

### The

## Iron Locket

### (Book 1 of The Risen King)

### By

### Samantha Warren

Copyright 2013 Samantha Warren

Smashwords Edition

The following story is a work of fiction and all names and characters are strictly the creation of the author.

All rights reserved.

This publication may not be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without expressed written consent from Samantha Warren.

Cover Art Copyright 2013 Kalen O'Donnell

### *~*~*

### ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

### *~*~*

Huge thanks go out to my beta readers – Merry Farmer, Jennifer L. Oliver, and Kristy K. James.

And to all my supportive fans, thanks for being awesome!

*~*~*

The land shall swim with fear and hatred

Torn asunder amid the cries.

When the thread of hope has fallen

The Risen King shall rise.

On his throne he will lead the people

Through good and bad and in between

He will save the land from ruin

The Risen King and his half blood queen.

*~*~*

-Ancient Faery Rhyme

*~*~*

Kane leaned against the wall drumming his fingers on his sword. As a prince of the Southern land, he was unaccustomed to waiting and it grated on his every nerve that Leanansidhe had the gall to treat him like a common servant. The wooden door beside him slid open and he straightened with expectation.

A pixie scuttled out, carrying a tray with an empty goblet. The door closed behind her again, shutting Kane out with it. His snarl startled the faery and she squeaked, dropping the goblet to the cold stone floor. She leaned over to pick it up, but it slipped through her spindly fingers, clattering across the hall. Kane's anger exploded and he drew his sword to swing at the creature, but she scampered out of his reach. She eyed him briefly, then darted in, grabbed the goblet, and retreated before he could connect with his deadly weapon.

"Get out of here, then," he shouted at her. He didn't need to tell her again. She took off, her flat feet slapping the stones as she retreated.

"Why are you abusing my servants?" Leanansidhe leaned against the oak door frame, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. One delicate eyebrow quirked toward the ceiling and her full lips held a natural pout. Her silky chestnut hair was pulled back into a tight, no nonsense bun, throwing her prominent cheekbones into stark relief.

Kane straightened and sheathed his sword, shoving it into the bone scabbard that hung from his belt. He raised his eyes to Leanansidhe, locking her in his glare. When they first met, she had balked at such bravery, but soon she came to welcome his forthright attitude and refusal to bow down to her as a slave. "You're late." The comment was meant as a rebuke and his irritation bled into his voice.

She smiled, her full lips parting to reveal sharp, white teeth beneath. She sauntered over to him, moving one luscious hip at a time. Her low-cut black dress hugged her figure and accentuated all her curves. A slit up the side revealed one long, powerful leg, its smooth skin peeking through as she stepped toward him. His eyes dropped to her shoes, black and strappy with heels several inches tall, then inched up her body, pausing at the exposed navel. The material covered very little and he struggled to control himself as she reached out with a black nail and traced it along his chest. Despite the heels, she was still slightly shorter than him and she used that to her advantage.

Raising her lidded eyes to his, she smiled. "I am never late, my darling. I am always exactly on time."

He struggled to breath as her nail traced down his chest and across his abdomen. His brain screamed at him to pull away, to insist they focus on business. It was dangerous to let Leanansidhe have the upper hand like this. He knew if he let his guard slip she could get him to agree to just about anything, but at the moment, his body didn't care. It wanted to give in and let her have her way with him. He tilted his head down, his lips craving hers. He saw the predatory smile waiting there, the victory in her eyes, but the pull was irresistible.

The clatter of metal on stone broke the spell. He jerked away, stumbling back several steps to distance himself from the powerful faery woman before searching for the source of the noise. It was the servant he had attempted to kill, trying to gather the tray she had forgotten in her haste to retreat before. She stared at the pair with enormous eyes as she picked it up again. A snarl erupted behind Kane a bare moment before the pixie squealed in terror. Bending in half, she clawed at her feet, screaming with pain and fear. Kane watched as stone crept up the creature's body until she was an unmoving statue.

"Hmmph. That'll teach her." Leanansidhe dusted off her hands as if she had been playing in the dirt. "I never really liked her anyway. Too much of a sniveler." She pulled her face back into an alluring smile and took a step forward. "Now, where were we?"

Kane took another step back and rested his hand on the sword at his side. He squared his shoulders and imagined his face as the stone statue beside him. "We were going to discuss this potential business arrangement."

Leanansidhe's smile was replaced by an irritated pout. She shot a useless glare at the petrified servant and sighed. "You're no fun. Fine. Be that way." She brought back her seductive smile, but this time it held a predatory edge. "But someday, I will have you. Make no mistake about that. I always get what I want, and I want you."

Kane raised his chin and glared at her. "We'll see. For now, we need to discuss business and keep it on a professional level."

Leanansidhe nodded once and dropped her seductress act. Her manner changed entirely, becoming business-like as she turned back toward the door. "Very well. This way."

Kane followed her inside. The room beyond was paneled in rich mahogany with a large glowing fireplace along one end. A velvet-covered couch and several chairs were arrayed in a semi-circle around it. An enormous desk stood about two thirds of the way down the room on the opposite side. Behind it was a plush executive chair that would make even the Four Queens jealous.

The walls were covered with tapestries depicting gruesome battles and wild love scenes, as well as the heads of numerous faeries. Kane recognized several of them. Leanansidhe was well known for her penchant for having debts repaid in a method that was satisfactory to her, though not necessarily to the debtor. Death was her favorite payment of all, especially if it involved trophies.

She strolled across the room, making sure that Kane watched her every movement and he berated himself when he felt disappointment as her bottom disappeared behind the desk. He raised his eyes to hers and she grinned in victory before waving a hand at one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Sit, please."

Kane shot a glare her way, which only caused her grin to grow, but he settled into the chair, placing the bag on the floor beside him. The chair was stiff leather, designed to look expensive and welcoming, but squeak with every tiny motion to make its inhabitant uncomfortable. He almost smiled at the thought. Lea knew how to take advantage of every situation and he was willing to bet that she did not make a single move without weighing every option first.

"So, my darling boy," Leanansidhe oozed as she reclined in her chair, crossing her shapely legs in front of her. He could just see the tip of an exposed knee peeping over the edge of the desk. "Have you done what I asked of you?"

His glare deepened. "Would I be here if I hadn't?" He infused his voice with more venom than usual.

Her eyes twinkled. She knew she was getting to him. He chided himself at falling prey to her games so easily. With a low growl, he opened the bag and withdrew its contents. He tossed the shriveled head onto her desk, watching the blue eyes disappear again and again as it rolled toward her. Her lips curled in distaste as she stopped the offending object by placing one finger on the graying skin. She picked it up by its blond hair and gazed into its eyes. Her annoyance evaporated in a flash, replaced by a disturbing amount of glee. She began to giggle like a school girl chatting with her friends.

"Oh, this is rich. Priceless," she gushed, her eyes glowing with a wild insanity. "Oberon, King of the South. Greatest warrior... or not, apparently." She set the head down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk as she clasped her fingers under her chin. "Tell me, Kane, darling, how did daddy dearest take it when he found out his one and only son was a traitor, hmm? Did it break his poor cold heart?"

The cruelty on her face did not go unnoticed. Kane pressed his lips together and met her challenge with silence. She didn't need to know that his father, the most powerful faery to ever live, had not begged for his own life, but had pleaded with his son to remain faithful. She did not need to know that Kane had shed so many tears, he almost couldn't see his father's chest well enough to pierce it with his blade. She did not need to know that his own mother had stared in silent horror, unable to even cry out, bound by her own child, forced to watch as he ripped the life from his father and then sliced off the man's head to take as a trophy. She did not need to know that Kane's own heart was breaking even then. All she needed to know was that he had paid the price she demanded.

She was still watching him, waiting for him to crack. But true to her nature, she grew bored quickly and sat back, crossing her legs. "Very well. Keep your secrets for now. I shall know soon enough. Anyway, you have proven your loyalty to me. I shall honor your sacrifice by making you my General. General Kane. That does have a nice ring to it, does it not? You will answer to no one but me, and when we remove the old hags from their thrones, Faery will be ours. The South will be yours to rule as you wish, while the rest of the land will be mine. Fair?"

He didn't answer for a moment. Though he had known the deal all along, ever since that first day when he ran into Leanansidhe in the Grey Wood after arguing with his father decades ago, he still was hesitant. He glanced at the table, staring into the cold dead eyes of the man who had given him his name, the same man who had denied him many pleasures and treated him like a common slave most of the time.

"Yes, that is fair. As long as you stay out of the South and let me keep to my business."

"Of course, my darling. The South is all yours, including all of its inhabitants." She placed extra emphasis on the word "all" and he stiffened. She caught the movement and smirked. "Mother is still there, is she not? Alone and afraid, without either of her men to care for her? But with daddy dead, that leaves room for a certain son to step up and take the place of king, does it not?"

"You're sick." He rose and grabbed the bag, stalking toward the door.

"Oh, come now, Kane. Don't be like that. I was only joking."

Her fake apology only made him angrier. He paused with his hand on the ivory handle when he reached the door, turning his head to the side. "When you need me, send word." Then he left, slamming the door behind him. He could hear her delighted giggle through the wood. It seemed to slip under the door and echo down the halls. He leaned against the wall near the statue of the servant, staring at it without seeing a thing. His mind was racing, going over the events of the last several days. He kept returning to one specific image, that of his mother, tied to the bed, screaming at him, pleading with him, the horror on her face when he ripped the life from the only man she had ever loved. He knew her pain. It ripped at him every day, threatening to tear him to shreds.

Pounding a fist against the stone wall, he growled, focusing on the pain blossoming out over his knuckles instead of the unwelcome image of a human girl with red hair, a ghost from his past. He straightened and willed the hurt in his heart to subside. He shoved the new statue out of his way as he passed and smiled in satisfaction as it shattered across the stones behind him.

## *~*~*

## The

## Risen King

## *~*~*

### *~*~*

### ONE

### *~*~*

He lay there, wrapped in eternal darkness, the utter stillness surrounding him like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. He saw nothing, felt nothing, knew only that he existed, outside of time and space, outside of the world as it was and is.

"Rise, my darling knight."

A frown pulled at his lips, the first movement in centuries registering as a strange tingling sensation on his otherwise frozen face. The area in front of his closed eyelids brightened, fading from a deep, impenetrable black to a reddish brown. He tried opening them, but they refused to cooperate.

"Time to wake."

The sweet voice filtered through unaccustomed ears, piercing the oppressive silence. It echoed in his head, the soft tones vibrating like a church bell at midday. He focused on the words and knitted his brow as he struggled to understand them.

"Is there something wrong?"

A different voice this time, huskier, deeper, concerned. Behind it he could hear the happy twitter of birds in the spring. The long bout of noiselessness had heightened his hearing and he listened as they hopped from tree limb to tree limb, frolicking in the leaves. He could hear bigger movements aside from the birds, scratching noises and grunts that seemed both near and distant.

"I don't know. He should have awakened by now."

The beautiful lilting voice was back, tinged with worry. His heart yearned to sooth the fear and began beating furiously. He tried to open his eyes again, but they would not yield. His lungs contracted, forcing his tightly pressed lips apart, and he gasped for the sweet air that had been denied him for so long. His back arched as he took several deep breaths, driving the life force through his body. His hands went unbidden to the sides of his enclosure and pressed against the smooth surface. It felt cool to the touch and he shivered briefly as his fingers scratched frantically at the walls surrounding him. Finally they reached open space and he gripped the edge weakly.

"Ah, there we go."

He pulled, his muscles bulging, slowly, painfully raising himself to a seated position, and collapsed halfway over the wall. A light wind brushed over his bare shoulders, sending a prickling sensation down his spine. With much effort, he willed his eyes to open. A sea of green exploded into view, its bright color dampened by his blurry vision. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear away the fog that seemed to be embedded in his brain. He pressed his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, he could see more clearly. The green sea was really a field. He raised his gaze as far as he could without moving, as he had no strength to do so. The bright blue of the sky hurt his eyes and he lowered them quickly. Glancing to the sides, he saw two other men climbing from glass enclosures wearing nothing but a pair of cloth leggings and a matching shirt. They were familiar, though he could not place them immediately.

A rustling beside him caught his attention and his ears pricked toward the noise a mere fraction of a second before he felt a slight pressure on his shoulder. A woman knelt in front of him, her soft yellow dress draped in layers over her slim body. Her skin was kissed by the sun and smooth as silk. He followed the line of her shoulder to an exquisite, perfectly shaped bosom that peeked tantalizingly above the dress. His eyes continued upward, tracing her clavicle and the elegant curve of her neck. Her soft chin led to bright red lips. The smile there was warm and inviting, yet cruel and dangerous at the same time. A perfectly formed nose flared slightly as the smile grew in eyes that were bluer than the sky above her golden hair. A perfectly manicured nail reached out and stroked his cheek, leaving a trail of excitement dancing across his skin.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, my handsome king."

### *~*~*

### TWO

### *~*~*

The beautiful woman in the yellow dress held out her hand to the king. "Hello, Arthur."

He stared at the elegant fingernails before taking it in his own. By comparison, his hands were large, indelicate, rough. A sudden thought occurred to him. Those hands should have been damaged and worn from years of fighting and the stress of ruling a fractured kingdom. He rose, the strength of the woman's grip surprising him as she pulled him to his feet. He stumbled a moment before gaining his footing.

He turned to get a better view of his surroundings as he dropped her hand. He stood at the top of a grassy hill on a little knoll of his own. Glancing down, he discovered that he had lain in a glass coffin on a pillow of satin finer than any he had ever seen. Trees dotted the landscape as other women milled around similar coffins. Men were rising from them, men he knew from a time before. He narrowed his eyes as his gaze settled on one of them. Dark hair, tanned skin, a traitor, a cheater. He reached for his sword only to discover it was not there.

A light pressure gripped his arm. "No, Arthur. Those old hurts are gone, dead and buried with your past life. It is time to move on. These are your twelve most loyal knights, those who will honor their promise to serve you in both life and death. They will fight with you and protect you in the coming days."

He examined the men. He did indeed know them, all of them. And yet, they were different. They were all young, in the prime of their lives. Impossible, he thought, shaking his head. Lancelot... just the thought of the man set his heart pounding, but he pushed it aside. Lancelot stood near his son, Galahad, yet both looked to be barely more than twenty. The same could be said for all the knights. An wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him and he reached out for support. The woman was there beside him, that dangerous smile on her face as she helped him from the coffin.

"Here, take a seat in the grass, my king." He did so willingly, leaning against the cool glass behind him. She knelt beside him, arranging her flowing dress around her before turning her attention back to him. "Your disorientation is understandable, of course. You have been locked in a state of non-existence for centuries, so there is an expected period of acclimation. There is much to tell you, but first, do you know who I am?"

She looked at him with expectation. He examined her closely, searching his addled brain for the answer. It took several moments, but he found her face, buried beneath decades of another life that seemed so meaningless now. A golden queen who came to him in his youth as a young king. A promise to protect and serve sometime in the future in exchange for a beautiful bride.

"Titania."

She beamed and the smile was genuine. "Very good. I knew you would remember."

"Guinevere..." Another blond swam before his eyes, both gorgeous and terrible, lover and wife, the one who destroyed the greatest friendship he had ever known.

"Ah, yes, well, we all make mistakes. I should not have granted that particular wish, but alas, we must move on. There is a chance to do it again, my young king. You have your most precious knight back. Together, you must work to accomplish the greatest task you have ever taken on. Greater than ruling Camelot, greater even than finding the Holy Grail. You must save Faery."

Arthur's eyes wandered to the others milling around the rising knights. Beautiful women, all of them, having a strange grace and power that belied their otherwise human features. "Is that where we are?"

She nodded once. "You are in a special place, protected by the Four Queens of Faery, the one spot where our domains all touch and become one." She held out her arms and spun in a little circle. "Within these trees, atop this hill, all is peaceful. Quarrels are put aside and sanctity is granted to those within. However, as you can see, the area is extremely small, and it can only be used for purposes that all four queens agree upon. Preserving your life and those of your knights was the last unanimous decision we could make, until now, when we raised you from the dead."

Arthur pressed his hands against the grass. It felt soft and cool in his fingers. "Why now?" He wrinkled his forehead. "And when is 'now'?"

Titania beamed. "Now is the year two thousand and twelve. Not quite two thousand years since your death." She pressed her hands and laughed, a deep-throated giggle that seemed odd coming from a woman such as Titania. "A lot has changed since your time, dear Arthur. You are going to be amazed, and likely disappointed in the turn this world has taken."

He raised an eyebrow at how pleased she seemed to be about that fact. "Why? Why bring us back?"

"Ah," she said, pointing a finger at him. "Let's wait on that a moment. We'll get you all caught up to speed at the same time."

Rising, the queen rose and clapped her hands twice. The sound echoed out across the clearing. Faeries who had been been tending to the other knights all turned their heads in her direction for the briefest of moments, then some started removing the glass coffins with impossible ease while others moved chairs pulled from only they knew where to array in a double semicircle on the hill where Arthur's coffin had been.

The other knights moved in the direction of their king, most of them with growing smiles on their faces while a particular dark-haired knight hung back, apprehension on his face. Arthur stared at him, emotions that had been suppressed for centuries rising once more to the surface. That man had been the reason for his downfall and the betrayal still cut deep. He frowned inwardly, keeping his face a mask. Would he be able to put aside the pain he felt? Would he be able to forget and forgive the hurt that overwhelmed him when he discovered his best friend and his wife had been having an affair behind his back?

His musings were interrupted when a young man with scraggly brown hair down to his chin reached him. The man wore an easy smile and carried a quiet confidence. Arthur grinned as he recognized him.

"Tristan," he said by way of greeting and held out his hand.

Tristan reached out and clasped the king's forearm with his own, the traditional handshake of their time. "Arthur." He nodded once, the smile never leaving his face. He released Arthur's arm and stepped to the side, taking up a position facing the other knights, behind the king and to his left. He lifted his chin and clasped his hands behind his back as his eyes took in every minute detail. Arthur's grin grew. Tristan was a man of few words, but his loyalty and abilities were beyond reproach. Give the knight a bow and a sword and few men could stand against him.

Next, he heartily embraced a stern knight with dark, curly hair, laughing out loud as he recalled a stunt the two of them had pulled in their youth. The knight in front of him cocked an eyebrow, his sculpted goatee twitching as he gave Arthur a small smirk.

"Lady Bronwyn," Kay asked as Arthur's laughter was mirrored in his eyes.

Arthur's grin grew. "Yes. I was just thinking of her face when she discovered we had stolen and eaten every Christmas pie."

Kay nodded, his smirk blooming into a full grin. "Those were good times, brother. May we have many more to come." He clasped Arthur in a brief hug, then released him and stepped back, mimicking Tristan's stance, but on the king's other shoulder.

The other knights approached and greeted their leader. Though many were from different generations, they were all young, healthy, and handsome, just as he remembered: the ever virtuous Bors who kept his hair and beard neatly trimmed, his hair just barely long to cover the signature scar that graced his forehead; Balan and Balin, foster brothers who could have been twins; the brothers Gareth and Gawain, two men about as different as they could be despite having the same mother; the astoundingly handsome Percival, a poor knight who was sweet as honey but terrified of women; Erec, loyal and faithful, above reproach in everything; and Yvain, lion-hearted and enthusiastic in his duties as a knight.

As the men greeted Arthur, they arrayed themselves in various positions behind him, leaving only two remaining on the knoll in front. One was the knight who had betrayed Arthur and had attempted to steal his queen. The other was the man's illegitimate son. He was like his father only in looks, Arthur reflected. The dark hair and naturally moody appearance was his only true inheritance from Lancelot. In reality, Galahad was possibly the greatest knight Arthur had ever known. His gallantry was unquestioned and he could be relied upon for any task required. Despite the seriousness with which he approached his duties, however, he was jovial and always had a kind word or crude joke ready when the moment called.

The young knight stepped forward, an easy grin stretching across his bearded face and a twinkle in his cinnamon eyes. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead and he brushed it away as he reached a hand out to the king. "It's good to see you again, Arthur."

"Galahad." Arthur felt a warmth creep into his voice as he said the knight's name and took his hand. After a brief moment, he pulled the young man into an embrace, hugging him close for several seconds, then he pushed him back to arms length, keeping his hands clasped tightly on Galahad's shoulders. "How are you, my boy?"

Galahad laughed. "Confused, as I believe every one of us is. I hope soon there will be some light shed on this strange and unexpected situation. The last thing I remember is seeing an angel of remarkable beauty standing before me, and now I'm here." He shrugged and his grin grew. "I guess we will soon find out." He clapped Arthur on the back once and went to stand beside Gawain.

That left Lancelot alone in front of Arthur. His hands were clenched at his sides, his head down. Arthur watched him a minute. Lancelot's jaw, highlighted with a thin line of hair, pulsed rhythmically as he clenched his teeth. His lips were pressed into a tight line and his nostrils were flared. Arthur could not tell if Lancelot's stature was combative or submissive.

Arthur closed his blue eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Then he opened them, raised his chin, and squared his shoulders. "Lancelot," he said, his voice coming out harsher and lower than he intended.

The man looked up, his dark brown eyes filled with worry, fear, and regret. "Arthur." His voice was soft and respectful. His eyes beseeched his king, begging for forgiveness even before he fell on his knees to the soft grass in front of the man. He grasped Arthur's hands and kissed them. "Forgive me, friend. Though centuries have passed, I am still as distraught at my unacceptable behavior as I was then. I cannot tell you how sorry I am to have betrayed you in such an unforgivable fashion. It was--"

"Stop." Arthur's command brought immediate silence from the grovelling knight and all those around him. His hands were wet and it took him a moment to realize that Lancelot was crying. "Rise."

Lancelot stood and dropped Arthur's hands, standing before the king with glistening eyes and a heavy heart. Arthur examined him, the man who was his best friend and confidant before the beautiful blond woman who was his queen ripped their friendship asunder. Arthur shook his head before he reached out. Lancelot flinched as Arthur's hands came toward him until Arthur wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"Come here, my friend. Let us let bygones be bygones and forget the wrongs of the past. We were once the closest of allies. Let us remember those days and move on from there. Anything that happened in between is long forgotten and shall never be mentioned again."

Lancelot grinned and returned the bear hug, clenching his teeth to keep the tears of joy from overflowing. "You are a great king, and an even better man. I thank you for being such a good friend and I am happy to get the chance to serve you once again." His dark eyes took on a thoughtful look. "Speaking of serving again, to what do we owe the pleasure of having risen from the grave to see our friends again? This is a strange place and these women are beyond comprehensible beauty. There is something different about them, something not quite human."

Arthur turned to his knights and addressed them all. The words came forth without his bidding, revealing secrets he did not realize he had known. "Welcome back from the dead, my friends... my brothers. Together we have fought many battles, some of blood and death, some of a more personal nature. But we have all been brought here once more to wage a bigger battle, one that will test us more than ever before. We will need to work as one, we will need to trust each other, and we will need to rely on each other. We cannot allow past grievances to get in the way of what must be done. What happened in the past is gone, finished, never to return. We are new men and we are given a new chance at life. Let us make the most of this opportunity and handle the task at hand with dignity, honor, and loyalty."

Several of the men nodded, while others sounded out with resounding "here here"s.

Galahad raised his hand. "If I may be so bold, what is this task that is going to test the strength of more than a dozen of the greatest knights to ever live?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer and shut it immediately. He had no clue. All he knew, deep in his gut, was that some of the men around him would not see the end. And they would not rise again.

### *~*~*

### THREE

### *~*~*

"That is a question for me, my darling boy." Titania appeared beside Arthur. He eyed the woman, realizing just then that neither she, nor any faeries, had been present while the knights were greeting each other.

"And you are?" Kay's eyes were narrowed and his arms crossed. His pale lips were set in a scowl that demanded an answer or challenge.

Titania met his gruff demeanor with grace, her opened arms wide in a welcoming gesture. "I am Titania, Queen of the Southern Faeries. I welcome you to the land of Faery, home of the elven kind, your residence for the last two millenia. I hope you found your stay comfortable and to your liking."

Her smile did not fade but her eyes held a powerful threat that Kay did not miss. His scowl deepened, but he kept his lips pressed tight. Titania turned her attention to the rest of the group. "As Arthur mentioned, you have been brought here for a purpose. Faery is under attack from a vile opponent, someone who knows our most inner workings and has been privy some of the most private meetings and sensitive information. Someone who we trusted to be on our side no matter the situation. They turned on us, betrayed us. The audacity they have shown in their attacks, the faeries they have killed..."

Her voice had grown hard and a snarl pulled at one corner of her upper lip. Her blue eyes were dark, a storm raging within them. Her hands clenched at her sides and Arthur quirked an eyebrow when he saw blood dripping onto the ground from her closed fists. The skies turned gray as clouds rolled in and thunder echoed overhead. An invisible gust of wind swirled around the Southern Queen, her anger taking palpable shape.

With visible effort, Titania closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as a red-haired woman approached her. The woman was just as beautiful with her fair skin and emerald eyes, but her beauty held a softness that Titania did not possess. Her manner was tender and loving as she soothed the flustered queen. Her voice was lilting with a hint of Irish and when she spoke a wave of calmness washed over the knights. "There now, Titania. Save your hatred and anger. You will need it later. Do not waste it on idle angst."

Titania took several deep breaths and nodded. The storm raging in her eyes and in the skies above cleared, revealing the bright blue once more. She gently squeezed the other woman's shoulder before looking toward the knights. "You must win this war or all is lost," Titania said, her voice low and pleading. She was silent a moment, then she walked several paces away and stood with her back to the group, looking out at the forest surrounding them.

The red-haired woman's smile reached out to caress the hearts of the men and set their bodies glowing with warmth and love. She clasped the delicate fabric of her sheer dress with long, thin fingers. It was the color of a sunset and the patterns shifted as she moved. It tinkled as if embedded with miniature crystals. Her perfectly shaped nails were bright orange, miniature tangerines on the tips of her fingers. She curtsied elegantly before Arthur as she raised her eyes coyly toward him.

"Arthur, king of Camelot, leader of a thousand knights, legend centuries beyond his time. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you face to face." Arthur's heart thumped heavily in his chest and his breath came hard and fast. His mind refused to form a coherent sentence, so he simply returned her compliments with a nod. The lady rose and surveyed the other dozen men surrounding their king. "Knights of the greatest caliber sit before me today, pulled from their own world and thrust into another time, ready to take on whatever may come with a bravery no longer seen in these lands." She raised her arms as if to embrace them all with her love and compassion. "I am Oonagh, Queen of the East."

"You should be called the Queen of Melodrama." Another lady joined them, as powerful and dangerous as Titania, though her skin was pale white, her eyes and hair raven black, and her lips blood red.

Oonagh's smile did not fade. Instead she turned to the new arrival and embraced her as she had Titania. "Mab, my darling. So wonderful of you to see you. We had feared the worst when you were late to raise the knights."

Mab waved a dismissive hand at the other queen. The motion revealed a rip in the arm of her black riding jacket and a drop of icy blue blood fell to the earth. When it hit the grass, the blades it touched froze instantly, turning frosty white and snapping off in the wind. "It was nothing. A few of Lea's minions had the audacity to try to waylay me on my path." Her vicious smile revealed teeth as white as freshly fallen snow. "They make wonderful decorations on the way to my castle now."

Oonagh's smile wavered slightly. "Lovely." The distaste bled through her voice, but it only made Mab's wicked grin grow wider. Oonagh clapped a hand over her chest. "Oh my, how rude we are. My darling knights, please give me the honor of introducing to you Queen Mab, ruler of the North, commander of ice and snow."

Mab nodded once toward the men, all of whom stared at the ice queen with a wide-eyed respect. "Welcome to Faery," she said by way of greeting. "I would say enjoy your stay, but I doubt many of you will." Her eyes settled on Kay. "You might."

Arthur looked sidelong at his foster brother, throwing him a questioning glance. Kay was entranced by the queen, though, and his gaze did not waver from hers until she broke the contact.

"I see Titania is still struggling with this." Mab's cold gaze shifted to the Southern Queen.

Oonagh glanced toward the golden queen, standing on the hill where Lancelot's coffin had been barely an hour before. "Yes, she is finding it hard to cope, having lost those dear to her. I fear if we do not end this quickly, it may be a fight to keep the South from falling into the hands of the enemy." Pulling her stare away from Titania, she addressed Mab directly. "Isobel is at the castle, making it ready for the knights."

"Good," Mab said as she leaned over to readjust a riding boot. "I will head over there and finish the preparations. How long do you think they will be here?"

Oonagh cocked her head, her copper locks cascading over her shoulder in large curling waves. "Oh, not long. I will brief them before we prepare them for the ride. Then we will meet you there."

"Very well." Mab's cool gaze slid over the knights as if appraising each and every one of them individually. Satisfied, she nodded once and whistled. A steed the color of the blackest night appeared, stomping and snorting as he pawed at the ground. His eyes were flames and the air in front of him grew white with frost when he blew out a breath. He had no saddle or reins, but Mab swung herself up onto his back with the greatest of ease and sat tall upon his shoulders. She looked down over the knights. "Do not fail us."

With those final words, she gripped the horse's pearl white mane and yanked him around. He reared and screamed before sprinting away so fast his large hooves barely touched the ground beneath him.

Oonagh's lips were pressed together as she watched the Queen of the North disappear into the trees. When the last white hair was no longer visible, she turned to the knights with a wry smile on her face. "And she calls me the queen of drama."

The knights grinned at her, unable to resist the draw of her charm. She settled onto the ground in front of them with her legs in a lotus shape and clasped her hands in her lap. Those in the back row of chairs rearranged themselves so they could see her as other faeries brought in plates of food for the starving men. They left and her smiled dropped. As it faded, clouds rolled in to cover the sun's beaming light.

"Now I am going to share with you the story of Leanansidhe, the most wicked faery to walk the land."

*~*~*

"Lea!" The young princess's golden curls bounced as she ran through the woods, ducking around trees and skirting bushes. "Lealea, where are you?"

"Over here," came the soft, mournful cry.

Titania climbed over a fallen log near the river as she veered toward her friend's voice. Leanansidhe was covered in mud, her pretty blue dress ripped at the bottom. She sat on the riverbank, cradling a water nymph in her arms.

"Oh, Tani," she sobbed as Titania approached. "She's in so much pain. Look, Tani."

She lifted the faery up, holding her out for the princess's inspection. The nymph was missing an arm, ripped off by one of the creatures that prowled the water.

Titania knelt beside her friend. "We should take her to mother."

Leanansidhe shook her head, her long dark hair flying about. "No, let's take her to my father. He can fix her."

Together they walked back through the woods, picking their way carefully to Leanansidhe's home where her father, the queen's chief medical adviser, could tend to the wounded creature.

*~*~*

7 years later

*~*~*

"What do you need those for?" Titania leaned over the desk. Leanansidhe was on the other side, stuffing some of the dissecting tools they had just finished using into her pocket.

"Oh, nothing. I thought my father might be able to use them."

Titania narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Leanansidhe was her best friend, but she was worried. Lea had shown an unusual interest in their anatomy classes, going into the dissections with a gusto Titania could never hope to muster. The thought of slicing open those dead animals had made her stomach queasy, especially as she watched the thrill and excitement on Lea's face during the operations.

"I bet he has plenty already," she said, hoping her friend wasn't keen on continuing her studies at home.

Lea shot her a glare and finished tucking the tools away before she picked up her bag and walked out the door, effectively ending the conversation.

*~*~*

5 years later

*~*~*

"Quick, over there." Leanansidhe pointed toward the north with her blade as she spurred her horse on through the woods.

Titania smacked her own steed with the bow she held in her hand. "Do not lose him," she cried as she raced to keep up with her friend and fellow guard. They had both been assigned to the palace guard upon completing their studies, despite Leanansidhe's desire to join her father in his work. Titania was thankful, not only to have a friend at her side, but that Leanansidhe was kept away from the laboratory.

"I see him." Lea's mount leapt over a log just as Titania spotted the flowing white hair darting through the woods. They were on the hunt for a snow sprite, a trespasser in their lands, suspected spy of Mab, Queen of the North.

Titania raised her bow without slowing the horse down. As the sprite broke from the trees into a small clearing, she took careful aim and let the arrow fly.

"No!" Lea flung her hand out toward Titania as the arrow sailed toward the sprite. It sank into his shoulder and sent him tumbling to the ground. Titania pulled her horse up short, baffled at the vicious glare Lea sent her way. "Why would you do that," Lea continued as she jumped off her horse. She stalked over to the faery and kicked him with her boot. He rolled onto his side, groaning in pain as he clutched the arrow embedded in his shoulder.

"Mother told us to kill him, Lea. He is a spy." Titania stayed on her horse, confused and hurt by her friend's reaction.

"Stupid," Lea muttered as she bound the sprite's hands and feet. "My father needs him." Her words were so low that Titania wasn't sure if Lea had meant her to hear, so she said nothing. "I will take care of him. You go on home and get cleaned up," Lea said louder. Leanansidhe's smile was cold and her words were a dismissal if Titania had ever heard one. The princess hesitated as she looked at Lea standing over the groaning sprite.

"Go," said Lea, her voice growing harsh. "I have this, Tani. Go home."

Titania nodded weakly. "Okay." With tears stinging her eyes, she spun her horse around and headed for the castle.

"Did you find the sprite," the queen asked later that evening as Titania poked at the food in front of her.

