Teaching the King (Witchling Academy Book 1) Page 5

  A new shimmer of danger slid through me, because I liked him asking about me. I wanted his curiosity, his interest, and that was a dangerous thing. The Fae were cunning and cruel. They would use anything against me. I had to remember that. But I could lie well enough too. Another skill honed to perfection at my grandmother’s knee.

  “I was thinking of the tools I’ll need,” I said, drifting my hand lazily toward the cup brimming with honey mead. “We don’t have much anymore. We left the artifacts of highest power with you.”

  The king shifted slightly, then stilled again as if he thought better of whatever move he was going to make. “You can bring whatever you can carry. I’ll gather the rest later.”

  I chuckled a little grimly. “Um, I think you misunderstand,” I said, not missing how his eyes sharpened when I laughed. Was he studying me, trying to learn my weaknesses? If so, there was a pile of them, so he had his work cut out for him. But it occurred to me, perhaps if he knew how feeble I was…

  I rejected the line of thinking as soon as I hatched it. If for any reason I wasn’t strong enough to teach this asshole, he would find another Hogan who was. We had cousins, rafts of them, who my family hadn’t spoken to in generations. My great-grandmother had urged them all to change their names, but witches were a proud lot, and anyone sniffing around the covens would quickly learn who the right Hogans were. They might not be willing or able to ward off a full-on Fae attack.

  Especially an attack coming from someone who looked like this guy.

  I shook my head, since the king was clearly waiting for me to continue. “Yeah, so most of the magic of my family is wrapped up in this building. I have a book, a box, this cup, and a ceremonial blade. And, of course, that necklace you totally stole from us. But otherwise…what are you looking at?”

  The High King was now eyeing the rafters of the bar, his eyes narrowed in thought.

  “There is warding magic here, but also portal magic,” he said, pointing a long finger at the glass mirror behind the bar. “Not to my realm.”

  “Yeah, no,” I said drily. “Not to your realm. I’m pretty sure when my great-grandmother built this place, she didn’t want to give you guys any more doorways than necessary. That portal goes to the monster realm.”

  He slanted a glance at me. “The Laram, the lesser Fae, they had access to you all this time?”

  I hid my surprise. I had thought…well, it didn’t matter what I thought. Even if I hadn’t been ratted out by the Laram, I’d been discovered all the same. “No. Believe it or not, I managed to avoid those guys, at least until recently.”

  The king looked blank, and I waved it off. It wasn’t the concern of the Fae what battles were fought in the human realm, or even those in the realm adjacent to his own precious hideaway of snow-covered mountains and sun-swept valleys. My grandmother had always been careful not to paint the realm of the Fae as a land of glitter and unicorns, but she also hadn’t made the mistake of making it seem too vile. She’d known this could happen. She hadn’t wanted me to be afraid.

  Too late for that, sadly.

  “I can take this place apart, stick by stick and rebuild it,” the king threatened, refocusing on me.

  “No,” I said with a surge of irritation that made the rafters glow again. “I’m coming back here one day, one day soon. This is my family’s property. It’s all we have left. All that your great and powerful contract had allowed us to scrape together. Look around and look hard, Fae king. Clearly you guys got the better of the Hogan witches. I can’t imagine why we so desperately wanted to get away from you.”

  That seemed to be another direct hit, which pleased me more than it should. But I regretted the impulse almost immediately as the king stepped forward.

  “Gather what you need,” he ordered coldly. “If you’re so eager to fulfill your duty, then we should go.”

  I turned away, happy to be rid of him for even a few minutes, but he held up a hand, effectively stopping me without laying a finger on me.

  “Don’t bother bringing clothes, food, or any gear other than your books of magic and tools,” he advised. “We have plenty of the rest.”

