When Magic Burns, Page 2

  “The details are few,” Tearloch continued, “but we have received a note from the traitor Ultan.”

  A young fae man next to Peter spat on the ground at the sound of the ex-member of the royal staff’s name.

  Peter had never liked Ultan. Whenever he came to the sanctuary, whether in wolf or fae form, the guy gave him the creeps.

  And now that jerk was definitely going for the induction into the bad guy hall of fame. First, he tried to assassinate the high prince Cathair. Now, he had taken the younger prince captive. What next? Bring down the whole fae realm?

  “Our sources indicate that Ultan was last seen heading into Deachair territory to the east,” Tearloch said. “But we have no information on his whereabouts after that.”

  “We will burn the Deachair to the ground,” a male voice boomed from the crowd.

  The rest of the fae guard cheered, wholeheartedly agreeing to that plan. Their fury should have frightened Peter. All that power combined with so much rage. But he did not fear them. He understood them, understood their anger. He felt it too.

  As a seer guard, he was supposed to be neutral to all the unseelie clans. But over the years he had formed a special bond with the Moraine. Their high prince was one of his best friends—his best friend, truth be told, since being a seer guard didn’t leave much time for outside relationships. It didn’t leave much time for anything outside of his work. It was pretty much a full-time, live-in, around-the-clock job.

  Even when he had time off, he never strayed too far from the sanctuary. As one of the few defenses that stood between fae in their vulnerable animal forms and the dangers of the human and natural worlds, he tried to stay close by in case something happened. His mother didn’t love that he was gone all the time, but she had married into the seer guard world. She understood. Peter wouldn’t be able live with himself if one of his friends got hurt—or worse—while he was off duty.

  And so the news of the (thankfully failed) assassination attempt on Cathair’s life had hit him hard. When he found out it was that scoundrel Ultan, he’d wanted to slice the dark fae’s throat open with an enchanted blade.

  When he thought of all the times the scumbag had been in his sanctuary, trotting around as a wolf with none of the protections of his magic in place, Peter wanted to go back in time and tell his younger self to break his no-kill rule, just that once.

  Seeing the worry in his friend’s eyes over the fate of his brother, Peter wished he could go back and kill the bastard twice.

  “We have been in communication with the Deachair,” Tearloch said, quieting the crowd, “and feel certain that Ultan is not being harbored within their borders.”

  “They’re lying!”

  “Don’t trust them!”

  “Enough!” Cathair boomed. “Starting a war will not return my brother safely home.”

  “My ranks will behave like the elite soldiers of a respected clan, and not like a disorganized embarrassment,” Tearloch said, his voice dripping with disappointment.

  “Nor will mine.” Liam, the captain of the Palace Watch, climbed onto the platform to address his troops. “You will stand at attention, silent and ready for orders, when addressed by your captains and your prince.”

  Their words seemed to have a calming effect on the crowd. Much of the tension eased into formal military attentiveness. Backs stiffened, shoulders straightened, and—most importantly—mouths closed.

  Tearloch nodded in approval. “We are organizing a massive search, a manhunt the likes of which the fae world has never seen. We will find our prince, rescue him, and bring him home.”

  Cathair stepped to the front of the platform. “Each of you are to see your commanding officers for your assignments. You will be sent out in pairs. When you find the prince, if you cannot readily rescue him without engaging the traitor, one of you will return here, to the palace, to gather our forces.”

  “Individuals are not, I repeat not, to engage the traitor on their own.” Liam glared at the restless crowd.

  Tearloch ran his gaze over the crowd. “Any soldiers or officers disobeying this direct order, will answer to us and will receive punishments that make the Everdark look like a holiday in the Aetherworld.”

  Peter should not have been surprised by the power the two captains had to control their soldiers. But still, it was impressive how quickly the fae forces got their emotions under control and readied for the mission ahead.

  He had to wonder, though, why he had been called. He wasn’t one of their soldiers. There didn’t seem to be any other humans, any other seer guards in attendance that he could tell. What made him special?

  “Members of the Palace Watch, follow me into the dining hall,” Liam said, then strode down the steps, and across the room.

  Tearloch pointed to the far corner of the Royal Hall. “Morainian guard, form a line starting at the table by the door. Siobhan will distribute your assignments.”

  And where did that leave Peter? He wasn’t part of the Palace Watch or the Royal Guard. Maybe he had been invited here by mistake. Surely there were other Peters in the clan. Or maybe he’d been summoned about something completely unrelated to the prince’s kidnapping, and he just happened to get here at the same time as this meeting. Or maybe—

  “Peter Duncan,” Cathair’s voice called out above the rumbling sounds of soldiers on the move, “and Regan McCrae, join me in my office.”

  Well that answered that. As Peter made his way across the room, in the direction that his friend had pointed, he wondered if this Regan McCrae had any more idea of why they were being called to the prince’s office than he did.

  4

  Regan’s skin itched with anger and anxiety. She wanted to be first in line, the first to get her assignment so she could get started on her mission to find Aedan. And she would be the one to find him. She knew that. She felt it in her bones.

  She would bring him home, and he would finally notice her.

