How do you cope with learning that your mother was murdered before you were born, your father is a fairy hitman, and you wield the power to raise an army of devoted love slaves... except you haven't the least idea how to control it?
Tom Corwen's di...
"I have nothing to say on my behalf that you will accept. I come begging for the life of a changeling boy and a human man. If that is not evidence of my motives . . ." The blond woman withdrew a bronze collar from her cloak and cast it to the ground between them where it caught and held celestial light. "Do you recognize it?"
The torc had been cast in a braid with two heads facing each other, one a wolf and the other a bear, bracing a knotwork seal between them. The girl stared at it suspiciously.
"How did you come by this?"
"It belongs to my husband, Cionaodh, son of Aodh, son of Amorgen. A bard."
"Not a bard only if that is his." She made a face. "I knew Aodh. The life of his son's son holds nearly as little value to me as your own."
"That is why my beloved sends this gift. He has renounced the grove and his father is slain. He would not have come by this if an elder yet lived."
"A druid does not leave the Brotherhood."
"A good man might."
The girl stared at the collar, considering her words before continuing. "I have heard rumors. Do you honestly intend to win my heart with a tale of patricide? It is common enough for men to kill for power."
The woman shook her head. "He is innocent of his family's blood, but they are dead by his betrayal. Merowech himself led the attack on the Grove."
The diminutive figure slid off the side of her beast, dropping a dozen feet to the ground. "A shallow distinction at best. You claim your man has betrayed the Brotherhood and you have betrayed the Court, and this trinket is your proof? Your bloody, burned, and mutilated corpses would be more convincing. And you say all of this is because of your son?"
"It began before. I was sent by the Queen to claim Cionaodh as answer for his crime in the name of the Grove."
"And retrieve their lore."
"Of course."
The girl seemed to struggle with her expression. "It clearly did not go as planned."
"It did not."
The little girl's eyes softened for a moment, belying her next words. "I should let you hang, Left Hand, for the pain you have caused."
"I would have earned it many times over, but as I told you, I have renounced those titles. I can defend my family, but not forever. They need succor, a place to hide until they are forgotten."
"Mab has a long memory."
"I am aware."
The girl scratched at her wild, red hair, staring into the trees for a long time before delivering an unforeseen reply. "I require payment."
"You what?"
"I will help, but you deserve no charity. What do you offer?"
The question stunned the woman. "You never—no one told—" She put a hand to her throat. "I lost all when I abandoned the court, what is left for me to give?"
The girl shrugged carelessly. "You hold the torc of a druid lord. What of the library? The Staff of Elders?"
The woman stiffened, her eyes wary. "I willfully surrender the torc as tribute. The rest remains with my husband."
"To what end?" The girl said, a hint of menace in her tone. "They would serve better in my possession than in human hands." The woman stood silent and unmoving, almost regal, as she took stock of the creatures slowly drawing near. She had been prepared for rejection, not negotiation.
"They are not mine to give. Choose another price."
"And what would you do with them?" asked the girl. "You alone have required little encouragement to slaughter thousands. How long before your man raises a hand against his people, or the queen, or my own wood?"
She did not move, but something shifted in the air and a deep growl from the barghest shook the branches overhead. He was powerful, but his size would not allow him to maneuver well among the trees. If the giants laid hands on the woman, she would be vulnerable. It would not change the outcome, but she could not afford an injury and had no wish to kill.
Whether by design or a savage lust for blood, the fachan rushed her, head low, attempting to force her within reach of the firbolgs' massive arms, but she did not retreat. Instead, she twisted to one side, as nimble as the wind, and caught him by his single wrist. The momentum wrenched the bone out of its socket, and he wailed in agony as she lifted him effortlessly with one delicate hand. In a brief moment of pride, she was once more the Morrigan, fierce, and immaculate.
With a shuddering breath, she quelled the desire to tear the fachan's limbs from its torso. Instead, she casually tossed him into the trunk of a stout alder tree where he crumpled, unconscious. He would live and his arm would heal with time and care, but he would not soon rise to fight again. The woman regarded the remaining host with eyes of frost and steel, gauging their willingness to take her attacker's place, then she faced the Fool again.
"I did not come for a fight, but I will not allow you to harm me or rob my husband of his birthright. You have my pledge that the relics of the Brotherhood will not again be used against you or those you harbor. I am not apologizing for my past, nor asking forgiveness. As for the price of your aid, I offer whatever service I can provide and what worldly wealth you require if it is in my power to obtain. If you will help, then help. If not, stand aside, or learn why the Queen chose me among all her people to enforce her commands."
The circle looked on as the Fool considered her words for several tense moments, glanced briefly at the body of the fachan, then finally nodded with no trace of anger or fear. "Very well. I will hide your son in the name of compassion, and your husband for his torc. From you I require..." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Two years."
"What?"
"You offered what service you can provide, and I am claiming it. Submit to serve under me for two years, during which you will not see your husband or your child. I will take them somewhere safe. If you convince me in that time that you are reformed, I will reveal their location and you may join them."
"I cannot leave—"
"You want them hidden," the girl interrupted, "and I will see to it that they remain so while you honor our bargain. That is my price. Accept it or leave this place. You will not receive a second offer."
The woman's face darkened, her mouth tight and eyes hard. The Fool only stared back, waiting.
"I accept your terms," the cloaked woman snarled, "but know that if my husband or my child are harmed while they are in your care—"
"You will kill me, naturally," the girl waved off her words and gave a quick, musical whistle. A short, wrinkled man appeared at her side, leering at the woman with cruel eyes. The Fool whispered something to him, and he cast one last grin over his shoulder before vanishing again into the shadows.
The woman's eyes narrowed with suppressed anger. "You put the safety of my family in the hands of this far dearig and dare to cast aspersions on me?"
"I trust Ragnall with my life. I would not trust you with breakfast." The girl looked back with an ironic smile that did not reach her eyes. "You have two years to change my mind."
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