Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (47 page)

Frowning, I looked down at the tablet where he'd written: 'Stay. Even if we aren't bound, you can do much to help us, to help my people.'

The ground shuddered and the walls came down. Or maybe we rose up; I wasn't sure which. Either way, we emerged right back where we'd been sitting, our chairs in the exact same position, both of us now standing in the open.

As I blinked back the renewed brightness of the room, King Faonaín's grip on my wrist tightened and his breath caught. I followed his startled gaze to one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, one who didn't need a gem-studded gown to appear regal. With her luxuriantly long golden-honey hair, blue eyes like her son's, and the stature of a Viking goddess, I harbored little doubt that this was the amhaín, despite her understated, pearlescent gown. Standing to her right, Wade cut an imposing figure in his formal yet simple robes with his broad shoulders and chiseled Nordic features. He tipped his head in greeting, whether directed at me or the king, I wasn't sure. Fisk stood next to Wade, looking a tad out of place in his worse-for-wear suit. His expression was as inscrutable as ever.

At the sidhe queen's left, to my surprise, stood Kieran, a smoldering contrast to her seraphic glow.

But then, I blinked because, apparently, I was seeing double. The real Kieran, the right half of his face twisted and scarred, stood further off to my right, near Tíereachán. Puzzled, my gaze bounced back and forth between the two men who, aside from Kieran's revealed disfigurement, looked so alike.

Scanlon is Kieran's father
, Tíereachán explained as he eyed me from his position near Nathan and Alex.
And, yes, the woman is my mother.

As my mind reeled at the whole idea of parents looking young enough to be their own children's siblings, the king released my wrist and extended his right elbow for me to take.

I shuddered at the thought of touching him, but I didn't want to insult the guy in front of the people I imagined he wanted to impress.

Truth be told, a tiny part of me couldn't help feeling sorry for King Faonaín with his missing tongue and fingers—which was asinine, I knew. The guy was a torturing, murdering fiend that most people would say had gotten his overdue comeuppance. Supposedly he'd done it for his people's benefit, but jeez, that was a slippery slope if I ever heard one. Is torturing someone a justified act if it means saving a million people from a life of egregious hardship? What about a thousand people? A hundred? A dozen? Where did you draw the line? Even the notion of drawing a line
at all
troubled me profoundly. And I couldn't forget the fact that he considered himself the game warden in charge of population control for all of Earth's species, including humans. The guy made my skin crawl. Maybe not as much as Mr. Sociopath, whose sinister stare ascribed to a life of merciless barbarity, but it was close.

After shooting King Faonaín a wary glare, I placed my left hand in the crook of his bent elbow, thankful for his long sleeves, and accompanied him across the grand (if not furniture-lacking) chamber to his sister. For the first time, I forgot to feel like the ugly duckling. Of course, that probably had more do to the fact that I'd committed most of my attention to not tripping over my own feet or dropping the stone tablet that I managed to keep steady cupped in my right hand and tucked against my body like a textbook.

Positioned behind the amhaín and her companions, a dozen or so soldiers stood at attention. Although these warriors wore less armor, they seemed vastly more dangerous than the Tribunal's guards, more like well-seasoned assassins as opposed to common soldiers. Not to be outdone, the king's equally intimidating bodyguards moved within deflection range, several of them positioning themselves diagonally behind the king and me.

Standing a polite distance to the side, Brassal and Kim fell in line with the king as he drew us to a stop six feet from the amhaín.

Before I could take back my hand, King Faonaín overtopped it, forcing me to keep my hand where it was on his arm. His skin warmed my fingers, sending a shiver down my spine. Tíereachán, who stood to Kieran's left, looked almost as grouchy as his cousin at seeing the king pinning my hand in place. Was that resentment I sensed seeping through our connection?

A tiny spark that I recognized as hope zinged through me. Perhaps Tíereachán wasn't quite as gung-ho to see me mated to the king as he'd led me to believe.

