chaos of excited faery beings. His face was a mask of fury as he shoved a sinuous beannigh and a monstrous fire drake aside as if they were nothing and seized Caris’s silver collar in his hand, lifting her clear off the ground as if she were merely a rabbit, not a massive dog that nearly weighed as much as he did. “I need grims for a hunt,” he declared, shaking her roughly. “Many of them, do you hear me? Search the kennels quickly and bring every grim you can find to the stables. We leave at once.” She dangled from his fist—and knew to make herself as limp and lifeless as possible, lest she attract his attention—as he snapped a command to the Fair Ones who followed in his wake: “Leave nothing that you value behind. Bring every weapon, every artifact, every relic that possesses a modicum of power in it. We will need it all.”
“We’re not coming back?” whispered Rhedyn. Caris was sorry to see her still among the prince’s retinue—especially when a faint shimmer along the faery woman’s ear revealed that she wore a glamor , an enchantment often used by the Tylwyth Teg to heighten their beauty and mask real or imagined imperfections. Hiding the evidence of Maelgwn’s bullying, no doubt.
“Did you not hear Gwenhidw’s words? She has forced our hand,” said the prince. “We have no choice but to carry out our project a little earlier—but we will reap the rewards that much sooner.”
The prince threw Caris against the stone pillar and stalked out as she slid to the floor. Of the entourage that followed him, none spared the black dog a glance, save Rhedyn. She said nothing, but her gaze was filled with apology. And something that looked like shame.
As soon as they were gone, Caris glanced about wildly. A hunt? The shadows had left the human world above by now. While grims could come and go at any time, there were ancient laws governing both the true Wild Hunt and those, like Maelgwn’s, that were organized privately: all hunts were restricted to the hours of mortal night.
Whatever is Maelgwn thinking?
Suddenly she guessed the prince’s destination . . . A grim’s heart did not beat, but that didn’t seem to prevent it from rising up in her throat. For a long moment, Caris considered disobeying. Would he notice if she didn’t show up? Of course he would. While there might be hundreds of black grims, she was the only female, and that had been the cruel prince’s own doing. Maelgwn would not forget her any more than he would ever forget—or forgive—her act of defiance in breaking her fiddle. Too bad I didn’t break it over his head.
Of course, then she’d be dead—or, much more likely, worse . Death or a continued existence as a grim were nothing compared to what Maelgwyn could inflict if angered. He’d surely punish her if she disobeyed him. He’d also find a way to punish her if she ran to Lurien, or even the queen, and told them . . . what exactly? That she suspected the prince was going to Tir Hardd? Not only did she have no proof to offer; she didn’t even know if Maelgwn was forbidden from going there. After all, he was highborn, a great-grandson of the late king’s sister. And she?
She was just a voiceless dog. She couldn’t tell anyone anything, even if she had evidence and witnesses aplenty. All she could do was fulfill the command she’d been given.
Slowly, Caris rose from the floor. With her head down, she made her way unnoticed through the happy, chattering crowd to the door that would take her to the stone kennels far below.
FOUR
T he sound of shattering glass woke him, and for a moment Liam didn’t know where he was. Another crash from somewhere above cleared some of the sleep from his brain, but the roaring in his ears continued. Wind , he realized. A hellacious storm was shaking the entire house to its century-old foundations. He’d fallen asleep in front of the damn TV again, but it was off, and so were the lights. Power must be . . .
Twin bolts of
“We’re not coming back?” whispered Rhedyn. Caris was sorry to see her still among the prince’s retinue—especially when a faint shimmer along the faery woman’s ear revealed that she wore a glamor , an enchantment often used by the Tylwyth Teg to heighten their beauty and mask real or imagined imperfections. Hiding the evidence of Maelgwn’s bullying, no doubt.
“Did you not hear Gwenhidw’s words? She has forced our hand,” said the prince. “We have no choice but to carry out our project a little earlier—but we will reap the rewards that much sooner.”
The prince threw Caris against the stone pillar and stalked out as she slid to the floor. Of the entourage that followed him, none spared the black dog a glance, save Rhedyn. She said nothing, but her gaze was filled with apology. And something that looked like shame.
As soon as they were gone, Caris glanced about wildly. A hunt? The shadows had left the human world above by now. While grims could come and go at any time, there were ancient laws governing both the true Wild Hunt and those, like Maelgwn’s, that were organized privately: all hunts were restricted to the hours of mortal night.
Whatever is Maelgwn thinking?
Suddenly she guessed the prince’s destination . . . A grim’s heart did not beat, but that didn’t seem to prevent it from rising up in her throat. For a long moment, Caris considered disobeying. Would he notice if she didn’t show up? Of course he would. While there might be hundreds of black grims, she was the only female, and that had been the cruel prince’s own doing. Maelgwn would not forget her any more than he would ever forget—or forgive—her act of defiance in breaking her fiddle. Too bad I didn’t break it over his head.
Of course, then she’d be dead—or, much more likely, worse . Death or a continued existence as a grim were nothing compared to what Maelgwyn could inflict if angered. He’d surely punish her if she disobeyed him. He’d also find a way to punish her if she ran to Lurien, or even the queen, and told them . . . what exactly? That she suspected the prince was going to Tir Hardd? Not only did she have no proof to offer; she didn’t even know if Maelgwn was forbidden from going there. After all, he was highborn, a great-grandson of the late king’s sister. And she?
She was just a voiceless dog. She couldn’t tell anyone anything, even if she had evidence and witnesses aplenty. All she could do was fulfill the command she’d been given.
Slowly, Caris rose from the floor. With her head down, she made her way unnoticed through the happy, chattering crowd to the door that would take her to the stone kennels far below.
FOUR
T he sound of shattering glass woke him, and for a moment Liam didn’t know where he was. Another crash from somewhere above cleared some of the sleep from his brain, but the roaring in his ears continued. Wind , he realized. A hellacious storm was shaking the entire house to its century-old foundations. He’d fallen asleep in front of the damn TV again, but it was off, and so were the lights. Power must be . . .
Twin bolts of
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