Poison (2 page)

Maybe he would see about procuring his own ship. Why had he never thought of that before? The idea sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. His own ship to take him wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He would have to go to Kundou for something like that—

His thoughts broke off when he heard someone cry out in pain, the voice ripping through his mind like claws on soft flesh.
Where are you?
Ailill asked, immediately dropping all selfish thoughts to focus on the fellow feline begging for help.

Instead of a reply, there were just more cries of pain, followed by a flare of anger—and that accompanied by an audible roar. Ailill looked around, trying to get his bearings, but sound was tricky in the harbor. It all bounced wrong, and pinpointing the true source could be impossible.

Another cry of pain raked through his mind, and Ailill decided he'd had enough. Shifting, he roared loud enough it echoed through the harbors.
Where are you?

The Dancing Duck.

Relieved he knew that pub, Ailill ran—and arrived just in time to see a group of six men running out of an alleyway. He snarled, angry they'd get away because he had to see to the kitten.

I'll get them, your grace,
came a soft voice, and Ailill turned as movement caught the corner of his eye. A sleek black panther leapt neatly down from the roof and ran after the men who were fleeing.

Ailill decided questions could wait and slipped into the alleyway where a young tiger was curled into a ball, covered in filth and blood. Purring, Ailill nuzzled against the tiger, gently checking for serious wounds as she slowly relaxed against him.
Can you stand, little one?

I think so,
the tiger said softly and shakily climbed to her feet. She couldn't be more than eighteen or so and must have been pretty new to shifting. Ailill walked alongside her until they were out of the alleyway.

He led her to the safer parts of the city, as far from the harbors as they could get while she was still so weak. When they reached a pub he trusted,
The Ugly Swan
, he stopped in front of it and licked her face.
Can you change back, sweet?

I don't know,
she said.

Ailill reached out to her, weaving his magic into hers, lending her energy and helping her change when she struggled to make her body obey. It was not a skill he had to use often, but he was glad it was there for the few occasions it proved necessary. After she had shifted, he did the same, and then slid an arm across her shoulders and led her inside the pub.

A small man came up, the smell of a dog about him, and he nearly fell over bowing. "Your grace! It's an honor—"

"The honor is mine, always," Ailill said, smiling politely. "I need a quiet place for the girl to rest."

"At once, your grace," the man replied and led them through the crowded pub to a private room.

Ailill handed over a few coins and said, "Food, drink, and have a room and bath prepared for her. Another man might arrive looking for me, a black panther."

"The Royal Voice, my lord?"

The words made Ailill blink. "The Royal Voice is a black panther, now? I have been away from Verde for a long time." How had he missed that during the entire length of his recovery? Then again, he had scarcely left his room and remembered little of that time. He smiled crookedly. "Surely there is more than one black panther in the city, however?"

"Oh—well, to be sure, your grace. I only thought how it was your grace, that you must be meeting with the Voice."

Ailill laughed. "I have no idea who I am meeting, if I am meeting anyone at all. He chased down the vagrants who hurt the young woman and may come to find me to report on his success."

Bowing, the man said, "Yes, your grace. I'll just get that food and wine." He slipped away, closing the door behind him, leaving Ailill alone with the girl.

The room was a decent one, walls and floor of warm, gold wood. The table was scuffed and worn, but well cared for, and the seats padded with soft, velvet cushions. "Have a seat," Ailill said quietly, and he settled the girl into a seat that would let her see whoever walked into the room.

She had dusky skin, dark brown hair and blue eyes—a halfling, likely from the mountains, where Verde and Piedre overlapped. Ailill felt sick thinking that her mixed heritage was probably why she'd been beaten. The feuding between species had been getting worse and worse in Verde, and that hostility was starting to spill over to include hatred toward 'impure' shifters.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"Y-y-yes, your grace. They didn't get in many hits. I am sorry to trouble you," she replied and lowered her head.

