Read The Eighth Court Online

Authors: Mike Shevdon

Tags: #urban fantasy, #feyre, #Blackbird, #magic, #faery, #London, #fey

The Eighth Court (18 page)

BOOK: The Eighth Court
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They were arguing
:
two men standing before him, trying to persuade or perhaps dissuade him from some course. He listened carefully, contributing little, allowing them their say, but at the end he cut them off. The language was beyond me, but his meaning was clear. A decision had been made.

From outside the room, a clamour arose. The door swung open and in walked two people I recognised. Kimlesh, standing tall in a blue flowing gown, was accompanied by Yonna, looking unearthly with her slanted eyes and sharpened features. From behind them came the clash of arms, and then silence. They paused, while the two men before the throne, finding themselves unarmed, took up the fire irons from before the blaze and prepared to defend their lord. They stood before him, regarding the newcomers with suspicion and alarm. Mellion strode in through the doors and closed them quietly after.

From the throne came a curt order, which the men immediately challenged. The big man pushed to his feet, stepped down from the dais and, with a quiet word to each man, took the fire irons from them and put them back beside the fire. They protested and argued, but he silenced them with a look, then ordered them out of the room. Again they protested, but he spoke quietly, warning them and them making promises to assuage their concerns. After a moment, they edged their way around the room and left through a door to the side, leaving the big man with the three visitors.

He asked them a question.

Kimlesh spoke.

King of England, Guillaume, and still you address us in the tongue of Normandy. I have aged every day that you have, though I wear my years the better.

Guillaume spoke again, and it was a harsh and twisted version of the English I knew, but I understood him well enough.

I’ll use whichever suits me best,

he said.

I know you, and I know that creature you brought with you, but you are a stranger, Lady,

he nodded towards Yonna.


You know me well enough, Guillaume. How is Maude?


She’s well enough, and far away, as perhaps you know.

Yonna smiled, and the row of teeth she showed were sharp and pointed, putting any sense of humanity further away. Then she shifted, and in a moment the young lass in the shift stood where she had stood. She said something soft in the language of Guillaume’s home country and even under the stubble I saw Guillaume blush.


What witchery is this?

he challenged.


Be careful of that word,

said Kimlesh.

We are guests at your court, but a wrong word will bring your hard won gains down around your ears. We have come to claim our boon. Yonna for bringing you your bride. Were you not wed? You have children, do you not?

William said something in his own tongue.


I came to her as I came to you,

said Yonna,

and wooed her where you would not. Your marriage was made, and your alliance with Flanders was sealed with my help. Without me you would never have found each other.

Guillaume said something else, and Yonna answered him.

No one denies your love for her, Guillaume, but without my art it would not have happened.


Nor would your victory over Harald,

said Kimlesh.

A single arrow, at just the right moment? It was a shot to make a bowman weep, and it was no accident.

She nodded towards Lord Mellion who hung back. The tall figure acknowledged the complement with the slightest of bows.


And none of that would have come to pass if you’d been caught in the rain and tossed in the river by your pursuers. You promised me a boon that night, Guillaume. You said I could name it. Three is the trick of it, and we will have our due.


I made no deal of bows and arrows, or wives to woo,

said Guillaume, walking up and down in front of the fire.


And yet here you are,

said Yonna.

Now they will call you William the Conqueror instead of William the Bastard, but we can change it back if you would have it otherwise.

Guillaume paced back and forth before them, his step agitated, muttering to himself. Periodically he would look up at them as if he couldn’t quite believe they were there. After a while he halted.


What do you want?

he asked.


A small thing,

said Kimlesh.

We could take what we need but that would eventually lead to conflict. Three things, given freely, to be quit of your debt to us. Three things.


Name them,


The first is the small matter of a ceremony. A ritual which must be performed.


I’ll have no truck with magics,

said Guillaume.


It is ritual, not magic, and as much to protect you as to benefit us. Otherwise your problems will multiply and you will have far worse than our meagre needs to contend with. If you would rather not sully your hands, it would be better handled by those you trust, perhaps?

She glanced towards the door through which the two men had passed.


What else?

he asked.


A treaty, if you will. An agreement between our peoples to coexist, without conflict, if not in harmony. We would sue for peace,

said Kimlesh.


