Lycan, on the other hand, was beside himself. He understood the accusations Tremon was making, but he had no plan on what to do.
They were all quiet, subdued. No doubt that eyes and ears were everywhere in the Seelie realm.
The air popped and Mirelle was returned, with an old man in tow.
“Ah,” the third Councilor said, “it appears our witness has arrived.” Relief flashed on all of their faces, clearly happy to have things move along a plan they understood.
The old man looked over the group, an ancient sort of stillness to his countenance.
“Who calls me to the Seelie Court?” The man asked.
“The Council does.” The tall, female Councilor nodded to the group. “Jacob the Younger, that is you, is it not?”
“It is.”
“And can you tell us your occupation?”
“I am an astrologer. A mage of the tenth order.”
“And do you predict fated mates?”
For the first time, the old man’s face twitched with a reaction. “Predict, no. I do notpredict.”
“We don’t have time to parse words. Speak plainly. What do you do then?” The shorter Councilor asked, flipping his hand in irritation.
“Fated Mates magic is a singular sort. I have the ability to see it, to interpret it and to help those who are fated to find one another. The Fates speak to me.”
“And do people seek your services? For this interpretation you speak of?” The Councilor was on a roll now, having clearly decided to take over asking the questions to Jacob the Younger.
“Yes. It is my life’s work.”
“Did you predict, er,interpretthe fated mate of Prince Donovan of Taured?”
“I did.”
“And did you interpret the fate of Seath Rawson of the Northwest Pack?”
“I did.”
“And what was the result of that interpretation? Or those interpretations?”
“It was an unusual pairing — a human and a future Pack Alpha. I remember it well. They were fated together, of course.”
A murmur went through Tremon’s people, but Donovan still remained impassive.
Lycan’s gut slammed tight. He wasn’t meant for Seath. There it was, plain as day in the words of someone who could read the magic much better than he. What was this madness, then? This pull to Seath that he could not let go? Was he doing exactly what Tremon accused him of and tricking Seath, even unintentionally, with the spellbinding he still carried?
Even with his dim memories and those still locked down, Lycan knew Seath was the best thing that ever happened to him. This was where he was supposed to be. His home. His Alpha.
Anguish washed through him, sharper than any barbs on any memory. He was going to lose Seath, too, when all of this was over. His stomach lurched. If he had to choose between the mind-pain and this, he would take the mind-pain.
Tremon’s sickly smile spread. “So, Seath Rawson and Prince Donovan are fated mates?”
“Yes.”
The smile grew.
“Can you see the magic, here in the Seelie realm?” Caine asked, after checking with Greene that he may speak.
