The Hunt Begins

"By order of the Queen: we ride." How strange, this proclamation made by Scáthach in the Queen's stead. None had seen the Unseelie Queen; she kept to the top of her obsidian tower, shunning the world at large. It was incredibly suspect, yet none dared inquire after her. "Are there any questions?" Scáthach asked with quick authority, eager to move on. It was a token question meant to appease tradition, nothing more. None were expected nor desired to speak.

Myra did anyway. "A Wild Hunt, so close to the Summer's power exchange?" she wondered aloud.

Cory subtly met her eyes and shook his head.

Scáthach snapped in her direction. "You are not permitted to speak on such matters, Thaumaturge. You are expendable; and you'd do well to remember it." Scáthach didn't seem especially perturbed, but Myra suspected she'd at least ruffled her feathers. That, however, wasn't the point.

She glanced around the room at the myriad faces, many beginning to view this for the power grab it was. And that was far more important.

"I agree," a lesser council member shouted, "feck if it don't reek of royal politicking and power grabbing. Are we going after Summer now? And what of that? They're at least as strong as we, with twice the allies. You'll see us damned, dogs beneath their heel."

"You dare to question the Queen?" Scáthach asked, voice too calm, too structured.

"Nay, I'm questioning you."

She laughed. "As though it weren't one and the same. I am my Queen's right hand, and an extension of her will. By these hands," she raised them up, inspecting, "I will see that will wrought upon the Middle Lands as in Elphyne. And any who doubt my resolve will find themselves… quite inconvenienced." She shook her gaze to Myra, and, in an instant, extended her hands towards the counselor, long black nails pointing his way even as she stepped slowly backward. He exploded in a mess of red, as though the very blood in his veins had boiled and erupted. It rained blood upon everything in the immediate area, except for Scáthach. She was protected by some kind of invisible barrier.

"Now then," she rubbed her hands together as though to rid them of dust, "are there any other questions?"

Cormag pulled them from the room and into a side chamber as soon as the meeting was adjourned. "That was foolish," he muttered, shaking his head, "as you saw, someone of her strength could cause you grievous harm with the flip of a wrist, and I would be powerless to stop her."

Myra frowned. "I'm sorry, I know. I thought it would work… but I just got him killed, instead."

He shook his head. "His choices were his own. However, there are better ways to get what you want than brute force, Myna-bird. Come with me to the work camps tonight. We'll be out late, so see that you're well fed."

"Mm. One good thing might come of a Hunt," Myra voiced softly, hopefully, "I might see my papá again. I know he is not a good man, but he will always be mi papi."

Cormag stared at the wall. "I wouldn't--" he started, clearly hesitant "-- just don't get your hopes up, okay Myna-bird?"

She nodded. "Yes. Okay."

That night they gently plied the people for information, and sowed some seeds of their own. It wasn't long until they heard a repeated bit of trivia: the Summer King-- or the puppeteer behind him --intended to make a trade pact with Seasons and Seelie, to the exclusion of Winter and Unseelie, from whom he would sever all ties of trade. The people feared; their land was not arable, not like The Spring and Summer. Their food stores would be short-lived. Surely Scáthach knew this already-- this was the reason she had called a Hunt. That made it understandable, but not ethical. There were likewise plenty of rumors that Scáthach had assassinated the Queen and was acting in her stead. That one would prove difficult to investigate.

This time, Myra announced her departure to Summer, lest Cory worry needlessly. He was eager to tag along. The journey was swift, due wholly to his company. She passed the time prodding him with questions varying from the private to the inane, and he answered them all-- sometimes, even, with more than monosyllabic affirmations or denials.

They were taking a brief respite from their travels within a lovely glade: they reclined in the grass, weaving daisy chains and otherwise relaxing.

"What of your mamá?" she asked while her hands were at their busywork, "what was she like?"

He glanced her way. "Mm. Mam was magic. At least--" he added, blushing some "--she was to me, a toddling wean full of mischief and dreams. As I grew older, the dreams grew dimmer, but my mother's prospects for me never did. She dreamt I'd marry and have younglings of my own. That I'd find happiness, somewhere in that great big expanse of green and blue. I am sorry to have stolen her dream, even if she'd hardly ken it. Sure she'd be keen as mustard to see me now, living in the shadows and like."

Myra frowned. "You don't think she'd approve?"

"Aye. She wanted the sunshine for me."

"I'm sure she'd be satisfied with your happiness," she said, smiling warmly at him, "and proud of your sacrifice. And not just that. Everything. I'm proud of you, too, you know."

"Tsk. It's hardly fair for a pupil to be proud of her instructor, now is it? You've stolen my thunder outright."