That much I can do. And what is the third thing?


A portion of what you have gained with our help and aid, Guillaume.


The kingdom is not as wealthy as some would have you believe,

said Guillaume.

The sun faded from the windows and the firelight dimmed as light faded from the room. I held on to hear the last of the bargain being negotiated between the High Court of the Feyre and the Conqueror. As I slipped down into darkness once more, I heard Kimlesh’s voice confirm the last of their requests.


It’s not money we want,

said Kimlesh.

Let me explain…

Slowly, sounds returned and I became aware of my surroundings. I smelled clean sheets and clean air. The odour of blood and gore had been replaced by clean linen scented with lavender and although I felt as weak as water, the darkness had retreated. I forced my eyes open, though it was an effort requiring force of will, and lay blinking at the pale candlelight from across the room. I turned away to find myself regarded by green eyes. I was rewarded by a slow smile.

“Hello,” said Blackbird, quietly.

I tried to say hello back, and found my throat dry and sore. It felt like I’d spent the day shouting at the sea. She sat up beside me and helped me sip some water from a cup. Across the room, Alex was curled into a chair, fast asleep.

When I’d taken some water, I could speak again. “Did I miss something?”

“You could say that,” said Blackbird. “You were shot. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” I said.

In answer, she turned back the quilt revealing my bare stomach. Down my side, the newly healed bullet wounds were bisected by a long scar. “Your stuffing came out and we had to put some more in,” she joked.

“What?”

“When Sam Veldon shot you, he used bullets with iron cores. The iron inside you was disrupting your ability to heal. I had to get the bullets out.”

“I like the first explanation better,” I said.

“Unfortunately it’s the least true of them,” said Blackbird. “You’re going to have an interesting scar to add to your collection. The kitchen isn’t really kitted out for surgery.”

“I’ll never look at the bread knife in the same way again.”

“Fortunately Garvin has no shortage of sharp knives and Mullbrook found me a curved needle. Once we had the iron out, your body could heal itself,” she told me.

“I had the strangest dreams,” I said.

“The iron was tainting your blood, making you feverish.”

“I think they were true,” I said. “They certainly seemed real.”

“Did they tell you where to find Sam Veldon?” she asked. “I think I’d like to pay him a visit.” There was a flash of green fire around the pupil of her eyes that could have been a reflection of the light from the candles, but wasn’t.

I found myself defending Sam. “He’s only a pawn. He told me he wanted me to die slowly, for killing Claire, but he wouldn’t know to use iron. He fired the gun, but the bullets came from somewhere else. Someone wanted me dead.”

“If they’d wanted you dead, they could have chopped off your head. No, Niall. This was a message – a warning – not just for you but for all of us. You were sent back to us tainted with iron, so that you would die slowly and painfully, where we could witness.”

“Who hates me that much?”

“Raffmir?”

“Raffmir is sworn not to harm me. He’d be breaking his vow if he had me shot.”

“Another of the Seventh Court, then.”

“Why use iron? That’s not their weapon of choice. A length of steel, yes, but iron bullets?”

“Maybe Sam’s being doing some research?” she suggested. “Maybe he has some of Claire’s journals?”

“Claire’s flat had been cleaned – more than that, it had been restored. I’m sure Sam has some shady connections, but he works alone, especially where I’m concerned. He doesn’t have the resources to have a flat cleaned and restored so that it looks like nothing happened. That takes manpower, and more people would have to know about it. Sam is all about keeping secrets, not sharing them.”

“Then who?” she asked.

“The horseshoes had gone from the locker at the National Archives, and from the flat. Sam didn’t have them with him, not that you’d willingly carry them around. Maybe he took them, maybe not, but someone furnished Sam with the bullets, and told him how to find me,” I said. “I’d like to know who it was, and why?”

I tried to push myself up, but Blackbird pressed me back down without effort. “Not tonight, Niall. You’re still healing. Even Garvin went to bed. Your daughter fell asleep watching you.”

“She looks cramped in that chair.”

“She’s young and she’ll sleep better knowing she’s with you. She helped save your life, you know.” Nestled into the chair, her hair curled and uncurled with her breathing. “Sleep now, and you can decide whether you are ready to be up and around tomorrow. Your body needs rest, so sleep in if you can.”

