Fairest Son Read online

  Fairest Son

  H. S. J. Williams

  Illustrations by Irina Plachkova

  TRILLIUM PRESS

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons is entirely coincidental.

  Fairest Son

  Copyright © 2018 by H.S.J. Williams

  Cover illustration and design copyright © H.S.J. Williams

  Interior illustration copyright © H. S. J. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prelude

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Finis

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Artist

  To the Son who Forgives

  Prelude

  In the month that the whitethorn tree bloomed, the Queen of the Seelie Court gave birth to a son most fair. Most happy of all days should this have been, but a plague had swept through the folk at this blessed of times and touched the Queen so that her spirit faded within, and she passed from the living realm. Then did the King quake for while the faerie wilted not under time, they were still not safe from sickness or sword.

  At the child’s birth, the Loresman of the sídhe, wise in both knowledge and power, spoke a prophecy—

  Fairest one, fairest son,

  All together, under one,

  Kingdoms twain, now together

  A crown to last, for now, forever

  Then did the hearts of the fair folk rise in wonder for long indeed had there been hope of one to call back the Unseelie, their sundered brethren, and thus songs of joy echoed through the woods so that any mortal who heard them was blessed.

  But the King’s heart still shuddered in his breast, and he clung ever tighter to the babe, for he feared its loss as well. And he bade the Loresman to cast what enchantment as he could over the child to protect him from death’s reaping.

  Long did the Loresman study and consult creatures of many realms and many teachings, till at last he wove a spell of a lock upon the boy’s life, so that no death might touch him, until three things had befallen him. But these three keys were not spoken, and the kingdom marveled that none might slay their future king.

  --Taken from the Annuals of the Aos sí

  1

  King Adoh of the Unseelie Court sat at the head of his grand table and watched the festivities with a gleam in his eye. He watched the revelry of his people who drank and ate and talked with far more joy than many of them had shown for an age. And he watched the figure at the other end of the table, brighter than any of the other host, even the golden guards who waited on him.

  Prince Idris of the Seelie had come as an ambassador to the Unseelie courts, and though songs were not being sung of the prophecy, they were echoing through everyone’s minds. Yes, Adoh contemplated, his people who had never cared for appearances as their fairer kin did were now enamored with the prince. They had never before, as far as he knew, wanted to return to the hosts of the Seelie whom they scorned aloud, but now in the presence of this prince they seemed to think the prophecy had already been fulfilled.

  Truly, the boy—all seventeen years of him--was a marvel to look upon even surrounded by his brilliant entourage. The prophecy had not spoken lightly when it dubbed him fairest son. His lithe young body was already shaping into masculine maturity, and his sunbright tresses draped like silk across his broadening shoulders. Yet more captivating by far was the sparkling of his eyes and the bright warmth of his smile. Whether he wore robes of summer gold and crowns of vines or ashen rags and hooded head did not matter—he shone Fairest of the Fair Folk.

  Without realizing it, Adoh let his smile curl into a sneer. It was just like the Seelie King to present his son as the realization of the prophecy though he wasn’t quite full grown, no matter how well he’d flourished into manhood. He couldn’t have waited any longer to rub in Adoh’s face his oncoming subjection.

  During the feasting, some of the bards of the Seelie rose from their prince’s side and heralded tales and songs such as never had been heard in the darker courts. And the Unseelie listened to it like they were starving.

  Fools. Did they not realize what this new king would mean? What the prophecy really meant was not that two kingdoms should be united, but that one should overrun the other. Their codes were far too opposite of each other to come into any real peace. When Idris took the throne, the Unseelie would have to forsake all that they held true—power, passion, pain—and exchange it for other things like honor, beauty, and love.

  Adoh could not hear what was said, but he knew by the animation on one of his subject’s faces that they were attempting to tell a joke to the prince, and the prince actually laughed as if it had truly tickled his fancy.

  Fah!

  His son was far more worthy of the throne for both kingdoms. The prophecy should have been spoken at his birth, not the golden haired suckling across the table.

  In far greater time than Adoh wished for, the feasting at last ended, and the common folk left the halls of their king, their bellies stuffed and their minds soaring with possibilities that they had never dreamed of before. At last all were gone save for the prince and his retinue and Adoh’s most trusted council, who he knew shared his view of the night, no matter how they hid it under bright smiles.

  “Thank you for accepting me into your court, King Adoh,” Prince Idris said. As if Adoh had a choice in the matter.

  “Of course, Prince, of course. And when you return, you must bring my blessing to your great father. I am only sorry that he could not attend,” Adoh said, the words so easily slipping off his tongue.

  Idris rose, his robes gleaming with their own light, and bowed low, his guards mirroring him. “I shall indeed.”

  “Prince,” Adoh said as the youth turned to leave. “Now that the feast is over and the guests have gone, there is a matter I wish to discuss—a private matter, if you please.” He cast a meaningful look at the guards.