"Brother," the amhaín said, her voice a delicate tune that furled around us. "After such an unpleasant ordeal, I am pleased to find that your vigor remains absolute. Rest assured, Evgrenya and her fellow traitors were captured and are now confined to your
enebráig
cells, under heavy guard. Indeed, the rooms are precisely how I remembered them and will no doubt serve well."

The king stiffened. Based on his reaction and what little I knew about their past history, I suspected her offhanded remark about remembering the cells held notable significance.

Brassal's voice rang out from the king's left, making me jump. "Lady Geiléis, my lord King Faonaín welcomes you to his fortress. He's sure you'll notice a great many things have changed, although many of the infrequently used areas, like his detention block, have remained the same. It would be my honor to provide you with a tour, should you desire it. You and your entourage are welcome to stay, along with the other Tribunal leaders, of course."

"Thank you,
Sénéchal
Brassal. It's a pleasure to see you again, even if it is under such trying circumstances. Rooms will not be necessary, but I thank my brother for his hospitality. The other Tribunal leaders have the means to contact me if the need arises." She considered me and smiled. "So, too, will
Anóen
, soon enough, I imagine."

"My lady, my lords, I beg your forgiveness," Brassal said. "Please allow me to introduce
Anóen,
Miss Lire Devon, Earth's adept, my king's favored adjutant, and current caretaker of the
Bráigda
."

Brassal regarded me, stepping out of line to see past the king. "
Anóen
, may I present Lady Geiléis, the amhaín, and Lord Scanlon who we congratulate on his recent appointment as Steward
representing
House Fòlais in the Tribunal."

I smiled tentatively, trying not to stare like a country bumpkin at either of them, but before I could say anything, the amhaín extended her hand. "My dear girl, we finally meet. I have taken great pleasure in watching you grow into your abilities."

At her entreaty, King Faonaín released me. Reassured by Tíer's attentive expression and the overwhelming sense of contentment that surged through our connection, I stepped closer to take her hand, transferring the tablet to my left hand to do so.

I ducked my head deferentially. "It's an honor to meet you, my lady."

She grasped my hand warmly, cupping it between both of hers. "You are truly a breath of fresh air. I see why my son has sworn himself to you." She smiled broadly. "Don't be shy,
Anóen.
Learn my resonance, so that you may find me if you ever are in the need of my advice or wish to visit my domain, where you are always welcome."

"Oh, uh … that comes with just a touch," I admitted.

"Indulge me with your full ministration, my dear. Liaison Fisk, Steward Ruiseal, and my consort have all described the sensation, but I wish to experience it for myself."

I frowned. "Steward Ruiseal?"

"You know him as Caiside, of course."

Caiside was a Steward now?

I glanced past Scanlon, my attention drawn to the sidhe I hadn't initially identified now that he wore an elaborate full-length robe. Smiling, Caiside canted his head at me in renewed greeting.

A little nonplussed, I turned back to her. "So you, uh, want me to grab you … like I'm going to sidestep us somewhere?"

Ugh.
I needed some decent terminology, stat. 'Want me to grab you?' was hardly awe inspiring.

Nevertheless, she smiled. "Precisely."

When I slid my half-wary gaze to Tíer, she chuckled.

She won't harm you, mionngáel
, he replied.
Even if that's her intent, I won't allow it. My oath holds true, even in response to my own mother.

Her request, though, left me feeling a little like a mage being asked to do a parlor trick.
Let's all watch while the cute human does something magical!

However, the bitter thought evaporated when I took in the amhaín's earnest expression.

Squaring my shoulders, I did as she asked. I wrapped her within my telekinetic web and then efficiently learned her body, all the way down to her toenails, as if I intended to sidestep the both of us back to Earth.

"Should I release you, or is there somewhere you want me to take you, first?"

"Remarkable," she murmured, now beaming. "Thank you, no. However, someday soon, I should very much like to meet your djinn."

As I freed her from my telekinetic grasp, she peered down the line to her left, still holding my hand. "Steward Ruiseal, you were right, of course. Her magic feels like your ancestor Tasgall's. It's been a long time since I've felt such power."

She touched her dainty fingertips to the underside of my jaw. "My son will have his work cut out for him when word of this gets out," she observed, and then, with a shooing gesture and a kind nudge, she encouraged me to go stand with Tíereachán at the fringe of the group, relieving me of my obligation to return to the king.

