Keeper's Justice
Copyright© 2025 by Charly Young
Chapter 7
Quinn
Quinn stumbled as the summons fetched him across the void and dumped him into the floral bower garden that he instantly recognized as one of the palace meeting rooms of the Court of Uonaidh, Queen of the Sidhe. The Queen herself was in attendance. He’d been in her presence twice before, and each time her blend of ageless beauty and cold ferocity had awed him. Unlike most Daione, her hair was not blond or silver, but black as night, woven into a complex braid with purple flowers and green ivy. Her hand held the ceremonial ash wand of her office. One glance into those icy green eyes left no doubt this was a warrior queen.
He looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring like a rube. Instead, he turned his attention to the rest of the environment. A random thought came to him, as it always did when he was in this realm. Alfheim was a Walt Disney world. Perfect. The colors were a little too vibrant. The smells a little bit too floral. The unsettling perfection of the place was a soul-crushing weight, unfelt until the thought of self-harm seemed appealing. It was not an easy place for humankind to flourish.
He scowled at the troll women who had summoned him. The youngest, Zeba, the Healer, gave him an unrepentant smirk. As always with her, seeing him discomfited proved to be a source of endless amusement.
The Other had come out of its place deep within his core and struggled to surge to the fore and prepare for battle. It did not like or trust the world of the Sidhe.
Be at ease, brother, Quinn soothed. Combat is not the answer here.
He gathered his wits and bowed respectfully to the Queen.
“May Singer and Song bless this gathering,” Quinn sang. He recognized the Dökkálfar Ilyrana and nodded to her. He didn’t recognize the other Dökkálfar female; a tall, blond, blue-eyed adolescent Sidhe who looked like she could play middle blocker for a UCLA volleyball team. He made a bet with himself that she was a close relative, probably a daughter.
The queen’s honor guard stood against the wall. Three of them eyed him with unconcealed hatred. The fourth, doing his job, his eyes never at rest sweept the room.
Odd. The Queen’s guard was usually the best of the best.
“Singer and Song Bless you, Keeper,” Lady Iris, the Queen’s messenger, sang. “Take your ease.”
She waved him to a table laden with brightly colored fruits and vegetables.
He nodded his thanks and gingerly sat on a slender chair that looked as if it were crafted from spider silk. He had no intention of eating anything. In the back of his brain, questions popped up. Uonaidh had granted him a private audience far too quickly. A suspiciously generous boon to a being hated by most of the Sidhe. Like a Russian doll, interactions with them always had layers. Their gifts always came with all sorts of strings.
The presence of Ilyrana, the Exarch of Rebus Forge, was another oddity.
Nothing happened by accident in this realm.
What the hell have they got me into?
His eye caught volleyball girl getting an ass-chewing from her mother. The informal tone of their house’s finger language told him she was a favorite daughter. Perhaps even the heir.
Quinn gave her a grin. It was true he didn’t look like much.
Why was she here? The Sidhe keep their precious young away from any sort of risk.
The three Troll Women arrayed themselves behind him.
Lady Iris sang out in the high Alfar of the Daoine court:
“You requested an audience, Lachlan Quinn. My Queen has granted it. What is it you desire?”
He stiffened inwardly.
Shit, it was going to be one of those meetings. I don’t have time for this.
Vuza, the ultimate tactician, dropped a warning hand on his shoulder.
Fuck it.
“Queen Uonaidh...”
As expected, that caused an immediate reaction.
Vusa’s hand spasmed on his shoulder.
The three female Sidhe seated at the table with him stared at him in open-mouthed shock.
The guards immediately surged forward, weapons free, to punish his cheek. He had just broken thousands of years of tradition and taboo by daring to address the Queen directly.
Quinn sat quietly and waited, hoping his calculations were correct.
The Sidhe Queen’s icy demeanor cracked a tiny smile. She raised a quelling hand. The guardsmen retreated to their posts.
“You play a dangerous game, Lachlan Quinn,” Iris sang.
“We have a dangerous situation, my lady,” Quinn sang back. “I apologize for breaking tradition. I mean no insult; I merely thought to gain attention. We have little time.”
He explained what he had seen in the Opari. He handed the packet of drugs he had taken to Lady Iris.
“We need to nip this in the bud. Opari is in the middle of her manna surge. Her emotions are ... chaotic. Who knows how she will react to this kind of corruption in her world?”
Lady Iris didn’t bother to examine the packet. She handed it to Ilyrana.
Of course. I should have known.
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