Chapter 10 Tate #2
Her grin was as sly as the fox at her feet.
She turned then, abruptly, addressing the hall at large.
“Let it be known,” she announced, voice ringing clear, “that our beloved has returned to us and remains under my protection.” A pause, her emerald eyes sliding back to Cadoc, just behind her, before turning back to Tate. “. . . For now.”
When she took his hand, leading up the dais and beyond the throne, in the direction of the chambers beyond, Tate understood.
Taking him to her bed was another test. He could refuse.
He could twist his way out of this, let his flip insouciance help wheedle him out of needing to do so, but he saw the trap in that as well.
She would smile and laugh, let him flatter her and lead the way to a different diversion, but the test would be failed and punishment would find him. He had the scars all over his body to prove that. Tate no longer cared what they did to him, but they knew that as well.
There had been an elf, one of the last times he’d been an unwilling guest of the Court of Autumn, an elf who’d found himself on the wrong side of a business dealing with one of the court, brought to Faerie for retribution.
He’d had wide blue eyes and hair like a copper farthing, and he’d reminded Tate so much of his grandfather that he’d been willing to risk the Queen’s wrath.
He’d led the elf to one of the doors out, over the swift-running brook and past the lightning-struck tree .
. . but they’d been waiting, there at the end.
The trees were spies and had reported his movements.
Tate’s punishment for colluding with an outsider was that the elf was cut down and carved open in front of him, the blood flicked in his face.
He could not risk Silva’s safety, not while they had a way to access her. Survival took many forms, he thought with a pang, allowing himself to be led by the hand. Protecting Silva from harm was a necessity, and while he was a gambler, she was not a gamble he was willing to take. Tick, tick, tick.
“Ready the hounds.”
Tate’s head snapped up. Cadoc’s voice was almost cheerful, always a bad sign. You didn’t bring the girl. No matter. He was already sliding on a riding glove, preparing to leave immediately. The hunting hounds would be ravenous by the time their master returned, quarry in tow.
Oh, that’s a fine plan, lad. Insult him. Bait him. And then turn your back on him and take his queen to bed. I’m sure he’s off to have a nice cup of tea while you’re otherwise engaged.
“Wait,” Tate choked out, Faelnor’s voice in his head nearly making him yelp with its accuracy. The Queen swung, daring him to deny her. His pulse thudded behind his eye, the muscle jumping. Tate knew this wasn’t a test he could fail . . . but he couldn’t let Cadoc out of his sight.
He knew the game that was being played. He was an unwilling participant, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make a move of his own now and then. Tick, tick, tick. Mind the time. He had to finish this tonight. Finish it and get back to her.
“He should watch.”
The queen’s smile was a slow spread, sticky like honey, glinting with malice, nodding her agreement. Tate considered that he was probably going to lose an eye for this. You’re going to look fucking ridiculous with a bleedin’ patch. Setback number three.
“Oh, beloved. I have missed you, so.”
* * *
He suspected the retribution coming to him would be swift. Particularly after that moment in the hallway, after they’d both been dismissed from the queen’s chambers.
Nothing was said.
They began walking in step, almost immediately upon entering the corridor.
Tate scowled, deliberately mistepping, forcing his feet to walk in the opposite cadence, but then it had sounded too deliberate, like a melody and counterpoint, and he had nearly stopped walking altogether.
For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to become so incensed over the triviality of their similar gait that he was caught unawares when Cadoc stopped abruptly, the instant they turned a corner.
His arm raised, crushing Tate against the wall, before Tate remembered a beat later that he had the benefit of strength. Shouldering the arm away was easy, but by then the blade was pressed to his throat.
He went still. Not because he valued his own hide, but because Silva’s coin was still in the possession of his captor.
The tip of the blade danced over his skin, moving with a feather-light pressure, almost a tickle.
It wasn’t until he felt a bead of blood moving down his neck that he realized that whisper-soft pressure was enough.
So bloody predictable. Fucking amateurs.
“How did you get this one?” Cadoc asked, voice full of innocent curiosity. The blade-tip moved from Tate’s eyebrow up through his hair, tracing over the scar he’d had there for decades.
“Because you stabbed me in the fucking eye, you stupid cunt.”
Cadoc’s laughter was a sharp, silver chime, teeth overtaking his face as his smile stretched back. “Well, that doesn’t sound like me at all.” The blade quickly reasserted itself at Tate’s windpipe. “Do you know what the punishment is for death in the Frostbitten Queen’s realm, dear heart?”
