Chapter 13
Lucas was used to interruptions, especially late at night. Emergencies seemed to want to wait until he was ready to go to bed before erupting, and tonight was no exception. He had fielded two calls about students missing from their beds--one was Josiah, and Lucas thought he knew where Josiah would be on such a night. The other had resolved itself within an hour.
But now--now what?
His wards had not stirred to alert him of his visitor, which meant that he or she had visited before without incident. Still, it was after midnight. Who would come calling now?
Lucas opened his front door. At first, he did not believe what he saw sitting on his porch, almost glowing in the moonlight.
After all, he had never seen one of Gabriel's Hounds up close without their Master. At least not in the form of a Hound. For a moment, he thought the Hound was Josiah, but--and this despite the fact that he had not seen Josiah in Hound form--this one seemed different, somehow. More frightened, for certain. Its eyes--His eyes--were rimmed with white.
"Is something wrong?" Could they understand human speech? Lucas had studied the Hunt, yes, but even after a lifetime of studying, he knew next to nothing about the Hounds. He took a step forward and the Hound flinched back, closing its eyes. "I mean you no harm--"
And then, in the blink of an eye, Lucas knew exactly how his Uncle Peter had felt when the Hound had shifted in front of him so long ago. And it was that quick. The Hound's form shimmered and melted away, replaced by a red-haired young man who crouched on the porch floor, trembling, his eyes squeezed shut.
Lucas stared at him in shock. He knew what he wanted to say--what he wanted to demand, in truth, because he doubted Gabriel had condoned this, and that meant there was something very wrong--but his voice was locked inside his throat until the young man--hardly more than a boy, really--braced himself and slowly stood.
"My Master does not know I am here," he whispered, his gaze firmly fixed on the floor. "When he discovers what I have done, my life is forfeit." He said this as if his life did not matter, a disposable thing and easily tossed aside. "But I--" He closed his eyes again, and a shiver ran across his face. "Did you steal Josiah?" He glanced up, his gaze challenging now, despite his obvious fear.
His question shocked Lucas out of his daze. "Did I what?"
"Josiah is gone. Kidnapped."
Lucas stepped back. "Kidnapped? By whom?" He could not comprehend such a crime. Not here. Not in Beth-Hill, where the Council's headquarters lay. Not so near to Darkbrook!
The Hound flinched. "My Master--My Master thinks the Council might have taken him. To remove Josiah from his influence."
In all honesty, the thought had never crossed Lucas' mind. And perhaps even without replying to the charge, the Hound sensed something--smelled something, perhaps--in his scent, for he closed his eyes again and sank back against the porch railing.
"I thought not." His voice barely reached Lucas' ears.
"How could he think such a thing?" Lucas asked, but it was a rhetorical question. Of course Gabriel would think such a thing. Lucas would be his first suspect if one of the Hounds--especially Josiah--went missing. "I knew he wasn't at Darkbrook, but I thought he was with your Master. I--I don't know what to say, other than the Council had nothing to do with this. I can swear to that."
The Hound nodded and turned, as if to go. But his feet tangled and he fell against the railing, sliding down the rough wood until he sat on the first step and buried his head in his hands.
"I imagine you've searched for him?" Lucas asked. "If you tell me where you lost his trail, I'll search with all the power at my disposal."
"Yes, we searched," the Hound whispered. "But our Master called us back. He--You are the only one who knew Josiah's secret."
"I understand why he would suspect me," Lucas said, refusing to allow himself to get angry at the Hound. "But he is welcome to search every inch of my house, Darkbrook, and wherever else he wishes to search. Josiah is not here, although at the moment, I rather wish he was."
"So do I," the Hound whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled down the rest of the steps. Only then did Lucas realize what he had said when he had first shifted shape.
"Wait! You said your life was forfeit?" He stepped over the threshold and onto the porch. "What will Gabriel--What will your Master do to you if he finds out you were here?"
The Hound glanced back at him. "He will kill me. I disobeyed." He said this calmly, but Lucas saw naked fear in his gaze. And resignment as well, as if he had already given up any hope of convincing his Master otherwise.
"I can't let him do that," Lucas said automatically, his mind already reaching for a solution. He wouldn't dare attempt to remove Gabriel's hold over his Hound--that would cast him as the villain in Gabriel's eyes. But perhaps he could use the binding's influence to force him to see reason--
"You can't stop him," the Hound whispered. "I am his Hound."
"Do you have a name?" Lucas asked, curious now. What would happen if he summoned Gabriel to his house with the Hound still in human form? If the Master of the Hunt truly lost his temper, could Lucas control him?
And then, a horrible thought: If Gabriel lost his temper enough, would he be able to break the binding? He had tried once before, but never at full strength.
"I can summon your Master here and ask him not to kill you," Lucas offered. "I could order him not to kill you, but that would destroy everything I've worked towards with him, if my efforts have not already been destroyed."
The Hound did not seem to hear. He stared out at the forest that surrounded Lucas' house, stiff with tension. And then--with agonizing slowness, he sank to his knees.
"Please, my--" He only managed those two words before something--or someone, Lucas thought--locked the words in his throat.
Lucas knew that Gabriel had some sort of bond that linked him to his Hounds. And, conceivably, linked his Hounds together as well. Without even considering the consequences--or the fact that the Hound could very well be forced to turn on him--Lucas hurried down the stairs and gently touched the Hound's bowed back with the tip of his cane. And then, that connection established, he summoned Gabriel through the binding.
The Hound collapsed, half-conscious, his eyes dazed, the glittering tracks of tears running down both sides of his face. He tried to speak but choked instead, and then vomited up both blood and bile, presumably in reaction to whatever his Master had done to him.
Sickened, Lucas held out his hand. "Let me help you stand."
He had known they could shift shape. Should he have done something about it before now? Looked into their welfare, at least?
The Hound stared at him through the veil of his hair, then wiped one hand across his mouth. He had bitten his lip--even now blood trickled down his chin--but he didn't seem to notice.
"I--" His shoulders slumped. "I did what I came for. Let me go."
"So your Master can murder you?" Lucas asked, shaking his head. "I don't want that to happen. Not because of this." He hesitated, then dropped his hand. "I will not hold you here. But at least let me try to sway him."
The Hound slowly straightened, holding onto the porch railing post for support. "You would let me leave? If I--If I walked away from here--"
"It would be suicide, but yes," Lucas said, hoping he did not leave and test his word. He truly didn't want to see his careful relationship with Gabriel in ashes, especially if something had happened to Josiah. "But please, at least let me try. I don't think he'll kill you in front of me." He would have to intervene, then.
The Hound did not look convinced. "He--He is furious. I betrayed him."
"What is your name?" Lucas asked.
"His name is Malachi." As always, Gabriel's voice was perfectly civilized, but Lucas could not miss his fury. The Master of the Hunt appeared out of the forest like an avenging angel, his anger so great that Lucas half-expected a black cloud to blot out the moon.
