Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (43 page)

"Mistress Lire, your request pleases the Hunt. It will be done." He bowed. "Until you next call me by name, we bid you a fond farewell."

He blew a series of enthusiastic notes on his hunting horn, prompting his huntsmen to reappear athwart their own imposing stallions. In near perfect accord, the horses leapt into the air, disappearing in a flash, accompanied by their baying hounds and the huntsman's rallying cries.

The entire capture and subsequent departure took less than fifteen seconds. The four of us were still gaping at the Hunt's decisive decampment when the entrance to my right exploded into the room with a deafening shower of rocks, followed closely by a torrent of at least a dozen battle primed soldiers, all of them armored to the gills with gleaming chainmail and wielding weapons alight with glowing runes. If I hadn't felt Tíer's profound relief after the explosion and then spotted Kim, striding in behind the first few warriors, I might have worried about the allegiance of these formidable soldiers.

I turned to the king, who regarded me with such blatant intensity, I ended up shifting on my feet and babbling, "It's, uh, safe to lower my barrier … don't you think?"

He blinked, as if coming back to his senses, and then flicked his hand magnanimously at the bubble as if to say, 'Yes, humble servant. You've done well having this meager thought.'

Somehow, I avoided pulling a face. I dropped my barrier and then, ignoring King Faonaín and the irate screams coming from Maeve, I rushed to Nathan's crumpled form, several feet behind me.

The strigoi labored to push himself up, despite the grievous wound that split his abdomen. Lumps and bumps that I couldn't bear dwelling on distended the fabric of his slashed and blood-saturated shirt. My insides quavered at the gruesome sight.

"Oh, Nathan," I whispered thickly, trying not to breathe through my nose as I knelt next to him. The smell brought back the unwanted memory of my friend Daniel's death, and I hovered at the edge of tears. "God. Oh, God. What can I do?" I waved my hands helplessly between us.

He chuckled. The man actually chuckled—with half of his insides pooling in his shirt! I stared at him, flabbergasted and appalled in equal measure.

"Steady, love. You've had a busy day," he said and then collapsed to his side with a pained grunt.

"Me? I don't believe you. You're … you're …" I shook my head, unsure where I was going.

"Dead?" he choked out. "It will be of little consequence when my master arrives. He's here, isn't he? You smell of him."

I peered over my shoulder, searching for Alex's dark form, but the dozen or so soldiers, who'd formed a protective circle around the king, blocked my view.

"I won't let him hurt you," I said, looking back down at him. "You definitely backed the wrong horse, but you helped me when I needed it. Thank you for that." Truthfully, he'd saved my life and the king's too, but I couldn't find it in myself to point that out after what he and his minions had done to my friends.

He scoffed. "Don't sound so impressed. I did it purely for selfish reasons.
You
, my clever girl, are my ticket home." He sighed. "Alas, a world without daylight was an intriguing thought," he said wistfully. "However, I'm afraid the inhabitants weren't nearly as charming as advertised."

I could imagine what Lorcán had promised him. I frowned. "Diedra worked for you, didn't she? That's what got her tangled up with Lorcán."

His expression darkened. "Yes. I didn't realize what that bastard had done to her and her family until it was too late."

"Are they still alive?"

"Yes. I made sure they were safe." He frowned. "It was the least I could do."

"And my friends?"

He managed a stiff nod. "We took over a B & B, near your city's zoo, a charming establishment called Woodland Manor. They're fine—having a little unscheduled vacation."

I sagged in relief before glaring down at him. "Some of them have children, you know that? People who depend on them. Pets. Jobs. God knows what other damage you've done to their lives, you big jerk! I'd give you a beating to remember if you weren't already such a goddamned mess."

"He will not go unpunished," Alex growled, appearing at my left, his fangs extended, blood coating his chin, neck, and shirt.

Caiside, whose bare torso was also a crimson splattered mess, stood at the domn's back, eying the room for trouble. Apparently, they'd seen some action in the king's passage.

