The Phoenix Charm (12 page)

A short distance along the corridor, Devin opened a door and passed through. When Nightshade followed, the beguiling fragrance of burning incense swamped his senses. He found himself in a large richly furnished room that seemed out of place in the austere castle. Bright tapestries decorated the walls, while oriental rugs covered the floor. Devin sat on the end of a massive four-poster bed surrounded by purple and gold curtains. He slipped off his black silk slippers, and stepped into leather ankle boots. “This is my bedchamber when I’m in the castle,” he said with a glance up as he fastened the bootstraps.

A few minutes later, they left the room and made their way along corridors and down steps to a lower level. In the passage, they met a few human women in plain brown dresses and aprons who all stepped aside and eyed Nightshade warily.

Finally, the djinn led Nightshade into a narrow corridor ringing with the sound of women’s chatter from a room at the end. Devin halted at the door, and Nightshade paused behind him. Five human women worked at sinks, scrubbing laundry and pushing clothing through a wringer.

“Ladies.” Devin bowed with an elegant sweep of his hand. The women’s giggles turned to gasps when they saw Nightshade. Two backed away and cowered against the far wall.

“You’re safe with my friend,” Devin said, his voice dark silky persuasion. The women visibly relaxed, but tension still hung in the room.

“What are we doing here?” Nightshade whispered. Devin raised his hand, requesting patience. Nightshade shook his head as he surveyed the laundry room. Hadn’t the Teg heard of washing machines and dryers?

“Eloise—” Devin beckoned a slightly built woman with light brown hair spilling from beneath a grubby cap. She hesitated, then came two steps closer, maintaining what she must think was a safe distance. “Where’s Rhys?” Devin asked.

Her eyes flared with fear. She clutched her wet apron in chapped red hands and shook her head. “Are you sure it’s safe to talk, sir?”

Devin raised a calming hand. “Do not fear. Arian is busy elsewhere.” Her eyes darted to the doorway, then settled on Nightshade while her teeth worried at her lip.

“This is Nightshade. He’d like to meet Rhys.”

Nightshade raised his eyebrows. That was news to him.

The woman stared at him for a few seconds, then crouched and peered beneath the massive oak table heaped with piles of clean laundry. “Come out, my pet.”

Nightshade expected a dog or cat, although why he would want to meet either baffled him.

A small black head peeped out. Nightshade’s breath imploded, locking muscles, wiping thoughts. A little boy, no larger than Finian and Kea, crawled out from under the table. He wore nothing but a sagging diaper fastened with two huge safety pins. Chubby black fingers clutched at his mother’s arm. He pushed himself up onto his legs and gave a coy smile.

“May I present your half brother Rhys,” Devin said softly.

A lifetime of memories skated through Nightshade’s head as he stared at the boy—a cuckoo in the nest, just as he’d been. His legs carried him forward without conscious thought. The woman jerked back, startled, as he dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Don’t be frightened…Please.” He raised a gentling hand, made sure he kept his wings folded tight to his back. Gradually, she relaxed her grip on her son. Nightshade pushed his hair back, and smiled at her, carefully, not too much, just enough to reassure.

“Hello, Rhys.” The child angled his head, his silver eyes glinting between sooty lashes. His lips parted in a grin, revealing six teeth along with gaps. Slowly, Nightshade reached out and stroked the fluff of dark hair on his head. “How old is he?”

“Eleven months. He’s just finding his feet.”

“May I?” Nightshade held out his hand and, after a moment’s hesit ation, Eloise turned the child to face him.

Rhys blinked at him shyly He touched Nightshade’s hand, then turned away and pressed his face to his mother’s skirt. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” Words Nightshade never dreamed would pass his lips slipped out as though he’d been saying them all his life.

The boy stretched out his hand again and grabbed one of Nightshade’s fingers, then found his feet.

“Clever boy.” He grinned like a fool and couldn’t stop.

Rhys gave another toothy grin and stepped forward. Nightshade ached to hold him more than he’d ever imagined possible. Unknown emotions gripped his chest and throat, making it difficult to speak.

Eloise stroked the child’s back, then glanced up nervously. “When will his wings grow?”

