Blade Dance (A Cold Iron Novel Book 4) Page 12

  “And who are you?” Ann asked.

  “A friend.”

  “Of Finn’s?”

  “MacUmhaill doesn’t have friends. He has followers.”

  It was similar to what Nancy McTeer had told her. And the truth was that Finn had asked her to join his band, to be one of his followers, before he had even really made her his lover.

  She shoved that thought aside because, true as it might be, she did not know this exquisite creature before her, and there was something about him that put all her nerves on edge.

  “If you’re not Finn’s friend, then who’s been telling you about me?”

  The Fae shrugged, strolled to the wall of weapons, ran his finger over the blade of a sword. Ann saw he had his own blade strapped to his back. “Gossip,” he said. “What progress have you made toward finding the boy?”

  “You mean Davin?”

  “I mean the child of Sean Silver Blade.”

  “Didn’t gossip tell you?”

  “You’re insolent for a human consort. I would have thought a night in Finn’s bed would cure any woman of insolence.”

  He wasn’t the first to hint at it. Nancy McTeer had suggested as much: that Finn was more than a little bit rough in bed. She’d meant to frighten Ann away. Ann supposed that she should have been frightened, but she wasn’t. She found the idea . . . exciting.

  “Maybe I’m not just any woman,” she said, realizing her words might be true.

  His eyes fell on the ax on the floor, and his perfect lips curled into a smile. “No, it seems you’re not. I confess I am surprised. We believed the berserkers had all been killed. I’ve spent decades finding latent Druids, but I never thought to search for berserker descendants because I didn’t believe that any of them had escaped the slaughter. And yet here you are.”

  Then it clicked into place for Ann, who this Fae must be. “You’re the Prince Consort,” she said.

  He sketched a little bow. “At your service.”

  “I somehow doubt that.”

  “A figure of speech.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “In truth, I’ve misplaced one of my Druids.”

  “The one who took Davin?”

  The Prince cocked his head. “You’re fond of the boy, aren’t you?”

  “I’m fond of all my students.”

  “But you like him best.”

  “Teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites.”

  The Prince laughed out loud. “Fae or human, the hypocrisies we perpetrate in the name of our young never change. Of course you have favorites. Children are not all equally bright, not all equally winsome, not all equally charming.”

  “But they’re all equally deserving of my concern.”

  “But concern isn’t love, and love isn’t voluntary. What is the boy like?”

  “Gifted,” Ann said, honestly. “A natural born storyteller. And sensitive beyond his years. He knows how to draw out his shy classmates and how to calm down the playground bully.”

  A ghost of a smile played across the Prince’s lips. “Then he is his father’s son.”

  “You’ve obviously never met Sean Silver Blade.” Her hand had unconsciously risen to her cheek, but there was no bruise there, because Garrett had healed it.

  “Sean is my brother,” said the Prince. “And he was not always the way he is now.”

  “He’s the one who brought the Druid into his home to tattoo his son. Your Druid. Is that what you train your Druids to do? Abuse children?”

  The Prince’s expression turned frosty. “No. This particular Druid got above himself and concocted an agenda of his own. I train my Druids to look for weaknesses in the wall. Some of them are very clever. One of them, eventually, will find a way. And then the wall will come down, and the Queen will come back, and creatures like you, who live on the edges of our world now, will be called to present yourselves to the Court. Some the Queen will cull. There are too many half-bloods strutting the earth, putting on the airs of the true Fae. Others, though . . . others she will make into pets, and the Queen is not a kind mistress to her pets.”

  “You would know,” said Ann.

  The Prince strolled closer. Ann took a step backward, and her shoulders met the sloping walls. “I do know the Queen’s cruelty firsthand and her power. She cannot be defeated or dethroned. But she loves me, in her own way, and she indulges me and all my interests. You are part of our world, little schoolteacher, and you will not be able to hide from the Court when the wall comes down. Pledge your loyalty to me, and I will protect you from her.”

  “No thank you,” she said. “I’ll take my chances with Finn.” Who she hoped was coming back soon.

  “A quandary, isn’t it?” he asked, sensing her dilemma. “I might be here to do some mischief, in which case you should be screaming at the top of your lungs to raise the alarm. Then again, I might be here to help, in which case you’ll look like a fool, and I might become offended and withdraw my aid, and the boy is the one who will suffer for it.”

  “Well, are you here to help?” she asked.

  “I think my answer will depend on the warmth of Finn’s hospitality.” His eyes raked her in an unmistakably carnal assessment.

  “I’m not part of the hospitality,” she said.

  “You’re not much fun for a berserker.”

  “Berserking is just a sideline,” she said. “Most of the time, I’m an educator.”

  The Prince cocked his head and looked at her. “Is that what you tell yourself? Is that why you pin all that fiery hair up in such a tight bun? To convince the world that you’re really just a schoolmarm?”

  He reached for the clip that held her hair pinned on top of her head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of silvery movement, and then the Prince swore and snatched back his hand—with a wicked little knife stuck straight through his palm.

