Birds and Prey (2 page)

“Now,” she said, “come with me to my father’s hall. We can’t keep our guest waiting.”

Like all Shifters, Haytham had little use for Elves and their politics, and even less for mortals. Given his choice, he would have shed his human skin to soar evermore in the swirling winds of the Hell’s Peaks. He would have descended only to capture his prey in his talons, and to savor the crunch of bone and the sweet salt of blood in his beak.

But Haytham owed the Edenost queen his wings. So when the royal family called for him, the geis between them meant he had no choice but to obey.

Usually, they asked him for small things. They might call for him to scout ahead the path for a Wild Hunt, or, on the rare occasions when their cold war with the Sidhe grew heated, to gather reconnaissance about where the Sidhe were hiding their warriors and magical sink-stones. Occasionally, they asked him to kill.

Mostly, however, they left him alone. And Haytham was glad of that.

But this was not most times.

Haytham stood at the entrance to the Elven Queen’s reception hall. He was dressed in uncomfortably formal clothes, which made his too-tight skin itch all over. All around him, thick branches densely covered by broad red-and-gold leaves obscured the song of the wind. Certainly there were openings -- some even wide enough to leap through -- but it was still too confining. Haytham couldn’t understand how the elves could stand to live in such spaces, and all packed in so close together.

“The princess will receive you now, in her chambers,” said a thin, black-haired elf wearing far too many robes, and beckoning toward yet another arched doorway.

At his words, the door swung open. The elf stepped through them, and started announcing the princess’s full name and titles -- a tedious process that Haytham ignored.

When the elf had finished, Haytham gave the princess a formal nod. “My lady,” he said. This was as courtly as his manners got.

“Call me Laire,” the princess said. She gave a toothy, practiced smile that showed nothing of her character.

She pointed to the elf who had brought Haytham in. “Leave us.”

The elf nodded and backed out of the room. Once the door had shut softly behind Haytham, the princess turned back and considered him.

The last time he’d seen her, she had been at that diffuse age between childhood and adulthood. Not awkward -- elves were incapable of that -- but not refined, either. Now she had become a full adult, and beautiful, in the way a blade is beautiful: clean, sharp, and ready to draw blood.

“Haytham, isn’t it?” Laire asked.

“Yes.” Of course she remembered him, but Laire liked her games.

She also hated him. She had hated him ever since her mother had punished her for hanging him up in iron chains, and forcing him to fight the local carrion birds with only his beak and claws.

Laire said, “My mother speaks highly of you.”

“Thank you,” Haytham said.

He wondered if the queen knew that Laire was playing with her mother’s toys. The princess, while still clearly dangerous, did not have her mother’s years of experience in treachery. Perhaps there was an opportunity here.

“This is the first time you’ve summoned me,” Haytham said. “I am curious as to how I can help you.”

The princess said, “I have a special situation. It requires a…delicate touch.”

Haytham hated talking to elves. They were always so vague.

“Do you need someone killed without the use of magic?” he asked.

Princess Laire wrinkled her nose. “Can’t we go about this with any subtlety at
all
?” She sighed. “It is a bit more complicated than that. I need you to train another to kill. My pet. A mortal from beyond the Veil.”

How in the world had Princess Laire acquired a mortal from beyond the Veil? But Haytham knew better than to ask questions to which he’d rather not know the answer.

So instead he asked: “Has she killed?”

Laire’s smile grew a bit more genuine. “Not yet. This will be her first.”

“Surely there must be someone here who could train her. I’ve never even taught another Shifter the Wind Dance, let alone a mortal without wings.” Truth to tell, Haytham doubted he’d have the patience for either task. He was anti-social, even for one of his own kind.

“Yes, but… the situation is delicate. And I have taken a vow before the Justicius that neither I, nor any member of my court, will hurt her. She cannot learn what she must without some suffering. And, also…” Laire took a step towards him, extending her hand. “May I?”

Without waiting for permission, Laire ran her fingernail along his jaw.

Haytham wanted to grab the finger and break it. But the geis between him and the royal family made it impossible for him to hurt her, so he stood stiffly, enduring her touch.