  She shook that last thought out of her head. Whatever happened after she brought the young prince home was not her concern. Reward was not her motivation. Her only goal was to bring Aedan home.

  Normally Regan would never question a direct order, but today was different. Whatever the captain wanted was a waste of valuable time when she could be out hunting for the prince.

  And that the human seer was being called as well? She could not begin to guess what that meant.

  She rushed through the halls to the prince’s office, eager to get this delay over with.

  When she walked into the office, the human seer was already inside. That irritated her.

  “You’re McCrae?” he asked with a smile.

  The prince was already seated at his desk, with Tearloch at his side.

  She ignored the human, instead turned her attention to the prince. “Your highness?”

  ‘’Please,” the prince said, “be seated.”

  “I’ll stand,’’ she replied, letting her anxiety for Aedan overstep her better judgement. She quickly added, “If that is acceptable.”

  She bowed her head. The prince had never stood much on ceremony, but then again, Regan had never before been so blatantly discourteous. She couldn’t risk her behavioral slip—or anything else—earning her a penalty that might keep her from finding Aedan.

  Prince Cathair appeared too preoccupied to notice.

  “As you just heard,” he began, “my brother has been taken prisoner.”

  “Yes, your highness,” Regan hurried to say. “It will be my unending mission to scour the four corners of the earth, to search from the shadows of the Everdark to the glow of the Aetherworld. I will not rest until he is safely home, my prince.”

  The prince gave her a pained smile. She understood that pain. Felt it herself.

  “Thank you, Regan,” he replied. “I appreciate your commitment to the clan. But for the moment you must to leave the hunt for my brother in the hands of your fellow guards.”

  “No!” she blurted before she could even p
rocess the thought.

  Tearloch was in front of her in an instant. “Apologize. Immediately,”

  For an moment, she stared down her captain defiantly. Her desire to save Aedan more powerful than a lifetime of trained obedience.

  But she quickly reined in her defiance.

  “Forgive me, your highness,” she said, her gaze at her feet and head lower than before. “I meant no disrespect. I am only eager to join the hunt for Prince Aedan.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Cathair said. “We are all upset.”

  ‘’Thank you,” Regan replied, mentally kicking herself for letting her emotions slip through the steel armor she usually kept in place at all times.

  Not only did she risk letting someone see her feelings for the young prince—and his brother, no less—but she also risked not being allowed to participate in his rescue. Whatever the reason for this delay, she would only prolong it by being difficult.

  “The prince may be inclined to overlook your trespasses,” Tearloch growled, his voice low and menacing against her ear. “But know that if there is another, I will not.”

  She nodded contritely.

  “We have countless guards who are capable of searching for my brother,” Cathair said. “But few whom we could trust with an even more vital mission.”

  She stared at him. Even more vital? What could be more vital than finding Aedan? What could be more important to the clan?

  She did not think so simply for selfish reasons. If other clans learned how easily the Moraine prince had been captured they would not hesitate to try their own attacks. The longer he remained imprisoned, the more vulnerable they became. The Moraine would find themselves under constant barrage from the rest of the unseelie realm. None of their royals, none of the clan would be safe.

  Retrieving the prince before news of his abduction spread was of vital importance. Nothing could be more important.

  “We have recently received intelligence,” Tearloch explained, “that suggests the traitor Ultan is attempting to resurrect the Dark Clan.”

  Nothing except that.

  Regan gasped so loud that she startled the human. His brief fear fed her magic.

  Her knees went weak beneath her as it felt as if all the blood drained from her head. “That is not possible.”

  Cathair shook his head, not in disagreement but in despair. “I wish that were so.”

  “What?” the human asked. “What’s the Dark Clan?”

  Every fae child knew the story of the Dark Clan.

  “It is a legend, my prince,” she whispered, as if by keeping her words nearly silent she could fend off a truth she did not want to believe possible. “It is a bedtime story. It is a...”

  “Fairy tale?” the human supplied unhelpfully.

  “Unfortunately,” Tearloch replied, with an irritated frown at the human, “the history of the Dark Clan is all too real.”

  Regan forced her feet to move forward so she could collapse into the chair Cathair had invited her to take. “How can that be? I thought it—” Even if the legends were true, the return of the Dark Clan was impossible. “They were wiped out. They have not existed for millennia.”

  Cathair’s hands fisted on the desktop. “Precisely the situation Ultan seems intent on reversing.”

  As much as Regan hated to admit it, if they were right, if the traitor had found a way to resurrect the Dark Clan, then this was indeed more vital than rescuing Prince Aedan.

  “What can I do, my prince?” she asked.

  Though fear and concern for Aedan still sat at the center of her heart, she knew that the Dark Clan was a threat to the entire realm. A threat that must be stopped at any cost.

  “When the Dark Clan was dissolved,” Cathair explained, “it took the combined power of all the fae clans to bring them down.”

  “All the fae clans,” Tearloch echoed with emphasis.

  “All?” Regan felt a sense of foreboding in her stomach. “You mean—?”

  Tearloch nodded. “Both unseelie and seelie clans joined their magics to overcome the Dark Clan’s power.”

