by M. J. Scott
“How long will Lady Bryony be?” Abernathy asked, changing the topic. It was the first time he’d spoken voluntarily since we arrived at the gate. He looked somewhat wild around the eyes. I guessed he had never been to a private Fae residence before and wasn’t exactly relishing the experience so far. Which was understandable. Lord sa’Eleniel wasn’t an effusive or welcoming host, and it was clear that we were effectively stuck in these rooms until somebody came to tell us it was all right to leave.
The wards on the doors were almost as extreme as those on the outer gates, though I wasn’t sure that Bryony had actually triggered them to keep us in.
Fen stretched back farther in his seat. “Hard to say. Her father likes to talk—or lecture. Could be hours.”
“I thought we were going to the court today,” Abernathy protested.
“We will. But the concept of a day is somewhat flexible here. Time can be manipulated,” I said.
“Indeed,” Master Columbine said. “So we should try to relax.” She rose from her seat and crossed to the table where a silver tea service sat, steam curling gently from the spout.
She stopped for a moment, staring down at the pot and the simple silver cups that accompanied it, as though admiring the work. Then she turned back to us. “Tea, anybody?”
Guy shook his head. Fen also declined. But I nodded. It was a long time since I’d had Fae tea brewed in Summerdale. And I didn’t think Lord sa’Eleniel would be trying to poison his guests. Me, maybe, but the rest of them hadn’t done anything to annoy him as far as I knew—barring Fen perhaps—and he couldn’t know which of us would drink the tea. Or that his daughter wouldn’t, for that matter. So it was probably safe.
Master Columbine poured four cups and carried them over on a tray, passing them out to Liam and Abernathy and me in a manner that told me she was familiar with Fae customs. She didn’t quite have the grace—or all the precise gestures—that went with a Fae performing a true tea sharing, but her movements were pretty all the same.
I wondered how old she was. Older than Guy or Abernathy, that was for certain. Her dark hair, pulled back neatly against her head, had some silver threads but her face was mostly smooth.
“Thank you,” I said when she had picked up her own cup. “This smells delicious.”
The metalmage shrugged, holding her own cup forward to examine it again. “I didn’t have much to do with the tea itself.” She sipped, then smiled.
“Bryony said you worked with the Fae smiths for a time.”
Her smile grew somewhat wistful. “Yes.” She sighed. “Not long enough.”
Across from her Fen frowned. “Saskia wants to learn from them too.”
“They are the best at our crafts,” Master Columbine replied. “They can help us make the most of our powers. Let us hope there is a return to peace so that she gets the chance to return to her studies.” Her expression darkened a little, her gaze somewhat accusing as she watched Guy and Fen.
Fen held up his hands. “Don’t blame me. She was determined to be part of the delegation before I even met her.”
Master Columbine nodded. “I know. But you could have discouraged her.”
“If you know how to discourage my sister,” Guy said with a grin, “then the rest of my family will pay good money to learn the trick of it.”
Master Columbine shook her head at him. “You DuCaines are too headstrong.”
“We know what we want.”
“That doesn’t mean you know what’s best.”
Guy sat up a little straighter. “We’ve done all right so far.”
Master Columbine sipped her tea again, declining an answer.
I finished my tea, savoring the last of the spicy green taste of it, and put the silver cup on the table. Sitting here drinking tea and discussing the DuCaine family wasn’t exactly what I’d come for. I wanted to get to the point. Then we could return to the City and get on with the job we had to do there.
The sooner I got out of Summerdale, the better. The power was seductive, but that power also came with a cost in terms of politics and restrictions and obligations. I didn’t want to get drawn back into the court if I could help it.
I wanted to see my parents and my sisters, if they would see me, but that was all the connection I desired.
I didn’t know if it would even be possible, though I had no doubt the Seneschal would have shared the news of my arrival at the gate with little delay.
Which was another reason to get to the court and then get away from here. If my Family knew I had returned, so would my enemies. Thirty years ago they’d tried to kill me. No doubt they would try again. Thirty years was not long to wait for a Fae, not one bent on some scheme or other.
I’d never been entirely sure who’d pulled the ultimate strings that had led to my duel with Stellan, but I had no doubt that his mother, at least, hated me as she had back then.
I sighed and got to my feet. Sitting here doing nothing was chafing at me like an ill-fitting collar on a dog, and I had no inclination to play the obedient puppy to Lord sa’Eleniel’s hand on the leash.
I extended my powers toward the wards again. They didn’t immediately repel me. Perhaps Bryony hadn’t sealed us in after all. “I’m going to find Bryony,” I announced, and headed for the door before any of them could stop me. The wards yielded to my hand and I sealed them behind me. I knew enough about this house to avoid getting lost and getting into trouble, but the others didn’t. Hopefully they were all wary enough of the idea of being here in the Veiled World to be discouraged from wandering around unescorted. Maybe Fen could undo the wards again, but I didn’t think he’d try.
Once out in the corridor, I searched for the feel of Bryony amongst the multiple lines of power that sang through the air around me. It took a few seconds, but I found her, clear and cool, halfway across the house. In fact, I realized, as I got my bearings, I knew exactly where she was.