I sidestepped a barrier around Nathan, an act made considerably easier now that I was outside the king's shroud. I glared up at Alex. "No. I promised him my protection. I'd be in a world of hurt right now if he hadn't helped me, even if he
did
do it for selfish reasons."

Alex turned his threatening, blackened gaze upon me. "He is
mine
."

I squared my chin, gritting my teeth against the impulse to cower at his feet. "Maybe so, but I made him a promise. I won't— "

"No." Nathan's resonance rang through me as he pressed his bloody hand to the interior of my bubble. "That is one promise I cannot abide, although I appreciate the sentiment. I live at my master's sufferance." He allowed his arm to drop to the floor, plainly weakened by his efforts. "Please …
Adept
, he can speed the healing."

Frowning, I fixed Alex with a resolute gaze. "There's no doubt in my mind—he saved me from a slow, painful death. I know you and I aren't exactly friends, but if you share even a fraction of the goodwill I feel for you, you'll spare his life."

"You ridiculous girl," Alex chided. "He shares my blood. I would no sooner kill him than run a stake through my own heart. Stand aside so I can end his suffering."

"End his suffering?" I squeaked and then glared accusingly. "You know, that's not the best choice of words unless you're planning to euthanize him. Just saying."

"Clotilde, there are limits to this mutual
goodwill
of ours," he growled. "Boundaries, I might add, that you have an unhealthy and most irritating habit of testing! I share his pain. Allow me to heal him."

When I looked to Caiside and got a nod, confirming his blood-mate's earnest mindset, I lowered my barrier.

Fortunately, Alex's actions seemed to confirm what he'd said. His hands were gentle when he helped Nathan to roll to his back, and he spoke soothingly while pulling aside Nathan's shirt to examine his dreadful wound.

At the first sight of viscera, I averted my gaze and scrabbled backward until I ran up against a firm set of legs. I didn't need to look up. The feel of Tíer's resonance, the strength of his presence pulsing so close to me, drew a sigh from my throat. He pulled me to my feet, took one look at me, and folded me into his arms, prompting Red to slide off my shoulder into the safety of my backpack. As the comfort and security of his embrace warmed me, the pent up stress and terror I'd set aside while trying to stay strong in the face of death finally broke free, and I splintered.

It was over.

Azazel was vanquished. I'd foiled Maeve's plot to overthrow the king. Soon, Alex, Nathan, and I would get my friends and, with the help of Michael and the Invisius telepaths, ensure that they all returned to their lives, unaffected by their terrifying ordeal. And I'd be damned if I didn't see Nathan personally rebuild Peabody's Beans, nail by freaking nail. Okay, that wouldn't happen, but somehow I'd ensure Nathan made good. I might not be able to get everything back to the way it was—certainly, Glen's death and Vince's torture had left indelible marks on my soul—but darn it if I wouldn't fix the things I could.

As I fell apart and then slowly reformed myself, I clung to Tíereachán, my friend, my
mionngáel
, finding refuge in the heat of his body, his scent, and the solace of our connection. And when he placed a tender kiss at my temple while wiping away my tears and soothing my post-traumatic trembling, the intimacy didn't even freak me out. Honestly, it felt … rather nice. Sweet and uncomplicated. A novel feeling, really.

If only that relative peace could have lasted.

The growing murmur of uneasy voices penetrated my temporary haven. After the initial rush of soldiers, a growing number of unarmed sidhe had trickled into the wrecked room, fanning out from the entrance along the back wall and keeping a respectful distance from King Faonaín and his soldiers. Most of them wore clothing that I'd qualify as regal—not as stunning as Maeve's ridiculous gown, but not something I'd describe as plain either. I imagined they were members of the king's staff and retinue. Possibly Maeve's too, although I'd assumed her support had waned after she'd been found guilty of conspiring with a demon and thrown in prison.