“You are very handsome,” said Laire. “As you must know.”

Haytham shrugged. He had no trouble finding lovers when the winds drew them together.

“Don’t be modest,” Laire said. “It doesn’t suit you.” She tapped his chin once with her index finger. Then -- apparently finished amusing herself with him, at least for now – she said: “Let me be clear. I mean for you to train my pet in the ways of killing an elf, quickly and without hesitation. What’s more, I mean for you to…capture her interest. Distract her. Seduce her,” she clarified. “And take your pleasure in her.”

Haytham had about as much interest in mindlessly rutting a mortal as he did in the elves and their endless games.

“Surely,” he tried again, “there are already some of your own who are well versed in the ways of killing and seduction?”

“Of course there are,” the princess said, looking offended that he had had to ask. “But, as I said, the situation is delicate. Due to my vow to the Justicius, we need someone from outside our court. And it will be better to have one who can lie – an advantage you have over us.” She gave him a slightly impatient look. “I’m sure
you’ll
have no trouble with the latter,” she said. Haytham did not react.

“In any case,” she went on, “what do you care about the state of some mortal’s heart? Train her to kill, gain her regard, have your way with her – and, most important of all these things, make sure she kills Aranion, the elven prince. After she has done the deed, you can return home. And –“ she gave him one of her exquisite, terrifying smiles – “the debt between us will be finished.”

“Finished?”

Haytham suddenly had trouble breathing. If she meant what she said, then he would be free.
Free!

“Exactly that,” the princess said.

It sounded like a good deal. A plain deal.

Too
good and
too
plain for elves, Haytham knew that, and that fact should have made him worried, terrified even. No deal with elves ever came without strings; he knew that well.

Hesitantly, he asked: “And what will this mean for me, afterward? Will they send a hunt?”

“The Crystal Elves are soft,” Laire assured him. “They haven’t called a hunt in almost a thousand years. And even if they worked up the nerve, this is a matter between elves. The Crystal Court has no interest in Shifters. You have my word.”

Yes, he thought. He should have been terrified. But, really, what did he have to lose?

The geis between him and the queen compelled him to serve her family’s will. From her offer, the chances were that the princess didn’t understand the full extent of the geis between him and the royal family. And Haytham had no intention or obligation to inform her. The promise of freedom was a gift – but an incalculably precious one.

He could train this mortal, fuck her even, and then return to once more fly the cold mountain winds that were his home.
Free.

“Agreed,” Haytham said. He extended his hand.

The princess accepted the agreement. Her small, fine-boned fingers gripped his forearm as his larger hand cupped hers, delicate as a twig. A tingle passed between them, sealing the geis.

The deal having been concluded, she waved to the door, and an elf entered with a tray of food and a delicate flute of elven berry wine.

“Refresh yourself,” the princess said. “I’ll return shortly with your charge.”

Haytham’s mouth watered, as he looked over the bite-sized chunks of aromatic, seasoned meat on the tray. For all of their fooleries, elves did understand how to satisfy a guest’s stomach.

Haytham had almost eaten his fill by the time the princess returned. The mortal was following a step behind her.

The mortal, Haytham realized, was beautiful. Her skin was a deep, rich, honeyed brown; her eyes were large and rimmed with thick lashes. She looked like a doll, dressed in layers of red and gold silk that certainly complimented her coloring and well-shaped figure. Though Haytham thought he preferred the wildness of her soft brown curls. They held their shape, haloing her head in a riot of brown.

Laire said, “This is my little bird. Sade,” she told the mortal, “please step forward so that our guest might greet you.”

The mortal, Sade, did as instructed, coming to stand awkwardly before Haytham. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said prettily.

Little bird, was it? Haytham wondered if the mortal was able to see the bars of the cage around her. It had taken him far too many years to recognize his own.

“I’m Haytham,” he said, extending his hand.

Gently, Sade placed her palm against his. Her dark eyes were deep pools of uncertainty as she stared up at him.