Ailill stroked her hair and gently tilted her face back up. He used his handkerchief to wipe her tears away then pressed it into her hands to keep. "It is my honor and duty to help all the children of the Faerie Queen. You are no trouble to me. I am sorry you were hurt. Do you know what provoked them?"

"I'm mixed and refused to be their whore," the girl said bitterly. "I was just looking for work. None to be found back home in the village, and my family needs the money ..." She shrugged and fell silent.

It was a common enough situation, children heading into the larger cities to make money to send home to their families. Ailill's mind spun while he contemplated various possibilities, but the thoughts broke off as the door opened. The man from before came bustling in with a tray laden with bread, fruit, roasted vegetables, nuts, and a pitcher of pale pink wine.

"Thank you," Ailill said.

"Room is ready, and we'll prepare the bath as soon as milady desires it," the man said. "If you need anything, just ask for Jacques, your grace." He bowed and slipped away again.

Ailill poured the wine and fixed a plate for the girl. "What's your name?"

"Celine, your grace."

"My name is Ailill, though you may have known that," Ailill said with a wink. "I—" He paused when a knock came at the door. "Come in."

The door pushed open and Ailill stared in surprise at the man who slipped inside. "Noire?"

Grinning, the man closed the door, moved around the table, and then dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Your grace, I have come to report that the vagrants who assaulted milady have been captured and detained until you see fit to address them."

Ailill nodded, but was still too surprised to form words. Noire Chevalier, a boy he had grown up with in a tiny village far from the city he currently called home. It was close to the border of Piedre high in the mountains, tucked into a valley known for its orchards. Noire's family had owned the general store and the post shop.

Though there were innumerable questions he wanted to ask, duty had to come first. "Where are they being detained?"

"In a city holding cell two blocks from here, your grace. Shall I escort you? Have them brought to you?"

Ailill shook his head. "No, see they are kept secured and have them brought to me at the head office tomorrow. I will question and punish them there."

"Yes, your grace. I shall see your orders are carried out."

"Do so, then return to me," Ailill said.

Noire looked up, a smirk curving his mouth. The small boy he had known had grown up into a handsome, sensual man. Ordinarily, Ailill would have been more than happy to renew their childhood friendship and make it very adult.

But something held him back, the same way it had ever since he'd left Pozhar. Ailill had never been one for attachments, not since all his attachments let him go with such ease. He was a traveler, anyway, which made attaching himself to anyone impossible. He had been perfectly content with that life style.

Until he'd decided to play with a fiery wolf. Since then ... well, he was growing heartily sick of his own hand for company, but he was tired of trying and failing to enjoy himself with anyone else.

"Yes, your grace," Noire finally replied and then rose to his feet with feline grace and departed.

Ailill turned back to Celine and smiled. "Well, the culprits have been captured and they will be punished tomorrow, my dear. You look exhausted. I think I will hand you over to Jacques so you can get cleaned up and rested."

She looked terrified, so Ailill stood them both up and embraced her, sharing calming thoughts and emotions through the bond he had with her as a White Beast.

When she was steadier, he kissed the top of her head, then went to the door and called for Jacques. "She's ready for her bath—and see that there's a girl to help her and stay with her until she falls asleep. If you could, I'd like something stronger to drink than this wine."

"Yes, your grace," Jacques said, and he immediately vanished, returning a moment later with a woman who, by their rings and the way they acted with each other, Ailill guessed to be Jacques's wife.

A few minutes later, the woman had bustled Celine away, and Jacques had left him with a bottle of good brandy. He had just taken a few sips and started eating a slice of bread with honey when the door opened again and Noire slipped inside.

Crossing the room, he knelt, bowed his head, and murmured, "I have returned as bid, your grace." He spoke with a flawless palace accent, wore clothes as costly as Ailill's own—and the badge on his arm and the breast of his black velvet jacket announced to all that he was the Royal Voice of the Faerie Queen and Guardians. Some argued that it was the most powerful position in the kingdom, short of the throne.

