Merry Gentry 03 - Seduced by Moonlight (47 page)

They licked over my eyes, pressing just a little too hard, and it wasn't exciting in that moment. I was very glad I'd negotiated for no injuries. They could lick the blood off the surface, but no biting. They couldn't make more blood once this was gone, not unless we renegotiated. With both of them licking, nearly feeding at my face, I didn't think I'd be in a hurry to renegotiate. There was something unnerving about the two of them —exciting, but unnerving.

They leaned back enough so that I could blink and open my eyes. They loomed above me with the look on their faces . . . Sex was in that look, but there was a hunger that had less to do with sex and more to do with meat. They may have looked more sidhe than Kitto, but the look in their eyes made it clear that looks could be deceiving.

I'd been waiting for the queen to speak, or for some of the nobles to speak to her, while the goblins and I shared blood. I turned my head just enough to see the queen. She watched us with hungry, eager eyes, and I knew it was not just me, but the goblins. They moved like body and shadow, so synchronized that it would be nearly impossible not to wonder. Queen Andais was not accustomed to wondering about a man without some chance of having that curiosity satisfied. But if the queen tasted goblin it would be in secret, the way most of the sidhe treated them, and the sluagh, and others. Good for a dark night, but not good enough for daylight. That attitude was one of the reasons that Holly and Ash had been intrigued by my very public offer.

I understood why no one had interrupted the show. If the queen was enjoying herself, you interfered at your peril. If you spoiled her fun, she was apt to make you do something equally entertaining.

Movement made me look upward, and I found a cloud of demi-fey like huge butterflies dancing above my head. I knew what they wanted. Most things in the Unseelie Court liked a bit of blood. But the demi-fey, unlike the goblins, have fewer rules. I gazed up into those hungry little faces and realized that I could give what I'd promised their Queen Niceven now, instead of later. Fresh blood, sidhe blood, royal blood. I was covered in it.

"My goblin lords," I said, "I have coin for other allies."

They stared down at me, as if they would not give up their prize. I felt Rhys and Frost move behind me. "No," I said, "no interference from my guards, not when I do not need it." I looked up into the goblins' faces, and they gave a small bow, just from the neck, and both moved to take the places we'd bargained for, at my feet. This had been the thing that Holly fought against the most, but with his mouth smeared with blood, his hands covered with it, he didn't seem to mind. They both settled at my feet and began to lick the blood off their faces and hands, like cats cleaning cream from their whiskers.

I raised my arms into the air as if I expected birds to alight. "Come, little fey, you may take the blood that is on my skin, but no bite of my flesh are you allowed."

One of them hissed, and the tiny doll-like face was transformed into something frightening, but only for a moment. Then the black doll eyes were as blank and innocuous as the tiny body and lovely wings tried to be. I knew that left unchecked they'd have gladly eaten the flesh from my bones. But they weren't unchecked, and there was too much at stake for me to be squeamish.

They looked so dainty, but they were heavier, meatier than the insects they mimicked. It was more like being covered in small monkeys with graceful wings, grabbing hands, and feet that slid in the blood on my skin. Tiny tongues lapped at the blood, tickled along my skin. One grazed me with needle-like teeth, and I fought not to jerk away. I spoke softly, clearly: "Only the blood that lies on my skin is allowed, little ones."

One female swung forward in my bloody hair, as if my hair were a vine, so she could see my face and I could see her little white dress spattered with blood, her perfectly carved face smeared with it. She spoke in a sound like the tinkling of bells. "We remember what our queen said, Princess. We remember the rules." Then she stayed where I could see her, wrapped her hands in the strands, and rolled her body like a dog on a rug, until her pale beauty was covered in crimson.

I could feel another Barbie-size figure wrap its tiny body in the back of my hair. I could not see if it was male or female, but it made little difference. None of them was thinking sex; all of them were thinking food. Food and power, for the blood of the sidhe is power. We can pretend that it is not so, that blood has no magic, but it is lies. Pretty lies. Tonight, I wanted truth.

