By the Light of the Moon (32 page)

“Stay down, wolf, if you know what’s good for you.” Brock warned quietly, distaste evident in his tone before he turned his eyes back on Maeve, who was utterly ignoring the wolf. Except … was Owain imagining it? He had a feeling that she hadn’t stood quite this directly between them before.

“Stop hurting my daughter’s pet, will you?” she asked with what sounded like amusement as she shook her head and raised her brows. “I’m willing to entertain your charade of power, but we both know that he can grab her long before the noose breaks her neck and you are still outnumbered.”

Brock’s eyes narrowed as they flitted up at the girl who seemed utterly focused on the wolf and his wounds.

“That would be true, but you are a traitor, Maeve. And your daughter is an abomination until she is declared Fae or non-Fae by the council. And now she is found and her sparkling little magic can be traced. How about a trade; your daughter for my silence?”

“No deal.” Maeve said simply. There was nothing left of the sweetness and her voice was suddenly deeper, warmer. “My daughter goes free, that’s the only deal we can make. And … you don’t want to bring me in … ” a grin slipped over her features, “because what you are planning here, taking over the fief … it’s not sanctioned at all. It’s an act of war … and we are not at war. I think the deal you really want to make is my daughter for
my
silence, Brody. And you can keep your castle and your power.”

Brody glared, staring at his knife that was now in the wolf’s hand, his eyes silver as he fought back the beast inside of him. A wolf was dangerous when he was hurt and not dealt with immediately.

“And, yes, we still have numbers … ” Maeve smiled and at that moment, Iris appeared behind her. Inside she was quivering with fear but she faced the man who had taken her blood.

“Not even you would try and kill me, Moira. You may be a traitor but you are not an abomination. You are redeemable. So is your daughter.”

“Ah, but you see, I don’t like those rules. I’m Fae, I’m free … I can choose whatever father I want for my children, and I can choose to live where I want to live, just as you are doing. My daughter for my silence and if one day you do want to bring me in, my silence remains.”

“Not enough,” Brock replied and then his head flung around to the wolf who had stood up on his two feet and was striding toward Moira in utter defiance of Brock’s orders. With another step he had his arms around her midriff, keeping her from having to stand on tiptoe to keep herself safe and was using his knife to cut her free.

Brock’s hand moved to a hidden lever but Maeve caught his hand. “Don’t be so sure I wouldn’t kill you … ” she whispered, and then let go when he pulled away, his greater strength all too obvious to try and test it in that way. His lips curled in a cold smile.

“Anarchist,” he whispered, nose wrinkling in distaste but Maeve shrugged with an almost flattered smile.

“You’re not playing by the rules either, my dear. So … what do you want?”

Brock glared at Owain who had freed Moira easily and had pulled her into his arms. She spit out her gag and they stared at each other silently. It was as though the room suddenly felt less cold from the simple exchange of wordless desire that transpired between their eyes. A moment later, she tore them away and ripped a strap of fabric out of her dress, which she started to tie around Owain’s injured hand.

Brock looked away, distaste flitting over his features again.

“Your magic for a project. They have to disappear and I keep that one, just as insurance.” He nodded at Iris and Maeve immediately rolled her eyes and shook her head. Before she could say anything, Iris stepped forward.

“Deal,” she exhaled and ignored her mother’s stare and her attempt to interrupt.

“Deal,” Brock said between his teeth. They both looked at the two lovers on the floor, the way Owain cradled Moira in his arms and held her like he never wanted to let her go again.

• • •

“Wait … where are we going?” Moira whispered. She and Owain were the last in the quiet procession down the stairs and into the Rochmond wing. Neither she nor Owain had been allowed much input on the deal the others had struck. Moira, especially, was still trying to catch up while Owain had had a frown solidly plastered onto his face from the moment they had left the tower room.

“What if someone sees us?” Moira asked again when nobody answered. She was shaking again, but then could remind herself that there was Owain walking next to her and whatever else happened — he was there. It didn’t quite make up for the fact that she knew she was walking behind her mother and half sister, but neither of them seemed to take much notice of her.

