Midnight Enchantment (39 page)

Abastor
The mystic black stallion that leads the Wild Hunt.

Alahambri
The language the goblins speak.

Black Tower
A large building on one end of Piefferburg Square that is constructed of black quartz. This is the home of the Unseelie Court.

Book of Bindings
Book created when the Phaendir and the fae were allied. The most complete book of spells known. Contains the spell that can break the warding around Piefferburg.

bosca fadbh
Puzzle box consisting of three interlocking pieces. Was an object once owned by both the Phaendir and the fae, back when they weren’t enemies. When all three pieces are united, they form a key to unlock part of the Book of Bindings.

Boundary Lands
The area where the wilding fae live.

ceantar dubh
Dark district. This is the neighborhood directly buttressing the Black Tower.

ceantar láir
Middle district. Fae “suburbia,” it also borders a mostly commercial area of downtown Piefferburg where the troop live and work.

charmed iron
Iron spelled to take away a fae’s magick when it touches the skin. Used in prisons as handcuffs and by the Imperial and Shadow Guards, it’s illegal for the general fae population to possess it. Charmed iron weapons were a major reason the fae lost in the war against the Milesians and Phaendir in ancient Ireland.

Danu
The primary goddess of the Tuatha Dé Danann, both Seelie and Unseelie. Also followed by some other fae races. Danu is accompanied by a small pantheon of lesser gods.

Furious Host
Those who follow the Lord of the Wild Hunt every night to collect the souls of the fae who have died and help to ferry them to the Netherworld.

Goblin Town
The area of Piefferburg City where the goblins, a fae race with customs that differ greatly from the other types of fae, live.

Great Sweep
When the Phaendir, allied with the human race, hunted down, trapped, and imprisoned all known fae and contained them in Piefferburg.

Humans for the Continued Incarceration of the Fae (HCIF)
An organization of humans working with the Phaendir to ensure the fae are never given freedom.

Humans for the Freedom of the Fae (HFF)
An organization of humans working for equal fae rights and the destruction of Piefferburg.

iron sickness
The illness that occurs when charmed iron is pressed against the flesh of a fae for an extended period of time, eventually fatal.

Joining Vows
Ancient, magick-laced vows that twine two souls together. Not often used in modern fae society because of the commitment involved.

Labrai
The god the Phaendir follow.

Netherworld
Where the fae go after they die.

Old Maejian
The original tongue of the fae. It’s a dead language to all except those who are serious about practicing magick.

Orna
The primary goddess of the goblins. Accompanied by many lesser gods.

Phaendir (“Fane-dear”)
A race of druids whose origins remain murky. The common belief of the fae is that their own genetic line sprang from the Phaendir. The Phaendir believe they’ve always been a separate—superior—race. Once allied with the fae, the Phaendir are now their mortal enemies.

Piefferburg (“Fife-er-berg”) Square
Large cobblestone square with a statue of Jules Piefferburg in the center and the Rose and Black Towers on either end.

Piefferburg,
Jules
Original human architect of Piefferburg. The statue honoring him in Piefferburg Square is made of charmed iron and can’t be taken down, so the fae constantly dishonor it in other ways, like dressing it up disrespectfully or throwing food at it.

Rose Tower
Made of rose quartz, this building sits at one end of Piefferburg Square and houses the Seelie Court.

Seelie (“Seal-ee”)
A highly selective fae ruling class, the Seelie allow only the Tuatha Dé Danann sídhe into their ranks. Members must have a direct bloodline to the original ruling Seelie of ancient Ireland and their magick must be light and pretty.

Shadow Amulet
The one who wears the amulet holds the Shadow Throne, though the amulet might reject someone without the proper bloodline. It sinks into the wearer’s body, imbuing him or her with power and immortality, leaving only a tattoo on the skin to mark its physical presence.

Shadow Royal
Holder of the Unseelie Throne.

Sídhe (“Shee”)
Another name for the Tuatha Dé Danann (Irish) fae, both Seelie and Unseelie.

Summer Ring
Like the Shadow Amulet of the Unseelie Royal, this piece of jewelry imbues the wearer with great power and immortality. It also sinks into the skin, leaving only a tattoo, and may reject the wearer at will. This ring determines who holds the Seelie Throne.

Summer Royal
Holder of the Seelie Throne.

trooping fae
Also called the troop, those fae who are not a part of either court and are not wilding or water fae.

Tuatha Dé Danann (“Thoo-a-haw Day Dah-nawn”)
The most ancient of all races on earth, the fae. They were evolved and sophisticated when humans still lived in caves. Came to Ireland in the ancient times and overthrew the native people. The Seelie Tuatha Dé ruled the other fae races. When the Milesians (a tribe of humans in ancient Ireland) allied with the Phaendir and defeated the fae, the fae had to agree to go underground. They disappeared from all human knowledge, becoming myth.

Twyleth Teg (“Till-eg Tay”)
Welsh faeries. They’re rare and live across the social spectrum.

Unseelie (“UN-seal-ee”)
A fae ruling class, the Unseelie will take anyone who comes to them with dark magick, but the true definition of an Unseelie fae is one whose magick can draw blood or kill.

water fae
Those fae who live in the large water areas of Piefferburg. They stay out of the city of Piefferburg and out of court politics and life.

Watt Syndrome
Illness that befell all the fae races during the height of the race wars. The sickness decimated the fae population, outed them to the humans, and ultimately caused their downfall, weakening them to the point that the Phaendir could gather and trap them in Piefferburg. Some think the syndrome was biological warfare perpetrated by the Phaendir.

