Blood Sacrifice (5 page)

“Your brother,” Drystan said to Adam, “is not the kind of person I’d wish as my heir.”

“So he did ask you,” Adam said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, and I quickly disabused him of the notion.”

“Was that before or after he tried to kill me?” I asked.

Drystan sighed. “My apologies, my dear. I did not intend for any of this to happen. Not then, and not now.”

“Answer the question, Father.”

Both Niko and Tucker moved just a little closer. They’d both fallen back into guard mode as soon as Drystan had entered.

“Before. I swear it.” Drystan caught my gaze, his expression open and guileless. “I had hoped to have your cousin, my son, as companion. A son at Court again,” he explained. “When he came to me. I only wanted…”

“A son to replace the one you sacrificed?” I stood, needing to
move
. “Tell me, Drystan, do you regret it?” I stepped closer and closer, forcing myself into his personal space, my eyes sparking.

“Keira, no,” Adam said. “It’s not—”

“What? It’s not relevant? Maybe just not polite? Oh, no, definitely not.” I stepped even closer, letting my anger show, letting some of my shielding down. The vibrating tension of my energy surrounded me.

Drystan cringed visibly, but recovered in a moment. He straightened, haughty once more. “I did what was necessary, Daughter. You could not begin to understand.”

“No, you’re right about that one. I have no idea—”

Adam’s hand clamped down on my arm. “Keira, this is neither the time nor the place.” He turned to his father as I stepped back, heeding Adam again—but only for now. I had every intention of pursuing this later.
“Father, why did you come here? You said you wished to help.”

A quick nod from Drystan. “I do.”

“Can you help us read the Challenge?” Tucker asked. “You surely must have experience.”

“I can try,” he said. “But my only knowledge of these Challenges comes from lore. There have been no Challenges in my time.”

“Wait, you either?” I pulled away from Adam and joined Drystan. “How can that be? Didn’t the Tuatha Dé Danann fight the Fir Bolg? There had to be a Challenge issued then.”

“My dear child,” he began.

“Seriously, Drystan, stop calling me that. My name is Keira. Your endearments aren’t helping.”

“Very well. Keira, then. The Morrigan and her battles are but ancient history to me. I was born less than two millennia ago during the time of the
Rhufeinig
.”

“The Romans?” Tucker’s brow furrowed. “Then you and my clan chief are of an age.”

“We are.”

I glared at Tucker. How was that important? “Fine, whatever. Read this. I unrolled the parchment and handed it to Drystan. “See what you can tell us that we don’t already know.”

He nodded and complied. I returned to my chair, Adam sat next to me, a parody of our side-by-side throne-type chairs in the Hall. Even Tucker and Niko had unconsciously (or consciously) completed the picture, each of them standing at our sides, ready to fight bear—or Sidhe kings, as the case may be. As I waited for Drystan to finish reading, I mentally explored my pissiness. Adam’s father hadn’t done anything really, other
than stay out of the fray when we’d confronted Gideon earlier. In Faery, when we’d discovered Gideon’s bloodline and his heir status, Drystan had done little but observe. So like the Sidhe, sit back and watch the others fight, then scoop up the spoils. Only… Adam was full-blooded Sidhe, plus vampire.
He
wasn’t the type to sit back. Had he learned this from his vampire teachers? Or was I missing some key component of Drystan’s nature?

“This parchment is heavily warded,” Drystan said after ten long minutes. “I can but read a few words, primarily those along the sides. They seem to be spells of concealment.”

“How so?” I asked, suddenly more interested. “I’d not picked up on that.”

“Some of the runes,” he said. “When taken separately, they are nothing more than words—oak, vine, Gideon’s lineage.” Drystan chuckled. “Though him referring to himself as the son of his mother amuses me.”

“Yes, well, go on,” I prompted. “Unless that’s relevant.”

“Only in that he has ceased to align himself with me,” Drystan replied. “It seems he expects nothing from me. From my people.”

“Given up, has he?” I muttered. “Well, then.”

“The runespells?” Adam asked. “Could you explain more?”

Drystan pointed to a few places on the parchment. “There and there,” he said. “Come look.”

Adam and I joined him. He pointed to a couple of illuminated runes, plain words surrounded by inked pictures of leaves, curlicues. “I guess it’s not just for pretty?”