  He pivoted away from Ann to reveal Finn standing at the center of the room.

  The Prince held his hand up and examined the blade sticking out of it. Ann was astonished to see there was no blood. None coating the gleaming blade, none trickling from the wound, not even a speckle of red on his silk cuffs. Instead, the flesh surrounding the knife had taken on a silver hue. The Prince grimaced and pulled the knife out, then threw it deftly back at Finn, who caught it in midair.

  As Ann watched, the silvery wound in the Prince’s hand closed. For a moment, the place where the hole had been glimmered. Then the Prince flexed his fingers, and his hand was warm flesh once more, and whole.

  “Your hospitality leaves much to be desired, MacUmhaill,” said the Prince.

  “My hospitality doesn’t extend to Ann Phillips,” said Finn. “How the hell did you get in here?”

  “There are no wards on the house,” said the Prince, all affronted dignity. “Imagine my surprise to be greeted with a thrown blade for accepting such an appealing invitation.” His eyes swept Ann, and she feared for a moment that Finn would think she had welcomed this creature’s advances.

  Finn looked like he wanted to throw another knife at the Prince, but that wasn’t going to help anything. “The Prince is looking for the Druid who took Davin,” she said.

  “How did you know about Davin’s abduction?” asked Finn sharply.

  “Sean called me,” the Prince replied.

  “He had no business calling you. The Fianna take care of their own.”

  “The Fianna,” said the Prince, not bothering to conceal his disdain, “haven’t found the child, and he’s been missing for twenty-four hours.”

  “Garrett is scrying for him now.”

  “Garrett?” asked the Prince, incredulously. “Your bantling sorcerer in training? He’ll never find him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is no ordinary Druid.”

  “What kind of
Druid is he, exactly?” asked Garrett. He had come up the stairs silently. Ann was astonished at the change in him since last night. Finn had told her that scrying was difficult and exhausting. That didn’t cover the half of it. Whatever Garrett had been doing, it had obviously taken a huge physical toll on him. There were dark circles under his yes. His cheeks looked sunken. His lips were cracked and dry. He looked like he had run miles through the desert or spent days adrift in an open boat.

  The Prince smiled. “You haven’t been able to scry him, have you?”

  “No,” said Garrett. Ann could hear the anger and frustration in his voice.

  “That’s because you’ve been looking for a simple Druid, and he’s nothing of the kind.”

  “Again, what is he, then?” asked Garrett sharply.

  “What he is, is my business,” said the Prince. “It’s enough for you to know that I can track the boy, if you have something of the Druid’s that I can use.”

  “If he’s your Druid,” asked Ann, “why don’t you have something of his to track him with?”

  “Because the creature was cunning. He planned his defection well. He took or destroyed everything he had ever had contact with.”

  “Why do you want to find this Druid so badly?” asked Garrett.

  “Because I have unfinished business with him.”

  “What kind of business?” Finn asked.

  “Does it matter? You’ve never had any interest in my projects, Finn MacUmhaill. Indifference has always been your defining characteristic. You were indifferent to the Court before the fall. Even indifferent to me fucking your wife. You have been indifferent to my plans to bring down the wall. Don’t change now. You won’t like the results.”

  “My concern is the child,” said Finn. “We want him back.”

  “Then give me whatever you have been using to scry for the Druid, and once I find my treacherous mage, you can have the child.”

  “No,” said Finn. “Tell us where to find the Druid, and we will go rescue the child. Then you may do what you like with the Druid.”

  The Prince shook his head. “That won’t work. This Druid has the voice. He can control you, and all the Fianna.”

  “Garrett is unmarked,” said Finn. “And he can cast a silence.”

  “But Garrett has no right hand to protect him while he casts, and this Druid is trained in magic and swordplay. He’d cut your son down before he could utter a complete sentence.”

  “Why can’t Garrett go with you?” asked Ann. “Why couldn’t you defend him while he casts?”

  “Clever girl,” said the Prince. “But no. I won’t take Garrett with me. I have private business to conduct with the Druid first.”

  “Business you want to conduct in front of a seven-year-old boy?” she asked.

  The bitter expression that flashed across the Prince’s face was gone so quickly that Ann thought she might have imagined it. “Needs must,” he said lightly.

  “No,” said Finn flatly. “We’ve got no way to be sure you’ll really bring back the boy.”

  “I would take a geis upon it,” said the Prince.

  His words seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Finn and Garrett exchanged a look, at once wary and hopeful.

  “A geis of our devising,” said Garrett.

  “If you like,” said the Prince.

  “It won’t work,” said Finn, shaking his head. “His skin won’t take ink. And a verbal promise isn’t strong enough for something this important.”

  “No,” said Garrett. “But he could sign a blood oath. I don’t know how to create them myself, but Miach does.”

  “Are you really prepared to climb into bed with Miach MacCecht,” asked the Prince, “over one half-blood child?”

  “I don’t know,” said Finn.

  “You can’t trust him,” said the Prince.

  “I don’t,” said Finn. “But I trust you even less. And I’m not sure I want to give you the objects that are our only link to the child.”

