The Great Hall at the heart of the Unseelie sithen was a Gothic splendour, the floor of which was covered in black marble and filled with nine arches made of the same material. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting massive hunting parties. The hunters in these tapestries were outfitted in elaborate suits of armour, rode huge, powerful war horses, and wielded shining magic swords and spears. It was only when the viewer moved in for a closer look did it become apparent that the prey were human; men, women and children dressed in medieval peasant blouses, trewes and skirts, their faces were twisted with horror and terror as they ran for their lives.
The Lady of Air and Darkness, the Unseelie Queen Maeve, had created a throne to fit the room's d?cor perfectly. It was a huge thing, made out of ebony stone, carved into the shape of two complete human skeletons. The arms of the skeletons held the seat of the throne, a plush cushion covered with blood-red velvet. The throne sat at the end of the room on a raised dais at the top of of three steps. A long carpet of equally red velvet led from the doors at the opposite end of the room up the steps and ended at the base of the throne. On the wall behind the throne was an elaborate mirror held in a gilt frame, which had been fashioned in the shape of intertwined flames.
On any normal night, the Great Hall was filled with the Dark Host of Unseelie sidhe, Maeve's subjects and petitioners, their glossy hair shining in the light of a hundred candles, their elegant gowns and suits perfectly matching the rich, dark jewel tones of the tapestries lining the room. There was an orchestra near the doors, made up of humans who had been stolen away centuries ago and bespelled with immortality, so long as their music pleased Maeve. The Dark Host danced all night long, never stopping, never needing rest, only retiring once the sun rose.
This night, however, was not normal. The Dark Host was absent from the Great Hall. Indeed, only Maeve and two others were present in its darkly luxurious surrounds. Even her trusted Captain of the Guard had been dismissed from the Hall when Eamon had returned with the Lycanthrope whore in tow. A page had come running into the Hall no more than half an hour ago, screaming that the Huntsman had returned and that he had a prisoner with him. Annoyed at the interruption of her party, Maeve had come within seconds of ending the page's life, until she asked him about the prisoner.
?A Lycanthrope, my Queen. A female Lycanthrope,? was his answer. Maeve immediately dismissed the party, rushing the dancers and the musicians out of the Hall under threat of torture if they didn't hurry up and clear out. She wanted to receive Eamon and his prisoner alone.
When the Erlking had dragged the werecat in, bound in silver chains, with the handle of a knife protruding from her shoulder, there had been such an air of defeat and resignation around her that the dark Faerie Queen had barely recognised her. The last time they had come face to face, the Cat had been filled with such fire and spirit. To see her now, broken, bound and meek was almost more than Maeve was willing to accept.
Almost.
Riley knelt halfway between the throne and the doors at the far end of the room, her bare arms twined with a thick silver chain from shoulder to wrist, holding them behind her. The silver was even now pumping through her bloodstream, robbing her of her strength and her will, poisoning her slowly. The pain of the knife buried in her shoulder had gone beyond excruciating and was now just a red haze, tainting everything she saw and smelled and felt. She was barely aware of her surroundings, of the fact that Eamon had brought her into the Unseelie sithen, of the fact that she was now kneeling in supplication in the middle of the Queen's Great Hall.
Maeve sat on her throne, dressed in skin-tight black leathers, her raven hair pulled away from her beautiful face in an intricate braid, the tail of which hung down to her waist. She was staring at the Cat, a curious look in her pale grey eyes. She desperately wanted some reaction from Riley ? some sort of acknowledgment that she had been bested by Eamon, bested by Maeve herself. But the Cat just knelt quietly, occasionally shuddering with pain. There was no scent of fear or terror from Riley. Nothing more than a quiet acceptance and resignation. It was infuriating.
?What did you do to her, Eamon? Did you break her even before I got my chance to play?? The Queen's voice was harsh, threaded through with the beginnings of anger. Eamon had anticipated this reaction from his notoriously unstable Queen and had prepared accordingly.