Like Celine, Noire was half Piedren. His skin was darker than hers had been, however. No doubt a combination of his heritage and a great deal of time spent outdoors. His black hair was unfashionably short, but cut neatly to accent the lines of his handsome, pretty face. His eyes were all faerie child, a blue so pale they almost looked silver.

The little boy he'd played with, ink smudges on his face and paper dust in his hair, had grown up into a beautiful man. "Noire Chevalier, I do not believe it. How did you come to be the Royal Voice? Why am I only now learning of this?"

Noire looked up with a laugh. "You were sick and I was busy. I have always been good at delivering messages, your grace. You know that better than anyone. I ran fastest in the village and could recite even long messages perfectly." He winked and continued. "I came to the city several years ago, your grace. I was apprenticed to a herald of the city, then worked as a journeyman as a herald of the court. I am still not certain how I came to the attention of the Triad, but so I did. Now here I am. It is good to see you returned to the land of the faeries, your grace. It's good to see you healthy again."

"Oh, stop calling me that," Ailill groused. "And stop kneeling. Honestly, Noire."

Standing up, grinning, Noire took the seat next to him and helped himself to the abandoned wine. "It's good to have you home, Ailill. Everyone can feel how different it is when all twelve Beasts are present."

Ailill made a face. "Yes, so different that I have broken up no less than seven fights in the streets since I have been in the city. I am astonished that there was no fight over your appointm—" He broke off when Noire flinched. "There was a problem."

Noire shrugged, smiled crookedly, and tried to keep his tone light when he said, "Of course there was trouble. Everyone says that the Royal Voice should be as pure of faerie blood as the Queen herself. But there is not much anyone can do when the Triad and the Beasts support me." He took a swallow of wine and licked the traces from his lips. "But it will be nice to have a truly friendly face. I was crushed when I arrived here and learned that you were abroad indefinitely. But I heard you returned with all of the missing crown jewels. You must be pleased with yourself."

"I am glad that I was able to fulfill the duty appointed me," Ailill said. He took a sip of brandy. "It's good to be home, if strange. I admit I'm still not quite certain what to do with myself. It took me a long time to heal from the injuries I took in Pozhar, and it's only the past couple of months or so that I have been up and about and not tired after just a few hours. I have not been in the city very long; my country estate was reluctant to let me go. What does it say that I am more accustomed to foreign lands than my home? I could sail through Kundou or ride through Piedre or traipse through Pozhar with ease, but here, I do not even know how to manage my staff. I do not know what is required to staff my house."

He should not have been rambling so at Noire, but something about Noire made it easy—but that was a quality about him that Ailill remembered. "Well, you certainly look the part, and I have learned that is more than half the fight," Noire said with another one of his crooked smiles. "As to the rest, you'll figure it out. If some of the idiots I've encountered can manage it, so can you."

The cynicism in his words made Ailill sad; someone who had been so sweet should not have that sweetness taken away. "Indeed," he said. "But no more of my whining. How are you? Has someone seduced the boy who used to have dreams—" He broke off laughing when Noire's cheeks darkened. "Did you think I would forget?"

"No, merely hoped," Noire said sourly. "No lover for me. What of you? Bring someone home with you? What were these injuries you suffered? I never heard about them in detail, only that you were badly poisoned. His highness worked hard to heal you, I know that much."

Ailill shook his head. "I have brought no one with me. I was attacked by a man in Pozhar who was using magic illegally. He broke my arm and left me pretty battered. Did something that drained me, left me … soul sick, was how Prince Gael explained it. Recovering from that took a long time. At times, I feared I wouldn't. By the time I was healthy, I had lost all my strength by being bedridden. As I said before, I am only just on my feet without tiring these past two months."

"I'm sorry," Noire said, gently squeezing his arm. "It sounds like you've had quite the rough time of it."

"There were good points, too. I made it home, I accomplished my mission; that is all that matters. Speaking of my mission, I have to deliver the jewels in a few more days."