As long as he didn’t know the details of Tamsin’s plan, he could pretend that it had no chance of success. That there was no way for her to leave.
It wasn’t that he wanted Tamsin to be trapped in the fae realms. But with no one in Maeve’s court willing to risk challenging him…she was no longer in mortal peril.
The court respects me now. We have a place here. All has been well now for half a span of days. We could continue like this, together, for longer. A span, a moon, a season…
Perhaps even years.
“How do you pull the swords out of nowhere like that?” Tamsin’s question jerked him out of his introspection. “Are the weapons magic, or is it something that you do?”
He realized that he’d been slowing, distracted from his exercise by his churning thoughts. He picked up his pace, concentrating on executing each motion with speed as well as precision.
“Both, in a way.” The sword drill was burned into his muscles by decades of practice, requiring no conscious thought. It was easy to hold a conversation at the same time. “They are ether blades, formed from my power, shaped by my will. I learned to manifest them as part of my training. All high sidhe warriors do.”
Tamsin rested her chin on her folded arms, lying on her front on the bed. “So they’re kind of a part of you?”
“Exactly. They are created from my very soul. That’s why they disappear if they get too far from me.”
He demonstrated by tossing a sword to her. Tamsin squeaked, ducking—but the blade disappeared in a sparkle of light before it was halfway across the room. He held out a hand, and the scimitar reappeared, hilt slapping into his palm.
“It requires some energy to materialize them.” He pivoted into a spinning strike as he spoke, continuing his exercise. “Novices start by learning to draw a small knife out of the ether. It takes both experience and innate power to be able to manifest larger weapons.”
Tamsin’s eyebrows rose. “You’re saying size does matter?”
He chuckled. “In this, at least. A warrior’s weapon provides an excellent indication of their prowess. Any high sidhe armed with more than a longsword commands instant respect.”
“You’ve got two swords,” Tamsin pointed out.
“A fact which caused great consternation amongst Lady Maeve’s knights, when I finished my training and manifested them for the first time.” He snorted, remembering their expressions at that long-ago ceremony. “I believe that they were counting on me being unable to draw more than a sewing needle. Alas, I failed to provide them with an excuse to petition Lady Maeve to kick me out of the sidhean. They did, however, refuse to knight me. Which is why I am not a formal part of her war band.”
Tamsin’s feet kicked idly in the air. “That black knight you fought when I first arrived, sir what’s-his-face—”
“Sir Eogan.”
“Yeah, him. He had a huge sword. But you still beat him.”
He shrugged, giving her a wry look. “Size is not everything. Fortunately.”
Cuan finished the last lunge and straightened. Sweat dripped down his spine. He truly was growing soft, lounging around the court rather than patrolling Maeve’s lands.
“I must attend to my armor as well,” he said, letting his swords fade away. “Sadly I am not powerful enough to materialize that from the ether. It would save me a great deal of tedious oiling if I could.”
“I can help, if you’ll show me what to do.” Tamsin sat up, sliding off the bed. “Can some fae do that? Materialize armor as well as weapons, I mean.”
“Sometimes. I have met a few great champions who could manifest shields and helms. Being able to do more than that is truly rare. It makes one a prince, in fact.”
Worry clouded Tamsin’s face. “Are there any of those around here?”
He shook his head as he unhooked his armor from its stand. “Fret not. For all Lady Maeve’s airs, she is but the ruler of a rather provincial, backwater sidhean. The princes and princesses all belong to the Great Court of the Winter King, the lord of all the unseelie. Lady Maeve has no political influence there.”
“But she could still ask a prince for a favor, right?”
“She is far too proud to ever beg for aid. And also too wise, in her own sharp way. It is unwise to draw the attention of princes, let alone be in one’s debt.”
Tamsin did not look entirely reassured. It had been a few days since he had last seen that particular worried line in her forehead.
“As well worry that Lady Maeve might enlist the aid of a dragon as a prince, my heart.” He dropped the armor onto the bed, and kissed her brow. “Now, if that was a true offer of aid, I shall show you how to properly disassemble my armor. If only to prevent you from dumping it in a tangled heap the next time you have to prize it off my unconscious body.”
Tamsin poked him in the side, over the scar he’d earned in her defense. “There had better not be a next time.”
“From your mouth to the Shining Ones’ ears. But still, it is always wise to be prepared.”
They were halfway through cleaning his gear when a discrete cough at the door alerted him to the arrival of a servant. By the time he’d opened it, the little hobgoblin was already scurrying away, leaving behind an exquisitely-wrapped package on the doorstep.
Tamsin peered round his elbow. “What is it?”
“From the looks of things, a gift,” he said, somewhat bemused. “And from the lack of smell, not one of horse manure. My standing in court has improved.”
He picked it up. There was no note, but there could be no doubt who it was from. No one else in the sidhean would dare to wrap a gift in that particular shade of blood-red silk. Black-thorned rose briars twisted around the parcel, holding it closed.
“Lady Maeve,” he murmured to Tamsin. Repressing a shiver of unease, he carried the parcel inside. “Well. I suppose we must see what she has sent us.”