How do you cope with learning that your mother was murdered before you were born, your father is a fairy hitman, and you wield the power to raise an army of devoted love slaves... except you haven't the least idea how to control it?
Tom Corwen's di...
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The Moirae's tomb groaned and trembled within the vault, its occupant tortured at the whim of the queen of ice. Mortas Vesh stood above it, anxiously clicking his venomous talons, and wondered. If pain and torment had not yet driven the Moirae to madness, the winds of change were finally blowing. A dormant power had recently revived, and only an Aes Sidhe versed in the magic of the Veil, a moryani like himself, would have noticed so far from its source.
The shift had been the second in a single moon's cycle, and he did not need the seer's knowledge to recognize its importance. He could not help but consider the Moirae's prophesy. It had been foretold in centuries past that a darkling would rise to end the queen's reign. There were hundreds of such prophesies and Mortas Vesh would have called them all impossible had not King Finvarra himself succumbed to the goddess of salt in the first incursion. The raw chaos of the outer worlds so drastically altered the playing field that even an immortal could fear for her life.
He began to pace the vault, with its ancient, crumbling artifacts and fragile scrolls faintly illuminated by the cold light of the moon. The queen's disillusionment threatened centuries of acquired knowledge as her withering soul brought ruin to the Tir, and only the wards of Mortas Vesh within his arcanum kept them safe. The druids' binding had been thorough, and in six hundred years he had not begun to unravel it. That it had been wrought by a human was unfathomable.
"Verax," he muttered and a servant appeared at his elbow. The usefulness of goblins was limited, but the hogboon, though weak and spineless, were less dull witted than their malevolent cousins, sufficient as runners and couriers within the Tir.
"M—master," it whined, head dipped in an awkward bow.
"Where is Perias?"
It looked up, eyes wide and fearful. "Perias serves the Great Lady, my lord."
"I know that, you fool, I want you to tell me where he is at the moment."
"I—I can look for him, master."
"Do that."
Once Verax and his questionable loyalty had gone, Mortas Vesh withdrew a clay phial from the inner pocket of his cloak. He risked much by keeping it on his person, but there was no secret place he trusted more. He approached his altar and withdrew its covering to reveal an ancient, stone bowl, resting on its surface. Lifting a large crystal of greenish ice from a crate on the floor, he placed it in the bowl's center, and with a casual, practiced gesture, he reduced it instantly to water.
After taking the time to weave protections against spies and ward himself against the contents of the phial, he carefully, delicately, removed its stopper and tipped it over the basin until a single drop, so darkly red it appeared black, rippled the mirror's surface.
The moryani peered into the dark water for several still moments, eyes reflecting the visions unfolding within. "Interesting," he whispered to himself. "The fox has joined the crow to build a nest for its young. The heart-tree restored? Absurd." He tapped the side of the bowl, sending new ripples across its surface. "A pattern of one echoing across time. A hedge of seven. What is this?"
A portion of the vision was obscured, as though smeared with ash. "A ward against divination. Well constructed. You are quite a mystery, darkling child. Where are you hiding?"
The blood of the gean canagh, protected from nature by its phylactery, would have ignored most normal attempts at concealment. He should have given the phial to Mab, or at least informed the rest of the council of its existence, but it was far too great a threat in the hands of any other, and what better keeper than himself? He had, after all, helped Caratacos uncover many of its secrets. It had been a pity that the conceited fool squandered his discovery in an act of rebellion.
The mirror told him little, and he dared not keep the window open. Others in the Tir would sense its use, and Nictis would welcome any excuse to depose him.
"Pane, are you awake?" he spoke into the air.
A stuttering cackle answered from the top of a dusty bookshelf and the strix ruffled its coarse feathers before peering down with angry, black eyes. A human might mistake Pane for an ill-tempered owl. Most of those who had were no longer among the living.
"I have a task for you. You are not to feed, only seek and report back to me." Pane clicked its beak in annoyance. Mortas Vesh waved a dismissive hand. "You have had plenty of meat and I will provide more when you return. I want you to find the gean canagh and follow him. Nictis' blundering attempts to locate and kill his progeny have failed, and we have an opportunity to gain favor with the queen. Look to the west, beyond the sea."
The strix shifted its weight from foot to foot several times before launching itself forward, through the door and down the hall, where it would take to the open air with the speed of a rumor. Mortas Vesh did not concern himself with Pane's success. Though the darkling had found a safe harbor, his father had reason to seek him out, to find him before the queen, and Caratacos was known to the court, known to the strix. The storm hag, first of the moryani, high sorcerer of the Tir and third on the council of elders only needed evidence that Caratacos had narrowed his search, then other means could be deployed.
Mortas Vesh stretched his pale, blue lips over rows of sharpened teeth. With a little luck he would soon be elevated within the court, a great power would be restored to its rightful place, Nictis would suffer greatly, and the darkling child of the gean canagh would die.
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