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Maewen
The investigation is orderly and well-underway when I arrive at the crime scene at a local warehouse. I have to tuck away that moment in my apartment, when I met Prince Rhodri’s sensual gaze and read the intense sexual desire in his eyes. Now isn’t the time to dwell on such things.
The shock of knowing a royal fae desires me—and a damn sexy royal fae, at that—reverberates right through my body, coalescing between my legs in an ache I haven’t felt in far too long. God, as if I have time for a dalliance at the present time. Even one with someone who embodies my idea of the perfect male, at least in a physical sense.
I remind myself that he probably has sex all the time, and that such a look likely means nothing, coming from him. Fae are known for their casual approach to sexual relations, and I’m sure he was simply testing the waters to see if I would respond. I probably annoyed him, not genuflecting the way he expected, and he thinks he can control me with sex.
He certainly couldn’t really want me. Not with that level of intensity.
I take a deep breath and huff it out slowly, trying to re-focus on the task at hand. Crime scene. Dead victims. People who can no longer speak for themselves and who need me and my team to help catch the violent perpetrators who did this awful thing to them.
My mind back on the job, I stride forward, pleased to see most of my team are already here. They are good at their work, and I trust them. Sergeant Durand has only recently joined my team from another divisional office, so I am not familiar with him personally but his positive reputation precedes him.
And apparently, he’s dating my sister.
Well, one of my half-sisters, to be precise. My mother seems to have been quite prolific in the half-human, half-banshee child-making department, or so I understand. Up until recently, I had never met another human-banshee hybrid—even though I knew there were quite a few half-siblings out there. I was quite happy for things to stay that way.
I’ve never wanted the reminder of my banshee heritage. I like feeling human. I hate my fae side so much, I pay a fortune to keep my banshee magic contained.
I twirl the ring on my right pinkie finger as I do at every crime scene. It isn’t superstition that causes me to clutch at the opal ring. I simply need the constant reassurance that the talisman remains in place and in working order.
Who would ever choose to be a banshee? Especially when my dream was to become a police officer and solve crimes, and in order to do so, I have had to steep myself in death at every turn.
The freedom from my banshee magic that the charm provides allows me to be human, and it allows me to pursue the dream I’ve had since I was ten years old and my two best friends at school—my only friends—were ripped to shreds outside the library by some kind of ravening monster that was never caught.
I was in the library at the time, taking a peek inside the thick copy of Lord of the Rings that the librarian said was way too advanced for my childish eyes. I wanted to prove her wrong, but I never got the chance.
One moment I was avidly reading a passage about evil riders, and the next, I was writhing on the floor, wailing and crying as horrifying waves of death and dying washed over me.
Two deaths. People I knew and loved. Innocent children, who were sitting on a bench outside doing nothing but chatting brightly with each other while they waited for their friend—me—to finish inside. Gone. Dead. And no one seemed to care enough to find out exactly what happened and why.
I realized later it wasn’t apathy on behalf of the police, but a simple lack of knowledge about anything supernatural. SUDAP was still in its infancy back then, and when I told my dad I was going to join them one day and make sure no one else lost people they loved to the monsters, he begged me to steer clear of anything that might bring me into contact with more death.
“You love books,” I remember him saying. “Why not train to be a librarian?”
“Death came at the library, Dad,” I yelled back at him. “Nothing can stop it from coming, except maybe catching the bad guys so they can’t do it again. I can’t do that as a librarian.”
He hasn’t spoken to me for twelve years—not since the day I signed up as a recruit when I was eighteen.
I met the witch mage Topaz that same year, when I was investigating a break-in at her spell shop. That case turned out to be local teens expressing speciesism by targeting the businesses of those identified as supernatural. Witches are human, of course, but they are more than human, and as such often the target of narrow-minded bigots such as that teenage gang.
Topaz sold me the charm embedded in the opal. The talisman has proven a godsend since then, but she warned me there would likely be long-term consequences for denying my innate magic. She reminds me of the same every year when I return to boost the charm’s power when it wanes. But no one else needs to know anything about those consequences. That is my own private hell to bear. It is the price of denying my fae-half, and it is one I am willing to pay. Over and over, if it means I can get on with the job and maybe stop even one monster from taking more innocent lives.
The hum of latent energy warms my fingers and I release my grip on the ring. The talisman does not yet need a top-up.
“Inspector.” Luc Durand approaches me, his long lean form encased in a white forensic suit. With the pale vampire skin, his dark hair and blue eyes stand out against the suit more than usual. “Three dead. Human night workers, the manager tells us, who were rostered on to shift pallets ready for the trucks in the morning.”
