The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) (47 page)

Feathers rustled as Patricio’s giant white wings brushed the bookcase he was leaning against. “I don’t see anyone.”

The angel was only a few feet to the left of the fireplace, but his grand seven-foot height put him at the border of the light’s reach, casting half his face in shadow. It gave him a hellish look that might have amused Adonis if he wasn’t so concerned with the massive sword strapped to Patricio’s hip. The blade was nearly the length of his leg, and probably could have made quick work out of decapitating their fey guests even if it wasn’t made of iron. Which it was.

Adonis crossed his fingers. He knew whom Robin had brought, and if the angel’s sense for sinners applied to
sidhe
… Well, it wouldn’t do for him to eat Robin’s foster mother. Healthy relationships just didn’t start that way.

“You do not see me, because my foster son is unrivaled in the area of glamour—and that includes veils.”

Adonis’ fingers turned white as he crossed them harder. The woman’s voice had come from Robin’s side, the opposite side from Marian. A red flush tinged Robin’s pale cheeks and he cleared his throat before flicking a finger over the apparently empty space. A tingle of magic kissed the room and then suddenly there was a woman standing beside the fey couple.

The Queen of Air and Darkness.

Ruler of the Unseelie Court.

Dubheasa.

She was a tall woman, of equal height to her foster son. Her skin held the stark silvery glow of freshly minted coins, accenting her obsidian eyes and crimson lips. Her dress was a bold display of her power, a collection of shadows concentrated into a ball gown that cradled her bare shoulders and swirled about her like a living fog. She beamed at Adonis, revealing a row of perfect white teeth, and lifted a slim, pale hand. Adonis took it immediately, dropping a kiss onto the back of her fingers.

“Your Majesty, a pleasure to meet you in person.” He smiled at her, pleased he could do so with genuine pleasure despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their meeting. “Robin speaks of you often.”

“Does he?”

Dubheasa’s voice was pleasant, but she wasn’t looking at Adonis. She was staring at the only person in the room who had yet to speak. Her eyes had sharpened, and her lips parted. It was unnerving, and Adonis had the sudden urge to step back and give her an uninterrupted view of the man who had snared her attention so completely. Being a demon who liked his horns where they were, he gave into that urge.

“So it is true,” Dubheasa breathed. “You do count a death god among you.”

Saamal met Dubheasa’s gaze with characteristic serenity. He sat in a large wingback chair near the fireplace, a vantage point that gave him an easy view of all the room’s occupants. The god’s eyes were not so much black as they were pits, bottomless wells of shadow that reflected no light. During rare cases of heightened emotion, or demonstrations of his considerable power, that bottomless darkness would swallow the whites of his eyes as well. Adonis had only seen it happen a few times, and it wasn’t an experience he was too keen on repeating.

In one hand the god held a glass of red wine. He swirled it gently, letting the crystal catch the firelight and turn it to burning shards of orange and gold. “Your Majesty. Welcome to our humble abode. I have heard much about you.”

 “And I you.” Dubheasa stepped closer to Saamal, her focus so intense as to suggest that for now, everyone else in the room had ceased to exist. “I am a great admirer of your work.” She paused, a line appearing between her thin, arching eyebrows. “Your earlier work. Lately you’ve been rather tame, if you want to know the truth.”

Saamal continued swirling his wine, the liquid clinging to the sides of the glass in blood red streaks. “Have I?”

The queen bobbed her head without hesitation, meandering around the couch between Saamal’s chair and the line of windows. “Oh, yes. It was understandable when your lovely bride to be was under the curse—far be it for me to fault someone for being a little boring while half their energy is going to keeping someone else alive.” She dropped down into the matching wingback chair directly beside him, her shadowy skirts writhing around her.

“But she’s awake now,” Dubheasa continued, “and far from being a drain on your power, she’s come into her own, returning not only your power, but lending you hers as well.” She sat back in the chair, drumming her fingers on the arm as she considered Saamal. She looked like someone who’d just purchased a new painting and found she didn't like it as much as when she chose it. “I had hoped to see grand things from you, but you continue to disappoint.”

Saamal tilted his head, one eyebrow rising slightly in amusement. “I’m sorry to hear that, Your Majesty. I can only hope your disappointment does not continue moving into the future.”