I was hidden under a blanket of slowly fanning wings when a voice came from the waiting nobility. "Queen Andais, if we are to have a show, should not the princess come down to the middle of the floor so we can all get a better view?" The voice was male, drawling, in a cultured sort of way. Maelgwn always sounded as if he were mocking someone. Most often himself.

"We will have a show, wolf lord," Andais said, "but this is not it."

"If what we have seen so far is not the show, I am breathless with anticipation."

I turned my head to look toward him. Wings flickered against my face as the demi-fey beat their wings fast and faster in their eagerness at the feeding. So many wings, so much movement, that it was like being touched by dozens of tiny breezes, tickling and dancing across my body. If I hadn't been afraid they'd take a bite out of me, it would have been interesting.

Maelgwn sat in his throne, and though he sat upright as any, he still managed to give the impression he was lounging. The look on his face was indulgent, as if he only humored us all. As if at any moment, he would simply get up and lead his people out to do something more important than attend silly banquets. The nobles at his table dressed as nearly everyone did in styles ranging from pre-Roman to the seventeenth century, though many people seemed to have stopped around the fourteenth century, and to modern designer fashions to nothing but the skin they were born with. The difference for Maelgwn's house was that almost every single one of them wore an animal skin somewhere. Maelgwn had a hood of wolfskin with the ears framing his face, and the rest of the huge grey-white fur trailing around his shoulders. His upper body showed muscular and nude under that fur. Whatever covered his lower body was lost to view behind the table. There were men and women at his table with boar's heads and bear's heads atop their faces. A woman with a swash of mink, another with fox, and some who boasted feathered cloaks, or merely small badges of feathers. But no one at Maelgwn's table wore the fur and feathers as a fashion accessory. They wore them because once it had held magic, or been a badge of what they could become. Maelgwn was called the wolf lord because he could still change shape to a great shaggy wolf. But most of the shape-shifters, like Doyle, had lost their ability to leave their human forms.

Not all shape-shifters were part of Maelgwn's house, but no one who called him master had not at some time been able to call animal form. Few could still do it. Another magic lost like so many others.

The thought made me look for Doyle. He was still at the far doors. Had he sniffed out the would-be killer? Did he know whose magic had nearly destroyed Andais and her guard? I wanted him to come to me, to tell me, but we were all playing our parts. We were letting the court believe he'd begged to return to Andais, and he was being punished by being put on door duty, far from the throne. Farther from the throne meant farther from royal favor, and that was never good. It was the only way to get him near the doors, close to everyone who had entered, without arousing suspicion. But how long did we have to pretend before the queen gestured for him to come forward?

I fought not to tense under the fanning wings, the tiny hands and feet. I wanted to brush them all away and call Doyle to me. I wanted to end this. But Andais had always liked to draw out her vengeance. I was more the kill-them-and-get-it-over-with type. Andais liked to play.

The tiny white fey, now scarlet from head to foot, leaned in toward my face and said in her bell-like voice, "Why so tense, Princess? Still afraid we'll take a bite?" She laughed, and most of the others laughed with her; some like the ringing of bells, some hissing like snakes, and others strangely human in tone. They rose in a laughing cloud, all stained-glass wings and blood-covered bodies, as if carrion birds had mated with butterflies.

Andais's voice resounded through the room, not in a ringing tone like an actor's but just conversationally, as if it was no effort at all for her voice to fill every corner. "And what would you give, Maelgwn, for your house to regain its abilities?"

"What do you mean, O Queen?" he said, and his voice still chided, but his eyes held something more cautious.

She looked down the center of the room until her gaze found Doyle. She called out, "Darkness, show him what I mean."

The queen's nerves were better than mine. I'd have made Doyle come and give me his news, his accusation, but instead she'd make a show of his traveling the length of the hall. Or perhaps it was that she was more fey than I was. Most fey are not a practical people. They will make a joke or play a game on the way to the gallows. It is their way, and one thing I lack. I wanted to scream at her to just get down to business. But I kept my seat, and my mouth, and let her unfold the events as she wished. In that moment, I wished I had not told her that some of the men's powers had returned. If she had not known about Doyle's return to power, this particular display would have waited.