  “Of course,” Idris said, gesturing for his guards to leave the hall.

  Adoh watched them go with a chuckle deep in his heart. Ah, the Seelie were so trusting, so set in their ways of honor that they couldn’t dream of anything else.

  “Speak, Your Majesty,” Idris said, sitting back in his chair, his fair face curious and attentive. Both a man and a boy. So young, so strong, so fair. Even when he wasn’t smiling, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as if joy always bubbled like a stream with him. Sickening.

  “Skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony,” Adoh said pleasantly.

  Idris blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “It was clever of your good Loresman, very clever,” the Unseelie King continued. “How could these things ever happen to you when your skin is merely pale and your hair is like gold?”

  “I do not understand,” Idris said, his brow furrowing. The ever near smile drifted away and a slight trace of unease flickered across his features, but he smoothed it under an air of curiosity.

  “Then I shall make it clear,” Ado
h said, and he rose in a cloud of darkness. The darkness billowed to every corner of the hall, swifter than any storm. The flowering greenery on the walls shriveled into skeletons and thorns, and the merry light of the halls fled away till only the crystals in the walls cast their sickly pallor.

  As Idris startled to his feet, the councilmen leapt forward and seized him by the arms. They dragged him backwards and threw him to the floor while Adoh swept around the length of the table towards them. The Unseelie King’s robes of evening lavender darkened to grey as he came, and all other disguises of good will vanished from his form.

  The councilmen drew the prince up to his knees. The smile was gone now, not like a sun that has hidden behind clouds but a sun that has ceased to exist. The destruction of it sent satisfaction rippling through Adoh’s body, and he noted that the boy looked too shocked to even understand what was happening. Such innocence still.

  “Bring them forth,” the King commanded, and his servants hastened forward, bearing various items. He lifted one from its case and turned the dagger around in his hand. The handle was carved from bone, but the blade was of iron, and every eye there looked warily upon it.

  “I thought I might need to use powder,” Adoh remarked, “but you’ve turned white as snow already.”

  “King Adoh,” Idris said, his voice returning in a tremor. “Iron is forbidden in both our courts—”

  The knife flashed down, slicing across the prince’s cheek. Before the youth’s cry was even finished, Adoh had his face in his hand, drawing his finger through the blood and across Idris’s mouth, muttering, “Lips as red as blood. Your Loresman was very cunning, very cunning. As if you would ever have that. Heaven forbid that it be taken literally.”

  Another of the servants stepped forward, lifted a jar of black ink, and poured it down upon the prince’s head, then rubbed it through his hair.

  “Hair as black as ebony,” Adoh whispered. “So these are the keys, Loresman? Are these indeed the keys? How well they turn in the lock.” He raised his iron knife, waiting for the councilmen to hold the struggling prince still.

  “Please, Adoh,” Idris gasped, wrenching against their hold, tears of pain mixing with the ink and blood running down his face. “Please, you are not thinking, you will dishonor your people forever.”

  “Honor,” Adoh spat, eyes glowing with the most unholy of fires. “Only the Seelie care about honor.”

  Then he plunged the knife down, and the very worlds around him sucked in their breath with horror.

  The blade drove into the hilt, but as Adoh pulled it back in triumph, he saw that the prince’s chest was not pierced. He stared at the knife, then thrust it in again, seeing in dismay that the blade vanished before it could break the boy’s skin.

  He paled and took a heavy step back. “No,” he breathed.

  “Why does it not work?” one of the councilmen shouted. “It cut him already.”

  “A cut is not a fatal strike. The locks are still in place,” another muttered.

  Adoh’s hands rose to his head, and he turned away shaking as waves of cold enveloped him, and the sound of the arguments behind him faded to a dull roar. What…had he done wrong? Or…or had the keys been false? Had he been deceived?

  Red hot rage surged through his blood. He spun in a crack of thunder, and his councilmen went utterly silent. “Deceived!” he shouted.

  When the echoes of the word died away, one of the councilmen dared to speak. “Then he shall remain our prisoner until we discover the correct keys.”

  Adoh stared down at the prince, finding some measure of compensation in the fear on his face. He could hear the frantic sound of the prince’s guards trying to break through the door already. He could smell their panic and their rage. But this was his court and they would not enter in, not yet. “No,” he said suddenly, causing all his lords to look at him in surprise. “After this, there will be war again between the Seelie and the Unseelie, and the Fair King will never relent so long as we have his son. It may be a long while until I gain the true keys. Return him to his people.”

  A cold, cruel smile curled his mouth as he watched Idris sag in relief. The fear in the boy’s face was only that of the unknown, not understanding of evil. He would learn. Oh, he would learn.

  “But first—” Adoh began, and the youth’s eyes slowly rose to meet his gaze.

  “—RUIN HIM.”