"Indeed, my lady," Caiside replied. "But I think you will find that your son is not without help in that area."

At reaching Tíer's side, with Alex and Nathan once again standing at my back, Caiside bowed toward me, adding, "And I believe
Anóen
, too, has proven herself to be quite capable of fending off and protecting those around her from an unsolicited attack."

"Which brings us to the issue at hand," Scanlon announced, sounding impatient and, to my surprise, not at all like his son. His voice wasn't as deep or as consonant. "My lord, we bring tidings of a
confidential
nature."

After he and King Faonaín exchanged pointed stares, the king turned and jerked his chin at the closest of his guards. As they filed toward the door, Scanlon issued a similar gesture at the soldiers behind him.

When the last guard had exited the room, the king flicked his hand at the archway. Stone flowed across the large opening, sealing the rest of us inside.

Apparently satisfied, Scanlon continued, "My lord, we have been told, in light of your grievous injuries and the loss of the
Bráigda,
Stewards Gilios, Sùdrach, and Urchardan will pursue a vote of no confidence at the upcoming convocation. If one of us here votes in support of this, you will not possess the majority needed to overturn such a ruling. We
three
," he said, placing emphasis on the number and then clarifying, "myself, Steward Ruiseal, and your sister—
Mormaer
of House Loudain and duly appointed Steward of the Tribunal—offer you our support at the convocation … provided you grant us one concession."

The king, who now looked angry enough to tackle a Lernaean hydra without a firebrand, glared at Scanlon and then at his sister. Brassal spoke his words, "Geiléis is a Bànach by birth,
not
a Loudain."

"I've not been a Bànach for a very, very long time,
Faonaín
," the amhaín corrected, stressing his name, I think to call attention to the reciprocal lack of honorific. "After I escaped from your tender care and found refuge with my mate, I renounced my birth name. On that very day, Cormac's family adopted me, and I swore my allegiance to House Loudain. Even after Cormac's essence crossed the void and the eastern houses crowned me Queen of
Thìr na Soréidh
, House Loudain named me their own and I theirs."

"With Geiléis at their head, House Loudain supplants House Gilios in the Continuum," Scanlon said.

"She will be high steward," Kieran blurted, clearly awed by this news.

I didn't register any shock or surprise from Tíereachán, so I guessed that he'd learned this tidbit earlier from Wade or Fisk.

Raising a superior eyebrow, Scanlon glanced at his son. "Indeed. A fact the remaining three Tribunal leaders remain unaware of. Right now, they are no doubt entertaining favors from the various contenders vying for kingship."

King Faonaín possessed a look of fury that was only surpassed by the glare he'd given his daughter when she'd roused him with her brutal slap.

"And what is this concession?" Brassal bit out.

"Irrevocably proclaim Tíereachán, your nephew and heir to House Loudain, as your crown prince and heir apparent," Scanlon replied. "If you do this, prior to the coming convocation, we three will vote to endorse your continued rule. As high steward, your sister will possess the vote necessary to break the tie and decide in your favor."

The resounding jolt that plowed through our bond, followed closely by utter dismay, told me Tíer hadn't seen this one coming. If not for the benefit of our connection, I'd never have guessed such strenuous emotions simmered under the surface of his steady, neutral expression.

"Such a concession does not displease," the king replied after a thoughtful pause. "It is no secret that I raised my nephew as I might have raised my own son." He glanced over at Tíereachán archly. "And apparently we share the distinction of being deceived by the same traitorous family member, who we shall no longer name." Turning back to Scanlon and his sister, he said, "It shall be done."

"I am pleased to hear it, brother, because in light of this I have one last requirement, which you shall surely embrace as it will please your soon to be crown prince and will, no doubt, allay our population's inevitable mistrust."

To my dismay, she switched to Silven, but even so, there was no mistaking her underlying tone. This was the make or break demand. If the king refused, she would hold true to her word. She would not endorse his continued rule, even if it meant throwing the realm into another bloody civil war.