At my raised brow, he adds, “Electrical goods scheduled for local store delivery. Nothing untoward about the stock or the warehouse itself.”
“And definitely not an attack by other humans?”
Durand shakes his head. “They were ripped apart, and partially eaten. I’d say, based on bite mark patterns, there were two attackers. Most likely both weres.”
“Rogues working in unison again? Okay. Take some samples from the scene back to the office and run them through the calibration machine. If the same trace magic shows up, we can at least link it officially to the other attacks.”
Durand nods as another team member, Jock, hands me a suit and gloves.
I kit up as I continue to talk to Durand. “It’s likely the same perps piloting them, from the sound of it. Any sign of a medallion? Bracelet? Witnesses? Talk me through it.”
We walk together toward the grim scene, and I silently send thanks to Topaz for her protection as I survey the carnage spread across the warehouse. A banshee cry denotes impending death, but even though these poor victims are clearly long gone, the miasma of death itself remains in the environment for some time. I feel the crawl of it over my skin, and I shiver.
Were it not for the mage’s protective charm, I would be far more adversely affected than a touch of nausea and a case of the shivers, even though death has already been and gone.
I’m about to check in with the rest of my team regarding setting up a grid search when a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. The vampire beside me turns sharply. He jumps in front of me with a hiss.
His head twists side to side as he scans the environment, his incisors extended.
Slowly, I reach out and touch his shoulder. “All right, Luc. Calm down, now.”
After a moment, he releases a sharp sigh, and his incisors retract. “Sorry, I’m still a bit jumpy after what happened to Aleah back in Hatton Grove. You’re her sister, so...yeah. Just went into protect mode, then. Family, you know?”
His cheeks are faintly pink—the most embarrassment a vampire is ever likely to show—and amusement curves my lips upward. Amusement, coupled with surprised pleasure. The vampire sees me as family? Wow. He and Aleah must be really serious about one another.
Then I realize what the flash that caught our attention actually means, and my smile turns to a scowl. Sure enough, the two fae I thought had returned home to the Winter Court come strolling into my crime scene.
I growl deep in my throat, and Luc sends me a quick look.
“Not dangerous to us,” he says. “That one on the left is Tarrien, Indigo’s—”
“Yes. I know who he is.”
“Do you know the other?”
“The Winter King’s son. Prince Rhodri. I met him earlier tonight and he is annoying the crap out of me, already. I’ll deal with them. You keep going here, and we’ll all assemble for a briefing back at the office at nine am. I know you’ll have gone to ground by then, but you can text me an update before the meeting.”
Being a vamp, Durand tends to work mostly nights. It’s a fallacy that vampires drop into unconsciousness the moment the sun rises, but they certainly do need to remain in a darkened room during the day time. Quite often, our vamp staff are set up under a work-from-home arrangement, so they can remain hidden in their lair, wherever that might be, and communicate via online arrangements.
So far, Durand seems to prefer action rather than computer work, which means, he’s now my primary on-call night investigator.
“Done.” Durand starts to leave, and then turns back, a light grin decorating his lips. “Go easy on them, boss. We need all the help we can get on this one.”
He disappears quickly, before I can respond, and I wait for the recalcitrant faerie men to reach me.
“What the actual hell are you doing here?” I say. “I thought I told you—”
“You don’t have the right to tell us what we can or cannot do.” Rhodri cuts across me in a smooth voice, but his eyes shoot daggers. “I am royalty, and I will do as I wish.”
Fine. I can shoot daggers right back, prince.
“I could still have you arrested for obstructing the course of an investigation, royalty or not. Ask your warrior about the special cuffs. He’s had direct experience wearing those, haven’t you, Tarrien?”
Rhodri turns to his companion, who looks uncomfortable.
“They are imbued with something that renders the wearer non-magic,” Tarrien says. “I would not advise testing them out, sir.”
Rhodri releases a short laugh. “Aside from the fact that you’d have to get the cuffs on us first”—he waggles his wrists as if taunting me—“surely, there’s no real need for that, Maewen. We only wanted to see the scene and extend our assistance, should you need it. We are, after all, on the same side, here, are we not?”
I have no intention of arresting them, of course. But something about the prince seems to rub me the wrong way.
“Look, you both need to leave, so I can do my job. I am happy to meet you at noon—as we had already arranged.”
I spread my arms to shepherd them away.
