Finn rounded on his son. “Before you say anything else, before we discuss the Prince, I want wards on this house. I want Ann and the Fianna under my roof safe from the Prince and especially from this Druid. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Ann.”
Garrett nodded. “I’ll do it now,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about how we can bind the Prince to his word.”
Finn sighed. “We should call Miach. Casting on the Prince is no small undertaking. And if it goes wrong, you won’t want to be alone in the path of his anger.”
“I’ll call him,” said Garrett, over his shoulder, “but you know what the price will be.”
Then at last Finn was alone with Ann. Somehow she looked both fierce and vulnerable with her fiery hair escaping the knot atop her head and the soft slouchy textures of her sweater and her velour pants.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That won’t happen again. Once Garrett wards the house, the Prince won’t be able to just pass in here.”
“What did Garrett mean, about Miach demanding a price?”
“It is one that I’m willing to pay, to get the boy back,” he said. “It is one, in truth, that I should have paid long ago. Ann, I hope to Dana that when all this is done you’ll give me a chance to woo you properly, because you make me see things more clearly than I have for decades. I thought I was losing my grip on the Fianna because I wasn’t being Fae enough, but the truth is that I have been violating my geis. That is why the Fianna are dwindling. I have not led them to a worthy place. I’ve made bad choices. I’m going to try to make better.”
“I haven’t seen you make any bad choices,” she said softly.
“No, you haven’t, because when I’m around you, I’m inspired to be a better man. But before I met you . . . I was ready to reconcile with Miach twenty years ago. It seemed like the right time. Garrett showed promise as a sorcerer, and sending your son to another Fae house for fostering, if his inclinations do not follow your own family’s, is a time-honored Fae practice. And for many years Garrett thrived there under Miach’s roof. I denied responsibility for what happened for a long time, but I see now that it was my fault. I raised Garrett to be like one of the Fianna, taught him by word and example to take what he wanted by right, especially if what he wanted was a human woman. He wanted Miach’s half-blood granddaughter, so he took her. Far, far too young. And when she got pregnant, they ran away, and Nieve nearly died delivering his child. I blamed Miach and I blamed Nieve and I blamed Garrett, but the truth is that everything that happened was my fault. And in my eagerness to escape responsibility, I drove my son and his wife away.”
“That doesn’t sound especially Fae, really,” she said. “It sounds all too human.”
“There is more. I want to tell you because I won’t hold up a false idol to you. I can love you, Ann. I am not the battered wreck Nancy McTeer portrayed me as, but I’m not an entirely good man, and I want you to know the whole truth before you come to my bed. If, that is, you still choose to.”
“Go on,” she said, eyes full of the kind of understanding he didn’t deserve.
“I caught a Druid last year. The one who used her voice to crack the foundation of my house. I was going to torture her, as revenge for my wife’s murder. I’m still angry. Even after two thousand years. I will probably always be angry. But I know now that I was wrong. The Druid was born two thousand years after Brigid died. She bore no responsibility for my grief. And she was the lover of Miach’s right hand. When I realized that I would get no satisfaction out of torturing her, I tried to use her life as a bargaining chip to convince him to become Garrett’s protector, but it was a fool’s dream.”
“Or a father’s,” said Ann. “I know what it’s like to be driven to protect. I’ve lived with the urge my whole life, suffered through my spells for it. I expect that being a parent is the same.”
“That’s the other thing you have to know, Ann. I might not be able to give you that, ever. A child. And if, by some miracle at my age, you did fall pregnant, it wouldn’t be easy on you. Fae children develop fast in the womb, and even Fae women sometimes fail to survive the birth. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to have a human child. I might even prefer it, because it would be safer for you.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Ann. “At the moment I’m responsible for thirty children every day. One of my own isn’t something I’ve really started to contemplate.”
“You would be an amazing mother,” he said, knowing it was true.
