Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (30 page)

“Stop playing,” he hissed, and took another step.

The woman was afraid, but she refused to heed. She jutted her chin and drew her bow ever more fiercely. He could feel his energies ebbing, like water leaving a cracked bowl—and for the first time he clearly heard a countering tune, an undercurrent of supporting notes, from somewhere nearby.

Another ffidil!
He had not been mistaken after all. Maelgwn had already lifted his hand to strike her, but now a different tactic was called for. He lowered his arm as if he’d changed his mind—then snaked the whip out sideways. It caught her full around the waist and the prince yanked her to him. His free hand gripped her by the throat and shook her until both instrument and bow dropped to the ground. All he had to do now was wait . . .

Pressed tightly against him, Caris’s fingers clawed at the prince’s gloved hand around her neck, and she kicked back at him with her feet. Through her thin clothing, she could feel the unyielding breastplate beneath his garb—and the fiery heat from it shocked her. It was like being held against a hot stove, and she fought harder to free herself. The prince stood perfectly still, however, unmindful of her struggles as if focused elsewhere.
He’s waiting for something.
That’s when Caris realized that all was quiet save the prince’s harsh breathing. She seized Maelgwn’s thumb with both hands and bent it away.

“Liam!” she screamed. “Don’t stop play—”

The prince’s hand closed like an iron trap. As she thrashed and choked, she turned one wild eye toward the edge of the hillside, terrified that Liam would climb up where Maelgwn waited with his whip ready. But even as her vision began to darken, there was no sign.

A flurry of notes sounded from far behind them, and the prince whirled to face it. The movement and the distraction loosened his fingers just enough to let Caris draw a shallow, desperate breath. The bluish glow from the Great Way suddenly illuminated Liam as he emerged from the darkness, drawing one of Ranyon’s songs from his gleaming fiddle.

“Let her go!” he commanded, his bow arm never slowing. The tune was sprouting new branches here and there, new leaves and buds in the form of flourishes and grace notes that lingered as if suspended in the night air. Rather than diminishing the song’s effects, they seemed to strengthen them.

Caris felt Maelgwn shudder, and without warning, his fingers released her as if he couldn’t hold her up any longer—or because he was desperate to conserve his strength. She dropped to her knees gasping as the fae prince stalked toward Liam. The whip was no longer alive with energy, yet it was coiled and dangerous just the same. She wanted to shout a warning but could coax no sound from her throat.

His magic might be gone, but Maelgwn no longer cared. He was running on white-hot rage now, and he was still physically stronger than any foolish mortal. He would enjoy killing this one—right after he destroyed the cursed
ffidil
. In a blur of motion, the leather struck out like a viper, but his aim was off and he missed the instrument. The results were still rewarding however, as the whip laid open the man’s face from temple to jaw. Blood—that strange bright scarlet that separated human from fae—rushed from the wound, but though he reeled from the blow,
the mortal would not stop playing
! His intense blue gaze was locked on Maelgwn like a warth who had singled out his prey, and every pull of his relentless bow was like a punch. The blood ran freely over the fiddle—and Maelgwn realized with horror that it was fueling the already-powerful magic of the song.

He had just added oil to flame.

Desperation collided with madness. A wildness overcame the prince, and he tore his robe away from his body, revealing the shining silver cuirass set with glowing stones. Advancing on the mortal, who stubbornly held his ground, Maelgwn raised the whip again.

The blow didn’t fall. Instead, an enormous
goat
materialized out of nowhere and knocked the prince to the ground. Before he could recover, the beast rammed him again, kicked him in the face twice, then bounded away as its diminutive rider made an insolent sign with long twiggy fingers. Both vanished as abruptly as they’d appeared.

Wheezing and winded, Maelgwn nearly choked on his own anger even as he fought his way to his feet. He would
not
be beaten by such inferior beings! Yet the unrelenting song was still beating at his brain, still dealing blow after invisible blow . . . And the prince realized for the first time that if he didn’t stop this musician, he would lose more than his magic. His very life essence would follow it.

