Chapter Eighteen
Zyr
What sort of text would tempt a lidérc? Something ancient, of course, as the fae herself was ancient. Something dangerous, for the same reason. Zyr wandered the hidden, heavily-warded rooms of his library, fingers grazing over spines and feeling the hunger of the words within.
Unwise, to give her any of what he’d collected here. But Robin was right. If the new heads of Linden were interested in what he’d obtained from her, there was a reason. They needed to know that reason, whatever it was.
Kesk and Veroni wouldn’t destroy the veil. It was impossible. No one could be so reckless.
Faint comfort, when that would do nothing to protect Zyr’s home, the unseelie, or Robin. Zyr would grant the yuki-onna that, at least. If there was any hope to destroy the Monarchs, the heirs must be dealt with as well.
One more reason to speak to the lidérc. A pre-convergence unseelie was sure to have some insights into death magic. Perhaps even on the traditions of the Wild Hunt. She…
The allotment wards rang out at visitor. Again. Zyr had not had so many visitors in his very long lifetime. He supposed if the world ended, he could at least stop answering the door.
Chill magic and a distantly familiar voice waited when he reached the door.
“Beithir? You’ll want to speak with me. It’s urgent.”
Urgent. As if anything could be as urgent as what he and Robin were endeavoring to prevent.
Zyr threw the door open, glaring down at the pale figure on his doorstep.
He did know her. The yuki-onna who worked at the palace.
The damned cat’s bond. No wonder she could cross onto his allotment unwelcomed.
“You have nine words,” he growled.
One for each of her bond’s lives. Robin would like that.
“They have Robin,” the yuki-onna said, voice quavering and hands up as if to ward off a blow. “You’re required to ‘fetch your pet.’”
Count. That’s what Robin would say. When the world shatters, falls into ruin, you count to nine, and you breathe between the numbers. You focus on the moment, on the dark and Robin’s hands and Robin’s voice, until it all comes together again.
Except Robin was gone.
No. Robin was taken.
Lightning arced from the sky to Zyr, leaving the ground beneath his feet scorched black and his skin electric and glowing. If he grabbed the yuki-onna, she would scream and thrash as the current ran through her, and he would hold her until her skin caught fire. Until she was ash.
“Explain,” he bit out. “Now.”
“The Heirs,” she answered in a rush. “I didn’t know until they summoned me. They wish to speak to you for some reason. I was sent to bring you to them.”
“Is he harmed?” Zyr growled.
“I didn’t smell any blood when I saw him. He was conscious. Will you come?”
“Beithir venom is an ugly way to die,” he snarled, bringing his tail up, so the barb hovered a hair’s breadth from her neck.
“The nerves burn. The skin bubbles and cracks. The eyes bleed while you shit out your liquified organs. If I learn you had a part in this, if he is so much as bruised, that will be the last memory your bond holds of you. I will see to it that he has to watch. Are we understood?”
“I didn’t know!” Frantic words. She held very still.
“The only part I have is as their messenger pigeon! I saw what the sluagh did at that party, and the Winter King made his claim on the human known. I have no qualms with him, no knowledge of why, nothing except what I told you. I swear it; I swear on my name. They sent me because they thought it amusing to send a fellow death aligned to bring you, and I have the misfortune of being known to them!”
Zyr lowered his tail with a low, drawn out hiss, skin still sparking while the sky screamed above.
“And would you be here if they hadn’t sent you? Or would you be standing idly by while Robin was at risk?” No. Stop. Now wasn’t the time for conversation or letting himself get yet angrier. “Never mind. I don’t have time for your excuses. You are going to take me to him. Now.”
She moved only enough to hold out her fingertips.
“Contact is needed. Your shirt hem will suffice.”
Almost, he reached for her. Any possibility other than doing exactly as bade was unthinkable.
But he needed to think. If he wanted to untangle Robin from this, he needed to do more than rush in to where he would be outnumbered and overpowered.
Count to nine.
Why Robin? Why him? How was he to plan when he knew nothing? Kesk and Veroni. The new heads of his House. Winter’s rise and Summer’s fall. This was too much.
“Bide a moment,” he snapped, and then, relenting. “You may step inside, should you wish.”
With that, he left her, not waiting to see if she came in out of the rain. Long strides took him immediately to his collection, the door slamming shut behind him.
Nothing in Faerie came free. But if he gave too much, too readily, they would decide Robin’s value was so high it was better not to return him.
Give too little, and they’d use him for sport.