The girl looked up, meeting her mother's eyes. The woman's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

Titania opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. If she told her mother, Lea could get into trouble. But if she didn't, something much worse could happen. Her guilt and fear won out.

"Deronsidhe, you are hereby declared guilty of committing heinous acts against the people of Faery and conducting experiments that are banned by the laws of the land," the queen declared the next day after a hasty trial.

Titania sat off to the side, tears streaming down her face as she watched her best friend's family's secrets exposed. Lea had refused to look at her, the hatred and pain rolling off her in tidal waves of emotion.

"You are sentenced to death, along with your family and anyone who is found to have conspired with you."

"No!" The word left Titania's lips before she could stop it. Her mother shot her a glare and she fell silent, her heart thudding heavily inside her chest.

Later that night, she crept through the castle to the dungeons, using the pathways that only children who grew up there knew. Leanansidhe's cell was at the very end, away from the bulk of the guards.

"Lea," she whispered to the lump in the corner. The girl stirred and looked in Titania's direction. The fire in her eyes pierced new holes into Titania's heart, but she wasn't willing to give up. "Hurry, Lea. We do not have much time."

Leanansidhe's hesitation was short lived. She jumped up and sidled to the door just as Titania popped the lock open. Titania grabbed her friend's hand and pulled her toward the secret tunnel she had used.

"My father," Lea said, pulling back, trying to move toward the guards.

"No, Lealea, we cannot. We will get caught. Come on, hurry." Titania yanked harder, pulling her friend toward the door.

Lea looked back, watching the guards move about in front of her parents' cell. After several tense seconds, she followed Titania into the woods.

At the edge of the castle grounds, Titania stopped and held out a pack to Leanansidhe. "It is not much," she said, not daring to look her friend in the eyes. "But it should help you get out of here."

Leanansidhe took the pack, her glare locked on Titania. The princess squirmed. "I am sorry, Lealea, I really am. I did not know..." She trailed off, unable to find the words to sooth the pain she had caused.

"No," Lea said, straightening and throwing the pack over her shoulder. "You are not sorry. But you will be." As she walked into the darkness, Titania's heart broke into a million pieces.

### *~*~*

### FOUR

### *~*~*

The path through the woods was full of odd twists and turns. Arthur sat upon the big white steed he had been given, his eyes and ears wide open as the creature plodded along behind Queen Oonagh, certain they had doubled back on their own trail more than once. The queen's own mare was a chestnut pinto, half the size of his, but more sleek and agile. The smooth lines on the fine beast matched those of her master, even down to the coloring of her hair. The other knights had been given mounts of every color, each of the horses matching the particular knight's preference for strength or speed. The king was amazed at how much the queens seemed to know about him and his men. It both impressed and scared him at the same time.

"How much further is the castle?" he called up to the woman in front of him. The strange woods on either side of them seemed to crawl with life and it made him uneasy. He was quite sure one of the branches had tried to grab his arm as he passed.

The queen spun halfway around in her seat, fixing him with her gaze. She held an easy smile on her lips. "Not much further, my dear king." A mischievous twinkle lighted in her eyes. "Have no fear, my brave knight. I will get you there safe and sound. No harm shall come to you just yet. That much I can promise."

As she turned around again to face forward, Arthur's brow knit in worry and concentration. He had had a promise from one of the faery queens before and it did not work out in his favor. He glanced to the knight riding beside him. Though he and Lancelot had reconciled, the wound caused by the affair his best friend had had with his wife would always leave an indelible scar. It was something Arthur knew he would never be able to forget.

Lancelot caught the king looking his way. "My lord?" His dark hair shimmered in the pale rays of sunlight that snaked through the trees.

Arthur forced a smile to his face. "I was just thinking of the long rides we used to take through the forests of Camelot." He paused a moment as his quick lie became truth and his smile became genuine. "Do you remember that hunt where we encountered the white stag for the first time? The one where Sir Riley fell off his horse leaping over that fallen tree?"

Lancelot's face broke into a grin. "He was covered head to toe in muck and mire. His mother was in fits when we returned, berating him for his carelessness and putting himself in danger. From a fall off a horse! As if he did not see worse in battle."

Arthur beamed at his friend and his heart lightened just a bit. It felt good to be reminiscing about times long past, times before the total agony of being in love betrayed them both.

"Would you look at that..." Bor's mumbled comment turned Arthur's attention forward. As they crested a small hill, the woods broke around them, giving way to a rolling field that sloped downward toward a small castle. A tall stone wall surrounded the fortification, guarded by two large stone gargoyles that perched on either side of the gate. Inside the walls, they could see a tiny village and a large garden full of greenery nestled beside a small forest.

They followed Oonagh down the dirt path that wound its way leisurely down the hillside. As they approached the wall, the gargoyles sprang to life, jumping from their perches to land heavily on the ground as the spears they each held clashed together firmly in front of the gate.

Oonagh stopped in front of the creatures, fixing her eyes on them. They did not move, not even a quiver of a muscle was present.

"Open." The queen's voice was firm and commanding. The gargoyles slid their spears aside, returning to their normal state. "Each of you may command the gates to open or close as you see fit. Only you knights, the Four Queens, and our direct offspring have the ability to do so." She paused. "Well, except Kane. He has been disowned."

With a smile that seemed much too happy, she continued. "Should anyone else try to open these doors, they will be slaughtered. If you wish to allow someone to enter, they must do so at the side of the King and the King only." She turned a sympathetic smile on the knights. "Not that we do not trust the judgment of the rest of you, but you must understand that Faery is a very dangerous place and there are many dangerous beings roaming these lands who would thrill at the chance to seduce a knight of a Queen. This castle is your only sanctuary, so it must remain safe from outsiders."

The queen led the knights through the gates and into a small courtyard. As she dismounted, fourteen ephemeral beings drifted from a wooden building that Arthur could only assume was the stable. They mechanically took the reins of the horses and, once the knights were all dismounted, led them off in the direction of the building they came from.

Arthur turned to Oonagh. "I thought you said no one could enter except at my side." His mistrust of the queens was already starting to grow.

Oonagh gave him her lazy smile. "I do not lie, my darling knight. They neither come nor go. Like all the servants of this place, they are bound to the castle for eternity, doomed to serve it and its ever-changing inhabitants until Faery ceases to exist, which, if all goes well, will not be anytime soon."

As the knights looked around, taking in their new surroundings, they could see more of the ephemeral beings floating around the grounds. Some carried water pails, others carried food. Still others hurried to and fro doing who knew what task. None stopped to greet the knights. None of the creatures even looked in their direction or seemed to notice their existence at all.

"Do not expect much in the way of socialization from them. After centuries of servitude, most of them have lost the taste for idle gossip."

Galahad stepped up beside Arthur, running a hand through his curly black hair. "Who are they?" he asked, staring at a young pale maiden whose flowing white hair trailed behind her as she lugged a heavy bucket up the long set of stone steps.

Oonagh waved a hand in casual dismissal. "Oh, they come from various walks of life. Most were humans who made the wrong deal with the faery who owned the castle at the time. Some were faeries themselves who made a bargain they were not able to keep, like him."

She pointed to a tall man near the stairs. He had a sword in a sheath at his hip and his tunic carried an emblem of a style that Arthur did not recognize. The man's black hair was trimmed short, exposing pointed ears. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The other he held behind him in half a military stance. His dull gray eyes stared straight forward, unseeing, or so Arthur thought.

"That man," Oonagh continued, "was the son of one of the lesser kings. He made a pact with the ruler of this castle, oh, maybe six hundred centuries ago?" She nodded her head toward the stairs and started walking. Arthur and the knights followed as she spoke again. "He swore to bring the man the wife of another noble, but he failed in his duty, falling for her himself. In exchange for his failure, he was bound to serve the castle for eternity, forever its guardian." The queen patted the prince on the shoulder as they walked by. He didn't move. As far as Arthur could tell, he didn't even breathe. "Her punishment was far worse."

Oonagh paused at the top of the stairs and turned back toward the bound knight. "Should any of your lives be threatened while inside these walls, every single one of these servants will spring to your defense, including him. I assume you will want to spar, but I suggest you keep that to the area set aside for just that purpose. Any physical combat between two of you outside of the training area may set them off, and we cannot be held responsible for how the guardians of the castle will react in such circumstances."

The knights glanced around at the multitude of ghostly servants floating about their business. A new tension settled over them as Oonagh turned and walked toward the heavy wooden door that stood at the top of the stairs. With the wave of a hand, the heavy construct swung inward, its hinges creaking loudly. Torches lined the open foyer that greeted them, the flames flickering in the light breeze that the door generated. A thick, plush red carpet ran the length of the hall, showing light signs of footsteps long since gone. Suits of armor were interspersed between the torches at regular intervals, each hollow knight wielding a spear with a ridged blade at the end. Tristan walked up to one of the suits, leaning forward to get a closer look as his curiosity got the better of him.

"Stay away from the knights," the queen commanded as she walked toward a door further along the wall. "They get a bit irritable when someone smudges their shiny armor."

Even as she spoke, the spear moved toward Tristan, threatening to skewer him. He leapt backward, the deadly barbs just missing his throat. He glared at the hollow knight, then at his friends as they all broke into fits of boisterous laughter.

The queen clapped her hands firmly. The sound echoed along the hall, growing to a deafening boom instead of fading away. The hollow knight jumped back into his former position, still once more, and the live knights stood to attention, their wide eyes locked on the queen. "We do not have time for games," she stated, her voice soft and cheerful and a smile on her face. But annoyance tinged each word and her eyes were green emeralds that threatened reprisal should she not be heeded. "Come, this way."

When she turned to walk through a door on the right, the knights exchanged wary looks, the danger of their situation finally starting to become clear to them. Arthur and his men followed Oonagh through the door into another chamber. A large round table stood in the middle, surrounded by thirteen chairs. Its wooden surface was carved with intricate battle scenes that played out in circular order. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows as he stepped up to the table.

"Is this..." He ran his hands over the smooth wood, a tingling sensation shooting through his body. He raised his eyes to the queen. She stood before him, a smile on her face. She nodded once and he turned his attention back to the table. It was as familiar to him as his own hand. More than a decade had been spent around it, all the knights conferring as equals, plotting wars, plotting revenge, shedding tears, sharing memories. He traced a finger over one of the battle scenes. They were new, fresh. Leaning in closer, he recognized the knights carved into the wood. Walking along the outer edge, he found the seat he used to call his. Sure enough, there before him was his greatest battle, the one that had claimed his life and left his kingdom to fall into disorder and despair. Beside him to either side, Kay and Lancelot were mimicking his gestures, their eyes and hands reliving their last battles.

"Do you like them?" The voice was not Oonagh's. Arthur tore his gaze from the table and met the onyx black eyes of Queen Mab. Her blood red lips curled into a shallow smile. "It was my idea. A reminder of a past that is long gone but should not be forgotten." She walked slowly around the table, letting her own fingers trace across the wood. As she reached each knight, she met his eyes. They all stepped back, giving her room to pass, entranced by her sensuous stroll. She stopped when she reached Arthur. Her fingers left the table and trailed up to his cheek. Her eyes were on the king, but her words were for all of them. "Do not forget the moments of your downfall. Learn the lessons you could not in your former life. Do not make the same mistakes again."

She turned from the king and faced the rest of the group. Her voice was cold and strict when she spoke. "Use the failures and successes of your past to grow and become the knights you could never be in times before. Learn from each other, rely on each other. Do not let petty squabbles from a previous time interfere with your mission in this one. Make no mistake, you have been brought here for a purpose. If you deviate from that purpose, I have no qualms about removing you from my land."

"Mab, do not be so harsh." Oonagh slid up to the other side of the king and rested her hand gently on his arm. A warm smile spread across her face as she let her gaze wash over the table, meeting each of the knights' in return. "While the Queen of the North is correct in that you have been brought here for a purpose, and that you reside in her land..." She paused a moment to shoot a glare Mab's way. "You have been raised by all four of the queens. We would not have agreed to do so if we did not feel you were up to the task. I have no doubt that you will succeed in your mission and exceed our highest expectations." Her smile beamed and a wave of heat flooded out, soothing each of the knights as it hit them.

Mab's glare was locked on the Queen of the East. The two stared at each other for a very long time. The warmth of Oonagh's aura faded and the knights grew uncomfortable with the long, tension-filled silence. They began shifting noisily, looking to each other and to Arthur for direction. He stood between the powerful women, his breathing shallow and his heart pounding. The anger in each of them pulsed like a heartbeat, pressing against him with each beat. He was trapped between two mountains, both ready to collapse into the other, crushing him like a pebble under their weight.

"What is the meaning of this? Have I been waiting all this time so you two can have a childish squabble?"

The crackle of the breaking tension was nearly audible and the knights inhaled loudly, gasping for breath as if for the first time. The two queens plastered false smiles on their faces and turned to the newcomer. She stood in the doorway to the chamber, and her arms crossed over her chest. She wore a leather cuirass that fit her body like a glove. It was cut in a low square to expose the top flesh of her bosom. The sleeves were short, barely covering her shoulders. She had straps of leather around the upper arms of each arm. All of the material was rich and dark and moved as easily as she did. Her pants were made of the most tender of doeskin, soft and supple. Her boots were knee-length leather that laced all the way up with flat soles.

Her skin was olive-colored and her chocolate hair was pulled back into a strict bun. Her beauty was simple and elegant, but unlike the other women Arthur had seen, she had the strength and poise of a born warrior. She carried herself confidently, sure of herself and her abilities. At her side hung a short dagger in an ivory sheath. The handle of the dagger was silver inlaid with the finest gems. Affixed at the top was a ruby of the clearest red. It shimmered when she moved.

"Isobel, allow me to introduce King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, our saviors." When Mab spoke, her voice was hard with an edge of bitterness.

Arthur wondered briefly if she truly trusted them to do the job they had been tasked with or if she was secretly in league with their sworn enemy.

Isobel stepped away from the door, striding around the table. She walked with purpose and carried herself like a veteran who had seen many battles. She stopped in front of Arthur and bowed her head briefly. "King Arthur, it is a great pleasure to finally meet you. Though I have never personally had interaction with you in the past, I have heard great tales of your bravery, and that of your knights. I look forward to seeing you in action." She turned her attention to Oonagh and Mab. "Are you finished with them?"

Oonagh's fake smile grew. "Of course, darling. They are all yours."

"Very well. This way, gentlemen." Isobel walked swiftly around the table, straight out the door. The knights scampered to follow, tripping over their chairs and each other in their hurry to leave the room and the dark presence of the other queens.

"Arthur." Oonagh's soft call paused the king in his tracks. He turned to face the two women who still stood near his chair.

He bowed slightly. "Yes, my queen?"

Her smile flickered into something more genuine. "Be careful who you trust here, Arthur. Faery is not as simple as the world you came from. Neither is the human world." Her gaze shot to Mab, who was studying her carefully.

The pale woman nodded. "On that, I agree. Trust only your knights. They are the ones who will remain true to you when all else fails."

Arthur's brow furrowed. Many questions struggled to find their way to his tongue, but he held them back. Trapped between the four most powerful women in any world, he was terrified to speak the wrong words for fear of angering them. Even winning the praise of one in the most innocent way could earn him the ire of another. Vowing to himself that he would trust none but those who sat at the table with him, he bowed before the queens and followed his knights out into the hall.

### *~*~*

### FIVE

### *~*~*

Isobel led them down the hall away from the front door. When they reached the solid wall at the end, she turned right and headed down a tight spiraled stairwell of stone that descended two stories. The bottom opened into a small landing with two wooden doors. She pointed to the one on the left.

"That one leads to the dungeon. If you value your sanity, I suggest you do not venture down there. Ever." While her tone was not commanding, the statement sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. He looked at the door to the dungeon. It was just a door with nothing special about it, but he could sense the wickedness hiding behind it. When he tore his gaze away, his eyes met Kay's. Kay wiggled his eyebrows. Despite himself, Arthur smiled. His foster brother never was one for following rules or even casual suggestions. If anyone ended up in that dungeon, it would definitely be the dark knight.

Isobel swung the other door open, letting in a thick shaft of sunlight. The knights stepped out into a courtyard surrounded by stone on all four sides. Thick grass covered the area, a clear sign of its decades of disuse. Isobel strode into the center and spun on her heel toward them.

"This is the training yard. This is the only place you will find it safe to spar." She pointed to the wall opposite the castle. Several of the ephemeral beings floated on top of it, their attention turned outward as they guarded the castle. "No matter what happens in here, they will not come off that wall and no other servants are allowed in this area. These four walls form a sound barrier that cannot reach the outside world. You are safe to discuss anything here without fear of being overheard. This," she spun in a circle with her arms out. "This is your space and yours alone. This is the last time I or any other faery will come in here."

She walked over to a small stone shed along one wall and swung open the double wooden doors. The inside was lined with suits of armor, mail, shields, and weapons of all shapes and sizes. She plucked a bow off the wall and slipped an arrow out of the quiver sitting on the floor beneath it. She nocked the arrow swiftly as she spun and, just as swiftly, it flew, whistling across the length of the training yard to sink with an echoing thunk into one of the several round targets at the opposite end. Nodding with satisfaction, she hung the bow back on the wall.

"You will have no squires to do your bidding this time. You must be self sufficient when it comes to battle. You must carry your own weapons, your own equipment. When the time comes for you to leave and head off to fight, you will be assigned a contingent of servants to care for your material needs. Food, water, wounds, all will be taken care of. But your weapons are your own responsibility. Only you know what will work for you. We are not your trainers. You must choose that equipment which will suit you best and care for it as if it were you own child. When you loose an arrow, no one but yourself will be there to retrieve it. No one will polish your sword or restring your bow. You have only each other."

She turned to go. After walking a few steps, she paused. "Dinner will be provided at nightfall. The dining hall is across the way from the council chamber. Once you have finished eating, proceed to the council chamber. The Four Queens will be there and we will discuss a plan of action from this day forth."

Without another word, she walked back into the castle, the door shutting firmly behind her.

The air hung heavy with a strained silence as all of the knights turned toward their king. It was the first time they had been alone without one of the faery queens watching over them. Arthur stared at the door Isobel had walked through, his mind so full of confusion that it was impossible to focus on just one thought. He let his instincts take over.

"Alright, men. We have been out of practice for far too long. We will have a light training session today, to refamiliarize ourselves with the weapons at hand." He went to the stone shed and picked up a leather training vest. As he fitted it over his clothes, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease. The weight of the sword he pulled from the rack brought a smile to his lips. After picking up a battered shield, he stepped back out into the courtyard, giving his men space to gather their own equipment.

He gave the sword a practice swing, feeling the vibrations in the palm of his hand as it sang through the air. His mind settled, focusing on the task at hand. He stepped forward, thrusting the sword out into open air, then he raised it, blocking a pretend attack. He repeated the process as he stepped across the courtyard. Thrust, dodge, parry, spin, block, parry, thrust. The motions came back to him quickly, going from the jerky movements of a new soldier to the practiced motions of a seasoned veteran by the time he reached the opposite wall. He spun around, bringing the blade down in one final, definitive blow. He grinned as he watched his imaginary opponent fall to the ground, then he looked to his men.

They were all following similar routines to his, spreading out so they had plenty of room to familiarize themselves with the weapons they had chosen. Most off them carried swords of varying lengths, some wielding shields, others two-handed blades. Tristan held the bow Isobel had used, aiming the empty weapon at various targets, learning to judge distance and airspeed once again.

Bors held a short-handled weapon with a spiked ball at the end. It had a chain attached to the end of the handle and he swung it in around, testing its weight. The metal ball was about the size of a grapefruit and hummed loudly as it arced through the air. Bors ducked and turned, movements long forgotten coming back to him. The ball whistled through the air as it picked up speed, spinning around and around, flying high and sinking low. Arthur watched the man, mesmerized by his fluid movements until the ball whizzed perilously close to Bors's leg, slicing the pants he wore. Bors shouted and jumped, letting the spiked ball thud heavily to the ground.

For a moment, the knights all focused on him, staring in disbelief. The reality of their situation hung over them. Soon they would be put in perils far worse than anything they could prepare for, facing yet another life of battle and hardship. Then Gallahad started to giggle, quietly at first, and soon the courtyard was ringing with boisterous laughter. The men paired off and began practicing in earnest.

Lancelot walked up to Arthur, an easy smile on his face for his eternal best friend. He had a sword in his hand and was eyeing it suspiciously. "These cannot be of the same make we are used to," he said.

"What do you mean?" Arthur leaned over, examining the sword. "It looks fine to me."

"Yes, but are faeries not allergic to iron? We used an iron compound in most of our swords, did we not?"

Arthur frowned for a moment, then shrugged. Lancelot grinned and raised his sword, issuing a silent challenge. A smirk grew across Arthur's face. He and Lancelot had dueled more times than he cared to remember, and they had swapped victories just as often. They were an evenly matched pair, knowing each other's weaknesses in and out. They could capitalize on even the smallest drop of a guard, but they were equally as vulnerable to the other's swings.

Arthur raised his sword. "For all your bread, then?"

Lancelot's hearty laugh warmed Arthur's heart. In the eternal silence, no thought had come, but he knew then how much he had missed his dear friend. "If they serve us bread," Lancelot said. "With these faeries, I am a little worried what we will find on our plates when we walk into the dining hall tonight. It may be a human head, for all I can guess." He swung his sword lightly, forcing Arthur to bring his own blade to bear.

"I am not too concerned," Arthur said as his dull sword answered Lancelot's with a ringing clang. "They would not have called us from our eternal slumber if they did not need our help. They are not the best of friends." He parried another of Lancelot's lazy attacks and swung the blade up from underneath. "I get the impression the queens are fighting other battles, as well. There are some strange power struggles between them, despite their apparent equality."

Lancelot jumped back, barely avoiding the tip of Arthur's blade. "Yes," he said, swinging around to stab at his opponent from the side. "That Mab is a feisty one. She seems to be on the outs with the other three, but I cannot tell if it is because of a real argument or just her way."

Arthur's blade slid against Lancelot's, knocking it aside as he stepped back. He swung the sword around as he lunged, bringing it down toward Lancelot's shoulder. "She seems very abrasive, determined to get her own way."

"Much like your brother." Lancelot laughed as he blocked Arthur's blow and pushed him away, scrambling back a couple feet.

Arthur's gaze shot briefly to Kay, who was on the far side of the courtyard, engaged in a three-way battle with Percival and Balan. His only warning of the incoming blow was the whistling in his ear. He ducked quickly and the blade skimmed over his head, his hair blowing in the breeze it created.

Arthur clicked his tongue at Lancelot as he took a step back. "I forgot how ruthless you are, my friend. I should know better than to let down my guard."

Lancelot grinned at him and ducked away from Arthur's answering blow. "Ah, I did not even give you a shave. Nothing to worry about."

The two parried a bit longer in silence, their blades clashing and clanging together in easy, practiced blows. Neither put much strength behind their swings. They were simply playing at battle to get the feel back in their long disused muscles.

Lancelot called an end to the battle shortly, puffing loudly as he held up his hand. "I am done for now. My breath comes too quickly too soon. I hope the queens do not expect us to go into real battle just yet, as out of shape as we are."

Arthur could not agree more. "Yes, I feel the same. We are not ready for any battles. It will take us time to get accustomed to the rhythm once more and retrain ourselves. When we meet with them tonight, we will discuss it."

Lancelot nodded and headed to the shed to wipe down his leather cuirass and sword. Arthur remained in the courtyard, watching the various battles that were taking place. Kay bested Percival using an undercutting blow, but his guard was down against Balan and the young knight slid his own blade in to poke Kay in the side. Gareth stood watching the three-way battle and challenged the victor to a duel. Balan's twin, Balin, saw defeat at the hands of Bors, earning himself a bruised side and a small cut on the arm. Gallahad and Erec were victorious in double battle against Yvain and Gawain, the former grinning all the while as the thrill of battle came upon him for the first time in centuries.

Tristan, the quintessential loner, went to work rigging moving targets using some of the practice dummies and rope he found in the shed. By the time Arthur called an end to the practice session, he had three of the targets rigged to swing back and forth without any interference from the knights. Arthur clapped him on the back.

"Good work, Tristan. Ever the inventor."

Tristan smiled quietly and swung his arm around Arthur's shoulder. Together they walked back into the castle.

### *~*~*

### SIX

### *~*~*

When the knights re-entered the main hall, they found the blond Queen of the South waiting for them. She had changed out of her flowing yellow dress into a pair of jeans, knee-high leather boots, and a simple long-sleeved shirt. She had her golden hair pulled back into a loose pony tail. The knights eyed her suspiciously.

"You will get used to the dress of this time period," she said, answering the aghast stares at her jeans and boots. "Women are no longer the more tender gender, as your lot used to say back in the day. They are powerful warriors in their own right." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Many even have the right to vote for their own leaders."

Jaws dropped all around and Titania's grin grew. She winked at them and turned toward the large staircase at the end of the hall. "Come. You will likely want to get cleaned up before you eat."

The knights stomped up the stairs, sounding like a herd of cattle on a barren field. When they reached the first landing, she paused. "There are three open doors on either side. Two knights per room. We did not pair you up, assuming you would prefer to match yourselves. There are two servants waiting in each room. Once you enter, tell them who you are and they will fetch your belongings."

She turned her attention to Arthur. "As king, you of course get the most lavish of rooms. It is up these stairs, through the double doors at the top." She pointed to the stair case they had just ascended. "Should any of you need anything, just tell your servants. They are at your beck and call. Most have been here long enough that they are beyond the boundaries of time and do not need sleep. Should you need anything that the servants cannot provide..." Her smile was cold. "Well, then you probably do not really need it at all. She bowed her head toward Arthur, then toward the other knights. "I will see you all after dinner."

With that, Titania walked swiftly past the knights and descended the stair case, leaving them to their own devices.

The knights turned to Arthur. He glanced at his own bedroom, secretly wishing he could simply stay with the knights, then waved a hand. "You know yourselves who you get along with best. I do not presume to force friendships on you." He smiled warmly and turned to walk up the stairs.

"Arthur." Lancelot stood behind him, the other knights hesitating as they began to pair themselves up.

"Yes, my good friend? What can I do for you?"

Lancelot's hand went to the empty space where his sword would be. He frowned briefly when he realized it wasn't there. "Would you like one of us to come up with you?" He lowered his voice. "Just in case it is a trap."

For the briefest of seconds, Arthur considered the offer, then he grinned. "No, I am sure I will be just fine. The queens would not have brought us back just to kill us. Besides, I believe we are already trapped."

Bowing his head in respect, Lancelot took a step back before turning to follow his son into one of the rooms. Arthur stood on the steps, watching his knights disappear from the hall. Clenching his teeth, he steeled himself, praying that it would not be a trap after all. He ascended the steps slowly, his fingers trailing across the cool stone of the stair well.

As he reached the top, he discovered a wide landing that was the home to several velvet couches, numerous windows, and two doors. One was a set of double doors, straight ahead. The other was a smaller door off to the right. He stared at the smaller door for a moment, wondering what hidden treasure or danger lay behind it, then focused on the double doors.

They opened as he approached, swinging inward. He stepped inside, holding his head high and his shoulders square. The room was enormous, taking up most of the third story of the castle. A fireplace large enough for Arthur to stand up in without crouching was along one wall, a roaring fire already built. It was surrounded by couches and chairs, all arrayed across a thick red woven rug. On the opposite side of the space was a big table with several chairs, suitable for taking meals or playing games.

The bigger room was split in two by a wall on either side that each extended a third of the way into the room. A thick red velvet curtain covered the middle third, effectively blocking off the other room. The curtain was pulled back so Arthur could see a large canopy bed on the other side, bearing the same red color for bedding. As he walked toward it, a man stepped out from behind the curtain.

The man was older, what few hairs remained around his temples were gray and his face was wrinkled, but when he saw the king, his ghostly eyes lit up. "Ah, my liege. Welcome home." He swept into a deep bow, nearly touching the floor. "I am Rogan, your humble servant, your personal valet. It will be my greatest pleasure to serve you while you are here." He rose, a genuine smile on his face.

Arthur returned the smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Rogan. I assume the other room on this floor is yours, then?"

"Indeed so, sire."

"If I may ask, how long have you served here?"

Rogan hummed as he thought. "Centuries, my liege. Five hundred, perhaps? After the first hundred years, one tends to lose track of time."

"How is it that you appear so solid when the others are more like ghosts?"

"Oh, well, that all depends on how content we are with our position. Some of us were forced into servitude here for one reason or another. I, on the other hand, volunteered. It is my greatest joy in life to serve to the best of my ability, and I am much happier, thus more solid, as you say, when I have a charge." He offered an apologetic smile before pressing on. "Would you like to get changed for supper? I have laid out an outfit for you already, if you do not mind."

Arthur smiled inside as he remembered the many valets he had in his previous life. He had a feeling Rogan would surpass them all. "That would be wonderful, Rogan. Thank you." Arthur stepped into the bedroom as Rogan closed the curtain behind him.

*~*~*

An hour later, Arthur found himself dressed once again in the finery of a king and seated in a large chair at the end of a very long, very lavishly set table. The knights were lined up on either side of him and barely a quarter of the table was filled. Foods of all sorts were arrayed on the table, catering to every possible desire the knights could have.

Female servants dressed in flowing gowns drifted from knight to knight, refilling goblets and plates whenever one seemed in danger of going empty. Many squawked eerily as Kay's grabby fingers found their rumps. The knights ate and laughed, recounting the most memorable and exciting times of their varied pasts. Some of the younger knights sat in awe as the older knights, dead before their time, recounted tales the youths had only heard rumors of. They listened with awe on their faces to hear the tales from the mouths of those who lived them.

The older knights were just as impressed when the youngsters shared their own stories. Having died before the tales even happened, they knew nothing of the deeds and were an excellent audience for their retellings. By the time the knights were done eating, their faces were flushed with the influence of wine and good company and their bellies were so stuffed they could barely move.

The door to the dining hall swung open, revealing the red-haired queen. She swept in, wearing an elegant blue dress that clung to her form in all the right places.

"I trust you have eaten your fill?" Her voice oozed sweetness as she walked along the line of knights, tracing her fingers along the backs of their chairs. They all murmured agreement as they watched her pass. "Excellent. Now we must move to the council room to begin planning how to take back Faery from the evil clutches of the wicked Leanansidhe."

The knights smiles turned to groans as they clutched their full stomachs and moaned about having to move.

"Come on," Oonagh said, ignoring their protests. "Chop chop." She clapped her hands and looked at Arthur expectantly.

Taking one last swig of his wine, he pushed his chair away from the table and rose, stifling his own groan. Seeing their king rise, the other knights had no choice but to do the same, though few did it with the same dignity as their noble leader. As a group, they stumbled their way out of the dining hall and into the council chamber, some leaning on each other more than others.

Inside the chamber, the other three queens waited. Four large wooden chairs had been set up, one in each corner of the room. Once the knights were seated, the queens also settled in, taking a chair in the corner respective to the corner of the land they ruled. When all the knights had taken their seats, several servants came in bearing more goblets and more wine.

The queens waited until the servants had left and the door was shut securely before speaking.

Titania spoke up first. "You will not have as much time to prepare as we had hoped. We waited too long to raise you and the war has escalated quicker than we predicted. Leanansidhe has been longing to get her sharp talons into Faery for as long as she has existed, but until now, she has not had the chance. My son," she spat the word as if it were bile in her mouth. "My son, Kane, has given her the opportunity to do so. He murdered my husband, his own father, and with it, he took his father's powers. Oberon was stronger than I, but I was smarter. Together, we made a formidable team. I cannot stand alone against Kane and Leanansidhe together."

Isobel spoke up. "And neither can any of us. The last thing we want to see happen is for Leanansidhe to gain control of any of the four points of Faery. If one falls, if she gains a foothold anywhere, we all fall. That cannot happen. We must stop this coup before it becomes too much for us to handle."

"But why do you need our help? You are some of the most powerful beings to ever exist." Galahad sat on the other side of his father, twirling his empty goblet in his fingers.

Isobel's eyes shifted to Titania before answering. "In Faery, the throne of any land cannot be held by one person. There must be a king and a queen, always. That is the way is has been since the dawn of time. With Oberon gone, Titania is weak, her power if failing. There is no one yet ready to take her place and we cannot let Leanansidhe take the throne. It would be the end of us all."

The Queen of the West let her gaze wander around the room. "That is why we have brought you in. You are elite warriors, the best to ever exist. Backed by the powers of the Four Queens, you will be greater than you have ever been. When we raised you, you were granted certain characteristics. You are stronger, your bodies are not as weak. With the thirteen of you together, you should be a powerful force."

"Should be?" Kay was leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He raised an amused eyebrow at the Queen of the West. She stared coolly back at him, not rising to his bait.

"You are still a mere human, knight. Nothing can be done about that. And you all still have your flaws." She held his gaze, even as he shrank back into his chair. When she felt he was sufficiently cowed, she broke away and let her eyes sweep over the rest of the knights. "Put aside your petty squabbles and human desires. Here, you long for nothing. There is no power to be had, no titles to be won. You have only one purpose, and that is to beat Leanansidhe. Should you fail, you will die as one. See that you do not fail."

"You will meet your army at first light on the seventh day, outside the gates." Titania rose to her feet, as did the other queens. They floated toward the door as one and left in single file. The blond queen was the last to leave. Before the door shut behind her, she turned, her blue eyes engaging all of the knights at once. "My fate rests with you." She spoke so softly, the knights barely heard her. Then the door slammed shut, bringing a heavy weight down on their shoulders.

