“She’s pretty awesome,” the boy admitted. To Cuan’s relief, he felt some tension go out of the child. “She’s teaching me magic. I can make fire already. She says when I’m older, she’ll teach me to burn down whole forests.”
That was rather an alarming prospect, even if they were seelie forests. Cuan did his best to keep his voice bright and encouraging. “There you are, then. You would not receive such an education back in the human world, would you?”
“No. School here is much more fun.” The boy’s tone turned a little wistful. “It’s just sometimes…sometimes I almost remember…there was someone…”
With a surge of relief, Cuan saw the dark shape of the sidhean looming on the horizon. The faerie hill rose through the treetops like an island in the sea of the forest.
“Here we are, back at your home as I promised.” Cuan halted, dropping to his knees. “You must dismount now.”
The boy eyed the distant bulk of the sidhean, silhouetted against the dense stars. “Why? It’s still a long way off.”
“I cannot approach the court in this form.” Cuan wasn’t about to go into the details of how the high sidhe regarded those tainted with lesser blood. Doubtless the changeling would pick up that attitude on his own soon enough. “It would not be…seemly.”
The boy made an aggrieved sound. “Faeries have weird rules.”
The child slid off his back. Cuan shifted, straightening up on two feet once more. Thanks to his phouka magic, he was fully clothed and armored, all of his gear having come with him when he’d transformed.
Out of long habit, he kept his face averted for a moment, re-weaving the minor glamour that concealed his true features. When he was certain the magic was in place, he straightened, turning back to the changeling.
The boy’s eyes widened as he took in Cuan’s faemarks—shimmering blue lines that ran over his brow and upper arms. The intricate, natural patterns proclaimed Cuan’s high sidhe heritage.
“Oh.” The boy swallowed hard, retreating a step. “I didn’t realize you were an elf.”
Cuan grimaced at the impolite term for his people. “Never call a high sidhe that word, lad. Not unless you have grown tired of breathing.”
The boy paled. He swept a clumsy bow. “I’m very sorry, sir. I was just, um, surprised. I’ve never met a high sidhe who could shapeshift.”
“And you are unlikely to meet another.” Cuan tested his weight on his left leg, and winced. The bites there had been much less troublesome in horse form. “I am only half high sidhe. My father was a phouka, which is why I can change my shape.”
The boy’s face lit up, which made a nice change from the derision that usually followed the revelation of Cuan’s parentage. “That’s wicked.”
Cuan assumed that was meant as a compliment. “Thank you. Are you able to walk, or shall I bear you on my shoulders?”
“I’m not a baby!”
“My apologies. I have no experience with human children.” Or fae ones, for that matter. Even among the lesser fae, offspring were rare. “I have not the slightest idea whether you are two or twenty.”
“I’m twelve,” the boy said, grinning. Then his smile faded. “Or…I was twelve. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Sometimes it feels like a long time, but when I look in the mirror, I haven’t changed one bit.”
“The days pass at the same rate here as in the human realm. Or so I have heard scholars say. Now come. We still have a walk ahead of us.”
The boy tagged along at his heels as he led the way toward the sidhean. The changeling truly could not have been in the fae realm for too long, for he had no skill whatsoever at moving through the woods. Cuan winced as the boy crashed along behind him like a blind ox, leaving no twig unsnapped or leaf unscuffed. Even with the wound in Cuan’s leg slowing his pace, he had to keep pausing to allow the changeling to catch up.
The moon was sailing high in the sky by the time they reached the sidhean. As they approached the vast hill, Cuan whistled, cocking his head to listen for a response.
A moment later, an answering call drifted down from the treetops, acknowledging his right to pass. He couldn’t see the sidhean guards, glamoured as they were to blend into the forest canopy, but he could scent the leather of their armor and the oiled wood of their bows.
Must speak to the Captain of the Guard about that,he noted to himself as they passed through the silver gates and into the faerie mound. If his own animal senses could penetrate the guards’ glamour, so could those of a fae hound or unicorn. Perhaps that was how the seelie had snatched the changeling out from under the guards’ noses.
The Lady Maeve was waiting for them in the long entrance hall, her red gown a bright spot of color amidst the pale, polished marble. Her guards must have alerted her to their approach.
The high sidhe lady was as beautiful and elegant as always, but the slightest hint of a crease in her pale, perfect brow betrayed how worried she had been for her beloved changeling. The instant her ruby eyes fell on the child, she sprang forward with a relieved cry.
“My dearest boy!” She covered the child’s face in kisses, despite his squirming protests. “Oh, my sweetmeat, my darling! Are you well? Are you unharmed?”
Cuan noted, with a certain wry resignation, that Maeve did not spare him so much as a glance, even though he was clearly wounded. She would probably have something to say if he started to bleed all over her pristine white tiles, of course.
Maeve was still patting her changeling, as though searching for the slightest bruise. “I swear by the Winter King himself, if those vile seelie dared to touch one hair of your head, I shall raise my war band and ride out at once!”