“Good,” Laire said, and took Sade by the forearm. Haytham released her hand, and the elven princess pulled Sade to her side. “Now that we’ve managed the formalities, let me explain why I’ve brought you two together.”

Sade nodded, visibly tense. She took a shallow breath and wiped her free palm against her silk-covered hip.

At least the mortal had the good sense to be afraid. Haytham found himself wishing she was a little stupider – less aware of her situation. After all, of course it was the way of the world for the strong to dominate the weak. But that didn’t mean he took any pleasure in watching the weak suffer. That was one of the many things that separated shifters and elves.

Haytham watched her as the princess spun a remarkable tale of marriage, betrayal, and a broken soul-bond. Given the elves’ inability to lie, each individual word of it was certainly true, even if the story they wove was ultimately false –
misleading
, as the elves might call it.

“…So the only solution is for you to kill Aranion. And that is why I’ve called for Haytham, to help you do that,” Princess Laire said. She gestured toward Haytham once again, as though he and Sade had not just exchanged introductions.

“Kill him?” Sade was clearly shocked. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life!”

Laire’s eyes narrowed. “And how would you know that, Little Bird?”

“I—“ Sade’s expression collapsed. She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she acknowledged. “I don’t remember.” She sounded lost.

Laire nodded. “Good. That spell of forgetting protects you from the pain.”

She rested her palm on Sade’s shoulder. Slowly, she began to rub in slow circles that Haytham assumed were meant to be comforting.

Trembling, Sade closed her eyes.

Some of the implications of what Laire had just said caught up to him. He realized that here was the catch. If Haytham understood correctly what the princess was planning, Laire intended for Sade to kill her bonded mate.

That was an abomination before the skies. Elves and Shifters both agreed on that.

And Haytham had already agreed by bond and breath to teach this mortal how to do it.

Otherwise, he would lose his freedom, and his wings.

“Haytham is a Wind Dancer,” Laire was saying. “Wind Dancing is a technique known only to the Shifters who dwell in the Hell’s Peaks, but it can be taught to anyone – with the right instructor.” Laire glanced up at Haytham, her eyes shining. “He will teach you well, won’t you, Haytham?”

Haytham swallowed his scruples. “I will,” he said.

It was what he’d agreed -- the price of his freedom.

“Then I will leave my little bird in your capable hands,” the princess said. “Return her in… let’s say three moons. That should be enough to make her ready.”

“I’ll need to take her to the peaks,” Haytham said. “For her training.” And his sanity, too, he thought. The faster he got them both out of here, the better. There was no way he’d be able to keep his head in this elven anthill for an entire moon, much less three.

“And your bird will need some sensible clothes,” he added. “And a decent knife.”

The princess’ lips tightened, and she took a short breath in through her nose.

She paused for a moment, and then pulled a necklace of delicate beads from around her neck. She squeezed it in her fist, closing her eyes. For a few seconds, her hand glowed with magic.

When she opened it, a delicate, pearl-bordered mirror rested on her palm. She held it out to Haytham.

“I expect daily reports,” she said. “Use this.”

Haytham took the glass, with some distaste. The too-strong honey-and-flower scent of the princess’s perfume clung to it. Its cloying, artificial sweetness made him want to retch.

Yes, he decided. He really, really hated elves.

Princess Laire led Sade to the Queen’s Chambers. The queen had been away on holiday for almost a decade, and until she returned, Laire had full use of the queen’s rooms. As always, the princess entered first, and Sade followed.

At a table near the entrance, beside a tray of food, stood a man.

The first thing that struck Sade was how different the man looked from everyone else she’d seen these past few weeks. In contrast to the pale, ephemeral beauty of the elves, this man was tall, rangy and strong-looking, with long, light brown hair held back by a simple tie behind his head. His jaw was shadowed with the beginnings of a beard. Sade found that surprisingly attractive -- though the thought somehow made her feel guilty, and slightly ill.

The man stared at her. Sade did her best to maintain her composure. But sweat tickled the back of her neck.

Princess Laire said, “This is my little bird. Sade,” she said, “please step forward so that our guest might greet you.”