Very slowly, Malachi turned around to face his Master. "My lord--"
"Go home," Gabriel said, and even Lucas knew his words to be an order.
"He said his life was forfeit for coming here." Lucas tried to keep his own voice calm, but the wards around his house were buzzing in the face of Gabriel's anger. "Do I have to order you not to kill him?"
Malachi had taken a step forward; now he froze again, his fists clenched. Lucas could not see his face, but he thought, perhaps, that he had started to cry again.
Gabriel started to speak, glanced at his Hound, then briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, some of the fury had receded. "If I ask you to answer me honestly that you know nothing about Josiah's disappearance and that the Council was not involved, would you?"
"Yes," Lucas said without hesitation. "If I had wanted to take Josiah away from you, don't you think I would have acted by now? I told your Hound--I told Malachi that you were welcome to search my house, the Council's house, and all of Darkbrook if you don't believe me. I did not lie--and I hold no secrets. Josiah is not here."
"Then where is he?" Gabriel asked, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question, because he did not wait for a reply. "You don't understand. I have--" He shook his head, as if he couldn't quite believe that he had decided to be so forthcoming to a member of the Council. "I have a bond with my Hounds. If I wish it, I can see through their eyes and read their thoughts."
That explained Malachi's fear. The historian in Lucas was busy writing down notes, but the rest of his mind tried to imagine how it would feel to have someone like Gabriel watching his every thought and move--for the rest of eternity.
All at once, he thought he understood Josiah's shyness and quiet demeanor, and how he always seemed to think before he responded to any question. He had been so careful not to give his origins away. What had happened?
"Is he dead?" Lucas asked, stricken at the thought.
"No." Gabriel did not elaborate, but his tone of voice left no room for explanation.
Lucas did not press him. Now was not the time. "I will exhaust everything at my disposal to find him," he said. "When a student vanishes from Darkbrook, everyone gets involved."
Gabriel frowned. "This has happened before?"
"Occasionally--the elves have been known to conveniently 'forget' that we have an agreement. However, I can't see them kidnapping one of your Hounds, even if he was in human form." Lucas glanced at Malachi, who still had not moved. "Gabriel, Malachi did the right thing in coming here. Were you intending to tell me anything at all?"
Gabriel's silence spoke volumes.
And suddenly, Lucas was angry. At himself, for ignoring the plight of the Hounds for so long; at Gabriel for his ever-present distrust. "I have kept your secret for too many years," he said quietly. "I thought I had gained at least an ounce of your trust. I have treated you with the respect I believed you deserve, and I have not made unwarranted demands on your time. I have not interfered in your business, but I could have. I could have made your last years under the Council's binding a misery. I have not ordered you to do something in all the time I've been a member of the Council. Don't force me to start now."
Gabriel took his time to reply. "I did not wish to suspect you, Lucas. But who else knew that Josiah was a Hound?"
"Perhaps this has nothing to do with Josiah being a Hound," Lucas said without much hope. "He may have wandered through a portal, or come upon grief another way. The forest is full of dangers, even for a Hound."
"You don't understand," Gabriel whispered. "He is--He is gone from the bond I share with my Hunt. Not dead, but gone. Something is blocking me from reaching him. And you wonder why I suspected the Council's involvement?"
In truth, if their roles were reversed, Lucas thought that he would not believe blanket statements of the Council's innocence. Gabriel's suspicions had good merit, even if they were aimed in the wrong direction.
"If he were dead, the bond between us would be broken. I would not have control of my Hounds." It cost Gabriel a lot to admit that; but Lucas saw only resignation in his gaze now. His fury, even at Malachi, was well-hidden. Or gone, now, replaced by worry and frustration.
"I don't blame you for suspecting the Council," Lucas said. "I would, if I were you. But my offer remains. If you wish to search my house--"
"That won't be necessary," Gabriel whispered. "You have never betrayed my trust before."
Malachi flinched at the word 'betrayed', but his Master did not deign to notice.
"And your Hound?" Lucas pressed, but gently.
"Will remain a Hound," Gabriel said. His masks were back in place now, blocking all thoughts from his gaze and his manner. "You needn't fear for his life, Lucas. I've already lost one Hound. I have no intention of losing another."
Lucas thought Malachi would be relieved, perhaps, at that declaration, but he fell to his knees at his Master's feet.
"Please, my lord. Don't do this. The others--"
The others. Of course. Even after seeing Malachi, Lucas had not considered that the others would be able to shift as well. "Gabriel--"
The Master of the Hunt glanced up at Lucas. "I have no choice in this," he whispered. "You know, but the rest of the Council will find out if this farce continues. I should never have--" He broke off and shook his head. "I can assure you that my Hounds will endure no violence from my hands, Lucas. But they are my Hounds." He reached out to Malachi and touched his tousled hair.
Malachi's murmured pleas stopped abruptly. He glanced up at his Master, his eyes wide, and then--even before Lucas could blink--he was a Hound.
"Gabriel--" Lucas stepped away from the porch. "I will do everything in my power to find Josiah. But the others--"
Malachi whined and staggered a few feet, obviously fighting against something. Perhaps he was trying to shift shape, or beg his Master for mercy one last time.
"I am sorry, Malachi," Gabriel whispered, ignoring Lucas. "But I cannot risk losing any more of my Hounds."
"We may still find him," Lucas protested, for Malachi's sake.
"If he could be found, I would have found him already."
It wasn't a boast. Gabriel was only stating a fact, which made Lucas realize that uncovering what had happened to Josiah might be more difficult than he had expected. "I will still do my best."
Gabriel nodded. "Go home," he said to Malachi again, his voice soft and hopeless.
This time, Malachi did not hesitate. Without a single glance back, he loped into the trees and vanished from Lucas' view, leaving his Master alone.
"What will you do now?" Lucas asked. Something had changed between them, and it wasn't just the thorn of Josiah's disappearance. For the first time since he'd begun his interest in the Hunt, he found himself sympathizing with Gabriel. And not only sympathizing; it was quite obvious that the Master of the Hunt had not expected this at all.
Neither had Lucas, for that matter. If students just up and vanished, every single parent who had sent their child to Darkbrook would reconsider their decision. Despite Gabriel's disbelief that he would find anything, Lucas knew he had to exhaust every avenue before giving Josiah up for lost.
"I will search for him," Gabriel whispered.
"And your Hounds?"
"Will remain Hounds." Gabriel hesitated. "Lucas, we will not speak of them again." He waited then, as if expecting Lucas to protest.
And Lucas almost did. But something--some sense of how close Gabriel was to the edge of fury again--made him choose another path. There were battles to be chosen, and this was not one of them.
"Very well," Lucas said, with only a twinge of guilt at leaving Malachi to his fate. "But--"
"I have promised you that their lives are not in danger," Gabriel said. "That is as far as I am willing to go." For a moment, he let his masks slip, showing Lucas just how much Josiah's disappearance had affected him. "I realize you could insist. But I hope you will not."
