Betrayals
Page 61
Cainsville?
I texted back. Ioan. I’ll explain later. But yes, then Cainsville. With you, if that’s okay.
He read my message, and I waited for a nod. But he kept his gaze on that text, his frown growing.
Then he texted back, You want to ask for sanctuary for them in Cainsville. That puts you in a precarious position.
I replied, Discuss first?
He exhaled, relieved that he didn’t need to fight me on this. Which told me exactly how deep the schism between us had become, our relationship fractured to the point where he could not rely on me to seek his counsel.
“Text me later,” I said. “We’ll meet up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ioan ushered us into his office, told his assistant to hold all calls, and shut the door.
“I want to know more about the hounds,” Ricky said before we were even seated.
Ioan stopped partway to his desk. He glanced at me. Then at Ricky. And he struggled. God, how he struggled. I couldn’t ask questions about the Cn Annwn without violating our agreement. Ricky could. While Ioan could—and should—refuse to answer, this was what he’d been waiting for—Ricky taking an interest in his ancestry and his future.
“The hounds …” Ioan said carefully.
“I saw an abused hound in Chicago, and I want to understand how the hell that happens.”
Outrage simmered behind Ricky’s eyes, and seeing that, Ioan lost the battle. Neither Ricky’s interest nor outrage was feigned. Ioan looked on Ricky, saw Arawn, and could deny him nothing.
“Ask,” he said.
“Are they corporeal?” Ricky said. “Mortal?”
“The answer to both isn’t as simple as it might seem. They are mortal in the same way the Cn Annwn are. They can and will die. But not as easily or as quickly as other canines. They are as corporeal as we are. Yet they can make themselves unseen.”
“Same as you can,” I said. Then, “Sorry. For the purpose of our agreement, we’ll stick to the hounds.”
“As you have seen both the hounds do it and me do it, I will give you that. We cannot disappear. But we can make ourselves almost invisible to the human eye. There are still signs, if you know where to look.”
“Are the hounds your equivalent of dogs?” Ricky said. “Fae animals, not shape-shifters.”
“You mean are they sentient fae in animal form? No. In that, they are indeed the equivalent of a dog, as our loyal companions and our helpers. Unlike your dogs, they can be given detailed instructions.”
“Such as finding us and watching what we’re doing and then reporting back,” I said. “You can communicate with them?”
“We can communicate through them. See through their eyes. When you spot a hound, it is the Cn Annwn watching over you.”
“Spying on us.”
“If we wanted spies, we’d stick with the ravens.”
True. The hounds weren’t exactly inconspicuous.
“You say they’re companions and working canines,” Ricky said. “So where do they stay when they aren’t ‘on the job’? A kennel? A house? With a specific Huntsman? A handler?”
“They’re more autonomous and intelligent than dogs. They choose where they stay, usually with one of us, sometimes at the stables.”
“There are stables?” I said. “So the horses are corporeal—Sorry. Beyond the scope of the current questioning.”
He smiled indulgently. “Yes, the horses are—like the dogs and us—mostly corporeal. They have stables, although—” Another smile. “Now I’m sorry. I should restrict myself to the questions asked.”
Ricky said, “If the hounds are autonomous, does that mean you can’t account for their whereabouts at all times?”
“We can summon them. Which we do, either for tasks or for hunts. You’re asking because you say you saw one that seemed abused.”
“Not seemed. It very clearly was.”
“That isn’t possible. It may have been another type of fae creature or glamour.”
“I know my—I know the hounds.”
“It was definitely a hound,” I said. “It responded to Ricky.”
“Perhaps it was only dirty? Bedraggled? They may be fae, but they are still canines. A swim in the river and a roll in the mud can be their idea of an entertaining evening.”
I detailed the hound’s injuries. “Old injuries,” I clarified. “Long healed. But the way it acted was worse. It hid from us. Cowered. Ricky managed to coax it out, and then a car came roaring around the corner and it took off like a shot. Exactly the way an abused dog would act.”
“But that’s not—No hound would—We’ve never lost one. Ever. A few have perished in the line of duty, but we’ve looked after their remains. Our lineage has been here for three hundred years, and we have never lost a hound.”
“Then it’s not yours.”
He looked at me.
“You aren’t the only Cn Annwn in existence, right? Therefore, this is someone else’s.”
“That’s not possible. If a hound disappears, the Cn Annwn search to the ends of the earth to find it. That is our vow. We have their loyalty because they have ours. They protect us because we protect them. Always.”
“For you. Your particular tribe, group, whatever. While you might hope other Huntsmen remain equally dedicated to the old ways, there’s no guarantee of that, is there?”