### *~*~*

### SEVEN

### *~*~*

"Time to rise, your highness." Arthur groaned in protest against Rogan's gently shaking of his shoulder. His first few nights of sleep in eight hundred years had been fitful, broken by dreams of long forgotten nightmares and soon to be discovered fears. He found himself briefly longing for the peaceful nothingness of death and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, forcing the thought from his mind. Longing for death would only bring it closer, and he had a job to do.

He rose and shuffled to the small table nearby where Rogan had a hearty breakfast waiting. As he plucked a piece of toast from the plate, his servant set a box down beside it. The box was small and covered in a plush fabric the color of drying blood. Arthur raised his eyes at the man.

"From the Four Queens, your majesty." He bowed briefly and stepped away to finish shining a set of armor that sat in the corner.

Arthur tore a chunk off the piece of toast and discarded the rest. As he chewed, he picked up the box, eyeing it thoughtfully. A present from a faery queen was not one to be taken lightly. More often than not, there were unspoken stipulations attached to the gift, a debt to be called in at a moment's notice, an expectation of loyalty. Gingerly, he opened the box, peering inside.

A small broach lay on fabric that matched the outside of the box. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The silver was twisted and warped into delicate filigree imitating vines that tangled into a surprisingly intricate design around the outside. In the middle of the glittering hedge sat a flower with only four petals. Yellow, green, blue, and red, the four colors of the queens. The petals shimmered with a strange glow as he tilted the broach into the light of the candle beside him.

Glancing back at the box, he noticed a small bit of parchment tucked into the lid. He plucked it out and unrolled it. _Wear this over your heart._ The writing was done with a fine hand in delicate, precise flourishes, but the note was not signed.

"When you are ready, sire. Dawn will be here soon." Rogan was at Arthur's side once more, bowing expectantly.

Arthur returned the broach to the box, but didn't close the lid. The trinket lay there, glinting in the flickering light as he rose. Grabbing the unfinished piece of toast, Arthur shoved it in his mouth and followed the servant to where the armor stood. With practiced efficiency, Rogan dressed the king, first in his underclothes, then in the armor. As the man removed the chest plate from its stand, Arthur raised his hand.

"Wait a moment." He walked to the table, clanking as he went, and retrieved the broach. He pinned it over his heart, as the note had instructed, then nodded to Rogan.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, but the servant said nothing. He slid the undershirt of elvish mail over Arthur's head, resting it gently on his shoulders. The heavy chest plate came next, and with the combined weight of the armor, the broach pressed tight against his shirt. He feared it would dig into his skin, but instead he felt a warmth inside grow with the increased pressure. It calmed him, giving him a sense of ease despite the anxiety growing in his gut. Rogan strapped the scabbard around his waist and handed the king his helmet.

Arthur took the helmet with a nod and tucked it under his arm before reaching for the sword. His fingers wrapped around the hilt with surprisingly familiarity and as he pulled the blade from its home, his heart sang with joy and a tear sprang to his eye. He had not expected to ever again see the friend who had fought by his side faithfully until the end, but there it was, gleaming brightly in the dim glow from the candelabra nearby. Excalibur, the best sword he had ever known, stood strong and firm in his hand, carrying with it a faint power he did not remember. He took a gentle swing and a lifetime of battles came back to him in a moment. He could not fight the grin that sprang to his lips as he kissed the shining blade.

"Is that Excalibur?"

Arthur jumped only slightly at the words spoken from beside the chamber door. He turned and greeted Lancelot with a grin. "It is indeed. Can you believe it?"

Lancelot strode over to where he stood and admired the blade with a smile on his face. "It is only right that you lead us with the same blade that brought you so much glory before." After a brief moment of silence, Lancelot cleared his throat. "The sun rises over the hill and the army awaits us outside the gates. Are you ready to lead once more, my king?"

The smile fell from Arthur's face. He slipped Excalibur into its sheath and walked to the eastern window. Pulling aside the heavy curtain, he could see not only the first rays of light creeping over the trees, but the mass of bodies that lined the hill. His breath caught in his throat. He had commanded many armies in his time, but never had he imagined this one would be so vast. It stretched from the wall all the way up the enormous hill, disappearing into the woods beyond. He turned his head both ways and saw that it disappeared from view around the corners as well.

"The armies go all the way around the castle, on all sides. I do not know how far up into the woods they stretch. There are creatures of all sorts, too. Trolls, elves, pixies... Balin claims he saw a dragon on the south side up near the treeline, but I do not know how true that claim is."

Arthur turned to look at his friend and their eyes met, his holding disbelief, Lancelot's holding a childhood wonder. For the briefest of moments, the situation overwhelmed him, until Arthur felt a bubbling sensation rise into his throat. Trying to hold back the laughter, he ended up snorting like a pig until he gave up and let the chuckle overtake him. A grin broke across Lancelot's face and together they laughed and laughed until they could barely breathe. Rogan looked on with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

When he finally managed to regain his composure, Arthur straightened himself and glanced back toward the army gathered outside. "Never in all my years as king would I have thought that one day I would be commanding elves and dragons. Myths and fairy tales come to life."

Lancelot shrugged, his own armor clanking softly with the movement. "As my father always used to say, every myth begins with truth. The trick is figuring out where the truth ends and the tale begins."

Arthur watched a large winged creature rise from the horde below and take to the sky, soaring low across the ground to the north. "I guess we know the answer to this myth. Come, let us get to work before Kay gets bored and takes another serving girl into the dungeons. I do not relish having to rescue them again." Side by side, the knights descended the stairs to gather the others.

"Up there." Balan pointed to the wall above the front gate as Arthur and Lancelot approached him out in the courtyard. They could see the others gathered together, all dressed in matching armor.

"Come, let us go meet our new allies." Arthur beckoned to the knights. When all twelve were on the ground, he gave them a quick once-over. He couldn't help but feel a warmth grow inside him. He had fought with these men many times, but never all of them at once. Before him stood some of the bravest, fiercest, and most noble knights he had ever known. He could not have chosen a better group to face the coming days with.

With a grin spreading across his face, he turned to the gates. They opened as he approached, again without assistance. The uproar of the numerous bodies outside quieted as the gates cracked apart, giving Arthur pause as each face turned toward him. An expectant silence fell over the land, the bulk of it coming down heavily on his shoulders. He squared them and raised his chin as he strode through the gates and under the wall. His men were right behind him, he could hear them, and their presence gave him strength.

A small semi-circle was left open just outside the entrance, thanks to the unmoving gargoyles in front of the gates, giving the knights room to gather. A deep echoing boom swept across the clearing as the gates slammed together. For a brief moment, Arthur felt a panic rise in his gut. His eyes darted over the crowd in front of him, taking in the numerous types of faeries arrayed in the clearing. If this was a trap, he and his knights were cut off from safety, there would be no escape.

A tall, lanky man stepped forward. He had sleek black hair that fell in sheets down to the middle of his back. His skin was pale as the snow and his lips red as blood. He towered over Arthur as he approached and eyed the knight down his sharply pointed nose. Arthur met his cold black stare with one of his own, raising himself to his full height. The world seemed to freeze around them. No one moved, no one dared even breathe. Then the faery sank into a bow, folding himself nearly in half with his arms splayed to the sides.

"We welcome you to Faery, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot." The man rose and thrust out his hand awkwardly, as if he did not often partake in such a gesture. "I am Deklen, the first born of Mab, Queen of the North."

Arthur clasped the faery's hand and shook it firmly. "I did not know Mab had a son. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Deklen released his grip and stood straight again, his hands hanging tightly at his sides. "She has two sons, to be exact, and two daughters." He turned and pointed to a female faery who matched him in nearly every way, though her features were touched with an elegant feminine quality. "My twin sister, Drakka." The other faery bowed her head slightly, but did not step forward or open her mouth. Her black eyes were locked on the king. "Drakka and I command this portion of the army. We apologize, but our other siblings could not make it. Their forces were called to intercept those of Leanansidhe. She has moved much quicker than we anticipated."

Arthur could not keep the surprise from his face. "You mean this is not the whole of the army?"

Deklen laughed. "Of course not. It is less than half. Each of the other queens only sent portions of their available warriors as well. It would be unwise to gather all our forces in one place and leave the rest of Faery unguarded, don't you think?" The faery regarded the king with wonder.

Arthur snorted. "I guess you are right. I still have much to learn about Faery. You said the other queens sent some of their armies as well?"

As Arthur spoke, three other faeries stepped forward. It was easy to tell which leaders came from which corner of Faery. Titania's general was golden with the kiss of the sun, just like her queen, with fierce blue eyes that threatened to tear down anything in her path. Deklen named her as Zela, Titania's daughter. Oonagh's copper-haired general held her quiet poise and soft features, while the general from the West had almond skin and the air of a seasoned warrior. Deklen introduced each, and in turn Arthur introduced his knights. The massive forces surrounding the castle seemed to listen to every word, enthralled by a restless silence.

Once introductions were complete, Deklen turned back to the king. "Shall we head inside to discuss matters of higher importance at this time?"

Arthur felt his eyes narrow slightly. He almost gave in to the wariness telling him to keep the faeries out, to refuse them entrance, until he remembered that he only held his position because of their queens. These faeries before him were fighting for their homes, much as he had done many times before. "Absolutely," he said as he stepped aside and raised his hand toward the gates. "Right this way."

As the gates swung open, Arthur felt the weight on his chest ease just barely. At least for a little while longer, he thought, he would be safe inside those walls, safe from whatever horrors were about to come. He walked through the gates first, followed by the five faery generals. His own knights brought up the rear. When the gates thudded shut behind them, the noise level outside grew once more. He hoped that having four armies who normally hated each other all shoved into one tight space would not lead to more trouble than the upcoming war would. He had had his fair share of trying to keep the peace among enemies who had to work together under dire circumstances. He could already feel the electricity building among the faeries behind him. Sighing inwardly, he led them to the council room.

### *~*~*

### EIGHT

### *~*~*

Arthur sat at the round table with his head in his hands, fighting against the hammers that were beating on the inside of his skull.

"We have to attack now! They are already gaining a foothold into the lands of the South and we cannot waste time on trifling matters such as this." Zela, the general for the South, pounded on the table with her fist, causing the whole thing to vibrate gently. Her blue eyes blazed with such ferocity that the knights feared she would leap across the table and attack Deklen outright.

Deklen simply stared at the woman with the coolness he had inherited from his mother. "We all have armies out there holding them back. Rushing into a full-scale war head-on without preparation will only lead to defeat. You should know this."

The smirk on Deklen's face only infuriated Zela even more. A growl grew in her throat and she stepped forward.

"I agree with Zela." Percival stood up from his seat at the round table. He tossed a small smile in the direction of the southern general before turning to face Deklen.

The prince laughed. "Of course you would, pretty boy."

"Enough." Arthur let annoyance bleed into his command. The strength of his voice had not been lost over the centuries and the single word quelled the faeries' argument. With a snarl on her face, Zela slammed down into her chair, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Whether we like it or not, I think war has come to us. Based on all the reports I've been hearing, Leanansidhe and Kane have a formidable force that is already encroaching on your lands from more than one front. If we are to leave them to their own devices, they will continue to attack, only serving to weaken us." He leveled his stare at Deklen. "They will divide and conquer. Thin out the forces until we are vulnerable. We have to take the battle to them, force them to fall back to defend and wear them down until we can crush them. That is the only way this is going to work. We cannot allow ourselves to be pulled in all directions and stretched until we break. We will focus the fight, attack their front lines, then once they are weakened, we push through and hit them at home."

Deklen set his lips into a thin white line, but did not speak against the knight. Arthur waited, his shoulders tight, ready to argue down anyone who questioned his command. The faery stared at him for a very long time, testing his strength of will. At last, Deklen caved. He gave a curt nod and settled back into his chair. "What is the plan, then?"

"Do we have a map of the battle area?"

Deklen reached into his armor and withdrew a rolled piece of parchment. He laid it out on the table in front of Arthur. "The major force is here," he said, pointing to the paper. "We will be coming from over here."

"What do we know of Leanansidhe's army, aside from its size? Are they well-trained?"

The western general, Norin, laughed. "No. The witch is more about numbers and strength than she is about skill. She will throw everything at us as fast as she can without a care in the world for her soldiers."

Arthur nodded. "So we hit them hard and fast and take as many out as we can." He nodded at the man who just spoke. "You will take your forces down to the right if possible, flank them and swing them in toward us. Deklen, you will take half of yours to the left. We have the skill and the drive. If they are as untrained as you claim, we should be more than capable of winning this battle, and many more to come."

"We will be sacrificing a lot of fine men and women for this." Drakka sat behind her brother with her arms crossed. Her glare was locked on Arthur.

The king met it without flinching. "That is war, princess. Many will die so that we may succeed. If you have trained them well, they have a better chance. We cannot wait any longer than you already have."

She pressed her lips together in a tight line, but her stare never left him.

"Any other questions or concerns?" Arthur stood at the table with his hands on his map as he let his gaze wander around the room. No one spoke. "Very well. We will leave in an hour's time. Be ready." With that, he pushed back from the table and strode to the door.

Arthur emerged from the council room flanked by the sons of North and West. Deklen turned to Arthur and gave him a half bow. "The Four Queens were wise in their decision, knight. You and your men are of sound mind and strong heart. Backed by your new strength and the powers of Faery, I fully believe you can rid us of this threat."

Arthur tilted his head toward Deklen. "Thank you for your trust. I only hope I can live up to your expectations."

Deklen bowed once more before striding down the hall to the main entrance, trailed by his silent twin.

Norin, Isobel's son, clapped a hand on the knight's shoulder. He had the muted strength of character that his mother exhibited and Arthur was looking forward to doing battle alongside the man. "You are a strange one, Arthur Pendragon." The man's voice was deep, but gentle and kind. He exhibited an empathy toward others that most of the other faeries seemed to lack. "You will either prove yourself to be a great ally, or a great disappointment. I sincerely hope it is the former." Without another word, he turned and followed Deklen outside.

"Interesting bunch." Lancelot stood beside Arthur, his dark eyes watching the faery generals as they retreated.

"Indeed." Arthur nodded thoughtfully, then he snorted a laugh as he turned to look sidelong as his friend. "The next few weeks are either going to be very entertaining or absolute hell."

"Likely both." Lancelot clapped Arthur on the shoulder and turned to leave. "I will have the servants prepare the horses. We should get going as soon as possible."

As Lancelot headed out the side door to the stables, Arthur ascended the stairs to his chambers. Rogan was there waiting. He rose from a chair beside the door as the king entered. "Sire," he said, offering a half bow. "I have packed your things."

Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "Thank you. How did you know we would be leaving?"

Rogan's smile was a brief flash of light across his face. "I am your servant, your highness. It is my job to know and answer your every need without question." Seeing Arthur's raised eyebrows, he added, "Servants in Faery are a bit different from those in the human world, sire. We are born for this life, to serve. The _knowing_ is a part of us. Without it, we are nothing."

"I still do not quite understand all this faery stuff," Arthur said as he took the leather sack Rogan offered him. "Even growing up with the old religions, none of it really made sense to me."

Rogan gave him a soft smile, his quiet manner neither encouraging nor discouraging Arthur's ramblings. The king warmed inside as he was reminded of his favorite servant from long ago, a man with a similar demeanor.

Arthur cocked his head, a thought popping into his mind. "By the way, what gods rule the human world now? Is it still the Christian God? Or has he disappeared as the old gods did during my childhood, replaced by some new deity?"

Rogan stepped over to Arthur and draped a large, heavy cloak around his shoulders. The king noticed with a smile that it was a deep red and embroidered with the emblem he had used during his reign over Camelot.

"Gods do not disappear, my lord. They do not change or fade away with time. It is humanity that is fickle and ever changing, always looking for the one deity who will fix all the problems they themselves created. No, the Christian god exists, but so do all the others. They may be harder to reach now, but they are all there, answering those who still call to them. You only need to search to find them. Someone somewhere still believes, and so they still respond."

Arthur's brow furrowed as the familiar weight settled onto his shoulders. "What an interesting theory. I guess I never thought of it that way." He shrugged the cloak up further on his shoulders so Rogan could hook the heavy gold clasp.

"It is not theory, my lord. It is merely fact. Some say faeries fade as humans lose belief in them. But that is not true, either. Just because humans cease to believe in something, it does not mean it does not exist. Humans are a very arrogant species." His hands paused briefly before he added, "My lord."

Arthur opened his mouth and drew in a breath, ready to defend his humanity, but flashes of a former life came back to him, brief glimpses of wars fought over riches and land; men, women, and children killed because they chose to believe in the wrong gods. He gripped Rogan's shoulder firmly and looked the man in the eye. "You may well be right about that, good man, but that just means they need our help all the more."

"Yes, sire." Rogan picked up the pack that Arthur had set on the table. "I will carry this down for you."

### *~*~*

### NINE

### *~*~*

The knights were waiting in the courtyard when Arthur and Rogan joined them. An ephemeral being that reminded the king very much of Mab's daughter brought the large white stallion he had rode into the castle over to them. It had already been saddled and packed with food and other various basic necessities. As Rogan attached the pack to the back over top of the other items, Arthur joined the knights and faeries milling around.

"My soldiers have a path open along the west way. It is waiting for us. It will bring us within striking distance of the largest part of Leanansidhe's army." Oonagh's daughter, Eden, was the spitting image of the queen, as if Oonagh had merely cut of a strand of her own hair and bid it to grow into a faery. Behind the girl's green eyes and quiet nature, Arthur could see her mother's intelligence and a hidden ferocity just waiting to be released.

"Very good, thank you." Arthur nodded to her and she bowed once before disappearing behind the others. He turned to Lancelot. "Are we all ready to go?"

"I think so. All the knights are here, the horses are saddled. The faeries' mounts are outside the gates. Once we leave, we are to join the Western army. They will lead the charge."

"Alright. Mount up. My fingers are already itching for battle." With Rogan's help, Arthur swung up onto the back of his big black steed.

"Take care, my lord." The man patted the flank of the horse tenderly as he bid the king farewell.

"Thank you, Rogan. We will return soon."

The servant nodded and walked away. Arthur saw him take up position on the castle steps to watch the procession leave. The king trotted over to where the western general was standing with her second in command. "We are ready," he said when she looked his way.

With a curt nod, she walked toward the gates. Arthur kept pace beside her and the gates swung open at their approach. He glanced back once before they shut behind him. Rogan was still standing on the steps, his face grim as he watched the king leave. Arthur hoped dearly that he would see the man again.

The faeries were greeted by their small contingents as the gates closed. Each general mounted the steed of their choice. Most were riding horses, but Isobel's son sat atop a large cat-like beast covered in a strange pattern of orange fur and yellow scales. It stretched and growled as the faery leapt onto its shoulders, calling to it in a language Arthur did not understand.

The knights were silent as they followed their king and Eden around the side of the castle. As they reached the corner, Arthur could see a gap between the mobs of faeries. A clear patch of green divided the armies of North and West, causing Arthur to shake his head inwardly. He wondered how the four nations would fair in battle. Normally at odds, they would be forced to join together and support one another. They could not win the coming battle if they insisted on keeping their armies so disjointed. He hoped that they would see that before it became too late.

When they reached the middle of the Western army, the mass of bodies parted, allowing the general and the knights through. Arthur examined the faces around him. Many were very human-looking, with minor feature changes such as pointed ears, colored skin, and strange glowing eyes. But scattered among the others, he could see heads full of green leaves, twig-like arms, towering beasts that reminded him of a giant he had once fought. He looked up as he heard a roar overhead. A large tawny creature swept low over the army, its enormous white-speckled wings spread wide. Its head and legs were those of a falcon, its body covered in fur. It had a long, scaly tale with a deadly barb on the end. On its back rode a faery, tall and lanky, steering the creature with his hands and nothing else. He had a bow slung across his back. He waved to the knights below and Eden returned the wave.

"My brother, Etain," she said by way of explanation as she steered the column in the direction he had flown. "He opened the way for us."

Arthur looked around at his men as they walked. Most of them seemed curious about the beings around them, their eyes darting every which way as they tried to take in all the new creatures. But Tristan's eyes were locked on the sky, watching the beast as it ducked and dived with surprising agility, its rider clinging tightly to its back. Arthur smiled. The knight had always loved the creatures of the wood, taming wild beasts and bringing them home with him. Tristan had had several falcons, some deer, and a fox, but Arthur drew the line the day Tristan tried to bring a pair of bear cubs into the castle. Instead, he gave Tristan a small plot of land outside the city with a little lodge and allowed him to set up a wildlife sanctuary. The sanctuary fell to pieces after Tristan died. If they survived this war, Arthur promised himself, he would get the faeries to allow Tristan to set up another sanctuary, one that he could run for the rest of his days.

"We are here." Eden's soft voice broke through the king's musings. Before him stood a hedge, tall and wide. In the center was a black hole, leading off into the darkness.

"That is the way?"

The princess nodded once, looking at him expectantly.

He glanced back at Kay and Lancelot. Rarely did they agree on anything, but both had expressions of doubt and concern on their faces.

"Are you coming?" When Arthur looked back, Eden was standing in the gaping hole. She gave him an odd look, as if daring him to chicken out, then turned and trotted into the blackness.

Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, following her into the hole, hoping he wasn't leading his knights to their doom.

*~*~*

Arthur stood at the edge of the valley, looking down over the chaos below. Eden had not led him astray. The path they took through the strange hedge brought them out right above the largest battle he had ever seen. He could hear the soldiers moving around behind him, filing out of the tunnel and spilling onto the plateau they stood on. The knight looked to his right where his best friend sat atop his steed. The man's son was on the other side of Lancelot, hunched over his saddle, eyes large and mouth gaping as he watched the faeries below.

"Too much for you, Galahad?" Arthur kept an easy grin on his face, but his stomach twirled with nervous tension.

The young man sat up and threw his king a grin. "Not in the least. This is going to be brilliant fun. It has been too long since I have seen a real battle. I am ready." He pulled his sword to prove his point.

"The lad is right. No sense in standing around." Deklen had emerged from the tunnel, his army being the last to go through. "You and your men stay with me until you get a handle on how faeries fight. It's not quite the same as your weak human battles."

Arthur tossed him a sidelong glance, mentally warring with himself over whether to take affront at the comment or brush it off. He chose the latter, not wanting to make enemies with his only allies in this strange land. He drew Excalibur from its sheath attached to his saddle. The gems on its hilt shone brightly in the midday sun. He raised the blade high over his head and the noise around him dimmed to mere whispers.

Turning his horse around to face the throng of bodies behind him, he addressed the armies, hoping his voice would carry enough to be heard by at least half of them. "Down below us lies a fierce battle, one beyond anything many of you have ever seen. Do not fear. For while the enemy may be strong, we have fate on our side, and she will not abandon us. The vile witch Leanansidhe has taken your lands, killed one of your kings. She would enslave you if she could. Fight for your Queens, fight for your freedom. Fight to the death!"

He pumped his sword on the last word to emphasize his point and his knights roared. A few cheers went out through the rest of the crowd, but most of the faeries simply looked at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Arthur's shoulders slumped as his eyes darted over the crowd. He was used to his speeches being met with a resounding rumble of excitement, soldiers cheering and stomping their approval, weapons being drawn as the adrenal began to build. Compared to the armies he was used to, the creatures before him were somber and emotionless. He feared they did not carry the same drive to win that they needed.

"Humans and their speeches." Eden snorted beside him. She gave him a wry smirk and a shake of the head before kicking her horse hard in the flanks. As it plunged over the edge of the precipice, the telltale shnink of a blade being drawn echoed back to him, followed by a battle cry. That was all the faeries needed.

Following her lead, cries ululated around the valley, far surpassing the rumble he had hoped for. He and his knights followed Eden down into the valley, not so much by choice but because the mere surge of bodies behind them forced them forward. They reached the edge of battle much quicker than Arthur anticipated. As he plunged into the fray, he sent up a quick prayer, hoping that some god somewhere would hear him.

## *~*~*

## The

## Faery Hunter

## *~*~*

### *~*~*

### TEN

*~*~*

Aiofe Callaghan knelt beside the bubbling stream, pressing her lips tightly together and squinting her emerald eyes in concentration. Her fingers traced deftly across the rough bark of a fallen log as her nostrils flared on her lightly freckled face. Breaths came shallow in her tight chest and her heart beat quickly, sending her blood racing through her veins. A small smile pulled at the corners of her unpainted lips. She loved the hunt. It was the only time she really felt alive.

She took a step forward, careful to place her booted foot in a spot she had already examined, setting her heel down first and angling her foot to avoid shifting a small rock in her path. The area looked undisturbed aside from a few deer tracks in the mud in the bank, but Aiofe had been hunting for most of her life and knew what to look for. She pressed her lips together as her eyes darted over the tracks. There, in the largest of the prints lay a fragment of a leaf. She took another step forward and leaned over, examining the brown scrap. There was not a speck of mud on it.

Her smile grew to a smirk as she reached over to pick it up. She held the leaf gently between her thumb and forefinger, looking up the riverbank in the direction it pointed. "Gotcha," she whispered almost imperceptibly as she started to rise.

"Not quite." The voice came from behind her, harsh and forced from a throat not used to speaking in human tongues. She spun around, reaching for the long knife in her belt, but she was too slow and her stance was less than ideal. The creature lunged at her, his crooked, twig-like fingers wrapping around her neck. She tumbled to the ground, her back sinking into the mud, erasing all evidence of the deer path.

The beast on top of her was light, but impossibly strong. She gasped for air as she slashed at his woody skin. He snarled, dripping sticky sap onto her face from his jagged teeth. Crumbled leaves fell around them as they tussled, his hair having grown brittle in the autumn weather.

"You stupid human. For too long have you hunted my kind." The creature spat in her face, a gob of sap splattering across her forehead to meld with the dirt in her red hair.

He maneuvered his small body so he was sitting on her chest with his feet beside her head. She could hear his legs creaking as he elongated his toes, digging them into the dirt like roots, giving him even more purchase against her. She stabbed at his arms, back, and legs, trying desperately to dislodge him, but his grip on her throat tightened. The bones in her neck ground together and she feared they would snap. Her face felt swollen and hot with blood unable to escape through crushed veins and her attacks grew weak as black spots formed along the edge of her vision.

"You..." She tried to speak, but she couldn't get the words out without the much needed air that was trapped in her lungs. She tried once more to throw him off, mustering all her strength to bring up her right knee into his back. He grunted and jerked forward, but his toes just dug into the dirt further as his fingers wrapped tighter around her already bruised neck.

"I? I what?" He leaned back slightly and loosened his grip just a bit, letting her have a delicious breath of air. She gulped it in like a horse gulps water after a hard run.

The words crawled painfully out of her throat, barely audible. "You're dead." She gritted her teeth until they creaked and swung her arm up, aiming for his head. He reacted quickly and began to move, causing the knife to hit his hard, knobby shoulder. The blade deflected violently, leaving a slimy streak in the wood, and her momentum sent it straight into the soft wood just below his ear.

The creature squealed and reared back, releasing his grip on her painfully throbbing throat. She sat up as quickly as her body would allow. The movement dislodged the wooden creature and his feet ripped from the ground with several sickening cracks, raining chunks of a dirt down around her as he toppled backward. His squeals turned into howls while she pulled herself to the fallen tree and used it to prop herself up.

She fumbled at her side, cursing herself for not releasing the catch on her holster before entering the woods. Her eyes darted between the sidearm and her prey, who had righted himself. Her lip curled and her stomach lurched as he locked eyes with her and smiled viciously, his knobby fingers wrapping around the hilt of her knife. The blade came loose with a loud slurp and sap poured down the creature's neck and over his bare chest. He stalked toward her, limping noticeably on broken toes.

Aiofe gave up on the gun and used the log behind her to rise. She clambered over it, the rough bark scratching her already battered hands. She was almost to the other side, almost had a chance, when her head jerked backward, sending her sprawling to the ground. The creature had his spindly fingers tangled tightly through her copper hair, using the braid she always wore pinned around the crown of her head when she hunted as leverage.

She reached up with both hands and dug at his skin, peeling away layers of thin bark and leaving herself with painful splinters under her nails. She grunted and attempted to twist her body around, swinging her feet violently, hoping against all hope that they would connect with something, anything that would help her free herself before it was too late.

He jerked her head back, smashing it against the log. She was stunned momentarily as black dots and white stars waltzed in front of her eyes. Through the myriad of fuzzy dancers, she watched the creature, her frazzled mind trying to decipher his movements. He had her knife in his free hand. It was shining with a dark, thick liquid that dripped slowly to the ground. He raised it above her head, aiming the point carefully for her eye.

She closed them both, not wanting to know the exact moment of her death. Instead, she prayed. To God, to Jesus, to Gaea, to Avalon, to any being out there who would listen. A loud crack interrupted her prayers. Her eyes shot open in time to see a big ax being ripped from the creature's skull. The head was split in two down to its chin. It tottered for a moment, as if trying to regain its balance, then it toppled to the side. Her body was pulled with it, the thing's fingers still tangled in her hair.

She pressed her lips together, listening as the crunch of leaves grew closer, refusing to look up until a pair of scuffed and muddied work boots stopped in front of her. She glanced up briefly, seeing the grizzled white beard and rough, leathery skin atop a camouflage hunter's jacket. Her defiant frown turned to a dejected pout and she lowered her eyes again. The man knelt down beside her, his carpenter's pants splattered with thick, dark sap, the creature's blood.

"Dammit, Aiofe," he grumbled as he pried at the fingers in her hair.

She bit down on her tongue, suppressing her cries as he jerked her head from side to side, cracking the wood and tearing out strands of hair with it.

"What were you thinking?" He didn't want a response. She knew her grandfather well enough. They had been hunting together since she was old enough to carry a gun. She had broken the rules going out alone and she had almost paid the ultimate price. Even if he had demanded an answer, she wasn't sure she could. Her entire body had started to shake, the adrenaline rush from the fight now gone, leaving her cold and vulnerable.

She squeezed her fingers together, trying to hide the fear from the only father figure she had ever known. She forced herself to take deep breaths to regain her composure while blinking quickly to fight back the tears that were threatening to flood the dam years of training had built. The taste of blood in her mouth helped to steady her, even though she knew her tongue would pay her back for the cruel treatment later.

Her head stopped moving and her grandfather sat back on his haunches. She hazarded a glance and saw his eyes through a teary haze. His hard glare softened a fraction and he sighed. "Come on," he said, leaning over to cup her under the arm. "Let's get you home and cleaned up."

She let him pull her to her feet and had to close her eyes against the feeling of nausea that threatened to overtake her.

"Here."

Aiofe opened one eye halfway. He held her knife out to her. She took it and wiped the blade on her jeans. The sticky sap was starting to harden already and wouldn't come off easily. Sighing inwardly, she shoved it into its sheath, knowing she would have to clean both later on. Her grandfather picked up his ax and propped it on his shoulder. It was an image she had seen often. When she was little, she always thought he looked like the woodsman in the Little Red Riding Hood stories who had saved Red from the Big Bad Wolf.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the thought, threatening to dissolve her anger and irritation at the old man who had just saved her life. She forced her face back into a bitter scowl and took a step forward. As soon as she put weight on her foot, her entire leg protested and she swayed dangerously to the side. Her grandfather, always the steady force in her life, slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

"Come on, time to go home."

She rested her head on his shoulder and let him lead her through the woods to safety.

### *~*~*

### ELEVEN

### *~*~*

By the time they got back to the house, Aiofe was able to move without her grandfather's support. Her anger at both him and herself grew as they walked, sending her blood racing. She picked up her pace, pulling away from him. He said nothing and slowed, falling back until she could no longer see him through the trees when she glanced behind her.

She reached the edge of the woods and paused to look at the house. It was small, only two bedrooms, but it had been her home all her life. She looked at the window on the right. The curtain was shut. She always kept it down. Despite her love for the outdoors, she kept her room dark and gloomy. For a brief moment, she imagined her mother standing there, young and beautiful, long copper hair streaming down her back. It had been more than twenty years since the woman's death. All Aiofe had left were brief memories and hazy photographs of a past that barely seemed real.

Pressing her lips together, she squared her shoulders and stalked up to the house, removing her sidearm from its holster as she walked. The snap was stuck and she had to jerk it free. Grumbling, she pulled the gun out of its protective case and began to brush off the already drying mud.

She twisted the handle with her free hand and shoved the door open roughly with her shoulder, wincing briefly as it crashed against the wall. She stepped into the small outer room and removed the holster from her waist, tossing it onto a short bench arrayed along one wall next to the stacked washer and dryer as she shoved the gun into the waistline of her jeans.

Without stopping to take off her grubby attire, she stomped through the swinging door separating the laundry room from the kitchen. Her grandmother was at the sink, a soapy plate in her hand. She frowned as she glanced at the muddy tracks Aiofe left on the spotless tile floor but the corners of her eyes were wrinkled in worry and her face was streaked with tears. The young woman felt a pang of guilt followed by a surge of hunger, but shoved them both aside, letting her anger flow back into the open space. She raised her chin and shot her grandmother a defiant look. The older woman tended to avoid conflict whenever possible and lowered her eyes back to the sink.

"Chicken is in the fridge." Her short comment sent a fresh wave of guilt washing over Aiofe. She knew her grandmother would go insane if anything happened to her, and she hated making her worry more than she already did.

