Song of the Fairy Queen (11 page)

Her hands fisted on her hips, her expression tight and furious. “I’m not. I don’t have to, you’re shouting so loud in there.”

Part of him couldn’t ignore how very beautiful she was when she was angry, her eyes turning a stormy blue green.

“Someone has to shout,” he said, jaw tight with the urge not to do so literally, “to get you to listen. What the hell did you think you were doing? Do you have any idea what you were risking? You could’ve been killed.”

Defiantly, she looked at him.

“So could you. What? Are you the only one to take risks, my Lord High Marshal Morgan? Have you forgotten my folk have fought yours since time began? I’m well able to take care of myself. I did what needed to be done. We can’t lose you, Morgan. Oryan can’t lose you. Not so soon. However recklessly you spend yourself. I don’t need to remind you that Haerold sent men that night against me and mine as well, this isn’t just your war. It’s not just your people who fight here, who depend on you, but mine as well.”

“You’re too important to risk like that,” Morgan exploded.

“And you aren’t?” she shot back. “Who then will replace you, Morgan? Not me.”

“We can’t lose you, Kyri,” he said.

She was the only one who knew where both Oryan and Gawain were or would be. She had a magical tag to Gawain and her people were helping guard Oryan.

When he was out in the field with his Marshals defending the people from Haerold’s forces and organizing the resistance, he was far too vulnerable to capture. What he didn’t know he couldn’t tell. So he could never know where Oryan was without the aid of Kyri and her people. More mobile with her wings, Kyri was therefore less vulnerable on that front.

To risk herself that way…

Letting out a gusty sigh, she said, “This I know. No more than we can lose you, our most able general.” She paused. “Our only general.”

Those incredible eyes looked at him evenly.

It didn’t help that she was right.

Kyri looked at him and took a calming breath.

“Morgan, I will not apologize, nor will I say I won’t do so again. I must do what I think is right, for myself and my people as you do for you and yours. We didn’t choose this, but it’s for us to deal with. Both of us.”

The Gods had chosen her, named her Queen, whatever her heart and mind. She would do as she must.

Looking at her, Morgan had to laugh. “In other words, you’re conceding nothing.”

She grinned, unrepentant. “Exactly.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, both amused and exasperated.

With a small shrug, she said, “I’m Queen of the Fairy.” She eyed him, lifted a delicate, perfectly arched brow. “And you’re the only man who’s ever shouted at me…and lived to tell the tale.”

He should smile more often
, Kyri thought,
it changed his face, softened it
.

Even in these times, it was necessary to smile now and again.

In fact, in times like these, it was more than necessary. She resolved to find a way to make him smile or laugh at every opportunity. And after all, she was Fairy, it was no more than her nature.

Morgan laughed. “I can’t promise not to do it again.”

At the echo of her own words that mischievous smile curved Kyri’s lips and brightened her eyes.

“Ah, well, then we understand each other perfectly.”

Morgan chuckled and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Some of the tension he’d been carrying melted away.

“We need to talk to Oryan,” Morgan said.

She nodded. “I agree. He’s still in transit. Head west, one of my people will find you.”

Although Kyri hadn’t seen the thing that had attacked Morgan well – the shadows had hidden it as it was designed – she hadn’t failed to notice the menace of the thing.

Light slender fingers brushed over Morgan’s arm.

“Have a care, my Lord Morgan,” she said, her voice worried.

Her concern touched him.

Her wings spread. Silvery starlight glistened and sparkled on them. The thin silk thing she wore moved lightly against and over her body, swirled around her lovely legs as her wings lifted her into the air.

In spite of his weariness, of all that had happened, his body responded.

Why couldn’t she wear robes as the wizard Queen had, thick and more concealing
? he thought in exasperation, deliberately loudly.

He thought he heard her laughter high above him. The soft sweet sound drifted on the breeze, brilliant, heartening. In his mind was the image of her lush and lovely body, but in his heart he heard the sound of her laughter sparkling on the air.

Morgan couldn’t help but shake his head and smile. She was Fairy…every small inch of her.

He never noticed that the slash across his shoulder had been healed.

Oryan listened as Morgan and Jacob made their reports and paced worriedly across the room that Dorset had given him to use as his office. Arriving only an hour or so before them, Kyri had already given her account but she’d only seen a blur of shadows and teeth in the night. Besides Kyri and her people, Oryan had built up a small network of trusted people who reported to him via message posts. All of those supported and more than supported what Morgan and Jacob told him.

However disturbing those reports were.

He and his entourage – such as they were – had only been in Dorset a few days and Oryan didn’t intend to stay long. So far as they knew no one knew he was here yet, hopefully, save for Dorset and a few of Dorset’s most trusted people. They wanted to keep it that way, not only for Oryan’s safety but for that of Philip and his people. Preparations were already being made to leave. He dared not stay in any one place too long, not with them scrying for him. A still target was easy to hit, a moving target wasn’t.

