Fair Game

walked and Alistair Beauclaire crumbled the rue in his left hand and scattered it as they walked, leaving behind a trail of leaves that was too thick for the small sprig he had started with. The last of it fell from his hands as the horse stopped in front of Les Heuter.
    Charles tried to move at last—but found he could do nothing except breathe.
    “It is not meet that my daughter’s attacker should live,” Beauclaire said. He raised his sword and swung, scarcely slowing as metal met flesh and won. He beheaded Les Heuter in front of the television camera—and then spoke into it.
    “For two hundred years I have been bound by my oath that I would not use my powers for personal gain, nor for the gain of my people. In return we would be allowed to come here and live in quiet harmony in a place unbound by iron.”
    He didn’t say whom he’d sworn his oath to, though Charles rather thought it didn’t matter. For one such as this fae, an oath sworn to a child was as valid as an oath sworn to a king or the pope.
    Tipping his bloody blade toward the body on the ground, Beauclaire said, quietly, “The time of that oath is past, broken by this man and by those who freed him without regard to justice. I reclaim my magic for me and for my people. Our day begins anew.”
    Then he raised the dripping sword up toward the sky and announced harshly, “We, the fae, declare ourselves free of the laws of the United States ofAmerica. We do not recognize them. They have no authority over us. From this moment forward we are our own sovereign nation, claiming as our own those lands ceded to us. We will treat with you, as one hostile nation treats with another, until such time as it seems us good to do elsewise. I, Alistair Beauclaire, once and again Gwyn ap Lugh, Prince of the Gray Lords, do so determine. All will abide my wishes.”
    The white horse raised his front feet and spun, bounding down the stairs and back through the path the other riders had made for him. As the white horse ran, a white mist rose behind him, covering them all for a moment before dissipating, taking with it all the fae.
    Senator Heuter dropped to his knees to mourn his son.
    THE MARROK LET himself into his son’s house. Charles had flown home the night before—all the way from Boston. He’d decided to quit taking commercial flights until security no longer required him to watch others pat down his mate. Bran couldn’t argue with his logic, but they had arrived late and gone straight home. Bran had tried to let them sleep in, but the need to make sure they were safe had overridden his sense of courtesy.
    He walked soundlessly down the hall to the bedroom.
    Charles lay on the bed with Anna sprawled bonelessly on top of him, her hair covering her face. Bran smiled, pleased that his son was happy. No matter what else was wrong, and he was very afraid that a lot was going to be wrong in very short order thanks to the unexpected move by the usually cautious fae, the knowledge that Charles was going to be all right was satisfying. In that moment, watching his son sleep, he understood Beauclaire’s actions entirely.
    Charles’s eyes slit open, bright gold.
    “Sleep for a little while, Brother Wolf,” Bran murmured very softly. “I’ll keep watch until you wake.”
    “THE FAE HAVE retreated to their reservations,” Da said as he served Anna pancakes. His da liked to make pancakes for breakfast, but the deer-shaped ones were a new thing. Charles tried not to analyze his father when he could avoid it.
    “What about the humans?” Anna asked. “The reservation bureaucracy?” She didn’t seem bothered by the pancakes.
    He’d woken up after flying from Boston to Montana to find his da cooking breakfast for them: sausage and pancakes shaped like deer. It wasn’t just any deer, either—they looked like Bambi from the Disney cartoon. Charles didn’t want to know how his father had managed that.
    Charles preferred his deer to taste like meat and his pancakes to look like pancakes. Brother Wolf thought he was too picky. Brother Wolf was probably right.
    “The humans were driven out and the gates closed against them. Army helicopters sent to surveil the area can’t seem to find the reservations to fly over them.”
    Charles snorted. “Typical fae stuff.”
    “They’ve approached me,” Da said.
    Charles put down his fork. Anna, being Anna, took the spatula out of his da’s hand and tugged him down to sit with them. She didn’t say anything, just