And it was just that, a hope. Lucas had every right to pursue this, and Gabriel would not be able to resist, thanks to the binding. But Lucas had not spent the last forty-odd years building up a fragile sense of trust with the Master of the Hunt, only to shatter it by forcing him to do something he did not want to do.
"Very well," he said. "If you trust me, then I should trust you as well. You've given me no reason not to."
"Thank you," Gabriel said.
Lucas could not remember hearing those words from his lips before. "You're welcome. I will contact you if I discover anything, no matter how damning it might be."
Gabriel nodded.
"Josiah was a pleasure to work with," Lucas said, as if Gabriel needed reassurance of his Hound's good qualities. "As far as I know he had no enemies at Darkbrook. He was--He is--an exemplary student."
"And yet that did not save him," Gabriel said, and walked away before Lucas could reply.
Chapter 14
Gabriel did not want to return home just yet to face his Hounds' silence or the look in Malachi's gaze when he realized that he would not be able to shift this time. Forcing them to regain their Hound forms had torn something loose inside Gabriel's mind and left him shaken and mourning their loss, even though they were not truly gone.
It was bad enough that Malachi had gone to Lucas, and even worse that Lucas had felt it necessary to plead for the life of a Hound. What would the next decade bring? The end of the Council's binding had never looked so far away.
Gabriel walked for a half an hour before he reached the spot where Josiah had vanished. As his Hounds had discovered, there was no trace of a trail past the river. If he had fallen in--
The rocky ground impeded his journey to the bottom of the waterfall. There was no path, in truth; the thornbushes that grew up through the stones tried their best to snag his clothing and scratch his skin. At the bottom of the hill, the pool of water beyond the rocks and debris that had fallen free of the waterfall's face only gave him his reflection when he peered into the water.
If Josiah's body had been pinned beneath the pounding water--but no. That made no sense. The water would not act as a permanent barrier for the bond, or prevent him from finding his Hound. Someone had stolen Josiah. That was the only explanation.
A face that was not his own appeared in the pool, supplanting his reflection in the light of the moon. For a moment, the two faces were one, and then the water-fae rose out of the pool and shook her head, sending droplets flying from the tips of her ropelike hair.
Gabriel was surprised she had shown herself to him. It had been years since the Hunt had hunted the wild faerie folk who had taken up residence in the forest around Beth-Hill, but old memories lingered. And no one trusted the Hunt.
She waited for a moment, staring at him, her eyes full of moonlight. "Your Hounds were here, earlier, Master of the Hunt."
"They were searching for someone I've lost," Gabriel said, seeing no reason not to be civil.
She blinked at him, considering. "Your swan? She swam in my waters not long ago."
Now it was Gabriel's turn to blink and consider her words. He had not sensed Emle's return to the forest, but he had, in truth, not expected her to return. "They were not searching for Emle," he said, trying to quench the rise of emotion that accompanied her name. "But you say she is here?"
"Not for many days," the water-fae said. "She is close to her time."
"Time?" Gabriel stared at her. "What time?"
The water fae leaned forward on her elbows, her green-tinged breasts bobbing up out of the water. "She found no sign of her kin. That I have heard on the breeze. And she returned here for a reason, Master of the Hunt. But I have not seen her for many days."
"Why would she return here and not show herself to me?" Gabriel asked. He truly didn't expect the water-fae to answer, but she did, taking pity on him.
"Her time is near," she said again. And then, when he did not reply to that, she asked, "But if you were not searching for your swan, who were you searching for?"
Gabriel considered her question carefully. Did she know about Josiah? There was no question, really, that his Hounds had been seen in the forest and in human form. But would someone have wanted to use that information to cripple the Hunt? Would they even realize how valuable such information would be?
"Josiah," Gabriel said. "One of my Hounds."
Something in his voice must have warned her, for she raised her hands and backed away, treading water as only a water-fae could do.
"I had not realized he was yours," she said. "I knew he was someone's, but he gave no indication that he was yours."
"You knew of him?" Gabriel heard his voice sharpen and tried to ignore the little flutter of hope that would not go away. "Did you see him tonight? We lost his trail near the waterfall."
"No. Not tonight." The water-fae frowned. "But I might know someone who did." When Gabriel would have spoken--demanding, perhaps, to see this person--she shook her head. "This person will not speak to you."
"Can you ask them, then?" Gabriel asked, hating to be in her debt but seeing no other way to find out if anyone had seen Josiah. "I would be in your debt."
She had to know how much it cost him to say that, but she did not remark upon it.
"I will see what I can do," she said. "But I cannot promise anything. He may not speak to me, either."
Gabriel nodded. "I will await your response then. And thank you, even if you discover nothing. Not many of your kind would do such a thing for one such as I."
"Not many of my kind have ever been owed a favor from the Master of the Hunt," she said, and smiled at him. "I will send word. And you will owe me nothing. Josiah was kind to me."
She was gone before he could reply, sinking out of sight into the deep pool as quickly as she had come and leaving Gabriel alone again, bereft anew at the thought of Josiah's disappearance.
He could not avoid facing his Hounds forever. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the pool, towards home.
A month passed before the water-faerie sent word, and her messenger waited outside Josiah's wards for an hour before the Hounds alerted Gabriel of her presence.
Or perhaps they had not seen her--the girl was no taller than the brownie who had gifted the Hunt with a clean house. Or, perhaps, and this was probably true--they did not wish to court his wrath for such a little thing. Gabriel knew his temper had flared far too often since Josiah vanished, but he could not seem to help himself. It was as if the entire Hunt had fallen into a morass of despair.
If he had never allowed them their human forms, then he wouldn't grieve for Josiah so badly.
He realized this logic was flawed, but it was the only coherent explanation he could come up with and not hate himself for punishing his Hounds. It was as if his subconscious mind was trying--with all its might--to forget that they had ever been human at all.
But despite his efforts, he could not forget.
When he stepped through the wards to face the girl, she actually curtsied, as if to a lord. She seemed a child, this girl, dressed in browns and greens, but her eyes were old.
"Maya sent me to tell you that her source did not see Josiah that night. And she has no reason not to trust his word."
"Tell Maya that I thank her for her kindness," Gabriel said, and the last thread of hope that Josiah would be found snapped inside his chest. It was a painful reminder of what he had lost.
Would it have been better, then, not to allow them their human forms in the first place? If that would mean Josiah would never have vanished--
Gabriel closed his eyes and struggled against the urge to lash out at something--or someone. This little faerie girl had done nothing wrong.
"She also asked for me to give you this," the girl said.
When Gabriel opened his eyes, he saw that she held out a white feather--a swan feather--and that her hand shook just a little bit, as if she had sensed some of his fury.
"She said your swan has been living with the Healer, Sennet."