  I bristled, which of course was what he intended, but I didn’t give him the pleasure of my argument. He wanted me to wear Fae clothes? Fine. Beyond my skills as a bartender and witch, I’d learned the basics of sewing. If I had to piece together scraps of ridiculous Fae gear into an intelligent outfit, I could. And no matter where I went, someone would probably be wearing reasonable clothes. I’d steal some if I needed to. Resourcefulness had never been a problem for me.

  Still feeling the pressure of the king’s presence, I left the main bar and ducked into the back room. I hastily scrawled a note to leave on my private table, something even a Fae couldn’t argue with. I knew that, because no sooner did I put pen to paper than the king was at my side, looming over me, scowling down at my handwriting.

  “How do I know this language so well?” he murmured, taking me off guard. But not as much off guard as my answer did.

  “You’re the High King of the Fae,” I said automatically. “You can’t influence what you don’t understand. Your magic is too strong to allow any impediment such as language.”

  I blinked, but kept my gaze on the note I was writing, while beside me, the king let out a soft chuckle, for once not laden with a sneer, but with simple satisfaction.

  “I look forward to learning all the things you seem ready to teach me, witch.”

  The words were plain enough, not sexual. They stood apart on their own, but spoken with such intimate closeness, they were as alarming as a sudden and unexpected kiss. My hand began to shake as I wrote, and I finished the note quickly. With any luck I would be back before anyone read it. The king scrutinized the short message, and nodded.

  “Who do you care for here?” he asked with deceptive nonchalance.

  I wasn’t a Hogan witch for nothing, but I didn’t feel like lying about my relationship status. “No one at all. I simply want to be freed from the tyranny of dickheads.”

  I set the small box on top of the book of magic and picked up the athame, stiffening as the king reached for it.

  He didn’t stop, but pulled it from my hand as if I were a five-year-old child. He tested the blade with his thumb, though anyone could see it was dull. He handed it back to me.

  “While you are in my realm, there is nothing of yours that is not also mine. That is the contract.”

  My blood ran cold, but I kept my voice steady. “It’s been some time since any Hogan has seen this contract, so I guess that remains to be determined. Either way, the sooner we leave, the sooner I return. Let’s be done with this.”

  As intended, the High King flushed at my tone.

  “Then follow me,” he said, but as his looming bulk exited my small, sacred space, I breathed the tiniest sigh. He might think that I was his property, but he was wrong. There was one line that my great-grandmother had learned she could cross in the realm. She hadn’t been driven to it, but she’d made sure we knew the truth.

  Should I need to kill the Fae king to escape his abuse…I could.

  And if he tried to make me his slave, I would.

  8

  Aiden

  I barely held my rage in check as I stomped back into the main room of the witch’s tavern. She spoke as if the realm of the Fae was some sort of prison, when she was the one surrounded with squalor.

  I scanned the simple tables, the chairs lined up neatly, all of it polished to a high sheen and looking better than it by rights should. But it didn’t hide the fact that this was a wretched establishment, probably barely making a profit every year.

  That knowledge didn’t make me feel better. Now the witch had sparked my curiosity. I had never actually seen the contract that the Hogans had struck with the High King of the Fae. I’d only been the High King for a short while, and before that, there hadn’t been any point. There were no witches in our realm. The magicians of the monster realm liked to style themselve
s as masters of spell craft, and certain monsters could wield illusion magic. The Laram, our lesser cousins in that realm, did pretty well for themselves, but they weren’t the high Fae. I was. High King of the high Fae, in fact, so high and mighty, I should be light-headed at the lack of oxygen, and yet I had no idea what the terms were that had bound this family of witches to us.

  Another dagger of impatience sliced through me. We would learn that soon enough.

  But first, I would make what little magic I did know to help bind this witch to me. I didn’t need to do it. I shouldn’t have to do it. But I wanted it all the same, and she could not deny me, not in this. Soon, by the Light, not in anything.

  She dutifully came out after me, remaining at a far enough distance that I knew my proximity unsettled her, which also irritated me. I did not want for female companionship, but her disdain was only partially fear. Fear I could manage. The rest would take some more time, but beneath all that was the unmistakable fire that I could recognize even if she couldn’t. Stoking that fire to a roaring blaze would be a great pleasure.