Her face fell. She forced a smile. “I didn’t have a very happy childhood. I’m not sure I would know how to provide one for someone else.”
“Happiness in childhood is overrated,” said Finn. “I gave Garrett everything he ever wanted but very little of what he needed. And the burden wouldn’t fall on you alone.”
“I’m still not sure I’m cut out for motherhood. My own parents didn’t set the best example.”
“Tell me about them.” He wanted to know everything about her.
“No. It might change how you feel about me,” she said.
“Nothing is going to change how I feel about you,” he said. “And I know I’m right about the kind of mother you would be. Your children would adore you.”
“Provided I didn’t go berserk every time they failed to pick up after themselves.”
“Your berserk skills, it is true, need some work.”
“I wish they were more use in finding Davin,” she said, changing the subject. “The Prince said that he was Sean’s brother. That would make him Davin’s uncle.”
“It would, but that doesn’t mean we can trust the Prince. Whatever he was once, suffering has changed him, as it has Sean, and not just at the hands of the Druids. No one has seen as much of the Queen’s cruelty as he has. There is no way to stand in the eye of such a storm and not be shaped by it.”
“You think he’s only interested in the Druid,” concluded Ann.
“I think he is hiding something, that the Druid has something or is doing something that he doesn’t want anyone else to know about. That’s why he wants to get to the Druid first.”
“Before you arrived, he asked me what Davin was like. I told him. And he said that Davin was his father’s son. The idea seemed to please him.”
“That could have pleased him for reasons we can’t begin to fathom, Ann. There’s no trusting the Prince Consort, under any circumstances.”
“Except,” she said, “that we don’t have any choice.”
Ann joined Finn in the dining room for the conference he called to discuss the Prince Consort’s offer. Iobáth was already there, standing guard in the doorway. Nancy McTeer was there as well, face streaked with mascara and eyes bright with tears. Sean stood behind her chair, staring daggers at everyone present. Garrett had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his feet propped on a chair. A small dark-haired woman sat beside him unpacking a cooler full of picnic items. Ann knew her. The girl was Nieve, Garrett’s wife, the mother of the little boy who had been in Ann’s second-grade classroom last year and whose constant absences had instigated her first meeting with Finn.
Garrett reached blindly for one of the foil packages that Nieve was setting out and fumbled it, his fingers clumsy, his grasp weak.
“Let me do it,” she said.
“You didn’t have to make me a four-course meal,” he said. “Mrs. Friary could have fixed me something.”
Nieve rolled her eyes. “Your father only needs a cook because no one loves him enough to make him even a slice of toast without being paid for it.”
Finn said nothing. And the man seated next to Nieve, who shared her dark good looks and was unmistakably Fae, just smirked.
Ann stood on tiptoe to whisper in Finn’s ear. “Even if I loved you more than life itself, I can’t cook like Mrs. Friary.”
“Her job is secure, then,” said the leader of the Fianna, slipping an arm around her waist.
The dark-haired man who bore such a close resemblance to Nieve stood up. “You should have called me sooner. Garrett’s going to be good for nothing for at least another hour.”
“I wasn’t certain you would come,” said Finn.
So this was Miach, the sorcerer from South Boston.
“I’m here, but whether or not I’m willing to help will depend on your terms.”
“Name them,” said Finn, leading Ann to a chair and holding it for her.
The gesture caused Miach’s eyebrows to rise fractionally and made Ann think that chivalry had not been Finn’s strong suit in the past.
Miach laid out his terms. “You will stop trying to drive a wedge between your son and my granddaughter. They are married, for good or for ill, and only they can dissolve their union.”
“Agreed,” said Finn.
Miach seemed surprised at his easy assent.
“You should know that Nieve is expecting another child. And you must agree that Nieve and Garrett are free to choose how and where he shall be raised.”
“She, possibly,” said Nieve.
“Dana help us,” said Miach. “I shall pray for a he. I’m not sure I would survive another girl.”