Gently, Nightshade turned Rhys sideways to see the two little bumps of flesh on his back. “The wing buds will develop a little over the next few years”—his heart clenched at the memory of pisky children chasing him around calling
him hunchback. He couldn’t bear to think of this innocent child going through the same torment—“then at puberty they’ll grow much faster. That’s when he’ll get his fangs.” He left unspoken the implication that he’d also develop his taste for blood.

What little color Eloise had in her face drained away. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

Devin appeared at their side and hunkered down. He rubbed Rhys under the chin with his knuckle. “Nightshade is Rhys’s half brother,” he said.

“I heard you say that.” Looking down, she sniffed. “What do you know of your father?” When she looked up, tears shimmered in her eyes.

“I’ve never met him. My mother was a Cornish pisky. He lived with the piskies for a while. By the time I was born, he’d gone.”

She shook her head. “You were lucky.”

Nightshade had never considered himself lucky. He’d longed for his father to come back and claim him. To finally meet one of his own kind…

“Dragon isn’t a good father,” Eloise whispered.

Devin laughed, an incredulous bark as if the sound had been knocked out of him. Rhys flinched. Nightshade curled a protective hand around the boy’s tiny shoulders and scowled at the djinn.

“Eloise is being diplomatic.” Devin nodded encouragement to the woman. “Tell Nightshade the truth about his father.”

She gently encouraged Rhys into Nightshade’s arms, then stood and paced to the sink.

With a burst of pleasure, Nightshade cuddled the child, stroking the soft tufts of dark hair back from inquisitive silver eyes. For the first time he understood why Michael was willing to sacrifice himself for Finian. Nightshade had only just discovered Rhys, yet he would defend his tiny brother with his life.

“Dragon doesn’t really want Rhys, yet he is possessive about him. Whenever he returns, he demands to see Rhys and expects him to do things no child of his age can do. Then he punishes him when he fails.”

Blood raced hot and fast to Nightshade’s head. “Tell me.”

Tears rolled down Eloise’s face as she eased down the top of Rhys’s diaper to reveal pink streaks of scar tissue.

Devin caught the woman’s arm. She struggled to pull away. “Shh, woman. He needs to see.” She sagged against the edge of the table, hanging her head, and stood mutely while Devin lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal similar scars on her legs.

“I wasn’t here the last time Dragon visited.” A hint of color crept along the djinn’s cheekbones, and his eyes glittered with hate.

Nightshade stared at the vicious slash marks on Eloise’s legs. He had believed his father to be selfish and irresponsible, but could he have done this? Could this monster Eloise was describing really be the creature whose blood ran through his veins?

“Arian is as bad,” Eloise choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He taunts my baby. I’m frightened of what Arian will do to him when Rhys is old enough to answer back.”

Nightshade held Rhys tightly to his chest. His gaze lost focus and he played out exactly what would happen to Rhys in a few years. He had been there, done that. The pisky children who teased him were reprimanded, but there’d be no one to stop Arian taunting Rhys. No way could a small boy with wounded feelings and not enough maturity to keep his mouth shut defend himself against a full-grown male.

Eloise blinked and rubbed her eyes. She gazed at Devin, heartbreak on her face. “When you said you knew a way to keep Rhys safe, I didn’t realize you meant someone would take him away.” She pressed her hands to her mouth and sobbed.

Nightshade stared at her, at a loss to know what to say to give comfort.

“The decision is up to you, Eloise.” Devin touched her arm gently.

She wiped her cheeks on her apron. “The choice is already made.” She pulled Rhys from Nightshade’s arms and rocked him. “The most important thing is to keep my baby safe.” She turned swollen red eyes up to Nightshade. “I can already tell he likes you, and you’re family. You must take him with you when you leave.”

A whirlwind of emotion roared through Nightshade, hope, pleasure, a twinge of guilt at his joy. “I’ll take you both. He needs his mother.”

Devin’s mouth set in a hard line. “The human slaves are magically shackled to the castle. There is a way she can escape, but we have to choose our time carefully” He rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Until I can help you escape, Rhys will be safe with Nightshade.”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the laundry room. Silence fell over the women, and everyone stared at the door. A huntsman halted in the doorway. “Master Devin, you’ve been summoned. The Ennead is reassembled.”

Nightshade touched Rhys’s cheek and smiled at Eloise. “You keep him safe for a little longer. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

After pushing to his feet, Nightshade followed Devin out the door. He paused for one last sight of his brother before he hurried after the djinn.