"What do I care--" But he did care. Just as he cared about his Hounds, despite appearances. He took the feather from her grasp. Had something happened to Emle to cause her to go into the Healer's care? "Thank you."
"You can use that to find her," the girl said.
And then, perhaps, she would stop haunting him. Gabriel nodded. "Thank you," he said again. "I know where--I know where Sennet resides."
She nodded quickly and darted away into the forest, her job complete.
Gabriel stood for a moment and stared at the feather in his hand. He had two choices now: return to the house and listen to Malachi's silent struggles against the bindings that kept him a Hound, or use the feather as the fairy girl had suggested, and find Emle.
He could not face more of Malachi's despair. With a heavy heart, he dampened the bond between himself and his Hounds, and walked into the forest.
The very first time Erianthe changed from a human shaped baby into a white puppy, Emle knew she couldn't avoid Gabriel forever. She had stayed in Sennet's house, helping out with chores as her arm grew stronger, but she couldn't stay there forever, either.
And now, as she watched her daughter the puppy sleeping in her lap, she knew she could not delay.
"Can I help?" Sennet asked from the doorway. "I don't mean to intrude, but I can feel your thoughts."
"I think I made a mistake, leaving him," Emle said. "But will he take me back?"
The Healer had not commented on her daughter's sudden change, or the fact that she was, in essence, a baby Hound.
"There's only one way to find out," Sennet said gently. "And you know what way that is."
Emle smiled, although she didn't feel much like smiling. "Sometimes it's easier to wonder and not to act, but yes. I know what way it is." She stroked her daughter's soft fur, and then her soft skin as she shifted shape in her sleep.
Could his Hounds shift like this as well? Surely not; she would have noticed something during her time with them.
Or would she have noticed?
"Would you--" Emle glanced up at Sennet, knowing the Healer wouldn't refuse, but hesitating to ask her to babysit nonetheless. "Would you mind watching Eri if I do decide to go?" Before Sennet could reply, she rushed to fill in the silence. "Just in case. I--I am not afraid of her father, but I do not know how he will react."
Sennet's gaze sharpened. "And he will not harm you?"
Emle shook her head. "He will not harm me. He never did. But I do not think he ever considered the possibility of a--of a child."
Eri would change everything.
"Do you want to go now?" Sennet glanced out the window, where darkness reigned among the trees that surrounded her home. "It might be best to wait until morning. And what if you don't come back?"
"I'll come back," Emle said, and bent to kiss her daughter. "You needn't worry about that. By dawn, I hope--if all goes well."
The Healer did not look convinced, but Emle also knew that Sennet wouldn't try to stop her. This was the right thing to do, after all. Gabriel deserved to know. What he did with that information--whether he drove her out or welcomed her--and Eri--with open arms--was up to him.
"Be careful, then," Sennet said. "Your arm isn't fully healed yet. If you break it again--" But she backed her words with a smile. "Just be careful."
"Thank you, Sennet," Emle whispered in reply, and let herself out the front door.
Gabriel saw her emerge from the Healer's house, her arm in a sling but her manner more anxious than anything. She glanced back at the house as she vanished into the forest, as if she had left something behind, but she did not stop for it. Instead, she continued on her way, heading straight towards the Hunt's lair, as if she held a map of the forest in her head.
She seemed different, somehow; her skin almost glowing in the darkness, but he couldn't pinpoint the change. Was it just that he hadn't seen her in months?
It is near to her time, he heard the water fae--Maya--say in his mind. But what time was that? Would he find her again, only to lose her to sickness? Just the enchantment of her presence awoke both longing and regret, and they warred with each other as he followed her silently through the forest.
He remembered how it felt to hold her in his arms, and how that empty spot inside his heart had filled to bursting just with the beauty of her presence.
Gabriel followed her to the edge of the garden, where Josiah's wards still held true, despite his disappearance. He watched from the shadows as she hesitated, obviously waiting for someone to see her, and then, fearful that she would vanish again, he forced himself to speak.
"The wards are not closed to you, milady."
Emle did not jump or scream. Her good hand rose briefly to her mouth, as if to hold back a gasp, but she spoke steadily enough. "You followed me. I thought--I thought I sensed someone, but I wasn't certain."
"Did you find your kin?" That seemed to be a safe enough subject, perhaps; he truly did not know what else to say. He could not fall down on his knees and beg her to return--well, he could, but--
"No. I found no sign of them." Her smile brimmed with tears. "I am alone, just as I had feared."
"I am sorry to hear that," Gabriel said truthfully. "No one--No one should be alone unless they chose it. And you--you needn't be if you do not choose it, milady."
"But I left you," Emle whispered. "I--"
Gabriel shook his head. "That matters not, if you wish to return. I--ah--" Should he tell her about Josiah? "This has been a difficult time for me and my Hunt. Your presence would bring us joy." A piece of his mind--quite a large piece, in fact--could not believe he was speaking to her so calmly. "Perhaps I should have asked you to stay."
Tears spilled down Emle's cheeks and she raised her good hand to wipe them away. "I am sorry for leaving," she whispered. "I am so sorry."
He wanted to gather her into his arms, but he didn't know how she would react. He would be little more than a cad if he stood there and watched her cry, however, so he pushed aside his reservations and enveloped her into his embrace.
She pressed her head against her chest. "You are not angry?"
"Of course not," Gabriel whispered into her hair. "But I--I truly do not wish to lose you again." He would have never said such a thing before Josiah's disappearance, but now--what did dignity matter? He had lost a Hound to some unknown enemy, and with that, lost his desire to navigate through the intricacies of human speech.
Emle grew very still inside the shelter of his arms. For a moment, Gabriel thought he had said too much; that she would leave him bereft again, but when he stepped away from her, she did not flee.
"There is--more," she whispered.
Gabriel frowned. "Did someone harm you to bring you to the Healer?"
"No--not on purpose, at least. I was caught in a trap, but I do not think it was set for me." Emle hesitated. "When I left you--" She sighed. "There is no easy way to say this."
"Just tell me," Gabriel said. "I will not hate you for it; I promise you that."
Emle's eyes glistened with tears. "When I left you, I was pregnant, Gabriel. I did not know, at first, and by the time Sennet found me--"
For a long moment, Gabriel could only stare at her, stunned. He had not expected this. Not in a thousand years.
"By the time Sennet found me, it was very near to my time."
She is near to her time. The words reverbrated through Gabriel's skull. Maya had known. And he had been too thick-headed; too distraught to comprehend her words.
"And--" He had dto swallow twice before he could continue. "And the child?"
"A daughter," Emle said.
"Alive?" Gabriel discarded almost every word that tried to leave his lips. None of them could describe the terror--the exhilaration; the adrenalin--that coursed through his veins at her simple declaration.
Emle gasped. "Oh, yes! Of course! I asked Sennet to watch her. She is alive, and beautiful, and--" Another hesitation. "And very much the daughter of the Master of the Wild Hunt."