“Maelgwn of the House of Ash!”

The voice from behind him caused him to freeze in place. He knew it—every fae creature knew it—but it wasn’t possible. Slowly he turned and found himself face to face with a ghost: Queen Gwenhidw of the Nine Realms,
Brenhines
of the Faery Kingdom
dan Cymru
. Her long hair fanned out behind her like a cape, her shining robes fluttered as if by phantom wind, her iridescent eyes were as flames as her gaze locked on his, and she held the sword of her ancestors before her.

“I killed you,” he spat out.

“I live,” she said. “And so will my kingdom.”

With an incoherent roar, he slashed at her with the whip. The sword caught the blow and a withering blast of magic traveled up the leather and staggered Maelgwn, buckling his knees until he dropped the weapon and fell to the ground. The image of Gwenhidw, however, abruptly wavered and faded to reveal Rhedyn standing defiantly before him.

“How dare you betray me
!
” he shouted. Still on his knees, he sought the light whip, spotting it just out of arm’s reach.

A slender and delicate foot, fair of skin and perfect of form, placed itself firmly upon the fallen whip before his fingers could seize it. “It is you who are the betrayer.”

The prince looked up at the white-robed figure, his face contorted by hatred. He would feed this woman to the Anghenfilod a piece at a time . . . “Think you to deceive me a second time?”

“Think you to rob my people of their future?”

Maelgwn had only a heartbeat in which to glance back and see that Rhedyn had not moved in the least. He looked up just in time to recognize the true queen—and the shining silver sword that was already descending from its high arc.

The blade passed through his body from neck to hip, sundering it and the silver breastplate like paper.

TWENTY-EIGHT

G
wenhidw wanted nothing more than to put some distance between her and what she had been constrained to do, but she hadn’t gone many steps before her knees wobbled and she sank to the ground, physically and emotionally spent.

Rhedyn dove at once to catch her. “Your Grace, are you all right?” she asked, cradling her in her arms. “Tell me what to do for you!”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she was just tired and
not to worry
. . . but as the queen looked up at the fae woman’s anxious face, she saw the glint of steel against the night sky above them.

Before she could react, the clash of swords rang directly overhead. And then there was silence, save for a single heartfelt curse from a familiar voice. Gwenhidw quickly put her palms together for a moment and opened them like a book. The small sphere of light that rested in her hands revealed the Lord of the Wild Hunt, his sword blocking the downstroke of another fae’s weapon. Lurien also held a dagger that was currently buried to the hilt in the heart of the queen’s would-be attacker. Lurien shoved the heavy body away from him and knelt at her side.

“Are you saving me yet again, Lurien?”

“I cannot seem to help myself, my queen. Are you hurt?” He glared at Rhedyn suspiciously. “There is blood all over your gown.”

“It is the prince’s, not mine,” said Gwenhidw. “I am simply resting before I undertake my next task.”

He digested that for a long moment. “I truly fear to ask what you have planned.”

“Why, I must negotiate with the Anghenfilod, of course. The Great Way cannot be left open here, and we have not the power ourselves to close it. I believe the creatures of the Inbetween can do so. Besides, it is long past time we made peace with them.”

She could see his jaw clench as she smiled up at him—and was that a slight twitch at the corner of his eye? Truly, she never tired of surprising her
llaw dde
.

“We will speak of it after you rest, Your Grace,” he said with great effort.

She didn’t doubt that there would be a great deal of speaking, mostly on his part as he attempted to dissuade her. She looked forward to it. “I assume the rest of Maelgwn’s followers have fled the hill?” she asked.

Lurien nodded. “I have set six men to watch over you here. I must return to the Hunt.”

A great antlered creature emerged from the shadows. As Lurien mounted the great stag, Gwenhidw’s heart leapt and broke between one beat and the next.

For an instant, he was the very image of her Arthfael . . .

