The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (23 page)

“I’m going tomorrow.” Trina firmed her voice. “I don’t trust you to have my best interests at heart.”

Logan got up and began to pace. “You’re my servant. You have no say in this matter, nor any other!” He stopped, looming over her, just like he had the very first day they’d negotiated, taking every advantage he had bargained for. “I’m not discussing this any further. You stay here. I hunt alone.”

Hot stinging tears pushed behind her eyes, throbbing in time with the pain in her newly opened heart. She felt tiny and ill-equipped for this fight as she huddled on the couch, but she’d be damned if she would let him know her new vulnerability.

“Fine.” She stood up. “I may have to stay here, but I don’t have to sit here and spend time with you. That’s not a contractual obligation.” She marched over to the ladder to the loft. “And, I don’t have to have sex with you, sleep with you, or even talk to you.” She started to climb, hoping he hadn’t seen the stupid, weak tears oozing out of her eyes.

She could feel him watching her as she placed each foot above the last. Her life had spiraled out of her control and now was the time to take it back. Despite everything Logan had said, everything they had shared, everything she had dared to dream, she was here again. Only now she was worse off than before. Now she was not only a prisoner, a servant, a slave... she was a woman in love with a man who had no heart.

Chapter Fourteen

Haddon had no problems keeping his feelings hidden. First as the queen’s whipping boy, then as her advisor, he’d worked his entire life to get to this position. Bending over, licking boots, risking his head with every manipulation, he’d achieved his current high post. But today he wondered if he’d made a mistake staying here in this court and using this queen for his scheme.

Was it too late to find a different job? Was his plot of marrying the queen, sending her down the hole of depravity, then taking over the Black Court himself nothing but a pipe-dream?

Today, the queen was in her dark goddess aspect, the Morrigan. Inky black hair coiled in snaky ringlets, her black raven’s wings opening and closing in agitation. Her ladies-in-waiting fluttered nearby, afraid to stray from her side, but unsure of her temper.

“Haddon.” Her purple eyes whirled. “You said the MacElvy’s would all be dead by now, and they aren’t…all…dead.” Her aura spun, a grey tornado laced with red and black swirls.

“My queen, we are close to achieving your goal.” He leaned in and stroked the tension out of her arm. “The last of the MacElvy’s are running like rabbits. We should have them within the year. Then your son will be safe.”

Not that he wanted the prince safe. No, his plans didn’t include Kian on the throne.

“You said they’d be dead and Kian would be under my control by now!” The skin under his hand grew hot.

“Patience, my queen. We will have them. They cannot escape you indefinitely.”

“Until the MacElvy are destroyed, I cannot release Kian.” Her wings fluffed out. “I need his powers, Haddon, or my plans to take over the Gold Court will be ruined.”

“Shh, my queen,” he whispered, scanning the court. The usual toadies were close in, preening and posing in case the queen’s eye wandered in their direction, but he wasn’t worried about them. A lady-in-waiting met his eyes and he scowled. She lowered her gaze and scurried back, her tiny, vestigial wings furiously batting the air. “We don’t want His Majesty to have any inkling of your plans,” he said.

The queen’s anxious twitching increased. If she continued to speak like this, someone would find out her plans, and Haddon’s would be ruined.

“Let’s adjourn to the mirror’s room and see what sort of information we can glean from Owen,” he said. “As your mirror, he’s bound to know something.” He doubted it, but the decrepit, old man would be a fine distraction for the queen.

“Bah! He is failing.” She pushed his hand off her arm. “Those pathetic humans used to live longer Underhill. Barely eighty and already his powers are waning. His visions are weak and pathetic.”

“We should use the last of his powers to find a replacement, someone young and energetic,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll be able to see a new psychic for you to use.”

The queen brightened. “That’s a lovely idea. Let’s go now.” Her churning aura slowed, the colors fading and smoothing into something close to calm. Haddon smothered a sigh. It seemed, instead of her insanity putting him into power, it now took all of his persuasion to keep her from trouble.

The best thing to do today was to divert her away from the gypsies and her ill thought out plans to de-throne the Gold King. Once the prince had married Agrona he would be under the queen’s full control, and she would be distracted, feeding off the prince and his consort, bloating herself with power. He would be able to cement his control then, when the prince was drained dry, and dead.

The queen rose, her movement drawing the ever-paranoid court’s attention. Silks and satins rustled as the sycophants rushed to her side. Haddon waved his arms at them, shooing black-eyed Bosco and his current paramour back to their whispering conversation with a large golden goose. The Morrigan unfolded her large wings and flew to a discreet door set in a large oak behind the throne. Despite his efforts, several of the court ladies flew around him, flitting after her in a clump.

She cut them off with a scathing, “Not you. Go find something useful to do!” She beckoned to Haddon, “Come, come, we’ll start now,” and disappeared ahead of him into the tree.

The passage through the oak brought them to one of the private rock-walled chambers reserved for “guests” who merited comfort, but not freedom. Owen, the queen’s current mirror, dropped his book and hoisted himself off his recliner. Once a vibrant lover of both Haddon and the queen, now Haddon noticed with distaste that the human’s joints were red and swollen and the old man winced from arthritis as he bowed low to the queen.

The queen was right. Owen was aging unusually fast. Underhill, humans usually lived to be two or three hundred years and showed little to no aging, but Owen looked like he wouldn’t see ninety.

Of course, usually, the lives of humans who resided Underhill were filled with luxury and magic while their fae paramours enjoyed their company. Owen, however, was unlucky enough to be a tool of the queen’s. The broken bones and spells he’d endured had aged him unmercifully.

“How may I serve you, Your Majesty?”

“How may I serve you?” The queen repeated in a sing-song voice. “You may find those gypsies for me!” she snapped. Red swirled back into her aura.

