Chapter 9
“You are being a very ungracious guest, human.” Lady Maeve’s long crimson fingernails toyed with a glistening pile of fruit, beautifully arranged on a wide silver platter in front of her. “You do realize that courtesy demands that one is properly attentive to one’s host. Yet you are proving no entertainment at all. You have not even paid me a single compliment on my hospitality.”
“Sorry,” Tamsin gritted out, through a throat tight with anxiety. “Little distracted here. You know, by the duel to the death.”
Maeve plucked a perfect strawberry from the platter, languidly raising it to her lips. “Oh, is that still going on?”
Tamsin suspected that the elf queen was just needling her. The rest of the fae court was far from nonchalant. Every single one was leaning forward, ignoring the lavish feast laid out in front of them. All around, jewel-toned eyes glittered with excitement—literally.
It wasn’t only their eyes that glowed in the shadows. Their tattoos were alight too, illuminating avid, hungry faces. It was similar to Cuan’s beautiful, mesmerizing colors earlier…but not the same. These fae gleamed like light flashing from the edge of a knife, sharp and cold.
In the middle of the dining hall, bathed in that harsh, pitiless light, Cuan fought for his life.
For both their lives.
This time, his opponent was a lean, short-haired high sidhe woman dressed in a long green robe. When the warrior had stepped forward to issue her challenge, bare-handed and unarmored, Tamsin had thought it a fairer match at least—but that had been before the woman summoned lashing, living whips of thorned vines. Now Cuan leaped and spun in a whirlwind, swords a silver blur, fighting to keep the magical vines from entangling him in a deadly embrace.
Strawberry juice glistened on Maeve’s full lower lip. Her tongue flicked out, licking it away. “He will lose, you know.”
“He won’t,” Tamsin said, praying that it was true. “He’s fighting for me. For both of us. He won’t let me down.”
As if he could hear her words, Cuan doubled his speed. Moving with inhuman grace, he sliced through vines faster than his opponent could summon them. He lunged through the gap that he’d made, and Tamsin’s heart soared—but the elf woman made a frantic gesture, and Cuan stumbled, his attack falling short as a vine wrapped around his ankle.
“Oh, perhaps not today,” Maeve said lazily, as Cuan jerked his foot free and went after his opponent again. “But eventually he will fall. One might wonder why he bothers to fight at all, given that fact. Then again, I suppose a beast does not have the capability to think of the future.”
Tamsin’s hands clenched on the edge of the table. If she’d had a fork, she’d have stabbed the fae queen with it. Sadly, cutlery didn’t seem to be a thing in fairyland.
“Cuan’s not an animal,” she said. “He’s a man, a good man. I only wonder why he follows you.”
“A high sidhe must have a court.” Maeve selected a blackberry, popping it into her mouth. She chewed for a moment, unhurried, before continuing, “And a hound must have a master. Or in this case, a mistress. And I am the only one willing to house such a beast. One of his tainted blood would not be welcomed in any other sidhean. I have him on a double leash, bound by both his natures.”
Maeve ate another blackberry, slowly and with relish. She appeared engrossed in the fruit, but Tamsin caught a glimpse of gleaming scarlet beneath Maeve’s long, lowered eyelashes. The elf queen was a lot more interested in the conversation than she appeared to be.
“Or at least, I did have him at my beck and call.” Maeve’s tone was casual, but Tamsin had an ice-cold certainty that the elf queen’s disinterest was feigned. “Now, it seems, my dear beast threatens to slip his collar. You have clearly enthralled him beyond all sense. Looking at you, I am at a loss as to how.”
Bitch, please. Tamsin held her tongue, not responding to the back-handed insult.
For all Maeve’s petty cattiness, she wasn’t some high-school mean girl. Tamsin had always stood up to bullies, but she couldn’t afford to piss Maeve off too much. She didn’t trust the high sidhe queen not to find some new way to take it out on Cuan.
And he was in enough trouble as it was.
A vine curled around Cuan’s left arm, wrenching it round and nearly impaling him on his own sword. He dropped the blade—it glimmered and vanished before it hit the floor—but couldn’t prevent the vine from lashing his wrist behind his back. Another vine curled around his neck, and he had to abandon his other sword too, thrusting his hand up to stop the magical rope from throttling him.
Laughter drifted from the crowd as they watched Cuan struggle. The muscles of his arms bulged, all his strength barely keeping the loop of vine off his neck.
His tattoos flared peacock-blue, the light running over his body like it had yesterday, when he’d changed into a horse…but then it faded again, leaving him still a man. Tamsin guessed that he couldn’t shapeshift with the vines squeezing so tightly around his body.
The sorceress made a sharp twisting motion, and long thorns sprouted from the vine, cutting deep into Cuan’s hand. He held on grimly, knuckles white, blood welling between his clenched fingers.
“I have you now, beast,” the sorceress called. The poison-green tattoos on her upraised arms glowed brighter, and the vines tightened further around Cuan’s torso. “Will you yield?”
Cuan bared his teeth in a snarl.
“Now, now.” The sorceress wagged a finger at him. “Beasts who cannot mind their manners must be muzzled.”
She gestured, and a loop of vine jerked tight around Cuan’s mouth. Mocking laughter rose from the crowd as he arced back, pulled up on his toes by the tight bridle. The sorceress bowed to the court with an extravagant flourish, playing to her audience.
“Make her stop!” Tamsin started up from the table, fists clenching. “He can’t surrender if he can’t talk. Make her stop!”