‘For two hundred years I have been bound by my oath that I would not use my powers for personal gain, nor for the gain of my people. In return we would be allowed to come here and live in quiet harmony in a place unbound by iron.’

He didn’t say whom he’d sworn his oath to, though Charles rather thought it didn’t matter. For one such as this fae, an oath sworn to a child was as valid as an oath sworn to a king or the pope.

Tipping his bloody blade toward the body on the ground, Beauclaire said, quietly,‘The time of that oath is past, broken by this man and by those who freed him without regard to justice. I reclaim my magic for me and for my people. Our day begins anew.’

Then he raised the dripping sword up toward the sky and announced harshly,‘We, the fae, declare ourselves free of the laws of the United States of America. We do not recognize them. They have no authority over us. From this moment forward we are our own sovereign nation, claiming as our own those lands ceded to us. We will treat with you, as one hostile nation treats with another, until such time as it seems us good to do elsewise. I, Alistair Beauclaire, once and again Gwyn ap Lugh, Prince of the Gray Lords, do so determine. All will abide my wishes.’

The white horse raised his front feet and spun, bounding down the stairs and back through the path the other riders had made for him. As the white horse ran, a white mist rose behind him, covering them all for a moment before dissipating, taking with it all the fae.

Senator Heuter dropped to his knees to mourn his son. *

The Marrok let himself into his son’s house. Charles had flown home the night before – all the way from Boston. He’d decided to quit taking commercial flights until security no longer required him to watch others pat down his mate. Bran couldn’t argue with his logic, but they had arrived late and gone straight home. Bran hadtried to let them sleep in, but the need to make sure they were safe had overridden his sense of courtesy.

He walked soundlessly down the hall to the bedroom.

Charles lay on the bed with Anna sprawled bonelessly on top of him, her hair covering her face. Bran smiled, pleased that his son was happy. No matter what else was wrong, and he was very afraid that a lot was going to be wrong in very short order thanks to the unexpected move by the usually cautious fae, the knowledge that Charles was going to be all right was satisfying. In that moment, watching his son sleep, he understood Beauclaire’s actions entirely.

Charles’s eyes slit open, bright gold.

‘Sleep for a little while, Brother Wolf,’ Bran murmured very softly. ‘I’ll keep watch until you wake.’

‘The fae have retreated to their reservations,’ Da said as he served Anna pancakes. His da liked to make pancakes for breakfast, but the deer-shaped ones were a new thing. Charles tried not to analyze his father when he could avoid it.

‘What about the humans?’ Anna asked. ‘The reservation bureaucracy?’ She didn’t seem bothered by the pancakes.

He’d woken up after flying from Boston to Montana to find his da cooking breakfast for them: sausage and pancakes shaped like deer. It wasn’t just any deer, either – they looked like Bambi from the Disney cartoon. Charles didn’t want to know how his father had managed that.

Charles preferred his deer to taste like meat and his pancakes to look like pancakes. Brother Wolf thought he was too picky. Brother Wolf was probably right.

‘The humans were driven out and the gates closed against them. Army helicopters sent to surveil the area can’t seem to find the reservations to fly over them.’

Charles snorted.‘Typical fae stuff.’

‘They’ve approached me,’ Da said.

Charles put down his fork. Anna, being Anna, took the spatula out of his da’s hand and tugged him down to sit with them. She didn’t say anything, just piled up some pancakes on a plate, poured maple syrup over them, and handed them to his da.

‘What did they say?’ asked Charles.

‘They apologized for the disruption their actions will have on our ability to integrate with human society.’ He ate a bite of pancake and closed his eyes. ‘They thanked me for my son’s help in the matter of Les Heuter.’

‘The fae thanked you?’ asked Charles. The fae didn’t thank anyone, nor was it wise to thank the fae: it put you in their power.

His father nodded.‘Then they asked me to meet with them to discuss matters of diplomacy.’

‘What did you say?’

His father smiled briefly, ate another bite of pancake.‘I told them I’d consider it. I don’t intend to let them force me into following their lead.’

Anna held up her glass of orange juice in a formal toast.‘To interesting times,’ she said.

His da leaned over and kissed her forehead.

Charles smiled and took a bite of his deer pancake. It tasted just fine.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

No story is written alone. I’d like to thank the usual suspects as well as Supervisory Special Agent Randy Jarvis, Public Affairs Specialist Katherine Gulotta, and Special Agent Greg Comcowich of the Boston FBI for the time and effort they spent so I had a chance at getting things right. Thanks also go to the fine people ofthe Ghosts& Gravestones Tour of Boston. You rock. Though I have to say, if I never hear the phrase‘Boston Molassacre’ again, it will be too soon. Brenda Wahler sent critical information at just the right moment. Thank you.

As always, if this book is enjoyable, it is their fault– all mistakes are mine.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Patricia Briggs lived a fairly normal life until she learned to read. After that she spent lazy afternoons flying dragon-back and looking for magic swords when she wasn’t horseback riding in the Rocky Mountains. Once she graduated from Montana State University with degrees in history and German, she spent her time substitute teaching and writing. She and her family live in the Pacific Northwest, and you can visit her website at www.patriciabriggs.com

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