The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (34 page)

“My people are the Boyds. The MacElvy territory is rich. They’ve never exploited it like they should have. If we helped them stand against the queen, they would keep it all, perhaps grow in power. This way, the Boyds will control the tribes. My tribe will take over, hers will perish, and I’ll grow rich and powerful.”

“We’ll hand you over to the tribes’ council,” Stephan said.

“Go ahead! Do you think they'll believe you over me? I’m the leader of the Seven Tribes, and you are toadies of the queen.” She jutted her chin out at Logan. “Everyone knows he’s her lackey. I’ll tell them you set me up to take the fall for you.”

“They'll know that’s a lie,” Stephan said.

“But they'll believe me when they see the fae magic that took me over and caused me to kill this girl.”

“Whose magic?” Stephan reached for her arm, but she pulled away.

She stood straight and tall. “The queen was more than happy to make an alliance with me in order to kill this one.” She prodded Trina’s head with her boot.

“Stay away from her!” Logan shoved Mariella out of the way, pushing between her and Trina. Mariella stumbled and caught herself on a chair.

“Solanum.” Logan waved to the puca. Solanum padded forward, his wolfish jaws gaping wide as he reached for the shrinking woman.

“No! He’ll eat me!” she shrieked and ran across the kitchen. Logan blocked her.

She tried to dart around, but Solanum was in her way. His black eyes glowed red and his long tongue lolled out between his fangs. “I’ll think of something more creative than simply eating you, my dear.”

“Logan…” Stephan touched his arm. “Are you going to let Solanum have her?”

“I don’t care what he does with her. She’s tried twice now to kill Trina, and she’s made it plain she won’t help us.” Logan knelt down next to Trina.

Solanum stalked the cringing woman across the small kitchen, cornering her by the stove. He took her clothes hard in his teeth and swung her off her feet, carrying her out of the house.

“No!” Thunder rolled, drowning her scream and Stephan closed the door.

Logan stroked Trina’s icy brow. Her aura had weakened, a horrendous green cloud stealing into its place. “She's dying.” Logan’s heart seized up in his chest. He’d thought he’d have at least a few years with her. He’d thought he’d be the one leaving her. “We have to do something.”

“Neither of us is a healer. The shamans here won’t touch fae magic, especially not dark magic. We need your uncles.” Stephan left the room.

Logan ignored Trina’s sopping wet clothes and cradled her in his lap. His mind spun as he tried to think of anything to save Trina from dying. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. This woman, this priceless, human woman, was dying on the floor. Why was it that he’d finally found love and it was about to be taken away?

“It’s bad, Logan.” Rinnal’s face crinkled up with concern as a gust of wind buffeted the house. “None of us can help the lass. And time is running out.”

Angus and Rinnal’s wide, muscular bodies crowded Stephan’s tiny living room where Logan sat in a chair staring at Trina dying on the couch. Worse than dying. None of them knew what kept her alive. She had no breath, no pulse, no movement, but her soul stayed in her cold, pale body. It was as if she’d been frozen in the moment between life and death’s decay.

Logan had lost all but the barest thread of control. The storm that Mariella Boyd had cast as a diversion was now a raging maelstrom from his emotions. If Trina were truly dead, he’d be out discovering what it meant to ride the lightning. But she wasn’t. And instead of a self-destructive cleansing of his life and soul, he was stuck in limbo by her side, his hardened exterior barely enough to prevent his raging emotions from bleeding out.

Rinnal sighed. He pulled Angus aside and they spoke in the hushed tones reserved for deathbeds before coming back to speak to Logan.

“The only thing we can do is hold her as she is, in a form of stasis akin to our hibernieth,” Rinnal said.

“Might give ye the time to find a cure, lad,” Angus patted his shoulder, the familiar touch awkward with grief.

Logan looked up at his uncles. They were warriors turned farmers and craftsmen. They would stand by him, no matter what, and he would do the same for them. He had no choice but to trust them with Trina’s life. Perhaps they could keep her alive long enough to keep the spell from stealing the last of her soul.

