Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 04

Kearney, Duncan, and the man who might have been Uillym were all suspended in midair, the weapons lying harmlessly on the ground. Oberon hadn't harmed a single one of them. Because of course he hadn't. He was too noble for that.

Bile rose in Cahill's throat.

"He was your cousin," the onetime prince said, his deep voice filled not with judgement but sadness. "And deep in my mother's thrall."

"He...killed two of my brothers."

"No," Oberon said. "My mother did, through him. It would be no more meaningful to say that his axe was guilty of those sins."

"Gallech resisted. He must have wanted-"

"Your brother was stronger. That's all."

He said it with such confidence. But how could he know? Reilly might have known exactly what he was doing. Might have loved his family less. Might have....

Cahill fell to his knees. It was just too much.

And now Seamus was gone too. How many would be taken from him?

He remembered what Aeife had said about his three gifts. But he'd lost more than three people he'd loved. And it wasn't the fates who'd taken them. It was the Queen of Faerie. The Lady of Shadows. And not for any particular reason. Just because she could.

"Oh, don't worry. He's not broken," a voice said.

With that, Reilly rose up, discarded his ruined helm, gave his good-as-new head a little shake, and went to stand before the queen. One could almost think he'd been playing dead.

Titania looked as radiant and comely as ever. She didn't appeal much to Cahill, but he wasn't nearly as repulsed by her as he wanted to be. Even as he wished a thousand painful deaths upon her, he couldn't help noting that she was one of the most beautiful women who'd ever lived. His mother rivaled her, but did not eclipse her, as he wished she did.

As he recovered from the shock of the queen's incredible beauty, Cahill fell prey to an entirely different source of disbelief. His cousin had lain dead before him a moment ago, now he looked as hearty and hale as ever. As if nothing had happened.

He knew their powers were vast, and that the Queen of Faerie had greater command over them than any other fey, but that still stunned him. The possibilities it opened up were almost too wonderful to contemplate. After all, how could he be hopeful about anything so long as he lived in a world with her in it?

And yet....

Raking pink, green, blue, and purple nails through her mostly blonde hair, the queen said, "I'm flattered you went to all this trouble just to see me again."

"Choke on eighty-seven pounds of elephant shit," Cahill said.

Oberon shot him a reproachful look.

For her part, though, the queen looked slightly amused. "I've heard better," she said with a shrug. "Though you get some points for originality."

Cahill decided he'd heard enough. He didn't come here to trade insults. He'd come for vengeance. And he'd sooner die trying to claim it than have her mock him.

It probably shouldn't have surprised him when that ended poorly, though.

His axe turned into a bunch of flower petals that drifted away lazily, carried by a soft breeze. His legs turned into tree trunks, their roots sinking deep into the earth.

Though he'd made no move to harm her, Oberon fared no better. He was transformed into a Maltese puppy with unruly white fur. Aside from his nose and eyes, which were black as pitch, he'd become a little fluffy cloud of cute.

Titania bent down, picked her son up, and cradled him in her arms. He yipped at her, even trying to bite her fingers, but she paid no heed to his bad behavior. And shortly after she began petting him, he turned quiescent.

Cahill hated her with every fiber of his being.

But he also wanted her. Desperately.

That was her doing, of course. Without so much as laying a finger on him, she'd dialed him up to eight. Nine. Ten. His cock throbbed, aching to be free of its restraints. To be inside her. His fingers burned with the need to touch her. His lips stung. All he could do was grit his teeth and grunt in protest against the urges he had no way of acting upon.

"Time for you to go home, boys," she said.

At first, Cahill thought she meant him and Oberon. But then he remembered the men Oberon had left dangling in the air. They fell to the grass with thuds of varying intensity. One by one, they picked themselves up, scraped their bows, and took their leave. Arawn, who'd stood silently against the wall until that point, followed their lead.

Duncan lingered longer than the others, blue light shining from under his helm as he gazed longingly upon his queen, but eventually he too left. Before departing, though, he gave Cahill a look of pure loathing.

He wished he'd slain a different cousin that day. Or both. Not that it would have mattered. Titania would have just raised him back up the way she had Reilly.