He lowered himself to one knee, behind one step and to the right of the Cat, and dropped his head. He knew the subservient posture would please Maeve immensely and she might be more inclined to entertain his request. ?My Lady, the Cat just needs the right sort of motivation. Would you deign to tell her your secret??
The Queen's lush mouth curled in an evil, heartless smile and she stood, slowly unfolding her lithe body to its full height. She moved with feral grace around the throne to the ornate mirror that stood behind it and whispered a Word, trailing her delicate fingers across the reflective surface. A smokey scene slowly coalesced inside the frame, taking on shape and form until it was clear enough to trick the casual observer into thinking they were looking through a window.
The scene revealed was of a dark, stone-walled room. There was a pile of rotten straw in one corner and in the corner opposite was a man who had been chained to a wall with rusted manacles. The man had once been handsome and strongly muscled, but now had the gaunt, sallow-faced appearance of someone who had been held prisoner for years. His hair was shaggy and his face sported a thick beard but when Riley looked up, she saw the faintest hint of green eyes.
?No,? she whispered. She struggled to her feet, the Cat roaring inside her head now, screaming to be released. ?NO!? Riley screamed. ?Where is he? What have you done with him?? She began struggling in her bonds, mindless of the pain, of the hissing, sizzling burning the silver chains were doing to her bare arms. ?Rhys! RHYS!?
Both the Erlking and the dark Faerie Queen smiled in satisfaction. The Cat was awake; they could feel Her pressing against Riley's Humanity, demanding to be released. The silver would keep her from Shifting, would keep her safely pliable while Maeve tortured her. She nodded to Eamon. ?Take her to my personal play room. I'll start with her after dinner. I'll keep her for twenty years. Then you may have her, Huntsman.? The Queen whispered another Word and the image in the mirror went dark. She left the Great Hall soon after.
Eamon nodded and yanked hard on Riley's chains, dropping her to the floor, struggling and still screaming Rhys's name over and over. He began dragging her out of the Great Hall, finding he had to use all of his considerable strength and fight for every step. ?Twenty years, kitten. Then you are mine,? he whispered.
The look Riley gave him then would have stopped a charging bull elephant in its tracks, but the Huntsman just chuckled and continued pulling the werecat out of the Hall.
The Lady of Air and Darkness, the Unseelie Queen Maeve, had created a throne to fit the room's d?cor perfectly. It was a huge thing, made out of ebony stone, carved into the shape of two complete human skeletons. The arms of the skeletons held the seat of the throne, a plush cushion covered with blood-red velvet. The throne sat at the end of the room on a raised dais at the top of of three steps. A long carpet of equally red velvet led from the doors at the opposite end of the room up the steps and ended at the base of the throne. On the wall behind the throne was an elaborate mirror held in a gilt frame, which had been fashioned in the shape of intertwined flames.
On any normal night, the Great Hall was filled with the Dark Host of Unseelie sidhe, Maeve's subjects and petitioners, their glossy hair shining in the light of a hundred candles, their elegant gowns and suits perfectly matching the rich, dark jewel tones of the tapestries lining the room. There was an orchestra near the doors, made up of humans who had been stolen away centuries ago and bespelled with immortality, so long as their music pleased Maeve. The Dark Host danced all night long, never stopping, never needing rest, only retiring once the sun rose.
This night, however, was not normal. The Dark Host was absent from the Great Hall. Indeed, only Maeve and two others were present in its darkly luxurious surrounds. Even her trusted Captain of the Guard had been dismissed from the Hall when Eamon had returned with the Lycanthrope whore in tow. A page had come running into the Hall no more than half an hour ago, screaming that the Huntsman had returned and that he had a prisoner with him. Annoyed at the interruption of her party, Maeve had come within seconds of ending the page's life, until she asked him about the prisoner.
?A Lycanthrope, my Queen. A female Lycanthrope,? was his answer. Maeve immediately dismissed the party, rushing the dancers and the musicians out of the Hall under threat of torture if they didn't hurry up and clear out. She wanted to receive Eamon and his prisoner alone.