  “They even sought help from the gods,” the prince added.

  The human let out a low whistle. “They must have been some kind of powerful clan.”

  “They were,” Cathair agreed. “Powerful, and terrible. Unseelie clans are, by their nature, independent. Though there are alliances and partnerships, for the most part they prefer to maintain their separate powers.”

  Tearloch rested a hip against the desk. “The Dark Clan took that separation one step further. Rather than just exist independently, their goal was to exist solely. Their mission was to wipe every other clan off the face of the Earth.”

  Regan’s heart raced. The thought of returning to that time, to the era when every fae—regardless of class or clan—feared for their lives on a daily basis was horrifying. It was unimaginable. She was not used to feeling fear, one with nothing to lose had nothing to fear, but at that moment pure terror coursed through her body like an unfamiliar magic.

  “Sounds like a cheerful lot,” the human said.

  Tearloch grimaced.

  “What can I do?” Regan asked. “How can I help?”

  Cathair and Tearloch exchanged an uncertain look.

  “What we ask of you,” the prince said, “is service above and beyond.”

  “I will do it,” she replied without hesitation.

  “What we ask,” Tearloch said, “is that you escort Prince Cathair into Light Clan territory.”

  5

  Peter didn’t see what was the big deal. Accompanying Cathair to another clan seemed like a pretty ordinary job. So why were they acting like the journey would be certain death?

  “Will the queen be traveling as well?” Regan asked.

  Tearloch answered, “With the younger prince already taken, it is too dangerous for both remaining members of the royal household to leave Moraine land.”

  “Besides,” Cathair said. “My mother is beside herself with worry over Aedan. She would not fare well on such a journey.”

  Regan nodded, as if his answer confirmed something for her. “I accept the assignment.”

  He didn’t think Regan was the sort to freak out, so the fact that she was white as a ghost about this whole Dark Clan thing had him more than a little confused.

  Peter looked at all the faces in the room, each a little more worried than the last. “Am I missing something?”

  Tearloch huffed out a humorless laugh. “A visit to the Light Clan is a serious undertaking.”

  How bad could it be?

  “So the powers-boost that my presence could give would be helpful, huh?” Peter guessed.

  “You do not have to agree to our request,” Cathair said. “What we ask is beyond the obligation of your seer oath.”

  Peter shook his head, like he might have something stuck in there. None of this made any sense.

  “Why don’t you tell me what exactly is going on?”

  “I will leave that to you, my prince,” Tearloch said, heading for the door. “Regan and I will prepare the carriage for the journey.”

  Cathair nodded and the two soldiers left the room. Peter resisted the urge to watch her walk away.

  “I don’t understand,” Peter told the prince. “You guys are unseelie, the dark fae. You’re the supposed bad guys. Doesn’t that make the light fae...good?”

  “Our world is not that black and white, my friend,” Cathair said. “Just because we are dark does not mean we are bad.”

  “Sure, I know that. Otherwise I wouldn’t stick around to protect you.”

  “And just because the seelie fae are light,” the prince continued, “doesn’t mean they are good. There is a spectrum within their numbers, just as there is within ours.”

  “And this Light Clan,” Peter probed, “they’re on the bad end of that spectrum?”

  Cathair shrugged in a kind of helpless gesture. “To an extent. But that does not necessarily mean they are bad. They
aren’t... What would you call it?”

  “Evil?” Peter suggested.

  “Precisely. They are not evil. But they have a different concept of ethics than some.” He huffed out another awkward laugh. “Than most, actually.”

  “So they’re dangerous?”

  “Without question.” Cathair leaned forward to brace his elbows on the massive desk. “They are among the most cutthroat of all the fae clans. But not in the same way as some of the dark clans. Whereas the Arghail and the Roghann would kill a human for the burst of power, the Light Clan would only kill a dark fae.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  Cathair shrugged. “It is what it is. They view all dark fae as the enemy to their own power, as the enemy to the human joy and happiness that feeds their magic.” He traced his fingers over a pattern carved into the desk’s surface. “There was a time when they hunted us for sport.”

  “Doesn’t sound that different from the Dark Clan you’re talking about. Why are they okay?”

  “When the battle against the Dark Clan last raged, the other clans signed an accord. The comhaontu. They would join their powers, combine their magic to stop the common enemy from eradicating them. The comhaontu was signed in blood—the blood of a royal from every clan.” Cathair rubbed his hand over his head in a weary gesture. “That blood binds us. Makes the unjustified death of any fae at another’s hands a magic-stripping offense.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Peter tried to understand. “They don’t want to go around losing their magic, right? So why would they kill you?”

  “They wouldn’t,” Cathair said, “unless that death could be deemed justified. Such as—”

  “Trespassing?” Peter finished.

  “Precisely.”

  “Then why take the risk?” Peter asked. “Why go to them for help at all?”

  “If Ultan manages to raise the Dark Clan,” Cathair said, “it will mean the end of the comhaontu. It will mean a time of perpetual war. We would be under constant attack by the Dark Clan and the seelie clans as well.” He shook his head, then rubbed his hand over his face. “We are too weak to survive that. No clan could.”