Chapter Four

The men at the guard shack stared at the three Fae princes with a wariness that Jayce felt was unwarranted. Tobin passed through the warding with barely a hint of struggle, Beckett joining him on the other side without blinking. Jayce could feel the wards buzzing against his skin as he approached. They were heavy.

Steeling himself, he stepped through, the wards coating him in an invisible ichor. He knew both Tobin and Beckett would be feeling the effect as well. After a moment, the buzzing ceased as the warding recognized and blended in with his magick. A mark, maybe? A way to keep tabs on the Fae that crossed through.

He noticed one of the guards holding a notebook…no, that wasn’t right. It was a flat black rectangle. The guard made a swiping motion with one finger, and then stood and moved toward the princes.

“I’m going to need your signature, my Lords.” The man held the rectangle out to Jayce expectantly. Jayce turned to the other two princes, who just shrugged in return. Jayce took the proffered rectangle and stared down at it.

There was a small likeness of himself, and his name emblazoned on the screen. He’d not come into contact with this form of technology before. He’d seen televisions and mobile phones within the Smythe clan he’d stayed with for a few years during the exchange program. But this was new. And unusual. “Just, kind of…press your thumb right here.” The guard indicated a small square on the screen next to Jayce’s name. His full name. His real name.

Names have power. No Fae worth his salt would have provided his real name knowingly. The warding must be linked to this technology in some way. Jayce felt ill. There his name was emblazoned for anyone to see. Jayce sighed and pressed his thumb to the indicated place. The black rectangle beeped, and then the screen disappeared.

“My Lord.” The man inclined his head and reached for the rectangle, his fingertips barely brushing across Jayce’s. Jayce gasped. The pure unadulterated anger in the man confused him.

Outwardly the man appeared to be calm and collected, though now Jayce could pick up a hint of woodenness in the man’s bearing. A tightness in his jaw and his movements were too sharp to be easygoing.

Jayce eyed the other guardsman, catching a flash of jealousy in the man’s eyes, and anger. Maybe a touch of outright hatred. Jayce had never encountered bigotry in any form. There was something wrong here, and Jayce wasn’t sure he cared enough to figure it out.

Once Tobin and Beckett had finished their signatures, they began a terse walk through the village square to the hill. The clan house was imposing. It was ostentatious, three stories with a possible attic, with large columns on the front of the house.

It made Jayce long for the comfort of his sithen, the faerie mound his people had called home since the beginning of time. He would never understand the human penchant for living above ground.

“They have our names.” Tobin started, his voice losing it’s musical quality. “Our true names. They have them.”

“Good luck if they can pronounce them, how many have addressed us in our tongue?” Beckett snorted. “Instead, we have to resort to the basic language of the humans. They are still half-Fae. Couldn’t they even bother?”

“That’s not all.” Jayce kept his voice low, regardless of the fact they were speaking their own language. “Both of those guards were angry. I couldn’t get a read on why, there wasn’t enough contact. I think livid would be a better word. We have offered no offense that I’m aware of.”

“Maybe they’re upset they pulled duty on a rest day?” Tobin offered, still visibly shaken.

“Humans don’t necessarily follow the Seelie calendar.” Beckett scoffed, “Perhaps it was simple jealousy?”

“There was that too, but it was more, deeper.” Jayce shook his head. “We’re only here for a night, maybe two depending on how the transition goes.”

They were nearing the house when a loud keening met Jayce’s ears. There was raw emotion in that sound, and the small fine hair around his pointed ears stood on end.

Without a second thought to what he was doing, Jayce’s feet had him flying across the well-manicured lawn and directly into the Clan house. He didn’t see anyone else, as he bounded up the grand staircase. The second floor was empty as well, and the keening was still too soft to be here.

His eyes darted across the hall to a smaller secondary staircase. He could feel Tobin and Beckett right behind him. Gemma was in this house somewhere and the pained cries could be hers. The young sidhe Princess was their responsibility, and Jayce found himself bounding up the steps two at a time.

The keening reached a fever pitch, then broke off. Jayce stumbled back as the wash of raw power and emotion swelled, and suddenly imploded. Whatever had happened had finished, but to what end? Had someone died? Magick was never thrown out blindly. Had someone lost control?

There were voices coming from the end of the hall. Once Jayce felt a little more steady on his feet, he launched himself down the hallway.

The door was shut to, but barely. With no consideration to the occupants of the room, Jayce launched himself through the doorway.

He stumbled in, and came to a crouch near an antique four-postered bed. The Halfling from earlier stood in a corner of the room, his hand across his eyes. Confusion and panic warred in Jayce’s chest. He scanned the rest of the room, searching for the disturbance, and finally spotted Gemma in a bathroom.

