Here Be Monsters [2] (17 page)

Siobhan wanted Aby to wake and stay that way. Come back with her to Chicago. She needed to talk to him. Hear his voice. Know that he didn't blame her.
 

For what?
 

For failing him. For being too weak around Maeve.
 

"Siobhan," Oberon said and waved his hand in front of her face. "I need you in the moment."
 

"I'm sorry. I'm just worried."
 

He looked sad. "Did you ever worry this much about me?"
 

"No." It was honest. "I always knew you would survive. You were and are the King of Underhill, Oberon Geld."
 

"My brother is not weaker than I am," Oberon said. "He is if anything, the stronger of the three."
 

Siobhan frowned. "Three?"
 

"Me, Abyssinian, and our sister."
 

"Sister?" She blinked at him. "You
 
have a sister?"
 

The king smirked. "You really didn't know?"
 

"You never talked about a sister."
 

"That is because I prefer to remain…" came a familiar voice. "Anonymous in the mortal realm. As well as here. My destiny in this life is to a healer. If I am part of High Court, I cannot be."
 

Siobhan turned to see Illeië gliding into the room. She stared hard at the tall, elegant elf and tried to see the resemblance. It was there with Oberon. The eyes, shape of the face, the ethereal pale beauty and blond hair. Though Illeië's was nearly white. "Why does Abyssinian look so different?"
 

"Because he is Winterbourne," Illeië said, as if that were the answer and there was no more discussion. "Oberon, Xe-Faun and the others have returned. There is still no sign of the Rhymer."
 

"And Silira?"
 

Illeië shook her head.
 

Siobhan sighed as she sat forward in the chair and placed her elbows on the table. There was something she'd wanted to ask—and being alone with the king and his sister seemed safe. "I need to know—what Silira is."
 

"What she is?" Oberon asked.
 

"Maeve had a certain hum about her. Being a vampire—I can sense certain things about others. Their pulse—the heartbeat—and sometimes their very life force. Maeve's was different—she had a certain feel about her that no other creature had. It was very similar to Marion St. Clair's," she held out her hand. "But I associate that with age. Both of them were pretty well aged. But Maeve had the same kind of hum some places do in the mortal realm. A pulse."
 

"You sensed the ancient magic in Maeve," Illeië said. "And you sense this same thing in Silira?"
 

"Well that's just it. I didn't at first, and then I did. When she showed up in Grant Park—I did. At first I thought it all came from Maeve. But after she was no longer there—" she looked at Illeië. "I still felt it. Is Silira a Fallen?"
 

Illeië gave Oberon a subtle glance. Maybe not so subtle because Siobhan saw it, but it surprised her. And alarmed her. They looked at one another as if communicating silently.
 

Then—

"Merlin's curse," Oberon said. "Is a lot more complicated than—" and he looked at a loss for words. "It's—complicated."
 

"And?" Siobhan looked from him to Illeië.
 

"Siobhan," Illeië finally pulled a chair back and sat at the head of the table between them. "I think it would be prudent if you knew—though Oberon and I have argued heavily over this—the full truth."
 

Full truth? Oh god…there's more?
"What?"
 

"You know how the Winterbourne were made?"

"I learned it was actually the Fallen using Merlin's curse against him. They cast a spell that those born during that
 
year of winter changed them so their blood would break the curse."
 

"That's the simplified version," Oberon said and rubbed at his face. "That was Thom's version. What he understood from the texts he read. Texts he was forbidden to see, I might add."
 

Siobhan saw the worry and stress in her former lover's eyes. She knew he would forever question his motives for putting someone like Thom Rhymer in charge of Underhill while he worked in the mortal realm. "So…what's the long form?"
 

"Merlin knew what the Fallen had done," Illeië said. She wasn't looking at Siobhan, but at the table. "Only he learned too late. Of what these children would do. Merlin was many things—and one of them was a prophet. He saw the Fallen creating an army of creatures capable of withstanding the light and invading Underhill. So he worked hard to create—" she looked at Siobhan. "Elven vassals."

Vassals? She shook her head. "I'm not following you."
 

"You know what a vassal is?" Oberon sat forward.
 

Siobhan glared at him. "Yes I know. It's an older feudal term given to someone who voluntarily agrees to enter into a contract to a monarchy or—" she stopped as her thoughts moved out faster than her words. "Oberon…"
 

"There were five of the Winterbourne that agreed to be a vassal," Illeië said. "Of those five, only two survived the mortal realm and Thom's assassination missions."
 

"Abyssinian and Silira?"
 

"Silira, yes," Oberon said. "But not Abyssinian. Aby was never really made aware of what he was. Not until I told him. I made sure to keep him ignorant."
 

"Because you knew he'd volunteer," Siobhan shook her head. "What does it mean? Vassal for what?"

"To be used in the protection of Underhill. Silira knew it was her duty to take on the magic that would destroy the Fallen—she knew what would be necessary. She moved those into play—including Aby—so they could put the Fallen into a position for her to use the spell needed to weaken her—" Oberon sighed. "And then to destroy her."
 

"Silira put Aby's life in danger—in order to kill Maeve?"
 

"Yes." Illeië said. "The spell Merlin created to kill them involved the use of the
vesta en' coia,
which is the only thing that can half their power. Which he discovered was the only way to kill them."
 

