Beauty [A Faery Story 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (21 page)

He took her elbow and started to lead her up the stone steps. But she had a few questions. If she was going to be the center of this revolution, she was going to start playing the part.

“If Gillian didn’t send you, who did?” Bron could feel the sweat on her brow, the ache in her gut. But it wasn’t her gut. Not really. It was lower, deeper—an ache with only one cure.

Niall stopped on the second stair. They were still so close to the bodies, but it didn’t seem to bother Niall. He simply stared at her for a moment as though trying to decide how much she could handle. “You don’t remember me. Niall Younger. My father was the stableman. He took care of the horses for the White Palace. I worked with him. I took care of your pony.”

Her mind raced, and she saw a young man, only three or four years older than she. Brown hair and bark-colored eyes, and a soft hand with the horses. His father had taught her to ride.

“I remember you. You had a brother named Liam.”

His face turned down. “Liam and me dad died long ago. I was left alone in the palace, but I found a friend. A shade. A sluagh. He taught me how to live, gave me information on where to find food and who would protect me. He sent me to the cook who raised me. I was only fifteen. The cook gave me a place to stay, and the sluagh gave me a purpose. He taught me how to fight, how to be a guard. He whispered to me who to get in good with so I would have my choice of assignments. And he gave me my reason to live. To find Bronwyn Finn. To locate his daughter.”

Bron felt locked in place, the whole world spinning. Her father? “My father can’t be a sluagh. He would never.”

It was beyond comprehension.

“He had no other choice. When the light came, he didn’t walk into it. He couldn’t because he had work to do. His children still needed him. He stayed for you. He molded me into his emissary. As far as I know, only Torin and myself have ever seen him. He’s not haunting anyone but his brother. He had a different use for me.”

“My father turned sluagh, and he knows I’m alive?” It didn’t add up in her head.

“He saw the Unseelie princess make her way out of the palace with you. He would have followed, but he was weak at the time. He was tied to the place of his death. He still is for some reason. When the other sluagh left the plane, he wasn’t able to move past the caves. He’s bound to Torin now. He can only go where Torin goes. So he trained me to find you. I’ve been moving up in the guard, and I’ve served ten different noblemen, all the while looking for you. I knew I had finally found you a couple of days back, but I wasn’t sure how to get you out of here. Now I don’t have a choice. Gillian is talking to the villagers. She’s trying to find a way to get you off the plane.” He stared at her for a moment. “That is not what your father wants.”

“What does my father want?” Her father had ignored her with the exception of pats on the head and telling her she was pretty and a little insane. What could her father want for her to do?

Niall took her by the arm. “Lead them. Take your crown back. Your brothers are gone, and it seems they will not be coming back. You’re his blood. That crown is yours. I am going to take you north to Sir Giles’s province and then on to Aoibhneas.”

The mountain province. She hadn’t been to Aoibhneas. It was difficult to get to and rumored to be an odd place. The Fae who lived there had always been outspoken and considered a bit difficult. They were strong fighters and used the land to their advantage. Aoibhneas. She could make her stand there. The rebellion could start there.

She could gather Fae along the way. Yes, it could work, or even if it didn’t, at least she would have tried. At least she could say she had finally stood up. If she could only get her legs to work.

“We must tell Gillian. And I have to take the brownies with me.”

Niall’s voice lowered to a deep growl. “Not possible, Your Highness. I am taking you to Sir Giles where he will make arrangements to see us safely to Aoibhneas. This must be done with the greatest of secrecy. Time is of the essence. And under no circumstances are we to tell Princess Gillian of our plans.”

Not tell Gilly? Bron tried to pull away. “I can’t leave without my sister.”

“She is not your sister, and as far as your father and I can tell, she has a completely different agenda than our own.”

“She’s saved me time and time again. She raised me. She trained me.”