“Do it.”

“This spell t’isn’t an easy one,” Angus said. “It needs something to hold it, to define its parameters. Some sort of box, large enough to hold her wee body, would be ideal.”

“What kind of a box? Where are we going to get a box big enough for a grown woman?”

“Logan, I think I have something that will work in the attic. I’m not sure you’ll want to use it,” Stephan averted his eyes and looked at the floor, the ceiling, and out the window at a piece of shed flying by.

The men shuffled uneasily.

“Well, what is it?” Logan asked.

“A coffin.”

“Why do you have a coffin in the attic?” Logan brushed Trina’s hair away from her paling face. “Forget it! I don't want to know.” The fae faded when they died. No burials, no boxes of death. He tried to picture her waking up in a coffin’s dark, close interior. The bewilderment, the panic, the feel of rough wood as her fists pounded on the boards.

A shudder traced up his spine and he gave a mirthless laugh. “She’ll think we’ve buried her alive.”

His uncles looked disturbed.

“Is there any other choice, lad?” Angus asked.

“Not really.” Stephan spread his hands out in apology. “I’ve nothing else large enough for her.”

“Logan, we need to do something soon, or it will be too late,” Rinnal said, he laid his hand on Logan’s arm. “Her soul is still in the body, but the body will begin to decompose soon.”

“I can’t do that to her, she’ll be terrified.”

“What if we make the top glass, so she can see out?” Stephan, asked. “And we’ll keep vigil over her. If she wakes up, someone will be there to let her out.”

“I’ll watch her.” Logan said. He would watch her for the next thousand years if that was what it took.

“No, Logan.” Rinnal lay a firm hand on his shoulder. “Ye need to get help. Find someone with the ability to cure her or putting her under the stasis spell will be useless.”

“What healer will help us and not turn us over to the queen?” Everyone he could count on was here. No healers. Only a half-fae who could make beautiful music and two old, outcast rebel warriors. No healers. No saviors. “My list of friends is shorter than it was before the queen threw me in the dungeon. Who would be willing to help me and risk the repercussions?”

Angus and Rinnal exchanged glances.

“Did ye find Aoife?” Rinnal asked.

“Yes. Lot of good that does me now.” Logan said, unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. His future was turning to dust and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Might do some good. Do ye think ye can trust her not to betray us to the queen?”

“I’m damned if I trust her.” The woman could have betrayed him already, but somehow, he didn’t think so. He looked at his uncle and frowned. “Why?”

“When we were at war with the Tuatha De Danann, Aoife saved many of their warriors. She is reputed to be a gifted healer.”

Before the words were finished, Logan kissed Trina on her cheek, pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, “Don’t die.”

He pulled his leather coat on and made for the door.

“Keep her safe,” he said, holding each one’s gaze until they nodded their commitment. He couldn’t look again at Trina dying on the couch. If he did, he might never leave.

Logan opened the door against the buffeting wind and raced out into the storm, calling for Solanum. He had raced time before, but now he raced death.

Chapter Twenty

Now that Logan knew where Aoife lived, he had no time to waste. Hoping to confuse pursuit, he avoided the more trackable, permanent gates and drew recklessly on his dwindling stores of power, opening portal after portal into bizarre landscapes. He rode on nothing but willpower and would have nothing left when this was through, but he had one job, one thing only on his mind. Find Aoife in order to save Trina from dying.

He and Solanum erupted out of the last portal, thundering into the center of Aoife’s carefully manicured courtyard, nearly hitting her front door in an explosion of screaming butterfly faeries. Aoife’s wards burst into spectacular displays of light and flames. Solanum wheeled, narrowly avoiding the door as small fae scattered and Logan cursed.

Batting out the flames on his jacket, Logan jumped off of Solanum.

