Page 20 of The Rebel Seer

“You mistake me for someone else.” She has to because I’m just a girl from Texas. Seeing and talking to the dead is the only thing special about me. I don’t have any power beyond a good gossip session with the recently deceased.

She straightens up. “The Cwn Annwn do not make mistakes. They know you.” She turns to the king. “So what should I tell my master?”

“I need to think about it.” The king looks my way, considering me. “I don’t know that I like how interested the King of the Dead is in my son’s goddess.”

“She isn’t his goddess yet,” Matilda whispers. And looks straight at me, her lips not moving. “And you never have to be. You could take your place in Annwn. You do not need the spring. You are so much more.” That’s when I realize the whole time she was speaking in my head, her other face was turned to the king. “I will leave you with the key. There is a secret door to the Fae plane that my master and Nimue have used many times over the years. No one else knows of its existence. It is in the Welsh countryside. Go to Snowdonia. The hounds will guide you from there. If you carry these stones with you, the door will open.”

“Neil,” the king says.

Neil moves in and takes the stones. They look like crystals to me. He sniffs them. “I think they’re safe, but I’m not a witch.”

“Take them to your witches,” Matilda offers. “But do not wait too long, Your Highness. There are plans the wizard makes that you do not understand.”

“You could tell us,” the queen asks, but she says it offhandedly like she knows the crone isn’t going to take her up on it.

“I will tell you only this, be careful in Faery. Give nothing away. Your lives depend upon it.” And then she’s gone. She is simply there one moment and gone the next, and we’re left with three massive hellhounds and a bunch of blue crystals.

And about a million questions.

“We should get back to Frelsi.” The king frowns his wife’s way. “You are not keeping those dogs, Z.”

The queen has her arms around one. “Not forever, but they’re our guides.” She goes nose to nose with a ferocious beast. “I’m going to get you some treats. Yes I am. Yes I am, you good boy.”

The ferocious beast’s tale wags enough it’s creating its own wind system.

The one on my lap flips over and wriggles, asking for a belly rub. Which I give as I think about everything the crone said and know I have to go. I have to meet this god of the dead and see what he might want of me.

I also know exactly who I have to fight to get there.

Rhys Donovan-Quinn.

Chapter Six

Zoey

I oftentimes wish my life was calm enough that I could keep a pet. The pixies who cling to my hair don’t count. They have their own whole society, and I can’t run a hand along their fur because one, they don’t have any, and two, they would probably consider petting to be some form of crime against their dainty personhood, and I don’t fuck with pixies. They know about revenge.

But the puppy with his head in my lap simply wants some treats. My daughter has a hellhound. The kind from the actual Hell plane, so he’s got darker fur and eyes, but he’s the sweetest puppy. Naturally when she decided to take a trip to Gray’s kingdom, she took Puff with her. I miss him.

“Did you tell her we are not keeping hellhounds?” Devinshea says as he paces the floor to the designated conference room/dining room. “Zoey, are you feeding that dog under the table? You have no idea what that is going to do to his belly.”

“Mother might not be, but I assure you Shy is.” Rhys seems calmer now, but he might not be in a few minutes. “Baby, I need you to understand that I adore you, but I’m not cleaning that up.”

“They’re hellhounds,” a familiar voice says. “They don’t poop the way other dogs do. It comes out as fire. You need to be careful, though, because it can catch you off guard. Now, I need to know everything that happened because Arawn wouldn’t send the hounds on an everyday errand. I don’t know these hounds personally, but Arawn is serious about all his creatures. It’s been a long time since I was in Annwn but I still know a bit. They are telling me their names are Caddoc, Bledig, and Emyr, though the truth is you can call them whatever you like. They are not smart creatures.”

I look down the table where Dev and Rhys set up a…well, a system to keep Nimue upright in a chair because she is not all there. And I do not mean her mind. Myrddin chopped her head off when he realized the thrall stone he’d placed there had made its way out and she was no longer under the influence of his magical roofie. He placed her head in a magical box that became her prison for years until I sent some huldrefólk to do a little recon in the Council building and they brought back Nim. She’s been hanging out in a cold-ass lake for a couple of weeks, but apparently regrowing a body takes time.

“You should know that Arawn is one of the Unseelie who fought the idea of forcing me to play priest for the sitheins.” Rhys sits beside Shy. When we returned, he was still on the errand with his papa to bring Nimue back. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Shy. He hasn’t let her out of his sight again. “When a group dragged me and Lee to the Unseelie sithein, it was Arawn who stopped them. And maybe one of these guys. They’re sweet now, but you should know I’ve watched them take apart an ogre.”

My heart clenches because I think he’s talking about the incident that led to his twin brother losing an eye. Oh, it grew back after he died and rose as a vampire king, but I’m sure it was incredibly traumatic at the time. I know Rhys still dreams about that day and carries guilt with him like a millstone around his neck. I have to wonder if there’s a part of that trauma in his deep desire to avoid Faery. “I’m glad to hear Arawn helped you.”

Nimue sighs. Her hair is far longer than her body at this point. Apparently it kept growing when the rest of her did not. “In the last couple of hundred years, I’m afraid Arawn has grown apathetic. Once he was a true believer in justice. It seems a few centuries without his original body have taken a toll. He took on some of his hosts’ more hedonistic tendencies, but then I did as well. Until I had a cause again.”

“My father,” Rhys prompts.

“Your parents,” Nim corrects. “I know Daniel Donovan is the King of the Sword, but it was obvious from the first meeting that he was a member of a royal trio. When I found your family I remembered my purpose. If only I remembered how duplicitous the wizard can be. There’s a reason I lock the fucker up when he’s done.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Nim,” Danny sits at the head of the table, Sasha on the opposite end. A king and his general.

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