  As if she could sense my thoughts, she stopped abruptly, then doubled back to the bar. She yanked open a drawer and drew out a small red cylinder no longer than her thumb.

  “What’s that?” I demanded.

  She flipped it open, and I narrowed my eyes to see the flash of metal. “You have no need for weapons. None.”

  “So you keep saying,” she said, then fiddled with the strange object some more, revealing a shorter knife, a flat strip of metal, and a…corkscrew? “You can’t tell me you’re afraid of a Swiss Army knife. I won’t believe it. The Fae heal instantly, right?”

  “They do, unless the wound is grave.”

  “Uh-huh. And you think this would cause a grave wound before you wrestled it out of my hand?”

  Irritation flared through me. “I do not.”

  “Then shut it. It makes me feel better to have something on me to protect myself beyond your great and mighty power. Let me keep this, and I’ll pinkie swear never to stick you.”

  “You’ll…enough. You may keep it.”

  She quickly closed up the odd tool and stuffed it into her pocket, her relieved, triumphant smile making my gut tighten. This witch was dangerous, but not because of her tiny red knife. I could afford her a few small victories.

  I stopped in front of the table with its delicate cup, barely enough to contain a palmful of mead. I picked up the vessel carefully, feeling its unnatural weight. The mead had been steeping for several minutes now. Drawing in magic, focusing it. It was like holding quicksilver, but when I turned and offered it to the Hogan witch, she scowled.

  “I only drink locally sourced alcohol,” she informed me coldly, though I could hear the resignation in her voice. This wasn’t a battle she was going to win, and she knew it.

  I lifted the cup higher. “I can pour it down your throat if you prefer. I live to serve.”

  She cursed something beneath her breath, then stacked her meager treasures on the table and reached for the cup, taking it from me with both hands though it was a little thing. She tested its weight, much as I had, then glanced at me. “How much do I have to drink to make its magic work?”

  Oh, my sweet little witch, its magic is already working.

  I didn’t say these words aloud. I just lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “A mouthful, nothing more. You may find you like it.”

  Her snort of derision told what she thought of that idea. But she lifted the cup and took a long sip, her jaw tightening as the honey mead passed her lips.

  She pulled back, her face unreadable in a way that sent a skiff of irritation through me, but there was no doubting the change to her eyes. They had started out the pale gray of a winter sky, and now had turned darker, richer, to thunderheads building on the horizon. She didn’t seem to know what to do with the cup, so before she could dash the mead to the ground as she should, I took the vessel from her.

  I lifted the delicate cup to my lips, intending to take the barest sip, but the moment the rim touched my mouth, I tilted it back, draining it. There was more in the cup than I gave it credit for, and as it hit the back of my throat, I could sense the power taking hold. The sweetness of the witch’s lips was still on the rim, the soft bloom of her pulse billowing through my blood.

  It took everything I had not to betray the advantage she’d just handed me as I set the cup once more on the table. Instead, I watched as she picked it up and turned toward the bar, a tavern mistress instinctively tidying as she went. She rinsed and dried the cup with swift, efficient movements, then returned to my side, setting it on top of her other valuables before pulling a soft velvet sack out of her belt and sliding the items inside. Once they were carefully secreted away, illusion magic took hold, reducing the sack to barely the size of a playing card. She tucked it into her pocket, then turned to me.

  “Now what?” she asked, but even as she spoke the words, she glanced around, alarm lighting those storm-gray eyes. She could see the walls of her precious tavern fade as light broke through its seams, the dawn of a new day in the Fae realm. She was frightened, and I reveled in that fear. She should be frightened. And she should know that only I could protect her. That might not be the most noble of attitudes, but it didn’t make it any less true.