A memory popped into Adonis’ head. The last meeting the council had held to invite a couple into the realm, a pirate and his wife the voodoo queen. The pirate had a deep-seated mistrust of deities, and he’d been none too pleased to find out Saamal held a contract of service over him. The ensuing confrontation had been far too memorable. Images danced through Adonis’ consciousness. Saamal standing before the pirate, his power soaking into the room like alcohol into the bloodstream. An impromptu demonstration of why they called him the Jaguar King and the Black God.

For just a moment, everyone in the room had been reminded that the man who’d always been the calmest, most level-headed among them, was in fact a deity who had overseen human sacrifice for more years than any of them had been alive—combined.

If the tension in the room was anything to judge by, Adonis wasn’t the only one reflecting on the brief change in Saamal. Robin shifted his weight, moving closer to Marian without actually getting in front of her. Etienne’s brown eyes had grown lighter, not quite the gold of his wolf form, but growing closer. Patricio’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, toying with the end of the metal in a way he was prone to when he was thinking of beheading someone. Kirill was as silent as the grave and at some point he’d stepped back into his corner, melting into the shadows.

“Oh dear, death god, I do believe you’ve frightened them rather badly.” Dubheasa raised her hands, fluttered her fingers against each other with a nervous energy that said she’d barely refrained from clapping. “Is it possible that I’ve missed something? Have you been terribly naughty?” Her attention bounced around the room like a child’s whose parents had told her someone in the room has her birthday present.

Adonis dug deep, found his voice. “Nonsense, no one here is frightened of Saamal, my goodness.” The drink table beckoned to him from its little niche on the right side of the fireplace. Whiskey twinkled like liquid gold in the firelight, promising laughter and good times. “What a rubbish host I am,” he said, perhaps a little too loudly. He turned to Robin and Marian and gestured to the couch that sat opposite the wingback chairs where Saamal and Dubheasa were seated. “Where are my manners? Please, come in, have a seat. Let me get you a drink.”

Robin, bless his heart, took the hint. “That sounds lovely, a drop of the creature is the very thing needed on this chilly night.” He put a hand on the small of Marian’s back, urging her forward. “Let’s go chat with Mother, shall we?”

Marian tightened her grip on her bow as if battling the urge to brain everyone she passed on her way around the couch. She relaxed a little when she finally sat opposite Dubheasa, a real smile spreading over her lips as she looked at the Unseelie queen.

Never thought I’d see anyone who was actually comforted by Dubheasa’s presence.

“I’m so pleased to finally have you both here—all here,” Adonis corrected himself quickly.” He poured a few glasses of whiskey and held them as carefully as he could in his left hand, with one in his right ready to hand out. Passing Kirill—who he knew wouldn’t take a drink because he’d want his hands free for weapons—he offered the one in his right hand to Etienne. The werewolf hadn’t moved from his spot directly in front of the fireplace, seemingly held in place by the new arrivals that now surrounded him. After spending that long that close to the fire, his back had to be burning, but beyond a slight flush in his neck, Etienne showed no signs the heat was getting to him. He nodded grudgingly to Adonis and took the glass, knocking it back in one pull.

“I’ll get you another then, shall I?” Adonis offered.

“Patricio, dear,” Dubheasa broke in. “You’re looking rather grim. Is it possible that you do not share Adonis’ happy view of Saamal as just one of the boys?”

The innocence in the queen’s voice blatantly contradicted the needling nature of her comment. And unfortunately, she’d honed in on precisely the right person. Adonis bit back a curse. Patricio had all the social grace of an alligator with a toothache, and he wasn’t one to hold back when there was someone to be judged.

“I’ve never made it a secret that I don’t think innocent people should be made to shed their blood.” Patricio met Saamal’s eyes, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword.

It wasn’t a threat. Touching his sword was a natural reaction for Patricio whenever there was talk of spilling blood. Still, it was an unfortunate peccadillo to have under the circumstances. Adonis tightened his grip on a fresh glass of whiskey and made a beeline for the winged harbinger of justice.

The two men were not far from one another, Saamal’s chair only a few feet from the bookcase holding the angel up. Saamal barely had to turn his head to meet the cold blue stare being leveled at him.