Daughter. Gabriel couldn't have been more shocked if Josiah had appeared at that very moment. He had never--quite--felt like this before.
What did you do with a baby? Would she be safe, here with the Hounds? Perhaps a child's presence would mollify Malachi a bit, or at least turn his despair into something else.
He realized, then, that he was standing there, silent, while Emle waited for his response. "I am--I am shocked." Shocked wasn't strong enough for the emotion he felt, but it would do for now. "When--Can I see her?"
"Of course!" Emle's smile banished her tears. "I told Sennet I would return by dawn. Eri was asleep."
"Eri--that is our daughter's name?"
"Erianthe--I've been calling her Eri for short," Emle said. "I hope you don't mind--"
"No, not at all," Gabriel said. "It is a lovely name, befit the--the daughter of the Master of the Wild Hunt." He smiled, and quite suddenly, Josiah's disappearance did not seem quite so--so final. Oh, he would still search for him--and never give up--and perhaps the rest of the Council or even Magdalen would discover the Hunt's secret, but there was a more important secret now.
"This Sennet--does she know?"
Emle did not seem surprised or confused about this question. "Does she know that you are Eri's father? No. Of course not. But she is a Healer."
And Healers were neutral. But even then, this was the kind of secret that couldn't be shared. "No one must know," Gabriel said. "At least not until after the Council's binding is broken--and perhaps even beyond that. My Hunt is not without enemies." And what would those enemies do if they knew Gabriel had fathered a child?
"I understand," Emle said, but Gabriel wondered if she truly did.
"Just by existing our daughter is in danger," Gabriel said. It was almost an apology.
"I know," Emle whispered. "But that doesn't change the fact that she exists."
"I will keep you safe," Gabriel promised, although he knew he could not promise that, since he had failed Josiah so badly. "Both of you."
Emle smiled. "You cannot promise me that. But that does not change my mind, if you'll have me--us--"
"Of course," Gabriel whispered, and gathered her into his arms again. "Of course."
He would worry about everything else after he held his daughter in his arms.
Late the next night, after he had marveled over his daughter's tiny fingers and toes, and coaxed a smile from her lips; after he had fashioned a room for Emle to sleep and a makeshift crib for Eri; after he had checked every inch of Josiah's wards and found them whole, he summoned Malachi to the library.
Malachi's anger and frustration was an ever-present hum in the back of Gabriel's mind. Even now, he struggled against the bindings Gabriel had placed on his ability to shift. He was useless in this frame of mind, no better than the dog he resembled.
With Emle's presence and Eri's existence, Gabriel needed his Hounds to be with him, not fighting him. He couldn't truly blame Malachi for his fury? He had always been able to shift, by his own concession. To take that small shred of freedom away--
It was almost surprising that his Hound hadn't tried to kill himself--if such a thing were possible.
When Malachi arrived--quickly enough, but warily--Gabriel released the bindings he had placed on his ability to shift.
"Speak to me." He kept his voice calm, despite the surge of emotion through the bond they shared. Could the others feel that he had shifted? "With no fear of reprisal. I promised Lucas that you would keep your life."
"I would have rather you killed me," Malachi whispered from behind him.
Gabriel turned to face his Hound. "Would you have?"
Malachi knelt on the ground, his muscles shaking, his cheeks wet with tears. When he glanced up at his Master, Gabriel almost retreated from the lost look in his gaze. "Yes." He flinched when he spoke, but did not look away. "My lord, I have given you my life and my loyalty. We all have. But to repay us like this--" His voice broke. "Please, my lord--" He closed his eyes. "You would not force your child to--"
"Someone stole Josiah and hid him so completely that even I cannot find him," Gabriel said, interrupting him before he said something they both would regret. "And you wonder why I did what I did?" He continued on before Malachi could speak, his voice growing colder as his anger increased. "Yes, Lucas knows you can shift shape. Thanks to you, he knows that all of you can shift shape. But if the rest of the Council discovers our secret--if Lucas tells them--then they will never set us free."
"You don't know that for certain," Malachi whispered, and dropped his gaze to the floor, expecting punishment.
Gabriel closed his eyes. It was an effort to remain calm, much less to speak without shouting. Or worse. "No, I don't. But after ninety years of servitude, I am loathe to tip any sense of a scale in their favor. And as for my child--my daughter was born with her shape. You were not. What do you think would happen if the Council found out about her?"
Malachi wrapped his arms around his stomach and bowed his head. "I understand. But that does not make it any easier to bear." He said this last with quiet desperation, his voice laden with unshed tears. "My lord--I would rather die than be forced to wear that shape for the rest of eternity."
When Gabriel did not respond, Malachi's trembling grew even more pronounced. "Please--"
"Why are you so different?" Gabriel asked. "The others seem content to accept my decision--for the most part--and yet you fight me at every turn."
"I don't know," Malachi whispered. He took a deep breath. "I gave you my loyalty, and you still have it. But I wish--"
"The Council's binding only holds for ten more years," Gabriel said. Ten years seemed an eternity now. "Once we are free of it--Once I am free of it, then we won't have to answer to them anymore. We will have nothing to hide." He had not intended to give them back their human forms, in truth. But why not? After the Council's binding expired, what reason did he have to refuse?
Malachi's throat worked. "You--You would allow--" He sighed. "Ten years is a long time, my lord."
"It's shorter than eternity," Gabriel said softly. It was the only compromise he was willing to entertain, despite the fact that Malachi truly had no choice.
Still, Gabriel would rather have Malachi's cooperation, especially in this.
"You could have just ordered me to submit and I would have had to obey." Malachi slowly stood. "Why offer me--us--this?"
"I did order you to submit," Gabriel said, avoiding his question. "And you disobeyed."
"I am sorry, my lord." His apology was automatic, as was his fear.
"Do not lie to me," Gabriel said. "I--Part of me understands your refusal to obey. However, I cannot condone dissent among my Hounds. Not now. Especially not now." He hesitated. "It is for your own safety that I force you to do this. Not because I regret my initial decision."
That wasn't entirely true, but Malachi did not have to know that.
Malachi took a deep breath. "I understand." He was silent for a moment, his eyes closed, his head bowed. "I will not fight you any longer, my lord."
"Thank you," Gabriel said. He was about to dismiss his Hound, but there was obviously something else on Malachi's mind.
"My lord--we won't stop searching for Josiah, will we?"
Gabriel had tried to access Josiah through the bond at least three times per day since his Hound's disappearance, without any luck at all. "No. We won't stop searching."
Malachi nodded. "And--if I may ask, my lord--what about your daughter?"
"What about my daughter?" Gabriel asked. "She will need protection from our enemies--and from the Council."
"I would protect her with my life, my lord," Malachi said without hesitation. And in that moment, any worry Gabriel had harbored about his Hounds and a baby melted away.
"Then I will give that task to you," he said, and watched as Malachi's entire attitude subtly shifted. Was it so easy, then, to just give him a job?
