Bound by the Vampire Queen

It has been our pleasure to see his blood take precedence in you. We are glad to have the long overdue honor of welcoming another of his line back to our world.” He glanced at Rhoswen. “Though I see our dark queen has not yet decided it is an honor.”

“You may make your own determinations for your own interests, my lord Tabor,” Rhoswen said stiffly.

“My interests lie elsewhere tonight, if you give me leave to go pursue them. I look forward to our paths crossing later in the evening.”

Tabor bent from his saddle in gracious courtesy to his female counterpart, though his eyes held hers steadily. “You have our leave. Good hunting, beautiful queen. Embrace the pleasures of the Samhain hours.”

“Always.” She glanced at Lyssa. “Good riding.

May you know no fear of the night.”

As she turned away, Cayden gave them a nod and fol owed her. Tabor watched them return to the head of the Unseelie procession and begin to lead the macabre spectacle of the Haunt past the Seelie train, toward the portal.

“Each year, we play a game.” Tabor directed his words to Lyssa. “Much like your footbal games, we toss a coin to see which side enters the portal first.

She won this year, so we shal wait for her to go through with her people, if you do not mind the wait.

Our sorcerers configure a different entry point, because our quests are different, and do not mesh so well together. At least not until the end, when we come back together. Then we reach out to those who've passed out of our world, celebrate endings and beginnings, and hope that all our worlds benefit from abundance in the coming year. At least, that is what I hope.”

The king swept a glance over Jacob. While he suffered a moment of discomfiture, thinking his battered appearance might seem disrespectful to the Seelie king, Tabor didn't display the dismissive edge of contempt he'd begun to expect from most Fae.

The Seelie king returned his attention to Lyssa.

“You've had an interesting first visit to our world thus far, I think.”

“Being part of the vampire world for centuries has been good preparation for the chal enges of the Fae one, Your Majesty. We do not regret our visit.”

“Wellspoken.” As he looked toward the portal, Jacob noticed that Keldwyn stood somewhat apart from the three retainers closest to the king. One was a silent woman with skin black as onyx and topaz blue eyes. In black tight breeks and vest, armed with a variety of blades, she had the look of both bodyguard and assassin. The other two were armed, but they had the demeanor of friends, those who'd been the king's comrade-in-arms in the past, and served as advisors in peacetime.

Like Rhoswen, the king appeared more than capable of protecting himself. But Jacob knew the guard for a capable leader was often there as a buffer, to give him time to ral y if there was a surprise attack. His Aussie friend and fel ow servant, Dev, had said as much once about his Mistress, the Lady Daniela. If his skil gave her a few extra seconds to survive before he was taken off the grid, then he'd done his duty. Jacob didn't disagree, and for that reason felt an affinity for those in the same role. Even when they treated him like a distasteful bug under a microscope, like Cayden or the ebony woman now.

Nearly a third of the Unseelie train had disappeared through the portal. As they passed, the green lightning crackled, and waves of magical energy wafted down the hil in heated winds. The slope on which they waited looked across at all four castles. Though Jacob had heard there'd be major light shows later in the evening, when the Hunt and Haunt returned, there were minor explosions of fireworks going on now, practice runs of aerial shows by different groups of the flighted Fae, everything from traditional fairies to dragons, griffins and others.

“It's a display worth seeing,” Tabor commented.

“There is no night quite as special to us as Samhain.”

“I thought Beltane would be more significant,” Lyssa responded, with a slight smile. “The celebration of life and fertility. Growth.”

“Insightful. It's perhaps like comparing Christmas to Easter in your world. One is for celebration; one is for remembrance. And though celebration is needed, remembrance is vital.” He gave her that intent scrutiny again.

“You have his eyes,” he said, his voice lowering.

“And I do not mean the color. There was something . . . fathomless in Lord Reghan's eyes.

For a Fae, that is saying something. He was unique in our world, so it comes as no surprise that you are as well.”

Keldwyn shifted on his horse, ostensibly to look at the fireworks. Because of the play of dark and light, Jacob thought he saw sadness in the male's eyes.

Then it was gone.

“Not so much to the untrained senses, but to the ancients, like myself, Seelie and Unseelie abilities are very distinct,” Tabor continued. “With one breath, I can tel if you are Seelie or Unseelie. Like him, you are both, a rare thing. But you are even more, because your Fae form suggests the Solitary folk, our Fae who are not of the high court. You bring all of them together, an unclassifiable and therefore unknown quantity.”