"Merlin died discovering this," Oberon said. "And his vassals carried on the legacy. As was his practice, the High Court never knew which of the Winterbourne were vassals to protect their privacy. And to keep them hidden from the Fallen."
 

Some of it made sense to Siobhan. She understood the mechanics of magic—she'd had to being involved with Abyssinian. But it was an even flow of give and take, always equal in mass and energy and always exacting a price. "Silira took half the power from the Fallen in the spell."
 

"And you took the other half in the blood." Illeië smiled. "Silira took the magic of the elves, and you took the blood of the vampire."
 

Touché.
 

"So where is she?"
 

"We don't know," Oberon said. "But we trust her. And she will return when she's ready." And that was all she was willing to say on the matter.
 

"There is another one? Another of these vassals?"
 

"I don't know. Abyssinian and Siliar were the only Winterbourne we knew about." Illeië stood and nodded to Siobhan. "So if you'll excuse me, I must go check on sleeping beauty. I do hope he rouses out of this soon. Siobhan, I will contact you as soon as I know more. But for now, I bid you a peaceful evening." With a lingering look at her brother, she left them alone in the Great Hall.
 

"My brain's…fried…" Siobhan put her hands to her face.
 

"Go home," Oberon said as he stood and moved from the table. He walked around to her and took her hand and guided her to her feet. "Aby's in good hands with Illeië. And I will make sure she contacts you when there is a change. Come back tomorrow."
 

"As long as the Fallen's blood allows me to withstand the daylight."
 

The two walked in silence down the path to the largest of the cairns, the doorway back to Grant Park. Back to Chicago. There, the two paused and Siobhan looked up at him in the twilight. "Oberon—what did I do to Abyssinian?"
 

"I don't know. You say he's not ghouled, that you would know. As you did with Keith Song. Whatever it is—we'll only know once he's awake long enough to communicate." He reached up and tucked a strand of her wild dark hair behind her ear. "Get rest. Even the undead need it. I'll see you tomorrow."
 

He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
 

Siobhan smiled up at him and turned to the cairn. She heard Oberon's boots on the stone path and looked behind her to see him striding back up to the Great Hall. Probably to check on Aby himself.
 

With a deep inhale of the perfumes of Underhill, Siobhan waved her hand over the circle of stones. Her aura was keyed to the magic. The familiar lights lifted from the circle and hovered a foot or so above the ground. She stepped over the stones and into the center of the ring.
 

The snap of a branch or twig to her right caused her to look over. She recognized the tall blond elf that stepped out. He held an arrow positioned in his bow and pointed it at her. "This is your fault, vampire whore."
 

She held up her hands just as the gate opened and she felt the familiar flutter in her stomach as she transitioned to the mortal realm. Siobhan heard the snap of the bow.
 

She felt the impact as it slid past her vanishing hands, and struck her chest, just as she tumbled out of Underhill and into the morning of Grant Park.
 

---------------

About the Author…

Phaedra Weldon is the author of the Urban Fantasy series, Zoë Martinique Investigation, published by Berkley, available for Kindle. She is also the author of many stories written for Daw Anthologies, such as Enchantment Place and Wizards Inc.
 

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This work and everything in it is the sole property of Phaedra M. Weldon. Any copying or reprinting will be prosecuted to the furthest extent of the law.
 

For more information about the author please her visit her website at

 
www.phaedraweldon.com

www.zoemartinique.com

If you liked this story, and would enjoy reading more about Siobhan and Abyssinian, drop the author a note at [email protected]

Other books by Phaedra Weldon

Revenants Novels

Ghoul

Native Soil (
coming soon
)

Grimoire Chronicles

Grimoire

Back Door Series

Back Door Magic

Back Door Curse

Back Door Myth (
coming soon
)

Zoë Martinique Investigations

Wraith

Out Of The Dark

Spectre

Phantasm

Revenant

Geist (
coming soon
)

Siobhan and Abyssinian

Mirror Mirror

Here Be Monsters

INSTRUMENTS OF DARKNESS (Excerpt)

Coming Soon

High Elven King, Oberon Geld, stood in the arched doorway of the High Court's garden. To his left a willow tree swayed with the breeze. Small yellow fireflies dotted the twilight shadows beneath a soft pink sky. He watched his brother Abyssinian abruptly crouch. He had his hands out in front of him, his fingers curled into the soft, thick grass.
 

The speed he moved with impressed and alarmed Oberon. Aby became a blur as he launched himself forward and into a thick patch of brush. The movement also surprised Oberon because of the Cold Iron poisoning he'd suffered at the hands of Oberon's regent, Thom Rhymer. The wound was healed, but the scar it left behind would remain for decades.
 

Just like the one Oberon had caused on Abyssinian's wrist.
 

There was a small squeak, and then Abyssinian Geld, Prince of the UnSeleighe of Underhill, Regent of Vothlorien, emerged with a rabbit in his bare hands.
 

Blood dripped from his fingers as he held the struggling creature in front of him. The thing fought to get away, but Abyssinian only stared at it, as if he were suddenly surprised to see it in his hand.
 

Oberon moved cautiously toward him, his hands out. "Aby—"
 

Abyssinian looked up from the rabbit at his brother. Aby's eyes were their normal indigo color but he was pale and smooth—unnaturally smooth. The tone and texture of his skin, plus the darkening of his hair from the loud red it'd been since birth, to the now darker fox-red hue it was now, were the two outward differences the prince had shown since his brush with death.