Cathy glanced around, then leaned down to whisper in his ear. “You remember Betty?”
“Betty?” The name was so unexpected, it took him a moment to recall the women that he’d met through Motley’s portal. “Your hellhound friend? What in the Morrigan’s name does she have to do anything?”
“She said she had a hidden ally in the seelie.” She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. Even under the circumstances, this was somewhat distracting. “Someone who secretly helps the Wild Hunt, saving humans who were sacrificed to the fae. Doesn’t that sound a lot like this Golden Knight? Betty did say she’d sent him a message asking for help.”
“It’s possible,” he admitted. “But still something of a stretch. How could he have tracked you here?”
“Maybe he followed our trail with magic.” Cathy straightened, her face bright with newfound hope. “I’ll ride out with Ferghal to meet him. If I’m right, the Golden Knight will recognize me.”
Aodhan wasn’t so sure about that. Looking up at Cathy—poised and regal in her jeweled gown, her iron sword at her hip and her aura shimmering with power—he wondered just what description Betty had given her seelie ally.
Still, it was worth a shot. He reached out with his mind, calling his own oss from the garden. “I’ll come with you.”
Cathy shook her head. “You should stay here, with Kevin. Just in case something goes wrong.”
“Kevin has an entire fortified house filled with seelie guards to protect him. You have a thin layer of silk and an ambulatory tree.”
“I’ll have Ferghal there,” Cathy argued. “And Eislyn, too.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?” He flicked his wand, canceling the privacy spell to show that the discussion was over. “This could be dangerous. I’m coming with you.”
Cathy’s eyes narrowed, and his heart lurched. He was supposed to be her servant, after all. If she lifted her voice and commanded him to stay behind—but then she dipped her chin in a slight nod. With a squeeze of her legs, she nudged her oss into a walk.
Aodhan let out his breath. He honestly wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d given him a direct order in front of Ferghal and the household staff.
Hoofbeats shook the ground. His oss cantered up, and Aodhan swung himself onto its back. Clicking his tongue, he guided the construct to fall into position behind Cathy as she headed for Ferghal.
“Five archers at every tower, and command the kitchens to prepare a dozen—no, two dozen stuffed quails,” the knight was instructing his household. Ferghal really was trying to cover all eventualities. He turned at Cathy’s approach. “Ah, Lady Rose. Shall we to ride to greet our guest?”
“By all means, Sir Ferghal,” Cathy replied. “I am most eager to meet the famed Golden Knight.”
Ferghal’s gaze drifted to Aodhan. “Are you certain you wish to bring your… pet?”
“Where I go, he goes,” Cathy said coolly, not glancing back. “Shall we?”
Ferghal hesitated, then evidently decided that he wasn’t going to win this argument. He gave Cathy a slight bow of acknowledgement, then vaulted onto Eislyn’s back. As the knight settled onto his steed, silver sparkles swirled around them. Eislyn reared, wings spreading, as her jeweled war saddle and draperies materialized out of the ether. Light spiraled around Ferghal’s arms and torso, solidifying into gleaming armor.
Show offs.Aodhan maintained his bland expression, but inwardly he rolled his eyes. Most high sidhe warriors could manifest some kind of weapon, but only knights and princes could create armor as well—and only princes could do it on their own. A knight had to draw on his fated steed’s strength to maintain their full war gear. If Ferghal lost contact with Eislyn, all that fancy wrapping would disintegrate like wet tissue paper.
Which was yet another reason not to trust the knight with Cathy’s protection. Aodhan urged his oss into a canter, following her with the syllables of a shielding spell ready on his tongue. At least he couldn’t be disarmed so easily.
When it came to names, high sidhe were not creative. The Golden Knight turned out, unsurprisingly, to be gold. Blindingly gold, in fact. Even from a distance, he was a bright, conspicuous point. His armor seemed to not so much reflect the sunlight as generate it, surrounding him in a brilliant halo.
As they cantered closer, Aodhan saw that the knight was mounted on a great, gleaming griffin, with an eagle’s head and a lion’s tawny body. His own crow-cat could have curled up inside that enormous hooked beak, albeit briefly. The creature stood squarely in the middle of the road, feathered wings folded, motionless. Rider and steed could have been some heroic statue, cast in gold to celebrate some bloody, pointless victory in the endless high sidhe wars.
They made an impressive sight, yet an odd twinge of unease rippled down Aodhan’s spine. There was something… off about the pair. The knight gave no outward sign of hostility, but Aodhan felt an urge to push forward, to put his own body between Cathy and that cold, still presence. It took conscious effort to maintain his disguise as a servant, drawing his oss up alongside and a little behind Cathy as she halted opposite the knight.
At the head of their little group, Eislyn had also come to a poised stop, just happening to turn a little into the breeze so that her mane unfurled like a banner. Ferghal offered the other seelie a cautious nod, a shade too shallow to qualify as a bow.
“Well met, brother knight,” he said, not sounding entirely certain about either part of that statement. “I am Sir Ferghal of the Summer Knights, lord of these lands. Your reputation precedes you, though not your name. May I ask how I should address you?”
“You may.” The Golden Knight’s voice was deep and resonant, echoing from behind the closed visor of his helm. Only a narrow eyeslit broke that blank golden facade, revealing nothing of the man within. “But I shall not answer. Call me what you will, for rank and glory mean nothing to me. All that matters is my quest.”
“And what is it that you seek?” Ferghal inquired—still all urbane politeness, but Aodhan could see that his right hand was open, ready to summon his longsword. “Tell me, and perhaps I shall be able to aid you.”
Sunlight glinted from the Golden Knight’s helm, betraying a slight movement of his head. A prickle of instinct told Aodhan that the man’s gaze had shifted to Cathy. She met that faceless stare coolly, not dropping her own eyes.
“A changeling,” the Golden Knight said, in a slightly different tone. Aodhan couldn’t tell if the shift was wariness, surprise, or some combination of both. “Full grown, and trained in magic, apparently. I did not expect to find such a rare treasure in your possession, Sir Ferghal of the Summer Knights.”