Prince by Blood and Bone: A Fantasy Romance of the Black Court (Tales of the Black Court) (21 page)

“But I want to know,” she whined.

He stared at her.

He hated her. Hated her expectations of everyone jumping to her word. Hated her abuse of what could have been a useful tool, and now was something broken and bent. Hated that she was still sane enough that he couldn’t take over. She stood in his way, and some days the yellow-acid of hatred ate into his gut until he thought he would spew out bile all over her greedy spoiled face.

He gathered his patience, grateful for the years of her abuse that ensured he would never lose his calm facade in her presence. “Then wait…just a moment…and let him center. He’s an old man, Your Majesty, and we have no other psychics. You need to make him last until we find a replacement.” Haddon didn’t think the old man would last the month.

The queen drifted toward the door, her lips drawn down. Haddon rummaged through his mental list of courtier’s secrets to find one he wanted to let the queen know. It would distract her and keep her busy for the afternoon so he could attend to other matters. More pressing matters. Like greasing more palms or planting more rumors.

“Wait, Your Majesty, wait!” the old man’s rheumy eyes brightened. “I can see something.”

The queen dug her fingers into Haddon’s arm and dragged him back over to Owen’s side.

Shit.

“My Queen, I see him! I see a monstrous beast with huge tusks and covered with hair.”

“That sniveling gnome lied,” the queen snarled. “The prince is still under the spell.” Her wings quivered. “Go on, go on!” The queen plucked at the old man’s sleeve. “Is he in chains? Do you see my niece? Has he decided to give in after all this time?”

“I don’t see Agrona, Your Majesty. The prince appears to be alone.” The old man swayed, his eyes unfocused, and his brow furrowed. “I do see the gnome. He lurks behind the prince, in the bushes.”

“What’s that weaselly little creature doing now?”

“Oh dear.” Owen’s head shook slowly from side-to-side. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

Haddon couldn’t believe the queen didn’t hit the whiny old man. He had trouble not hitting him himself. But she held back, hanging on his every word as if magic dribbled from those soft, withered lips.

“Tell me!”

“Agrona has exited Cairngloss and she is far behind the prince. She’s angry, so angry.” He shook his head and his watery eyes refocused. “I fear, My Queen, that the prince has escaped both Cairngloss and your niece.”

“Aaaah!” The queen’s hair went wild. Her wings shot out, flapping hard. The air in the small room swirled into a whirlwind. It lifted and spun pieces of the broken wood through the air, crashing them into the walls. Haddon ducked flying splinters and grabbed a bed post. The old man cowered on the bed, his bony fingers clawing at the blankets for anchorage as he slipped further and further from safety.

A carved oak dresser lifted up, flying across the room. Haddon ducked and the heavy piece of furniture flew past him, hitting the old man in the head. The wall next to Haddon’s face splattered with gore.

He licked a drop of blood off of his lip and gathered his Gift.

Using his magic he worked his way to the door, making a wide circle around the queen as she screamed her rage and seized the broken body of the old man. She slammed it up and down, banging it on the floor. Blood flew and bones cracked, the corpse’s long arms and legs flailing.

“Look what he made me do?” she wailed. Black tears streaked down her face and her lips sagged. “I need a new mirror!”

Haddon reached the door. He grabbed the frame and pulled himself through. Hanging on, he looked back into the room.

Spittle frothed at the corners of the queen’s mouth. Her wings spasmed, contracting into her body as the purple mist of her magic rose and covered her up. Haddon shoved his body out and slammed the door shut. He ran down the hall, faster than he’d run in years, his entire body shaking in fear. He ran, leaving the crumpled figure of the only psychic they had lying forgotten in the corner. He ran for his life, while the queen metamorphosed into the one being he knew could destroy everything he’d worked so hard to build. The crone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was dark and cold and something watched him. Something malevolent and suspicious and full of hunger. Kian eased his sticky eyes open a crack and stared into the darkness. For one panicked moment, he didn’t know where he was. And he wasn’t sure what he was.

A breath blew out a few feet away.

He reached for his sword, but his fingers touched nothing. Despite his better instincts, his eyes flew open, and he stared into the hungry, yellow gaze of a timber wolf.

“Shit.”

This was the third night of the full moon. He’d shifted back to his elvatian form and it was damn cold with nothing but his cloak to cover him. He lay in a pool of moonlight on the snow covered ground, and he didn’t even have time for the sinking realization that Bryanna had left him.

A second wolf joined the first, its breath heating his toes. He called. And his sword Falin’s Rage answered. The blade appeared, falling from the sky. He lunged, and caught it. Bringing the point up, he stabbed. And managed to miss both wolves. Two sets of predatory eyes split apart, circling his position. He attacked. This time the blade connected, glancing off the fur of one of the snarling wolves.

The bright light of the moon reflected on the snow, reflecting the hunger of the winter-thin wolves. He rose and crouched on his bare feet, turning his head from wolf to circling wolf.

“Get back,” he said. His shoulder ached, the inflamed joints protesting every movement. The wolves snarled, their muscles bunched under thin, grey fur. He curled his lip and growled, letting the beast out from where it lurked inside. He wasn’t free, and tonight it was a good thing. They responded to his threat, edging out of sight into the underbrush. He waited until he was sure they were gone before pulling his clothes out of the satchel and getting dressed. At least she’d left him clothes.

Dressed in real clothes, boots on, Rage strapped to his hip—for the first time in over a decade, he felt like a true man. But he also felt more alone than he had the last fifteen years stuck in the warren with only Beezel and the low-brained goblins for company.

He dug inside the bag and saw she hadn’t totally abandoned him. Half a pasty and an apple were wrapped in a greasy piece of burlap, but the wand and the diamond were gone.