“Why are we … can someone please explain?” she pressed out, face pink with embarrassment and frustration and — instinctively — she stamped her foot and stood still. For a moment nothing happened before the first heads started to turn, Owain’s included. But Moira stood her ground, slightly subconsciously rubbing her sore wrists as though the red rope marks might loudly proclaim her right to ask questions.

“Will you explain it to your mutt?” Brock sneered at the beautiful tall woman that Moira could hardly look at; not just because it caused her the same strange need to rub her eyes she’d experienced with Brock before, but also because she just couldn’t believe she was supposed to be her mother. She couldn’t, for the life of her, look like she longed for her to look back or say a kind word.

She did have the impression that the Fae took a breath to answer when the older one — her sister, the one she’d seen with Fairester before — raised her voice in a distant, tired monotone.

“They need a cloud of magic; — an aura, if you will — in order to do more than the most basic enchantments,” she explained with a weary expression. “It is formed by a group of Fae. The bigger the group, the more powerful the magical cloud.” It looked like she wanted to say something else, but then caught Brock’s eye and stopped.

Moira, however, wanted more. She shivered and looked at Owain, just to calm herself. Magical clouds, glow, blood, family, too many ideas and words that should have elicited all kinds of emotions swirled around in her head, too many at once, fighting for power while Moira remained quite numb.

“But I’m not … you’re not, he’s not … ” she stuttered.

“Oh believe me, I’d love to send the pooch back into his kennel,” Brock sneered. When Owain growled, he gave him another spiteful glance and turned around again before the Blaidyn could answer.

“I won’t leave her leave her alone with you … any of you,” he said quietly, threateningly and looked at each of them as though challenging them to try and deny him but nobody seemed inclined to.

Instead, Maeve finally raised her voice, eyes solely resting on her youngest daughter; “And you have the blood in you — both of you — that is more powerful and more meaningful than someone like him could bring himself to admit.”

Brock sighed, but Maeve’s eyes were still on Moira until the young woman nodded silently and then quickly looked away. They started to walk again, but the closer they came to her parents’ sleeping chambers — not really her parents, Moira had to remind herself with a pang of unexpected pain — the more uncomfortable she grew.

“How do we know he’s not going to use the … cloud … thing to trick us?” Moira asked in a whisper before continuing, a little alarmed. “I mean, aren’t we making him stronger?”

“Fae can’t effectively harm other Fae by using magic,” Iris explained, still distant, hardly looking at Moira or Owain, and Moira looked at the ground. She still didn’t understand the deal that had taken place, but something told her that this old woman was the one losing the most. And Moira didn’t even know why. “Not even us.”

“It’s a shared energy,” Maeve went on, trying an almost shy smile at her daughter, “part of the immortal life-force in which we all. It is warm and it flows; it can’t be turned against someone who helps supply it. It can heal, but not harm.”

“But … he gave me something, it did something to me,” Moira protested, hugging herself. Instinctively, Owain laid his arm around her shoulder, drawing her closer.

“The blood is different,” Iris replied again and shrugged.

“Its strength depends on the Fae’s age, their power … ” Maeve contributed and ignored Brock’s grunt of frustration. “And your system fought it. A human could be completely overwhelmed by a Blood spell, sometimes for days, sometimes forever.”

“Can we stop the Fae lesson here?” Brock hissed, raising his hand for them to stop.

“This is my … this is Lady Cecile’s chamber,” Moira whispered in protest, but a sharp glance from the strange-looking man she had once known as her old Brock caused her to fall silent.

“A deal is a deal,” Brock whispered, shooting each of them warning glances as he held his glowing palm over the lock and then silently pushed down the handle.

Silently, they all filed into the room, Brock leading the group. While he stepped further into the bedchambers, however, the others remained by the door until the Fae’s glowing palm came to rest on the sleeping noblewoman’s forehead, deepening her sleep.

“Wait … ” Moira exhaled, but Maeve shook her head at her and Moira turned her face away and against Owain’s chest. She didn’t want to see. She had always known that Lady Cecile wasn’t her mother, that her greatest wish was a boy to replace Moira in the line of succession, but she didn’t want her harmed, however much she had so often wished herself away from the woman.