As they neared the council chamber, a sick fear burned in Nightshade’s stomach. What would happen to Michael? Could he really return from the dead? Nightshade stared at Devin’s back and anger flooded him.

“I don’t understand you,” Nightshade snapped. He gripped Devin’s shoulder and pulled him to a halt. “You went out of your way to help Rhys, yet all you had to do to save the pisky king’s son was vote in our favor.”

Devin shook away Nightshade’s hand, his expression unreadable. “That was not the plan.”

“Whose plan?” Nightshade growled.

The djinn’s outline wavered; then he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Michael rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs and tried to calm his pounding heart as he stared down into the plaintiff’s pit once more.

Most of the councilors had already taken their seats. Mawgan extended his arm, inviting him to descend the five steps to the lower floor. Cordelia’s slender fingers slid into his hand, the simple touch giving him strength. She blinked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. The prospect of his death must be almost as difficult for her to cope with as it was for him.

“I’m with you, Michael. Whatever happens, I won’t leave you.”

“Thank you, lass.” His throat closed, trapping the words so they barely escaped his lips. He kissed her knuckles. “When I return, I want…“ What did he want? To spend time with her, get to know her, make love to her. Yet to tell her now, when he might not survive, seemed insensitive. He must not make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep just to make himself feel better.

He should concentrate on Finian, focus on what he would achieve, not what he might lose. An image filled his head of the boy in the mud at the bottom of the dark trench. Anger blazed through him, giving him strength. He squeezed Cordelia’s fingers, then let go. Only he could cross into the Underworld. He had to do this alone.

He and Cordelia descended the steps side by side. She
held her cat bag across her chest like a shield. When they reached the bottom, he glanced back at the door. Where was Nightshade? Although he’d thought he didn’t want the stalker here, he missed his friend.

“Back so soon?” Arian slouched in his chair, legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. “I thought you’d be halfway back to Cornwall by now with your tail between your legs.”

Michael ignored his taunting voice and scanned the gallery. Two chairs were still empty. One of the robed seers was missing and so was the djinn. He wanted both of those council members present before he presented his plea. The seer had been sympathetic to his case earlier, and he still hoped Master Devin might support him if only because he knew Troy.

The missing seer entered from the gallery door and hurried to his seat. Mawgan gripped the arms of his chair and looked around. “Once again we await Master Devin,” he said, his tone resigned.

“Start without him.” Arian flicked his hand at the vacant chair contemptuously. “He has no right to keep the rest of us waiting.”

As his words faded, a wisp of smoke appeared above the empty. chair A second later, the djinn materialized, seated with his legs crossed, eyebrows raised at Arian.

A beat of shocked silence filled the chamber, before Arian jumped to his feet. “No magic in the council chamber.” He pointed at Devin. “You forfeit your right to hear this case.”

An awkward silence fell while Arian glared at the other councilors, looking for support.

Devin rose to his feet. “I apologize for my unorthodox entry. I was busy elsewhere and thought to expedite my arrival.”

“Apology accepted, Master Devin,” Mawgan said. “The call was rather sudden, so your action is understandable.”

Arian gave a dismissive gesture and flopped in his chair.

Nightshade strode through the door, then hesitated at the top of the descending steps. Instead of the air of wounded pride Michael had expected, his friend radiated a vital urgency.

Arian leaned forward, resting his hand on the intricately carved pillar beside his chair. “Nightstalker, forget them and join me in the gallery. The view is much better from up here.”

With a grunt, Nightshade ran down the steps and strode to Michael’s side. “He’s determined to bait us.”

Where had the stalker’s new restraint come from?

Gripping Michael’s shoulder, Nightshade leaned closer. “I was wrong, my friend. You do the right thing in offering your life for Finian.”

Michael turned a questioning gaze on Nightshade, who answered with a quick, tight smile. What had happened to change the stalker’s mind in the hour or so since they’d last spoken?

“We await your further plea, Michael O’Connor,” Mawgan announced. “But be aware this is the last time we will gather at your call. Our decision on this appeal will be final.”

“I do not appeal against your judgment.” Michael scanned the council members, noting the surprised glances they shared. “I respect the opinion of the Ennead that a blood price was due in payment for the breach in our domain.”

Being careful not to look at Arian directly, Michael watched the gatekeeper’s reaction in his peripheral vision.

Arian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clenched, and scrutinized Michael. “Why then do you take us from our duties once again?” Arian demanded, his tone wary.