I fought the urge to hide my bloody, sweat-stained face behind Tíereachán. It was common knowledge that the sidhe were, as a rule, exceptionally beautiful. The few I'd met pretty much proved this assumption. But seeing the truth of it, in such a certifiable way … well, it was jaw-dropping, to say the least. I couldn't avoid feeling like a pimply-faced teen who'd crashed a supermodels-only convention.

I ground my teeth.

You know what? Screw that.

No one could make you feel inferior without your consent and I sure as hell wasn't giving myself permission. So what if I looked a bloody mess? I'd just outsmarted an archdemon from Hell and saved the sidhe king from a horrifying death—not to mention depriving demon-kind of one of their most powerful leaders and setting back their invasion by several decades if not indefinitely.

Hello!
I didn't need to wear a gem-studded haute couture gown to feel good about myself.

At the thought, Tíer's approval and open admiration surged through our connection, catapulting my ego into rock star territory. When I moved out of his embrace, his hand found mine and he gave it a squeeze before releasing me. It would be a lie to say I hadn't enjoyed the closeness, and if Tíereachán's reluctance to move away was any indication, he felt the same way.

Our shoulders still touching, curiosity turned my attention back to the crowd that had now swelled to number at least thirty.

As I surveyed the room, I realized some familiar faces were missing.
Where are Kieran, Wade, and Fisk?

He gave my fingers another brief tweak.
Relax. They're fine. They're responding to a summons from my mother.

Even Kieran?

He smiled.
Yes.

As I mused on this, I turned my curiosity back to the crowd.

Interestingly, long straight hair seemed to be the norm, but several sidhe sported waves or curls, like Caiside. Complexions ranged from the exceedingly pale to deep-brown, although the majority seemed to fall to the fairer end of the spectrum. Ditto with hair color, and—confirming what Kieran had once mentioned—there wasn't a redhead in the bunch. What struck me, though, was that their bone structure and facial features didn't seem to differ as widely as those attributes did among humans. Aside from their varied skin, eye, and hair color, there didn't seem to be marked ethnicities, at least not in this particular subset of individuals. And, as far as I could tell, not one of them had the tapered ear genetic trait, like that brother and sister Tolkien had interviewed all those years ago.

As I evaluated the throng, it didn't take long for it to become obvious that almost every gaze I met was laced with intense shock if not grief, and, in more than a few cases, outright disgust.

I frowned, turning to Tíereachán.
Why are they looking at me like that? What are they saying?

Instead of responding in kind, he said, loud enough for the room at large to hear, "They don't understand why their king would give a mere human the
Bráigda
. Some think you magicked him somehow, while others scorn the idea of a human possessing so much power." He scoffed, "They cannot see the truth, even when it's laid out before their own eyes—that
Anóen
came to their king's aid when his own daughter turned against him and tried to usurp the crown."

Maeve ranted in Silven, teary-eyed and holding onto Vince, who was once again a bloody mess. She was trying to sway the crowd, no doubt telling them about how the king had tortured her mate. By some of their troubled expressions, she seemed to be succeeding. Several sidhe yelled in response, whether in solidarity or disagreement, I couldn't tell.

Tíer's stance turned stony. He rejoined in Silven, speaking loud enough to make me jump. With his right hand at the small of my back, he gesticulated with the other, his motions indicating the king, Maeve, and me, all while lecturing the crowd. He said the word 'Anóen' more than once, along with a scathing 'Maeve' and 'Azazel.'

I'm not sure how things would have gone if not for the arrival of three imposing sidhe men garbed in elegant full-length robes that somehow managed to be flowing yet masculine at the same time. Their train of armed guards parted the crowd, which had gone reverentially silent at their arrival, allowing these men audience with the king.

Their verbally crippled ruler sat in one of the few remaining gilt chairs, flanked by his own guards and tolerating the ministrations of two female attendants, who I assumed were his healers given their jaundiced pallor and the fresh pink skin at the tips of each of his fingerless stumps.