Tarrien backs away. The prince holds his ground a moment, before following suit. His sudden cooperation surprises me until Rhodri says, “We’ve already scouted around here as much as we need to. We have a sense of what happened. Definitely two abominations. Weres, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’ve already... God!” What I really want to say, is fuck. Or something even worse. I am proud of my own restraint.
Rhodri smiles sweetly at me. “Am I, by chance, annoying the crap out of you?” So, his fae ears obviously picked up my earlier conversation with Luc. “I apologize, Inspector Maewen Jones.”
His tone confirms he doesn’t mean it. Before I can respond, he turns to Tarrien.
“Let’s head back to the palace. I need to speak with Father and bring him up to speed on what’s been going on. Gain his permission to mobilize some of the winter warriors.”
“Really?” Tarrien asks, with a strange note in his voice that I don’t understand. “Won’t he—”
“He’s still the king,” Rhodri cuts in, his cheeks flushing. “I will obtain the permissions we need, and in the meantime, you rally those who are available and have them ready to go.”
“Yes, sir.”
They disappear in another flash of silver, leaving me with a hot mix of emotions churning in my belly.
I also have additional questions, now. Questions about what the hell might be going on behind the scenes at the Winter Court of Faerie.
***
Rhodri
The palace throne room is empty, as it often seems to be these days. When I was young, Father sat daily on the large throne up on the dais, Mother beside him. The palace was filled with a constant throng of courtiers and high-standing fae who gave life and vibrancy to the Court.
Winter Faerie was always full of life and laughter and high spirits. At least, so it seemed to my young and enthusiastic eyes.
Now, the rooms and halls are mostly silent. Icicles still hang from the ceilings, but their previous sparkle is gone. Now, the formations are merely ice, and not part of the magic of the Winter Court.
The fae are still around, but everyone moves in a more muted manner, without the joy or the energy of the past.
Mother’s throne on the dais is long-gone, removed and burnt at the time of her banishment. Tryppton replaced it with another, mostly for my benefit in case I wished to sit beside him. Until recently, I have not been here long enough to use it.
Once I passed my teenage years, which occurs for fae around the age of one hundred and eighty, give or take, I spent years training with the winter army, learning to fight. That was followed by many more years travelling to other realms to see how different species live. I told myself I wanted to see how things are run outside of the Winter Court, but the truth is, I’ve been running from the responsibility I know is awaiting me here at home.
From what the head of the General Council tells me, Father spends most of his time these days moping around the palace hallways or wandering the snow-filled gardens, bemoaning times gone by and reminiscing about the past to whoever will listen.
He has some good days, when he graces the throne and receives visitors. At those times—when he seems more like his old self than ever—everyone’s hearts fill with hope. But the good days are becoming less frequent and sometimes, like today, it feels as if the Winter Court is operating without anyone at the helm.
The General Council—a group of high-level fae nobility—have essentially taken over the day-to-day running of the Court, though technically, they still defer to King Tryppton for any decisions that need to be made. But the arrangement is merely a temporary measure, until the king recovers. Or until the heir apparent takes over.
I always knew that, one day, I would be expected to assume leadership of the Winter Fae, but that day seemed so far away. Fae are immortal, unless they are killed, of course, and to be a prince or princess of any fae court is usually to be someone whose role rarely progresses beyond that of heir apparent.
There has not been a change in king or queen within Faerie—in any Court—for as long as anyone can remember.
I have been quite content in the role of heir apparent.
Lately, though, I’ve begun to realize that it is not going to be enough. Someone has to take on responsibility for the Winter Court. The idea creates unwelcome pangs in my belly and my pulse rate increases every time I consider what that means.
Deposing my own father and taking control in his stead.
It sounds treasonous, even in my thoughts, but with a king who refuses to step up and rule, what other choice do I have? I am the only child of Tryppton and Rhiannon, and if I don’t do what needs to be done, the Winter Fae will eventually be without a ruler at all.
To upset the balance in Faerie in any way is never wise, and the Winter Court in particular harbors a number of fae who are attracted more to the dark than the light.
It’s just how it is; how it has always been. There is darkness in all of us, to some extent. Winter fae are more like humans in that regard, than perhaps our summer fae cousins.
While there is a strong and just leader on the Winter throne, the dark has no chance of rising up and taking over. Without such a leader, the balance is inevitably thrown out and chaos has a chance to rule.
My mother thrives on chaos, and the darkness within her has already taken over. What has happened to her, could happen to others, if the balance of power is allowed to teeter out of control.
It’s not that Father is dying, or he is no longer a fair leader. Rather, his heart isn’t in it, and hasn’t been since the day he banished his wife, and that has weakened his rule over time.
