Atlantis Betrayed Part 17

"What could I do? I was a terrified little boy. I lost control of my bladder-still to this day I remember how ashamed I was that my father would know I'd wet my trousers. Then I curled up in a ball and closed my eyes, wishing as hard as I could that it was all a nightmare and we were still in Atlantis with my grandparents."

Hot tears traced lines down her face and he followed their path with one finger. "Don't cry for me, Princess. It was long, long ago, before even your grandfather's grandfather's day, more than likely."

"If not me, then who?" She leaned forward and put her arms around his waist, resting her head in his lap. "I think I've earned the right to cry for that little boy."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to add sorrow to your heart," he said, and he found that he meant it. He cared more for what pain he was causing her than for what relief the telling might bring him.

Possibly his first selfless thought in centuries.

The G.o.ds were definitely laughing at him now.

"What happened to you next?"

He sucked in a long breath. "I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, the woman who'd discovered us that morning was staring down at me, and her face was twisted up like a monster. When I opened my eyes, she screamed."

"At a tiny child? What did she do?"

"She spent the next year of my life trying to beat, starve, and torture Satan out of me. She came close to killing me, but even then, even so young, I knew I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. She would never break me."

Fiona made a sound, and he realized he'd clenched his hands around hers so tightly he must be hurting her. He released her hands, pulsing a bit of magic into them to soothe any small pain.

"You were incredibly brave," she said, rising to sit next to him on the bed.

"I was a fool," he said, even now shuddering at the memory. "She broke me the first time she put me in the box."

Chapter 23

A discreet knock sounded at the door.

"Not now, please," Fiona called out, her arms wrapped around Christophe. He wasn't making a sound, but his body was shuddering so hard the bed was shaking underneath them.

"I'm afraid the lady insists," Hopkins said. "Lady Maeve Fairsby is here to see you and claims it is quite urgent."

Christophe's head snapped up, and all sign of the pain he'd been reliving had vanished, replaced by cold, deadly contemplation. "She may have news of why we were attacked. We need to see her. If nothing else, we can hold her hostage against her cousin."

He jumped up and began attaching daggers to his sheaths.

"We can't take my friend as a hostage, even if she is Fae." Fiona stood up, wondering which of him was the real Christophe-the terrified boy who'd seen his parents murdered or the lethal warrior who so calmly spoke of abducting her friend.

Both, of course, the answer sounded in her heart. What he'd endured as a boy had forced him to develop the cold sh.e.l.l over his emotions. His warrior training had completed the job. She felt a moment's despair that she would ever be able to break through to the man inside those barriers.

"Lady Fiona?" Hopkins never sounded impatient, but this was edging close. "Your response?"

"Please tell her we'll be down soon and offer some refreshments or something, Hopkins."

"I have already provided tea and cakes, of course," Hopkins said, and she could have sworn he sounded offended.

The world might be in jeopardy, but n.o.body insulted Hopkins's hospitality or service. She smiled a little at the few constants she'd known in her life: the sun, the moon, and Hopkins.

"Thank you, Hopkins," she called out, but all she heard was a hmph sort of sound.

She and Christophe showered and dressed quickly, and in fewer than twenty minutes they were heading down the hallway to the stairs. The door to one of the guest rooms opened, and Denal stepped out.

"Good night's sleep?" Christophe asked, his eyes glowing a hot green.

Denal's eyes narrowed. He clearly took the comment as a rebuke. "I patrolled the house and grounds until five this morning, when Hopkins took over for me. Then I had a nap and then lunch and stuff with Declan and Sean. This was just a brief after-lunch catnap." His scowl transformed into a grin. "Speaking of Hopkins, that man can fight, for a human. He showed me a few moves that would disarm any intruder in seconds flat."

"Hopkins has special talents," Christophe said, relenting. "We're going to meet a friend of Fiona's who just happens to be Unseelie Court Fae."

Denal whistled long and low. "That's not good. Aren't we forming an alliance with the Seelie Court through Rhys na Garanwyn and his scary brother Kal'andel? They won't like it if we get tangled up with the Unseelie Court."

"We don't have any intention of getting tied up with them. We might tie her her up, if she doesn't cooperate." up, if she doesn't cooperate."

"Sounds fun," Denal said, grinning wickedly.

Suddenly, the hallway felt full of far too much testosterone, and Fiona made a break for the stairs. "No one," she said emphatically, "is tying Maeve up."

Maeve sat on the white sofa, her elegant form arranged as if the furniture served only as a pristine backdrop to her emerald-green dress and her overall impeccable perfection. Fiona searched her features closely, looking for any hint of Fae, and suddenly a realization hit her.

"You've never aged," she blurted out. "We've been friends for ten years, and you look exactly the same now as you did when we met."