“I have a proposition.” Michael spoke carefully, kept his voice free of compulsion. He turned a full circle, making eye contact with each of the nine council members. “Do you agree a one-year-old child is an innocent who can have had
no knowledge of the illegal gateway? That whatever his bloodline, he’s not guilty of any crime?”

He circled again, noting the reaction of the councilors. The three seers nodded along with one of the huntsmen. The gatekeepers stared at him suspiciously. Master Devin smiled.

“Do you also agree that you wish the forfeit to be paid by one of the pisky king’s blood?”

“Are you proposing you will pay?” Arian retorted, before Michael had time to make his point. “You had that option in Cornwall. As I’ve already borne witness, you refused to take responsibility.”

Michael clenched his jaw as the councilors shuffled their feet, looking annoyed.

“That is my proposition, but if—”

Arian slashed his hand through the air. “It will take more than a drop of blood to appease the king now.” He rose, his head angled arrogantly. “We’re wasting our time here. This appeal is over.”

The djinn surged to his feet and took a step forward. “You will regain your seat and hear the plaintiff make his case.” His softly spoken words fell across the chamber like twilight shadows. Michael shivered and caught Cordelia’s elbow when she whimpered and swayed. He couldn’t determine if Master Devin had used glamour or something akin to silver tongue. He guessed the brush of horror they’d felt was only the fallout from what Devin had projected into Arian’s mind.

Arian plopped back into his seat like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Glassy-eyed, he stared at Master Devin.

“Master Devin,” Mawgan spoke softly, a plea in his voice. “Please take your seat.”

The djinn held eye contact with Arian for a few seconds longer, then stepped back and sat.

“And may I remind you…” The seer’s words trailed away when Devin turned his gaze on him.

“No magic or demonstration of power,” Devin stated. “I know.”

Nightshade chuckled. “Devin will back us this time.”

Michael snatched a breath, his head light with nervousness.

“Continue,” Mawgan said, looking at Michael.

“Me one goal in coming here is to win the release of the pisky king’s son. To that end, I offer meself in exchange for the boy. Free Finian from the Underworld, and I will take his place.”

One of the seers frowned. “How do you propose we place you in the Underworld, mortal? This is not possible.”

“Oh yes it is,” Devin said flatly.

Mawgan shook his head. “We can’t accept a solution that requires we take a life. Who among us here could kill an innocent man in cold blood?”

Arian rose slowly, steadying himself against the pillar beside his seat. “I will.”

Silence fell. Michael heard his own breath rushing in and out. Out of the corner of his
eye,
he saw tears running down Cordelia’s cheeks. He locked his muscles and turned away.

“This upholds the blood price while releasing the child,” Devin offered, his voice deep and penetrating. “I say we vote.”

“No.” Mawgan shook his head firmly. “This is not what we’re here for.”

“It’s exactly what we’re here for,” Devin countered. “We resolve disputes. We free those taken in an untimely way, and we punish those who’ve shirked responsibility for their actions. On those grounds, the plaintiff has given us just cause to accept his plea. I say we vote.”

“I second,” Arian put it, his voice slicing through the air of indecision.

Mawgan rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Very well. We vote on the plaintiff’s appeal. Do we accept him as blood price in exchange for the pisky child? All in favor stand.”

A band of steel tightened around Michael’s ribs, crushing his lungs. His heart shouted yes; vote yes. His mind shrank, ashamed, half hoping they’d vote no and not put him to the test.

Arian straightened where he stood. Dai and Olwyn rose to join him. Devin stood, slowly, his unwavering gaze fixed on Michael. The two huntsmen both looked at Devin and followed his lead. Mawgan shook his head and whispered to himself while he stared at his lap. One of the seers remained seated, but after a few seconds, the other rose to his feet. Mawgan cried out in distress and covered his eyes.

“The verdict is decided,” Devin said. He placed a hand over his heart and spokes oftly to himself. With a final glance at Michael, the djinn turned and left the chamber.

“When shall we do this thing?” asked the seer who’d risen in favor, looking at Arian.

“Now.” Michael heard his own voice ring out, as if it belonged to someone else. “The child must be released immediately.” Troy had said the light cocoon protecting Fin was good for five days, but Michael wanted the lad released as soon as possible.