“Because she always intended to take you to the Unseelie plane. This is not her fight. You’re a bargaining chip for Gillian McIver. I would have completely left Gillian out of the planning if I could have. As it stands, she only knows I’m trying to help. We’re going to keep it that way. You cannot leave the plane. There must be a Finn in Tir na nÓg or all is lost.”

There was a shuffling upstairs, and she heard a male voice call out. “Guards? Where is the witch?”

Niall’s jaw firmed, and he took her elbow. “Just follow my lead, Your Highness. I will protect and defend you with my life. This I vow. I will see you on your rightful throne and not that of the Unseelie.”

He began up the stairs, stepping around the bodies of the guards he’d killed. Bron’s mind was racing. What was going on? What did he mean about Gillian? Gillian had been trying for years to take Bron to the Unseelie plane, but that made sense. It was her home plane. Where else would Gillian go?

She followed Niall into the main hall, her eyes on her potential ally. Niall was a handsome young man roughly her age. She tried to remember him. His father had been kind enough, but all she could remember of the boy was a shy lad who brushed her pony’s coat and gave her carrots to feed it. Could she believe him? Did she have a choice?

“Hurry along now.” Micha stood frowning. There was a circular disc around his neck, tied with rough twine. It didn’t fit with Micha’s normal elegant dress. The mayor pressed a second one into Niall’s hand. “Wear this. It’s a ward to protect you from the bitch’s magic. And hopefully the potion has started to work.”

“Potion?” Niall asked. His eyes took in the room. Three guards stood at attention, Micha’s closest men. The door to the grounds stood open, and the sounds of workers shuffling as they built the great bonfire wafted in. Already Bron could smell the scent of the oil they doused the wood in.

Micha shrugged. “I had one of my house women concoct a dampening potion. It should keep her calm and compliant. I slipped it into her water this morning. She should be a mess by now. It’s actually an aphrodisiac, but it has the added benefit of making the user very submissive. Did you think I’d give you your last words? Not a chance. I have too much at stake. But you shouldn’t be able to talk at this point.”

Micha grabbed a vial off his desk. “Hold her.”

Niall stopped, obviously not sure what to do. Poor Niall. None of this had gone how he’d planned. She was sure he’d hoped to slip her out of the province with no one the wiser. Now he had to get her away from the guard and deal with a drugged princess. He was forced to watch as one of Micha’s personal guards held her and forced her head back.

The substance was vile, and she recognized the bitter taste. There had only been a hint of it in the water. This was undiluted. It raked through her system, burning as it made its way down her gut. The effect was almost instantaneous. A horrible ache, so much worse than before, grabbed her.

She needed. She needed them.

“Shim. Lach.” She could feel her head lolling back.

“That’s better.” Micha’s muddy eyes looked down at her. “See, my dear, now you’re compliant, more like the lady you should have been.”

“Hurts.” She seemed to only be able to speak single words now. “Shim. Lach.”

He shook his head. “Are they your lovers, dear? I should have known you would be a whore, too. I should have taken you and left it at that. You ungrateful wretch. You don’t deserve to be my wife. Go and see if the fire is hot yet and bring the magistrate. Our witch has confessed.”

She felt her body falling and the cold stone floor against her skin. Her head ached, a sharp pain, but it was nothing compared to the fires that licked at her body. Fire. Fire should be sweet, but now it was only pain. Shim. Shim was fire. Like a shimmer. Lach was cool like a lake. Yes, that was where she’d gotten their names. One mystery solved. Would she see them soon?

“Your Highness, I am outnumbered.” Niall lifted her off the floor where they had simply tossed her like she was a piece of garbage. Niall’s words were whispered against her ear, so small she could barely make them out.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted his lips on hers, his cock sliding deep. That would quench the fire. Her eyes would close, and she could pretend he was Lach or Shim.

Goddess, it was cruel to die like this. To know this ache and know what it meant. She would die a virgin, fire torching her from the inside and the outside.

“Your Highness, you must tell me where the knife is.”