"As I will for the next thousand years, undoubtedly," Maeve replied, carefully placing her cup on its saucer on the tea table. "Of course your lover has told you what I am."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Fiona felt inexplicably hurt. "All of these years of friendship?"

"To what purpose? So that you could think of me as strange or different, or someone to fear? I have plenty of subjects and sycophants to do that. What I don't have-what I never had, until you-was a friend." She stood and took a step toward Fiona. "Our friendship has meant more to me than you can ever imagine."

"Stop right there, Fae," Christophe commanded from the doorway. "Don't touch her."

"Don't be ridiculous," Fiona snapped. She took the next step and hugged Maeve, as she'd done so many times in the past decade. "She's my friend."

Christophe growled, actually growled, and she didn't have to guess to know he was frustrated. Today was a great day, however, for him to realize he couldn't order her around. Never put off a difficult task, Hopkins always said.

Maeve hugged her back, hard, and then stepped away. Her dark eyes began to change, swirling with power, and she held her arms out to the side. An icy breeze carrying the scent of winter's deepest night flowed through the room and centered on Maeve. She seemed to grow taller where she stood, and the sensation of a deep, terrifying power swept through Fiona, raising the hair on her arms.

"Call me by my name, mortal," Maeve said, her hair lifting in the breeze her power had created. Her voice was thunder and darkness given sound, the compulsion contained within it so powerful that Fiona had to grit her teeth and lean into the breeze in order to be able to stand her ground against the urge to run or hide or kneel before her friend's unearthly beauty.

"I am Maeve na Feransel, Princess of the Unseelie Court, and you will bow to me or pay for your insolence," she thundered. Her voice shook the very walls and carried to Fiona the desperate urge to do just that, to bow and worship Maeve's beauty for eternity, but also the knowledge that it was no ordinary beauty. No, Maeve's power was a dark and biting thing; knives wrapped in velvet-swift cuts tempered by sweetness. Her chosen would bow to her and live in pain and ecstasy. Begging for more. Begging to escape. Not knowing which they wanted more.

The few seconds it took for Fiona to realize all of that were enough for her to break free of the compulsion, but another sound helped even more. Christophe. He was clapping.

"Bravo, Fae Fae. Maybe for your next act, you can pull a rabbit out of your a.s.s?"

Fiona winced at the crude words, and fury crossed Maeve's face, but it was followed quickly by amus.e.m.e.nt. Her glamour, if that's what it had been, vanished, and she was suddenly just Maeve, Fiona's friend, albeit with silver chips like ice floating in her eyes.

"Never out of my a.s.s, mortal," she said. She laughed, and her laugh held as much compulsion as her glamour had. Fiona wanted to curl up in Maeve's laughter and bathe in it; revel in the joy of the Fae princess's happiness for the next fifty years or so.

"Wow. That's pretty powerful," she managed to say, breaking free of the compulsion again. "Is that how you always got out of tests at university?"

Maeve laughed again, but this time it was an ordinary laugh, just like thousands they'd shared before. "You have no idea, Fee."

"What do you want?" Christophe's voice was pure menace. She glanced back to find his eyes glowing a hot green and both of his hands holding daggers.

"Well, I'd love to find out what exactly you are, Warrior," Maeve said. "But I'll settle for my original purpose in coming here. Fiona, darling, you need to get out of town for a while. Forget this plan of stealing the Siren. Far more powerful beings than I are in battle for that gem, and you have no chance against them."

Fiona suddenly had a hard time breathing. "I-what are you talking about? What's a Siren? Why would I-"

Maeve cut off her babbling. "Too little, too late. I know you're the Scarlet Ninja. Others know, too."

"What are you talking about, Maeve? Really, I think you drank too much champagne-"

Maeve waved a hand in the air, and an image of Fiona, dressed as the Scarlet Ninja, climbing out of the trellised upper window of the Trehorne estate, appeared for a few second before vanishing.

"Trehorne is Fae. You're lucky he found you amusing, or you'd be licking his boots in the Summer Lands for a few centuries, Fee."

Fiona abruptly sat down, not trusting her legs to hold her upright any longer. She'd thought she was so clever. So discreet. And who knows how many Fae not only knew her deepest, darkest secret, but found her amusing amusing.

"Listen to me," Maeve said, suddenly urgent. Her features hardened into an expression of imperious command, and it wasn't difficult for Fiona to believe that she truly was a princess of her race. "The Siren has become known to us as a weapon of great power. It is said to have the ability to enthrall large numbers of shape-shifters simultaneously. This would be extremely valuable in the war for control of this world. The Seelie and Unseelie Courts have decided to join in to prevent the vampires from gaining complete domination. We wanted to stay neutral; the Moon G.o.ddess herself knows we have enough discord on our own without becoming involved in this fight. But if the vampires succeed, they will turn all mortals into sheep on which to be fed, and we cannot allow total desecration of your race." She laughed and was again the friend Fiona had known for so long. "Plus, we need your kind. I simply cannot survive without Chanel lipstick."