“No. It’s a spell,” Drystan explained. “This and this here.” Two runes tied together with what looked like thorns. “Alone, that would mean ‘Kelly’ and ‘blood,’ but with the thorn vine…” He straightened and turned, addressing all four of us. “This Challenge is spelled not only directly to you and Adam, but to be readable only to those who share Kelly blood.”

Adam’s eyebrow raised. “I can read it because Keira and I share blood,” he said. “But you cannot read it?”

“Precisely,” Drystan agreed. “I can read some of the spells, but not the primary text of the Challenge.”

“Then we need Gigi,” I said. “None of the rest of us can decipher all of this.”

“One word, Dau—I mean Keira,” Drystan said. “When I say ‘share’ Kelly blood, I expect the spell is quite literal.”

“I don’t understand.”

Adam frowned and looked at the parchment. “Bloody hell.” He slapped the desk. “He’s right. He means ‘
share
,’ as in not a full-blood Kelly.”

“But Tucker—” I began.

“Tucker is pure Kelly, but he shares blood with us both and with Niko,” Adam said. “He is no longer precisely full-blood Kelly as the blood of others runs in his veins. He is bound to us. I share blood with you, therefore I share Kelly blood, as does Niko due to his bond with you and with Tucker.”

“Damnation,” I exclaimed. “That bloody good-for-nothing weasel. Gigi’s not going to be of much help.”

“I am truly sorry,” Drystan said. “I do wish to assist.”

Adam nodded. “I understand, Father. Perhaps you could help another way.”

“I am willing.” Drystan gave Adam a short bow, this one from peer to peer. “What did you have in mind?”

“If my brother is dead set on staying in the so-called new world,” Adam said, “perhaps he could be persuaded to choose elsewhere.”

“Yes,” I said, excited to have an option. “Drystan, there are hundreds of caves in the Southwest if Gideon’s dead set on this general area. New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona is full of them as are other places. You can create a door to Faery, can’t you? You are high king, after all.”

“I can.” Drystan looked thoughtful. “Though, I dislike this place, this new world of yours. These lands are too raw, too rough. However, I could create a new door if I must. I would perhaps be amenable to creating a place for Gideon and his family if that is his wish and if this will assist you.”

I’d begun to speak when without warning, Drystan turned and threw out his hands, a spark of angry energy flung away from him, splashing against the back wall of the office, tearing a slice of paint and drywall away, exposing the stud. “Centuries, for century upon century I have lived in a fair peace—at least a truce—alongside my Seelie counterparts within a country small enough to fit many times into this Texas of yours. And now, an errant son of mine chooses to begin what must surely end in war.” He stomped over to the wall and with a gesture repaired the rip he’d created. “Whatever Gideon wishes to accomplish by issuing Challenge, I cannot believe he is the instigator. This reeks of manipulation and collaboration. He is far too young to be this subtle.”

And far too unlearned, I mused. Gideon was many things, but a work this convoluted meant he’d had help.
My mother, surely. Someone else? I wish I knew more about the Seelie players, the courtiers who’d fluttered around Branwen, whispering, flattering. Not important enough to sit above the salt at the high queen’s table, some of them did rank in my mother’s own Court.

Drystan continued. “I had thought wars to be things long past, a diversion no longer craved by us Sidhe royals. The modern world is too big, land too available for these kinds of disputes. Though many still prefer the old country that is by our choice, not set by any restrictive boundaries. In fact, one can almost say that our Courts live harmoniously—as unfriendly neighbors.”

“You mean the kind that nod their heads politely in passing, but no one you’d invite to tea?” I said.

“Unless forced to.” Drystan grinned. In a flash, I could see Adam in him. That handsome face, slightly different, broader and less sharp, but still, definitely Adam’s sire.

“Then why do this? Why would Angharad allow this Challenge? Could she be unaware of it?” Adam eyed his father. “Could you ask her?”

Drystan met Adam’s gaze with aplomb. “I could and I shall. From one monarch to another. If my son is indeed Challenging without the approval of his Queen—”

“
His
queen?” What did he mean by that? “Has he pledged fealty to her?”

“I can see other explanation,” he said. “He got her daughter with child. These are her direct heirs. Angharad may be a scheming bitch, but she would never allow her pups to stray far from her.”

“Wait, but you accused Gideon of lying about the baby,” I reminded him.

