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 pi
ne 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.
“Sorry about that,” Peter said, his cheeks burning red. “There was an incident with a raccoon and a bottle of sweet-meade.”
He hurried to grab a rag from the sink and, after wetting it, quickly wiped at the mess at the top of the map.
It didn’t matter. The area they needed to see had been untouched.
“The sanctuary is here,” she said, pointing to a large oval shape in the bottom left corner. “When last I knew her whereabouts, she was in an abandoned mining hut just beyond Crystalline Lake. There.”
She pointed to a tiny square on the right side of the map, just below the sweet-meade smear.
“Her?” Peter asked.
Tearloch did not answer as he moved behind Arianne, leaned close over her shoulder to see where she was indicating. His hot breath tickled her ear and she had to suppress a shiver.
“There is a trail here,” he said, pointing at a thin dotted line that circled one side of the lake.
Peter frowned. “Only if you brought a canoe.”
“Why?” she asked.
“The trail around Crystalline Lake’s blocked by a rock slide.” He made a wry smile. “Unless you’re planning on a chilly swim, you’ll have to detour around Mount Winter.”
“That would add several days to our trek.” Arianne knew they did not have that kind of time. The Moraine would not be that patient.
“No,” Tearloch said. “My father used to take me hiking there as a boy. There is a wildlife path that circles the opposite side. It is more precarious, but it is passable.”
“Good,” Arianne said. “Then we should leave as soon as—“
In an instant, the mood in the cabin changed. Tearloch and Peter both tensed, and Tearloch held up a hand for silence. Like a fox who sensed a warning signal from others in her pack, Arianne tensed as well.
Then she saw it. The slow movement of a shadow across the very edge of the table. She turned, tracing the shadow’s origin.
The kitchen window.
Silent as a mountain lion, Tearloch padded across the room. He pulled a dagger from a hidden sheath in his right boot, and with his left hand, slowly turned the door handle.
It all happened in a flash. The door swung open. Tearloch reached out. He dragged the unwanted observer inside, his hand wrapped around her neck.
The intruder wore the insignia of the Morainian Royal Guard on her right sleeve. Her long, dark blond hair hung over her shoulders in countless braids. The sword she wore on her left hip was almost as large as Tearloch’s.
“Regan?” Tearloch nearly choked out.
He released her. It was not until her feet hit the floor that Arianne realized he had been holding the guard—Regan—suspended.
“Nice to see you too,” Regan bit out.
To her credit, she did not gasp for breath or reach for what had to be bruises forming on her neck.
“What are you doing here?” Tearloch demanded. “Are you following us?”
Regan swept her gaze around the room. When she looked at Arianne, her gray-green eyes narrowed.
“On the prince’s orders,” Regan said, turning dismissively away from Arianne and focusing her attention on Tearloch.
“What orders?”
There was a threat lurking in Tearloch’s tone, but Arianne did not think Regan looked the sort to back away from a warning. In fact, she looked like the sort to meet it head on.
“To escort you on your—“ She flung her gaze briefly, derisively, at Arianne. “—quest.”
Though Arianne might not have the look of a warrior—she did not wear the colors of a military unit, her hair had been arranged in a more feminine style, and what was visible of her skin was free of scars and blemishes—but in her heart, Arianne was as much a fighter as Regan. She saw Tearloch open his mouth to reply, to tell Regan her escort would not be necessary. Arianne beat him to it.
“I’m afraid that is not possible,” Arianne said.
All three sets of eyes in the room turned to face her, as if they had forgotten her presence. Though she hid her smile, she delighted at the uniform look of shock on all three faces.
“If my sister sensed anyone but me and my escort approaching…” Arianne made a deliberately helpless gesture. “Well, I could not promise anyone’s safety.”
Regan did not even flinch. She snarled, “I don’t take orders from you.”
“No,” Tearloch said, “but you take them from me.”
Regan turned back to face him, confusion and—if Arianne had to guess—desperation in her expression. “Captain?”
“The princess is correct,” he continued. “As I explained to
the prince, it is too dangerous for any to accompany us.”
“But Prince Cathair—“
Tearloch shook his head. “Return to the palace. Tell the prince this is my command. My judgment.”
Regan hesitated, as if she wished to argue but knew that to do so would be rank insubordination. Finally, she threw one last glare at Arianne before turning to storm out of the cabin.
“Making friends wherever you go, are you?” Peter asked.
She turned a sunny smile on him. “Always.” She turned her attention back to the map. “Now, let us get back to planning this journey.”
Chapter 8
As they ventured into the forest at the far end of the sanctuary, Tearloch had to make a decision. Should he take the lead, as was his natural inclination, since he was the one more familiar with this terrain and more experienced with wilderness hiking? Or should he allow the princess to go first, as was tradition?
Tearloch was not normally one to stand on custom, but in the end he elected to take the rear. Not for any particular sense of politeness or chivalry, but for the simple reason that from this position he could keep his eye on her.
They had not gone far into the wood when he was certain he made the right decision. The princess moved like a spirit. Her feet barely made a sound, despite the uneven terrain.
Were she walking behind him, he’d have been constantly turning to make sure she was still there. Like something out of an ancient Greek tale he once heard.
Thanks to Peter’s maps, they had a solid ascent plan that would take them from the sanctuary to the witch’s hut in less than two days. The first half day would take them through the Forest of Shadows, before emerging at the base of Mount Winter. They would ascend to a campsite on the south end of Crystalline Lake to spend the first night. And, if things with the witch went smoothly, they would return to camp at the same location the following night.
Not that Tearloch held out hope that things with the witch would go any way but problematic.