Bad Boy's Bard, page 25
“Of course.” Gareth let Niall lead him into the trees behind the dais. In the old days, this would have been Niall’s ploy to get Gareth alone for a bit of lovemaking, but his expression was entirely too somber for that.
They arrived at a small clearing next to a chiming brook. Peadar was there, holding something wrapped in a linen cloth. He handed it to Niall and sped off into the underbrush.
Niall studied the bundle for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Herne brought this to Eamon while you and the band were playing.” He unfolded the cloth to display the horn, its leather strap coiled neatly around the base.
“Herne. He was here?”
Niall nodded. “He said—he said that it’s done.”
“The three of them are gone then. Rodric, Fionbarr, and—
“My father.”
Gareth gripped Niall’s arms. “I know you didn’t see eye to eye with him. I know he’s done terrible things, but he was still your father. You must feel—”
Niall huffed out a laugh. “Will you think I’m mad if I say that no matter how much I hated him for what he did to Eamon, to you, to me, that I still craved his affection?”
“Not at all. I never had a father to speak of—although I heard that the fae who spawned us at Arawn’s orders was a fellow who’d been cuckolded. I’ve always wondered if that’s why the three of us have never been interested in female companionship. When he created us, he made bloody damned sure we’d never be a threat to him.”
As Gareth had hoped, Niall laughed. “I expect Tiarnach wished he’d had as much control over his own sons. He certainly never acted as if he was pleased with us, and Eamon did his best to please.”
“You didn’t?”
Again that self-deprecating smile. “I did my best to piss him well off. It was the only attention I ever got from him. Although considering events, perhaps I should have been content with being neglected instead.”
Niall tucked the linen around the horn again and laid it in a stony recess next to the brook. The half-dozen symbols carved above the opening marked it as a mini-portal, Faerie’s version of express delivery. Sure enough, a moment later, the horn vanished. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He stared at the empty spot for a moment, then sighed again. “I . . . I have to leave.”
“Are you—” Gareth’s voice cracked. “You’re not breaking up with me, are you?”
Niall cupped Gareth’s jaw. “No. Never. But I can’t be nothing more than your . . .” Niall’s gaze lost focus for an instant, in a way Gareth was coming to recognize. “. . . your groupie.”
“Did the ethera feed you that word?”
He chuckled. “Yes.”
“It’s your doing that they’re able to return to Faerie. Just like you demanded recognition—literally—for the musicians. You’ve done good things.”
“Ah well. The ethera have done their bit for me. Seemed fitting I’d give something back.” He smiled wryly. “And I’ve always had a soft spot for musicians.”
“You could do more of the same. Your brother is the king. Surely he’d grant you a position at court.”
“An offer born of obligation rather than suitability? What a disaster that would be.” He stroked down Gareth’s arms and laced their fingers together, his gaze on their linked hands. “I can’t be your true partner if I don’t have my own purpose. That’s why the fae have dwindled so over the years—we have no context, no place, in the Outer World anymore.”
Gareth’s fingers tightened around Niall’s. “After all this time, I don’t want to be without you again.”
“Nor I without you. But think about it, love. You have the band, a career, a life that you’ve built. As for me, during the past two hundred years, I’ve done nothing but haul scrap metal around the underworld and work giant bellows in between getting flogged to within an inch of my life. What can I offer you?”
“You don’t need to offer me anything but yourself. We don’t need the money—”
“It’s not that. I’m not good with idleness. Call it my Unseelie nature, but when I get bored, I cause trouble.”
Gareth nudged Niall’s jaw with his knuckles in an attempt to lighten the mood, although he still couldn’t quite catch his breath. “You’re a Bad Boy. Tiff called it the minute she met you.”
“Aye, well, I can’t deny it. But I’m trying to be better. I’ve been talking to Eamon about an idea I’ve had. Remember how you wanted to pull me out of Faerie because of Fionbarr’s rules about all fae and only fae being present during the Convergence?”
“Hard to forget, considering.”
“Seems Fionbarr was full of shite. He only wanted all fae inside for the Convergence so he could draw on their energy in an emergency—oh, and because his spell would blow out the walls between the worlds and he placed more value on fae lives than he did on humans. But just because a fae wasn’t inside Faerie when the spheres converged doesn’t mean they died.”