I texted back. Ioan. I’ll explain later. But yes, then Cainsville. With you, if that’s okay.
He read my message, and I waited for a nod. But he kept his gaze on that text, his frown growing.
Then he texted back, You want to ask for sanctuary for them in Cainsville. That puts you in a precarious position.
I replied, Discuss first?
He exhaled, relieved that he didn’t need to fight me on this. Which told me exactly how deep the schism between us had become, our relationship fractured to the point where he could not rely on me to seek his counsel.
“Text me later,” I said. “We’ll meet up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ioan ushered us into his office, told his assistant to hold all calls, and shut the door.
“I want to know more about the hounds,” Ricky said before we were even seated.
Ioan stopped partway to his desk. He glanced at me. Then at Ricky. And he struggled. God, how he struggled. I couldn’t ask questions about the Cn Annwn without violating our agreement. Ricky could. While Ioan could—and should—refuse to answer, this was what he’d been waiting for—Ricky taking an interest in his ancestry and his future.
“The hounds …” Ioan said carefully.
“I saw an abused hound in Chicago, and I want to understand how the hell that happens.”
Outrage simmered behind Ricky’s eyes, and seeing that, Ioan lost the battle. Neither Ricky’s interest nor outrage was feigned. Ioan looked on Ricky, saw Arawn, and could deny him nothing.
“Ask,” he said.
“Are they corporeal?” Ricky said. “Mortal?”
“The answer to both isn’t as simple as it might seem. They are mortal in the same way the Cn Annwn are. They can and will die. But not as easily or as quickly as other canines. They are as corporeal as we are. Yet they can make themselves unseen.”
“Same as you can,” I said. Then, “Sorry. For the purpose of our agreement, we’ll stick to the hounds.”
“As you have seen both the hounds do it and me do it, I will give you that. We cannot disappear. But we can make ourselves almost invisible to the human eye. There are still signs, if you know where to look.”
“Are the hounds your equivalent of dogs?” Ricky said. “Fae animals, not shape-shifters.”
“You mean are they sentient fae in animal form? No. In that, they are indeed the equivalent of a dog, as our loyal companions and our helpers. Unlike your dogs, they can be given detailed instructions.”
“Such as finding us and watching what we’re doing and then reporting back,” I said. “You can communicate with them?”
“We can communicate through them. See through their eyes. When you spot a hound, it is the Cn Annwn watching over you.”
“Spying on us.”
“If we wanted spies, we’d stick with the ravens.”
True. The hounds weren’t exactly inconspicuous.
“You say they’re companions and working canines,” Ricky said. “So where do they stay when they aren’t ‘on the job’? A kennel? A house? With a specific Huntsman? A handler?”
“They’re more autonomous and intelligent than dogs. They choose where they stay, usually with one of us, sometimes at the stables.”
“There are stables?” I said. “So the horses are corporeal—Sorry. Beyond the scope of the current questioning.”
He smiled indulgently. “Yes, the horses are—like the dogs and us—mostly corporeal. They have stables, although—” Another smile. “Now I’m sorry. I should restrict myself to the questions asked.”
Ricky said, “If the hounds are autonomous, does that mean you can’t account for their whereabouts at all times?”
“We can summon them. Which we do, either for tasks or for hunts. You’re asking because you say you saw one that seemed abused.”
“Not seemed. It very clearly was.”
“That isn’t possible. It may have been another type of fae creature or glamour.”
“I know my—I know the hounds.”
“It was definitely a hound,” I said. “It responded to Ricky.”
“Perhaps it was only dirty? Bedraggled? They may be fae, but they are still canines. A swim in the river and a roll in the mud can be their idea of an entertaining evening.”
I detailed the hound’s injuries. “Old injuries,” I clarified. “Long healed. But the way it acted was worse. It hid from us. Cowered. Ricky managed to coax it out, and then a car came roaring around the corner and it took off like a shot. Exactly the way an abused dog would act.”
“But that’s not—No hound would—We’ve never lost one. Ever. A few have perished in the line of duty, but we’ve looked after their remains. Our lineage has been here for three hundred years, and we have never lost a hound.”
“Then it’s not yours.”
He looked at me.
“You aren’t the only Cn Annwn in existence, right? Therefore, this is someone else’s.”
“That’s not possible. If a hound disappears, the Cn Annwn search to the ends of the earth to find it. That is our vow. We have their loyalty because they have ours. They protect us because we protect them. Always.”
“For you. Your particular tribe, group, whatever. While you might hope other Huntsmen remain equally dedicated to the old ways, there’s no guarantee of that, is there?”