"Who has it now?" Christophe stalked over to her. "Who has the Siren now?"

"Do you ask a boon of information, mortal?" Maeve licked her lips, suddenly almost feral. "I will gladly grant it."

"I ask nothing. I know how your kind works, and I have no desire to be indentured, or worse, to you," Christophe snarled.

"Oh, I could find something very pleasant for you to do," Maeve purred.

Fiona wanted to rip her eyes out.

Denal burst into the room. "Can you believe they're still playing that game? I think Sean is ahead, a zillion to one, but perhaps Declan is letting him win, since . . . oh. My apologies, Lady Fiona," he said, all but skidding to a halt. "I did not realize you were still entertaining your guest."

Maeve's eyes widened. "Oh, Fiona, you bad girl. Not one, but two of them? You must share, you know."

She crossed the room to Denal, and her walk was pure s.e.x; a gentle sway making the most of her curves. Christophe watched her, and Fiona now wanted to scratch his his eyes out. eyes out.

If this was jealousy, it was exhausting.

"Why don't you come play with me for a while, handsome man?" Maeve's voice was honey and cream, whispering a tale of seduction older than time.

Denal was clearly entranced. He bowed deeply. "I am Denal of Atlantis, my lady, and you are?"

Christophe slammed his daggers back into their sheaths. "She is the Unseelie Court Fae I was just warning you about, and you are supposed to be undercover. Certainly not telling Unseelie Court princesses about Atlantis."

"Atlantis?" Maeve whirled around. "Oh, so that explains the smell and feel of your power. It has the resonance of the ocean crashing into the moonlit beach, sorcerer."

"I am no sorcerer, I am simply a humble warrior," Christophe said.

"Anything but humble, I think," she answered, a dark light in her eyes. "But enough of this. I will give you a gift, none beholden, none owed. I do not know who has the sword, but fear the vampires have acquired it. The sometimes-leader of this region is an ancient vampire named Telios. Find him and you may find what you seek, although it is true there are factions who oppose him."

"Why would you help us?" Christophe asked.

"Who says I'm helping you? Perhaps there is simply another I wish to oppose." She laughed, a sound like silvery chimes mixed with a child's laughter, and turned to Denal. "Come and play with me for a while, fair one."

"Yes," Denal said, taking her hand. "I will."

"No!" Christophe leapt toward him, but it was too late. Maeve cast a magical barrier between them that shimmered like a net of the finest gauze, if gauze were made from diamond dust.

"Willingly spoken, Atlantean," Maeve said. "Take care of Fiona or I will have more than words for you when next we meet."

With that, she and Denal vanished.

Fiona gasped and then fell back into her chair, her lungs suddenly unable to fill with air. She began relaxation breathing of long, slow inhales and exhales. "You know, I think that this was perhaps an inch or two beyond what my rational mind can take right now. Atlantis, magical gems, Fae royalty, and vampire attacks. Oh, and let's not forget s.e.x in museums. Now my best friend is a Fae princess who just stole your best friend. I've had it. I'm done. I'd like my straitjacket now, please."

"He's not my best friend," Christophe said.

She let her head fall back on the chair and started laughing. "Right. Because that's that's the important part of what I just said." the important part of what I just said."

"Is one of your new books in here?"

"You want to read? Now?"

He just stared at her, clenching his jaw, and not in a good way, so she sighed and pointed to the bookshelves. "Bottom shelf on the left. It would be bad form to display my books like some sort of trophy, of course."

"Hopkins?"

"Are you kidding? Hopkins would hang framed posters of all my covers in the foyer if I'd let him. That was a cla.s.sic grandfather-ism, always going on and on about bad form. He's probably rolling over in his grave to think I'm anything as common as a children's book author."

He came up with a copy of The Forest Fairies The Forest Fairies and flipped through the pages as he walked over to her. Then he dropped the open book into her lap. and flipped through the pages as he walked over to her. Then he dropped the open book into her lap.

"There. On the right."

She glanced down at the painting she knew so well, then back at him, puzzled. "Yes? What about it?"

"What does he say? To the human child?"

She looked again, but she knew. She knew knew. She recited it from memory, not needing to see the words on the page. "Oh, no. Oh, no. He says, 'Come and play with me for a while, fair one.'"

"Yes, he does. And an a.s.sent, willingly spoken, means that your friend the Fae princess can do whatever she wants with Denal, for as long as she wants to do it." His face was grim, promising retribution and death.