“If I sleep, I’ll dream,” I said.

“Then dream of healing, and of a better day tomorrow.” She stood up. “Angela and I are taking a white rose to All Hallows by the Tower tomorrow, so we’ll be able to tell you what happens.”

“You want me to come with you?”

She shook her head. “Sleep as long as you can – I’m serious. Only a few hours ago I was up to my arms in your insides. It’s a wonder you’re still alive. Rest while you can.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“For now, I’ll sleep with the baby. I’ll be close, but I don’t want you turning over and pulling the wound open. Close your eyes,” she said, “and rest.”

She laid her hand upon my forehead, stroking my hair, and despite myself I found my eyelids heavy and her cool hand restful. I drifted easily back into sleep.

The dream began more easily, and this time I knew it was a dream. A familiar smell, something of spice, and the familiar prickle of power over my skin.

The sound of conversation drifted to me in snatched phrases.

How many know of this?

A male voice.

A female voice answered.

It will be obvious to anyone who sees the broader picture.


Mercifully few then,

another female voice said.

The light grew and I began to see points of light, flickering in the darkness. These resolved slowly into candle flames arrayed in a broad circle around thrones I recognised. It was not the courts as I knew it, but that was undoubtedly where we were. There was Kimlesh, her hair shorter than I remembered, and Yonna looking somehow less feral, less angular than she now did. Krane lounged in his usual manner, but even he looked leaner. In the seventh throne sat someone I recognised from the one brief meeting we’d had before I’d been sent from the High Court; someone I knew more by reputation than acquaintance: Altair, Lord of the Seventh Court.


It is a temporary state of affairs,

he said,

brought on by the incomers; they breed plague faster than they breed themselves.


We are immune to plague,

said Barthia, her bulky form adorned with heavy bands of gold and silver.

Their malaise cannot affect us. It cannot be the cause.


And yet here we are,

said Teoth.


This must bring forward our plans,

said Kimlesh.

It leaves us no choice.


There is always a choice,

said Altair,

and they are not the plans of all of us.


Culling the humans will not help us, Altair,

said Yonna.

As Barthia pointed out, they are not the cause of our troubles.


Then it is pure coincidence, I suppose,

said Altair,

that their numbers have grown, as ours have diminished?


They are stealing something from us, we just don’t know what it is,

said Teoth.


How?

asked Yonna.

They have no power, they have no strength. How do they steal from us? This is pure speculation.


They steal the food from our forests,

said Altair,

they pollute our water, cut and burn down the trees, turning abundant wilderness into strip fields and pocket farms. They build on land that is not theirs and call it home.

Mellion made a complex series of hand movements, ending in a bony finger pointed at his open palm.


I agree with Mellion,

said Kimlesh.

All of that may be true, but it does not change our situation one jot.


How long do we have?

asked Yonna.

There was a long silence, then a crackly voice spoke from the shadows.

Not as long as you think.

Around the thrones indignation broke out. Altair spoke over the others.

Come forward, old one. Don’t skulk in the shadows. You may as well come and speak in plain sight, though you are not invited here.


I need no invitation,

said Kareesh, hobbling forward into the smoky light that danced around the candles.

I go where I must, and do what I can.


I will speak to Garvin on this,

said Krane, leaning forward from his throne as if he would pounce.


Much good may it do you,

said Kareesh.

Like all guard dogs, he has his limits.


What are you doing here, Kareesh?

asked Teoth.

If there is something you wish to discuss, I will hear it, but not now. Perhaps it would be better if I should come to you. You’re not as young as you were.


I don’t need you to count my teeth,

said Kareesh,

and I came to speak with you assembled. I do not move these old bones lightly or without reason.


Your reason may be what you left behind,

said Altair.

She turned her black almond eyes on him and stared. In the end it was he who looked away.

What has been long apparent to me,

she said,

has finally become your concern. We are dying.

She looked slowly around the ring of faces.


Do you say that from foresight, or deduction?

asked Kimlesh.


Both,

said Kareesh.

We have played a trick on ourselves, and now it tricks us in return.


If this is another one of your bids to mingle the bloodlines of the courts, Kareesh, you can save your breath,

said Krane.