Owain’s chest was warm. It still smelled like blood, but she could cope with it for the moment while Brock’s calming draught was still in effect. It was something she was still trying to come to terms with; her body had resisted the one that sought to harm her, but was allowing the other one to remain in place for longer. It didn’t seem possible; but so many things that night had been and still were.

“What … is he doing?” Moira asked in the quietest of whispers and Owain bent over her to brush his nose over her fiery hair before his lips found the shell of her ear. Just for a moment, they ran over the softest little hairs there, tickling and making Moira press her body closer against his. Finally, he made himself answer.

“He pulled back her duvet,” he breathed, trying not to betray his distaste. “He is touching her stomach.”

“What?” Moira wheeled around, and breathed in deeply through her mouth. It looked so wrong, the glowing hand on Lady Cecile’s nightgown and she immediately looked away again, trying to catch the other’s eyes imploringly, but nobody was looking at her. Before she knew it, Brock was done. He replaced the duvet and turned back to the small group before they exited the room. Nobody was looking at one another as they filed back down the corridor.

“What did you do to her?” Moira finally dared to ask. There was an exhaustion in her voice that had nothing to do with physical lack of energy.

“Not that it is any of your business,” Brock sneered back at her, “but I made her fertile. I need a new protégé when you disappear, don’t I?”

Moira swallowed. Brock snorted at her confused face and then turned away again before they reached her room and stepped inside. He had interpreted her expression rather well; in that moment, Moira couldn’t combine the image of him that had formed over the last hours with such an act of kindness. But nobody else seemed to find it touching at all. Carefully they stepped from one foot to the other, still avoiding each other’s eyes.

“There’s one other thing … ” Brock said, taking control again. “You disappear this very night. Both of you, I’m sick of your faces. This place is mine. Remember that. Pack some things and leave. Don’t come back or the deal is off.”

Moira swallowed, helplessly looking at Owain. She hardly knew if he wanted to leave and go anywhere with someone like her and the panic set in again, starting in her chest and slowly moving outward into her limbs.

“As for you … ” Brock continued, his eyes landing on Iris. Maeve stepped forward, shaking her head.

“You can’t … ”

“Hold your tongue, Maeve, the deal is struck.”

“If you hurt her … ” swallowing, Maeve narrowed her eyes but her threat caused Brock to chuckle and shake his head. Iris stayed silent, standing straight and facing the man she was promised to stay close to.

“There’s one more thing I want to do before the cloud dissipates,” he stepped toward the old woman. Maeve flinched but she was too late in stepping between them and Iris gave her a long look.

“He can’t harm me by magic, mother. I made my choice.” But even Moira could see the distance and coldness in her eyes and it made her shudder. It made her want to look away as Brock reached out his hand and brushed it over Iris’s ageing cheek.

“This won’t do … ” he told her with a shake of his head. His palm started to glow again. “I need you to pass as a wet nurse when the time comes.” His hand moved over her face and then rushed down her body and when the golden glow dissipated, a much younger woman stood before them. She was fair-skinned with hair of light brunette and looked pretty, if ordinary.

Brock shrugged. “You can’t expect me to look at that sack of old bones all every day, now can you?”

Moira stared, so did Owain and even Maeve who was about to move toward them when a glance of Brock’s stopped her. Iris was breathing shallowly, walking over to Moira’s mirror and was touching her smooth face with a shivering sense of wonder.

“I … ” she started, stopped at the slightly different sound of her voice and then tried again; “I’m … am I … ?”

“Young again?” Brock asked, and Moira had the sudden desire to claw his eyes out at the coldly mocking tone in his voice. The sudden violence in her thoughts made her tremble and turn away, leaning against Owain again.

“No,” Brock answered when Iris’s face told him everything he needed to know. “I’m not in the habit of giving mortals ideas of immortality, crossling.”

“Don’t … call her that.” Maeve spat before she had her own mocking expression fixed back on her face. “The truth is, you don’t have enough power for that, isn’t it, Brody?”

The man shrugged as though it was one and the same, and then looked at his creation again. “Come with me, I will go over your story with you. I’m growing weary of the …
company
. Be gone by morning, all of you.”