Haddon hastened to distract her before she accidentally killed the mirror. “Your Majesty, Owen has had much trouble locating the gypsies remember? They seem to be able to sense when he has located them. Let’s use his talents in a different direction and ask Owen to find another far-seer for you. One with better skills, who could serve Your Majesty better.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” she said. “Owen we need to start looking for your replacement.”

The old man’s hands wove frantic patterns in the air. “Your Majesty, I’m still young! I can still help you. Let me serve you.”

Haddon could see the trembling old man would never perform well in this shape. He’d have to step in, again.

“Owen, Owen, calm down. Her Majesty would simply like to take some of the burdens of your position from you.” The fool trusted him. Why shouldn’t he? Haddon had done his best to preserve and protect the pathetic creature. “Now, let’s see if there’s someone out there who could help you with your job.”

“Help me?” The man’s fingers scraped at Haddon’s sleeve. “You would still need me?”

“Yes, of course we would,” he replied, covering his recoil by taking a step away. “Now, sit down on your chair and see for us.”

Owen sat down and centered, his rheumy old eyes growing glassy.

“What do you see, old man?” asked the queen. Her aura had settled down, but a small amount of red still lingered in the grey.

“I see a lovely lassie. With red hair. Cassandra…I think.” He beamed at the vision only he could see. “Oh, my queen, she’s perfect! Her powers are great, and they will grow.”

The queen smiled and settled her wings on her back. “Where is she, where’s the lassie?”

The old man’s wrinkled forehead furrowed. “Oh, my queen, oh no. I’m sorry. Let’s look for another.” Tears trickled out of the mirror’s eyes and ran down his face. Haddon swallowed his disgust at the sight.

“Is she dead? Whatever could be the matter? Tell me!”

“No, my queen. It’s worse, she’s… a MacElvy.”

Haddon’s pulse jumped. A MacElvy seer.

“Ahhh! The queen shrieked and leapt at the old man, clubbing him around the head and shoulders with the sides of her hands. He ducked, throwing his arms over his head and cowering on the floor.

Foam dripped from her mouth. “A MacElvy! Curse them all!” Her wings shot out wide in agitation.

Haddon darted to the side, knocking a picture off the wall with a destructive crash. Damn! Of all the luck. The old man would find one of the hated MacElvys now when they weren’t even trying to locate one.

The queen glowed purple and she screeched something intelligible that sent the old man to the floor. Objects shot off shelves and tables, crashing around the room, destroying the old man’s pitiable abode.

Bloody hell. Haddon ducked flying shards of glass. Now he would have to calm her down all over again. Today was one of the days he knew he’d fucked up and made the wrong decision to become king. The huntsman had better do his job and kill the rest of the witches, or there would be hell to pay. He ducked a paperweight and decided it was time to push things along with the huntsman.

Trina woke up warm and comfortable, if still tired and achy. She opened her eyes and stretched in a bar of early morning light pearling through the old windows.

She was alone in the brass bed.

Hot anger rushed through her until her body shook.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She threw back the covers and got up. “I knew he was a jerk.” Tugging her dress over her head, she buttoned it while searching for her slippers. He couldn’t have left her here, even though he’d said he would. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—believe it.

She walked around the clearing, checking in all of the falling down outbuildings until she was sure. Solanum, the hounds, and Logan were all gone.

“He left without me! Stupid fae jerk.” She stopped in front of the cottage, a frustrated knot forming in her stomach that threatened to rise and become tears.

Willing the tears back down, she paced back and forth in the grass. She hadn’t thought he’d do it, but now it dawned on her. He’d really left and she had to follow him like she’d said she would or she would truly be his slave.

She didn’t know where to start, wasn’t sure she could even get out through the hedge, but that didn’t matter. She’d accomplished more over the last few days than she’d ever thought she’d have to. She was a MacElvy. She would persevere.

Going back into the cottage, she forced some food down, packing more in the magic bag for later. She searched her meager supply of clothes, hoping the cottage would have magicked them into something for hiking. No such luck.

She slammed the door of the closet. “Please make those stupid sexy impractical boots into sneakers. Please,” she implored the cottage. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Then slammed it shut again. “Damn!”

No sneakers. The fucking spell on the cottage made sure she was naked and in bed with Logan and that she had her choice of brooms. Practicalities, like decent shoes, were not provided, even though she had to face the hungry, brooding forest.

She reopened the closet to swap her thin slippers for the boots. There, in the back, hung the sapphire swinging from side to side from the impact of her temper. At least she still had that. She pulled it over her head and, the warm, reassuring glow nestled between her breasts, she walked out of the cottage. Placing her hand around the stone, she crossed the grass to where she knew the gap in the hedge should be and concentrated.

Nothing.

She stripped off her boots and planted her feet. The power of the clearing rose through her bare soles. It worked its way under her skin and up into her hand where the stone responded, pulsing in a blue glow. She raised her hand and directed the combined powers at the hedge, willing it to open and let her pass.

The green leaves of the hedge quivered.

Trina tried again, drawing more power from the willing node until, leaves and thorns shaking, the hedge shuffled aside, leaving a small begrudging hole. She grabbed her boots and pushed out through the small thorny gap as it snapped closed, snagging the hem of her dress and leaving her alone on the dark side of the hedge.

Pressed as close to the hedge as possible, the sinister trees looming overhead, she shivered and pulled her boots on. Heels or not, magical sapphire or not, she wasn’t walking through the hungry forest barefoot. Shrugging off the underlying creepiness, and taking a good grip on the glowing sapphire, she set off in the direction of the tunnels. The path seemed smaller than she remembered, the bushes closer. Behind her, she heard a small rustling sound.

The hair on the back of her neck rose. She gripped the sapphire tightly in her sweaty palms and whirled around.