Nieve snorted, and before Garrett could say anything, she spooned soup in his mouth.
“Agreed,” said Finn.
Again, too easily for Miach’s liking, it was clear. “You must also swear that Elada and the stone singer Sorcha Kavanaugh are inviolate. That you will never again attempt to kill, maim, or imprison either one of them.”
“Done,” said Finn.
“And I want fifty percent of your take in Somerville.”
“What?” asked Finn, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how expensive it is to repair a cracked foundation?”
“A one-time expense,” said Miach dismissively. “Dwarfed by the cost of raising children in this city.”
“Twenty-five percent,” said Finn.
“Done,” said Miach. “Now tell me what the Prince is offering.”
“He swears he will find the Druid and bring back the child. We can’t scry the Druid ourselves. The Prince is right about that. Garrett wore himself out trying. There’s something different about this Druid. Fortunately, we aren’t entirely without leverage. We have an artifact of the Druid’s, of a sort. Ann took photos of his work, of the tattoos he drew on the child. The Prince vows he will use these to scry the Druid and deliver us the child, but we want to make his vow binding, or else we fear that he will find his Druid, take back his property, and abandon little Davin wherever he may be.”
“Why can’t you just make him accept a tattoo like one of yours?” Ann asked Finn. “Why can’t he take a geis to bring Davin back?”
“Because the Prince’s skin cannot be marked,” replied Finn. “Did you see what happened when he pulled my blade out of his hand?”
“You managed to get a knife into the Prince’s flesh?” asked Miach, obviously impressed.
“To be fair, he was distracted by Ann, and she can be very distracting indeed.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, threaded his fingers through her hair. Another public gesture, another proclamation of his protection and regard. She was falling for Finn hard, but if they didn’t find Davin, she couldn’t say what would become of them. In her heart of hearts, she knew she couldn’t love Finn if the boy died. Not because it would be his fault, but because that tragedy would always lie between them.
“And it was a small wound,” added Finn, modestly, which caused eyebrows around the table to rise. Modesty was clearly another quality he was not known for.
“It went all the way through his hand,” said Ann. “And there wasn’t any blood.”
“That is the Silver Skin,” said Miach. “It’s the Queen’s enchantment. She cast it on him long before the fall, and it is unbreakable. The Prince’s skin cannot be marked. His wounds close instantly, as soon as the blade is removed. He can be immobilized, I’m told, with a blade through the heart, but it won’t kill him. Conn of the Hundred Battles chopped off his arm and flung the bastard into the Otherworld, and he managed to come back and put his arm back on, as easy as slipping into a fresh shirt. His skin can’t hold a geis because it won’t hold ink or scars. But he could take a blood oath. We could draw enough with an iron knife for him to write his vow.”
“It would have to be worded perfectly,” said Garrett. “And he would have to speak and write it faithfully.”
“And even then,” finished Miach, “we would not be able to trust him.”
“He will not fail us,” said Sean. “He’s my brother.”
“He was your brother,” said Finn. “Long ago, before the Queen, before the Court, before the fall. Since she chose him, his first allegiance has always been to her, and it will always be to her.”
“Davin is the only child born of his blood in two thousand years. He will bring the boy back,” insisted Finn.
“Sean,” said Miach as gently, Ann imagined, as a Fae was capable of doing, “even if we bind the Prince successfully, even if he finds the Druid, it is possible that the boy is already dead.”
Nancy McTeer shook her head. “No,” she rasped. “He is not dead. I would know it. I straddled worlds when I bore him, saw into the grave while I bled out my life to give him his. He lives.”
Miach exchanged a look with Finn.
“How long do you need?” asked Finn.
“A couple of hours,” said Miach. “I’ll need Garrett, at full strength. And we’ll need a half-blood to fetch and wield an iron knife. It will have to be forged for the purpose, which means finding a smith on short notice.”
“I can do it,” said Nieve.