  The Prince shrugged. “Do as you like, but decide quickly. The Druid has unusual skills. He has learned to cover his tracks well. If he senses Garrett’s clumsy scrying, he will bolt again, and if the trail grows cold enough, we’ll never find him.”

  “We’ll consider it,” said Finn.

  The Prince inclined his head. “Sean knows how to reach me,” he said. Then he passed from the room.

  Chapter 10

  Finn rounded on his son. “Before you say anything else, before we discuss the Prince, I want wards on this house. I want Ann and the Fianna under my roof safe from the Prince and especially from this Druid. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Ann.”

  Garrett nodded. “I’ll do it now,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about how we can bind the Prince to his word.”

  Finn sighed. “We should call Miach. Casting on the Prince is no small undertaking. And if it goes wrong, you won’t want to be alone in the path of his anger.”

  “I’ll call him,” said Garrett, over his shoulder, “but you know what the price will be.”

  Then at last Finn was alone with Ann. Somehow she looked both fierce and vulnerable with her fiery hair escaping the knot atop her head and the soft slouchy textures of her sweater and her velour pants.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That won’t happen again. Once Garrett wards the house, the Prince won’t be able to just pass in here.”

  “What did Garrett mean, about Miach demanding a price?”

  “It is one that I’m willing to pay, to get the boy back,” he said. “It is one, in truth, that I should have paid long ago. Ann, I hope to Dana that when all this is done you’ll give me a chance to woo you properly, because you make me see things more clearly than I have for decades. I thought I was losing my grip on the Fianna because I wasn’t being Fae enough, but the truth is that I have been violating my geis. That is why the Fianna are dwindling. I have not led them to a worthy place. I’ve made bad choices. I’m going to try to make better.”

  “I haven’t seen you make any bad choices,” she said softly.

  “No, you haven’t, because when I’m around you, I’m inspired to be a better man. But before I met you . . . I was ready to reconcile with Miach twenty years ago. It seemed like the right time. Garrett showed promise as a sorcerer, and sending your son to another Fae house for fostering, if his inclinations do not follow your own family’s, is a time-honored Fae practice. And for many years Garrett thrived there under Miach’s roof. I denied responsibility for what happened for a long time, but I see now that it was my fault. I raised Garrett to be like one of the Fianna, taught him by word and example to take what he wanted by right, especially if what he wanted was a human woman. He wanted Miach’s half-blood granddaughter, so he took her. Far, far too young. And when she got pregnant, they ran away, and Nieve nearly died delivering his child. I blamed Miach and I blamed Nieve and I blamed Garrett, but the truth is that everything that happened was my fault. And in my eagerness to escape responsibility, I drove my son and his wife away.”

  “That doesn’t sound especially Fae, really,” she said. “It sounds all too human.”

  “There is more. I want to tell you because I won’t hold up a false idol to you. I can love you, Ann. I am not the battered wreck Nancy McTeer portrayed me as, but I’m not an entirely good man, and I want you to know the whole truth before you come to my bed. If, that is, you still choose to.”

  “Go on,” she said, eyes full of the kind of understanding he didn’t deserve.

  “I caught a Druid last year. The one who used her voice to crack the foundation of my house. I was going to torture her, as revenge for my wife’s murder. I’m still angry. Even after two thousand years. I will probably always be angry. But I know now that I was wrong. The Druid was born two thousand years after Brigid died. She bore no responsibility for my grief. And she was th
e lover of Miach’s right hand. When I realized that I would get no satisfaction out of torturing her, I tried to use her life as a bargaining chip to convince him to become Garrett’s protector, but it was a fool’s dream.”

  “Or a father’s,” said Ann. “I know what it’s like to be driven to protect. I’ve lived with the urge my whole life, suffered through my spells for it. I expect that being a parent is the same.”

  “That’s the other thing you have to know, Ann. I might not be able to give you that, ever. A child. And if, by some miracle at my age, you did fall pregnant, it wouldn’t be easy on you. Fae children develop fast in the womb, and even Fae women sometimes fail to survive the birth. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to have a human child. I might even prefer it, because it would be safer for you.”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Ann. “At the moment I’m responsible for thirty children every day. One of my own isn’t something I’ve really started to contemplate.”

  “You would be an amazing mother,” he said, knowing it was true.

  Her face fell. She forced a smile. “I didn’t have a very happy childhood. I’m not sure I would know how to provide one for someone else.”

  “Happiness in childhood is overrated,” said Finn. “I gave Garrett everything he ever wanted but very little of what he needed. And the burden wouldn’t fall on you alone.”

  “I’m still not sure I’m cut out for motherhood. My own parents didn’t set the best example.”

  “Tell me about them.” He wanted to know everything about her.

  “No. It might change how you feel about me,” she said.

  “Nothing is going to change how I feel about you,” he said. “And I know I’m right about the kind of mother you would be. Your children would adore you.”

  “Provided I didn’t go berserk every time they failed to pick up after themselves.”

  “Your berserk skills, it is true, need some work.”