  At the last second when the boundary between the human realm and the realm of the Fae dissolved, Belle’s hands came up, her face blanking with terror, and I could see what she saw in her mind’s eye: three women, one ancient, one very old, and one far younger, shouting and pleading with her. A stream of frightened-looking females, young and old alike, their eyes bright with tears as she whispered to them through a glowing door. A ragtag parade of wounded monsters shifting into human form and out again, looking hunted, haunted, or both. These were all the things that Belle would be leaving, I knew at once.

  Her hands jerked up reflexively, her body half turned to flee—except I was prepared for that. I reached out and grabbed the witch’s shoulders, pulling her to me as she struggled. Her fists pounded against my chest, once, twice—then I pulled one hand free and sketched a rough portal home.

  My luck held. Given the failing magic of the high family, my portal skills didn’t always work, but this time, they did. The full light of the Fae realm broke over us, and we were far and away from the land of humans, and among my people once again.

  Not just any corner of the realm either. But in the great forest of the High King of the Fae.

  9

  Belle

  Everyone was screaming.

  As the White Crane’s walls shimmered around me, I could practically hear their voices. My great-grandmother, whom I could barely remember, my grandmother, my own ma. The witches and monsters the Hogans had saved for the past hundred years. Their shouts rose from beyond the veil, cries of terror and anger, but also of power. A wave of outrage and pain rushed through me, hard enough to hurt.

  They didn’t want me to go!

  I tried to pound my way through the chest of the High King, but it was as immovable as stone. To make matters worse, he wrapped a powerful arm around me and held me flush against him. Chaos broke out in all directions, searing light and roaring winds, a comforting counterpoint to the chaos of my mind. And even when the light lessened, and I sensed more than saw that we were in a different place, an open place with trees and grass and far-off glinting water, I kept my eyes screwed shut. I wanted another moment to get my bearings, to create a plan—any plan—to prepare me for what was to come.

  It was a moment I was not destined to have.

  “Wake up, witch. I know you’re not sleeping. If I can’t see your eyes, I can only assume you’re plotting against me.”

  “Well, that’s going to make falling asleep kind of a bitch,” I muttered, but I opened my eyes as I said it. The first thing I saw was his piercing gaze, and I sucked in a quick breath, trying to step back from him, but of course he still held me in his grasp.

  “You look different,” I
managed, which was the understatement of the century. In the human realm, the Fae king had been big, burly, and sexy without question, but here, he was all those things and more. Power sluiced off him like an alpha waterfall, creating a corona of strength and charisma that made me feel like a mouse held in a falcon’s talons. A devil’s bath of pheromones shimmered around him in a haze of hawtness so strong, my eyes nearly crossed. He looked good. He smelled good. He felt good.

  All of this was very, very bad.

  He took his time releasing me, and I sensed something else as well. He wanted me to be afraid of him. He wanted me cowed. Why would anyone with so much power need such an advantage over me?

  “You’re thinking again,” he grunted. “And this time, it’s with your eyes open. It’s going to be a problem.”

  I blinked in surprise, then realized he was making a joke. That disoriented me even more, and I turned away, my gaze darting around at anything but him.

  This time, he let me go, which told me more than anything that there was nowhere I could run. Not here, not anymore. I glanced down, absurdly relieved to see my clothes hadn’t changed. I still wore my typical long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, battered sneakers on my feet. If I did have to run, at least I wouldn’t cripple myself. And I also had managed to keep hold of my favorite utility knife, stuffed into my pocket. That counted for something. I didn’t know what, but something.

  “This is your home?” I asked, mainly because I couldn’t see any buildings. Trees loomed all around, and I found that unreasonably reassuring. The heavy forest reminded me of my great-grandmother’s cabin in upstate Vermont, a summer retreat she had cherished until she’d needed to sell it to pay for the remodel when we’d bought the White Crane. She was failing in health, and my mother didn’t like the cabin all that much, preferring to vacation at the beach instead. Each Hogan witch following her own desperately carved-out dreams of freedom, living on borrowed time.