Speaking of which. "You too, Black," she told Oona's son. "I'm in no danger."

The little queen, who he now realized stood all of five feet tall, stepped up to him and ran a few of her colorful nails down his cheek. Cahill ejaculated immediately. "Isn't that right?" she asked. "You won't hurt me, will you?"

He would if he could. But no part of his body was interested in the signals his brain was sending. It was only from the mid-thigh down that he'd turned dendrous, but his entire body was immobile. Or as close to it as made no difference, since it was the Queen of Faerie who appeared to be in control of his body functions now.

"What's that?" she asked. "I don't think I heard you."

"No, my queen," he heard himself say.

It was his voice that spoke. His lips that moved. But he'd not chosen the words. Wouldn't have, no matter how intoxicating her perfume was. How beautiful those eyes, blue one moment then pink then green the next. Those lips, purple then red then orange.

Reilly bowed stiffly then departed without a word. Just as the others had.

Panic filled Cahill. For the first time, it dawned him that none of them exerted any greater control over themselves than the Queen of Faerie allowed them. That they were all, each and every one of them, her puppets. There was no resisting her. No defying her.

Had he sought to kill her? What a joke.

"Ruff! Ruff-ruff!" Oberon barked suddenly.

"Shh, shh," Titania purred, running a slender finger from between his eyes to his neck and back again. "I'm not going to hurt you either."

"What do you want?" Cahill asked. Or she did through him. He wasn't even sure.

"Funny you should ask." She gave him a dazzling smile, beautiful blue-green lips parting to reveal a perfect set of pearly whites. Damn, she was gorgeous. "I could almost think you a loyal subject, eager to please his queen. But that's not you, is it?"

"I'd like it to be," came the reply from his mouth.

That one, he certainly wasn't responsible for. The bitch.

He wanted to cry. It was one thing to be restrained. To be denied freedom of movement. But it was quite another to lose control over one's own words. He'd never realized how much that mattered until she'd taken it away from him.

"Good," she said. "Good."

If he could have jabbed hot pokers into those beautiful gold eyes, he would have. The sizzling sound made by her vitreous humor cooling the hot metal would have been delightful.

Such vivid, violent, vicious thoughts were as new to him as the inability to control his own speech. But unlike the other things Titania had done to him without his consent, inspiring a little creativity in that department wasn't so objectionable.

Oberon started barking again.

"What's that?" she asked, holding the small dog up to her pointed ear. "You want to say hello to Cahill? Of course you can!" She stretched her arms out and let Oberon lick Cahill's face. "Isn't he just adorable?" she asked.

If he could, he'd tell her that he got the point.

"It's really very simple," the queen said in a pleasant tone. Or one that was meant to be pleasant. Might have been pleasant, if used by someone less deplorable. "You're going to take part in the Hunt. Every time it's called. From now until I lose interest."

Oberon gave him another lick before Titania pulled him back to her chest.

"You can do as you please the rest of the time," she continued. "Return to your little safe haven, where you're so far beyond my reach. Play with your children. Poke your mother. You know, whatever pickles your tickle." A leering smile mocked his inability to point out that she'd mixed up the saying. "I don't even care if you pleasure the Fat Slug, though she certainly doesn't deserve anything but misery."

This set off another round of high-pitched yips.

"Oh, you don't like when I talk about her like that?" Titania asked. "You should be thankful none of her children have murdered her in her sleep."

Cahill's blood began to boil.

"Not that I'd ever rid myself of her so easily," the queen added, offhandedly.

It took a moment for that to sink in, busy as he was raging over the reference to Fiona's demise. Did she think his grandmother unkillable? And consider that fact so obvious that she could complain about Aeife's inability to die in front of Cahill?

"I'm not asking for much," she continued, speaking both to him and Oberon. "You two join the Hunt, and no one else gets hurt. I promise."

The sky darkened for a moment as she said this.

"You see?" she asked, orange eyes glowing. "Faerie as my witness, no harm shall befall Clan Walker. Provided you do your part. Could I be more gracious?"

Just a little.

"Still," the queen said, "just because I'm so nice, here's a little good faith gesture." With that, she flicked her wrist towards where his brother had fallen.