Caris savored the haven of Liam’s arms as long as she dared. Then she made him sit on the ground so she could take a better look at his face. The glow of the Great Way revealed that his left eye was swollen shut, and the long gash across that side of his face had covered the front of his shirt with gore. “
Duw annwyl
, you’re a proper mess,” she said, pulling off her outer shirt and tearing a sleeve from it. Wadding it up, she pressed the cloth gently against the wound, and he obligingly placed his palm on it to hold it in place. “Now, whatever has happened to your leg?”

His right leg was a dark crimson mass of shredded blue jeans and deep, ugly bite marks. “One of those damn grims got me,” he said. “Everybody woke up when the queen finished off Maelgwn—his followers, the horses, the dogs—and they were in a helluva panic to get off this hill. I was headed in your direction when a couple of the fae ran right into me and knocked me down. And then a grim chewed the frickin’ daylights out of me until a goddamn
elk
charged by and scared him off.”

“I was scared for
you
. I thought Maelgwn might kill you.”

He shook his head. “You were brave as any lioness, the way you faced him down. I was more worried he’d try to kill
you
. And I wasn’t going to let that happen, no matter what. Besides, now you get to nurse me back to health, just like I told you.”

“Gladly.” She leaned in and pressed her lips to his as tenderly as she could. He wasn’t satisfied with that, however, and hooked his free arm around her neck, pulling her off balance and kissing her soundly until they were both lying on the ground in a heap.

Liam laid his head back and laughed as he clumsily repositioned the cloth against his face. “I want about a week of that, at least. It’s got to be the best medicine for me.”

“I’ll be pleased to oblige you too,” Caris smiled. “But I need to be binding up your leg first.” She squeezed his hand and was surprised when he winced. Looking down, she saw that the ends of most of his fingers were bleeding, the skin not only blistered but rubbed raw. Liam hadn’t played his fiddle in years—but tonight he’d played for hours with everything he had. For her. He bore far worse wounds, and she ought to be tending to them, but for some reason, it was his dear fingers that brought the tears to her eyes.

“Shh, don’t worry about them,” he said. “They hurt like hell but I swear, they’ve never felt so good.
I’ve
never felt so good. Well, okay, maybe a little better on the outside, but inside? My music’s back where it belongs, and it’s because of you.”

Caris kissed him again, softly and slowly, then sat up and began tearing the rest of the shirt into strips. “We both had help this night,” she pointed out.

“True. The faery queen was really something else. I thought the sword was just ornamental or something—I never suspected she could wield it like that. Maelgwn got his just desserts.”

“
Diwedd y gân yw’r geiniog
,” Caris said solemnly. “At the end of the song comes payment.”

“Like paying the piper, huh? I like that. It fits. And Ranyon had my back for sure—what a stunt! It did my heart good to see that asshole prince get kicked in the head.”

A loud whisper startled them both. “Don’t be tellin’ it about, but I almost didn’t have a charm fer that one!” A big goat pranced out of the shadows, with Dodge ambling along behind. “Spotted creatures can’t be seen by the fae as a rule,” Ranyon explained as he slid off his mount. “But I was wantin’ Maelgwn to get an eyeful o’ Harley here as a detraction.”

“
Distraction
,” corrected Liam. “And it was a helluva good one, buddy.”

Ranyon beamed as Caris hugged him, then peered more closely at his friend on the ground. “Yer a mess, dontcha know.”

“So I’ve been told.”

The clarion call of a hunting horn rang out from the sea of hills below. It was deep and bell-like, a rallying cry in battle, and the sound of swift judgment to the guilty. Caris’s heart beat faster, remembering another time and another horn. Liam, not knowing what the sound meant, sat up and put his arm around her, gathering her into his shoulder. The horn sounded again, and the wild baying of spectral hounds took up the cry from the dark valleys all around them.

“
’Tis Lurien’s horn,” said Ranyon. “The Wild Hunt is giving chase.”

“Sure, after we’ve done all the hard work,” chuckled Liam. “
Now
the cavalry shows up.”