Truthseeker

Lara pursed her lips, studying him, then nodded. “Good choice,” she said quietly. “Platitudes and reassurance wouldn’t have been as good an answer, even if you meant them well.” She turned back to the king, well aware she’d dismissed him once already and that he would be unhappy with her.

Fair enough; she wasn’t especially happy with him. “You don’t look like you’ve been fighting, and this doesn’t look like an entire army. Are you really at war already, or are you just a vanguard?” Just, she realized an instant too late, was a poor choice of words: a king would not appreciate being just anything.

“My host and I have ridden to see our enemies’ numbers,” Dafydd’s father said tightly. “They’re far greater than our own, and the magics I have left behind will only stymie them for so long. Until dawn, if we’re fortunate. The battle will happen then. You spoke of an attack.” His attention went from Lara to Dafydd, as though she was unworthy of answering.

“Nightwings,” Dafydd said. “At least a dozen of them. When was the last time they plagued us, Father? Not since Rhia

The king went still, as though his iciness had taken over even himself. “They have come forth a time or two since then, but never in force. They’re mindless creatures and must be controlled by someone of strong will.”

“You mean royalty,” Dafydd said softly, and his father’s lip curled.

“The Unseelie court is a blight on this land. Come dawn, we will wipe them from it.”

“Dawn,” Lara repeated. “How many hours away is that?” She heard Dafydd’s indrawn breath, and wondered at it before realizing she had repeatedly spoken to the king as an equal. That was almost certainly not to be done, and he gave her a cold look before deigning to respond.

“Some ten or eleven. Moonrise is not so far behind us yet.”

“Then by your majesty’s leave,” Lara said, and for a rarity was able to revel in sarcasm and sincerity as one, “I’d like to go to your headquarters and see if I can’t get to the heart of this mess before an army shows up on your doorstep.”

Any sensible choice, Lara thought, would have put her on horseback with one of the armored guard who rode with the king, and Dafydd on another. One unarmored person riding with an armored one had to be more comfortable than two armored people riding together.

Still, one of the guard had chosen to ride with another, leaving her horse free for Dafydd and Lara to share. Lara was mostly grateful: her sole experience with horses was a childhood memory of one stepping on her foot. It hadn’t hurt much. The ground had been soft and its broad hoof had simply pushed her sandaled toes into the earth, but it had left a lasting impression of the animals’ size and strength. She had been wary of them ever since, much to the disapproval of her horse-crazed classmates in elementary school.

Gratitude, though, was mixed with pique. She was almost certain she’d been saddled with Dafydd because none of the elfin riders were willing to sully themselves by riding with a human, and that the one who’d offered up her horse had chosen discomfort over contamination. Lara would have been offended, if the arrangements hadn’t granted her the chance to mutter, “I think you’d better fill in the blanks,” at Dafydd as they rode. “Starting with who are the Unseelie, why are they coming to war, why you called Merrick your brother when he’s not, and why it didn’t sound like a lie.”

“Because he is,” Dafydd answered softly, and there was no discordance in his voice, though there’d been none in his father’s, either, when he’d disavowed Merrick ap A

A dozen questions crowded through Lara’s mind, and the one that came out was the least important: “Are they second sons?”

“Firstborns. Ioan and Merrick are heirs to the thrones. It was when I was born that the treaty was made. Emyr’s luck in having sons worried Hafgan. With a second heir, my father might have risked trying to push the Unseelie back into the waters they came from.”

Lara closed her teeth on a second rush of questions, frowning at the horse’s alert ears. There was no visible road ahead of them, only forest and meadows, but the animals went with confidence, following a path she couldn’t see. The horse flicked an ear, as if aware she was paying attention to it, and Lara shook herself, trying to clear her mind. “The Unseelie are …?”

“The other peoples of the Barrow-land.” Dafydd drew breath to explain further, and Lara raised a hand sharply, cutting him off. Then she snatched at the saddle—there was no horn, the leather cut more like the English saddles she’d seen in a few movies than like the Western ones she was more familiar with—and clenched her stomach, uncertain of her balance.

Dafydd slipped an arm around her waist, warm and reassuring. Lara released her white-knuckled grip on the saddle carefully, relaxing incrementally against Dafydd. “Thanks. I’m not used to riding. And the Unseelie came from the ocean?” Her voice went up dubiously on the last word, earning Dafydd’s chuckle.

“So our legends tell us.” For a second time he started to say more, and Lara shook her head, not trusting herself to raise a hand again. The horse snorted, sounding for all the world like it was making commentary on her fear. She blinked, then, daring brought on by amusement, she patted the animal’s shoulder.

“I don’t need all the history. I just need enough to understand. Why did they exchange their firstborns? I thought second sons were more usual.” Insofar as she’d ever thought about it at all, at least. Lara could hardly imagine anyone in the modern world participating in exchanges of that nature.

“We—both Seelie and Unseelie—live a very long time. One of the prices we pay is that we have very few children. When Ioan and Merrick were the only heirs, warfare was rarely devastating, because neither king would risk their only child. When I was born, Emyr had an advantage. It was Hafgan’s idea to exchange the firstborns.”

“Better to not raise his own son than to risk losing him in battle?” Lara shook her head. “Wasn’t ‘not fighting’ an option?”

“The Barrow-lands are small,” Dafydd said with a shrug. “Before the Unseelie came from the oceans, there was enough land for the Seelie. Since they came, though, we’ve fought over the earth time and again.”

“How long ago was that?”

Dafydd shook his head, movement felt rather than seen. “As long as I can remember.”

Lara twisted to see him, wondering how long that might be. The horse side-stepped and snorted irritably. One of the guards, another woman, caught its bridle with an easy grip. “It is time immemorial to most of us since the Unseelie came from the oceans and began to fight us for our green growing places. I am Aerin,” she added with the air of someone unaccustomed to introducing herself.

“I’m Lara. It’s nice to meet you.” The perfunctory phrase was one Lara had learned she could say without discomfort creeping over her. Aerin’s hair was blue in the moonlight, and her eyes yellow, disconcerting colors that emphasized a lack of humanity. Lara glanced away, then back again, not wanting to be rude either by dismissing the woman or staring at her.

“And you,” Aerin said after a moment’s silence. Then she inclined her head toward Dafydd, murmuring a phrase Lara didn’t catch, then saying his name in a more familiar ma

“Aerin.” Dafydd loosened his arm from around Lara to take the Seelie woman’s hand briefly, a smile in his voice. “How long has it been?”

A sting of envy stiffened Lara’s spine and the beleaguered horse huffed again, obviously displeased with her seat. Chastened, she tried to relax again. She’d met Dafydd only a few days earlier, and could hardly hold old friendships against him.