Letting her shoulders drop slightly, Aiofe walked to the refrigerator, grabbing the empty plate that had been sitting at her spot on the table as she walked by. She pulled the roasted chicken out and set it on the counter. Her grandmother was a master at cooking almost anything. After pulling some cheese, mustard, and sliced tomatoes from the fridge, Aiofe made herself a sandwich using the loaf of bread that her grandmother had baked just that morning.

The silence in the kitchen was heavy while she worked and she found herself rushing to finish making her lunch. She could feel her grandmother's questioning gaze upon her back and gritted her teeth to avoid making a rude comment that would only make the situation worse. She put the ingredients away quickly and snatched her sandwich just as the door in the laundry room banged open.

Fresh anger overtook her and she growled. Pulling a bottle of orange soda from the door, she slammed the fridge shut hard enough to jiggle the glass containers inside and stomped out of the room. She raced up the stairs, nearly tripping in her irritated state, grateful when she finally reached the safety and sanctity of her own bedroom. She slammed the door shut, making sure the occupants of the kitchen knew she was long gone and they were free to talk about her to their hearts' content.

She set the plate down on her desk, along with the bottle of soda. She reached behind her and pulled out the gun. She stared at it a long moment, feeling the cold weight in her hand, examining the mud caked into its hammer. She would have to clean it thoroughly before the day was out or risk further ire from her grandfather.

She sighed and walked to the door beside her dresser. Her fingers wrapped around the cool handle, a faint memory playing idly through her mind. When Aiofe had been much younger, the room beyond had been a nursery. She could see her mother standing in the doorway, a sad smile on her face as she watched the little red-headed child play with a doll her grandfather had carved from the wood of an elm tree in the yard. It was where the girl had slept until she was six.

Aiofe saw the tear land on her hand before she realized she had been crying. With a shuddering gasp, she wrenched open the door, stepped through, and pulled it tightly shut behind her. She stumbled over to the claw-footed bath tub and turned on the hot water full blast while biting her tongue. The muscle was puckered along the edges with recent attempts to still her ever present and often inexplicable anger. She forced air in and out through her nose in short spurts. Her chest was clenching too tightly to breathe properly and she gripped at the side of the tub for support. Her eyes blurred until she could no longer see her own hands in front of her and she sank to the floor.

Curled up in a ball of mud and blood, fear and hate, pain and sadness, she wept, her sobs mingling with the sound of rushing water behind her. As her emotions streamed down her face, Aiofe silently begged her grandparents to burst in and gather her up as they used to, to comfort her and hold her and tell her that everything would be alright. And yet she feared just that.

She was an adult, twenty-four years old, older than her mother ever was, and she was a better hunter than Caena ever had been. She could not show weakness, she could not show fear. She had to be strong, resilient, able to overcome anything. She could not fail, not ever again.

Clinging to that thought, that determination, Aiofe pulled herself from the spiraling pit of despair that threatened to drag her down into nothingness. She clawed her way back to reality, dragging herself to a seated position in front of the tub. She slapped at the tears on her face, berating herself for being so weak-minded. She reached for her anger, begging it to return, and wrapped herself up in its familiar warmth. She set her mouth into the scowl that her face was comfortable with and stood up to look into the mirror.

Her hair was sticking out at all angles, the careful braid a ragged mess. It was full of mud and leaves. Blood streaked down her face from her nose and an open wound on her forehead, mingling with the tear tracks that traced through the filth. She gingerly ran the tips of her fingers over the bruises around her neck. They were already an ugly blackish purple, thick and crude.

Snarling, Aiofe pulled off her soiled clothing. Her leather jacket had held up surprisingly well. It was a gift from her grandfather on her sixteenth birthday and she had worn it on every hunt since. The same could not be said for the shirt underneath. It was stained an ugly brownish red and sticky with sap. No amount of washing would get it clean. Her jeans were in a similar state, dirty beyond hope and torn in several places. She tossed both pieces of clothing in the trash can by the sink and peeled off her undergarments. Stepping into the bath tub, she pulled the shower curtain around her and let the hot water purge her skin of the horrors of the day, blood and dirt sliding from her skin easily, wishing it would do the same for her soul.

*~*~*

Aloysius Callaghan slumped down onto the bench in the laundry room next to Aiofe's holster. His ax clunked noisily as he propped it against the washing machine. His bright red cheeks puffed more than usual as he blew out a gust of frustration. Groaning, he leaned over and propped his elbows on his knees, cupping his head in his hands. A light step echoed on the tiles a moment before gentle fingers brushed through his white hair. He slipped his arm around his wife's waist and pulled her to his side, burying his head in her damp apron.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Mo. She feels the pull, but I can't go out with her like I used to. And I'm not letting her go out alone. I lost my daughter. I'm not losing my granddaughter, too."

Maureen Callaghan leaned over to kiss the crown of her husband's head. "I know, my darling Alo. I'm not sure there's anything we can do. She's going to go out, whether you go with her or not. All we can do is make sure she is prepared for the worst and be there to support her in any way we can. We should talk to the other hunters and see if anyone would be willing to partner with her. Maybe David, since Martin is getting married soon."

The old man leaned back to prop his head against the wall, keeping his hands on his wife's thighs. His face was worn with nearly seven decades of hard work, of carrying the weight of life and death on his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe. They get along, but he's not the one. Not really, and you know how it is. I hope she finds him soon, though. She almost died today, Mo. She would have had I not followed her when I saw her leave. She was hunting that Ulmus that was spotted in the area. He was stronger than I expected, his bark much older than most. Must have been one of the ancients. They're getting braver."

He pulled away his hands and picked up the holster as Maureen took a seat beside him, her quiet strength settling his nerves. He played with the clasp on the gun holder, snapping it shut and pulling it apart again. It required more force than it should have. Frowning, he looked closer. One of the pieces had been deformed, flattened just enough to make it catch on the inside of the other. "Must have happened when the Ulmus tackled her," he mumbled.

"Did you see him attack?" Maureen stiffened beside Alo, her voice soft, holding just a hint of the fear he knew she felt.

He shook his head. "No. She had a head start and once she picked up the trail, they moved too quickly. I lost her several times and had to retrace my steps. By the time I found them, he had her on the ground." He glanced over at his wife. Her eyes were glistening brightly, tears threatening to fall. He gave her a half-hearted smile. "I'm sure she would have been fine without my help, anyway. I'll just get this fixed and work on self defense with her a bit more, and it will be just fine." He reached over and squeezed her knee, forcing a full smile. It broke his heart to lie to the woman who had been his anchor all of his adult life, but there was no sense in having her worked into a state of worry over something that couldn't be changed.

"I talked to Johnny O'Brien yesterday," he said as he slipped off his jacket and hung it on a peg near the door. He kept his voice light, trying to brighten his wife's mood before Aiofe could destroy it at dinner. "Grainne is recovering from her stroke nicely. He said she should be back home by the end of the month."

He glanced at his wife as he pulled off his boots and noticed her staring at his ax. He fought to hold back a grin. She hated it when he left his dirty weapons lying around. He wandered into the kitchen, leaving the ax where it sat, sap pooling on the white tiles beneath it. If she was fretting about trivial matters such as those, she would have less time to worry about the really bad things that were happening.

For months now, faeries had been growing braver, crossing the border between Faery and the human world despite a centuries-long decree from the Four Queens to remain in their own land. There had always been those who ignored the rule, hence the reason for the hunters, but the number had been increasing exponentially in the recent decade. Reports were coming in from hunters all over the globe. Generations of families trained to hunt the law-breakers were being wiped out. The demand was too great and those left couldn't keep up.

"Oh, good. I think I'll bake up some muffins and take them over later this week. The poor man must be famished. His daughter is an awful cook, worse than you. I bet he's been living on boiled peas and canned soup since his wife's attack."

Alo smiled and kissed his wife's forehead, even as he swatted her behind. "That would be lovely. Just make sure you let me test them first. Just to be safe." He tossed her a wink and she grinned and shook her head before going back to finish the remaining dishes. Maureen hummed an Irish lullaby as she worked, a sure sign that she was calming down from the stress of the afternoon. "So what's for supper?" he asked, leaning back into his chair at the head of the small table.

"Oh! I forgot!"

He mentally kicked himself when the humming stopped and she hurried away from the sink, wiping her hands frantically. Her new happy mood had been crushed and the worry lines settled around her eyes once more. She pulled open the fridge and removed a plate. "I put the rest of your dinner in here when you left. Do you want it cold? I can heat it up."

He waved a hand. "No, it's alright. I can eat it cold."

He smiled at her as she set the plate in front of him and she returned it with a weak smile of her own. But her eyes didn't dance like they usually did when she smiled and he knew the fear had settled back into her heart. After setting a fork and a glass of milk in front of him, she went back to work, silent as the dead of night, and he lost himself in thoughts of how to keep his little world from falling apart.

### *~*~*

### TWELVE

### *~*~*

"Aiofie, darling, dinner is ready."

Aiofe closed her eyes against her grandmother's voice, her hands pausing as they put her long, shimmering hair into a sleek pony tail. She took a deep breath and focused on inhaling through her nose and breathing out through her mouth, stilling the anger that had been raging inside her all day. It wasn't her grandmother's fault. It wasn't even her grandfather's. She knew that. She had always known that. The world was a different place from when he grew up to be a hunter. She was supposed to have a mother, a father, someone to train her and hunt with her until she married and had her own son or daughter to train up.

But in a cruel twist of fate, her mother had been an only child. No matter how they tried, no matter how much they prayed for a second child, the Callaghans could not conceive again. So Aloysius did the only thing he could. He trained his daughter up to be the best hunter she could be. And the best she was. Right up until she ran astray of the awful, vicious son of their own employer--Titania's son, Kane.

Aiofe's hands shook violently, tugging at her hair. She focused on the pain and yanked at the elastic band harder than necessary. It helped steady her and pulled her back to the present. She snorted in frustration as the elastic snapped and threw the broken black band into the little bowl on the dresser.

Running a hand through her hair, she whispered, "Screw it," and slipped her feet into the slippers under the dresser. They were embroidered moccasins her grandfather had bought her several Christmases ago. Lined with lamb's wool, they were soft and comfortable and kept her feet warm on those cold, wet days. Taking another deep breath, Aiofe pulled open the door to her room and stomped down the stairs.

Her grandmother was in the kitchen, humming a tune Aiofe didn't recognize as she fiddled with the pots and pans on the stove. The table was already set, a sign that her grandmother was trying to make peace. Aiofe's tense posture relaxed a little, despite her best efforts to hold onto her anger.

When her grandmother truly felt sorry, she would never say it in words. She would say it with little gestures, like setting the table when it was typically Aiofe's job or bringing Aiofe a cup of tea as she studied in the library. Aiofe wanted to say thank you, to tell her grandmother it was all okay, but the words tangled into a ball in her chest. Instead, she pulled out her chair and sat down heavily.

Her grandmother turned at the scraping of the wooden legs on the tile floor. "Oh, good evening darling." Her face held a smile, but her voice carried that plaintive questioning tone that asked if everything would be okay between the two of them.

Aiofe forced a smile onto her own face. It felt weird using those muscles. She felt like she hadn't smiled in months. "Hi, gran. What's for dinner?"

"Corned beef and cabbage. Your favorite." Her eyes held a hopeful look as she beamed at Aiofe.

The young woman's fake smile softened, feeling more natural on her face. "Thanks, gran. It smells delicious."

Appeased, her grandmother turned back to the stove, humming once more as she picked up a large, two-tined fork.

"Where is grandad?" Aiofe felt her shoulders tense back up as she mentioned the old man.

Maureen stabbed the fork into the large black pot on the stove and pulled out a huge hunk of boiled corned beef. "He's in the shop," she said as she plunked it down onto a platter, splattering juices onto the counter. "He should be in soon."

Aiofe nodded, slipping into silence while she watched her grandmother spoon cabbage, carrots, and potatoes out of the pot to surround the corned beef. What wouldn't fit on the platter went into a ceramic bowl covered in blue paisley. It was her grandmother's favorite dish. Rumor had it that the bowl was Maureen's great grandmother's great great grandmother's. Aiofe couldn't even begin to guess how many generations that was without getting confused.

The slamming of the door stopped her attempt to figure it out. She dropped her hands into her lap and lowered her eyes to the table, finding the swirled yellow pattern of the table cloth more interesting than her grandfather's entrance. She heard him pause at the door and closed her eyes. He was looking at her, she knew it, she felt it. Aiofe willed herself to open her eyes and look up at him, but by the time she did, he had turned his attention away from her and was walking over to his wife.

"That smells delicious," he said, kissing the old woman on the cheek. "My sweetheart, the best cook in the country."

She giggled and blushed. "Oh, you." She swatted him with the kitchen towel she had picked up to wipe off the drips on the counter, but Aiofe knew she appreciated the comment by the pink tinge on her ears.

The young woman had always admired her grandparents. They were destined to be together from the start. Her grandfather always told Aiofe that he fell in love with her grandmother the very first moment he laid his eyes on her. Though they had been together for fifty years, Aiofe never once doubted their love. They were always kind and gentle with one another, even when they were arguing, and they resolved issues they had with each other very quickly. She longed for a relationship like that, but a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that it was out of the question. There was no one in this world she could imagine trusting that much, not even David McGuire, the object of her fantasies since she was twenty.

Aloysius turned away from his wife, sneaking a slice of carrot off the tray. It earned him another swat as he popped it into his mouth and scooted away. Settling at his seat at the table, he finally looked Aiofe in the eyes. She met them without flinching, focusing on him as she would an enemy. Never look away, never show fear.

He pursed his lips momentarily as if trying to decide what to say, then he lowered his gaze and reached into the pocket of the flannel shirt he wore. He pulled out a small box covered in faded blue velvet and set it on the table in front of Aiofe. Maureen, hearing the clunk of the box, set the fresh bread she had pulled out of the oven on the counter and moved over to stand behind her husband. Her hands went to his shoulders as her eyes settled on her granddaughter.

Aiofe's resolve began to fail and she felt her anger turning into curiosity. Eyeing her grandfather suspiciously, she reached for the box. She slid it off the table and onto her lap before opening it. The hinge was rusted and the box opened hard, but once it snapped apart, she gasped.

Inside lay a beautiful oval locket attached to a chain of hand-crafted links made from the same silver-colored material. She scooped the locket up carefully and examined it. It was larger than most, about the size of silver dollar. A woman's profile was etched onto the cover in astounding detail. She was ageless, carrying a beauty beyond measure, glancing sidelong at the viewer. Despite the woman being inanimate, Aiofe could not help but feel that the image watched her with a knowing look.

The young woman flipped the locket over. On the back was written a simple phrase in delicate handwriting: _To my faithful protector of the world_. Aiofe frowned. What a strange message.

She glanced up at her grandfather. He said nothing, but he nodded slightly, urging her on. She pressed the tiny latch on the side and the locket popped open without a sound. A hand went unbidden to her mouth and she fought back the tears that flooded to her eyes. Unsuccessful in her war against them, the tears broke over the dam of her eyelashes and poured in streams down her cheeks.

On one side of the locket was a picture Aiofe would recognize anywhere. The long copper hair mirrored her own, as did the green eyes and pouting lips. Caena stared out from the locket, sadness heavy on her beautiful face. Aiofe could easily see the rest of the picture the face was taken from. It was in her room, stuck in the side of the mirror on the dresser. Aiofe was but a baby, tucked into her mother's arms, her own shock of red hair standing out in all directions.

The picture was most stunning, not because of the girl's astounding beauty, but due to the differences in their countenances. Aiofe, the child who was not yet a year old, grinned stupidly at the camera, her innocence protecting her from all the hurts the world would throw at her. Caena, just seventeen, stared unseeing into the invisible lens, her thoughts shielded behind an impenetrable wall. Aiofe sniffed and looked away, clearing her throat and blinking rapidly to force the tears from her eyes.

The other image in the locket was a delicately painted portrait of an older woman. She had the same green eyes and round nose as Caena, but her hair was black through and through. She stared out of the frame, her eyes full of knowledge and determination. Aiofe had a feeling that the woman could accomplish anything she put her mind to.

"Who is this," Aiofe asked, raising her eyes to her grandparents.

Her grandfather smiled. "That is Caoimhe, your great, great... well, I have no idea how many greats, but she lived a very long time ago. She was The First."

Aiofe narrowed her eyes at him. She had never been one for his history lessons and he gave up trying to force her to learn about her ancestry early on, unless it was necessary in her teaching as a hunter. "The first hunter was a woman?"

She had heard the stories of the great faery queen coming to the first hunter, enlisting their help to protect the human world from the attacks of rogue faeries. As her mind darted to all the information she could gather in a short time, she realized that she had always assumed the first hunter was a male, but no one had ever actually specified. That person was always referred to as The First, nothing more, nothing less.

Maureen smiled behind her husband as he nodded. "For a very long time, Titania would only trust the task to females. She believes they are stronger mentally, if not always physically. In their world, women are revered and held in greater esteem. She once told me that men are weak and rash in battle, thinking with their swords instead of their brains." Maureen laughed as Aloysius scowled.

"She only allowed males to join the ranks several generations later," she continued. "When one of the hunters died on a hunt with her daughter. The daughter had a child, but she was barely three. Luckily for Titania, the woman had also been secretly teaching her sons the ways of the hunter behind the queen's back."

The old woman gave Aiofe a crooked grin. "I'm sure Titania wasn't happy about the situation she was put in, but she wasn't really given much choice, unless she wanted to train someone else to take the woman's place. And after all the time spent to train The First, she surely wasn't keen on that. The boys proved themselves worthy enough, though, and since then, men have been welcomed into the ranks without question, though the women are still granted more respect by the queen."

Aiofe stared at the woman in the painting, trying to memorize her every feature. She could easily see the family resemblance and felt a strange pride swell in her chest knowing she was directly descended from the woman hand-picked by the faery queen to protect the world.

"That locket," Alo said, leaning forward and resting his arm on the table to point at the trinket in Aiofe's hand, "was given to The First's daughter upon Caoimhe's death. The image on the front is Titania herself. It is made of a special iron alloy that makes it virtually indestructible and it is enchanted with protection spells. It's not fool proof, obviously, but it offers the wearer greater alertness, swifter reactions, and slows blood loss a bit. Titania went through great lengths to have it made and great risk to herself to carry it to Deirdre. When she gave it to her, she gave her one rule and one rule only: it must be passed down her line, only to the first daughter of the family, in proper succession. It cannot skip a generation or be passed to the second daughter unless a death has occurred to cause it to be unpassable."

Aiofe frowned and gave her grandfather a dubious look. "That's a bit of a ridiculous rule. What if there are no daughters to pass it to?"

Her grandfather shrugged. "Strangely enough, that has never been an issue in this line. Maybe Titania has a hand in that, though how, I couldn't begin to guess. All I do know is that every family since The First in her direct line of descendents has had a daughter, at least one, and that daughter is always the first born. And only once in that entire time has it had to go to the second daughter after the death of the first through a tragic accident. None of the first daughters has ever been stillborn or fallen ill as children."

"It really is quite remarkable, if you think about it." Maureen's soft voice held a sharp edge of sadness and regret.

Aiofe looked up from the locket, meeting her eyes. "My mother..." Her voice cracked and she couldn't finish her thought.

Maureen smiled weakly. "Your mother would have received the locket and then she would have given it to you in due time. It breaks my heart that she is not here to give it to you herself, but that cannot be helped."

Aiofe cleared her throat, wiping at her eyes to brush away the unshed tears that were forming there. She stared at the image until a thought worked its way onto her tongue. She looked up, narrowing her eyes at her grandmother. "That means... You're a hunter?"

Maureen was quiet for a moment, her words coming softly and carefully when she finally spoke. Her smile was sad and forced. "Not anymore, but yes, I was. That's how I met your grandfather. We both came from families of hunters, introduced at a meeting. A few years after your mother was born, though, I couldn't bring myself to risk leaving her orphaned. So he hunted with his brother until Caena was old enough to go with him."

Aiofe shook her head, absently rubbing her thumb across the engraved image on the locket as she tried to sort all the new information being thrown her way. "So, you were a hunter..."

"Aye." Her grandfather spoke up as he patted his wife's hand fondly. "She was the best. Faeries feared her and even other hunters called on her for assistance. All you had to do was say the name Maureen O'Carney and everyone would know who she was. Still do." He winked at Aiofe. "That respect all the hunters give you at meetings and such? I know you thought it was because of me, but it's not. Oh, sure, I'm a fair hunter myself, but your grandmother is the real hunter royalty in this family. You being her granddaughter, they all look to you to carry on her legacy. You have big shoes to fill, kid."

Aiofe lapsed into silence and stared at the locket, unsure how to respond to these new, weighty expectations that had been placed upon her so suddenly.

"Well," said Maureen, clapping her hands together gently. "I think we've had enough history lesson for one day and the corned beef is getting cold. Time to eat."

Aiofe tossed a warm smile at her grandmother, thanking her silently for saving her from having to answer to anything just yet. With careful hands, she hooked the clasp of the chain around her neck. The locket nestled snugly just below the little dip in her neck, as if it were made just for her. As she bit into the flavorful meat her grandfather plopped onto her plate, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was.

*~*~*

"Gran, can I talk to you?"

Maureen turned from the sink holding the plate she was washing. "Sure, sweetie. Come help me dry."

Aiofe stepped up to the counter and grabbed a towel. They worked in silence for awhile as Aiofe dried the dishes and Maureen washed.

"I'm sorry I've been such a brat lately." Aiofe's apology was soft.

Maureen gave her a small smile and patted her on the back. "It's alright, dear. We all have our moments of weakness."

"Yeah, but..." Aiofe shrugged and set the towel on the counter. "I don't know why I'm so angry all the time. It's like... It's like these feelings aren't mine. I mean, yeah, I'm annoyed that I'm stuck here all the time, that I only see David every couple months. How am I supposed to build a relationship and make my own family when I don't even get to see him?"

Maureen nodded as she washed the corned beef pot, but said nothing.

"But most of the time, I get so mad for no reason at all. It just makes no sense. I'll just be sitting there and I get these flashes of intense anger. It's overwhelming. Sometimes there will even be images. Weird images. Sometimes they're of my mother. There is a blond man with her. I know I've never seen him before, but it feels like I should know him." Aiofe sagged against the counter. "See, I told you it makes no sense."

Maureen took the towel from Aiofe's hands and wiped the water and suds off her fingers. "Come here," she said as she reached for her granddaughter. "I know it's tough. I was the same way before I met your grandfather."

"But you were only twenty. I'm twenty-four."

Her grandmother stroked her hair. "You have plenty of time, my dear. Plenty of time. Just be patient. Someday you'll meet your Prince Charming. Before I knew Alo, I was all over the place. All I wanted to do was hunt and I did some really irrational things. But the moment I met him, it was love at first sight. He drew out a strength and calmness in me that I didn't know existed." She leaned over and kissed Aiofe on the cheek. "Now let's get these dishes finished and go watch some TV."

### *~*~*

### THIRTEEN

### *~*~*

Thunder rumbled through Aiofe's dreams, breaking into the sweet moment she shared with a faceless knight. She turned away from the blond-haired man, glancing behind her into the blackness that surrounded them as the intensity of the storm picked up. The thunder boomed, going from a gentle roar into a fierce pounding.

"Aiofe, wake up! We have to go."

The red-headed faery hunter opened her eyes and blinked into the darkness of her bedroom. She was sleeping on her side and she could see a bright swath of light streaming under the door from the hall. The pounding continued until she rolled herself out of bed and stumbled to the door.

"What?" she grumbled as she threw it open, shielding her eyes with one hand.

Her grandfather was standing on the other side, fully dressed in his hunting gear and holding a bow. He thrust it toward her. "Take this. And get dressed quickly. An emerald sprite was spotted two towns over. We need to get moving if we want to find it."

Aiofe groaned and snatched the bow, letting her arm drop with the weight of it. "It'll take us an hour to get there. The sprite will be long gone by then." She closed her eyes and sighed as she propped herself against the door frame, letting her head settle against the wood.

"Aiofe, come on." Aloysius shook his granddaughter's shoulder gently but firmly. "David is tracking it, but he can't handle it on his own. Martin is out of town and he needs our help. Hurry up."

Her grandfather's voice held an edge to it as he commanded her to get dressed. With an sleepy glare, Aiofe slammed the door in his face. Stalking to the dresser, she tossed the bow on the bed as she walked by. Dressing quickly, she pull on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. After yanking socks onto her bare feet, she snatched an elastic band from the top of the dresser and pulled her hair back into a sloppy bun. A glint of metal caught her eye, the locket her grandparents had given her recently. She picked it up, examining the exquisite detail before hooking it around her neck and tucking it into her shirt. She glanced quickly into the mirror. David would see her like this, without makeup, a tired mess. Growling, she grabbed the bow off the bed and threw the door open.

The hallway was empty and she could hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen. Clomping down the stairs, she found her grandparents talking near the door. Her grandmother was fussing about, filling two thermoses with steaming coffee and packing a small cooler with quick breakfast items. Aiofe ignored the look her grandfather gave her and headed into the mud room. After slipping on her leather jacket, she plopped herself on the bench and pulled on her boots. They were still caked with dirt and she stomped her feet, leaving a crumbled mess of dried mud on the floor. Aiofe stared at it. Her grandmother would have to clean it up later. For the briefest of moments, guilt threatened to overtake her and she looked for the broom, but her grandfather entered, saving her the trouble.

"Ready?" He was carrying a thermos of coffee and had the cooler draped over his shoulder. A bowie knife was sheathed at his hip, along with a pistol. He was wearing a leather harness that was filled with extra ammo and other items they might need.

Opening a cabinet behind her, Aiofe pulled out a quiver full of arrows. Each arrow was tipped with iron. She slung it over her shoulder and reached for a belt. Attached to the belt was another bowie knife, as well as a handgun and two pouches filled with bullets. She strapped it on and turned around.

Picking up the bow that she had set on the bench, she nodded. "Ready."

Her grandmother stood in the door, fidgeting nervously as she always did before they went out on a hunt. She held the other thermos out to Aiofe. "Here you go, dear. There are some apples and breakfast bars in the cooler." The older woman leaned in as Aiofe took the coffee and pulled her into an embrace. "Be careful, darling," she whispered into Aiofe's ear.

"I will." Aiofe gave her grandmother a half hug, using the hand holding the coffee to pat her awkwardly on the back. She held a new respect for the woman, knowing now that she wasn't just a homemaker, but she had done her time in the field. Aiofe tossed her a sleepy smile and followed her grandfather out to the truck.

Dawn was just beginning to creep over the tops of the trees and she shivered a bit in the chilly autumn air, wishing she had grabbed her jacket. She climbed in beside him and set the bow on the appropriate hook on the window behind her. Two other weapons hung there: a loaded shotgun and an enchanted sword that had been given to his grandfather by the council of hunters. She fought back a smirk as she remembered the time the police officer had pulled him over and questioned his right to carry the weapons in plain view. After a heated argument and a call to the police chief, the officer was left on the side of the road babbling an apology as her grandfather pulled away, cursing him vehemently for not respecting his elders.

"Everything alright?"

His eyes were locked on the road, mindful of the nightlife that would be prowling around in the early hours of the morning, but he had always had a keen sense of others emotions.

"Yeah, just tired."

"Get some sleep. I'll wake you when we're close."

Aiofe nodded and set her thermos in the holder on the dashboard. Resting her head against the window, she watched the pavement blur by, her eyes growing to mere slits until the road disappeared altogether.

*~*~*

"Aiofe, we're here."

Aiofe groaned as she pushed herself away from the window. Her head was filled with cobwebs, her eyes were filled with sand, and her mouth felt like someone had stuffed a bag of cotton balls into it. They were parked in a wooded area at the end of a dirt road. David's bright red pickup truck sat beside them. Grabbing the thermos of lukewarm coffee, she watched her grandfather out of her peripheral vision as he clicked open the cooler.

"Apple?" He held the shiny red fruit up for her to see.

She swallowed a mouthful of caffeine and reached for the apple. "I'm not Snow White, am I?" His horrible attempt at a cackle had her grinning around a mouthful of juicy white flesh. Ever since she had seen Snow White and the Seven Dwarves as a child, she had been wary of apples. As the years went on and she learned more about faeries, her distrust of the fruit grew. Now she would only eat apples picked from their own small orchard behind the house. Anything else wasn't safe, as far as she was concerned.

Aiofe set down the thermos of coffee and slapped the sun visor down. She groaned inwardly as she appraised her appearance, doing her best to fix her hair and wipe the sleep from her eyes.

"I'm sure he's going to look much worse than you after tracking the sprite all night." Aloysius stood outside the truck, pulling items from the pack on the seat and stuffing them into various pockets. His eyes glittered in the morning sun and wrinkles grew deeper at the corners as he smiled.

Aiofe shot her grandfather a glare, but it held no animosity. She had liked David for years now and the old man knew it. He would have been thrilled to see his granddaughter hitched to someone of David's quality, but so far, things had not quite worked out as Aiofe had hoped. Still, she thought as she hopped out of the truck and pulled the bow off the window, any little bit of time she could spend with him, even hunting, was a step in the right direction.

"All set?" Her grandfather walked around to her side of the truck, bristling with weaponry that would make any soldier jealous.

Aiofe slid the quiver of arrows over her shoulder along with a small pack filled with other items. "Yep. Let's go hunting."

With a curt nod, her grandfather set off into the woods with Aiofe right on his heels. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, Aloysius pressed a few buttons before turning his attention to the ground. It wasn't difficult to spot David's trail at this point. The path was well worn and easy to follow. A short way down the trail, though, he had veered off into the woods, ducking through some bushes and around trees. The old man stopped at the spot where David left the trail and checked the phone again. It buzzed immediately and he pressed a button.

"North by northwest," he said, checking the compass on his watch. "Let's go." Stooping under a low hanging branch, he stepped into the woods, following David's trail.

Aiofe kept her body turned partially sideways as she followed her grandfather. Her eyes darted through the trees, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Her vision felt magnified somehow, each leaf clearer than before, the greens were greener and the browns were browner. Her eyes were wide open now and she could almost feel them reaching out to the world around her. Every sound assaulted her eardrums and she longed to press her hands against them. Her skin prickled and her hunter's instinct was on high alert. In a strange revelation that made her snort, she realized she could actually sense the residual magic that the faery had left behind.

Pulling the locket from its hiding place, she raised her eyebrows at it questioningly. When it didn't respond, she mentally kicked herself for being stupid enough to think it would answer her questions and shoved it back under her shirt.

Her grandfather paused at a downed tree to check the phone again. He tapped a few buttons and waited. When it didn't respond, he frowned and glared at the ground. Aiofe followed suit. Her magnified vision easily picked up David's tracks.

"That way," she said, pointing to the west.

Aloysius raised a bushy white eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Trusting his granddaughter's instincts, he turned west, following the path she indicated. Shortly, the trail met up with a thin stream. It followed along the edge and here and there Aiofe could see David's footprints interspersed with the smaller duck-like tracks of the emerald sprite. She had never seen an emerald sprite before, but she had seen a sapphire sprite that she had helped her grandfather track back in her early teens. They were odd little creatures, with tufts of hair that reminded her of dandelions in the fall just before they lost all their seeds. They were short, not much taller than a swan, with wiry limbs and webbed feet. Their fingers were long and splayed, the digits spaced evenly around circular hands.

Aiofe leaned down to pluck a wispy tendril of green hair from a footprint. Based on the nearly invisible indentations, she surmised that this sprite was very young, not yet considered an adult in the world of the faeries. She was examining the flowery piece of hair when she heard a shout. Her grandfather, just a few steps ahead of her, heard it too and veered off in the direction of the yelling. They tore through the trees, Aiofe still amazed at how agile her grandfather could be at his age when his adrenalin kicked in. She normally had trouble keeping up with him, but this time, she found herself matching his pace.

When they reached a small clearing, her grandfather stopped beside a tree, his head twitching slightly as his eyes darted around, looking for signs of the other hunter. "There," he said, his hand briefly pointing to the right. Aiofe followed him cautiously around the edge of the woods. She held her bow at the ready, already nocked with an arrow. She could see the body lying on the ground beneath some shrubs and her heart contracted in her chest. She willed herself not to look at it, not to think about it. She focused on tracking the faery that was responsible instead. When they reached the bushes, her grandfather knelt down beside David. Blood pooled underneath the younger man, matting his dark hair to his forehead.

"He's alive."

Aiofe felt a weight rise off her and she found she could breathe again. David groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

"The sprite..." He tried to sit up but fell back to the ground with a grunt.

"Don't you worry about that. We'll get it. Which way did it go?"

David's arm raised out of the dirt slightly, pointing in the direction they had been running. Aiofe focused her eyes on the far side of the clearing, scanning each tree rapidly. At first, all she could see were the muted greens and browns of the forest. Nothing unusual. Then there was a brief flicker, like the sun catching a green trout in a stream. It was gone in a flash, but she knew what it was.

"I got it," she cried as she took off at a run across the clearing. She could hear her grandfather shout behind her, but she had caught the scent and ignored him. As she neared the other side, she saw the little sprite crouched beside a tree behind some bushes. The bright green tuft of hair on its head stood out at all angles, swaying in a nearly nonexistent breeze. Its little body was bare and genderless, as was the case with all sprites. They were vehemently against clothing, something Aiofe never understood. When their eyes met, the little creature started, surprised to have been found so easily. She was nearly upon it when it moved.