"Whatever. Es verdad. There." She smiled, stretching the tied off necklace before her, "Ah, toma esto." She held out the flowers, but at his quizzical expression she pushed them over his head and down his neck. "Mm. The yellow, it brings out the gold of your eyes," she said, tilting her head to get a good look at them, shrouded as they were beneath his pitch black hair. "Did I ever tell you I like dark hair?" Her fingers smoothed idly through the strands by his face. "I always thought faeries would be beautiful but cold, fair as can be but with a touch like ice." She pressed her hand to his chest, just over his heart, "But I see now I was very wrong. You are not like ice at all. Perdón, I am rambling."

She began to withdraw in embarrassment, but he placed his hand over hers and held it there. "I like it when you ramble. Please, do it more often."

"As-- as you wish." Her fingers fumbled and dug into his tabard. She could feel his heart racing. "Why are you nervous, querido? Do I do something wrong?"

"No. Tell me, rather, why you are nervous?"

"Nervous?" she chuckled, trying desperately to control it. She grasped harder at him to hide the shaking, and he let out a little half-moan at the gesture as his eyes closed. It made her heart feel funny, light and puffy as the clouds. Without understanding, she wanted to touch him more. She grabbed at his shoulder with her free hand and centered herself before him, so their crossed legs grew close and their knees bumped. Her brow knitted as she began to rub up his shoulder, trailing fingers along his neck. He leaned into the touch. That felt inexplicably good. But, she was curious besides; about the sinuous muscles of his shoulders, the way he rubbed small circles against her hand, the noises he made… She accidentally pinched his shoulder muscle too roughly, but he didn't seem hurt by it in the slightest.

He rolled his shoulders in an instinctual looking way, actually relaxing as he brought himself closer. "Myra," he whispered, his fingers ghosting along her jawline, "you will be the death of me. You must stop, I beg of you."

She nodded and withdrew at once. "So I was wrong. ¡Lo sabía! I am sorry if I gave offense."

"Shite, no, Myna-bird, you're good. Too good. How can I bear it? But you do not understand what you do. We will speak of it another time. For now," he smiled a bit sad, reaching to his side, "A flower crown for a lovely queen."

"I am no queen," she answered, blushing.

"But you will be."

"I am a Thaumaturge of the Unseelie, understudy of the Archon. That is all I am and, for now, that is all I will think on."

He nodded. "Nevertheless, please? Do not let my effort be in vain. The forget-me-nots in particular I think would serve well to highlight your beauty."

She bowed her head. "As my teacher instructs."

They reached mami's house a bit late due to their time in the fields, and they arrived covered in grass and wildflowers. Mami seemed displeased, perhaps because of the lateness.

"¡Myra, mija! ¡Bienvenida! But tell me, child, why is there a dark fae on my stoop?"

Myra was taken aback. "Are there."

"¿Perdóname?”

"'Why are there two dark fae on my stoop,' that is what you mean to say."

Her mother raised a brow. "Is it now. You've grown fierce in your time with the dark ones."

Myra scowled, but held out her hand to Cory regardless. He took it reluctantly, looking like he was fit to dart at the first opportunity, though he bore the weight of his fear well. "Mother," she said, colder than ever, "this is Cormag, my teacher. I thought you might like to meet the man I've spent my years beside."

Mother looked shocked. "And just what do you mean by that, mija? Are you trying to tell me something?"

Myra shrugged. "We came here as a warning to you, out of courtesy. You may tell your king that the Unseelie have called for a Hunt. We ride in three days."

Now it was mother's turn to scowl. "'We?' 'Your king?' So you've made your choice. I see. You will ride before 'my' king is of age. But you don't even know this man you accompany, what he's capable of! And his people the same! We made a deal with the devil that day, to save your life. I look upon you now, and I cannot say it was the right decision."

Myra grunted. "Curses! None of this would've happened if you hadn't given me the Phoenices to begin with! How dare you pin this on me." She thought back to the past five years, to a faithful guardian and fair teacher, to a mother she barely saw. A mother in name, who abandoned her child to the Middling so easily. To a king or advisor who would seek persecution as easily as justice. Perhaps she had made her choice. "His people are my people, mother. And I clearly know Cormag better than I know you."

"It was not I who gifted you the birds, little one. It was the Crown Prince. He'd grown quite fond of you."

"He-- he watched me?" Myra wasn't sure whether to feel furious, violated, or flattered, but settled on a violent mixture of the three.

"Since you were wee. He was a lonely child; your mere existence gave him comfort."

Myra felt a sad pang in her heart. "It matters not. I cannot change the river's course," she projected, stalwart even as tears welled at the corner of her eyes, "my people Ride, and I will go with with them.

"Mija, no! You cannot!"

Myra grimaced. "The warning has been given. Heed it as you will." She pulled Cory behind her quickly, nails digging into his palms even as her mother called after her.

From across the way in Unseelie lands, the eerie green ghost-light of the Hunt shone heavenward.