living.” The cost of that outfit would have paid my rent for five years. “So no, I couldn’t leave the clothes to ruin.”

Raven shoved off the wall where he had been leaning. “Your father doesn’t provide for you?”

“Not a penny.” I massaged the stinging from my hands. “I pay my own way.”

He cocked his head. “I didn’t realize.”

“That I wasn’t a kept woman?” I scoffed. “Sorry to disillusion you.”

He sounded thoughtful. “I would have handled this situation differently if I had known.”

“The ratty couch wasn’t your first clue?” I laughed. “Or the rattletrap car I drive?”

His brows slanted downward. “They were low quality, but you seemed pleased with them.”

“I am pleased with them.” Heat stung my neck until I rubbed it. “Let’s just—new topic okay?”

Finally I understood why talking money was considered crass at worst, borderline rude at best.

For those who never worried where their next meal was coming from, fear of going hungry was as foreign as my first step into Faerie.

A throat clearing brought my attention back to Raven.

“No time. We have to leave.” He gestured toward the clothes. “You must dress quickly.”

I straightened from the fire, mourning the loss of its heat. “I’m not accepting your gift.”

“What gift? Do you mean those clothes you found discarded on my property? Those aren’t mine. Not my size.” He canted his head. “It’s your choice. Use them or not.”

“You are...” I rolled a few choice words around my head before settling on, “...sneaky.”

A tight smile stretched his lips. “I have been called worse.”

I just bet he had.

Even after being assured I was under no obligation to accept or wear the gift Raven had offered, I couldn’t make myself do either. What frightened me was not being given freedom to choose, but fear of making the wrong choice. I had never intended to visit Faerie, and I wasn’t prepared for it.

Basic fae etiquette had been drummed into my head, but I had never bargained with a creature like this.

Raven could destroy me. He could twist any one of the missteps I had made around him until he owned me. That he hadn’t yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t ever. It just meant I was of more use to him running on my own steam, making fresh mistakes to compound the old ones than under his auspices.

When he excused himself to freshen up, my fingers began itching to fling the pile of armor into the fire. That was one way to make a decision, right? His return made me grateful I had resisted the temptation.

Gone were the trappings of the mortal realm. Raven wore a black leather outfit, one part armor and two parts fashion plate, that complemented the one he’d had made for me. Silver-studded gloves stretched to his elbows. His shoulders were masked by epaulets fashioned from sleek black feathers of varying lengths and a heavy cloak fastened underneath. Free of its braid, his hair hung dark and smooth down his back.

The slight peak at his forehead was accentuated by the elegant sterling circlet he wore. An oversight maybe, since he dressed quickly, but the crest in its center was inverted. The stylized bird with a serpent clutched in its talons flew upside down. I was about to draw his attention to it but decided against it.

Care had been taken with every aspect of his appearance. Not one hair on his head was out of place. He chose to wear his crown upside down. Why? If it was a political statement, I was better off ignorant. I gladly fisted my thin plausible deniability in a chokehold and kept my questions to myself.

Taking all this into consideration, I made the best decision with the information available.

I forced out the words. “Is there somewhere I can change?”

A pleased gleam lit his eyes, but I let it pass without comment. Silent in his triumph, he gathered the clothes and escorted me to an enormous bedroom decorated in the same requisite shades of black as the rest of the house. I squinted to make out ornate details because of the monochromatic scheme.

Jeans and a faded denim shirt covered the arm of a black damask chair by the cold hearth.

Hello, master suite.

Why not? I mean, in a residence this size, empty rooms must be
so
difficult to come by.

He set my clothes on the bed,
his
bed, sorting the individual pieces as if concerned I might skip one then pointed toward the far right corner. “The bath is there if you want to refresh yourself before you change.”