When the Erlking had dragged the werecat in, bound in silver chains, with the handle of a knife protruding from her shoulder, there had been such an air of defeat and resignation around her that the dark Faerie Queen had barely recognised her. The last time they had come face to face, the Cat had been filled with such fire and spirit. To see her now, broken, bound and meek was almost more than Maeve was willing to accept.
Almost.
Riley knelt halfway between the throne and the doors at the far end of the room, her bare arms twined with a thick silver chain from shoulder to wrist, holding them behind her. The silver was even now pumping through her bloodstream, robbing her of her strength and her will, poisoning her slowly. The pain of the knife buried in her shoulder had gone beyond excruciating and was now just a red haze, tainting everything she saw and smelled and felt. She was barely aware of her surroundings, of the fact that Eamon had brought her into the Unseelie sithen, of the fact that she was now kneeling in supplication in the middle of the Queen's Great Hall.
Maeve sat on her throne, dressed in skin-tight black leathers, her raven hair pulled away from her beautiful face in an intricate braid, the tail of which hung down to her waist. She was staring at the Cat, a curious look in her pale grey eyes. She desperately wanted some reaction from Riley ? some sort of acknowledgment that she had been bested by Eamon, bested by Maeve herself. But the Cat just knelt quietly, occasionally shuddering with pain. There was no scent of fear or terror from Riley. Nothing more than a quiet acceptance and resignation. It was infuriating.
?What did you do to her, Eamon? Did you break her even before I got my chance to play?? The Queen's voice was harsh, threaded through with the beginnings of anger. Eamon had anticipated this reaction from his notoriously unstable Queen and had prepared accordingly.
He lowered himself to one knee, behind one step and to the right of the Cat, and dropped his head. He knew the subservient posture would please Maeve immensely and she might be more inclined to entertain his request. ?My Lady, the Cat just needs the right sort of motivation. Would you deign to tell her your secret??
The Queen's lush mouth curled in an evil, heartless smile and she stood, slowly unfolding her lithe body to its full height. She moved with feral grace around the throne to the ornate mirror that stood behind it and whispered a Word, trailing her delicate fingers across the reflective surface. A smokey scene slowly coalesced inside the frame, taking on shape and form until it was clear enough to trick the casual observer into thinking they were looking through a window.
The scene revealed was of a dark, stone-walled room. There was a pile of rotten straw in one corner and in the corner opposite was a man who had been chained to a wall with rusted manacles. The man had once been handsome and strongly muscled, but now had the gaunt, sallow-faced appearance of someone who had been held prisoner for years. His hair was shaggy and his face sported a thick beard but when Riley looked up, she saw the faintest hint of green eyes.
?No,? she whispered. She struggled to her feet, the Cat roaring inside her head now, screaming to be released. ?NO!? Riley screamed. ?Where is he? What have you done with him?? She began struggling in her bonds, mindless of the pain, of the hissing, sizzling burning the silver chains were doing to her bare arms. ?Rhys! RHYS!?
Both the Erlking and the dark Faerie Queen smiled in satisfaction. The Cat was awake; they could feel Her pressing against Riley's Humanity, demanding to be released. The silver would keep her from Shifting, would keep her safely pliable while Maeve tortured her. She nodded to Eamon. ?Take her to my personal play room. I'll start with her after dinner. I'll keep her for twenty years. Then you may have her, Huntsman.? The Queen whispered another Word and the image in the mirror went dark. She left the Great Hall soon after.
Eamon nodded and yanked hard on Riley's chains, dropping her to the floor, struggling and still screaming Rhys's name over and over. He began dragging her out of the Great Hall, finding he had to use all of his considerable strength and fight for every step. ?Twenty years, kitten. Then you are mine,? he whispered.
The look Riley gave him then would have stopped a charging bull elephant in its tracks, but the Huntsman just chuckled and continued pulling the werecat out of the Hall.