There is none other that will live in abomination as you and Gramawl do.


It is not an abomination to love another,

she said.

No matter which court they are from. Sadly, it was too late for us, but there may be others who still have time.


None of the others wish to indulge in your… practices,

said Altair.

They prefer to remain pure.


Then they prefer extinction,

said Kareesh with bitterness.

Deefnir is the last, Altair. There will be no more after him.


You cannot know that,

said Altair.


Do not tell me what I cannot know,

said Kareesh.

You haven’t seen it. Would you like to?

Kareesh stretched out her hand, but Altair shook his head, scowling at her.


Your problem,

said Krane,

is that you want everyone to be like you. You cannot conceive of a life unlike your own.


No,

said Kareesh.

The problem is that I cannot conceive at all. Neither can you. Nor can they.

She gestured to the wider world.

We have fostered our power down the millennia, using the courts to breed our bloodlines pure but bleeding them dry in the process. There will be no more children.


The answer is no,

said Barthia.


Unless…

said Kareesh,

there is another way.


Another way?

asked Kimlesh, leaning forward.


Each of you knows that there have been occasions… incidents… where the Feyre have mixed their bloodlines with humanity.


Not in my court,

said Altair.

Kareesh nodded.

With the exception of Altair’s court then, but the fact remains – the union between humanity and the Feyre is fertile.


What are you suggesting?

asked Teoth.


The children of these unions are… unpredictable. Fate rolls her dice and the child may inherit from either parent. Some are more fey than others.


That’s true,

said Yonna,

but they are not fey. They are the gifted ones, something in-between.


And yet there is no barrier against them. The Feyre have long had liaison with humanity. It has become accepted.


Not as a substitute for our own children,

said Teoth.


There are those that have fostered such children into their homes and presented them to the courts as their heirs, there being none other,

she said. Kareesh turned her gaze on Teoth.

How many of your court have children these days, High Maker?

Now it was Teoth’s turn to avoid meeting that blank black stare.

When was it last you celebrated a naming day?

The question hung in the air between them.

Any of you?

she asked.

Altair drew himself up in his chair.

Are you suggesting that these children be accepted as fey? On what basis? In which court? Half the time no one even knows what court begat them. Would you have us start taking in waifs and strays and pretending they are ours?


Then mix the bloodlines between the courts. We have a last chance, a sliver of opportunity,

she pleaded.

Even now it may not be too late. There is reason for hope – we could snatch back our fecundity from the hand of fate and have children once again,

said Kareesh.


Even were we to decree it,

said Teoth,

we cannot compel action which goes against the fundamental culture of our people. It’s a deeply held taboo, Kareesh, as you knew well when you crossed it. It has set you apart for centuries. Does anyone visit you now?

She stood there in the candlelight, and did not refute it.


Enough,

said Altair.

We have heard your plea and that is all we are obliged to do, even for you, old one.


Then humanity is our only hope,

she said.

Remember that in your deliberations.

Altair shook his head slowly, but I could see thoughtful expressions in the eyes of the others there: Kimlesh, Yonna, even Barthia. Kareesh turned to leave, and as she did, caught sight of a nod from Altair to the darkness beyond the candlelight. A shadow detached itself.

She paused and then turned back slowly.

There is a chance,

she said,

That one of you might think I have become a thorn in your thumb that must be plucked lest it goad you into rash action. I speak to you in particular, Lord Altair.

She made the title sound like an insult.

Her crackly voice continued.

Remember this. I have seen the day of my death and I know what awaits me. I will say this, speaking true and clear. The day of my death is also the day of yours. If I were you, I would have every care for the health of this old one.

She turned again and continued slowly towards the door. Behind her, Altair shook his head minutely and the shadow retreated.

Altair spoke first.

She is old, and she does not see as well as she did.

Mellion opened and closed his fist three times, in response.


I too acknowledge the debt,

said Altair,

but she is not the only one with sight, and she does not see everything. There are others we should listen to.


Even so,

said Kimlesh.

She is right in one thing. We cannot sit here and watch our numbers fade. We have to do something.


I, for one, will not be mixing my bloodline with humanity,

said Altair.

You do not clean the well by adding poisoned water.

BOOK: The Eighth Court
5.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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