Page 54 of Better in Black
Cristina felt Mark stiffen at her side. Then Kieran was striding forward, his eyes—one black, one silver-gray—blazing in his pale face.Pale Kieran,Cristina thought, and knew that if this were the cottage, he would be running to embrace her, to kiss Mark, that they would all be in each other’s arms. Instead, Kieran came to a stop before he was within touching distance of them, and snapped,“What are you doing here?”
“We came because you sent for us,” said Mark.
Kieran started to shake his head.
“Bink came to the cottage,” Cristina stammered. “He brought the message that you needed us at Court.”
“That was a foul lie,” Kieran said. “I will have him killed—”
“Kieran,”Mark said, so sharply that Kieran seemed to blink, as if Mark had shaken him. “Bink cannot lie. He must have thought he was telling the truth. But who gave him such a message?”
Kieran sank down on the edge of the massive bed. Cristina ached to go put her arms around him, but it was as if there was an invisible cage of kingliness that surrounded him. A cage she could not pass through in order to touch him. “It must have something to do with this cursed business of the heirs to the Knight of Storms.” He glanced at the window, through which it was barely possible to see the rain-soaked countryside. “I should tell you what happened—”
“Bink explained,” Cristina said. “Sir Tarlegan is dead. Was it murder or some other mischief?”
Kieran shook his head. “The Knight fell in battle, defending the kingdom against a creature of wild magic.”
Wild magic was part of Faerie, a sort of magic tied to neither court. It did not abide by any real rules or laws, and was generally feared by all who were not themselves wild fey. The deadly Riders of Mannan, who had hunted Cristina and her friends, were of the wild fey, as was Gwyn of the Wild Hunt. In fact, the whole Wild Hunt drew its power from wild magic, from the energy released by battle and death.
Kieran, who had once ridden with the Hunt himself, as had Mark, sighed. “Defending the realm from such monsters was but one of his duties. Negotiating with storms was another. Until I choose the Knight’s successor, the weather will only grow more dangerous.”
Cristina exchanged a worried look with Mark. “And the choosing is not a simple matter?”
“A wrong selection on my part would be disastrous, perhaps even sowing the seeds of rebellion. But if I do not choose, the storms will not abate.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I would never have called you here during such a time of danger.”
“We could leave,” Cristina said hesitantly. “Return to the cottage.”
Kieran’s head whipped up. “No. It is dangerous outside, and will only grow worse. Your carriage could be blown off the road, or be drowned in a flood. It is not safe for you to travel.”
“Then we will stay,” said Mark. “Besides, if someone brought us here to distress you, the last thing we want to do is reveal that you are distressed.”
Kieran nodded slowly. “You’re right. You are here; we cannot change that. Let us use it to our advantage.” He raised his head and, for what seemed like the first time since he’d come into theroom, really looked at Mark and Cristina. “There is no one in this world or the mortal world whose opinion matters to me more than yours,” he said, to both of them at once. “Let us make it seem as if I did summon you in truth. Come to the banquet with me now—you can observe the three heirs and tell me what you think my decision should be.”
“We can only advise you, Kier,” Mark said gently. “We cannot tell you what to do.”
“Advice is all I can fairly request.” Kieran rose to his feet. “Come, join me at the banquet. But first we must find you some proper attire.”
—
By the time they returned to the banquet hall, a table had been set up for Mark and Cristina, positioned just below the royal dais. Kieran, once settled on his ebony chair, was very aware that he could easily look down upon his consorts, but they could not easily look up at him.
He hated it. But it did not matter what he thought. The banquet had gotten well underway while he’d been gone. The guests had just finished a course of cooked swan—its carcass plucked bare before the oven, then each feather carefully brushed with gold leaf and stuck back into the done bird—as well as spiced prawns floating in cuttlefish ink. The room was full of laughter and chat, and the usual odd behavior of the denizens of Unseelie. Princess Terecia, of the Murderous Dryads of the Gnarled Forest, had carried with her a bronze cage of poisonous tarantulas, to the disgust of fellow guests. Lord Scathe of the Northern Waste had brought all his own cutlery, for he refused to eat using anything but his own, which he carved from the bones of his enemies. Two of thelesser Western gentry, ancient foes Lord Thurgill and Lord Boreth, had been seated near a leak in the ceiling and were arguing vehemently over who should have to sit in the damp chair.
He glanced down at Mark and Cristina—both of whom had been provided with suitable clothes borrowed from the gentry fey. Mark wore ivory linen, which set off his pale hair, and Cristina was radiant in scarlet velvet, with rubies at her throat. They were both beautiful, so much so that Kieran’s heart ached with it. Soon enough the claimants would make their cases, Kieran thought, and then this business would be over for the evening, and he would be alone with his consorts. It was something to look forward to.
His attention was caught by an elegant, dark-skinned man in blue silk, who rose to his feet and crossed the room toward Mark and Cristina. It was Kieran’s half brother, Adaon, dark hair resting on his shoulders, a jeweled dagger at his hip. He paused at the table below the dais, and Kieran could hear him greeting Mark and Cristina, both of whom were surprised to see him.
Of course,Kieran thought. Adaon had but lately returned from the Seelie Court, where he had stayed for quite some while as the lover of the Seelie Queen. Kieran had not had a chance to tell the news to Mark and Cristina. No wonder they were surprised.
Kieran leaned forward slightly. He was aware of General Winter looking at him, but he didn’t care; he was too curious about what Adaon might have to say to his consorts. Adaon had always been one of Kieran’s favorite brothers, and had never judged Kieran for falling in love with Shadowhunters.
“Oh, yes, I left the Seelie Court some time ago,” Adaon was saying, leaning on the table as Mark and Cristina looked up at him. “The Queen has taken a new lover, a man known as the Huntsman.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Anything to do with the Wild Hunt?”
“A Queen’s Huntsman is something else altogether,” said Cristina. Her family had connections with faeries that went back generations, and she had made the Fair Folk a special area of study back in the mortal world. Sometimes—rarely—she knew something about faeries that Mark did not.
Adaon agreed. “Indeed, the Huntsman is no faerie, but a mortal—one who carries out bloody deeds in the Queen’s name. Not like any other mortal I have ever known, but he is human. He conceals his face beneath the mask of a hawk; there are those who say he is disfigured, but I doubt it. The Queen has ever valued beauty.”