Seamus coughed and sat up.

"What happened?" Seamus asked.

"Oh, don't worry dear. You just died a little," Titania said.

Cahill wanted to shout with joy. Or ask his brother if he was okay. But his tongue wasn't cooperating. Nothing was. He could barely even turn his head enough to see Seamus rise to his feet, his morning star still in hand.

"I wouldn't do that," the queen said. "Just stay put for now."

And just like that, Seamus froze.

Then Titania put Oberon on the ground. He flopped onto his back, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, and thrust his paws in the air as he begged for a belly rub. The poor guy. Cahill could scarcely imagine how Titania could better rob him of his dignity.

"Aren't you just the cutest wittle guy," Titania said in a faux growl as she bent down to honor his request. "Yes you are! Yes you are!"

"Okay," Cahill said, of his own volition.

"What's that?" the queen asked, tilting her head back.

The pink eyes staring up at him had to be the most odious things he'd ever seen. Or the most beautiful. Until they turned green, which was even more beautiful. The effect she had on him, despite everything, filled him with shame and self-loathing. His mouth tasted like ashes and his stomach churned.

"Whatever My Queen asks of me, I'm glad to provide."

Cahill wished he could bite his tongue off, even if it meant drowning in his own warm blood. Better that than speak to her this way.

"Wonderful!" Titania said with an offensively beautiful smile. Meanwhile, she continued rubbing Oberon's belly, much to his evident delight. And probably inward lament. "I'm so happy to hear it! You've just made my day!"

She rose to her full height, such as it was, and gave Cahill a kiss on the cheek.

His body and his mind went to war with another. At stake was his reaction to her vile, violet lips pressing against his skin so sweetly.

Unfortunately, his body won.

It wouldn't quite be correct to say that he'd never had an orgasm so intense. But the precedents were few and far between. His body convulsed as wave after wave of unbearable ecstasy crashed into him. Then his consciousness left his body, granting him a brief escape from, the grief and despair his sister's death had inflicted upon him, the suffering and anger and humiliation to which Titania had subjected him, and even the unwanted pleasure she had brought him. When he eventually returned to his body, he felt nothing but bliss.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that he hated her. Despised her as he had no other living being. Yet all he could think about was how badly he wanted her to kiss him again. That, and whether she looked as good under that diaphanous robe as he suspected. Whether her nipples were closer to pink or brown. How prominent her labia might be, and whether she had any pubic hair. If so, did it change colors constantly, or was it just blonde like most of her hair?

With a blue smile, the Queen of Faerie said, "You've a few hours in the Dreaming yet before the next Hunt. That's a couple days in your little world." She rose to her feet, went up on her tiptoes, and patted his cheek. That sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body. "Make the best of it. I expect you to give it your all when I summon you."

The pleasure that had still been coursing through his body suddenly turned to pain, the likes of which he'd never imagined. Every nerve was on fire. His eyes watered and he opened his mouth to scream, but all he could do was gag. If his body would have allowed him, he'd have flopped to the ground and writhed about madly. But he couldn't manage much more than a few feeble spasms. And yearn for death.

Through it all, he thought he heard the Queen of Faerie say, "Don't disappoint me, or this will seem like a pleasant massage."

When the pain finally passed, he found his legs had become once more. Oberon had returned to his natural form and Seamus was moving again. Of Titania, there was no sign.

#

It was late morning on Friday when they returned, though they'd departed early Wednesday evening. The whole exchange outside the grove had lasted but a few minutes, yet such was the nature of these things. Especially since he'd located Savannah so far away from Faerie. This was what he got for trying to give his children the space to grow up away from Titania's influence. To ensure that when Clan Walker returned to Faerie stronger than ever, a mere matter of weeks would have elapsed there.

How many hours, or days, would he lose each time the Wild Hunt was called? How long would his children be without him? His mother?

And what would he be forced to do?

What would he become?

"Are you sure I was dead?" Seamus asked as they approached their backyard.

"Yes," Oberon said simply.

"Because I didn't feel-"

"You know what being dead feel like?" Cahill asked.