"You!" Its voice was high and shrill, painful to her hypersensitive ears. It pointed an accusing finger at her before it took off through the trees.

"Aiofe, stop. Wait!" Her grandfather was just behind her, and she glanced back. He grabbed her arm gently. "Be careful. Sprites are small, but they're as fierce as a wolf when cornered."

Aiofe nodded once and headed off through the woods, track the sprite's path as it darted between the trees. "Is David alright?" she asked as her grandfather trailed behind her.

"He will be. He was hit with a rock, knocked out. But I think it looks worse than it is."

Aiofe fell silent, vowing to get the sprite if it was the last thing she did. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was overreacting, but her body thrummed with adrenaline and she pushed on. A flash of green caught her eye and she took off at a run.

"Aiofe, wait!"

Ignoring her grandfather's pleas, she swerved around tree trunks and crashed through bushes, following the little pale body. She would not let the sprite escape. She hesitated only briefly when it disappeared into a patch of briars. The thorns tore at her clothing and tugged at her hair, but she pushed on. Her grandfather's shouts echoed behind her, growing faint, but the glimpses of bright green ahead urged her on.

"Aiofe!"

Aloysius's last shout was drowned out by a loud boom that echoed through Aiofe's head like the ringing of hammer. The world flashed white, blinding her completely, and she fell to her knees, her hands pressed over her ears. Blinking rapidly, her vision slowly cleared, bringing the world back into focus. She still knelt in a briar patch, that was clear, but something had changed. She could hear the clang of metal upon metal and numerous voices shouting, mingled with the cries of those in pain. Standing up, she worked her jaw to clear the ringing in her ears as she worked her way through the rest of the thorns to the edge of the bushes.

The sight that greeted her made her eyes go so wide they hurt. Stretched out before her was a battlefield unlike any she had ever seen before. Faeries of all shapes and sizes clashed against one another, the spilt blood mingling to form a gruesomely vivid rainbow of colors. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the emerald sprite she had been chasing disappear into the fray, but she stood where she was, rooted to her spot out of fear and wonder.

A loud yipping broke into her reverie. It was a sound that chilled her to the bone, reminding her of the many nights she had laid in bed as a child, shivering with fear as the coyotes in the woods chased down whatever unlucky animal they had found. She knew that whatever made that sound now wasn't a coyote. It was ten times worse, maybe a hundred, and so was its cry.

She felt her insides clench and gripped her bow tightly, checking that it was properly nocked as a pack of large, skeletal red dogs broke from the battle and surrounded her. She raised her bow and aimed, but held back. She was hemmed in, unable to run. They could tear her apart in seconds and there would be nothing she could do to stop them.

An elegant white horse trotted up behind the dogs, snorting steam as it pranced and pawed. On its back was one of the most beautiful women Aiofe had ever seen. She had plump red lips, long brown hair, and a look that said she was gorgeous and she knew it. The creatures broke apart, letting the horse through. The woman steered it up to Aiofe and looked down at the red head.

"Well, what do we have here..."

## *~*~*

## The

## Hunted

## *~*~*

### *~*~*

### FOURTEEN

### *~*~*

Arthur's blood sang in his veins as the thrill of battle swept over him. He slashed at faeries on either side of him, his focus narrowing while his eyes darted over the heads below him until they settled on the black hair of the faery maiden Drakka. She was surrounded by short beasts with red skin, long pointed tails, and claws as sharp as scythes. Slamming his heels into the sides of his steed, Arthur shouted a wordless cry and plunged through the battling creatures around him. Most of them scrambled out of his way, but one unlucky faery was caught beneath his horse's heavy hooves, its gurgling cry cut short as blue matter spattered the grass beneath its crushed body.

As they neared the circle of red and black, Arthur felt his steed's muscles bunch. Leaning forward, he gripped the reins tightly, just as the beast shoved itself off the ground, kicking up clumps of dirt and grass behind him. Even as the horse's front hooves touched down inside the circle of small red creatures, its back hooves lashed out, smashing into the face of the closest. It crumpled instantly into a heap, its head a mass of pulp. Arthur leapt from the horses back, slashing at another of the creatures just as it darted in to tear at Drakka's calf. The faery spared Arthur a quick glance, the flash of surprise lighting her eyes when she noticed her attacker falling from his sword.

"I had it," she said, her voice steady as she swiped at a little red body that darted in at her. The creature bared a mouth full of shark teeth as her blade nicked its shoulder.

"I'm sure you did," Arthur said as he smashed another head with the hilt of his sword. "But I was bored and you looked like you were having too much fun."

Drakka grunted in amusement as she pressed her back against Arthur's. Together they spun, working in sync to fend off the pack of vicious creatures.

"What are these things?" Arthur stifled a groan of pain as sharp teeth sank into his lower arm. The creature latched on, its jaws denting the armor as its claws found skin unprotected by anything more than cloth. He shook his arm, trying to dislodge the thing unsuccessfully.

The comforting weight of the faery princess against his back disappeared momentarily as she spun around, her blade slicing through Arthur's attacker and stopping just shy of his own thigh. With a satisfied smirk, she ripped the sword from the falling body and returned to her previous position, just in time to spear another of the creatures in the gut.

"Blood whelps," she said with a growl. "Nasty things. They run in packs and feed like... Do you know what a hyena is? Duck."

Arthur doubled himself over as half of a blood whelp went flying overhead, spilling black innards and red goo everywhere. "No, I don't know what a hyena is," he said as he straightened. He looked around at the pile of bodies surrounding him. His horse had taken out a few more of the creatures and Drakka was finishing off the only one remaining that was still capable of fighting.

"They're scavengers, mostly. Feeding off the weak and injured, or stealing from others when they can't get their own. Blood whelps make hyenas look like saints."

Arthur laughed. "They consider you weak? I would hate to fight you when you are not."

Drakka tossed him a smirk as a group of his knights rode up to him accompanied by Zela. Tristan had a small cut on his cheek and blood pooled on the cloth just under Percival's shoulder, but they were otherwise intact. Lancelot jumped down from his horse, taking up a position of guard beside Arthur. Balan and Balin flanked Tristan on their horses, both looking in different directions, their blades still drawn.

"Fairing well, sir?" Tristan asked as he nocked an arrow and sank it into one of the blood whelps still squirming on the ground.

Arthur wiped the blood off his blade with a cloth he had tucked into his belt. "Just fine, Tristan. How is the fight elsewhere?"

"We are holding steady. The enemy's soldiers are not well trained and the queens' armies are some of the best fighters I have seen. Our opponents fall easily, and although they are numerous, I do not see them lasting very long at this rate. They will soon need to fall back and regroup."

"Very good. Let--"

Off to the east, the sky brightened for a brief moment to an opaque white and a sharp crack rang out across the land. Drakka narrowed her eyes as she stared at where the strange lightening had flashed, suspicion and worry sitting heavily on her brow.

"What is it?" Arthur stepped up beside the black-haired faery, concerned at the break in her normally unshakable exterior.

"Someone or something has entered Faery, most likely without permission. Why they would do so in the middle of battle, I do not know. It could be reinforcements for the enemy."

Arthur frowned. "Tristan, take a few of the knights and go check it out, please."

A booming howl blotted out Tristan's response, causing the ground to vibrate beneath their feet.

"A mountain troll" came Drakka's snarled answer to Arthur's unasked question.

Arthur followed her outstretched blade. Bodies were flying through the air as something of enormous size plunged through the crowd, tossing anything it saw as an obstruction out of its way. A bulging blue head quickly came into view, followed by two gigantic arms. He glanced back to Tristan. "Go, quickly."

"But, sir...."

"We will be fine. Go."

With a swift nod, Tristan spun his horse around. "Percival, Balan, Balin, with me."

"I'll come, too." Zela tossed Percival a wink, making the young man blush fiercely. "Good luck with the troll, Drakka. Try not to break a nail." The southern princess's laugh tinkled back to them as the group took off across the field.

Arthur clenched his jaw as his knights disappeared into the opposite direction and turned his attention back to the troll. Lancelot squared up beside him, placing himself unconsciously in front of his king. Raising his sword, he sent a cockeyed grin at Drakka. "Let us have some fun, shall we?"

*~*~*

Kane snarled as he thrust his sword into yet another of the attackers. For years he had been working up to this moment, backstabbing, manipulating, even killing members of his own family, and all for what? Leanansidhe was treating him like just another of her worthless minions, tossed into battle without a care in Faery for their well being. He gritted his teeth and emitted a throaty shout as he swung around, his blade slicing clean through the neck of a faery, sending blond ringlets raining to the ground.

Kane stopped and cocked his head at the rocking mass of red and gold. That one looked almost like one of the noble boys he had gone to classes with as a child. The prince scoffed as he kicked it, sending the dead lump rolling into the battle surrounding him, memories of being forced to mingle with such trash fueling his anger. He raised his weapon, ready to bring it down on the back of an emerald sprite who was sprinting past.

"Kane, come." Leanansidhe sat on her horse, her white leather armor spotless, her long brown hair flowing around her head in the light breeze.

The faery prince's nose curled up and he pulled himself to his full height, a retort rolling across his tongue. Then he saw the glitter in her eyes, the knowing smirk on her face. His lips pressed together, bottling the hatred inside him. She wouldn't get to him. Not this time. He whistled sharply and a black steed barreled through the bodies. As it approached, he reached a gloved hand out, gripping the mane tightly to swing himself up. The horse did not slow, but simply followed Lea as she spun and sprinted across the ground.

He could hear the yipping of those damned banewolves. They reminded him very much of the timid dogs that ran through the woods near--. He stopped the thought. Now was not the time to get pulled back into memories, into years long past that could not return. He smashed his heels into his horse's flanks, drawing blood and a scream from the animal. It tossed its mane in anger, but pressed on, pulling up just behind Lea.

The dogs broke into view. They were going crazy, yapping away like so many annoying insects, and they had something surrounded. Through the thicket of brown and gray, he caught glimpses of copper. Hair, he thought as his heart clenched.

They reached the circle, the dogs parting unconsciously as Lea bore down on them from behind. Kane pulled his own horse to a stop outside the pack, his world swimming. Standing in the middle with her bow drawn was an image from the past. He shivered, memories from long ago flooding over him, threatening to drown him in his torment. Catching his tongue in his teeth, he bit down, forcing the blunt blades through the thin flesh, letting the bitter taste of blood pull him back to the present.

With his heart still thumping so hard it hurt, Kane examined the terrified woman. No, it wasn't her, though it could have almost been a copy. The eyes were the same bright green, but the copper hair was a bit lighter, the face a bit fuller. A notion plucked at the back of his brain, clawing through the mush and matter to the forefront. With horror, he watched Lea approach the girl.

*~*~*

"Well, aren't you a sweet little thing?" The dark haired woman cocked her head and pursed her lips in thought . She leaned over, her dark eyes piercing right through Aiofe and making her skin crawl with discomfort. "Have we met before?"

Aiofe's eyes went wide and she shook her head fiercely, sending loose strands of hair whipping around her face. "No, I don't think so."

The faery woman slid from the back of her horse, her stare locked on Aiofe. She began walking before she hit the ground, as if the earth would simply rise to accommodate her. She stalked across the grass, her hips swaying so much Aiofe thought she would tip herself over. A clawed hand rose up and gripped Aiofe's chin uncomfortably, the pointed nails digging into her soft skin. The faery hunter gripped her bow tightly in her hands as her head was jerked back and forth like a show animal, fighting the urge to jam the arrow into the woman's thigh. Yanking her face from the clutches of the faery, she took a step back.

"What do you want?" Aiofe growled through clenched teeth.

The woman cackled with mirth as her face melted into a merry grin. "What do I want? Oh, darling. The real question is, what do you want? You see, you have trespassed on my land."

Aiofe remained silent, her fingers going white as she realized the peril she was in.

The lanky woman took a step forward, closing the gap between them. "Do you not realize where you are, my child?"

Aiofe risked a glance to the side. The dogs were circling, still yipping quietly as saliva dripped from their hungry visages. A young man on a black horse stood just outside, watching them. His blond hair was cut short and his cheeks held the evidence of weeks without grooming. He stared at her with wide blue eyes and pale skin. A shock rippled through her as their eyes met. Terror and confusion warred with each other, vying for her full attention. She knew that face. She was sure of it.

A sudden pain blossomed through Aiofe's skull and she cried out as her head was jerked around. The woman had her sharp fingers wrapped through Aiofe's hair, the nails digging into her skull. She forced the younger woman to look at her. "Don't ignore me, you insignificant whelp." She shook Aiofe's head violently to emphasize her point. "I said, do you know where you are?" The sweet honey in her voice was gone, replaced by poison that held the threat of death as it oozed from the red lips.

Aiofe tried to shake her head but found it would not move. "No," she grunted instead. "No, I don't know where I am."

With a scoff, the woman released Aiofe, tossing her to the ground. Aiofe fell to her hands and knees, the bow dropping beside her as she panted heavily, trying to regain her composure. Leather boots laced up to the knees planted themselves in front of her, one of the toes treading carelessly on her fingers, grinding them into the dirt. She stifled a cry of pain and forced herself to look up at the woman. Dark hair draped around her as the lady leaned over, bringing her nose close to Aiofe's.

"You're in Faery." A sly smirk played across the woman's lips as she watched the news sink in.

Aiofe pulled her fingers from under the boot and sat back. She glanced around again. Her heart raced. If the woman's claim was true, and Aiofe did not doubt that it was, she was in very real danger. She had been commissioned by the queen of faeries to hunt them, to seek them out and destroy them when they came through the portals to the human world. And now she had done the unthinkable. She had gone through to their world. She was treading on their land. She was now the hunted.

"And now you understand. It's about time, child. But," the woman said as she turned on a heel and paced away a few steps. "I will give you a chance. If you--"

A piercing cry ripped through the air as one of the dogs in Aiofe's peripheral vision tumbled to the ground. The woman's head whipped up even as the young man screamed, "Zela." The dogs broke their circle, turning toward the new threat.

Aiofe had a chance, just a brief moment. She cast her eyes frantically across the ground. There, a few feet away, she found her bow. She scrambled for it, the cool wood settling her nerves as the grooves fit comfortably into her hand. She did not have time to look for the arrow and instead pulled another one from the quiver on her back. The dark haired woman was pulling a sword from a scabbard on her horse's saddle when Aiofe drew the string back. Without pause, she let the deadly spear fly. It sailed through the short distance between them, sinking into the woman's shoulder.

The woman screamed, the power behind the sound so terrible that Aiofe had to clamp her hands over her ears. She twisted around, leaning against the horse for support as she examined the arrow sticking out of her skin. Then she turned her deadly gaze on Aiofe. The hatred in her eyes petrified the young woman, freezing her in place. With the sword in hand, the older woman pointed toward Aiofe.

"Kill her," she screamed, the sound vibrating out across the land like the ripples of a stone dropped in a silent lake.

With abject horror, Aiofe fumbled for another arrow as several of the creatures around her turned from their previous targets, focusing their hungry attention on her. All her years of training had not prepared her for something like this. Never in her life had she imagined she would be facing an entire pack of faeries. She had never faced more than two at a time. Now nearly a dozen were stalking her, their fangs dripping as their mouths watered for her flesh.

She raised her bow and aimed at the creature closest to her. Her hands were shaking and the arrow missed. She drew another, willing herself to calm down. They were close now. If one jumped, she was sure it would reach her if it really tried.

Aiming again, she let the arrow fly. It sank into the dog's chest and it fell with a howl, blood seeping out around the wound. The others, seeing their companion fall, whipped into a rage, their yipping growing loud enough to make Aiofe's head vibrate. As one, they rocked back on their haunches and leapt.

### *~*~*

### FIFTEEN

### *~*~*

Aiofe spun away from the dog on her left and threw her arms up to protect herself as she fell to the ground in the fetal position. Its weight crashed on top of her, forcing the air from her lungs and clamping down on her arm. It ripped at her jacket, trying to tear her flesh from her bones. With her free hand, she scrambled to find the knife or pistol at her hip.

With a surge of relief, her fingers bumped into the knife's short hilt. She snatched it from its sheath and swung her arm up with all the strength she could muster. The blade sank into the dog's side just below its shoulder. The beast lurched as it released her arm and stumbled away. Aiofe sat up, cradling her bleeding arm against her body. The creature twitched twice and lay still. Aiofe glanced around her. The rest of the pack lay dead or dying amid puddles of blood and gore.

"Lea, we have to go!" The blond man's horse was prancing in a circle as he looked around him. Their eyes met once more, drawn together like the opposite poles on a pair of magnets. A brief flash of a stream in a wooded area, her mother laughing... He turned as the dark haired woman raced up to him. He reached out a hand and pulled her up onto his horse. With one last glance at Aiofe, he spun his horse and they took off at a run across the battlefield. Aiofe watched them go, her mind a disconcerted jumble of emotions and memories that made no sense.

"Are you alright?"

Aiofe jumped at the voice beside her. A man dressed in chain mail looked down at her. His hair was long, about chin-length and dark blond, with braids at his temples. He held out a gloved hand. She hesitated until a young woman came up behind him. She was blond and beautiful, with a hint of familiarity. The woman nodded at the man's hand, an amused look of expectation on her face. Aiofe took it awkwardly, hoisting herself to her feet with his help.

The blond woman stepped forward and wrapped her hands around Aiofe's injured arm. Her pouty lips smirked when Aiofe tried to jerk back and the woman quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not going to hurt you any worse than they already have," she said, her eyes darting to the bodies laying on the ground.

Aiofe gave in and let the woman examine her arm. She noticed others standing around them in a loose circle with their weapons drawn. Three of them had shiny armor similar to the man's, but most wore the leather trappings of the female. Another young man in armor kept glancing surreptitiously at the woman, watching her work. Aiofe fought back a smile as she recognized the look in his eyes.

"That thing did a number on you, but you'll live, I think." The woman looked at the first man. "We need to get her back to the castle so we can treat her before this becomes infected. Lea is retreating; the others should be competent enough to clean up." After a dramatic pause, she added, "Maybe."

As the woman steered Aiofe to a horse, the young faery hunter found her lungs suddenly growing tight. She reached out, slapping feebly at the air until her hand settled on the saddle. She gripped a leather strap tightly, focusing on the feel of it in her fingers as she took long, deep breaths, willing the blackness around her vision to cease.

"She's going into shock. Percival, darling, can you grab the canteen from my pack, please?" The words that floated through the haze barely made sense as Aiofe blinked rapidly. When the woman gripped her upper arms tightly and pulled her toward the ground, Aiofe found herself unable to resist. "Come on, sit down now. Drink this."

The metal of the flask felt cool against her lips and the liquid inside flowed soothingly down her throat, leaving a pleasant fruity aftertaste on her tongue. She swallowed carefully, unwilling to upset her already churning stomach. After a few tense moments the darkness dissipated and her frantic breaths slowed to a steady pace. She used her uninjured arm to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

"Thank you," Aiofe mumbled toward the figure crouched beside her.

"Think nothing of it." The woman smiled, her clear blue eyes twinkling. "You are not the first to go into shock after battle, and you will definitely not be the last." She gripped Aiofe's elbow gently and helped the young woman to her feet. "I am Zela, daughter of Titania, General of the South. And you are?"

Aiofe hesitated. She knew plenty of Titania, the southern queen who had recruited humans to protect the world from rogue faeries, but how much did the faeries know of Titania's dealings with the humans? She was spared the decision as the blond woman's hand reached out toward Aiofe's throat. Aiofe made to move back, but the woman was quicker than she was and soon held the locket in her hand. It was a mistake on the faery's part. With a hiss, she dropped the iron necklace, pulling her fingers back to cradle them gently against her chest. Her eyes were aflame, her nostrils flaring wide.

"Who are you?" This time the question was a demand, not a pleasantry. One hand rested on a sword at her side and her visage spurred Aiofe to a response.

"My name is Aiofe Callaghan. I am a--"

"A hunter." It was not an accusation. As realization dawned on Zela's face, her expression turned to curiosity and awe. "Amazing. How did you come to be in Faery? Mother will not like it, obviously. Humans are banned from this world, as faeries are supposed to be banned from yours. It is rare for one to cross over if not by accident."

Aiofe held up her hands, palms out, flinching with the pain it caused in her lower arm. "It was an accident, I assure you. I was with my grandfather, chasing an emerald sprite. I... My grandfather fell behind and I followed the sprite into a thicket. It led me here."

Zela beamed. "Your grandfather? Is that Aloysius? Please tell me he is faring well. I met him once or twice and he was a lovely man. And your grandmother? Maureen? Is she--"

"Are you taking a break from the war, Zela?" Another faery with long black hair had joined them. She had a bloody gash along one side of her neck but did not seem to notice the wound. Unlike the blond faery, her features were not warm, but cool and haughty. "Introduce me to the human."

Zela stiffened, her smile fading into a tight line. "Drakka," she said, the words coming out with great restraint. "This is Aiofe Callaghan, a faery hunter."

Drakka's eyebrows danced upward almost imperceptibly. "And why is she here?"

"An accident, nothing more. She was following a sprite that entered their world against orders."

The pale woman's cold gaze froze Aiofe where she stood. Never before in her life had she encountered faery royalty, but she was sure she had now met two.

"See to it that she makes it home safely." The faery's tone indicated that she really didn't care one way or another if Aiofe made it home safely or not.

Drakka turned, focusing her attention on Zela and effectively ignoring Aiofe. As the two women entered into a quiet conversation, Aiofe inched away, finding her way to the side of the man who had come to her aid first. He gave her a small smile and bowed his head.

"I am Tristan, m'lady. Knight of the Round Table." He held out a hand indicating the young blond man who had brought Aiofe the canteen. "That is Percival, and the two that look like twins are Balan and Balin. You don't need to know which is which. Lord knows none of us do." He grinned when the two brown haired men protested, but Aiofe could understand why no one could tell them apart. Besides, she had bigger questions on her mind.

"Uh..." Aiofe raised her hand like a child in school. "Did you say 'knight of the round table', or did I just hear you wrong?"

Tristan gave her a sidelong grin. "No, m'lady. You heard right. There are thirteen of us."

The young woman's mouth worked, trying to form any one of a billion questions stumbling over each other in her head. "Zela said something about a castle?"

Tristan pushed himself away from the horse he had been leaning on. "Ah, yes. Let us go find Arthur and we will head back to get that wound looked at. I'm sure many of the knights will need some care, as well. I fear we do not have a spare horse for you. You will be safe enough riding with me, if that pleases you." He bowed slightly again, as if requesting that Aiofe share a horse with him was akin to her eating scraps of bread because that's all they had left.

"Yes," she said through a forced smile. "That should be fine. But, to be honest, I've never ridden a horse before, so I don't know the first thing about it."

The men exchanged glances and began murmuring until Tristan held up a hand to silence them. "No matter, m'lady. I am a fair enough rider." He knelt down, putting one knee at ninety degrees next to the horse and looked up at her expectantly. It took Aiofe a moment to figure out what he wanted, but after a long uncomfortable pause, she lifted a leg and placed her boot on his thigh. "Other leg, ma'am."

Aiofe cleared her throat and switched feet. Then his hand was gripping her bottom and she felt herself hoisted into the air. Any attempt to stifle the imminent squeal failed miserably, but she managed to swing her other foot around without kicking him in the face and soon she was seated on the horse's shoulders. The knight swung up behind her without help and she tensed as he reached for the reins.

"You can relax, m'lady. You are safe with the knights, I assure you." Aiofe nodded, but her shoulders remained tight. To the men, he said, "Let us go find our king."

The first step the horse took was a big one and Aiofe found herself flopping forward. She gripped the mane tightly and closed her eyes, ignoring the soft snort of laughter behind her. She forced herself to breathe as the horse jostled along. She was certain that the thing was stepping on every possible stone and moving around as much as possible just to upset her.

"Tristan, Arthur says we are to meet him at the path."

Aiofe risked a peek at the new voice and was greeted with a pleasant sight. The man beside them had dark wavy hair and deep brooding eyes. He was quite handsome, though she would never admit it out loud. He caught her eye and winked.

"Who is this lovely thing? Bringing another pet home are we?" The man stared at her and she could feel her cheeks growing red.

"Kay." There was a warning in Tristan's voice and it earned him a glare from the other man. Tristan raised his chin in defiance. "She is to be our guest, per order of the southern general. She has been wounded and needs immediate care if she is to fully recover."

Kay plastered a hard smile across his face and cocked his head in a mock bow. "By all means, do not let me hold you up. Carry on." He backed his horse up a few steps, giving Tristan room to pass unhindered.

The other knight spurred the horse on, angling it up a hill toward a plateau. Slowly, Aiofe found her body melding to the rhythm of the horse and as she did, her fear lessened. She straightened slightly and looked around. The field they were ascending was untouched by the ravages of the war below, but with a slight turn of her head she could see the chaos that still reigned. Movement was sparse among the bodies littering the ground. With an gasp, she looked away as a dragon swooped down and snatched up a screaming creature in its toothy maw. Tristan slowed the horse as they broke over the crest of the hill. It was teeming with faeries. Some were moving around among row upon row of injured soldiers. Aiofe tried to close her mind to the screams and moans that were echoing out across the plateau.

"There he is. My king," Tristan said as he steered his horse further from the edge toward a tall hedge.

Aiofe followed his nod. Sitting astride a white horse sat the most beautiful man she had ever seen, literally a knight in shining armor. Her heart floated up and out of her chest, taking her body with it. She felt light as air, as if the insane craziness of the world just fell away, leaving her with an inner peace she had never before known. Tristan stopped the horse next to the man and his blond head turned toward them. Aiofe's breath caught in her throat as his bright blue eyes met hers and her lips curled up in an involuntary smile.

He held out his hand, his grin matching hers. "Hello, m'lady. I am Arthur, Ruler of Camelot and Knight of the Round Table."

Aiofe took his offered fingers in a daze, his words barely registering. When his lips met her skin, she melted.

### *~*~*

### SIXTEEN

### *~*~*

Kane sat in the sleek leather chair by the roaring fire in his sitting room. A small white faery lay crumpled on the floor near the door, the victim of anger that had been suppressed for far too long. He growled out loud in irritation at himself. Now he would have to find another servant to train. It was a chore he did not enjoy, but seemed to be doing quite frequently lately.

Lost in his thoughts, he raised his hand automatically and snapped his fingers. Nothing happened and for a second, his anger grew. Then he remembered the dead servant behind him and sighed in resignation before standing up and walking to the side bar. Taking a crystal decanter of putrid-looking liquid from the silver tray, he poured himself a half glass, tossed the liquid back with a grimace, then filled the glass to the brim before placing the decanter back on the tray.

Seated back in front of the fire, the blond faery let his thoughts drift. First, he thought of the injured Leanansidhe. He was supposed to be her closest ally, but deep down in his heart, he wished the young red-head had pierced the witch's heart instead of her shoulder. The red head...

Kane's drink tilted in his hand, all but forgotten. The green liquid dripped over the edge onto the rug beneath him, staining the expensive fabric an ugly color, but he didn't notice. His eyes stared unseeing into the fire blazing before him, the flames molding into dancing hair of a similar color. The red-head... He had seen her before, many years ago. In the fireplace grew a face, so similar to the woman he had seen today that it could be her twin.

No, thought Kane. Not her twin. Her mother. He pressed his lips tightly together as his heart clenched in his chest, skipping in an irregular rhythm that didn't know whether to speed up or stop altogether. The tightness stretched, rising up into his throat and sinking down into his stomach. He wanted to vomit, to fall to his knees and retch up his lungs, to purge himself of the hate and the horror that overtook him and warped him into who he had become, but some part of his mind held him back, clinging to the tiny bit of sanity he had left, forcing memories into his vision, blurring the dancing face.

A young girl, hair flame red, racing through the forest with her grandfather. That same girl, now nearly an adult, out on her own for the first time. It was nearly her last, or would have been if Kane hadn't shown up. He knew the faery had escaped to the human realm and he sought it out, seeking to recruit it into his small but growing army, an army he built with his new ally, Leanansidhe, back before his mother and father knew of his terrible treachery.

Kane shuddered, pushing the image of his cohort away. She was blocking the memory he wanted right now. There, the girl was back. Her red hair splayed across the ground as she lay on her back with the evil faery on top of her. The creature grinned as he straddled her stomach, tracing a wicked blade across her cheek.

"How pretty you are, my little thing. Such a shame, such a shame." His expression perked up a bit and a smile grew slowly across his face. "I think, my dear child, you would make a great addition to my household. My current paramours are growing a little..." He waved the knife in the air, looking for the right word. "Used," he said, saliva dripping from his sharp teeth as the vicious grin grew.

The girl thrashed as the creature stood and pulled her up, his fingers tangling tightly in her hair. She screamed until he clamped a hand over her mouth, gripping her cheeks so tightly that red marks formed around his fingers and her screams turned to whimpers of pain. Kane watched as he dragged her through the woods toward the doorway he had used. As the pair neared, the girl's face became clearer, her green eyes filled with terror as they darted around, looking for an escape. Then they settled on Kane's.

As their eyes locked, his body cried out in rage, shoving from his mind everything but the desire to protect her. He surged out of the woods, launching himself at the creature. Stunned at the sudden intrusion, the faery released his grip on the girl, trying to turn to face the newest threat. He didn't move fast enough and blood spewed across the girl as the creature's head went flying.

She stumbled backward, gasping audibly as she tried to put distance between her and Kane. He held up his bloodied hands, fighting back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. His brain was trying frantically to explain his actions, this sudden need to be heroic and protect a mere human.

The girl backed into a tree and held still. Their eyes were still locked. He could see her fear, but he could also feel her curiosity. Carefully, his hands held high, he approached until he was just a couple feet away.

"Are you alright?" His voice came out shaky and hesitant, causing him confusion. He was a prince, heir to a throne. He was confident and sure of himself, and a human was causing him to be nervous.

The girl nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I'm fine." Her voice was soft and delicate, floating to him like a summer song, wrapping itself around his heart.

He reached out very carefully, cautiously, absolutely terrified that he was going to spook her and she would run away. With gentle fingers, he brushed a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He found himself standing right in front of her, not an arm's length away.

"I'm Kane," he whispered as his head tilted down toward hers.

A smile played across her lips and her hands slipped up across his chest. "I'm Caena," she said, just before her lips met his.

### *~*~*

### SEVENTEEN

### *~*~*

"Is she awake yet?"

Rogan looked up as Arthur came into the room, speaking before he had even rounded the curtain. He had not seen his master wound so tightly in all the time he had been in the castle, but the girl seemed to do something to him.

"No, sir. She still sleeps. Princess Zela gave her a sedative to keep her as still as possible so the poison does not move too quickly through her body. The banewolves were a different breed than the general has seen, likely bred for their poison by the Leanansidhe. She has summoned the Queens to aid us."

Rogan bowed his head as he patted the young woman's brow with a wet cloth. She was pale, her white skin contrasting sharply with her red hair. It fell around her head like a halo, but matted against her forehead where the sweat gathered. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, but consistent.

Rogan raised his gaze to his master. The knight knelt on the opposite side of the chaise the girl was laid upon, his hand hovering just above her limp fingers as if he wanted to squeeze them tightly and beg her to hold onto life with a death grip, but feared a mere touch would send her plummeting into the depths of darkness, never to return. His eyebrows were knit close together, making the skin on his forehead lose all color. His lips were so compressed they caused his nose to wrinkle.

"Sir?"

Arthur jumped at Rogan's voice, his eyes wide like a frightened child. It only lasted a moment before he straightened and composed himself, once again becoming the king Rogan was familiar with. "Yes?" His voice belied his composure, cracking with even the most simple syllable.

Rogan turned his gaze away from the knight as the younger man's cheeks grew a little pink. Instead, he busied himself with straightening the blanket laid over the girl's legs, despite her high body temperature. He was silent a moment, watching her still face.

"Who is she, sir?" His normally quiet voice was barely a whisper. This girl was different; that was all he knew.

Arthur didn't answer and Rogan feared that he had offended his master somehow. He raised his head, an apology on his lips, but the knight was not looking at him. His eyes were locked on the girl, the fear from before back on his face, uninhibited. The blond man shook his head.

"I do not know," he said finally. "Her name is Aiofe." Reaching a hand out, he brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, his finger barely grazing her skin. "Zela called her a hunter, but I do not know what that means."

Rogan sat back, unable to mask his shock. "A hunter?" His surprise bled into his voice and pulled Arthur from his reverie.

The knight narrowed his eyes at his servant. "You know what that is?"

Rogan gave him a hesitant nod, unsure how much information he was supposed to share with the human. "Yes, sir, I do."

Arthur looked at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow in annoyance when Rogan did not respond immediately. "Well?"

Rogan cleared his throat and sat back. Slowly, he reached over and dipped the cloth he held into the bowl of water on the table by his side. He twisted it carefully, draining the excess water from it, then leaned over and resumed patting down the girl's forehead.

"A hunter is..." He stopped, faltering on the words. Describing a hunter's job was simple, but very complex. How do you explain to an outsider that your queen hired someone to track down and slaughter your own kind.

"A hunter is an essential member of our army."

With both relief and apprehension, Rogan sat back, turning his attention to the new voice. The tall blond woman standing in the doorway wore riding gear of all leather. He stood up, dropping the cloth into the bowl as he bowed at the same time, stepping backward and away from the chair with his head low, his eyes on the carpet at his feet.