“I did, and I stand by it. Aoife is too far gone with
child. Despite that, if Angharad claims the child as heir, as her own daughter stated, then there is only one explanation. Gideon swore allegiance to the Seelie Queen. In return, she gave him her daughter and the child to call his own. By extrapolation, Gideon is also an heir—at least until the child comes of age and if Aoife does intend to step aside. It is not the way of my Court,” he said, “but Angharad never leaves the heirship in the hands of a mere child. When her daughter was young, your own mother was heir until Aoife grew to her majority. If what they said at the Reception is true, then my son, your cousin is now acting heir to the Seelie Court.”

“Hell of a gift,” I said. “Angharad in the habit of handing these kinds of things out?”

“A gift that will keep on giving,” Drystan chuckled, a twinkle of humor in his eye. “And no, she is not, but Gideon’s Change may have been the catalyst. My counterpart enjoys her power.”

“Oh,
now
you know popular cultural references,” I said.

He laughed. “Indeed. I have not ignored the world above entirely, my dear. On occasion, I find myself intrigued by its entertainment.”

I shook my head in wonderment. What next? Disco dancing at Court? “So you’ll speak with her?”

“First, I believe I shall attempt to speak with my son,” Drystan said. “And with his wife. If I can allow him to see the futility of this…”

“Revenge?” I supplied.

He nodded. “Yes, that, I suppose. From the little I know of him, Gideon is not above seeking to win over his brother. He tried me first, and I gave him nothing but an enjoyable life. He could have remained with me,
Below, in my corner of Faery. It would not have been an onus.”

“No, but then he wouldn’t have been able to lord it over us—over me,” I said.

“Yes, well. You are correct. Perhaps persuading him will be fruitless, but I shall attempt to do so. If I cannot, I will venture back to Faery and request an audience with Angharad. While I am there, you all must abide by the Truce. You must act as if nothing can be done to stop the Challenge.” He faced me, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Keira, do not take this lightly. Challenges come with a great price, both from the one receiving as well as the one issuing.”

“How so?”

“Gideon had to tie this Challenge with blood and promise. I do not know what particular rituals he chose, as I cannot read the words, but the runespells alone taste of darkness. This is no idle threat, nor foolish endeavor. The consequences to him may be as serious as those to you.”

I fell back into the chair I’d so recently vacated, a shiver running through all my bones. Gideon
meant
this. This wasn’t some sort of childish revenge fantasy of his. Not when he’d had to tie something equally precious to the Challenge. What in all the bloody hells had he begun?

“Honor isn’t about making the right choices. It’s about dealing with the consequences.”

—Midori Koto “The Samurai”
(Highlander: The Series)

“A
ll we’ve got here is bad choice after bad choice,” I muttered as once again, I tried to reread the parchment. Damn Gideon and his obscene timing. Drystan had left nearly an hour before, hoping to track down his wayward offspring and get some answers. Not that I held much hope in that. After Drystan had refused Gideon’s blatant ploy a few months ago and had reconfirmed Adam as heir, I was sure that my cousin wouldn’t give Drystan any information.

We were back to square one—leave or pay the consequences. No other wise words had revealed themselves in our further perusal. I’d tried a few spells I knew, even some I hadn’t really studied (with the help of Tucker). Still, the words remained as slippery as Gideon’s underlying motives.

You think Odysseus had it bad with Scylla and Charybdis? I was flailing between dumb and dumber in my
own options. “So if we leave, we’re golden, but then we have to send away our vampires, the people we’ve sworn to protect. If we stay, we’re breaking nine million stupid Faery rules that will quickly bite us in our respective asses. But we don’t know exactly what those bites will consist of. Nor are we sure what we have to do to get to come back.”

Adam nodded, a solemn look on his face. “Basically.”

I threw up my hands. “Just… ugh.” What in all the hells were we supposed to do? Frankly, the land didn’t mean that much to me in and of itself. I’d be happy anywhere as long as I had my family with me—and that meant Adam, Tucker, Niko, and the rest, including the vampire tribe. The only problem was ceding this place to
Gideon
. If he’d been anyone else,
any
other person, I’d be tempted. Hell, if Drystan had been on board with Gideon, I’d say take it and relocate, and then trust to Drystan to keep his son in check. Except there’d be no holding of Gideon’s reins on Drystan’s part now. Just how had my former lover conned my mother into jumping on his personal bandwagon and waving the “Gideon Rocks” flag?