Tate didn’t answer, pursing his lips when the blade pressed enough to sting, shaking his head.
“The punishment for death is death. Rarely happens, because the Winterkin do know their place. And do you happen to know what the punishment is for death in the orgies of Summer? Hmm?” Tate glared as Cadoc smiled brightly, humming when his question went unanswered, continuing easily.
“Death. The punishment for death in Summer is death.”
Another wide smile, teeth like daggers, the blade tip twisting slightly. “And can you guess, beloved, what the punishment for death is in Spring?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let me take a fucking stab at it. Could it be . . . death?”
Cadoc beamed. “It’s not. It’s two deaths. The Court of Flowers does nothing but borrow beyond what they can afford, and their greed demands interest. They must pay the balance twice, to make amends to the harvest. And do you have any idea what the punishment for death is here in Autumn, Tate?”
At that, he froze. Tate could count on probably one hand how many times his name had been used at the Bonfire Court.
His grandsire had raged that in addition to his Orcish blood, he’d not even been given the benefit of an old Elvish name, one that would have come directly from their own histories.
His name had been verboten at court as a result, and it was the way Tate preferred it. His name belonged to him and him alone.
Hearing it now, from this bastard’s lips, was the only thing he could have done to freeze Tate where he stood. Which was why he used it at all.
“Death?” he answered at last, when it was clear an answer was expected.
That wide smile once more, cheerful and benign, if one could overlook the teeth.
“No, my darling one. There is no punishment for death here. Can you take a guess at why?” When Tate remained silent, Cadoc seemed happy enough to finish.
“Because this is the Court of Death. The Court of Abundance. We have too much, and it is a mercy to cull the numbers. You would do well to remember that, dear heart. You overvalue your importance. A toy she has not yet decided whether she intends to keep or break. You are an accessory and nothing more, one who would not be missed, on this side or the other. And you are playing a very dangerous game.”
At that, Tate had stiffened. “You forced me to play it the day you brought me here. Or did you forget how I became your problem to mind? Sounds to me like you’ve created your own issues, errand boy.”
He was brought to court to be an heir.
He was meant to be the beloved grandson of an Elvish goldsmith and his wife. He was meant to be a barman, to live in the world where the sun moved across the sky; he was meant to marry the most beautiful elf in the world, one he’d love until the stars fell into the sea.
But here, in this wretched fucking forest, he was meant to be an heir.
That was the point in all this. Heir apparent to the throne of Autumn, ripped from his family and presented to the Bonfire Queen as a gift, an heir secured to hold their power, one that every court possessed.
But he had come a generation too late, had arrived ruined with orc blood, and was lucky he’d not been killed as a child when they’d first collected him as repayment for that long-ago coin.
Tate suspected Cadoc had simply changed his mind. Why plan for a future dynasty when one could simply rule forever, keeping all of Faerie bent to his cruelty?
“Oh, but you followed willingly enough, sweetling.”
The blade had been removed, but the words were enough to keep Tate in place, frozen.
“Or do you prefer to skip that page in the story? Easier to confuse the villain that way. I didn’t even need to bring you by force. So if ever you grow confused over how you came to join us, beloved, I would be happy to provide a mirror to assist in your instruction.”
There were voices not far, just around the hallway, and when he jerked away roughly, Cadoc did not prevent it.
Huntsmen, Tate saw immediately, feeling his pulse kick up several notches at the implication.
Ready the hounds. Still. He had prevented him from bringing her here.
Hated what he’d had to do to make it so, but the ends were all the justification he needed at the moment.
He had prevented them from turning her into quarry. He could survive whatever came next.
“Prepare yourself for the hunt, sweetling,” Cadoc called to his back, voice ringing with near laughter. “I suspect we shall both be a part of this night’s games. You did fare so well the last time you were included. We shall see if your luck continues.”
Favored did not mean safe. Tate leaned against the wall, forcing himself to breathe.
Perhaps, he admitted, he ought to have formed a more concrete plan.
Fucking faeries. He’d lost track of his setbacks by then.
Holding the watch to his ear, he closed his eyes and breathed.
Tick, tick, tick. He could not survive the hunt a second time, but neither could he hide from it.
Not when the forest was bleeding time, and he was still so far away from her.