Page 100 of Crown of Tides and Fury

37

THERE WILL BE SCORN

Hell hath no fury like a houseful of fairy hunters scorned.

Once the rest of the team had learned that Lennon was used as bait to locate Fallon, without Lennon’s knowledge, Wickham was given the silent treatment by all and sundry. The message was clear:get Lennon back, and until you get her back, you don’t exist.

There was no plate at the head of the table when he entered the dining room. He was forced to forage in the kitchen for his meals. The fact that he was bankrolling those meals meant nothing.

Ivy didn’t lock the bedroom door against him, but she might as well have. And for the sake of their marriage, he slept on a sofa in the servant’s parlor. Since he and Kitch had already tracked Lennon to Tantallon Castle, probably in the dungeon, he felt it just and right that he shouldn’t sleep too comfortably either.

He’d explained to the others he needed to give Griffon a few days to take Lennon to the same location where he kept Fallon. They accepted his theory that the professor wouldn’t be keeping a child and her grandmother in a dungeon, but naturally, they were just wishful thinking. Only he and Kitch knew Griffon might be working for Orion now, and he wanted to keep it that way, until it was necessary to tell them otherwise.

If the team could be patient, he was hopeful Griffon would soften. But by the second morning after Lennon had been taken, their patience was gone. When he opened his eyes, Urban was waiting.

“Come with me,” the Highlander ordered, then allowed him a moment in the loo before leading him to the formal parlor. Flann opened the doors to reveal most of the team decked out in tactical gear.

“I take it you’re storming the castle?”

“Aye,” Urban said, standing at his shoulder. “Without ye, if we must.”

“Griffon loves her,” he reminded them all. “Another day or two, he’ll break doon and take her out of there.”

“I’m not convinced he does,” Ivy said from the corner. He thought she was still asleep. “And I was watching closely.”

“Ye didnae see them in the library—”

“We’re goin’.” Urban dropped his heavy hand rather violently on Wickham’s shoulder. “The only question is whether we’ll need the cars.”

38

The Legend Of Cormac And Aslyn

Long ago and long forgotten by most, a Fae princess named Aslyn and a young mage called Cormac met at the harvest gathering at Tantallon Castle. Their romance might have been accelerated by the fact that a match between them was forbidden, or it might have been Fate that brought the pair together on the battlements one night where they danced and fell in love beneath the ripe autumn moon.

Knowing they would be forced to part ways when the sun rose again and the guests would be sent away, the pair sought privacy in the northmost turret, away from watchful eyes.

There, in a most perfect moment, the mage placed an enchantment on their sanctuary so that it would forever remain as it was, from the topmost stone to lowest. And someday, the two would reunite there and begin the life they were meant to share. No matter the year, no matter their age or circumstance, the princess and her mage were determined to meet again, in their turret, under the harvest moon.

Sadly, they were found by the king’s men, and the princess was brought before her father. Being a powerful Fae with no heart to speak of in his breast, he turned his daughter into a mermaid and had her thrown into the sea. Her lover, the king turned into a great black crow that could, for all he cared, weary himself for the rest of his days searching the whitecaps of the North Sea for his princess.

With no hands for casting spells and no voice to speak them, the crow did just that.

But every year, when the yellow harvest moon grows fat and rises out of the North Sea, it is said one can hear the song of a mermaid among the shallows of Oxroad Bay. And for days both before and after that moon rises, a large black crow with gray-tipped wings lays claim to the supposedly crumbling north tower. Each night, well after the orange sunset fades to black, he cries out until his voice is gone.

* * *

Griffon was feeling muchlike that crow of legend as he sat on one of the lower steps of the north turret of Tantallon Castle. The enchantment that kept the tower intact, by necessity, kept the dungeons and staircase from aging as well. And somewhere, along the centuries, the enchantment was hidden from human eyes. By the hand of Fae or witch, he couldn’t tell.

No doubt the dungeon had been used by many before him, including Wickham. And it would be used again…if Griffon was lucky.

“Come on, y’ bastard,” he whispered, careful to keep Lennon from knowing just how close he hovered.

Why hadn’t the witch come? The message had been sent half a dozen ways to ensure Wickham knew exactly where to find her. He knew what Griffon required, and he knew she’d be miserable while she awaited rescue. Or perhaps Wickham relied too much on the softness of Griffon’s heart.

No,Griffon told himself. Wickham will come. He has to come. For Daphne’s sake, I cannot yield!

Lennon had taken to singing—daft little songs that made no sense—about spitting grasshoppers and flannel nighties and Noah building his arky-ark. About the color of ducks on the pond, and now, lullabies.

---