He didn’t blame her. She’d need every weapon she could get in this forest on the edge of the White Queen’s demesne. A light dusting of snow had filled in most of the scuffing from her slippers but her steps leading into the forest were still visible. If it snowed again he’d lose the trail. He didn’t have the Gift for tracking, unless he could shift into the shape of a wolf or hound, and that wasn’t happening. Not with his magic still tied into the curse. When he’d hunted as a prince, Logan Ni Brennan had tracked for them, and Logan’s father before him.

Logan.

He hadn’t thought of his friend for years, tried not to think of him. Now he wondered. Had he survived the queen’s purge? Had any of them survived?

He ate his pasty and contemplated Bryanna’s snow-covered trail. He should be angry with her for stealing away his opportunity to save himself, his men, and her family. In some ways this witch had become like one of his followers, and instead of feeling like she’d betrayed him, he knew…he’d betrayed her.

She’d gone, he should just let her go. It was better this way. Now he could travel fast and find someone who would help him. There must be a way to connect with those who knew what was going on in the courts. And perhaps, re-connect with some of his men.

To the south stretched the pine forest and within that somewhere lay a path that would act as a portal to the Dark Forest. If he found that, he could follow it to the lands of the Fir Bolg and find reinforcements. And maybe Logan.

He felt the eyes of the wolves on his back.

Time to make a decision. He brushed the crumbs off of his fingers and swung the bag over his shoulder. This was the Northern forest, a cold, harsh no-man’s land edging the lands of the White Queen. But at least fifty years ago, he’d hunted here along the ancient road between Cairngloss and Caer Bol, home now to the Brethren. His lodge should still be there, shielded and stocked with food and supplies, waiting for him and his next hunting party. Even better, he didn’t think the queen or Agrona had any idea of its location.

He walked through the pine forest, one wolf trailing after him, the other skulking in the shadows, waiting for another opportunity to strike. The narrow path had once been a wide road, long before he’d been born—back before the White Queen had taken over the north and the gnomes of Cairngloss had given up and moved on. The moon rose higher in the night sky, and the breath of the wind carried soft keening sounds. The wolves pricked their ears forward and took off into the trees.

Kian halted, and listened hard. The snowy landscape was still, and cold, and silent.

A woman screamed.

His gut tightened.

“Bryanna!” he shouted. His call echoed into the pines, but nothing answered him besides the quiet shush of the breeze through the snowy landscape. Apprehension kicking him in the stomach, Kian picked up speed, and ran.

“Bryanna!”

“Here!” The snow was deep, but he caught the trace of Bryanna’s trail leading between two bushes. He burst through the narrow gap. She was waist deep in snow, the hungry wolves circling her from a wary six feet away.

“Kian, don’t come any closer.” He stopped. She was easy prey, mired down in the snow, but the wolves stayed away, growling softly, but not attacking.

“I’m here.” He took a step.

“Don’t!” Her desperate face was pale in the moonlight. “The snow, it’s sucking me down. The more I move, the deeper I get.”

“It’s quick-snow, don’t move.” He searched the forest floor for a long tree limb strong enough to support her weight, finally finding one that would do. He dragged it to the clearing, careful to stay far away from the slight depression he could now make out in the moonlight. She’d sunk lower, and her eyes were wide and scared.

He threw the limb to her. She struggled to lift her arms out of the snow, submerging deeper with each movement.

“My bag, it’s holding my arms down.”

“Drop it.”

“It’s got the wand in it. And the diamond.”

The black diamond and the wand his mother had charmed with power for Agrona. He’d thought maybe, they might be used together to reverse the power of the stone, destroy his curse instead of making it permanent. Somehow his next words were strangely easy to say.

“Let them go.” He’d already known he wasn’t going to get a reprieve. There was a strange relief in accepting that, for now, he would be a beast. Maybe someday he’d find a cure, but it wouldn’t be this way. Not at this woman’s expense.

“But Kian…”

“Let them go.”

She nodded and sank a little deeper as she struggled to lift her arms out of the snow. “My clothes, they’re too heavy.”

“You have to try.”

She floundered, sinking further into the snow. “I can’t.” The words came out stretched and thin.

His title wouldn’t help and he had no magic to use. He had nothing to encourage her with but his voice. He lay on the snow and put all of his years of command into it. “You can. You must.” He stretched out his fingers as far as he could, not even coming close to her strained face, but wanting to give her something of himself. “I believe in you, Bryanna. Slow down and move one arm.”

She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “Okay,” she said. She pressed her lips into a tight line. Inch-by-inch, her right arm rose to the surface. She was up to her armpits now and only one arm was out. He didn’t know if he could pull her free, but he didn’t have time for doubt.

“Grab on.”

She wrapped her fingers around the branch, and he pulled. His boots slid and slipped, and he drew closer to the lip of the quick-snow. His foot slipped over the edge. The snow in the pit gave way and his leg sank in.

“Stop. You’ll be in here with me!”

He let go.

“It’s alright, Kian,” she said, her voice soft as she sank back into the snow. “You’ve tried.” The icy wetness nearly touched her throat, creeping closer to her face.

The faith in her eyes nearly broke him. He’d let so many people down who’d looked at him like that. Good men had died for him and now she would too. He cursed his mother. Cursed the day he’d been born to a woman who would shut his magic away from him and leave him in the position of losing this woman to smother in the snow.

It was because of Bryanna he was free and able to contemplate gathering what remained of his forces and take on his mother. Magic or no magic, he’d be damned if he’d give up on her. “We’re—” his voice broke,”—we’re going to try again, are you ready?”

Her gaze fixed as steadily on him as if she hadn’t even heard his weakness. “Ready,” she said.

He leveraged himself off the snow and rose to his feet. “Don’t worry, and don’t let go,” he said.