“Bugger it all, I’m on fire!” Solanum cantered to the fountain, shifted to human form, and dove into the bevy of fae hiding in the water. Logan ignored the resulting cacophony and ran across the courtyard and up the front stairs. He tore open the front door and raced into the house, hitting a second set of wards hard. These held.

“Aoife!” he yelled. He gathered his power to him and pushed through the wards. Every movement slowed in the gelatinous resistance of Aoife’s magic. Sparks flew and his skin burned. Wailing alarms ripped his eardrums, drowning out the sound of the still screaming fae in the courtyard.

He broke through and fell onto the tiled entryway. A tall, slender Tuathan woman with long white hair and a lovely youthful face ran into the hall pulling a starry, midnight blue cloak on over a gossamer, thin white gown. The true Aoife, vibrant enough to be his age-mate, stood before him, her violet blue eyes blazing in her narrow face.

“Is it time?” Gone was the semblance of bland aged retirement. In its place was the sharp-faced elven lady he had expected the first time. “I knew it would be soon. We must hurry.”

Hot fury licked through him.

“You knew? Was this the price you would have me pay?” He grabbed her shoulders, barely restraining himself from tearing her to pieces. “When I said I would pay a forfeit, I meant my life, not hers!”

Her long white hair lifted with a crackling energy. “Stand back, Huntsman!” The sheer power of her voice reverberated through him, rocking him back and forcing him to let go.

“What have you done to her? Why would you have her dead? Why this price?”

“We don’t have time for this! Do not blame me. Whatever has happened is not of my doing. I’ve done the best I can to prepare for this.”

“You knew she was in danger and yet, you said nothing!” He took another step toward her, hitting a barrier stronger than he’d believed a single fae could create. “Did you arrange this so I would be forced to come to you for payment?”

“I believe it’s time for your forfeit, but I never knew what that forfeit would be. I still do not know. I have seen only that it has to do with the MacElvys, and I am to help you.” She pinned him with a pointed look. “We set things in motion, but we do not always have as much control as we would like.”

His gut burned in anger. Anger at her trickery, at his own devious race. And deep underneath, a dark, shameful anger at himself for being just like her and callously using his knowledge to manipulate Trina.

She was far older and more powerful than he’d realized. She’d hid it well. He gazed into her dark, violet eyes and prayed she really was his ally. How many years had she seen? How long had she known this was coming? Could she have prevented Trina’s danger?

“I’ve known for many years that my help would be needed,” Aoife said. “The prophecy doesn’t say how the MacElvys will destroy the queen. Such destruction is not a thing done lightly. I will tell you something else, but it is to be our secret.”

“No.” Thunder cracked outside. “I will not make oath to you again!” Fissures formed in the walls of the chateau as the reality of this part of Underhill shifted under the strain of his rage.

“Control yourself,” she commanded. “You are young, but you must learn control if you are to confront the queen. We are at a major shift in the configuration of the Courts and, like it or not, you are a key player.”

“I have no time for this.” The wind swirled leaves and dirt through the open front door and grit stung his face. He struggled to keep his emotions from destroying the landscape. “She is dying.”

“Who is dying?” Aoife braced against the gale, her white hair lifting and billowing out over her cloak. She raised her voice, leaning in close. “Who is dying?”

“Trina MacElvy!” Logan said.

Aoife’s face blanched.

“What? Why didn’t you say so? We are wasting time. She is key to the prophecy. If she dies, the queen will survive and the courts are doomed.”

She whistled, a shrill sound that somehow carried over the storm. Logan spun and ran for Solanum, scattering the tiny fairies hovering in the courtyard.

“We’re leaving.”

Solanmum climbed out of the fountain, shaking drops of water from his nude body. “And Aoife?” He shifted back into a dark horse.

Logan mounted. “She’s coming with us.” He called a portal and it slammed open, cracking the bricks of the courtyard and throwing flower fairies to the side.

A gleaming white mare raced around the corner into the courtyard. Aoife leapt on without saddle or bridle, her starry cloak flowing around her as they rode into the purple haze of the gate.