Doyle pushed away from the doors, gliding down the center of the room, but he did not change. He simply walked to us while the court watched, at first in silence, then in a growing murmur of half-heard comments and laughter. By the time Doyle reached the dais, the queen was scowling at him.

He knelt in front of the dais, more in front of her throne than mine. Which was fine: It was her court.

Maelgwn said, "I think my house already has the power to walk the length of the throne room, my queen." He did not laugh outright, but it was there in the edge of his voice.

Doyle spoke, "I ask permission to give my weapons for safekeeping."

"Why should I give you permission for anything, Darkness? You have failed me once already tonight."

"Many of the enchanted objects that were lost years ago, went during a shifting of form." He undid his belt that held both his twin daggers, as well as his black-hilted sword. The daggers were nicknamed Snick and Snack. Once they'd had other names, but I'd never heard them. They hit whatever target they were thrown at. The sword was Black Madness, Bainidhe Dub. If any hand but Doyle's tried to wield it, they would be struck permanently mad. Or at least that was the legend. I'd seen the weapons used only once before, against the Nameless. I had not gotten to see all their powers in one battle. He slid the belt out from the loops of his shoulder holster with its very modern nonmagic gun. He left the gun in place, the shoulder holster flapping a little loose without the belt to hold it down.

He knelt with the weapons belt in his lap. "In the Western Lands I was wearing no weapons when the change came upon me. All that I was wearing vanished, and did not return with my human form. I would not risk the loss of these blades." He spoke low, and only those closest to the dais would have heard him.

The queen's anger faded under Doyle's caution. "Wise, as always, my Darkness. Do as you see fit."

He rose to his feet and walked up the steps with the belt and its precious weight held in his hands. Then he did what he had never done in my memory. He laid a kiss upon her cheek, and I was close enough and at an angle to see him whisper in her ear. The only reaction Andais gave was a knowing smile. It left the impression that Doyle had whispered something nefarious in her ear.

He moved to me then, and laid the same gentle kiss against my cheek. I had only moments to decide what my face would show, for I was not the actress that my aunt was. I'd already decided that if I could not control my face, I would hide it.

He whispered against my ear, "Nerys reeks of the spell."

I turned my head in against his so that my face was nestled in the bend of his neck. I drew in the rich scent of his skin, the warmth of him, and hid my shock. Of all the ones it could have been, Nerys was not on my list.

She was simply Nerys —it meant "lord" or "lady" —and though head of her own house, she had lost enough magic that she had given up her true name and adopted something that was more title than name. But she was not a creature of politics. She and her house were as close to neutral as any of the sixteen houses of the Unseelie Court. Nerys and her people were not fond of Cel, or of anyone. They gave the queen her due, but no more. They were cautious and kept to themselves, and were powerful enough to get away with it. The attack on the queen had been rash, so unlike Nerys. If it had been anyone but Doyle telling me this, I might have doubted him, but I could not doubt Doyle. I was glad that my face was buried against his neck, though, because I could not have fought off the surprise.

He seemed to understand that, because he leaned into me until I touched his shoulder, gently, let him know that I had my face politically correct. I would not look at Nerys and her people. I would not give it away before it was time.

He leaned back from me, and his dark eyes asked, without words, if I was up to this. I gave a small nod and a smile. I was his lover, but I could not make my smile as lascivious as the queen had made hers. He laid his blades in my lap, giving up the pretense that he had come back to Andais. Of course, I don't believe that any of them, except perhaps Eamon, would have put their most precious weapon in the hands of the queen. For some of them, it had been years since she'd let them even hold the last of their own magic. They would not have given the weapons back to her, for fear she would keep them. In that moment, Doyle showed not just his trust but also that I could be trusted to share, and not merely to take.

He took his gun out of its holster and handed it to Frost. "It's a good gun," he said.

Frost actually smiled.

Rhys said, "And hard to come by in faerie."