There was a push recently, led by the Council, to find a new queen for Tryppton and try to drag him out of the doldrums into which he seems to have placed himself. Many fae with daughters of marriageable age became excited about the possibility that their child might become the next winter queen.
Word went around that a ball would be held, and the enthusiasm was unprecedented. But the idea fizzled out to nothing, when Father refused to cooperate.
“I’m still married to Rhiannon,” he told the Council members when they called him to a meeting to discuss the idea of holding an event to choose a partner. “Why do I need a new queen?”
I remember the head of the Council, Lord Ruferne, looking over at me and subtly shaking his head. He approached me soon after that meeting, letting me know without saying it straight out that I need to start preparing to become the new leader of our people.
“Your father is weary, sir,” Lord Ruferne said. “And the Winter Court needs strength, now more than ever. You are young, and perhaps lacking in experience, but you have both moral and physical strength. Our people need that.”
I try to sit in with the Council at least two or three times a month so that, when the time comes, I will have some inkling of how our kingdom is actually run.
The conversation about becoming leader has replayed over and over in my mind ever since. How does one prepare to lead a whole realm of powerful and magical beings who embrace darkness as much as they do the light?
I love the Winter Court—its magics run deep in my veins. But I’ve never led anything or anyone in my life. I don’t know if I have the inner strength to become leader of the Winter fae, when the time comes.
I don’t want the job.
But there’s no one else suitable to take it on. One day—sooner rather than later—I am going to have to test out my inner fortitude and my leadership skills, and in doing so, force my father to step aside.
I pray I do not find whatever is inside me, wanting in the task.
I discover Father sitting on a bench seat in the palace garden, among a profusion of winter-flowering plants and shrubs. I understand why he enjoys it out here. The air is crisp and clear, and the perfume from many of the flowers such as winter jasmine and daphne, fills the air and creates an atmosphere of calm contentment.
I used to play out here when I was young, chasing my playmates—including Tarrien, come to think of it—around the bare tree trunks and along the snowy paths.
Summer fae often tease those from the Winter Court, wondering how we can bear to live in eternal cold. But there is such beauty here, such power in the majestic snow-filled landscape, that I cannot imagine ever wanting to be any other kind of fae.
“Father, how are you today?” I join him on the bench seat.
He looks older than I remember, and slightly hunched. Gods, he looks like an old man, all of a sudden.
Today is very clearly not a good day.
“I am well, son, very well. Though the winterberries are like droplets of blood against the snow, do you not think?”
“Um...” I follow the direction of his pointing finger. “Well, yes, I suppose the berries do look like blood. If you squint.”
I take a deep breath and release it slowly. There’s no point getting annoyed with him. He can’t help it.
“I need to speak with you about something else today. Not the garden, Father. Something more important.”
“Oh, of course.” He drops his hand back to his lap, and he sits there, lethargic. He already seems fragile and frail. Will my news tip him over the edge into insanity? Should I remain quiet? Try to sort it out myself?
What would a true leader do?
Thoughts tumble through my brain. I am unsure of the right path, but in the end, I go with my gut instinct.
A true leader would lead. A true leader would make his own decisions, and start standing up on his own two feet instead of relying on his parent to make the decisions for him.
Time to grow up.
I decide to give him part of the truth, and test out his reaction. “There is a threat to the balance of power among the realms. A threat to the Accord Agreement that you signed, along with the other species. Do you remember that, Father?”
At his nod, I continue. “The threat is centered for now in the human realm, but if allowed to continue there, it may spill over and affect Faerie in a more direct manner. It may even affect our own Winter Court.”
“That sounds bad, Rho.”
Indeed.
“It is.”
Sadness creeps over me as I see he is not going to ask anything about the nature of the threat. My father is much further along the road to decline than I realized. I pat the top of his hands still resting in his lap, trying hard to remember the proud and strong fae he once was.
“I am going to mobilize some of the winter warriors. I may need them to assist me in neutralizing the threat. I am going to make sure that the Winter Court remains safe. I promise you that, Father. I will do...what it takes.”
I will go up against Mother, and I will stop her.
“Of course.” Father nods again, and keeps nodding for longer than he should, as if his head is too heavy for his spindly neck to control. Eventually he stops. “You do what it takes. I know I can always rely on you for that.”
“Of course, Father. Take care now. I will return soon.”
I leave him in the garden, staring vacantly at the winterberries, and swallow down the bile that rises in my throat. How will Winter Faerie remain safe, moving forward, if our leader is no longer strong enough for the task?