She slid off a countertop and was firmly marching to the bathroom door. Behind her, from his crouched position in the floor, he caught sight of the most gorgeous pair of legs he’d ever witnessed.

He dragged his eyes upward, intending on averting them, when he found her face. She was surrounded in a sopping mass of tangled auburn hair. His fingers ached to tug on every snarl, smooth it out. Her dark blue eyes were almost too large, the smallest hint of shock in them.

His heartbeat slowed for a moment. His full attention narrowed on her face, the upturned nose, a dusting of sun spots across her cheeks, full lips pursed in surprise.

There was a dull ache in his chest and he realized he wasn’t breathing. He pulled in a shuddering breath, and her nose flared in a mirror of him. He straightened himself, feeling confined, caged. She was too far from him, and he took a step forward, bumping into the bed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

There was a pressing need for him to memorize every single feature of her face, down to her shockingly dark eyelashes, and it overtook him. He made a strangled noise low in his throat that might have been a groan of desperation.

For the first time in his very long life, Jayce knew hunger. Not physical hunger, but a soul-deep hunger that would only be satiated by her. The door slammed shut, blocking her from view, and Jayce was bereft.

“You.” His voice was cold, emotionless. He turned his narrowed eyes on the Halfling in the corner. “Who is she?” He gestured imperiously at the door.

“I’m sure you already know Gemma.” The Halfling crossed his arms. “And ‘you’ is not my name.”

“I am not referring to Gemma.” Jayce hissed in frustration. “What is her name?” He ground out in what he felt must have been the absolute epitome of agonized patience.

“Her name is Bailey Fee, and she is the next Portal Inherent.”

Jayce didn’t even realize he’d stalked from the room until he was halfway down the stairs leading back to the front of the house.

His companions had apparently followed him. All he could concentrate on was that he had finally Sparked. Illuminated was more accurate. Caught fire. Combusted. For the Halfling that would run this clan in less than a day.

Jayce wasn’t sure what curse was more appropriate to hurl heavenward to the Goddess. Not only was she a Halfling, not only had she never once stepped foot in Faerie, but the only woman that could ever sit on the Spring Throne at his side was strictly off limits. He would doom the Spring Court to wither and die.

He turned on his heel once reaching the first floor. There was a set of overstuffed furniture calling his name. Halflings weren’t necessarily off limits to the full blooded Sidhe. It would more likely be frowned upon, but the Spark was the only thing that dictated marriages within the Courts.

It wasn’t love, exactly. It was primal. No one could love someone they didn’t even know. It was soul recognition, his father had once explained to him.

Danu, the Goddess, crafted a single soul and then rent it in two, sending them into the realms as two separate Fae. The Spark was a recognition of the other half of one’s soul inhabiting another body.

When he’d been a child, the concept seemed saccharine. However, his parents were Spark mated. They still lived happily in their own piece of the sithen, having chosen to hand over the throne after nearly a millennial reign. Jayce tried to find some equilibrium as he flopped onto the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Jayce…” Tobin started, breaking the awkward silence. “What happened?” Jayce opened his eyes and took in the unusually grave Tobin and Beckett with his wicked grin.

“Isn’t it obvious, he Sparked. For the Portal Inherent.” Beckett had the audacity to laugh at his predicament.

“Is that true?” Tobin asked, his eyes widening.

“Yes.” Jayce answered quietly.

“This is great! You’ve found your Queen for the Spring Throne!”

“No…don’t you see?” Beckett laughed again, not exactly unkindly but certainly it lacked any friendliness. “He can’t. She has to be here. With the portal. Policing our people in their lands.”

Before Jayce could work up a suitably caustic reply, another scream echoed in the house. This time from further down a hallway on the first floor. The princes eyed each other uneasily. “Are they usually this prone to histrionics here?”

“Seems unlikely.” Beckett shrugged, but another Halfling ran into the room and toward the stairs. A group followed him, and largely ignored the princes in the midst.

“Is it true?” One asked, almost hesitantly.

“Jonas is dead.” Another replied, hushed. “And not naturally.”

Jayce shared a look with Beckett and Tobin. “What do you mean?”

The Halfling jumped at his voice, and turned to him, before lowering his head in acknowledgement of the visiting royalty. “My Lord. Jonas was found in the kitchen.” The man swallowed hard. “Dead.” Jayce gave him what he hoped was an encouraging look. “He was found in a pool of his own blood, three iron knives embedded in his back.”

Jayce drew in a shaky breath. The portal Inherent, dead. No…not precisely just dead. A sense of foreboding ran up his spine. His voice was soft, but rang through the nearly silent room, loud enough to have been a shout. “Murdered.”