Dani Harper: Storm Bound

Black Mountains, Wales

A.D. 1124

Heavy muscles bulged as the tall man strained repeatedly against the fine silver chains that bound him, wrist and ankle, to the high stone wall of the courtyard.

“Such an ungrateful mortal you are, Aidan ap Llanfor,” she chided. “Is it not an honor to be a guest of the Tylwyth Teg?”

He lunged at her, but though she stood within an arm’s length of him, she neither recoiled nor shrank. Aidan’s chains had been forged with faery magic, and as such they would not break, not even for the largest bwgan , much less a human. The man’s iron-gray eyes, however—were they daggers, she would be pierced, she thought, and her sapphire blood would be poisoned and pooling around her delicate silk slippers.

For the briefest of moments, she felt something, and she thrilled to it, eager for more. But Aidan immediately bridled his anger, reining it back like a blood-crazed warhorse. It was as if he could sense her craving for emotion—any emotion—and refused to give it to her.

“I have not sought to visit your land,” he gritted out between his teeth. “Nor have I trespassed upon it. I have given thee no cause to bring me here against my will.”

“Are you so certain of that? I seem to remember a bold and comely child playing on the faery mound beyond the village. Such a dear little wooden sword he had, hacking at bushes and slicing at trees like they were dreadful monsters.”

The tiniest jolt of surprise flickered briefly behind the man’s glare. Celynnen derived great satisfaction from his reaction, although in truth it also puzzled her. How was it that mortals remembered so little when their lives were so short? Years had passed for him, but for her? It was scarcely a day ago that Aidan ap Llanfor had traded his wooden sword for the business of adults, mere hours since he’d apprenticed to the village blacksmith, moments since he’d inherited the forge and took over the business. She had observed it all, fascinated, in the way that a cat is fascinated by a bird.

“I could have spirited you away that first time,” she continued, “simply for setting foot on fae territory. But it was much more fun to watch you. You played often at the mound, though you saw me not. I was witness to not one but many trespasses, Aidan ap Llanfor. You’ve lived your life thus far in your tiny mortal world only because I permitted it.”

“A child is not held accountable for things he knows not of.”

“Human rules,” she sniffed. “Why do you waste so much time making them when you have such fleeting lives? You’re like the mayflies that dance above the water for less than a day. The Tylwyth Teg are ancient beyond your ability to grasp, and our laws are ancient too—made once, to stand for all time. And by those laws, you are mine to do with as I like.”

“Release me, Faery,” he said in a dangerous tone.

“Think you to make demands?” She laughed and shook back her hair, well aware of her unearthly beauty and its near-hypnotic effects on most mortals. The man would perceive a tall woman of flawless perfection, a goddess in his eyes—especially since her skin glowed with living light. Her luminous white hair flowed to her hips like a frozen waterfall, tumbling over her vivid red gown. To a human, her dazzling eyes were every color at once and none of them. “Know to whom you speak,” she declared. “I am Celynnen of the House of Thorn of the Tylwyth Teg, and my blood is pure.”

“You are a tywysoges , then, a princess of the Fair Ones.”

She shook her head. “ The princess, human. My great-aunt is the queen, and she is childless. Therefore, I alone am heir to the throne of the Nine Realms.”

He gave her the slightest of nods, a scant acknowledgment of her station, and not one mote of reverence more.

Others had died for less, and Celynnen could have killed him herself if she’d been so inclined. Still, for the sake of the entertainment he afforded her, she could forgive him much—for a time. She had often watched him at his forge, hammering hot metals into clever shapes, particularly that most fearful of all elements, iron. Years of striking sparks amidst the glow of flames had not bent his tall frame; they only had added strength. Even when he was clad in his dull brown tunic and scarred leather apron, his face streaked with soot and sweat as he labored over his latest project, she had had to admit that the comely child had grown into a very attractive man. Her people often took human lovers, and she had begun to consider the delicious possibilities.

This morning, however, Aidan had not gone to his forge as usual. He had not donned his rough blacksmith’s clothing either. Instead, he had bathed at length and dressed in what passed for finery among these common mortals. His blue woolen tunic was open at the neck to reveal a pale linen shirt beneath. His dark rectangular cloak was newly made and clasped with a large heavy brooch that she had not seen before. It was round, a Celtic cross set with five large garnets. It was a gift that a woman would give, and only a human woman could have done so.

Annwyl.

The raven-haired Annwyl of the village of Aberhonddu was the woman whom Aidan ap Llanfor planned to marry. Today. And that’s when Celynnen made her decision to spirit him away to the kingdom far below the Black Mountains.

“Release me, Your Grace,” he said.

The significance of the royal title was not lost on her. It was hardly filled with admiration and awe, but it was devoid of sarcasm. This was not a man who would beg, ever—but she had just won a major concession from him. What else can I win? The thought of such a challenge excited her. She would enjoy playing games with Aidan ap Llanfor just as much as lying with him, perhaps even more. “Nay, I believe I will keep you.”

“Do not do this, Your Eminence. For the sake of my bride whom I will wed this day, for the sake of the promises I have made to her and her family. Make me not an oath breaker, for ye yourselves do despise such.”

It was an eloquent argument. Once given, the word of any of the Tylwyth Teg was unbreakable. In fact, humans who did not keep their promises to each other often suffered justice at the hands of the Fae. Celynnen brushed her fingers over the brilliant scarlet of her dress and traced the birds and flowers embroidered there in silver thread and seed pearls. “A man of his word is a rare commodity, so it seems fitting that such be rewarded. You may put your mind at ease on that point. No oath will be broken.”

From her flowing sleeve, she drew a black gem the size and shape of a robin’s egg. Not a pearl or a crystal or even an opal, yet it resembled all three. Tiny flashes of blue, green, and purple sparked in its dark depths, and some fae craftsman had dared to carve it with intricate spirals and ancient symbols. Celynnen cupped it in her hand, where the stone gleamed and pulsed like a live thing. Bringing it close to her lips, she whispered a few words in the ancient language, then blew gently over it. A wisp of pale green light, like a luminous spirit, spiraled from the stone and floated towards Aidan.

He drew back as far as the chains would allow, suspicious but unable to avoid the approaching wraith. “What are you doing?” he demanded of Celynnen, and jerked as the eerie radiance touched him. Instantly his entire body was enveloped in a glowing green caul.