"Thank you." And then, before Gabriel could force him into the form of a Hound again, he shifted shape by himself and waited for his Master to renew the bindings that would ensure he could not shift.
With a heavy heart, Gabriel did so, half-expecting his Hound to protest. But Malachi only shuddered once and shook his head, keeping his end of his promise.
In ten years time, when the Hunt was freed from the Council's binding, Gabriel would have to keep his end of the promise. Until then, his Hounds would be Hounds, nothing more.
This is the end of Book 2. Book 3 will begin on June 29th.
It was bad enough that Malachi had gone to Lucas, and even worse that Lucas had felt it necessary to plead for the life of a Hound. What would the next decade bring? The end of the Council's binding had never looked so far away.
Gabriel walked for a half an hour before he reached the spot where Josiah had vanished. As his Hounds had discovered, there was no trace of a trail past the river. If he had fallen in--
The rocky ground impeded his journey to the bottom of the waterfall. There was no path, in truth; the thornbushes that grew up through the stones tried their best to snag his clothing and scratch his skin. At the bottom of the hill, the pool of water beyond the rocks and debris that had fallen free of the waterfall's face only gave him his reflection when he peered into the water.
If Josiah's body had been pinned beneath the pounding water--but no. That made no sense. The water would not act as a permanent barrier for the bond, or prevent him from finding his Hound. Someone had stolen Josiah. That was the only explanation.
A face that was not his own appeared in the pool, supplanting his reflection in the light of the moon. For a moment, the two faces were one, and then the water-fae rose out of the pool and shook her head, sending droplets flying from the tips of her ropelike hair.
Gabriel was surprised she had shown herself to him. It had been years since the Hunt had hunted the wild faerie folk who had taken up residence in the forest around Beth-Hill, but old memories lingered. And no one trusted the Hunt.
She waited for a moment, staring at him, her eyes full of moonlight. "Your Hounds were here, earlier, Master of the Hunt."
"They were searching for someone I've lost," Gabriel said, seeing no reason not to be civil.
She blinked at him, considering. "Your swan? She swam in my waters not long ago."
Now it was Gabriel's turn to blink and consider her words. He had not sensed Emle's return to the forest, but he had, in truth, not expected her to return. "They were not searching for Emle," he said, trying to quench the rise of emotion that accompanied her name. "But you say she is here?"
"Not for many days," the water-fae said. "She is close to her time."
"Time?" Gabriel stared at her. "What time?"
The water fae leaned forward on her elbows, her green-tinged breasts bobbing up out of the water. "She found no sign of her kin. That I have heard on the breeze. And she returned here for a reason, Master of the Hunt. But I have not seen her for many days."
"Why would she return here and not show herself to me?" Gabriel asked. He truly didn't expect the water-fae to answer, but she did, taking pity on him.
"Her time is near," she said again. And then, when he did not reply to that, she asked, "But if you were not searching for your swan, who were you searching for?"
Gabriel considered her question carefully. Did she know about Josiah? There was no question, really, that his Hounds had been seen in the forest and in human form. But would someone have wanted to use that information to cripple the Hunt? Would they even realize how valuable such information would be?
"Josiah," Gabriel said. "One of my Hounds."
Something in his voice must have warned her, for she raised her hands and backed away, treading water as only a water-fae could do.
"I had not realized he was yours," she said. "I knew he was someone's, but he gave no indication that he was yours."
"You knew of him?" Gabriel heard his voice sharpen and tried to ignore the little flutter of hope that would not go away. "Did you see him tonight? We lost his trail near the waterfall."
"No. Not tonight." The water-fae frowned. "But I might know someone who did." When Gabriel would have spoken--demanding, perhaps, to see this person--she shook her head. "This person will not speak to you."
"Can you ask them, then?" Gabriel asked, hating to be in her debt but seeing no other way to find out if anyone had seen Josiah. "I would be in your debt."
She had to know how much it cost him to say that, but she did not remark upon it.
"I will see what I can do," she said. "But I cannot promise anything. He may not speak to me, either."
Gabriel nodded. "I will await your response then. And thank you, even if you discover nothing. Not many of your kind would do such a thing for one such as I."
"Not many of my kind have ever been owed a favor from the Master of the Hunt," she said, and smiled at him. "I will send word. And you will owe me nothing. Josiah was kind to me."
She was gone before he could reply, sinking out of sight into the deep pool as quickly as she had come and leaving Gabriel alone again, bereft anew at the thought of Josiah's disappearance.
He could not avoid facing his Hounds forever. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the pool, towards home.
A month passed before the water-faerie sent word, and her messenger waited outside Josiah's wards for an hour before the Hounds alerted Gabriel of her presence.
Or perhaps they had not seen her--the girl was no taller than the brownie who had gifted the Hunt with a clean house. Or, perhaps, and this was probably true--they did not wish to court his wrath for such a little thing. Gabriel knew his temper had flared far too often since Josiah vanished, but he could not seem to help himself. It was as if the entire Hunt had fallen into a morass of despair.
If he had never allowed them their human forms, then he wouldn't grieve for Josiah so badly.
He realized this logic was flawed, but it was the only coherent explanation he could come up with and not hate himself for punishing his Hounds. It was as if his subconscious mind was trying--with all its might--to forget that they had ever been human at all.
But despite his efforts, he could not forget.
When he stepped through the wards to face the girl, she actually curtsied, as if to a lord. She seemed a child, this girl, dressed in browns and greens, but her eyes were old.
"Maya sent me to tell you that her source did not see Josiah that night. And she has no reason not to trust his word."
"Tell Maya that I thank her for her kindness," Gabriel said, and the last thread of hope that Josiah would be found snapped inside his chest. It was a painful reminder of what he had lost.
Would it have been better, then, not to allow them their human forms in the first place? If that would mean Josiah would never have vanished--
Gabriel closed his eyes and struggled against the urge to lash out at something--or someone. This little faerie girl had done nothing wrong.
"She also asked for me to give you this," the girl said.
When Gabriel opened his eyes, he saw that she held out a white feather--a swan feather--and that her hand shook just a little bit, as if she had sensed some of his fury.
"She said your swan has been living with the Healer, Sennet."
"What do I care--" But he did care. Just as he cared about his Hounds, despite appearances. He took the feather from her grasp. Had something happened to Emle to cause her to go into the Healer's care? "Thank you."
"You can use that to find her," the girl said.
And then, perhaps, she would stop haunting him. Gabriel nodded. "Thank you," he said again. "I know where--I know where Sennet resides."
She nodded quickly and darted away into the forest, her job complete.
Gabriel stood for a moment and stared at the feather in his hand. He had two choices now: return to the house and listen to Malachi's silent struggles against the bindings that kept him a Hound, or use the feather as the fairy girl had suggested, and find Emle.