  ∞∞∞

  The realm of the sídhe lay quiet under a star spangled sky, every creature and thing still in unknown dread. Deep, deep, deep down, the land shuddered in knowledge of some terrible thing, but none yet understand why that fear so chilled their bones.

  And then the wailing began.

  Spirits of the wind tore through the trees carrying the cries upon their breath to the Seelie Court, calling everyone forth from every corner of the wood and mound. The host gathered before their King’s abode, wailing and wringing their hands.

  Through the trees came a small company, once so joyful and glittering, now dull and pale. Every heart shuddered to recognize them as the prince’s retinue, and every eye turned to the body carried amongst them. The guards laid the limp form on the ground in the circle of light cast by the floating lanterns and stepped back.

  The great vine-woven doors to the mound flew open, and the King of the Seelie Folk ran through, his face too terrible for anyone to look upon. He fell to his knees beside the body of his son and slowly gathered him into his arms. His fingers traced, but did not touch, the prince’s face.

  At last he whispered hoarsely, “Bring water. We must wash him clean.”

  The court flew to obedience, several bringing far more water than needed, and none remembering to bring a cloth.

  The king loosened his own robe and dipped it into the bowl offered, then gently wiped away the trailing ink and crusted blood upon his son’s features, though not daring to touch near the boy’s missing eyes. More blood dribbled from the corner of Idris’s mouth, and the king raised his son’s head to rest on his lifted arm while his other hand opened his mouth. The king swiftly glanced inside. Then, very still, very silent, he closed the prince’s mouth again and cradled him to this chest.

  Suddenly, the prince thrashed in his embrace, horrible garbled cries tearing out of his throat. He fell from his father’s arms and crawled away, coughing and choking on blood.

  “Idris, Idris, it is I!” the king cried out. He reached after him, but when his fingers touched, the prince screamed, a raspy terrified sound that sent even the wandering shees of the wood cowering to the ground.

  The fey folk drew away in dismay, howling in confusion and grief, but in that moment, a golden glow illuminated the gathering and the Loresmen thrust through their midst and ran to the prince’s side. He drew Idris upright, no matter how the boy fought, and held him fast while he pressed his fingers to his brow and sought things no one else could sense.

  “My Lord,” he said, turning to where the king sat stricken. “My Lord, they have taken his hearing. Our healers might fix it in time, but you must let him recognize you by some other way.”

  The king crept forward and again took his son who no longer struggled but quivered in every limb. Carefully, he turned the prince’s arm so that the top faced him and began to trace words upon Idris’s skin.

  After several long frozen moments, the prince cried out again, but no longer in fear. He pressed into his father’s chest, his mangled hands struggling to find the king’s face.

  “Yes, I am here,” the faerie king whispered, rocking the boy back and forth as if he were still a babe.

  On that silent night, in a faerie ring of shadow and light, where the fair folk gathered in grief, the king’s voice arose in trembling song. And the very wood trembled, all the creatures hunkering in their homes, for the song was that of a lullaby and the voice was veiled in tears.

  ∞∞∞

  The King of the Unseelie stormed through the woods, all shadow and darkness in his wake, and every bird and beast of the night f
led before him. He had come far from his courts and he came alone, but none dared to stay and wonder why.

  At last he came to the shores of a loch, and its murky water did not reflect the shining stars. The water lapped upon the rocks in a steady beat, like the pant of a beast always hungering for more.

  Before he’d even reached the water’s edge, Adoh was shouting. “Fuath! Fuath, come at once!”

  The ever coming waves stilled, and a circle of smoothness spread across the surface. A face appeared in the water, like a reflection, though nothing stood above it except Adoh. “Yes, Master?” said the face, its voice mockingly subservient.

  “You lied!” Adoh raged. “You lied! You said those were the keys to his undoing and it did not work.”

  “Well, it’s not as if the Loresman came and told me his secret,” the thing said, looking hurt. But a grin glittered in its green eyes.

  “The prophecy was to be thwarted!”

  “Is it not?” Fuath said, ever syrupy. “I have heard the banshee’s cries. Idris is no longer the fairest one, the fairest son.”

  For the first time that night, Adoh felt some of his fury drain away. That much was true. Dead or not, Idris would never be able to fulfil the prophecy now. Indeed, he might even be banished from his kingdom, considering how sacred they held beauty.

  “You will find out the true keys for me anyway,” he said. “And this time you will not lie.”

  “There will be a price,” Fuath said.

  “Three drops of blood was a small price to pay. I will do whatever it takes for my son to be the rightful heir.”

  “Of course, Master,” the reflection said, smiling. “Whatever you desire.”

  2

  Three Winters On…

  Peace was an elusive aim for the huntress. Ever she pursued it, and ever it fled and hid from her, as swift and clever as the hare. Only here in the high mountains could Keeva let her troubles be blown away on the wind or at least frozen by the cold that knifed through her bones. Only here with a bow in her hands and her prey before her did she truly feel master of her fate.