"Your highness," he mumbled as she strode across the room and settled into the chair he vacated.

"Rogan." She turned and looked at him, throwing him a brief but sincere smile before turning to appraise the young woman. "A hunter," she said, once again addressing Arthur, "is someone in my employ, hired to hunt down and eliminate the rabble that escapes through our doors and seeks to harm the human world. Long ago, I trained the first hunter, a young woman with a fierce heart and a deadly bow. She became my ally in her world, going where I could not, accomplishing things beyond my expectations. Over the years, their ranks have grown, spreading across the world. They have become an important part of both worlds, stemming the tide of destruction from flowing between the void. If not for the hunters, the humans would be in great peril from my people. They are vital tools."

Rogan stood by the window, shocked at the way Arthur stared at the queen, as if they were equals. She met the stare without flinching, a small smirk playing almost imperceptibly at the corners of her lips. She was testing the knight, pushing gentle buttons to see how he would react.

"Why is she here," the young knight asked after several long, strained seconds, choosing in the end to ignore her slight against his race.

Titania turned her gaze back to the girl. "I do not know," she said as she leaned forward to press two elegant fingers against the faint pulse in the pale throat. They trailed delicately down her neck to push back a few stray strands of hair, then found her forehead to do the same. Her eyes never left the woman's face. "Zela said she was chasing a sprite." She trailed off, lost in thought. The next words came out in a whisper, not meant for anyone but the unconscious hunter. "You look just like your mother, my child. So much like her." The fingers found a small divot in the skin near one corner of her lips. "And yet he is still there, hiding."

Titania sat back quickly, clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders, brushing off the momentary vulnerability. She raised her eyes to Arthur's. They were hard and unyielding, telling him without words that anything they shared there at that moment was in absolute confidentiality. "She is my granddaughter."

Rogan leaned against the window sill, his body feeling as if it were tossed there by a large explosion. The queen had a human granddaughter?

Titania leaned forward once more, her eyes still on the knight, but her words were meant for both of them. "My son had an elicit affair many years ago, before he betrayed me completely. To my dismay, it was with the daughter of one of my greatest hunters. She was young, barely seventeen at the time they met, well trained as a hunter, but foolish in the ways of love, as all girls her age are. Her parents were unaware of the affair, believing the lie the girl told them about an illicit love affair with another hunter. They were very angry, so angry they almost left. When a child was born nine months later, her deception was almost revealed, but my son covered it up, thinking he was protecting them both. But he could not hide the truth from me. I can feel when someone of my own blood is brought into this world. I knew the moment the child started to grow in her mother's belly."

She paused and stared at the young woman lying on the chaise, regret heavy on her face. "I was foolish," she said, no longer speaking to the men, but to her granddaughter. "I thought Kane's love would protect you and your mother. I thought your mother had turned him from the dark path he had been walking down, bringing him back to me." A sad smile crept across her lips. "I was right, for awhile."

The smile faded and her eyes rose to meet Arthur's. "Where I went wrong was underestimating that witch, Leanansidhe. For four years, my son managed to keep his new family a secret, from both those in Faery and her own parents. They did not know she was meeting him in private, allowing him to be part of his child's life, teaching her to be both human and faery."

A terrible pain knit her brow as the next words flowed from her mouth like water pouring from a broken damn that had been cracked for far too long.

"They were waiting for Kane the day Leanansidhe showed up. It's not the first time she went after Caena. She has been trying to wipe out the line of The First since I created them. She nearly killed Caena as a baby, but I was able to stop her. This time I was not fast enough. Caena pulled a knife, and it was all the provocation Lea needed."

Titania stood, pacing in a small circle as she continued to speak. "You must be careful with that woman, with Lea. She has the ability to pull power from other faeries, to draw it into her for a short time. It kills them, but that is no matter to her. Few faeries hold any significance to her other than as tools. She must have done just that the night she killed Caena. I was powerless to stop her. Caena was dead before I could reach her. Lea ran when she saw me. She wasn't even brave enough to face me. She just left Aiofe crying over her mother's cooling body."

She stopped her pacing and looked to Arthur. Her cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes were bloodshot. "What could I do?" she asked, shrugging gently. "I led the girl through the woods, helping her leave an obvious trail back to her mother. When she was near enough to the house, I used my powers to magnify her cries, causing them to reach her grandparents. Her grandfather followed the trail through the woods, but by the time he arrived, Kane was there. My son held the knife in his hand, covered in Caena's blood. His face was streaked with tears for her death, but through his anger, Alo couldn't see that. He nearly killed my son. Maybe he should have..."

"They need to know the truth." Arthur's voice was soft and prodding.

Titania smiled at him. "It is not my story to tell, young man. It is for Kane alone."

Arthur frowned. "But that is not fair to Aiofe. What if he never tells her?"

"She will know. Faery blood does not stay silent. Already she is feeling its pull. Faeries are connected through the blood. We can feel each others emotions and if we do not block them, they can be overwhelming. She has been struggling. Her father's anger is strong and she does not understand that it isn't hers."

A soft groan echoed from the chaise and both of them turned to look at the woman lying upon it. Her eyes fluttered momentarily and her head moved a fraction to one side, but she did not stir. Titania returned to the chair, drawing a small bottle filled with vibrant purple liquid from a hidden pocket. The light shining in through the window pierced the glass, sending a rainbow of violet-tinted colors dancing across the room. Placing the injured arm on a towel, Titania uncapped the bottle and tilted it, allowing tiny drops to fall into the rent flesh. The liquid bubbled in the wound, sizzling audibly before darting into the skin.

Aiofe moaned, her arm jerking in miniature spasms until Titania clamped a fist around it, holding it tight. Rogan watched as the veins under the surface of the skin bulged visibly, flaring brightly like the skin on a hand cupped around a flame.

"Hold her." The queen's voice was calm, but her jaw was clenched as she gave Arthur the command to stabilize the thrashing young woman. Rogan stood at the head of the chaise, his hands clenching in rapid fits, a feeling of utter helplessness raging through him. More liquid dripped into the wound, leading to more sizzling and more thrashing. As the last drop tipped from the bottle, falling at a snail's pace to accost the boiling injury, Aiofe bucked against her captors, her back arching and her head tilting backward. Then a scream ripped through the room.

### *~*~*

### EIGHTEEN

### *~*~*

Arthur grunted as he flew threw the air and landed heavily on the other side of his chair. With some effort, he disentangled himself from the cracked wood and cupped his hands to his ears as he looked around.

Titania was standing over Aiofe, her arms out to her sides as an odd smoke poured from the girl's mouth with a horrific howl. Two colors mingled together, dancing in a strange and violent pattern, one light, one dark, colors Arthur could only describe to himself as life and death.

The queen was chanting in a tongue the knight could not understand. Her eyes were open, but they were glazed over with concentration. In one hand she held the now empty bottle; in the other was its matching cap. As her voice rose to pitched heights, the smoke spun through the air into a cyclone around her, whipping her blond hair so violently that strands tore from her head and joined the fray.

As the last bits of smoke left Aiofe's mouth, the young woman collapsed unmoving. Arthur moved toward her but was thrown back by the force of the gale wind that now encompassed Titania. The screeching had stopped, instead turning into the loud unceasing roar of a crashing waterfall. The queen continued to chant, standing firm amid the chaos.

Slowly, the colors began to separate. Light moved away from dark, peeling itself away slowly and with visible effort. It created its own small cyclone over Aiofe and its presence created a barrier that protected Arthur from the assault of the dark smoke. He was able to stand up enough to crawl over to Aiofe's side. He gripped her arm and felt her wrist. It was silent. No blood pulsed through her veins. His heart began thumping in earnest, his own blood rushing to his ears to deafen him.

He looked up from Aiofe's face in time to see the last of the dark smoke sliding into the bottle. Titania slapped the cap on tightly and as she did, the raging wind died immediately. With her free hand, the queen pointed at the light smoke and bobbed her finger once. A small thread broke out of the mini tornado and darted toward Aiofe. It slipped in through the small gap between her lips, like a piece of string threading a needle. As the last little wisp lingered on her red lips, Aiofe gasped, sucking it in. Her breathing was quick, but she was breathing once more. The pulse under Arthur's fingers raced to life, the blood speeding through her body to make up for lost time.

Arthur blinked rapidly, his eyes stinging with tears. He watched Aiofe's face, not daring to hope. The girl's eyelids fluttered several times until they cracked open. Perfect green irises stared straight at Arthur, boring into his blue eyes with such intensity he almost wanted to look away. Almost. A smile pulled at the luscious lips below him and he couldn't help but match them. He raised a hand to her face and brushed a thumb over her cheek.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly. The words felt tight in his throat and he feared his voice would crack.

The girl smiled and brought a shaky hand up to cover his. "I'm alright," she said.

After giving him another smile, she turned to Titania. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, then they shot wide open with recognition. She started to struggle, trying to rise. Arthur put a hand on her shoulder and other behind her back. "Here, allow me." With a gentleness few had seen, he helped her to sit up, settling onto the chaise beside her to serve as an extra support. She leaned against him heavily, resting her head weakly on his shoulder.

"Are you..." The girl's voice faded as she stared at Titania with awe.

The queen smiled as her chin rose slightly with pride. "Why don't you take a look at your locket and tell me if I am."

Aiofe reached up to her neck and fumbled with a chain there. Her fingers would not cooperate. Arthur brought his free hand up and cupped her fingers in his. Together, they removed the locket from its hiding place beneath her shirt. For the first time, he gazed upon the beautiful engraving. His lips parted in a silent gasp. Never in all his time as king had he laid eyes up anything so exquisite. Human hands could not have worked the detail he saw there. With no mistake, the woman on the locket was the same queen he now served.

Titania settled into the chair beside Aiofe and placed a hand on her thigh. "How is your grandmother, my dear?"

The young woman's mouth worked wordlessly for several seconds before she found her voice. "Um, she's alright. I--" Aiofe gasped and her eyes went wide. "Oh, no. My grandfather. He didn't follow me through, did he?" She was shaking in Arthur's arms and he pulled her closer, trying to ward off the sudden fear that ripped through the girl's body. Titania was the one who soothed her fears, though.

"No, child. He did not. Once we discovered the door had been breached, Zela put a guard there and all paths into Faery have been sealed. As far as we can tell, none but you and the sprite you were after passed through."

"Zela?" Aiofe cocked her head to one side questioningly, bringing it back in contact with Arthur's shoulder. She let it stay there.

"My daughter," the queen answered with a fond smile. "Your..." She bit her lip and paused a moment before continuing. "I will take my leave now. I am sure you have many questions, my dear, but I think you have had quite enough excitement for one day. Arthur, if I may speak to you in the hall before I go, please."

It was not a question, but a politely phrased command. He wasn't sure he could have denied the request even if he wanted to. With a quick smile to Aiofe, he laid her back on the chaise and stood, following the queen out the door. She walked all the way to the steps before pausing and turning around to wait for him.

"You must not tell her anything I told you here today," she said as he approached. "In time, it will all be revealed, but she is not ready yet. She has dealt with enough and she will need all her strength to heal. When the time is right, I will tell her the truth, but you cannot be the one to do it. Do you understand?"

Arthur was surprised when he realized the queen was actually begging him. He nodded with uncertainty. "Yes, m'lady. Of course. I will say nothing until you have had a chance to discuss it with her."

Satisfied, the queen nodded. "Good," she said. "Thank you. In the meantime, she is under your care. Guard her with your life." A sly smirk spread across her red lips. "I trust I have nothing to worry about there."

Arthur cleared his throat as color rushed to his face. "No, m'lady," he mumbled. "She will be well cared for. I swear it."

Titania's smirk grew to a smile and she rested a hand on his upper arm. She squeezed it once, gently, then turned on her heel and descended the stairs, sweeping around the corner and out of sight with such elegance that Arthur was sure she was floating instead of walking. When she was gone, he turned and walked the length of the landing to his room.

Inside, Rogan was righting furniture that had been knocked over and picking up scattered pieces of broken glass. Pools of liquid lay beside shattered decanters and the bowl he had been using to bathe Aiofe's forehead was in ruins. He looked up as Arthur approached and the man's face was paler than Arthur had ever seen.

"Are you alright, Rogan?" Arthur asked as he seated himself in the chair Titania had vacated. He picked up the wet cloth from the floor, brushed the broken pieces of clay from it, and used it to wipe some sweat from Aiofe's brow. She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him.

"Yes, sir," the servant responded. He remained quiet a moment as he worked. "Sir, was I mistaken when I thought the lady Zela said Miss Aiofe was bitten by a banewolf?"

"No, that is exactly what Zela said it was. Why?"

Rogan frowned. "Well, sir, a banewolf would not have that effect. Its venom is poisonous, but the most that would happen if the wound was not cleaned is an infection. Maybe the limb would decay and fall off. She should not have succumbed so quickly. And that scream..." His voice trailed off and his forehead wrinkled. Then his eyes met Aiofe's terrified gaze and he straightened. "Apologies, my lady. I am certain it was nothing out of the ordinary. It has been quite a long time since I have been outside these walls. My knowledge must be incomplete." He bowed his head to Aiofe and turned his back.

Arthur wasn't ready to let it go, though. He stepped over to Rogan and gripped his arm tightly. "What about the scream, Rogan? What was that with the smoke and the wind?"

The servant kept his head low but raised his eyes to his master. "A banshee, my lord. Somehow, the dog infected Miss Aiofe with a banshee."

### *~*~*

### NINETEEN

### *~*~*

Agonized screams echoed off the stone walls as Kane made his way through the labyrinthine dungeon. He hated this part of Leanansidhe's castle. Each door had bars in it, putting the mutilated faeries inside on display. It sent wicked shivers up his spine and he was always sure one of her vile creatures was going to try to touch him. His hand rested unconsciously on his sword, his fingers white as they clenched the hilt. He found the door he was looking for and pushed it open, not bothering to knock. The smell hit him immediately.

"Ugh." He buried his nose in the crook of his elbow as he advanced into the room. His eyes scanned around, noting the dried blood on the floor and bits of something he didn't want to think about on the walls. "What is that smell?" he asked as he walked over to Leanansidhe.

She stood beside a table. Strapped to it was a dark-haired faery with a pale complexion. The battle had been good to her. Lots of unclaimed bodies were lying around long enough for her to claim several. The ploy was successful. She would have a full army in no time.

She stabbed a serrated knife into the faery's stomach. He groaned weakly, but didn't move. "Meltholite," she said, waving the bloodied knife toward another table behind them before plunging it back into the faery.

Kane turned his head just enough to see the table from the corner of his eye. He quickly turned back. Gray and black body parts littered the area and the brief glimpse curdled his stomach. Instead, he studied the living faery's face. He was clearly one of Mab's, but not anyone he knew personally, just an underling. The man's pale skin was paler than normal, almost transparent in the eery light cast off from the captured fire faeries darting around the glass lanterns overhead.

"What did you want?" Kane was eager to move the meeting someplace less gruesome.

"Ah, yes." Leanansidhe straightened, pulling the knife from the gaping stomach with a sickening slurp. "Borton!"

A faery about half of Kane's height scampered in through the doorway, bowing obsequiously. "Yes, my queen?"

She held out the knife to him. "Finish here. I have work to do."

He lowered himself even further as he took the tool from her hand. "Yes, my queen. As you wish, my queen." He was still bowing as she wiped her hands and led the way from the room.

"Queen?" Kane raised an eyebrow and tossed a sideways glance at the dark beauty walking beside him.

Her blood red lips curled into a smirk. "I figure I better get used to the title, since it's going to be mine soon anyway."

He was silent. The battle had committed him to this war. There was no way around it. His own sister had seen him aiding Leanansidhe. But his heart still tightened in his chest with each betrayal he wrought and he wasn't thrilled about sharing the throne with someone like Lea. She reached the stairs before he did and he let her lead the way, watching her supple curves slither in front of him. Another part of him shrugged. Maybe sharing more than a throne with her wouldn't be so bad.

"So who was the girl?" she asked as they entered her study.

Blood rushed to his ears and his chest throbbed. "What girl?" He raised his chin, willing his voice to remain steady.

"The human girl, the red head. She's a pretty little thing," Lea continued as she settled into her chair, crossing her long shapely legs. "And she has quite the aim." The woman shrugged a shoulder and winced with the motion as annoyance flitted across her face. "I bet she was one of your mother's little toys. She would make a wonderful addition to our army. Your mommy would love that, wouldn't she?"

Kane's eyes narrowed and his fingers twitched toward his hilt, but he pressed his lips together and bit his tongue.

Leanansidhe's pouty red lips curled seductively as she stood and prowled across the floor. "Anyway, enough about your evil mother."

Kane leaned up against her desk, feeling his pants grow tight. As she reached him, she traced her lips with her tongue, the sharp point at the end of it flicking out across her teeth as her eyes locked with his. She reached out to him, tracing a fingernail over the fabric. A moan escaped his lips as he arched toward her slightly. His chest felt constricted and he fought desperately to control his breathing. Despite his attempts, he found himself panting like a dog and groaning as all four of her clawed fingers raked across his package.

"You're are wound so tight, Kane. It's been too long since you've relaxed. Let me help you," Lea cooed as she pressed against him, her ample breasts tight against his chest.

He closed his eyes, his only response an indecipherable grunt. She gripped his cheeks with her other hand, forcing him to face her. He opened his eyes and saw the hunger he felt echoed there. With his mind shrieking in protest, he leaned forward and savagely pressed his lips to hers. He forced her mouth open and sent his tongue delving into the deeps within. She gave easily and returned his kiss with ferocious passion.

Her fingers went deftly toward the clasp holding his pants up. "Do you know what won me over, when I knew you were going to be my general," Leanansidhe murmured into his ear as she tugged at the fabric. "It was when you took the fall for killing that girl, Titania's hunter. No one but Titania knew it was me. Why she let you take the blame I will never understand."

Kane froze. For two decades he had searched for Caena's killer, longed for his revenge, and here she was the whole time, right beneath his nose. And he was about to give himself to her fully and completely. His stomach churned as images of his murdered lover flashed in front of him. With shaking hands, he yanked his pants up and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY

*~*~*

A warmth spread across Aiofe's face, pulling her from the strange and fitful dreams that interrupted her sleep. She cracked a bleary eye open and surveyed a small portion of her surroundings. A slim ray of sunshine shone past the thick curtain, falling across her as she lay on Arthur's wide bed. While the young woman yawned and stretched, she gazed wistfully at the empty spot beside her. She had tried so hard to get him to join her, but the soft snores coming from the other side of the thick curtain dividing the room made her smile nonetheless.

Aiofe rolled to the edge of the bed and swung her feet to the floor, curling her toes into the thick carpet. With a bit of effort, she pushed herself up, using the night stand to steady herself before she walked the short distance to the window. As she left the carpet, the bare stone felt cool on her feet and helped to energize her a bit. When she reached the window, she leaned against the sill and pulled back the curtain a crack. The training yard was below. Two dark-haired men sparred in a dirt circle in the middle while another polished his armor near a shed. One with chin-length greasy hair was on a horse, shooting arrows from its back at targets that were swinging wildly on a string. The day before was a jumble of scattered images, but she recognized him after a moment. He was the one who had offered her a ride. Travis? Or was it Tristan?

"How are you feeling?"

A pleasant shiver ran through Aiofe when she heard the voice behind her. It washed over her, starting at her ears and trickling all the way to her toes. She turned her head, her breath catching in her throat. His blond hair was sticking up at odd angles and his clothes were a bit rumpled, but Arthur looked fine otherwise. Quite fine. A smile broke across her face as their eyes met.

"I'm alright," she said, then shrugged. "Well, mostly. My arm still hurts a bit."

He stepped up beside her, pulling the curtain all the way to the side so he could see out the window, but his eyes remained on her. He held out a hand. "Here, allow me to take a look."

Her arm floated up to his and he took it gently. When he broke the gaze, she blinked as if pulled from a trance and let her smile fade a bit, though the warmth in her heart and stomach did not. His own smile dropped, the outer edges of his mouth pointing toward the ground as he pulled the bandage off the wound. He tilted her arm a bit, letting the sun graze the open area. It looked much better than it had when Rogan bandaged it the previous night, but it still oozed a strange purple pus.

"Wait here," Arthur said as he stepped away from the window. He grabbed a small glass jar off the nightstand and returned to her. He took off the lid and slid a finger into the blue gel inside. With a tenderness Aiofe did not expect out of a knight, he slathered the gel around the edges of the wound before carefully coating the raw center. Then he wrapped a clean bandage around the whole thing. "Is that too tight?"

Aiofe shook her head. He finished tying off the end and wiped off his hands. "There you go. All set." His smile returned with force.

The young woman found herself blushing and turned to look out the window to hide her pink cheeks. "Are those your men?"

He took a step closer and she could feel the heat emanating off of him as his arm brushed hers ever so slightly. "Yes, they are. The two that look like twins are Balin and Balan." As he spoke, he pointed, indicating that the one who had just felled the other was Balin and the one on the ground was Balan. A brief flash of the previous day came back to her momentarily as more puzzle pieces slid into place. "Balin was always the better swordsman, though I would trust them both with my life. The knight on the bench is Kay, my foster brother and one of my closest confidants."

"And the man on the horse is Tristan, right?"

Arthur nodded. As his head tilted forward, she could feel his breath on her ear. It sent shivers down her body. "Yes. He was the one who brought you to me. And I am ever so grateful that he did." Arthur's voice had dropped to a murmur as he spoke, his lips coming closer and closer to the delicate skin just behind her ear.

Aiofe shuddered as his hand slid around her waist, the warmth in her stomach sliding further down her body. She leaned back into him, her hand finding his, her wounded arm tracking up to brush the tips of her fingers across his cheek.

A resounding knock sounded at the door. The warmth in her lower regions abated quickly, replaced by a strange giddy embarrassment. She felt like a schoolgirl having just been caught by her father. She cleared her throat and smiled at Arthur as he stomped from the curtained room.

"My lord." She did not recognize the voice echoing from the doorway.

"Ah, my good friend, come in. There is someone I would like you to meet."

Aiofe straightened the dressing gown she was wearing as best she could.

"Wait here for a moment, if you could." Arthur stepped around the curtain, pulling it further closed behind him before walking over to her. He didn't pause until he was standing so close they were nearly touching. She looked up at him, wanting more than anything to press herself to him, to run her fingers through that beautiful blond hair, to--

"My dearest friend would like to meet you, but I thought you may want to get dressed first."

His eyes darted from her face and she realized she had lost the grip she had on her gown, revealing more than she had intended. His appreciative smile was quickly replaced by an embarrassed scowl. "My apologies, m'lady," he whispered as he stepped back. "I do not know..." He cleared his throat. "When you are ready, we will meet you downstairs in the dining hall. I will have the servants bring us something to eat."

"Okay." Her voice came out strained to her ears and she gave him a smile to cover it up.

With a bow, he disappeared once more behind the curtain. She listened to the two sets of retreating footsteps until they were shut out by the door. Relaxing with a sigh against the window sill, she looked back down into the courtyard. The man with the armor, Kay, was staring up at her, a lustful smirk on his face. She glared at him and turned, yanking the curtain shut behind her. Releasing an annoyed sigh, she looked around her. The room was darker with the curtain closed, but the flickering candles were enough to see by. Her frown deepened as she wondered who lit them. They must have been in there when she was asleep. That idea gave her the creeps until she decided it must have been Rogan. She was going to have to get used to castle life, she thought.

She searched around the room, but her clothes were nowhere to be found. When Zela helped her change the night before into the dressing gown, she assumed her clothes would be washed and returned, but no such luck. Resigning herself to her fate, she headed over to the full-length mirror propped in the corner.

"Oh my God..." Her normally straight hair was a mess. She cast a glance around the room but she couldn't see a brush anywhere. Sighing with frustration, began tugging at it with her hands, trying to untangle some of the knots.

"Miss, would you like some help?"

Aiofe spun around so fast that she tripped over the dressing gown and nearly lost her balance, catching herself on the nightstand. A young girl of no more than thirteen stood at the opening between the two curtains. She was semi-transparent, much like a ghost, but she was carrying a tray in her hands and had some clothing tucked under her arm. Aiofe narrowed her eyes at the girl. "Who are you?" The question came out harsh and even Aiofe winced at it. "Sorry, I just wasn't expecting anyone. What's your name?"

The girl floated into the room, placing the tray on a small table that had been near the chaise. She picked up a pitcher and poured some water from it into a small basin. "My name is Lilia. I am your servant, m'lady. Please have a seat and I will fix your hair."

Lilia picked up the basin and a brush from the tray and glided across the floor to the chair near the mirror. Aiofe sat on the edge of the chair, her shoulders tense. Taking a cloth from the basin, Lilia twisted out most of the water, then pressed it Aiofe's neck. Aiofe pulled away, shooting a look of confusion at the girl.

"I am helping you bathe, miss." Lilia said it like it was the most natural thing in the world and her face echoed Aiofe's concern. Unable to find a valid argument, and realizing she smelled a bit rank, Aiofe nodded and let the girl continue. The water held a pleasant sent, like lavender and vanilla, and soon the servant girl's deft hands had Aiofe's skin glowing beautifully.

"Were you the one who cleaned me up while I was out?" Aiofe asked as the girl worked.

Lilia nodded. "Yes, miss. I will take care of your every need while you are here. Anything you need, just ask and I will be there. The king made it so."

Aiofe tilted her head. "The king?"

Lilia tossed her a sideways glance in the mirror as she moved to untangle Aiofe's hair. "Yes, m'lady. King Arthur."

Aiofe mouthed the words. King Arthur. Tristan. Kay. "Wait..." Lilia stopped moving, her fingers buried in the red locks. Aiofe waved a hand. "No, sorry. I didn't mean you. I was just thinking." The girl resumed her work, silence settling over them as Aiofe kicked herself mentally. How had she not realized Arthur was the Arthur? It all made sense. But why was he here? Why now?

Lilia was done much quicker than Aiofe would have been and her long hair glistened in the candlelight, done up in an intricate braid twirled around her head. Aiofe smiled. "Thank you," she said.

Lilia turned with a slight smile on her face and picked up the clothing from where it lay on the bed. She held out the pants to Aiofe. They were supple leather, like the ones Zela had been wearing. She slipped them on. They felt soft against her skin and molded to her body better than her favorite pair of jeans. She took the shirt Lilia offered next and slipped it over her head. It was a peasant style, not something she would have chosen, but the fabric was comfortable and the intricate gold embroidery was more beautiful than any Aiofe had ever seen.

When she was dressed, Lilia went to one of the armoires and removed a leather jacket, much like the one that had been destroyed. She slipped into it and looked in the mirror once more. She was washed, her hair was done up nicely, and she had to admit that she looked pretty darn cute in that outfit. With Lilia's help, she slipped on a tall pair of boots. As she watched the girl lace them up, she realized her arm hadn't hurt once during that whole time. She twisted it gently, but all she felt was a minor twinge.

As Lilia finished, she stood and picked up her tray. "They are waiting for you in the dining hall," she said with a short bow. Then she turned and disappeared once more behind the curtain.

With one last glance in the mirror and a few deep breaths, Aiofe followed the girl out the door.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY-ONE

### *~*~*

Aiofe wandered down the stairs, pausing briefly at the landing. She couldn't remember being brought inside the castle the first time and she couldn't hide the smile on her face as she examined all the tapestries and other artwork on display. Footsteps echoed from down the hall as she stared at a gilded bust on a marble stand. She tensed as they approached and stopped behind her. Awkward silence ensued. Somehow she knew it wasn't Arthur and turned with apprehension.

Before her stood the man from the training yard, the one who had leered at her. He was about Arthur's height but nothing like him otherwise. He had dark hair, a carefully trimmed goatee, and wore a lurid smirk. She took a step back, then lifted her chin and cleared her throat. "Hello," she said, keeping her tone even.

The smirk grew deeper and the man cocked an eyebrow. His eyes trailed down her body and back up, lingering in places that made her blush with discomfort. "Hello," he said finally as his gaze returned to hers. "Come."

He brushed past her and stomped down the stairs. After a baffled moment, she frowned and glared, but he didn't pause to see if she followed. With growing annoyance, she trailed behind, walking as slow as she could while not losing sight of him altogether. When he disappeared into a room, she scampered to the door and peaked inside.

Several men sat around a long table, chatting in low voices. Arthur sat at the far end, deep in conversation with another dark-haired man. She watched as the man who had led her downstairs walked around the table and approached the other end. He pulled out the empty chair to Arthur's left, but the king stopped him with a wave. When Arthur pointed to the next chair in line, Kay glared at him for a full thirty seconds before taking the seat and tossing an angry look toward the door where Aiofe waited.

Arthur followed his stare, a smile blossoming on his face. He raised a hand to Aiofe. She couldn't stop her lips from pulling up at the corners and waved back as she straightened and walked into the room. All eyes turned to her and she felt very nervous as she made the long trek down the room.

Arthur stood and pulled out the chair the other man had left empty. "Please, sit."

Aiofe stepped in front of the chair, bobbling a bit as it bumped her legs while Arthur pushed it in. "I guess chivalry isn't dead after all," she said with a small laugh.

"What do you mean?" The knight across the table gave her an odd look.

She smiled and shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just not used to being treated like that. It... uh, guys don't do stuff like that in our world anymore. Hell, they won't even open a door for you if you have an armful of groceries."

The men stared at her, whether with looks of horror or confusion, she couldn't tell. Arthur saved her once more.

"Allow me to introduce my fellow knights to you, m'lady", he said, returning to his own seat.

She glanced at the man beside her. He was still glaring hatefully at her, though it was quickly fading to baffled annoyance. She gave him a smile, trying to imitate the smirk she had seen on his face earlier.

"Kay is not always so moody," Arthur said behind her. "He tends to be a bit territorial and does not take to change well. Ignore his temper tantrums."

Her smirk faltered and she turned back to the king. "What do you mean?"

"That is my seat." The growl came from Kay. His glare had transferred from her to his brother and Aiofe feared she would be burned to death by their deadly stares.

"It is the young lady's chair while she is here and you will accord her the same respect you would accord anyone in our court."

Aiofe couldn't remember anything about Kay from the tales she had read as a child aside from his terrible temper. She found herself sinking back into her seat, trying to stay out of his direct line of view.

"When you gentlemen are quite finished, I am sure Lady Aiofe would like to be introduced to the rest of us."

"Yes," Aiofe said, tossing a thankful smile at the man across from her. "I really would."

Arthur's relaxed grin returned. "Of course, m'lady. My apologies." With one more glare in Kay's direction, he turned his attention to the man at his right. "This is my closest friend and confidant, Lancelot."

"Lancelot?" Aiofe couldn't stop herself from gushing. " _The_ Lancelot? Like the one who tried to steal Guinevere from you?" She slapped a hand to her mouth, green eyes going wide as her cheeks flushed pink.

Arthur's hearty chuckle rolled across the table as he clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It would appear our little squabble was more public than we would have cared to know, my friend. What other secrets of our court have you heard, my dear?"

"Um..." Aiofe glanced around the table. Six knights were seated there, and she had their full attention. Kay's smirk was quickly returning as the thief of his chair was suddenly on the spot. "Well," she said, trying to figure out who was who. "Some of your knights were very famous." She laughed a little. "I'll have to tell you guys the stories sometime so you can tell me what was real and what was just a myth. Like the Holy Grail? Was that real?"

Arthur cocked his head at her. "But of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's hard to tell these days what's real and what was made up over the years by storytellers. Anyway, who is who?" She waved a hand toward the three knights who hadn't been introduced.

"I am Bors." The blond knight next to Lancelot bowed his head slightly, an endearing smile crossing his face. His hair was cut shorter than most of the others and he had a serious look about him. "Anything you need, my lady, I am at your service."

"Always the servant, never the served," came the bitter grumble beside her.

Aiofe gave Kay a sideways glance. "Are you always so rude?"

Bors cut off any retort the knight might have had, his chin held high. "In life, I took a vow of celibacy, my lady. I have chosen to renew it. Other knights prefer to take advantage of their station. I do not."

"Oh," said Aiofe.

A moment of uncomfortable silence followed until Arthur spoke up. "To Kay's left is Gawain and the young knight to Bors's right is Percival. He was with Tristan when they rescued you."

Images of the chaos that surrounded her arrival in Faery flashed through her mind. She remembered seeing a young blond man and the one sitting at the table matched the description. "Oh, yes," she said, smiling at him. "Thank you so much for that. I think I kind of pissed that faery off a bit."

Mouths gaped. Aiofe looked around the table, confused by their sudden shock. "What?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "It is nothing. My knights are just not used to ladies who speak so, shall we say, freely?"

"I don't... wait, you mean 'pissed'?"

He coughed a little and moved a cup that was sitting in front of him a few centimeters to one side. "Yes," he said. "In our time, women of breeding did not use such language."

Aiofe laughed, partly embarrassed, but mostly entertained. She almost wanted to see how they would react when she got really worked up and started dropping less courteous language. "I'm sorry," she said. "You boys are going to be in for quite a shock, I think. There aren't really women of 'breeding' anymore. We're all just kind of the same. Classes still exist to an extent, but not nearly the way they did back when you were first alive. I can't wait for you to see the way most of us dress!"