“So that means—”
Niall nodded. “They could still be out there. The Disappeared—Cornish, Manx, Bretons. All the other Celtic fae who’ve vanished over the years.”
Gareth’s breath steadied, his grin growing despite Niall’s solemn expression. “You want to bring them home.”
“At least let them know they’d be welcome should they return.” Niall frowned. “Wait—how do you know about that? And what’s so damned funny?”
Gareth snaked his arms around Niall’s neck, and thank the Goddess, Niall didn’t pull away. “You’re not the only one who’s been planning a quest.”
Niall snorted. “It’s not a quest. I’m not one of Arthur’s bloody knights.”
“Of course you’re not. They were a bunch of bloodthirsty arseholes, except for the ones who were insufferable prigs. You’re much better. But it’s still a quest.”
“Fine. It’s a quest. But that still doesn’t tell me why you know about it.”
“Because Alun and Bryce broached the same subject. Their Majesties have approved a campaign to locate the Disappeared, find out why they left, and if they’re willing, bring them home.”
Niall’s face took on the yearning look he sometimes wore when Gareth nattered on about the band or music. He’s never had a rewarding occupation, something to make him feel worthwhile. “It’s a go then? I can do it?”
“Yes. With any means necessary, you’re to remove the impediments to their repatriation. Make sure they know they have a choice now, a real choice.”
“‘Any means,’ eh? That’s a dangerous mandate, considering my track record.”
Gareth pressed a kiss on Niall’s smiling mouth. “They count on me to keep you in check, I think. You can’t get too wild and reckless if you know that should something happen to you again . . .” Gareth locked gazes with Niall, willing him to understand. “Well, I’m not sure I’d survive it.”
“Ah shite, Gareth. Way to put pressure on a bloke.”
“I don’t mean to. Or not much. But we’ve wasted so much time, Niall. Isn’t it our turn now? To be happy? To stage our own convergence?”
“You more than anyone know that the worlds aren’t always fair, but I’d say we’ve both paid a fair chunk of dues.” Niall stroked Gareth’s cheek with a fingertip. “We’ve earned our happiness. We’ll make our home in the Outer World. You’ll have the band, and I’ll take on this bloody ‘quest’ so I won’t be underfoot.”
“Don’t lie. You don’t think it’s a ‘bloody’ quest at all. You love the idea.”
“I do. But not nearly as much as I love you.” Niall threaded his fingers through Gareth’s hair and dove in for a kiss that rivaled the heat of the Abyss. When Gareth pulled back, they were both panting, grinding against one another, Gareth with a double handful of Niall’s ass.
“I should tell you,” Gareth said, voice hoarse with desire.
“The only thing you need to tell me is where we can be alone.”
“I can do that.”
“Thank the Goddess. Now—”
“But the quest. There’s a catch.”
Niall rolled his eyes, then ducked down to press his mouth to Gareth’s throat. “Of course there is. What?”
“You’re not the only one who needs a new job. I’m afraid you’ll have a co-quester: my brother, Mal.”
Niall laughed, his lips vibrating against Gareth’s skin. “Their Majesties are going to trust the two of us on the loose with royal command to do whatever it takes?”
“I’ll warn you—there’s serious book being made on whether the two of you can accomplish anything without running afoul of the laws, here and in the Outer World both. Or for that matter, killing each other and leaving both Bryce and me to waste away in mourning.”
“Is that so, love?” Niall kissed his way up Gareth’s neck until he could gaze at Gareth, grinning wickedly. “Care to place a little wager on that?”
Gareth returned the grin, snugging Niall’s groin more firmly against his own. “I would never bet against a Bad Boy. Not one with your reputation.”
“Wise man.” Niall’s grin faded into a tender smile. “But if you want a sure thing, here’s a tip: the smart money’s on happily ever after. For both of us.”
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E.J. Russell holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant. Several years ago, she realized Darling Sons A and B would be heading off to college soon and she’d no longer need to spend half her waking hours ferrying them to dance class.
What to do with all that free time?
A lucky encounter with Jim Butcher’s craft blog posts caused her to revisit her childhood dream of writing fiction, and now she wonders why she ever thought an empty nest meant leisure.
Her daily commute consists of walking from one side of her office to the other—from left-brain day job to right-brain writer’s cave—where she’s learned to type with a dog attached to her hip and a cat draped across her wrists.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, C.H. also loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
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E.J. Russell, Bad Boy's Bard