“You do not approve of my wife’s new terms, of taking a drop of blood from every man, woman, and child to feed our land?” Saamal leaned back, the picture of ease and comfort. “You would perhaps prefer that we go back to the old ways, when it was one man every year who gave up his life and every drop of blood in his veins to Chipactli?”

A wave of blue light fell over Patricio’s blue eyes. “I think you could find someone who deserves such a fate. Someone for whom the punishment would be suited to his crimes.” His voice grew softer, almost a whisper. “I could find you such a person.”

Saamal raised his glass of wine to his lips, spoke over the rim. “Not everyone finds sin as intoxicating as you, my friend. Chipactli has sacrificed a great deal. She deserves more than to be thrown a common criminal, to be relegated to little more than a living guillotine.”

Adonis shoved a glass of whiskey at Patricio and the angel fumbled to take it before it sloshed all over his white robes. He didn’t dare say anything for fear Dubheasa’s excellent hearing would pick up on it, but he met Patricio’s eyes, held them. He glanced back at Dubheasa without moving his head, then back at Patricio.
She’s baiting you, you idiot. Shut up
.

Patricio closed his mouth, stared at Adonis in silent acknowledgement. Some of the tension in Adonis’ spine slid away and he let out the breath he’d been holding to turn back to the room.

Dubheasa was watching him, her expression intent, but unreadable. Smothering a brief flare of panic that somehow she might have read his mind, Adonis took a step toward her to offer her a drink. Before he could make it to her side, Dubheasa planted her hands on the arms of her chair and half-launched herself at him, plucking a glass from his hand without slowing down before coming to stand in front of Kirill. There was something in her eyes that said she was about to stir up more trouble, and Adonis quickly poured more whiskey.

“Again, I find I must apologize for my terrible lack of manners,” Adonis said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention before Dubheasa could speak. He took two glasses of whiskey and walked over to the couch where Robin and Marian sat. “It’s only just occurred to me that I’ve completely failed to inquire after your health. Here this evening was supposed to be about you, and yet all we’ve done is talk about one another.”

Robin took the hint, picked up the new conversation with practiced ease. “Think nothing of it, it’s been a pleasure getting to know all of you. Always interesting when so many strong personalities gather in one room.” He accepted the whiskey Adonis offered and waved the glass under his nose with an appreciative inhale. “As to my health, I’m feeling quite well. Everything is healing nicely.”

Adonis offered the other glass to Marian. She glanced at the offered glass, but shook her head. Her red hair slid over her shoulders, the twists and turns of her thin braids catching the firelight. He smothered a swell of disappointment. He’d feel better if the woman with the itchy trigger finger would commit to holding a glass of whiskey.

“It still itches,” Robin added. “Iron injuries are terrible for the skin. Honestly, I don’t know how humans can bear to heal so slowly. It must be maddening.” A deep frown darkened his face, chasing the light from his green eyes. “What’s really disturbing is that he managed to bury his claws so deep without gutting me. If he’d pierced any of my organs, he could have killed me.”

“An impressive level of precision,” Kirill observed.

“Makes you wonder how long he fantasized about it before it happened.” Robin shifted uneasily. “It could have been worse. Much worse. I almost lost Marian.”

Adonis sat forward, eagerly pouncing upon the opening he needed to get this evening back on point. “And that’s what makes this invitation so perfect. You and Marian can stay here, away from Herne, away from the sheriff. You can have a new life.”

Robin held Adonis’ gaze for the span of several heartbeats. There was something in his eyes, something like fear but not quite. Then he took a deep breath and turned to face the rest of the room. “Does the invitation still stand?”

“Robin, don’t be rude,” Dubheasa said sharply. “They can’t possibly answer that question yet. We’re still waiting on the women.”

Adonis’ stomach sank and he clutched his whiskey a little tighter. All around the room, the men had tensed, the mention of their wives snaring their complete and undivided attention. “I’m sorry? Your Majesty, if you’re referring to our wives, they aren’t coming. They’re—”

Dubheasa pointed at him, cutting him off. “Then it is true.” Her nose curled in disgust, and a shiver of power washed over the room as the shadows of her dress stirred on an invisible wind. “Typical. This is what happens when you allow men to have power. Without those women, your little realm would not exist, and yet when you gather to discuss who should and shouldn’t be here, when you meet your new arrivals together for the first time, your wives are nowhere to be seen.” She shook her head, her eyes hardening. “It won’t stand.”