“No,” said Miach. “I’ll not have you cutting the Prince. I don’t want him making a target of you in the future.”
“Name someone you would trust more, Grandfather,” she said.
Miach swore.
“For once, I agree with Miach,” said Finn. “It shouldn’t be you, Nieve. You’re carrying a child, for Dana’s sake.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “One who deserves to come into a world that holds no terrors like this Druid.” She stood up. “There’s a smith at the ironworks in Saugus who will make what we need.”
“He’ll need specifications for the knives. They’ve got to be made as a set, and they’ve got to be copied, exactly, out of the book of Dian Cecht.”
“Tell me where it is, and I’ll run home and grab it before heading to Saugus.”
“It’s not at home,” said Miach. “It’s at the Widener, at Harvard.”
“Why the hell is your father’s book in a library?” asked Finn.
“Because there was a promising young scholar there who I felt would benefit from close study of the book,” said Miach.
“I doubt they’re going to let me just take it out of the Widener,” said Nieve.
“I’ll go with her,” offered Iobáth. “I can persuade the librarian to let us walk out with it.”
Miach nodded. “Be alert. The Prince may anticipate our next move and follow you. If he can prevent you from getting the book, he can save himself the trouble of taking the blood oath.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” said Iobáth.
Silently, Nieve put the spoon she was feeding her husband with down and followed Iobáth out of the house.
“It’s going to take hours for her to get that book and have the knives made,” said Sean. “I don’t need an oath from my own brother where it concerns my own son.”
“A brother who hasn’t troubled to even meet the boy in the seven years since he was born,” pointed out Miach.
“Once the Prince finds the Druid,” said Ann, “Could one of you scry him? Scry the Prince, I mean? And follow him?”
“Not without an object or something intimately acquainted with him,” said Garrett.
“Like the iron knives you’re going to cut him with to get his blood.”
Miach smiled. “You’re awfully clever for a berserker.”
“I spend all day with seven-year-olds,” said Ann. “They keep you on your toes.”
“It would take some additional preparation,” added Garrett. “If we mean to follow close on his heels.”
“How quickly could you follow him?” asked Ann.
“With something like the knife, as long as the Prince isn’t making multiple jumps—and he may be—we could find him in ten minutes. Maybe less,” said Miach.
Ann turned to Sean Silver Blade. They’d barely spoken since the warehouse, but he had no trouble meeting her eyes. “Does Davin know the Prince?” she asked. “I mean, will he understand that the Prince is there to save him? Or will he be too frightened to trust him?”
“My son isn’t afraid of anything,” said Sean Silver Blade, bristling.
“He doesn’t know the Prince,” admitted Nancy. “He’s never met him. He knows the Prince is his uncle, but he’s heard stories about him from the other half-blood children and he knows that the Queen despises half-bloods and the Prince is her creature.”
“Davin has been gone more than a day,” said Ann. “He may trust his captor more than the Prince.”
“We’ll follow as close on his heels as we can,” Miach assured her. “He’ll know he’s safe when he sees his father with us.”
“Will he?” asked Ann.
There was a knife in Sean Silver Blade’s hand before Ann could draw another breath.
Knowing she risked her life, she went on, because her responsibility was first and foremost to Davin. “It was his father who betrayed him first, bringing the Druid into the house, letting the creature tattoo him. And his mother stood by and allowed it. He might not trust anyone any more. That’s why I should come as well.”
Finn didn’t want to have this conversation, here, now in front of others. “We’ll discuss this in private, Ann,” he said.
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m coming.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” said Finn. “For one thing, you may be a berserker, but you’re not trained. And you can’t call on your power at will.”
“You admitted me to the Fianna, you said, because everyone has to start somewhere. If I were one of your Fae followers, would you bar me from coming?”
“No, but you’re not one of my followers. You’re my . . . ” he searched for the right term. “You’re important to me.”
“Then let me come, and I’ll believe it.”