Arian descended the steps from the gallery, then came down the final five to stand in the plaintiff’s pit before Michael. “So you take responsibility for your brother’s failings.”

Was that what he was doing? Dying for his brother? When all along he’d thought he was striving to rescue a helpless child. Would Niall appreciate his sacrifice? Would Troy finally think him worthy?

The endeavor had felt urgent and secretly noble. A hollowness yawned inside him. He’d been tricked into giving up everything, because now the time to prove himself was here, he didn’t believe he would rise from the dead.

Whatever Troy thought, Michael was sure he was not like his father.

“Leave the chamber while we prepare.” Arian pointed at the door, surprisingly subdued and thoughtful in the face of what seemed like a victory for him.

The unreality of the situation danced in Nightshade’s mind. Had he really met his baby brother a scant hour past? Was Michael really going to stand passively and let Arian deliver a fatal blow?

Michael stared at the wall as though he hadn’t heard Arian speak. Tears trickled down Cordelia’s cheeks, and she wiped them on her sleeve.

“Come.” Nightshade gripped Michael’s arm and led him toward the steps. Cordelia followed, her hand in her cat bag obviously seeking comfort from the creature.

When they reached the top of the steps, Devin strode back through the door and halted before them. He’d changed into a long black coat decorated with purple symbols.

“Come with me.” Devin glanced at Michael, then looked to Nightshade for a response. The stalker nodded.

Michael pulled his arm from Nightshade’s grip and rubbed his face. “Where would you be taking us, Master Devin?”

“To prepare.” Devin made eye contact with Michael. They assessed each other for a few seconds; then Michael nodded.

Twenty yards along the corridor, Devin ushered them into his bedchamber. When they had all passed through the door, he turned the key in the lock, and indicated they should sit.

He supplied them with glasses of spicy honey wine, then turned to Michael. “Where’s the dagger?”

“Did Gwyn tell you about the dagger?” Michael asked, frowning.

“Troy spoke to me, but we don’t have time for an inquisition.
Just be aware I’m on your side. What I tell you now is vital to your safety.”

Michael hitched up one leg of his jeans and pulled Troy’s dagger from its sheath.

When Devin took the blade, he cradled it lovingly like a long-lost treasure and stroked the huge egg-shaped gem. He tested the cutting edges and clucked his tongue. “You didn’t think to hone the knife?”

“I’d no idea what it would be used for.”

The djinn carried the blade to a table in the corner of his room and sharpened the knife on a whetstone. The grinding sound filled the chamber, stifling conversation, although none of them seemed inclined to talk.

Cordelia took Michael’s hand. The sight did not hurt Nightshade as much as it would have a few days ago.

When he’d finished, Devin returned to them and placed the dagger on a table. “Listen carefully, Michael,
ya akby, my brother.
You will die and enter the Underworld for good reason, which is as it should be. But you also need a good reason to return to life. Once you enter the Underworld, time passes differently. In a short time, the people you know here will seem like distant memories.”

Cordelia’s hand tightened on Michael’s and he glanced at her. Nightshade squeezed Michael’s shoulder, willing to share him if he must, but not to be forgotten.

“You need a strong tie to life.” Devin paused, let his gaze travel over them all. “You need to bond with someone through your Magic Knot so you are joined in mind, body, and spirit with a living being.”

Nightshade’s hand clenched reflexively on Michael’s shoulder, and Cordelia gasped.

“This is essential, Michael. You must choose either the wise woman or the nightstalker to be your mortal anchor.”

Michael dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said without looking up. “When we set out, I’d no idea of the commitment I was asking from you two.”

“You don’t have long to make your choice.” Devin stood and knocked back his drink. Then he grabbed a long black sash from the back of a chair and draped it over his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to decide. Be ready when I return.”

He strode to the do or and shut it quietly behind him.

“Ruddy Badba.” Michael massaged his temples.

A few hours earlier, Nightshade would have fought for the chance to exchange Magic Knots with Michael and enhance their blood bond. Yet after meeting Rhys, his priorities had changed.

Before Michael had a chance to reject him in favor of Cordelia, as he obviously would, Nightshade crouched at Michael’s side and gripped his arm. He ached to tell Michael about his baby brother, share the news that blazed inside him, burning away the loneliness he’d borne all his life. But he could not burden Michael with the knowledge of Rhys’s plight when his friend was about to face the biggest challenge of his life.