Her mirth was met by confused and uncomfortable shuffles until the door opened and several servants entered. They were each bearing trays with plates on them and they set the dishes in front of the knights and Aiofe. The plates were covered with a silver lid, but Aiofe could smell the food underneath. As they ate, she asked questions about their previous lives, trying to separate the myths from truth, and answered strange questions about hers. Questions such as "What exactly are groceries?"

"Next question," said Aiofe as she stuffed the last chunk of chicken from her plate into her mouth.

"What was that thing that fell out of your pocket when Arthur carried you up the stairs?" Lancelot asked. His plate was already cleaned, as were all the men. They ate much faster than she had.

"What?" Aiofe stopped chewing and stared at the man. "Out of my... my phone! You have my phone?" She sat up straight, her eyes darting between him and Arthur. A look of concern crossed their faces as Lancelot pulled the black object from his own pocket and placed it on the table. She half stood to reach across and grab it.

"Several of the faeries were very upset about it and some ran away. Why? What is it? What is a phone?"

The plastic casing was cracked and Aiofe feared the worst as she flipped it open. "A phone is a telephone. It lets you talk to whoever is on the other end instantly." She breathed a sigh of relief as it lit up.

"But it is so small. And there is no one on the other end."

"Well, no, not right now. I can't get a signal."

The young woman looked around the table. All the men were looking at her as if she had just missed the train to crazy town, only they had no idea what a train was. She blew out a puff of air. "It's kind of like magic but not really. Say Arthur was in France and Lancelot was in Camelot. They could talk to each other without having to send letters. Instantaneous." She snapped her fingers to prove her point.

Heads nodded in false understanding, but their eyes remained mini canvases of befuddlement. She gave up. "Arthur," she said, her happy mood at the entertaining afternoon gone with the mention of her phone. "Can I talk to you alone?"

He paused briefly. "Yes, m'lady." Then he rose and held out his hand. "We will go to the gardens."

She took it and stood up herself, feeling very medieval and almost wishing she was wearing a dress. Almost.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY-TWO

### *~*~*

Arthur led her through the castle, down a short hallway, and out a wooden door. At the foot of a set of stone stairs, a rock path disappeared behind a tall hedge.

"I have yet to visit this part of the grounds," Arthur said as he picked up her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. "I am happy to be seeing it for the first time with you."

Aiofe blushed and bit her lip. "I'm not used to someone talking so sweetly," she replied as he led her into the garden.

"Oh? The men where you come from do not say such things?"

She snorted. "Not usually, no. Not unless they really want to get in your pants."

His eyebrows knit together. "I am not familiar with that term, but it sounds like the desire of some unsavory creature."

Aiofe grinned. "Most of the time, yes, they are very unsavory."

The garden was not large, but it was well maintained and beautiful nonetheless. Flowers of every color lined a maze of stone paths that wound between trees and swaths of bright green grass. Intricately carved stones benches were scattered around, most of them next to topiary statues trimmed into shapes of faeries. She spotted an green satyr next to two cherubs holding up a slab of rock. Across the way stood a motionless centaur, his ivy ax poised precariously over a lounging sprite whose legs made the perfect place to rest. She stopped and sat, patting the stone beside her. Arthur smiled and took his place, slipping on arm around behind her.

"It's very nice here," she said, gazing up into his blue eyes.

"Yes," he murmured as his face lowered toward hers.

A shock wave rippled through Aiofe's body as their lips met. Fire dance across her face, creeping down her skin into her extremities and other parts of her body. She brought a hand up, tangling it in the blond hair as their lips pressed tighter together. Hers parted slightly with the prodding of his curious tongue and she happily welcomed it into her mouth. Her own tongue shot out to dance with his, twirling in a sloppy embrace.

His other hand slid around her, dropping from her waist down to her bottom, pulling her onto his lap. A hard lump pressed against her leg and she felt herself growing moist at the thought of it. She pressed against him, her body aching for more. She let a hand trail down his chest until it reached his pants. Tucking her fingers into them, she began tugging gently at the strings that held them up.

With a cough, Arthur shoved her gently but firmly back onto the bench and stood. His hands shook as he retied his pants tightly and straightened his shirt. For several long seconds he stared away from her, taking deeps breaths to compose himself, then with a smile, he turned. "I apologize, m'lady. Please, let us continue our stroll." He held out a hand and she took it, both thankful and irritated that he stopped before it went further.

They continued wandering through the maze of hedges and patches of grass until they reached a wide stone courtyard. In the center of the garden was a masterpiece. A large fountain took up most of the open area, water bubbling happily from the mouths of marble mermaids resting along the outer rim into the pool below. In the middle were four women facing outward.

"They're beautiful," sighed Aiofe as they approached.

"They are the Four Queens of Faery," said Arthur, awed at the almost perfect likeness the creator had captured. "They each stand facing their lands." He pointed to one. "That is Isobel, Queen of the West." He moved around the fountain so they were standing in front of another. "Mab, Queen of the North. Oonagh, Queen of the East." He paused in front of the last, glancing at Aiofe before he spoke. "Titania, Queen of the South."

Aiofe's hand went to her throat, her fingers finding the locket still tucked there. She pulled it out and looked at the front. It did indeed look like the statue, so much so that they could have been carved by the same hand. "She's my boss, but yesterday was the first time I ever met her."

"But she is your..." Arthur stopped himself. "She is your boss?"

Aiofe raised an eyebrow at him. One of the tricks of the hunting trade was knowing when someone wasn't being truthful and she was quite certain that what Arthur had said had not been what he wanted to say, but she nodded.

"Yes, she was the one who enlisted The First." She watched the water bubble for a moment before she realized he had no clue who The First was. "The First was the first hunter, the first to be selected by the queens to help them keep rogue faeries under wraps. They imbued her with special powers, making her stronger, faster, smarter than a normal human. The power gets passed down through the line. It weakens the further you get from the direct line of The First, but it's still there." Her fingers tightened around the locket.

"What happens if the direct line dies out?"

Aiofe frowned. She had never thought to ask that question. "I have no idea."

"The power dies with it."

Arthur and Aiofe turned in unison toward the new voice. A young blond woman who looked very much like the statue sauntered across the stones toward them. She wore a long billowing pastel pink dress and her hair trailed out behind her. Her skin glowed with the kiss of the sun and her blue eyes shone with brilliant intelligence. She was gorgeous and Aiofe could feel the power emanating off of her. The red head tightened her grip on Arthur's arm, moving closer to her knight.

"Zela," he said. "A pleasure. You remember Aiofe?"

Zela gave him a look that almost made Aiofe laugh. "Yes, I remember her well. I did save her life, after all."

Aiofe grinned. "I almost didn't recognize you without all the blood. Thank you for your help yesterday."

Zela waved a hand, her hard face melting into a loving smile. She reached out and pulled Aiofe into an embrace. "Think nothing of it. I see you are well again. I am happy to see it. For awhile there, we feared for your safety." She turned her attention to Arthur. "We recovered one of the banewolves. They have indeed been mutated, their essence crossed with a banshee's. This does not bode well. We must stop her before she can cause irreversible corruption."

"What do the Queens say?"

"We are to gather a force and hit her castle hard. Tear it down, leave nothing alive."

Aiofe's hands gripped Arthur's arm. "When?"

"As soon as possible." Zela patted Aiofe's shoulder. "You will remain here, in the safety of these walls. You are a hunter, not a warrior. The battlefield of Faery is no place for a child of The First."

Aiofe found herself shaking her head. "I can't stay here," she blurt out. "I have to go home."

"You cannot." The long blond locks danced as Zela denied Aiofe's request. "Leanansidhe knows who you are. You are not safe anywhere but here."

"I have to leave. I have to check on my grandparents. They don't know where I am and if she knows where I live..." Her voice trailed off. She felt faint as her heart began to pound, images of what could happen to her family racing through her mind. She gripped Arthur's arm tighter and she looked up at him, pleading. "Please," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes unbidden.

He brushed her cheek with a rough thumb before appealing to Zela. "We will take her home. I will leave one of my knights. If we are assaulting Lea's castle, she will not waste time trying to attack some innocent humans."

Zela's lips pursed. She looked unconvinced, but nodded nonetheless. "Very well. I will go with you. We will bring Percival as well."

A knowing smile flitted across Arthur's face.

"Oh, be quiet." Pink crept quickly up Zela's cheeks as she turned from Arthur, but Aiofe saw the girlish grin on her face.

Arthur leaned over, his lips brushing Aiofe's ear. "Zela and Percival are courting."

The faery spun around and propped her hands on her hips. "We are not! We're just..."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. "Forget it," Zela said again. "Come on, time to go." She stomped across the courtyard, outpacing them by a lot in her irritation.

"Percival seems very shy. I would not have pictured him with a faery, especially not a princess."

"Yes, he is very young. I find it amazing that he has wooed such a virile woman, to be quite honest. He was always such a clod pole around the ladies. Strange times are these."

Aiofe gave him a crooked smile. "Yes, strange times indeed."

Back inside, Zela led them into another room that was filled by a large, round table. Aiofe's jaw fell open. "Wow," was all she could manage to say.

As she and Arthur took a seat, Percival entered, followed by Kay, Lancelot, and the rest of the knights, most of whom she had not met. Once they were all seated, Arthur explained the situation.

"We have confirmation that Leanansidhe is indeed creating abominations in her castle. We have orders to strike and destroy it immediately. But before we do, I must return Aiofe to her home and see that her grandparents are safe. Zela and Percival will accompany us, but I wish to leave one of my trusted knights to ensure their protection."

"I will do it." Lancelot spoke up without hesitation, dire sincerity on his face.

Arthur shook his head. "No, you are one of my best warriors. I need you to lead the assault. Kay." As Arthur turned to his foster brother, Aiofe saw Kay stiffen, his face puckering in irritation. "I trust you to take care of Aiofe and protect her with your life. Will you do that? As my brother and friend?"

Kay sighed, clearly unhappy about the decision. "As always, your word is my command, sire." He rolled his eyes, his voice bleeding with mockery, but underneath it all, Aiofe heard the loyalty. She could trust him, or so she hoped.

Arthur nodded, ignoring the sarcasm. "Thank you. We will leave shortly. The rest of you need to prepare. As soon as I return, we will gather the armies and make our final plans."

The knights all rose, most of them leaving to sharpen their swords and hone their battle skills. Lancelot approached Aiofe and Arthur as they stood in a corner talking to Zela and Percival.

"Are you sure he is the best choice to protect your woman, Arthur?"

Aiofe bristled at being called anyone's woman and her mouth shot open. A hand on her elbow stilled the vicious comment on her tongue. She followed the delicate fingers up a tan arm until she met Zela's eyes. The faery shook her head slightly and mouthed the word "No". Aiofe narrowed her eyes and pulled her arm away, but snapped her mouth shut.

"Yes," Arthur was saying. "I am sure. He is my foster brother. We grew up together and he has been there for me in every need. He will protect her. I have no doubt."

Lancelot lowered his head toward Arthur. "My lord, do you still not trust me?" His voice was laced with a pain that had never quite healed.

The king raised his hands, placing them on the knight's shoulders. "Lancelot, my friend and most loyal knight, I trust you completely. I have let go of the past. It is time you do the same. As I said before, you are my best warrior. I need you to help me lead the armies against Leanansidhe. This is going to be the toughest battle we were ever in. She will defend that castle with everything she has and I need my best beside me."

"And what am I, then? The worst?" Kay was leaning against the wall a few feet away, his arms crossed.

Arthur sighed. "No, but almost." He took Aiofe's hand and pulled her along. "Come, we need to get ready."

Aiofe followed him out and up the stairs to the bedroom they had shared. On a couch underneath one window were her clothes, washed and folded. On the table lay her bow and quiver. Her backpack was slung across a chair. As Arthur slipped on a leather chest piece and strapped his sword around his waist, she similarly armed herself, making sure her bow was still fit for use and tucking her knife into her belt.

"All set," she said as she stuffed her clothes into her pack.

He took her hand once more and led her down the stairs. Zela, Percival, and Kay were waiting for them out in the courtyard. With some help, Aiofe mounted Arthur's steed and he slid into place behind her. She leaned back, feeling his strong muscles against her, and closed her eyes. Their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, completely unlike her earlier experience on a horse. One of Arthur's hands slipped around her waist and she tangled her fingers in his as they disappeared into the path that Zela had opened.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY-THREE

### *~*~*

Aloysius Callaghan felt like he had been tied to two rampaging bulls and dragged through the streets of Pampalona. Every muscle in his old, tired body ached and walking up the back steps to his house took every ounce of energy he had left. He dropped the pack he carried on the porch and reached for the doorknob with an arm so sore it barely had any strength left. The door flew open as his fingers brushed the knob and he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"Did you find her?" Maureen stood in the door, wringing a dry dish towel in her wrinkled hands. Her face was puffy and red and dirty streaks stained her cheeks. Her eyes beseeched him, pleading for an answer he could not give.

"No, love, not yet." The words drained what little restraint Alo had and he sank down onto the bench in the mud room, his head sinking to his chest. His eyes stung and he closed them to ward off the tears. He had to be strong for his wife, he couldn't fail her, not this time. She had suffered so greatly when Caena died. He couldn't bear that again. Raising his head, he forced a weak smile to his face. "We'll find her, Mo. I promise. I promise."

Three days had passed since Aiofe had disappeared in the woods while hunting the sprite. After seeing to David's injuries and sending him to the hospital, they tracked her into some briars, but then the trail simply evaporated. She had never come out. Hunters were called in from all over the area, but no one had had any luck. A knot of fear sat deep in his stomach, but he refused to acknowledge it. He would not lose his only grandchild. He would find her and bring her home, even if it was the last thing he did.

Maureen's small hands were gripping his arm. "Have you heard anything from Titania yet?"

Alo shook his head as the knot raced around inside him. "No. All of the hunters are saying the same thing. All the doors have been closed. No one can get through from this side, so we can't contact her."

"Would she..." Maureen trailed off with a fierce shake of her head. "No, she would not," she said, answering her own question. She had been one of Titania's favorites, so she knew the queen as well as anyone alive. "Titania is not responsible for this."

Alo slipped his arm around Maureen and pulled her close to him, drawing strength from her. "No, she isn't. Aiofe is headstrong and was dead set on finding that sprite. I think she just stumbled through a door."

He didn't mention what usually happened to hunters who stumbled through doors. Only about a quarter of them returned in one piece, and barely more than a third returned at all. Maureen whimpered, her shoulders shaking gently against him. He stroked her hair and kissed her head softly. "We'll find her," he whispered once more, though his hope was quickly fading.

*~*~*

"Give me that." Leanansidhe snatched the glowing device that the ugly creature in front of her was fumbling with and placed it on the ground at her feet. She shoved the gnarled beast out of the way, knocking him over into a heap, and straightened up.

"Eiliaorthaman," she whispered, the word rolling off her tongue like a hot stone. It plummeted to the ground, smashing into the object below with a violent impact. A blinding explosion ripped out from the device and she stumbled back a step, shielding her eyes with her hand. When the spots cleared from her vision, she looked up, a smile growing across her face.

Before her the landscape had changed. Where once stood a wall, now were trees stretching out as far as the eye could see. She had created a door between Faery and the human world. It was illegal to do so, but what did she care about legality? The queens could do nothing to her. She was above them, and soon she would own them.

She stepped toward the door, kicking the writhing beast beside her. "Get up," she growled. Turning partially, she raised her hand and snapped. "Come," she commanded. A dozen more of the creatures hopped up from the ground and scampered after her, grunting their pig-like grunts.

After walking for fifteen minutes, Leanansidhe stopped and looked around. She knew this part of the woods well, though she had not been there in over two human decades. She shuddered and her nose curled involuntarily at the thought. "Humans," she muttered, spitting the word from her mouth. She turned sharply and stomped through the trees, swatting at branches that got in her way with such force they snapped in half.

In short time, she came to a clearing. Standing next to a tall pine, she looked upon a quaint two-story cabin sitting in the middle of a wide lawn. The last time she had been there was to watch the funeral of a descendant of The First, a fine moment indeed. With a wicked smile, she stepped from the cover of the woods and strode across the lawn, her creatures following behind her.

*~*~*

Maureen was quiet as she prepared a light dinner of cold sandwiches, but Aloysius didn't mind. He was lost in his own thoughts. Namely, how to get into Faery to find his granddaughter. He kept playing that day over and over again in his head. If only they hadn't given her the locket, he thought. But no, he countered, the locket may be her only chance of survival, the only way to prove who she is, and it would offer her a bit of protection from any faeries she came across. He was so lost in his own thoughts that it took him awhile to notice that Maureen was standing absolutely still, a butter knife in one hand and an open jar of mayonnaise in the other. She was barely even breathing.

He stood up and walked across the kitchen, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Mo? What is it?"

With a shaky hand, she pointed out the kitchen window with the knife. He followed her gaze and his heart dropped. A tall, dark-haired woman was striding across their lawn toward the house. She wore black pants and a tight black shirt. He knew without a doubt that she was a faery, not because of her clothes or the way she looked, but because of the hideous creatures that trailed along behind her. They were short and squat, their limbs riddled with warts and pock marks. Their gray skin was as thick as a rhinoceros's hide. He had encountered one before. It wasn't a pretty fight. They were fairly stupid creatures, but they had the strength of a body builder and it was nearly impossible to pierce their skin without the right blade.

"Mo," he said, sliding his hand up to her arm. "Go into the garage and grab my witch's blade, please."

She didn't move.

"Mo." He shook her, breaking her out of her trance.

Her entire body shivered as she looked at him. Her eyes were huge. He had never seen her so terrified. "Leanansidhe," she whispered before she darted out of the kitchen.

The word chilled him to the bone. As he looked out the window once more, his heart sank into his toes. The woman was advancing across the lawn at a quick pace, her long legs moving easily in the high-heeled boots she wore. The creatures with her skittered like crabs on all fours, struggling to keep up.

She raised her eyes as she neared the house, meeting his stare dead on. The wicked grin that pulled at the corners of her mouth told him that she had plans for him, and he wasn't going to enjoy them one bit. He backed up a step, unable to break eye contact with her. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt more winded than he had upon entering the house.

"Alo."

The gentle voice set him free from the spell and he spun around, stumbling to the other side of the kitchen to his wife. When he looked back, all he could see was the top of the intruder's head. He breathed a sigh of temporary relief.

Maureen had her hands full. In one hand, she held his witch's blade: a short sword about fourteen inches long and an inch wide. It was so sharp it could filet a spiral notebook and leave the edges of the paper looking like they were meant to be looseleaf. She held it out to him and he took it, strapping its sheath around his waist.

In her other hand, Mo carried her favorite weapon, a simple long bow. It was similar to the one she had given Aiofe on her thirteenth birthday, but longer and thinner. There were no carvings or markings of any kind on the bone-white wood, but it was the deadliest weapon she could have chosen. Over her back was slung a quiver of arrows, all made from the same wood with silver feathers attached. They were faery-made weapons, given to her during a particularly dangerous hunt in which Titania was personally involved. The wood was from a rare and protected species of tree only found in the south of Faery near Titania's castle. Since Caena's death, the weapon had remained locked away in an enchanted cabinet in the garage, immune to even the most prying of eyes.

"Ready?" Maureen asked as she tested the string on her bow.

Alo shook his head and put a hand on hers, lowering the bow. "I don't want you to do this. Go back to the garage. You'll be safe there--"

"No." Maureen didn't snap; she didn't plead. She simply stated a fact. She wasn't going anywhere. As he opened his mouth to argue, she raised the bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver, slipping it onto the string. Her green eyes locked onto his. "We do this together, as it should have always been."

Alo drew a breath, ready to plead his case, but an image flashed through his mind, that of his wife cowering in a corner of the garage as Leanansidhe stalked toward her. If he went out there alone, it was inevitable, though he couldn't imagine the famed hunter Maureen Callaghan actually cowering. No, they stood a better chance together, side by side as they had been since the first day he saw her. He smiled and leaned over, kissing her softly. "I love you," he whispered.

She returned his smile, years melting off her face. "I love you, too." Then the smile faded. "Now stop being a sissy. We have work to do."

He laughed and together they walked out onto the porch to meet their unwelcome guest.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY-FOUR

### *~*~*

Kane stood in his study near the fireplace, his hard glare locked on the faery that fidgeted near the door. The man was tense, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Kane almost laughed. If he decided to end the man's life, he wouldn't get two feet down the hall before he was finished, his lifeless corpse nothing but another piece of refuse for the servants to dispose of. This particular man was lucky, though. Kane was in a fairly good mood, despite the annoyances he had encountered lately, and this fellow brought news from Leanansidhe's palace. Useful news, with any luck. He raised a hand and waved the man forward. With faltering steps, the shorter man moved toward him, bowing with every step. He was a servant, just like most others in Lea's employment. The aspiring queen didn't like to keep too many people around that she could not easily control. She preferred to hold the power. It was much simpler that way.

"Speak," Kane commanded.

"Your highness," the man began in a scratchy, rat-like voice. "I have heard that you are looking for information on the queen, I mean, the faery Leanansidhe. It is rumored that you will reward those who are able to give you information that can, let's say, improve your situation?" The man raised his beady little eyes to Kane's, grinning at him hopefully with sharp yellow teeth.

Kane peered down at him, raising his chin a little higher as his eyes narrowed. "It is possible. What information do you have?"

"Well, my lord," the rat continued, twisting his hands together so tightly that Kane was sure he was in pain. "You see, I have information."

Kane's shoulders dropped as irritation settled on him. He was half tempted to strangle the man right there before he could get whatever news the man brought from him. It simply could not be worth having to listen to his squeaky, weaselly voice.

"And?" Kane clenched his fists, forcing his urge to kill down into the pit of his stomach.

"Sire, the queen, I mean, Leanansidhe, she was mumbling something about wiping out the line, about freeing faeries from the clutches of humanity. She has left the castle."

Kane cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, waiting for the man to continue.

"She has opened a door, to the human world, sire."

Kane's hand shot up, commanding the man to be silent. "What did you just say?"

"She went to the human world, your highness. And she took a dozen gremlins with her."

Kane began pacing in a tight line. "Where exactly in the human world did she go? Did you trace the door?"

"Yes, sire. She opened a portal very near the house of a hunter. That one they say you k--"

The faery's breath was cut off as Kane's hand clenched around his throat, squeezing so hard the bones creaked as they ground together. "When did she leave?" His good mood was gone, evaporating in an instant, along with what little respect he had left for the would-be queen.

"About half an hour ago," the struggling man squawked, his cracked nails scratching feebly at Kane's wrist.

With a snarl, Kane gripped the man's head with his other hand and jerked it around. An audible pop echoed around the room as the bones and muscles in the other faery's neck tore and snapped. Kane let out a disgusted sigh as he let the man fall to the ground in a motionless heap. Caena wouldn't like that, he thought.

"Caena isn't here," he grumbled to himself hoarsely as he stared at the body.

Aiofe wouldn't like that, his heart responded. For two human decades, he fought back the emotions that had threatened to overtake him, pushing the girl out of his mind and closing his heart off to anything and everyone. But that day on the battlefield, a crack formed in the impenetrable wall, and with each passing moment it was growing larger, letting the pain and love from long ago flow through. Only one person could stop the dam from breaking; only one person could keep him from falling apart completely. And Leanansidhe was at her house at that very moment.

*~*~*

The self-proclaimed queen stood at the bottom of the stairs, a wide smile on her face. She stretched her arms wide and cocked her head to the side, feigning joy. "Maureen, darling. So lovely to see you. How long has it been? Thirty years? Forty?"

"Forty-one." Maureen's voice was hard and low. "You tried to kill my daughter."

The faery beamed and clapped her hands together, a wild glint in her eyes. She leaned forward conspiratorially, resting her elbow on the railing and her chin on her fist, her face falling into false pity. "Oh, my dear hunter, don't you know? I did kill your daughter, if a couple years later than intended." She wiggled her eyebrows as she stood up. Her lips shot out into a pout. "Terribly sorry about that, you know."

Quick as a whip, Maureen raised the bow and let an arrow fly. It soared through the air, aiming straight for Leanansidhe's black heart. The faery dodged to the side, executing a perfect tumble that brought her back up onto one knee with her own sword drawn.

The arrow shot past her and sank into the creature who had been cowering behind her. It pierced the thick hide without so much as a pause, tearing into its neck and protruding out the other side. With a howling, burbling keel, it tumbled head over heels, rolling several feet before sliding to a twitching stop. Its fellows looked nervously around, muttering guttural phrases that Alo and Maureen could not understand.

Leanansidhe's face curled into a snarl and she raised her sword, pointing it at Maureen. "That was not very nice. Your granddaughter tried that, too. Did you not teach her any manners?"

Maureen reached behind her to pull out another arrow as Alo unsheathed his sword. His body screamed at him, begging to just lay down and let the women hash it out. He stepped between the faery and his wife. "What do you want?" he asked, his white eyebrows knitting together as he glared at the faery. The sword in his hand wavered, catching glimpses of the fading sun in its perfectly polished sheen.

The faery stared at it with amusement. "A witch's blade? How interesting. You really must be Titania's favorites. How sweet it will be when she discovers that her precious hunters have been ended. By me, nonetheless, her ancient enemy."

Leanansidhe was stalling; Alo could see that now. The remaining creatures were inching out to the sides, trying to block them in. He and Maureen could try to escape into the house and out the front, but with what he knew about the faery, she had already closed that route off. Five of the beasts remained, along with the faery. Her alone would have been fight enough, but the creatures left them badly outnumbered. They were in trouble.

"Mo," he whispered. "Go inside."

His wife ignored him, her bow once again aiming for Leanansidhe. "Is Aiofe alive?" she asked, her voice quivering.

The faery woman's grin grew and she shrugged. "With any luck, she will be a banshee by now. I have had some fun with little experiments. It is almost like cooking, you know. A dash of this, a sprinkle of that, and voila! A brand new species designed to wreak pure havoc. I would have been able to watch the results if not for those meddlesome southerners." Leanansidhe scoffed and shook her head. "No respect for science anymore."

"Lea, stand down."

All eight heads turned toward the new voice echoing from the woods. A tall blond man was riding up the lawn on a horse, moving slowly but steadily. Leanansidhe half growled, half sighed as she turned her body part way to address him.

"Kane," she said, her voice floating across the grass. "What an unwelcome surprise."

Alo grabbed Maureen's arm and pulled her back, putting them closer to the house and the open door. He watched as the young faery dismounted and strode across the lawn. It took the old man a moment to connect the dots, to realize he was staring at Titania's son. Anger surged through his body as he thought of his daughter. The last time he saw Kane, the faery was standing over her mutilated body holding the knife that was responsible for her death. The blade in Alo's hand continued to shake.

"What do you want, Kane?" Leanansidhe propped her hands on her hips, her sword sticking out at a very dangerous angle, not coincidentally pointed directly at the newcomer.

"Let them go. They are not part of this battle." Kane stood in front of her, his sword still sheathed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Leanansidhe snarled at him. "Oh, but they are." Her sword hand shot out, pointing directly at Maureen. "That is the last of the line of The First. When she is gone, the protection is broken. Not only will I have your mother's throne, but I will have this world, as well." She took a step forward and ran her free hand across Kane's chest, looking up into his eyes with a lust that made Alo's stomach lurch. "I bet you would like that, no? To be king of the humans? To rule over these filth and make them into the slaves they were meant to be?"

Kane didn't respond for a moment, then his hand came up, smashing into her breast bone and sending her flying across the lawn. He drew his sword and leapt up the stairs toward the hunters. Alo raised his sword and slashed out. It clanged against Kane's just as Maureen loosed an arrow. It sailed past him, lodging into the wood railing of the porch.

"Stop," Kane cried, stepping back and putting his hands up. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Aloysius stepped forward, waving his sword wildly. He took a swing and Kane ducked, but Alo wasn't aiming for him. The blade whirred through the air, slicing the arm off one of Leanansidhe's creatures. Kane turned, putting his back to the man, and swung his own weapon as a second beast leapt through the air toward him. His blade lodged in the flesh of the thing's shoulder, pulling him down to his knees. He struggled against the howling creature, trying to disentangle his sword as Alo finished off the other creature.

"Why are you here, then?" the old man asked, slamming the witch's blade down into Kane's opponent, ending the mini battle.

Kane jerked his sword free and shook off the black blood. "Where is Aiofe?" he asked, glancing quickly at Leanansidhe. The faery woman was rising, albeit slowly, but she was clearly angry.

Alo stood beside his wife. "She's not here."

Kane stopped and stood straight up, turning to face the man. His eyes were wide. "Where is she?"

Alo frowned at the concern in his voice. "We don't know. Your friend there seems to think she does."

"Shit." Kane turned back toward Leanansidhe once more, just in time to be thrown backward against the house. Siding cracked with the impact, sending slivers of wood raining down over the trio.

The faery woman smiled. "Never do that again. Now, where was I? Oh yes, wiping out the line of The First." She raised a hand, her lips moving silently. Alo couldn't see her sword anywhere, but it was clear she didn't need it. Flame glowed in the palm of her hand, the ball growing larger the longer she chanted. Her eyes rose, locking on Maureen. With a thrust of her fist, the fire ball was soaring through the air, straight at Alo's wife.

The old man moved faster than he had ever moved before. He lunged, knocking Maureen over. The fire singed his hair and Maureen was groaning in pain underneath him, but they were still alive. He watched with horror as his blade twirled over the side of the porch, out of reach. Behind them, Kane groaned, half conscious, and steady thumps echoed across the porch as Leanansidhe advanced up the stairs.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY-FIVE

### *~*~*

"That way," Aiofe said, pointing through the tangle of trees. Arthur tugged the horse's reins gently, steering it in the direction of her finger. They plodded slowly along, the animals picking over the brush and fallen logs carefully. "Maybe we should have left the horses behind," the young woman muttered, her fingers tapping impatiently on the creature's neck.

"We cannot leave them unattended," said Arthur behind her. "Besides, they are excellent warriors."

Aiofe raised an eyebrow and turned halfway in her seat. "The horses fight?"

"Absolutely." Zela was a few feet to their left. She patted her horse affectionately. "They are a special breed, raised on the plains of..." She trailed off and raised her head, sniffing. "Do you smell that?"

Aiofe's nostrils flared in response, catching a whiff of smoke. She took a deeper breath. She could smell the flames, taste them on her tongue. There was no doubt in her mind where the fire was. Coughing roughly, she quickly slid her leg over the horse's neck and leapt to the ground.

Arthur was right beside her, his hand gripping her arm gently. "Wait, do not run up there unprepared."

She yanked away from him. "My house is on fire!" Her voice echoed off the trees, but she didn't care. Turning, she darted through the woods, the power of the locket and her own blood mixing with her fear to give her an extra boost of adrenal.

"Aiofe, wait!" Arthur's call was fading behind her. She stumbled momentarily in a panic of deja vu. It was long enough for him to catch up to her. His horse had been left behind, snorting frantically as its master raced through woods it couldn't navigate so easily. "Stop," the knight breathed as he reached her, taking her arm gently once more. "Just wait a moment."

They were at the edge of the woods now. Aiofe leaned against a tree, panting heavily. She could see the roof of the cabin. It was bright orange. Flames danced out of her bedroom window, licking toward the sky. She sagged against the tree, a harsh sob escaping her lips as she pressed a hand over her mouth. Her vision blurred with fat tears and her body started to shake. Arthur slipped an arm around her and pulled her close, brushing her hair gently with one hand.

A cry echoed from across the lawn and Aiofe was off once more, racing up the small incline. She was halfway there before she noticed the bodies near the house. Two of them sat crumpled against the porch guarded by gray beasts that Aiofe had never seen. A third person was a few feet in front of it, on her knees, hands behind her head. The long white hair flowed in the light breeze from the fire behind her. A tall woman with dark hair paced in a circle around her, sword drawn and pointed at her victim.

Aiofe stopped and drew an arrow, her shaking hands failing to nock it the first two times she tried. By the time she had it on the string, the tall woman had stopped moving. She was staring at Aiofe with a smile on her face. As the young woman watched, the faery raised a booted foot and kicked her grandmother in the shoulder. The old hunter went sprawling across the grass, crying out in pain. Aiofe's arrow ripped through the air, but the faery was ready. With a flick of her sword, she deflected it away expertly, sending it to thud uselessly into the burning house behind her.

"Leave them alone," Aiofe cried as she pulled another arrow from her quiver. "Your battle is with me."

Leanansidhe laughed. "One of my battles, yes. But I am going to kill them, too. The only real question is who do I kill first." She spun around and pointed her sword at Maureen. "What about grandmother? Put her out of her misery so she does not have to watch her darling granddaughter die?" She whipped around, her hand ablaze. "Or maybe I will just kill you first."

The ball of fire sizzled as it flew through the air. Aiofe barely had time to blink before she was face first in the grass. Arthur rolled off of her, bringing his sword up as he stood. Shouts echoed from near the woods and several mounted riders broke from the trees. The steeds tore across the grass, divots flying up behind them. Zela's hand was crackling with a sphere of energy and she sent it shooting toward the other faery. Leanansidhe ducked, rolling to the side.

Aiofe slipped her knife from her belt and scampered over to where her grandmother lay. "Are you okay?" she asked, her heart pounding with fear.

Maureen smiled weakly. "I'm fine, dear. Help me sit up."