He could not face more of Malachi's despair. With a heavy heart, he dampened the bond between himself and his Hounds, and walked into the forest.
Chapter 15.
The very first time Erianthe changed from a human shaped baby into a white puppy, Emle knew she couldn't avoid Gabriel forever. She had stayed in Sennet's house, helping out with chores as her arm grew stronger, but she couldn't stay there forever, either.
And now, as she watched her daughter the puppy sleeping in her lap, she knew she could not delay.
"Can I help?" Sennet asked from the doorway. "I don't mean to intrude, but I can feel your thoughts."
"I think I made a mistake, leaving him," Emle said. "But will he take me back?"
The Healer had not commented on her daughter's sudden change, or the fact that she was, in essence, a baby Hound.
"There's only one way to find out," Sennet said gently. "And you know what way that is."
Emle smiled, although she didn't feel much like smiling. "Sometimes it's easier to wonder and not to act, but yes. I know what way it is." She stroked her daughter's soft fur, and then her soft skin as she shifted shape in her sleep.
Could his Hounds shift like this as well? Surely not; she would have noticed something during her time with them.
Or would she have noticed?
"Would you--" Emle glanced up at Sennet, knowing the Healer wouldn't refuse, but hesitating to ask her to babysit nonetheless. "Would you mind watching Eri if I do decide to go?" Before Sennet could reply, she rushed to fill in the silence. "Just in case. I--I am not afraid of her father, but I do not know how he will react."
Sennet's gaze sharpened. "And he will not harm you?"
Emle shook her head. "He will not harm me. He never did. But I do not think he ever considered the possibility of a--of a child."
Eri would change everything.
"Do you want to go now?" Sennet glanced out the window, where darkness reigned among the trees that surrounded her home. "It might be best to wait until morning. And what if you don't come back?"
"I'll come back," Emle said, and bent to kiss her daughter. "You needn't worry about that. By dawn, I hope--if all goes well."
The Healer did not look convinced, but Emle also knew that Sennet wouldn't try to stop her. This was the right thing to do, after all. Gabriel deserved to know. What he did with that information--whether he drove her out or welcomed her--and Eri--with open arms--was up to him.
"Be careful, then," Sennet said. "Your arm isn't fully healed yet. If you break it again--" But she backed her words with a smile. "Just be careful."
"Thank you, Sennet," Emle whispered in reply, and let herself out the front door.
Gabriel saw her emerge from the Healer's house, her arm in a sling but her manner more anxious than anything. She glanced back at the house as she vanished into the forest, as if she had left something behind, but she did not stop for it. Instead, she continued on her way, heading straight towards the Hunt's lair, as if she held a map of the forest in her head.
She seemed different, somehow; her skin almost glowing in the darkness, but he couldn't pinpoint the change. Was it just that he hadn't seen her in months?
It is near to her time, he heard the water fae--Maya--say in his mind. But what time was that? Would he find her again, only to lose her to sickness? Just the enchantment of her presence awoke both longing and regret, and they warred with each other as he followed her silently through the forest.
He remembered how it felt to hold her in his arms, and how that empty spot inside his heart had filled to bursting just with the beauty of her presence.
Gabriel followed her to the edge of the garden, where Josiah's wards still held true, despite his disappearance. He watched from the shadows as she hesitated, obviously waiting for someone to see her, and then, fearful that she would vanish again, he forced himself to speak.
"The wards are not closed to you, milady."
Emle did not jump or scream. Her good hand rose briefly to her mouth, as if to hold back a gasp, but she spoke steadily enough. "You followed me. I thought--I thought I sensed someone, but I wasn't certain."
"Did you find your kin?" That seemed to be a safe enough subject, perhaps; he truly did not know what else to say. He could not fall down on his knees and beg her to return--well, he could, but--
"No. I found no sign of them." Her smile brimmed with tears. "I am alone, just as I had feared."
"I am sorry to hear that," Gabriel said truthfully. "No one--No one should be alone unless they chose it. And you--you needn't be if you do not choose it, milady."
"But I left you," Emle whispered. "I--"
Gabriel shook his head. "That matters not, if you wish to return. I--ah--" Should he tell her about Josiah? "This has been a difficult time for me and my Hunt. Your presence would bring us joy." A piece of his mind--quite a large piece, in fact--could not believe he was speaking to her so calmly. "Perhaps I should have asked you to stay."
Tears spilled down Emle's cheeks and she raised her good hand to wipe them away. "I am sorry for leaving," she whispered. "I am so sorry."
He wanted to gather her into his arms, but he didn't know how she would react. He would be little more than a cad if he stood there and watched her cry, however, so he pushed aside his reservations and enveloped her into his embrace.
She pressed her head against her chest. "You are not angry?"
"Of course not," Gabriel whispered into her hair. "But I--I truly do not wish to lose you again." He would have never said such a thing before Josiah's disappearance, but now--what did dignity matter? He had lost a Hound to some unknown enemy, and with that, lost his desire to navigate through the intricacies of human speech.
Emle grew very still inside the shelter of his arms. For a moment, Gabriel thought he had said too much; that she would leave him bereft again, but when he stepped away from her, she did not flee.
"There is--more," she whispered.
Gabriel frowned. "Did someone harm you to bring you to the Healer?"
"No--not on purpose, at least. I was caught in a trap, but I do not think it was set for me." Emle hesitated. "When I left you--" She sighed. "There is no easy way to say this."
"Just tell me," Gabriel said. "I will not hate you for it; I promise you that."
Emle's eyes glistened with tears. "When I left you, I was pregnant, Gabriel. I did not know, at first, and by the time Sennet found me--"
For a long moment, Gabriel could only stare at her, stunned. He had not expected this. Not in a thousand years.
"By the time Sennet found me, it was very near to my time."
She is near to her time. The words reverbrated through Gabriel's skull. Maya had known. And he had been too thick-headed; too distraught to comprehend her words.
"And--" He had dto swallow twice before he could continue. "And the child?"
"A daughter," Emle said.
"Alive?" Gabriel discarded almost every word that tried to leave his lips. None of them could describe the terror--the exhilaration; the adrenalin--that coursed through his veins at her simple declaration.
Emle gasped. "Oh, yes! Of course! I asked Sennet to watch her. She is alive, and beautiful, and--" Another hesitation. "And very much the daughter of the Master of the Wild Hunt."
Daughter. Gabriel couldn't have been more shocked if Josiah had appeared at that very moment. He had never--quite--felt like this before.
What did you do with a baby? Would she be safe, here with the Hounds? Perhaps a child's presence would mollify Malachi a bit, or at least turn his despair into something else.
He realized, then, that he was standing there, silent, while Emle waited for his response. "I am--I am shocked." Shocked wasn't strong enough for the emotion he felt, but it would do for now. "When--Can I see her?"
"Of course!" Emle's smile banished her tears. "I told Sennet I would return by dawn. Eri was asleep."
"Eri--that is our daughter's name?"