The ebony woman shifted closer to Tabor's side, the way Cayden had done when Rhoswen had to introduce Lyssa as Reghan's daughter. However, this time it was Tabor who offered reassurance in his glance, the nod of his head. Then he looked back at Lyssa, his attention sharpening upon her.

“Your power is strong, wild. Your years of discipline as a vampire queen have given you an instinctive rein on it, even without training, but the savage side of that blood will unleash it in defense of those you care about. He, too, had that quality.”

“So why did you sentence him to death?” Lyssa asked evenly.

The ebony woman's face hardened. A percussion wave of energy pushed over them, an unpleasantly claustrophobic feeling.

“Dahlia, enough.” Tabor said. When Dahlia shifted irritably on her horse, the feeling eased back.

“Aidan, Leigh, leave us. all of you,” he added, looking pointedly at Dahlia. “I would speak to Lady Lyssa alone.”

There was a brief silence, a battle of will s. The king scowled at Dahlia. She jerked her horse's head around, fol owed by the two males. Though high court Fae weren't inclined to open mirth, Jacob noticed the men had something close to grins playing around their mouths, as if they would tease her about her overprotective nature.

The king sighed. “He was executed because our species is not exempt from being reactionary, particularly when our world is in an uncertain state.

Your father's actions—cleaving to a vampire, getting her with child—came at a time when things were going badly between the Fae and human world.

Superstition was closing in. Many unpleasant incidents occurred . . .”

Tabor closed his eyes, shook his head.

“Unpleasant. The wrong word for so many horrific acts. Only the distance of centuries would permit it, to make those times sound even more distant, when we all know an act of barbarism is usual y as close as the nearest fear, whatever that fear may be. It is not an excuse, because I was hardly more enlightened at that time, but I will tel you I was not king then. My brother was.”

Peripheral y, Jacob was aware of the procession of Unseelie continuing to file through the portal, the murmur of conversation and movement along the Seelie train, but like his lady, his attention was captured by the king's words, the import of them and his steady glance. “I can tel you that many of the years where we shut ourselves off from your world have been violent, terrible ones. For all of us. It is why I cannot always blame Rhoswen for the way she feels about things. Kil ing a brother is a terrible thing”—shadows crossed his visage—“but to kil a mother is to kil the root of your self. Though it has been several centuries since it occurred, it is a wound that perhaps never heals.”

He glanced at the ebony-skinned woman, whose horse stood apart from the others as she continued to stare fixedly at him, even from a distance. “As you can tel , Dahlia is my version of your vampire.

Though the other two are my men-at-arms, my personal guard, she is my true protection, an incomparable sorceress as well as a good friend.

She is, however, singular in her defense of me, brooking no disobedience or insolence from anyone.” He smiled faintly. “It's perhaps good that I am king and not her, for your question was a fair one. You deserve an answer, after so many years.” He shrugged. “Each year we celebrate Samhain in this way. We go to places where there is stil belief, where there is less technology and the agriculture practiced is stil the way of the earth. And sometimes, in the reflection of those who catch a glimpse of us that night, I stil see who and what we were when we were all ies, human and Fae.” There was a squeal, a thunderous clatter. Firewind shifted restlessly, but as Jacob steadied him, he saw the Unseelie ranks part for a male in a chariot. His team of frothing, bloodcolored horses barreled toward the portal. Thick mist fol owed in his wake, but then Jacob saw it wasn't mist at all, but a cavalcade of twisting wraith spirits, with dark eyes and skeletal faces. The chariot wheels were pale flame, and rattled with a dragging train of human bones. He sincerely hoped it was an embel ishment from the pavilions. The chariot plunged through the portal, its passage il uminated with a bil ow of white light and blood colored smoke, as well as an extra explosion of fireworks above it. Appreciative cries erupted at the display.

Tabor shook his head. “Gwyn ap Nudd, as the Welsh cal him. The king of the Underworld. He goes to col ect the souls due to the afterlife this night. As frightening as it looks, it's actual y an honor to die on Samhain. The Veil is thin. It's a good night to pass, with many helping hands to take a new soul through the gate. The ride in the chariot will take the souls through the seven levels of Heaven and many other remarkable places before the night is done.” A group of harpies flew through then. Not to be outdone by their flamboyant predecessor, they conducted an impressive midair choreography before the portal. It reminded Lyssa of a parade, with Rhoswen as the parade master. She stood by the portal entrance, evaluating each group's ability to strike terror into human hearts. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">