“Yes. Let’s ‘settle in.’ In a bog.” Samson scowls at the landscape.
Since we have no idea how long this will take, I unsaddle the horses. Samson attempts to help. I use the saddle blankets as a buffer against the cold, damp ground and sit on them. Samson plops down beside me.
“It’s not so bad,” I say, bumping against his arm. Sure, we’re in a bog, but it’s better than being at court with Darnley.
“’Spose not.”
I try to think of something that will make him laugh, but nothing comes to mind. The wind blows, whistling coldly, and I huddle a little closer to him.
This all reminds me of the first night I met him. Of sleeping on the moor, the deer in the mist.
My nightmare. The needle. The man who died.
The bean-nighe, prophesying more deaths to come.
“You should know…” I start, glancing at him. “What…I’m up against.” I almost said “we,” as if we were a team. But in the end, this is my battle, isn’t it? Mine and mine alone. I protect the wall, for the Leth and the fae and even the humans who don’t know I do it.
“What you’re up against? Witches?” Samson asks. “Giant green ladies with goat legs who want to murder me?”
“No, they’re on my side.” I half smile, but it fades so quickly that Samson notices. “The Red Caps.”
Samson tugs at his hat—dark brown, like his doublet. “You’ve told me enough. They’re making these damned weapons, and—”
“It’s more than that.” My words make him stop. I take a deep breath, watching glimmers of faint light dancing farther in the bog, floating over the dark peat-filled marsh, only visible thanks to the dim gray sky, all sunlight choked out with heavy clouds.
“The Red Caps don’t just love violence. They cannot live withoutit. As long as there is bloodshed to renew their power, they are as good as immortal.”
Samson watches me, his eyes liquid with intensity.
I reach for his hand, tilting it to expose the bare wrist between his sleeve and the end of his glove. I trace my finger over the blue-purple vein beneath his pale skin. “You have magic you were born with, as do I, as do all Leths.” I glance up at him, but his gaze is so fiery that I drop my eyes back to his hand. I’m unsure now what to do with it, so I still hold it. My own gloves are thin enough that I can feel the pulse thrumming through his veins, the vibrancy and life. “Magic is in your blood.”
“And that’s the type of magic Red Caps feed on?” His voice is low, a dangerous tone threaded through it.
“Not exactly,” I say. “Red Caps feed on any violence. My powers are tied to Scotland. I gain more magic when I’m in a place like this, wild and free. Some Leths are more powerful in specific areas, like a loch. Others gain strength in certain actions—they can weave magic with threads, for example, but they need that conduit. It varies, depending on the lineage.”
I let go of his hand, but Samson doesn’t put any additional space between us. I can tell he’s thinking, trying to figure out what the source of his power is. The Green Lady said he had a lot of magic within him; I wonder what fae ancestor gave him power and how it will be implemented.
But he also needs to know the threat. “Our world is a mirror of the other world, the world of the fae. Not an exact copy, but violence here means violence there. Peace here, peace there.”
Samson frowns, clearly not really understanding.
Tell him about the High Blade.
The thought comes unbidden to my mind. If I want him to knowthe threat of the Red Caps, I need to make sure he understands the danger of the High Blade, their leader.
But what’s real and what’s legend? We don’t even know if the High Blade is still alive.
I clear my throat. “As an example,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “when Emperor Hadrian brought the Roman army to fight here, before Scotland even was Scotland, the High Blade was one of the closest advisers to the fae queen. But the High Blade wanted to take the Seelie Court and therefore betrayed the queen.”
Samson leans forward, paying such focused attention to everything I’m saying that I grow a little flustered. I look out at the bog, not at him, as I tell him about the way the Seelie Court banished the Red Caps and erected the wall I maintain to ensure they can never get back into Scotland and thereby into the fae realm through one of the portals here.
“Since then,” I say, “the Seelie Court has been…well, a bit of a mess. There are lots of lesser nobility, princes and the like, who work together, but…”
“Bit of a mess,” Samson repeats in a low voice.
I nod. “But look at the Scottish court. Mary’s baby, James? Sixth of his name. Ever since the first one, the kings have all ascended to the throne as children. Scotland’s been held together by a series of regents and councils for generations. Mary inherited the crown before she was a week old. If I can keep her alive long enough for her son not to be plunked down on the throne before he can even walk, that’ll be a success.”
His eyes widen slightly. “So…is the Scottish court in this constant state of turmoil because the Seelie Court doesn’t have a steady monarch, or is it the other way ’round? Because the Seelie Court doesn’t have a queen, the Scottish court is in shambles?”
