Song of the Fairy Queen (42 page)

Regal in its own way, it was separate, overlooking all else.

“Yours?” Morgan asked.

Kyri turned to look at him with a smile. “Mine.”

Some of the Fairy were already gathering, swooping down from above with plates and platters, others coming on foot, their feet bare, smiling at the visitors in welcome.

The food smelled incredible. Spits in the fire pit turned, roasting fowl, venison and fish. There were vegetables, mushrooms and roots roasting among the coals.

Caleb whispered to Morgan, “Now I know why they don’t let many of our folk in, everyone would want to come. This is heaven, I think.”

Hearing, Kyri said with a laugh, “Not always.”

As if to make the point, a brace of children flew overhead, squabbling.

“Children,” Kyri said firmly, emphasizing it mentally.

Eyes wide, they flew off still squabbling, just doing it elsewhere.

Spreading her hands, Kyri said with a wry smile, “As you see…”

It was like a festival, or a harvest feast day. A celebration.

Seeing it, Morgan’s cares slid away, if only for a moment.

Sliding off his horse, he raised his hands to catch Kyri around the waist and help her off hers.

With a smile, she slid into his hands, glad for the contact as he lowered her to the ground.

A dozen pairs of eyes of every denomination took note, but nothing was said as smiles widened.

Kyri wrapped her arms around him to smile up at him, her eyes warm. “Welcome to my home. Come.”

She took his hand and walked with him up the steps.

Beneath the vine canopy pillows had been scattered over the slate tiles. Low tables were covered with food and drink. Everything was within easy reach, everything prepared for fingers. Finely woven carpets in soft patterns covered the slate floors.

In a short time everyone was seated, reaching for what they wanted from the bowls and platters, passing full cups of fairy mead – a rich fermented fruit wine – or ale, in front of them, drinking, laughing, eating, Fairy among them.

Not a single Fairy blinked, as if men came among them every day. No, instead they chattered, teased, laughed and questioned.

Morgan half sat, half lay, his head propped on his elbow. Kyri sat in the curve of his body with her wings over him. Next to them was Caleb, having an intense discussion with one of the Fairy about the instrument he played.

Across from them was Galan, his battered wings finally healed enough to fold against his back again. His eyes met Morgan’s and he nodded once, in acknowledgment and thanks. The shock and horror had taken some time to leave his eyes and now and again on the journey Morgan had seen it shadow those gentle eyes as Galan battled it back.

Morgan nodded in return, remembering the night Galan had fought so hard to Heal Kyri and the many times he’d come to help Morgan’s people. There was nothing owed here, there were no debts between them, only friendship.

It was a good time, though, with everyone laughing. His people had needed this, most were as tired and ragged as he.

As the sun set Kyri reached up, a small flicker of light appearing in her palm. It cast a soft warm glow.

Morgan watched in wonder as it lifted up to dance lightly on the breeze.

All around them, other Fairy did the same.

Fairy lights. Floating on the air.

It was as if stars had come down from the sky to dance among them.

He half laughed in amazement, shaking his head as he looked at them.

Kyri turned a little to prop herself on her arm to look at him.

There were times when she would look at him like this, in sheer wonder at his presence.

She loved the clean lines of his face, the pale arch of his eyebrows, that firm, perfect mouth and his crystal blue eyes. He could look so hard, almost forbidding, so strong and then…then he would smile and the man she loved would come through, with his dry sense of humor, his sudden flashes of compassion and warmth and the strength to lean on when she needed it. The one who could be so gentle as he tended to her, bandaging her wounds tenderly.

For this short time he’d relaxed a little, she could see it in his face. He didn’t look nearly so tired.

Turning his head, Morgan caught her looking at him.

He looked back, reaching to brush the tight, thick golden curls back from her face as he liked to do, looking into her lovely eyes, the color so astonishing. Shaking his head in amazement, he traced the line of her cheek, that pretty mouth.

There was no deference to her here, no standing on ceremony, so he drew her mouth down to his and kissed her. She kissed him back, her hand sliding up his back to run her fingers through his hair.

As darkness settled over them and stars spangled the distant night sky, she tilted her head at him with a mischievous smile. Taking his hand, she rose and tugged gently until he stood. Then she released him, slipping into the darkness, crooking her finger at him. Beckoning him.

Smiling, his blood heating, Morgan followed her behind the drapes and beneath the canopy of her dwelling, to find her shift, still warm from her skin, lying on the colorful carpet that covered the slate floor.

He bent to pick it up and then straightened, warmth running through him.

Light glowed through the thin silk walls within.

Brushing them aside, his breath caught.

He found her waiting, dressed in nothing but her golden hair and her gossamer wings. Those wings were closed around her so all he could see of her through them was the shape of her body behind the translucent feathers, her bare shoulders and her beautiful face turned slightly away.