His brother sighed and shrugged. "It's weird. I felt a sense of panic, a brief flash of pain, and then I was fine. No light at the end of the tunnel. No empty train station, filled with a soft white glow. My life didn't flash before my eyes." Seamus scratched the back of his head. "I think I knew there was a brief gap there. That I didn't sit right back up. But I can't say what happened in between."

"Because nothing did," Oberon said as he opened the gate.

"Have you died?" Seamus asked, the words coming out slowly.

Oberon gave him a flat look. "No." For a moment, it seemed he would say no more, but then he added, "She has though. My mother. We used to talk about it."

Cahill shuddered.

He was more than grateful to have his brother back. After losing his other brother and a sister he loved dearly, he wasn't sure he could have handled another loss. But even after living a life filled with glamour for many years, he almost didn't believe it possible.

That Titania had come back from the dead, and that his grandmother had sent her there, was something he'd known for a long time. But it had always had the ring of a fairy tale to it. The old stories were mostly true, but not entirely. And sometimes they were true only in a symbolic sense. He took them seriously and yet didn't at the same time.

It was not right for a woman to have that much power. Especially one like Titania. She was cruel and capricious, self-absorbed almost to the point of solipsism, and, perhaps worst of all, bored out of her mind. At least, that was the conclusion Cahill had come to after staring into her kaleidoscopic eyes. She wasn't lashing out at them because she'd given up hope of winning Oberon back, or because she'd sworn some vendetta against their clan. Nor was this some elaborate scheme to bring the last few pieces of a master plan together. It was all just for her personal entertainment. To help her battle the malaise that came from being too damn powerful and having no one else to play with.

And there was nothing any of them could do about it.

"You don't...miss her?" his brother asked.

As Cahill himself might have, if he was playing closer attention. There had been a faintly nostalgic tone to the man's voice. A voice which was typically dispassionate in the extreme.

Oberon didn't answer.

Before they could press him on it, his daughter came running across the yard and launched herself at him. "Daddy's home!" she yelled as she soared through the air like a flying squirrel.

Oberon stumbled back a half step as he caught the girl. "Maisie, dear, you're getting a bit big for this, don't you think?"

"Are you calling me fat?" she asked, purple eyes wide and a wounded look on her face.

Not too old to launch herself at her father like a stone from a catapult, Cahill noted, but old enough for that. Before long, she'd be asking if her dress made her look fat.

The former prince laughed, kissed his daughter's forehead, and told her, "Of course not. You're beautiful, sweetie." He gave her another kiss then put her down gently. She was a little reluctant to let go, but eventually did. "Where's your mother?"

Maisie spun on a heel and pointed to the gazebo at the far end of the yard. Sitting in the shade it provided were Aeife, Wynne, and Caronwyn. They looked to be nominally keeping an eye on the children, who were playing a game of tag, but were mostly engrossed in their conversation. They hadn't even noticed the arrival of Cahill, Seamus, and Oberon yet.

"Say 'hi' to Mom for me. Don't tell her I died, though. You know how she gets," Seamus said, clapping him on the back. And, somehow, that sounded perfectly reasonable to Cahill. He could almost believe that was something brothers said to one another all the time. "I'm gonna go find Aileen and Kegan." Then, lowering his voice, he added, "Talk more later?"

Cahill nodded.

His own children greeted him on his way over to the gazebo, but they did so rather less ballistically than Maisie had Oberon. That gave rise to a small tinge of jealousy. But, then, Morgan gave Oberon the faintest smile and smallest wave, balancing his sister's enthusiasm out. And if Cahill was being objective, he'd admit that the differences in the children's reactions had more to do with their personalities than how much they loved their fathers.

When they reached the gazebo, Cahill saw that his grandmother looked as though nothing had ever happened to her. The same as Seamus. And of course she did. What was the loss of a pair of legs to a woman such as his grandmother? That had been days ago.

His head spun. Every now and then, he forgot that he too was guilty of violating all sorts of natural laws. That most days, he not only believed, but accomplished, six impossible things before breakfast. For just a moment or two, he expected to wake up to an empty bed in the suburbs. Or to a bed he shared with a woman who'd not be returning to it that night.

Aeife smiled up at him and Oberon. "Well look who it is,"