“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” cut in Miach. “Not all Fae can carry a living being with them when they pass. It requires a significant outlay of power. It means that the Fae who passes with you will arrive at something less than his full strength. It will mean he cannot carry a full complement of weapons. It will put Finn, or someone else, at a disadvantage in the fight with this Druid, or worse, at a disadvantage in a fight with the Prince Consort, if it comes to that.”
“And if I don’t come, it won’t matter, because Davin may run from the very people who are trying to save him.”
Miach and Finn exchanged a look, and Ann decided she didn’t like that one bit.
“I think you have matters to discuss,” said Miach. “I’ll get started formulating the geis and preparing to scry the Prince. Garrett should get some rest.”
The meeting broke up, leaving Ann alone with Finn in the dining room.
“We only have a few hours,” Finn said, touching her face and looking into her eyes. “I don’t want to spend it arguing.”
“Then agree to take me with you.”
“I thought you didn’t like passing,” he evaded.
“I hated it. But I’m willing to do it for Davin.”
“Miach is right, Ann. It will hamper our efforts to save the boy.”
“But I’m right, too. He might be too terrified to trust any of you.”
“Children that age are very resilient.”
“If the Prince would carry me, would you agree then?”
“Never. Not under any circumstances. The Prince is not to be trusted.”
“But you’re trusting him to scry for the Druid.”
“Because we have no other choice. I will not trust him with your safety.”
“Not even if I’m willing to take that chance?”
“Not even then. I would trust no one else with passing with you, Ann. Not even Garrett.”
“Does it ever get easier? Passing? Or is it always so . . . ”
“Disorienting? Probably, although if we have need to pass together again, I’ll try to give you some warning. That may help. But it is out of the question on this occasion.”
A faint idea formed in her mind. “How would I be able to tell, if you didn’t warn me, that you were about to pass?”
“I would give you warning.”
“But in an emergency, if you had to do it without warning me, how would I be able to tell?”
He looked at her with a hopeful smile. “Does that mean you plan on sticking around here after we get Davin back?”
“It might.” If she lived through what she was planning. She was grateful that he was too focused on what lay ahead to suspect what she was thinking.
“It’s not something most humans can sense, but with the Fae blood you do have, you should be able to feel it. There’s a . . . current of sorts, an electrification of the air nearby.”
“If you tried to pass without me, would I be able to grab onto you and be carried along?”
“Don’t try it, Ann. I won’t take you. If you did that, if I had to bring you back here, it would leave Garrett and Miach more exposed, with only Iobáth to wield a sword for them, and that won’t help Davin.”
“If I was armed, would you take me?”
“With a sword you can’t use?”
“With an ax.”
“You think that’s your weapon?”
“I was swinging one upstairs. It felt right,” said Ann. So, too, did his hand at her hip, the closeness of their bodies.
He leaned close and spoke in her ear. “We feel right, too, don’t we, Ann?” he said, seeming to read her mind.
“Yes,” she said. It came out a hoarse whisper.
“We have a little time before Nieve comes back. Let’s go upstairs together. I can promise you,” his hand slid up to her breast and cupped it, “that afterward you won’t look twice at the Prince again.”
“It’s not the Prince I want,” she said.
He led her to the back of the house and up a narrow staircase she hadn’t climbed before. The walls in the hallway were covered in a geometric pattern, the kind of historic reproduction paper you usually saw in museums, block printed with squares and ovals. The master bedroom was as surprising as the attic had been. The space occupied the entire breadth of a projecting wing of the house. Six-over-six windows painted sea green gave a view of the garden on three sides, and a giant curtained four poster dominated the room with a paneled fireplace at its foot.
Finn kicked the door shut behind him and the room became instantly quiet. “It’s soundproof,” he explained.
“And the windows?” she asked.
“Double glazed.”
“I’m not much of a screamer,” she said, thinking of the quiet relief she gave herself in the shower.
Finn pulled his shirt off and said, “That’s about to change.”