So he wouldn’t be still.

Morgan and Jacob had only just arrived, having taken only enough time to bathe while they could. They took their meal as they gave their reports.

Listening, Oryan looked at the intelligence piled on his desk.

If nothing else had convinced him of the necessity to fight, it was those.

Haerold was already instituting the harsh strictures he’d always advocated, rescinding many of Oryan’s policies. He’d restored the practice of conscription and levied new taxes on farmers and tradesmen.

“Delaville,” Oryan said. “I can’t say I’m surprised. He always loved the things gold could buy.”

Sighing, he turned to Kyri.

“Have you ever heard of anything like these things?” he asked, knowing her long-lived people might have heard of things his records didn’t show.

Searching through the memories of all those who had come before her, Kyri shook her head.

The images she caught from Morgan and Jacob’s thoughts were enough to make her shiver inwardly.

“No,” she said, “not even tales of them. Either they come from far outside our borders, or they’re a new thing. A creation of magic.”

That thought worried her.

They all looked at her.

Helplessly, she spread her hands. “It’s wizard’s magic, not a thing of the Fair. We know little of such things, but there have been tales of other such – lesser animals given life, intelligence and abilities they shouldn’t claim.”

“This, though,” she said, and shook her head. “I don’t know. It appears to have gone the other way, men being given abilities they shouldn’t have. After all, why not the reverse?”

Her wings fluttered a little. It was the only clear sign any of them had of her agitation. And proof, perhaps, of what she said.

She, too, was a creature of magic.

“From what we hear most people with magic have gone into hiding, save for a few herb women,” Morgan interjected. “We’ll have to see if we can find someone, maybe a wizard who could tell us more. If we could find one.”

“We’d had other reports of something like this from other parts of the Kingdom,” Oryan said, “but I chalked it up to the ferocity of the attacks. Haerold has consolidated his forces, so he’s preparing to march, but we just don’t know where. Although it’s likely he’ll turn here. I’ll send word to Dorset to prepare or surrender, his choice. We simply don’t have the forces even with his levies to make a stand. Not yet. I’d sooner not have people die for no reason. It’s not surrender to choose to fight another day.”

“No,” Morgan agreed, “it’s not.”

Oryan paced to the windows.

It was truly lovely out there. Patchwork farmland curled away from the gentle rise of the mountains at his back. The farm folk brought their herds to water at the lake to the east and south.

It was a shame he couldn’t give it the attention it deserved.

He wouldn’t bring war here until and unless he had a chance of winning it.

“Morgan, are you staying?”

Nodding, Morgan said, “My people could use the rest.”

It had been a long hard ride north and west through the mountains above and beyond Caernarvon, around Remagne, dodging Haerold’s men. Easier and shorter than taking the southern route, though. Everyone was tired. If their plans went ahead, sleep would be a rarity. Best to take their rest now while they could. It might be the last time he or they would sleep in a bed for a very long time.

In the pastoral silence they all heard the regular sound of a cob’s hooves clopping on the hard-packed dirt of the long shady tree-lined avenue outside, bringing them out to the broad veranda, Morgan’s hand on his sword.

Kyri’s hand brushed his lightly, tingling.

“I heard no word,” she said, softly. “I would’ve known.”

Her people watched from above.

The old man rode out of the shade of the avenue. A great broad-brimmed hat shadowed his face, but it couldn’t conceal his familiar, slightly portly, form. They all recognized him and smiled, even Kyri.

He didn’t ride alone. Slightly behind him rode two others, both of them tall and gangly, their heads bare so their thin brown hair blew lightly in the wind. One was clearly the father, while the other was younger, his hair more reddish. He was clearly the son.

Oryan and Morgan knew both of them.

With a wave of his hand, Philip of Dorset gestured, smiling,

“Look what I found along the road. I thought you might have need of him, Oryan.”

“Geoffrey?” Oryan said incredulously, walking slowly down the broad wooden steps of Philip’s summerhouse.

Lifting his head to reveal himself, Geoffrey smiled, his teeth very white in his dark, creased face. “I thought you could use a Steward, my Lord.”

He slid off the old cob, found his legs, wobbly though they were after riding so long, and stepped forward to make his bow.

Oryan, though, was already holding out his hand and Geoffrey met it heartily.

Pleased with his surprise, Philip sat back to watch the reunion, giving his son Jordan a wink. The boy grinned, waving to those still on the veranda.

“How?” Oryan asked.

With a shrug, Geoffrey said, his eyes shadowed, “In all the confusion that night, when that brother of yours started bringing his people in, I got out. I took a chance you might be here. If you weren’t, I’d have kept looking, leaving word so you could find me if you had need. My Lord Philip, though, was kind enough to offer me his warrant of safety.”