His voice was so urgent. He was so close, his skin hidden under layers of clothes. Shim. She’d seen him without his clothes. And Lach. So beautiful. She needed flesh against hers. It was all she wanted now. Shim was close. She could see him. He was holding her.

“Shim. Kiss me.”

“Damn it, Bronwyn.” There was a shuffling as he looked down at her. His eyes shifted to dark blue. There he was. But his words made little sense. “I need to know where the knife is. It’s the only proof. I can’t save you, but I have a job to do. If I can’t save you, I have to find someone else. That knife is proof. Please. You owe the kingdom.”

Kingdom? What kingdom? Why did he care about the kingdom? She hurt. She ached. She couldn’t even breathe. “Kiss me.” Why wouldn’t he kiss her? Lach liked to play vampire games, but Shim was always so quick with kisses. She needed both. Where was Lachlan?

Her body shook. Niall wouldn’t leave her be. “The knife. Where is the knife?”

He kept talking about the knife. He urged her. Told her they were coming. The words didn’t make sense.

“The tower. In the tower.” That was where she’d hidden the knife. The knife had been her father’s. The knife had killed her, blood tumbling from her body until nothingness had swallowed her up and then fire had brought her back. A phoenix. She’d been a phoenix, born anew.

They had given her wings.

“Where in the tower?” Niall growled. “I’m out of time. They’re coming back. I’ll have to find it myself. I am sorry for this, Your Highness. I wish you good luck in your journey.”

And she was back on the floor. Alone. Abandoned. A cramp hit her. She needed to touch herself, but she couldn’t make her damn arms work. A journey. She was taking a journey.

Into death.

Rough hands pulled her up, dragging her when her feet wouldn’t work. Tears streamed now. The world was a chaotic mess, and she couldn’t feel them. They were always there, somewhere in the back of her mind. She no longer cared that they were an expression of what was wrong with her. They had been the best part of her pathetic life, and she couldn’t feel them. Real or not, she wanted them here.

“Lachlan.” Someone was screaming his name. “Shim.”

She could smell the fire. So close now. Her head snapped back. Someone had slapped her. Blood. She tasted it even as another seizure hit. The agony was unimaginable, a body that cried out for solace and would get not an ounce.

Rope bit into her wrists, the only thing holding her up.

The guards laughed. Called her trash. Better off ashes. That was all she was to these men. Nothing. She meant nothing. Her dreams and madness meant less than nothing. They would lash her to a pole and burn her then sweep up her ashes. It would be as though she hadn’t lived.

Bronwyn Finn had died so long ago, and now this girl, this woman she’d become, would be gone, too. Ashes burned in the fire, sent to the wind. The ache in her gut…pussy. It was in her pussy. There was no way to deny it now. The ache in her pussy superseded all other pain. What a horrible way to die—all her sweetness dissolved and she was left with only a raw ache as the sum of all her years.

Lachlan. Shim. She called to them. She didn’t know if she cried out loud or if it was only in her head.

She felt the heat of the fire and prayed she would see them soon.

The phooka stopped at the edge of the forest, his mighty hooves kicking up dirt. Lach dismounted. Beyond the copse of trees, there was a small village. Bron’s village. They’d ridden all night, never letting up. Lach wasn’t close to tired, as though something as inconsequential as fatigue couldn’t touch him now.

But fear could.

Lach dismounted from the phooka’s enormous back, his boots thudding against the forest floor. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Or rather not feel it.

He didn’t have the same connection to Bron that his twin had, but since he’d been on this plane, he could feel her, like a whisper in the back of his head. Now the little noise was gone, as though someone had turned it off. It had happened just a few minutes before, but it scared the crap out of him as his vampire cousins would say.

“Something’s gone very wrong.” Shim stood beside him, one hand on their steed.

Their ridiculously obnoxious steed who talked way too much for a horse. “Aren’t you the smart one, Shim? The king is slaughtering Fae and you’re just now figuring out that there’s something wrong.”