Wild Hunt
Comprising mystic horses and hounds and a small group of fae known as the Furious Host, led by the Lord of the Wild Hunt, the hunt gathers the souls of all the fae who have died every night and ferries them to the Netherworld. The
identities of the Unseelie fae who make up the Wild Hunt are kept secret.

wilding fae
Nature fae. Like the water fae, they stay away from Piefferburg proper, choosing to live in the Boundary Lands.

Worshipful Observers
Steadfast human supporters of the work the Phaendir does to keep the fae races separate from the rest of the world.

1012 AD, NORWAY

OTHER people’s blood seeped into Broder’s wounds, making every slash and scratch on his body burn.

He was alive. He’d survived.

His muscles were weak from disuse, but the drive to live—the drive for revenge—had made him deadly for the time he’d needed to wreak this carnage. Now that it was over, the will to kill leaked slowly from him, not unlike the last decade of his life.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The moment he’d stepped foot in this enclave, his life had been worth nothing. Before then, even…

Ignoring the fiery pain of his injuries, his chest heaving and his eyes wild, Broder turned in a circle, a sharp sword clenched in one sticky hand, an ax in the other, and surveyed the bodies around him. The sight gave him no pleasure, no peace, but he didn’t regret any of it. He’d do it again if given the chance, even though the act itself was more blur than memory.

He’d delivered retribution.

He barely remembered it. He’d heard tales of men caught up in battle carnage, wild with bloodlust, unknowing of the
deeds they committed. Man, woman, child, it mattered not to them, all fell beneath the crazed warrior’s blade. That’s how he’d spent the last five minutes…had it been ten? Or had it been an hour? He wasn’t sure. Images flashed through his head—blood, bone, flesh—the sharp, silver edge of his blade rendering it all into so much meat.

Movement caught his eye. He turned, ready to launch into another attack, and caught the sight of a decapitated body sliding slowly from an ornate gold and green chair to the floor, making a lifeless heap. He relaxed.

It was over. Soon, he, too, would be over.

Blinking barely focused eyes, he lowered his sword and lifted his head, stretching muscles of his body that had long gone unused. He limped to a nearby chair and sat. He needed to leave this place because he didn’t want to die here and he didn’t have much time, but now that the insane rage which had animated his half-dead body had ebbed, he could barely move. His nose twitched, stinging from the stench of unwashed body and death.

Slumping against a heap of silken pillows, his blood staining them dark brown, he closed his eyes. Just for a moment. His hands still gripped his weapons, as though secured there for eternity. One wound burned brighter and hotter than the rest. He looked down at his side and examined the crescent-shaped slash.

He wouldn’t survive it.

Every movement made the congealing blood covering him—his own and other men’s—crack like dried mud. The images of what he’d done crowded his mind. It made him sick, but he didn’t want to take it back. He looked around, his lip curling with hatred. If anything, he wanted more.

“Broder Calderson!” His name echoed through the quiet chamber.

In spite of his wounds, Broder leapt to his feet, turned toward the voice, and reflexively threw the ax in his right hand. The man who stood at the entrance of the chamber didn’t move, didn’t even blink as the weapon circled through the air, swooping end over end lazily, as if time had slowed it, the blade headed straight for his forehead.

The ax passed through the man as though he were made of mist.

The man—tall, slender, black hair slicked back from his angular, handsome face—smiled. He swished his forefinger back and forth, grinning. “No, no, Broder. Bad boy.”

Broder frowned at the unfamiliar language and accent, and backed up, the sword dropping from his hand and clattering to the marble floor. The man wore outlandish clothing, he now noticed.

He looked him up and down. He wore no tunic and his trousers were more than passing strange. There was an odd, sharp cut to his clothing and his shoes were too shiny. Some sort of extra long bit of material that served no purpose hung from his neck. He’d never seen the like of such clothing—or fabric—in all his life. A black swath of some hard material Broder couldn’t identify balanced on the man’s nose and wrapped around the upper part of his face, concealing his eyes.

“What are you?” Broder asked in a voice that hadn’t been used in a very long time. It came out broken and rough.

“Not what,
who
. You don’t recognize me? I am Loki.” The man walked toward him, unusual shoes crunching broken pottery, treading through pools of blood. His strange, shiny shoes never seemed to be affected. His voice held a strong note of derision. “Surely you must know who I am. I am known for the tricks that I play, and I have played many of them.” His voice went serious. “But I am not playing now.”

Of course he knew Loki. Broder felt the blood drain from his face. He’d just tried to kill a god. “Am I dead, then?”

Loki laughed. “Not hardly. Not yet, anyway.” He removed the odd black thing covering the upper part of his face and his cold blue eyes skirted Broder’s body, taking in the parts of him covered with Broder’s own blood. “You won’t be dead for a very, very long time. If ever.”

Broder struggled to make sense out of those words. It was clear to Loki and to himself that he’d be dead in a few hours. It had only been a need for revenge that had kept his body full of life up until now. He’d had his revenge; now it was time to join his loved ones. He welcomed it.

Loki took a step forward, his polished shoe crunching on the remains of an invaluable piece of pottery. “You’ve had a more than a little fun here, I think. Are you thirsty?” He gestured
to a half-broken pitcher on a nearby table, sitting in a pool of the blood he’d shed. “Need libation, perhaps?”

“It wasn’t…fun.” Broder frowned, trying to translate the odd manner of his speech. “I had reason for this violence.”