"Erianthe--I've been calling her Eri for short," Emle said. "I hope you don't mind--"
"No, not at all," Gabriel said. "It is a lovely name, befit the--the daughter of the Master of the Wild Hunt." He smiled, and quite suddenly, Josiah's disappearance did not seem quite so--so final. Oh, he would still search for him--and never give up--and perhaps the rest of the Council or even Magdalen would discover the Hunt's secret, but there was a more important secret now.
"This Sennet--does she know?"
Emle did not seem surprised or confused about this question. "Does she know that you are Eri's father? No. Of course not. But she is a Healer."
And Healers were neutral. But even then, this was the kind of secret that couldn't be shared. "No one must know," Gabriel said. "At least not until after the Council's binding is broken--and perhaps even beyond that. My Hunt is not without enemies." And what would those enemies do if they knew Gabriel had fathered a child?
"I understand," Emle said, but Gabriel wondered if she truly did.
"Just by existing our daughter is in danger," Gabriel said. It was almost an apology.
"I know," Emle whispered. "But that doesn't change the fact that she exists."
"I will keep you safe," Gabriel promised, although he knew he could not promise that, since he had failed Josiah so badly. "Both of you."
Emle smiled. "You cannot promise me that. But that does not change my mind, if you'll have me--us--"
"Of course," Gabriel whispered, and gathered her into his arms again. "Of course."
He would worry about everything else after he held his daughter in his arms.
Late the next night, after he had marveled over his daughter's tiny fingers and toes, and coaxed a smile from her lips; after he had fashioned a room for Emle to sleep and a makeshift crib for Eri; after he had checked every inch of Josiah's wards and found them whole, he summoned Malachi to the library.
Malachi's anger and frustration was an ever-present hum in the back of Gabriel's mind. Even now, he struggled against the bindings Gabriel had placed on his ability to shift. He was useless in this frame of mind, no better than the dog he resembled.
With Emle's presence and Eri's existence, Gabriel needed his Hounds to be with him, not fighting him. He couldn't truly blame Malachi for his fury? He had always been able to shift, by his own concession. To take that small shred of freedom away--
It was almost surprising that his Hound hadn't tried to kill himself--if such a thing were possible.
When Malachi arrived--quickly enough, but warily--Gabriel released the bindings he had placed on his ability to shift.
"Speak to me." He kept his voice calm, despite the surge of emotion through the bond they shared. Could the others feel that he had shifted? "With no fear of reprisal. I promised Lucas that you would keep your life."
"I would have rather you killed me," Malachi whispered from behind him.
Gabriel turned to face his Hound. "Would you have?"
Malachi knelt on the ground, his muscles shaking, his cheeks wet with tears. When he glanced up at his Master, Gabriel almost retreated from the lost look in his gaze. "Yes." He flinched when he spoke, but did not look away. "My lord, I have given you my life and my loyalty. We all have. But to repay us like this--" His voice broke. "Please, my lord--" He closed his eyes. "You would not force your child to--"
"Someone stole Josiah and hid him so completely that even I cannot find him," Gabriel said, interrupting him before he said something they both would regret. "And you wonder why I did what I did?" He continued on before Malachi could speak, his voice growing colder as his anger increased. "Yes, Lucas knows you can shift shape. Thanks to you, he knows that all of you can shift shape. But if the rest of the Council discovers our secret--if Lucas tells them--then they will never set us free."
"You don't know that for certain," Malachi whispered, and dropped his gaze to the floor, expecting punishment.
Gabriel closed his eyes. It was an effort to remain calm, much less to speak without shouting. Or worse. "No, I don't. But after ninety years of servitude, I am loathe to tip any sense of a scale in their favor. And as for my child--my daughter was born with her shape. You were not. What do you think would happen if the Council found out about her?"
Malachi wrapped his arms around his stomach and bowed his head. "I understand. But that does not make it any easier to bear." He said this last with quiet desperation, his voice laden with unshed tears. "My lord--I would rather die than be forced to wear that shape for the rest of eternity."
When Gabriel did not respond, Malachi's trembling grew even more pronounced. "Please--"
"Why are you so different?" Gabriel asked. "The others seem content to accept my decision--for the most part--and yet you fight me at every turn."
"I don't know," Malachi whispered. He took a deep breath. "I gave you my loyalty, and you still have it. But I wish--"
"The Council's binding only holds for ten more years," Gabriel said. Ten years seemed an eternity now. "Once we are free of it--Once I am free of it, then we won't have to answer to them anymore. We will have nothing to hide." He had not intended to give them back their human forms, in truth. But why not? After the Council's binding expired, what reason did he have to refuse?
Malachi's throat worked. "You--You would allow--" He sighed. "Ten years is a long time, my lord."
"It's shorter than eternity," Gabriel said softly. It was the only compromise he was willing to entertain, despite the fact that Malachi truly had no choice.
Still, Gabriel would rather have Malachi's cooperation, especially in this.
"You could have just ordered me to submit and I would have had to obey." Malachi slowly stood. "Why offer me--us--this?"
"I did order you to submit," Gabriel said, avoiding his question. "And you disobeyed."
"I am sorry, my lord." His apology was automatic, as was his fear.
"Do not lie to me," Gabriel said. "I--Part of me understands your refusal to obey. However, I cannot condone dissent among my Hounds. Not now. Especially not now." He hesitated. "It is for your own safety that I force you to do this. Not because I regret my initial decision."
That wasn't entirely true, but Malachi did not have to know that.
Malachi took a deep breath. "I understand." He was silent for a moment, his eyes closed, his head bowed. "I will not fight you any longer, my lord."
"Thank you," Gabriel said. He was about to dismiss his Hound, but there was obviously something else on Malachi's mind.
"My lord--we won't stop searching for Josiah, will we?"
Gabriel had tried to access Josiah through the bond at least three times per day since his Hound's disappearance, without any luck at all. "No. We won't stop searching."
Malachi nodded. "And--if I may ask, my lord--what about your daughter?"
"What about my daughter?" Gabriel asked. "She will need protection from our enemies--and from the Council."
"I would protect her with my life, my lord," Malachi said without hesitation. And in that moment, any worry Gabriel had harbored about his Hounds and a baby melted away.
"Then I will give that task to you," he said, and watched as Malachi's entire attitude subtly shifted. Was it so easy, then, to just give him a job?
"Thank you." And then, before Gabriel could force him into the form of a Hound again, he shifted shape by himself and waited for his Master to renew the bindings that would ensure he could not shift.
With a heavy heart, Gabriel did so, half-expecting his Hound to protest. But Malachi only shuddered once and shook his head, keeping his end of his promise.
In ten years time, when the Hunt was freed from the Council's binding, Gabriel would have to keep his end of the promise. Until then, his Hounds would be Hounds, nothing more.
This is the end of Book 2. Book 3 will begin on June 29th.
House St. Clair Home
Read more!