Power hungry, arrogant, cruel. About to ascended to the height of their House.
Perhaps spearheading an attempt to destroy the veil.
After wavering for too long (any time at all was too long), he held out his hand, and a sheathed dagger fell into it, its hilt set with rubies.
He could feel the thrum of its power, because it was dangerous.
If it went well, he would give it to them.
If it went poorly, at least he’d have a little help in killing as many as he could.
Leaving the library, he returned to the yuki-onna’s side, grabbing her wrist before she could protest.
“Take me. And after, consider whether you face greater risk from bringing news to those who require it or by being known to have failed to.”
Taibe nodded, once, standing as far from as she could without pulling away. “Don’t walk in front of me in the halls.”
###
It had been centuries since Zyr’s last visit to the palace. How unsettling, that it was much the same. Gold gilding on ivory. Wide halls and large windows. Zyr barely noticed any of it. Not the halls they walked through nor the servants that ignored them as they passed. None of it mattered.
Finally, the yuki-onna stopped at a closed door, frowning as the sound of laughter carried into the hallway. She hesitated, but only a beat, pushing the door open before Zyr could growl.
He obeyed, barely, her insistence that he walk behind her, all but pushing her into the room to the sound of Veroni’s soft, “Ah, Taibe, at last.”
Were Zyr younger, the world would have reduced to Robin and Robin alone. Robin in a straight-backed chair, facing away from. Robin turning to face him. Robin’s skin gone pale, though his gaze remained defiant.
But Zyr wasn’t young. And he’d lived this long by relying on thought above instinct. He acknowledged Robin with a quick, sharp nod, before raising his gaze to Kesk and Veroni. The others in the room, their finely attired sycophants, he ignored.
Sidhe and sylph, adorned like victors of the Wild Hunt. A crown of antlers for Kesk and matching wings for Veroni. Worse, their finery was real. Zyr knew the tells. Pre-convergence relics of an unseelie rite, worn as if they had claim to them. As if they had earned them.
Worn in front of a human captive, the favored prey of the Wild Hunt.
Kesk, alabaster pale with eyes like clear, icy pools, looked not at all like his brother, Hyacinth. His great, white wings were folded behind him and his lips were twisted in an arrogant smile.
He flicked his fingers at the yuki-onna, a dismissal with barely a glance, then settled the full of his attention on Zyr as she departed.
“Zyr.” The sidhe pull of Kesk’s voice was like a whip crack. “We were beginning to think you didn’t want your pet back. Tire of him already? Trading him in for something of a better pedigree, perhaps?”
“A half-sidhe, for example,” Veroni added, gaze cool. “We hear you’ve been keeping Hyacinth’s company.”
Argue over a pet, and the pair had the upper hand. They ruled his House now, presumably the oathsworn guardians to the Gate, and soon to take their oaths to the House itself. They could take his toy if it pleased them. Especially as Zyr had made no formal claim, couldn’t lie and say he had.
Much as he wanted violence, he needed Protocol in this.
But what Protocol? His thoughts had churned over it since Taibe’s arrival. The knife he’d brought weighed heavy on his belt, but he didn’t trust it to be enough. They wanted to be cruel, and they would deprive themselves for a chance to hurt him.
No. More than that. They wanted his allotment. If they could force him to betray his oath here, then they could act against him with impunity. The oaths that bound them to their vassals would no longer apply, and while Zyr’s allotment was irrevocable, his life was less secure.
Sickening, that he owed them anything. His only allegiance should be to Robin.
Ah.
Well, they certainly wouldn’t expect it. Zyr stepped forward, until he stood beside Robin’s chair.
“I fear you’re mistaken, my lieges,” he said, managing not to spit with the acknowledgment of their status. “Robin isn’t mine.”
“Well, in that case–” The sidhe cut himself off, as Zyr dropped to one knee beside Robin’s chair and bowed his head.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he said, with deliberate deference. “May I address this misunderstanding on your behalf?”
He heard Robin’s exhale. Felt the weight of his hand against the back of his neck. A possessive gesture.
Clever raven.
“You may,” Robin allowed, sounding more regal than Kesk ever would. “You may even stand to do so for asking the way I like you to. Properly. It was well done.”
No hesitation. No visible confusion. The readiness of that trust, here of all places, would have ached if Zyr had the time to feel it.
“Thank you, Robin.” Zyr inclined his head that little bit more before rising.
“What is the meaning of this?” Veroni asked, her voice tinged with disgust.