As he walked toward her, tossing his hat aside, stripping off his shirt, her wings opened to him…revealing her to him once again. With both hands she swept her hair back over her shoulders and then opened her arms to him…

How could he not love her?

Looking at him, Kyri’s breath caught. He was magnificent. So handsome. She loved the look of him, his fair hair glinting sparks of gold and red, his crystal blue eyes brilliant. His body was so beautiful. She loved his broad strong chest, the firm muscles there, the tight crisp hair.

He stripped his belt away, tossed it aside to wrap his arms around her hips and lift her up above him so her wings fluttered. She laughed, looking down at him, at his smile, her hands braced on his shoulders. Her wings closed around them, encircled and enclosed them in a space all their own.

Morgan let her slide slowly down his body, an inch at a time, relishing her skin against his and kissed each inch that went by.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, Kyri let herself drop, trusting him to hold her. Then his mouth closed over her breast, his arms wrapped around her bottom and she stopped thinking.

Somehow they made it to the broad thick cushions scattered with light silken blankets that were her bed. Morgan’s trews were gone and he slid up inside her as her wings spread around them. Each thrust rocked them more tightly together, pleasure growing until finally it burst and flowed.

The last thought either had was how good it was to curl into each other again, the warmth of skin against skin.

The survivors of the failed raid trickled into the rebel camp, their eyes dazed, stunned by the level of the disaster. Most smelled of smoke, many were bleeding, battered and bruised, only a few were bandaged. Watching them, Morgan shook his head. Galan was already on his way.

“Either there’s a snitch,” he said, “or we’ve got a traitor in our midst.”

Carter swore softly. He’d once been one of Morgan’s Marshals, but the constant traveling had worn on his wife, so he’d chosen to retire, somewhat, to something slightly more settled. Then Haerold had overthrown Oryan.

This band of rebels was his responsibility.

There was no other way Haerold’s forces could’ve known about this raid, though. It had been a simple foray against a supply depot, to redistribute the food taken from the local farmers in lieu of taxes and hoarded, for return to the starving people who’d grown it.

Somehow Haerold had known the attack was coming and his people had been waiting.

Morgan was tired.

No, frankly, he was exhausted. It had been months since that idyllic day in the Fairy glen and he and Kyri had had only one or two meetings since, if that. The times with her were his only respite, the only occasion when he got a full night’s sleep, or at least felt like he’d had one, although there were times when he traded sleep for time with her.

He doubted it was Haerold’s intention to run him ragged, it was just happening that way.

“We have to find him or her, Carter,” Morgan said. “Find out who’s making bed-talk, who’s in debt. Who joined recently that we don’t know enough about.”

“I hate this, Morgan,” Carter said, bitterly. “Most of the people here were vouched for by someone else.”

“Until we can get Haerold off that throne,” Morgan said, “that’s what we’ll have to do. I’ll check with my own sources. See what I can hear.”

He rode out, beating back his own weariness. It was time for a visit to Jacob in Remagne again anyway.

Caleb looked at him worriedly as he followed but said nothing.

He knew Oryan and Kyri were both worried as well. The Captain drove himself harder than anyone else. Many was the night when Caleb took to his blankets on Morgan’s orders, while the man himself sat up trying to read reports from some of the other Marshals, or the rebels, by the light of the fire.

This night was no exception, but there was no use nagging him, he wouldn’t listen. There was too much to do.

And Caleb knew it.

Caleb didn’t know how Morgan was doing it. Or how much longer he could continue.

That’s what scared him.

As there was no one else to take his place, they all hoped it wouldn’t happen, not anytime soon. It was all they could do.

They camped safely outside of the city, waiting for twilight, when the light was uncertain and the shadows were dark, Caleb grabbing a quick nap before they slipped down to the city. Morgan, of course, didn’t, reading dispatches and sending off one of their people as a messenger in answer.

Morgan tapped him on the shoulder, waking him from his doze.

It was time.

A wagon stood at the gate, the tired driver talking to the first set of gate guards, trying to persuade them to let him pass.

While the guards were occupied, Morgan and Caleb slipped past, keeping low behind the wagon, keeping close as it trundled through the gate.

The second set of guards, assuming they’d been passed by the first, waved them through.

After that the maze of the streets of the city of Remagne was their only concern.

Why
, Morgan asked himself as they wandered in and out of some of the taverns,
did Jacob love places like these
?

Dark and dingy, they were filled with a certain nervous excitement or a dogged weariness. The women had empty eyes, empty hearts. Jacob had always liked games of chance, the roll of the dice, the turn of the card, bad beer and worse whiskey.

Morgan didn’t understand it.