By the time Aiofe got her into a seated position, the others had reached them and a battle was beginning. The gray creatures howled and launched themselves at the attackers as more of them swarmed around the corner of the house. Percival was locked in a fierce battle with the largest of the group, his sword clanging loudly against the beast's arms as it tried to fight through the knight's defenses. Kay leapt off his horse beside Arthur, bringing his sword to bear as three of the things surrounded them. Zela and Leanansidhe squared off, the blond faery wielding a ball of lightening while the brunette played with fire.

"Aiofe, quickly!" The girl followed her grandmother's frantic pointing. Several of the gray beasts were gathered around the two bodies by the porch. Her grandfather lay unmoving behind another man. He had a sword in his hand, the witch's blade her grandfather kept locked in the garage. Smoke wafted up from where his skin touched the hilt. She squinted at him, taking in his blond hair and rough beard. She had seen him before, more than once.

She threw her knife and it met its mark, sinking deep into his shoulder. He grunted and stumbled back a step, but his eyes never left the beasts around him. She could have sworn that his determined grimace took on a sad note.

"Aiofe, my bow." Her grandmother was pointing to a pile of wood a few steps away. Aiofe ran to it and snatched the bow off the ground. Taking an arrow from the quiver, she aimed at one of the beasts near her grandfather. It sank deep into the gray flesh and the creature crumpled to the ground. As she pulled another out, the blond faery swung the blade, slicing the head of another beast clean off. She finished off the last with the bow, burying an arrow in its neck even as it ripped the blade from the faery's hand.

The blond faery stumbled toward her a step, his hand out. "Aiofe," he whispered as he fell to a knee.

She glared at him sideways, turning to her grandmother instead. Slipping an arm around the old woman's waist, she hoisted her to her feet and dragged her over to the porch. She could feel the heat from the flames licking at the upper stories of the house, but it had not yet reached them. For now it would do.

"Grandad," the young woman said, reaching down to shake the old man. "Grandad, wake up."

Alo's eyes fluttered open, rolling around until they locked on his granddaughter. A small smile tugged at his lips. "Aiofe, you're alive."

"Of course I am," she said, matching his smile. "Let's get you up."

As she leaned down to wrap his arm around her shoulder, a heavy weight plowed into her legs, sending her tumbling to the ground.

*~*~*

Arthur swung his sword, slamming it into the arm of a gray beast with all his might. The blade sliced the skin, but did not penetrate to the flesh. The creature howled and swung at him. Arthur's backward leap set him off balance and he stumbled as the beast charged him. As he brought his sword up to deflect another blow, a blade came in from his right, piercing the softer skin under the creature's arm. It wailed briefly before toppling over.

"Need a little help?" Kay asked as he and Arthur took up back to back stances against two more beasts.

"Sure, if you have the time." Arthur grunted as he swung, missing his attacker's head by two inches.

The pair rotated, parrying and attacking in turns, holding the beasts at bay. As he turned, Arthur saw Percival, going toe-to-toe with a creature almost as tall as he was. The young man held his own, though, along with the help from his horse, and Arthur could see several leaking wounds on the beast's tough flesh. Several horses were locked into a fierce brawl with more of the gray beasts. Arthur worried briefly, but the gray bodies gathered on the ground were proof that the steeds were not simple-minded pack animals.

Behind Percival battled the two faeries, one wielding flame that set everything in its path on fire, the other dual-wielding wind and lightening. As Leanansidhe loosed a flaming ball toward Zela, the faery princess twirled her left hand quickly, a mini cyclone forming around her fingers. It shot toward the fire with deadly accuracy, wrapping it up inside its cone. Arthur watched as the windy cage shot skyward into the heavens until it was no longer visible.

"This is not the time for daydreams, my brother." Kay grunted as one of the creatures connected its fist with his ribs. He stumbled to the side and fell to one knee. As the creature pounced, Arthur brought his blade down. The point sank into the flesh at the base of the beast's neck. It fell, thrashing feebly on the ground, but it could not stand.

Arthur turned to face the remaining creature as Kay rose to his feet. The dark knight stood hunched slightly, his free arm across his ribs. The knights split apart, one on either side of the gray beast. It turned quickly, trying to face both ways at once as the knights harried its flanks, poking holes into its skin every time it turned. As it faced Arthur, Kay made to dart in, but he stopped, his attention pulled away to something behind Arthur. The king raised his blade, warding off the heavy blow from the beast, unable to see where Kay was looking. Before he could move, Kay took off across the grass, running at full speed.

The beast in front of Arthur took advantage of the change in situation, using its powerful legs to leapt at the knight. Arthur wasn't prepared and the only thing he could do was bring his sword in front of him. It saved him. As they fell to the ground, the hilt smashed into his breastbone, pushing the air from his lungs. The blade, however, guided by the force of impact with Arthur and the ground, pushed through the thick skin on the creature's chest, tearing through its heart and out its back. Arthur lay beneath the heavy beast, panting rapidly as he tried to inhale air. He tilted his head back, trying to find his friend.

Kay was running across the lawn toward another creature. It took Arthur a moment to realize what the creature was doing. A flash of red hair underneath the beast made the man's heart pound faster. Kay reached them, bringing his sword to bear. He slashed down, slicing a chunk of skin off the beast's shoulder. It tumbled off Aiofe and scrambled to its feet even as she crawled around behind Kay. The dark knight swung, blocking the beast's blow. It lunged, grabbing at his ankles, but in doing so, it exposed the weak point on its neck. He thrust the blade down as its hands connected with his legs. The creature pulled, knocking him over, but his momentum shoved the blade deeper, severing the creature's spinal cord.

Arthur shoved at the beast on top of it, grunting with the effort. It rolled off and he freed himself, climbing to his knees. When he looked up once more, he saw the dark faery stalking across the lawn, a ball of flame in her hand, murder in her eyes. She stopped, raised the hand, and shoved the fire through the air. Arthur quickly traced its path to find its intended target. Aiofe lay on the ground, moaning and trying to get to her hands and knees after being crushed by Kay. The other knight was on his side, panting and clutching a leg that was bent at the wrong angle.

"No!" Arthur shoved himself to his feet even as his heart began to break. There was no way he could reach his friend or his love in time.

Even as he watched with despair, Kay grabbed Aiofe by the back of the jacket. Dragging her bodily across the ground, he used his good leg to shove himself up and over her. The fire connected with his back before he hit the ground, piercing through the armor and crawling into his hair, and onto the grass below. The wail of pain that tore from his lungs was unlike any Arthur had ever heard. He raced toward his friend, his sword forgotten, everything else around him a blur.

Movement to the side caught his attention. A blond man lay on the ground, a blade in his shoulder. In one swift motion, the man ripped the blade from his body and threw it with such force, he fell over. The knife soared through the air toward the wicked faery. She was intent on the knight burning on the ground and did not see the deadly weapon until it sank into her hip up to the hilt. She screamed and fell to a knee. By the time Arthur reached Kay, the dark faery was on a horse, pounding across the ground toward the woods. Arthur knelt beside his friend, using his bare hands to pat out the flames that ate away at the man's hair and face.

"Do not touch the flames." Zela was behind him, her hand on his shoulder. She pulled him away gently and used her wind to kill the flames, then she knelt beside the knight to examine him.

Arthur reached over and wrapped his arms around Aiofe, pulling her into his lap. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Are you alright?"

She nodded feebly, sinking into his embrace and resting her head on his shoulder. "Is he going to survive?"

Zela looked up, her face drawn. She shook her head gently. "His insides are melting. He will not last more than a few minutes. I am sorry." She lay the knight's head on the grass and stood, walking to the porch where her brother lay crumpled on the ground.

Aiofe crawled from Arthur's lap and the king moved to his friend's side. Kay's eyes were wide and rolling. Arthur lifted his head and placed it on his lap. "You have been a good friend, my dear knight. The best brother a man could ask for."

Kay blinked rapidly, trying to fix his eyes on his king. "Tell..." he started, blood burbling from his lips. "Tell Lancelot... who is... the hero now..." A grin broke across his face as his gaze finally settled on Arthur's. For a brief moment, they shared a deep brotherly bond, then the light in his eyes faded and the last breath left his lips, this time forever.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY-SIX

### *~*~*

Titania's son lay crumpled on the grass, his knees pulled up to his stomach, a hand pressed weakly against his chest. His entire body was on fire, the iron from Aiofe's blade coursing through his veins. He had left it in too long and the special iron-coated weapons the hunters used were designed to inflict maximum damage in a minimum amount of time. The faery groaned, trying to make his body respond to his commands. His fingers twitched as he reached an arm out across the grass, one goal left in his waning life.

"Aiofe," he whispered as he forced his eyes to open. A pair of boots stood in front of him a mere inch from his fingers, the worn leather wrapped around thin calves. He blinked rapidly, and stretched a single digit, stroking the boot. "Aiofe?" The word was inaudible, his lips barely moved.

One of the boots left the grass, coming toward him with the speed of a snail, angling toward his face. He stared at it, his mind screaming for him to move, but he couldn't. All he could do was watch. The sole connected with his shoulder. He felt no pain, but he was incapable of resisting when the boot pushed, rolling him over on this back. The hand pressed against his chest flopped away and blood seeped down his side to pool beneath him.

A head entered his vision, a young woman with her blond locks pulled back into a ragged ponytail. She was upside down. No wonder her blue eyes looked so angry. He wouldn't like to be upside down either. A thought nibbled at the edge of his remaining sanity, poking at him and whispering for him to remember.

"Zela," he whispered, this time loud enough for her to hear. "My... my sister." He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

He felt his head move and when he looked up again, the face was closer. He could feel her leg beneath him and a hand pressed tightly against the wound in his chest.

"My brother," she said, a faint smile darting across her lips. It was replaced with a scowl the next moment. "What have you done?" she scolded, bitterness in her tone. "Why..." She stopped and sighed, a growl escaping her throat.

"I.." Kane paused, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. "Aiofe?" he tried again.

Her face hardened and the hand left his chest. "She is beyond your reach, Kane. You will not hurt her again." Zela made to stand up, dropping Kane's head onto the hard ground with a jarring thud.

He grunted and closed his eyes, but his bloody hand reached up, grabbing his sister's pant leg with what little strength he could muster. "No, please," he breathed. "Is she... alive? Please." His last word was punctuated by the tears that began rolling from his eyes, blurring his vision.

Zela stopped turning and stared at him, her eyes belying her tight lips. She knelt beside him, her fingers reaching out to touch his face but stopping just shy of his skin. "Why do you want to know?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

"My... my daughter." The public admission floated from him, freeing him from years of self-doubt, pain, and hatred. His heart beat faster, his breath came easier. "Please," he said again, meeting Zela's wide blue eyes with his own.

"But you tried to kill her," she spat.

"No, he didn't." Another voice joined hers, followed by a white-bearded face. It stared at Kane with pity and understanding. "He came to help us. He wanted to save her."

Zela's brow puckered with doubt as she looked at the old man.

"Grandad? What's going on?" A soft voice echoed from somewhere outside of Kane's vision. He tried to turn his head toward the sweet sound, but his neck wouldn't cooperate.

The old man held out a hand. "Aiofe, come here."

The walls around Kane's heart crumbled completely when the red locks came into view, and his soul cried out in despair when he saw the look of pure hatred on her face. She spat at him, the glob of saliva landing on his forehead.

"Aiofe!" Zela stared at the girl with disbelief even as she knelt down to wipe the spit from Kane's face. "That was unnecessary."

Aiofe glared at the other woman. "He killed my mother!" Her voice was shrill and cracked on the word mother.

"No!" Kane's throat hurt as the word ripped from his lungs. He gasped and inhaled several ragged breaths with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, Aiofe was glaring at him, her arms crossed,waiting for him to continue.

He opened his mouth, his lips moving silently for a moment. "I... I cared for her," he said, finally. "I could never... She was my life. The moment I saw her..." He felt the muscles in his face move in a strange pattern. A smile, a real smile. He laughed softly. The last time he smiled was the last day he was with Aiofe, when she was four years old and playing tag with her mother.

Kane looked at the young woman now kneeling beside him. "When you were born..." He reached his bloodied hand up, his fingers grasping at the air. When his daughter took it in hers, tears sprang once more to his eyes. "I should have stayed with you. I should have faced up to Lea. I should not have abandoned you."

Aiofe's face was puckered into a reluctant glare, but her hand gripped his tightly. "But they said you killed her. Why would you do that if you cared for us?" The girl stared at him hard as she tried to come to terms with her new reality.

Kane shook his head, the movement making his brain foggy. "No," he whispered. "I loved her, Aiofe. More than anything. I tried to protect you...both of you. I failed. You suffered...because of me. I hurt you. I am sorry. Please forgive me."

As the last words left Kane's mouth, his chest contracted, pain ripping through his lungs and rippling out through his body. His fingers tightened around Aiofe's as he gasped frantically for breath, but his lungs would not accept the air. His eyes rolled and he fought against them, trying to stay focused on the red hair and green eyes that were all that was left of the world he had once loved.

"Kane!" Zela cried as he seized up, his back arching.

Her hand gripped his shoulder and his mind clung to the pain. He used it as an anchor, pulling him back from the chaos raging through his head. His eyes stopped rolling and focused briefly on Aiofe's face. He smiled again, noticing for the first time how different she really was from her mother. Her pale freckles were clustered around her nose and cheeks where her mother's were scattered evenly all over her face.

"Aiofe, my daughter." His free hand reached over, brushing a fat tear from her cheek. When his skin touched hers, her features blurred and split. Another face appeared beside his daughter's. Mother and daughter, together once more.

Caena smiled at Kane and held out her hand. She beckoned to him. Kane's smile brightened and his body felt lighter. He rose, his fingers slipping easily through Caena's. He brushed her cheek and tilted his head toward hers. Their lips met, sparks sizzling across their skin. He pulled back, gazing into her emerald eyes. Her grin grew and she stepped away, tugging at his hand gently as she nodded toward the woods.

*~*~*

Aiofe stared at the blond man laying on the ground. His smile was wide, his hand still gripping hers, but his eyes no longer focused on anything. His breathing was shallow, coming in small gasps. She shook him gently, her heart refusing to beat as she silently begged him to stay.

She raised her head, her eyes pleading with Zela. The faery knelt beside her brother and placed two fingers on his throat. "He is still alive. I must get him to our mother." With Percival's help, Zela mounted her horse and cradled Kane on her lap. "I will see you at the castle later," she said as she spurred her horse into gear and disappeared into the woods.

"He will be alright," Arthur said as he stroked Aiofe's brow, brushing hair out of her face.

She shook her head fiercely as she stared after the disappearing faeries. "He was my father," she whispered. "For so long, I wondered who it was, thinking it was another hunter, but it was a faery. I'm part faery. And now he could die because of me."

Maureen wrapped an arm around her granddaughter. She leaned over and pressed her lips to Aiofe's temple. "He'll be alright. Titania will see to that. All this time, we believed he had killed her, when he really just loved her. And he saved us. Without him, we would be dead."

Aiofe looked up at her, not wanting to believe her grandmother's claims, but her scowl faded nonetheless. A loud crash broke the moment. The house was caving in, flames licking every available surface. As they watched, her grandfather emerged from the garage, his face covered in soot, but no worse for the wear. He had a pack slung over his shoulder and his witch's blade in one hand.

Aiofe and Arthur stood as he approached, Arthur wrapping his arms around Aiofe's waist, pulling her in close. Aloysius mimicked the gesture with Maureen after sliding the blade into its sheath, and Percival joined them on the other side. Silently, they watched the house burn until it was nothing but a pile of wood.

Maureen's face was streaked with tears. "We're homeless," she whispered.

Aiofe reached out and gripped her grandmother's hand, words failing her.

"No, you are not." Arthur's breath tickled Aiofe's ear. "You will come with us," he said. "We will find a place for you at the castle."

Percival nodded. "There are a few unused houses in the servants' area. We can have one fixed up. They are really quite cozy. It will not be the same, but it will be something for now. You cannot stay here."

Fifteen minutes later, the group was mounted and riding through the woods. Maureen and Alo shared Kay's horse. Kay was draped over the back of Percival's, covered with a cloth Zela had pulled from her pack. They walked slowly in a morbid funeral procession, taking Kay home for the final time.

### *~*~*

### TWENTY-SEVEN

### *~*~*

At Arthur's command, a funeral pyre was built in the middle of the courtyard between the castle and stables. The queens had made them swear that should any of their number die, he would be burned instead of buried. "A dead body can be used for many awful things," Titania had said, her nose curling in disgust.

Arthur carried Kay up to the man's room and laid him out on the bed as the knight's personal servant came in. The young faery's face was pulled into a frown as he set about cleaning the knight up and dressing him in burial garb. Arthur stepped outside into the hall after watching for a moment. Gasping for breath, he leaned against the wall and buried his hands in his face.

"He died as a true knight," a voice said beside him. As Arthur sank to the floor, Lancelot moved with him, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulder. "He fulfilled his promise to you, giving his life for the woman you love. He protected her at all costs." The knight paused, his head down. "I am sorry I ever doubted his loyalty."

Arthur sniffled and gave Lancelot a sad smile. "If I am honest with myself, I doubted his loyalty, too. He was so stubborn and his behavior so brash, sometimes I could not be sure he would be there in the time of greatest need." His face fell, but the tears ended. "I did not trust my brother until he gave his life for me. What kind of a man am I?"

Lancelot squeezed the king's shoulder. "A brave one, a strong one. You are a leader beyond compare." Lancelot stood and held out his hand. "Come, we must prepare for the ceremony."

Arthur took the offered hand and let Lancelot hoist him to his feet. After leaving Lancelot at his own door, Arthur plodded up the stairs to his room. Aiofe was not there. She was down in the dining hall with her grandparents, helping the servants prepare the customary feast in honor of the fallen knight. As the door shut behind the knight, Rogan appeared from behind the curtain.

"Welcome back, my lord." He bowed, his face solemn. "I am terribly sorry for your loss."

Arthur nodded once at the man. "Thank you, Rogan. I must prepare. Do you have my clothes ready?"

"Yes, your highness." He stepped back behind the curtain and Arthur followed. His clothes were laid out on the bed and he stepped over to examine them. Red and gold, his favorite colors, with silver and black embroidery displaying is crest on the back of the long cloak.

As Rogan helped him dress, he glanced around the room. It had changed in the last couple days. While it had always been beautiful, it now had a feminine air to it. At first he could not explain the feeling, but then he noticed the vase with the little yellow flowers on the table, the brush and mirror on the dresser by the spare armoire, the dressing gown hanging from the changing screen. A dress was draped across the back of a chair, too. He stepped away from Rogan and went to examine it. The colors matched his perfectly, but instead of the crest, a small bow was embroidered over the heart and a dazzling display of suns and moons danced along the neckline. He reached out and brushed the fabric.

"Lilia took the liberty of ordering some more clothing for Miss Aiofe, sire. I hope you do not mind. Since she will be here while..." He trailed off, letting Arthur's mind fill in the blanks.

"No, no, it is fine," Arthur said, turning away from the dress. "She cannot go to the ceremony wearing her riding gear, can she?"

"No, sire, she cannot." Rogan smiled and finished dressing Arthur.

When he was finished, the knight surveyed himself in the mirror, nodding with satisfaction. He grabbed his sword off the table and strapped it around his waist, then started toward the door.

"Sire?"

"Yes, Rogan?" Arthur glanced back at Rogan as he readjusted his belt.

"My lord," he began, faltering on the words. "You see..."

"What is it?" Arthur turned to him, narrowing his eyes at the servant's uncustomary display of nerves.

"Well, sire, Lilia and I were talking with some of the other servants, and we..." He paused again, his hands fumbling in his coat pocket. He pulled out a box. "We thought you might like this, my lord."

Arthur frowned and took the box. It was small and wooden with vines and flowers carved into the top and sides. He lifted the lid and peered inside. On a bed of silk lay the most beautiful ring he had ever seen. It was silver polished to a perfect sheen. Inlaid in the top were three stones. The middle was of the brightest golden hue, shimmering like the sun in the sky. One either side were small red diamonds with not an imperfection on them.

"How beautiful," he whispered. "What is it for?"

Rogan cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. "Why, the lady Aiofe, my lord."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "The lady... You mean..." His mind began racing. Nodding thoughtfully, he put the lid back on the box and tucked it into his pocket. He pointed a finger at Rogan as if to say something, but then bit his lip and turned away. "That is a decision for later, I think. Let us go and honor Kay's sacrifice first."

He met Aiofe and Lilia on the stairs as the went to get dressed. When his eyes met those emerald orbs, his breathing sped up and he was sure he flushed like a school boy. She grinned and kissed his cheek as she passed. He turned at the landing and walked down the hall toward Kay's room. He found the servant inside, just finishing up the preparations.

"Almost ready, your highness." When he stepped away, Arthur moved in, tucking his arms under Kay's body. "Your highness, would it be..." The boy trailed off, his fingers twining with each other as he shuffled his feet nervously. When Arthur looked up at him, he pressed on. "Would it be alright if I carried my master down? Only... He was so kind to me, and it is the least I can do."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow at the thought of Kay being kind to a servant. "Very well," he said as he stepped back. The boy lifted the knight easily and carried him down the stairs, Arthur trailing behind.

The rest of the knights gathered quickly, along with Aiofe, her grandparents, and all the servants. Arthur spoke a few customary words and one of the servants sang a faery death hymn. Then a torch was brought and Arthur held it out to the wood. It caught quickly, roaring up the logs to the body at the top. It engulfed him, the flames roaring high and loud, much like Kay in life. When the fire burned low, Arthur turned from the pyre and headed inside to the dining hall. He grabbed a goblet from the table and beckoned a servant over. The girl filled it with strong faery wine and he knocked the whole thing back, then had her fill it again.

As the others filed into the room, he settled into his chair. Aiofe walked over to him. He beckoned at the chair to his left. She shook her head fiercely. "Not tonight," she whispered. Instead, she had one of the servants move a chair between him and Lancelot so she could chat with both of them. Long into the night, the men recounted tales of Kay's bravery, womanizing, and tempers, but mostly his loyalty to his king.

*~*~*

Later than knight, Aiofe stood in Arthur's room behind the curtain. Lilia helped her remove the heavy dress and unbraided her hair, letting it fall into sheets around her shoulders. After she slipped into the dressing gown, the servant girl left. Moments later, heavy footsteps entered, followed by a knock on the wall from the other side of the curtain.

A warm shiver raced through her body, setting parts of her tingling. She tiptoed to the curtain and peeked around. Arthur stood there, still dressed in his ceremonial outfit. He looked handsome as ever, if a bit drawn.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Do I know you?"

Arthur's brow puckered and he cocked his head. "Yes, I--"

She laughed and waved a hand at him. "I was kidding. What are you doing?"

Arthur sighed and looked around the room. "I was hoping Rogan would be here to help me change. This is getting awfully uncomfortable."

She beckoned him behind the curtain. "I'll help you. No big deal."

He hesitated at the door. "I am not certain that is appropriate, my lady."

Aiofe scoffed at him and tangled her fingers in his cloak. She tugged, pulling him in behind the curtain and closed it all the way. "Don't be silly. Come here." She unhooked his cloak and it slid from his shoulders, landing in a pile at his feet. Next, she removed his belt, sword and all, and placed it on the table. The jacket was a bit trickier with all its buttons and hooks, but between the two of them they got it off. He stood there in front of her in just his shirt and pants, and her in her dressing gown.

Her cheeks flushed as she looked up, meeting his clear blue eyes. He was so handsome, so amazing. He would die for her, she could feel it deep in her soul. This was the man she could trust completely with her mind, body, and soul. Gasping, she pulled away and walked to the window. The moon was bright, casting an eery glow on the empty training yard below.

"What is it, my love?" Arthur slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.

She leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder. The horror of the day played once more before her, her grandparents nearly murdered side by side, her father's confession, Kay's sacrifice. Tears sprang to her eyes, rolling unabated down her cheeks.

"Do you love me, Arthur? I mean, really love me?" She turned in his arms, placing her hands on his chest as she looked pleadingly up at him.

He stared at her for a moment before responding. "Yes, I do. With all my heart."

Her body began to sing as he spoke. Pushing up onto her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, softly at first. He cupped a hand around her back and returned her kiss with force, parting her lips and slipping his tongue in to attack hers. She lifted her leg, wrapping it around his and his hand went to it, gripping it tightly. He lifted her and carried her gently to the bed. As he lay her down, the dressing gown slipped from her shoulders. He paused, his eyes trailing down her bared skin.

"I cannot do this, Aiofe," he whispered, pushing himself over to sit beside her. "I cannot treat you like a common whore."

"What?" Aiofe pushed herself up as she yanked the fabric back over to cover herself. "A common whore? I'm not a--"

"No, you are not." He took her hand. "You are a beautiful and magnificent woman and I am going to treat you as such."

Aiofe scoffed. "That's stupid. I'm not--"

He pressed a finger to her lips and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "I love you, Aiofe, and I will not ruin this moment for you." He stood and gathered his clothing. "I will stay in Kay's room for the time being, until we get this all settled.

"But--"

Arthur smiled at her. "Good night, Aiofe." Without another word, he turned and left, his footsteps echoing across the stone.

Frustrated in more ways than one, she flopped back onto the bed and yanked the covers over her. The day's chaos washed over her in a wave of exhaustion and despite her irritation and sadness, she fell easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

### *~*~*

### EPILOGUE

### *~*~*

"Be careful, you oaf!" Leanansidhe swung out at the creature leaning over her, the faery's thin fingers probing delicately at the wound in her pelvis. She deftly ducked her head to one side, the shoulder-length vines waving with the motion.

"Please stop trying to hit me," the faery asked politely in her most perfect bedside manner. She took a long scalpel off a wooden tray beside the bed and poked it into the hole.

Leanansidhe growled and clenched her teeth as her fist clenched another poor faery sitting beside her. This one was small and thick, like a sapling with arms and legs. Lea had her hand wrapped around what passed for its neck and throttled it every time pain blossomed up her body.

"Stop trying to hurt me and I will stop trying to hit you," she growled, shaking the tree creature for emphasis.

The doctor glanced up at Leanansidhe's victim, then back at the woman. "Killing him will not do you any good, I am afraid. He is not the one who keeps getting into fights." The faery shoved a small stick into the wound before poking a needle through Lea's skin, not bothering with anesthetic. "And losing, I might add." She bobbed her head again, a small smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"I should kill you for that."

"But you will not," the willowy faery retorted, dragging the vines attached to the needle through the skin. The green strings bound the wound together, growing into the skin and becoming one with it, working as adhesive, antiseptic, and growth agent all in one.

The dark faery glared at her doctor, wishing she could do just that, but the swamp elves were the best healers in the land, and they were very picky about who they chose to work with. She was lucky to find one willing to put up with her and she could not deny the faery knew what she was doing. The knife had been dipped in iron and the poison roared through Lea's veins. The stick would absorb the iron and convert it into food which would then be absorbed by the vine. She would be in pain for a few days, but eventually the vines would dissolve completely and she would be as good as new. She moved her shoulder a bit to remind herself of the doctor's abilities, jerking her hand intentionally to make the wood faery squeal.

The doctor tied a small knot in the vines and clipped off the end. "There," she said as she slapped a green patch of woven algae over the area for added protection. "Good as new."

Lea grunted and threw the log to the floor. It scrambled to its feet and ran from the room, jabbering all the way in its irritatingly high pitched language. Lea threw a pitcher, just barely missing the creature as it burst out the door. "I hate that thing," she mumbled.

"You hate everything," the doctor quipped. "Here, use this until your leg feels better. And do not do anything stupid until it heals. Do you hear me?"

Lea took the walking cane the doctor offered and waved a hand at her. "Yes, yes, I hear you." She stood up, testing the weight on her leg. She hobbled the few steps to her armoire and pulled out a long black dress. She snapped and a pixie appeared beside her and took the dress, ready to help her put it on.

"Where are you going?" The doctor stood in the doorway, a pale fist on her hip, the other holding her bag. She frowned at Leanansidhe with raised green eyebrows.

"Nowhere," said the faery as the pixie tied sandals to her feet.

The doctor shook her head. "Why do I bother." She left, letting the door slam shut behind her.

"Your highness, maybe you should..."

Leanansidhe turned her deadly glare on the pixie at her feet. She raised an eyebrow, a snarl on her lips. "Maybe I should what?"

The little faery began to shake and struggled to tie the last knot. "Nothing, your highness. Have a wonderful day."

The pixie jumped up and darted to the corner, settling herself onto the chair there and purposefully avoiding Lea's hard stare. With a snort, Leanansidhe picked up the walking cane and a piece of paper off her nightstand and made her best attempt to stomp from the room. Stomping was very difficult to achieve with a cane and pain at every step and by the time she reached the door, she was bubbling with anger.

"Borton!" Her howl echoed down the halls, bouncing off the stone and carrying through the castle. She was barely five feet from her door when her assistance came scurrying around a corner.

"Yes, m'lady, I mean, miss, I mean my queen. How may I help you, my queen?" He bowed repeatedly, practically grovelling at her feet.

She swung a foot to kick him, but her balance was off and she had to catch herself with the cane. She held the paper out, waving it in front of his face. "Go here. There are bones buried inside. The name is on the paper. Bring me those bones, all of them. Do you understand? I want all of them."

Borton took the paper and, still bowing, backed down the hall. "Yes, miss, m'lady, your highness. I will be back soon."

Leanansidhe shook her head and began the long trek to her lab, mumbling about how she employed idiots. She was working on a sobbing faery when he returned, a large box in his arms. Lea dropped the scalpel she had in her hand and went to him, lifting the lid. "You have them all?" she asked.

He nodded furiously, making the bones rattle against each other. "All of them, my queen."

"Very good. Bring them over here." She walked across the lab to a clean table. Borton placed the box on it and opened the lid, reaching for one of the bones inside. Lea swatted his hand hard with the cane, hearing a faint crack. He dragged his hand away, puppy dog hurt in his eyes. "No touching," she scolded, pointing the cane at him. He nodded and backed into a corner, squatting down to watch her work.

She laid all the bones out on the table in proper order, recreating the skeleton they had once been. When she reached the feet, she scowled. Checking the empty box once more, she turned on Borton. "I told you to get all of the bones!" She waved the cane in front of his face as he cowered in front of her.

"I did, I did! I swear it, m'lady, my highness, your queen! I did!" He clapped his hands over his ears and rocked on his haunches, peeking up at her.

Lea groaned and turned to look at her incomplete skeleton. Two toes were missing from the left foot. She couldn't perform the ritual without a complete skeleton. Tapping the cane on the floor, she looked around her lab until her eyes fell on the crying faery. It was blue and covered in fur, but it was mostly humanoid. She shuffled over to it and examined its feet. The toes were slightly larger than her skeleton's should be, but they would have to do. Grabbing a cleaver from the table, she hacked off two of the digits, ignoring the howling protests of the creature they belonged to, then she dropped them in a vat of acid to burn away the flesh. After fishing the newly cleaned bones from the bubbling liquid, she attached them to her skeleton and grinned.

"Perfect."

With Borton's help, she arranged herbs around the table in particular fashion, then stood at the end, her hands on the skull. She began to chant, very slowly and quietly at first, but her volume picked up as her speed quickened. Soon, she was shouting so fast her tongue could barely keep up. Her hands were vibrating and she could feel the energy draining from her body, but she did not stop. Her eyes stayed locked on the bones as flesh began to grow among them, binding them together and forming muscles and organs. Skin slithered over the entire body to cover the insides and blond hair sprouted from the head, trailing out in long cascading waves.

Lea felt when the last piece was in place and stopped, pulling her hands away from the new woman's head. The faery was breathing hard, so weak she could barely stand, but she forced herself to walk the length of the table, examining the body. It was exquisite, perfectly formed, beauty beyond compare. Aside from the two blue, furry toes. Lea scowled at them, almost ready to throttle Borton, when the body gasped and sat up. Blue eyes darted around the room until they found Lea.

Lea walked up to the girl, cupping the soft cheek in her hand, the smile of a mother greeting her daughter on her face. "Hello, Guinevere," she said.

### *~*~*

Thank you for reading The Iron Locket.

Book 2, Queen of Hearts, is now available!

### If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to write a review on your favorite bookseller website and share with your friends!

Also grab your copy of Sir Kay and the White Lady, a Risen King short.

### *~*~*

### *~*~*

### OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

### *~*~*

Battle of Black River

Blood of the Dragon

Winds from the North

Vampire Assassin (Jane #1)

New Blood (Jane #2)

Blood & Tears (Jane #3)

Redemption (Jane #4)

Til Death (Jane #5)

Blood Moon (Jane #6)

A Magical Christmas (Jane #6.5)

Cursed (Jane #7)

Witchfire (Jane #8)

Blood Feud (Jane #9)

Bloodshed (Jane #10)

The Seven Keys of Alaesha

### *~*~*

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### ABOUT THE AUTHOR

### *~*~*

Samantha Warren is a fantasy and science fiction author who spends her days immersed in dragons, space ships, and vampires. With her pet dragon, Anethesis, she ventured to the ends of the universe, but the cost of space travel cut into her sock fetish fund, so she sold her ship and returned home. When she isn't writing, she's milking cows or trying to feed them Pop-Tarts. She spends a lot of time in her weed patch (aka: garden), watching any show featuring Gordon Ramsay, or posting random things on her blog.

Interested in contacting Samantha?

Email: samantha@samantha-warren.com

Twitter: @_SamanthaWarren

Blog: http://www.samantha-warren.com

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