Chapter Nine
BRYONY
I’d been half expecting the knock at my door. Here in the Veiled World, I could feel Ash more clearly than ever. I’d felt him leave the suite where I’d left him with the others and move through the house like a signal fire in the night.
Damn the man.
Couldn’t he even behave for an hour and wait for me to return?
The answer to that was, as always, a resounding no.
“You’re not meant to be wandering the halls,” I said, opening the door.
“No, but I did anyway,” he replied. He spread his hands in a gesture that may have been meant to be placatory. “Can I come in?”
I hesitated. The last time Ash had been in my rooms here was the night before his duel. A night of memories I didn’t want to revisit. Memories that had no power over me if I didn’t let them, I reminded myself. I stepped back. “You might as well.”
He stepped inside, looked around with an odd expression. “It’s just the same.”
I pressed the door closed, set the wards so we wouldn’t be interrupted. The last thing I wanted was my father storming in to continue his lecture about my failures as a daughter and finding Asharic here. “I don’t spend much time here. There’s no need for me to change it.” I looked at the room. The furniture in the receiving room where we stood was the same as it had been all that time ago. Low couches, a table and chairs, and a writing desk by the window. The upholstery was myriad shades of dark blue and green. Ash looked past me toward the silk curtains—in the same midnight shades—that covered the entry to my bedchamber and his eyes darkened.
“What do you want, Asharic?” I said, not wanting to let him travel too far down that particular path of remembering.
“What happened with your father?”
“If you’d stayed with the others, you would have found that out.”
“How? You’re hiding here in your room instead of coming back to us.”
“I’m not hiding. I stopped here to get something suitable to wear to court. I would have been with you in a few more minute
s. You need to learn patience, Ash. This is the Veiled World, not wherever you’ve been off roaming. There’s a certain way of doing things here.”
“You didn’t like that way of doing things any more than I did,” he retorted.
“Maybe I’ve grown up since then.”
“Given in, you mean.”
Temper flared. “You have no right to judge anything I’ve done or not done.”
He held up his hands, this time definitely placating. “All right, sorry.” He cocked his head, smiled one of those smiles at me. “Did you say something about choosing a dress? Want me to help you?”
“I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself.”
“I know. But it’s more fun to do it with someone else.”
I scowled at him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t flirt with me.”
“Who says I was flirting?”
“Offering to undress me isn’t flirting?”
“Flirting is playing,” he said. “When it comes to undressing you, I’m deadly serious.” His voice had gone low and rough and I felt the pull of it in the pit of my stomach.
“Please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a bad idea.”
He shook his head. “Don’t you want to know?”
“Know what?”
“What it would be like between us now? Aren’t you curious?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, but no words came. It was a lie. Plain and simple. And I couldn’t speak it. No matter how much I wanted to. Nor could I think of any way to speak around it. It was too big. The desire coiling within me. The wanting.
I thought I’d tamed it. Buried it. Done my best to burn him from my heart and the memories of his touch from my skin. Thirty years. Half a lifetime for a human. But not for us. Not long enough for me to be successful, it seemed. Because for thirty years I had worked and slept and eaten. I’d made friends and run a hospital and tended the sick and, yes, from time to time, taken men to my bed. But it wasn’t enough.
Apparently I had no sense at all.
Because I still wanted Ash. The cause of so much pain.
Why?
Because he’s mine, whispered a tiny, fierce voice in the far reaches of my mind.
I closed my eyes, did my best to silence it. And to silence the shiver in my skin his nearness caused. I failed. I opened my eyes again and he was still smiling.
“Don’t,” I said for the third time.
“Don’t what?”
“Take us back there.”
“Why not?”
I’m not sure I’ll survive you a second time. I bit my lip, forcing the words back. “It’s not a good idea.”
“If it wasn’t a good idea, neither of us would feel this way. We’d be able to resist.”
“People fail to resist bad ideas all the time. I know. I see the results every day.”
Ash moved closer. One more small—oh so small—step and he’d be touching me. I should’ve stopped him. But I couldn’t.
“Do you really think it’s a bad idea?” he asked.
“Don’t you?”
“No. Like I said, I’ve been thinking about you for a long time.”
“You want me to believe that you’ve been true all this time? Did you sleep alone, pining for me?”
His eyes darkened. “Did you?”
“No.” Not always was the second part of that sentence. That much I could stop myself from saying. “After all, you weren’t coming back.”
“I’m back now. Things are different.”
“It’s still a bad idea.”
“I disagree.”
“You would. You never did have any sense.”
“Not when it came to you.”
“Ash—”
“Bryony—” he said softly, teasingly. “Are you going to stop running now and let me kiss you? Because if you’re not, then I need to go set something on fire.”
Say no. Say no. Say no.
“Yes,” I said.
“V’lai’e’tan.”
Thank the Veil. I had to agree with his sentiment. If not with his delay. “Stop talking,” I said, and kissed him.
It wasn’t like in a story. When the long-lost lover returns home and the kiss that seals him and his beloved back together is sweet and pretty.
This wasn’t sweet. We’d never had time for sweet. No, what lay between Ash and me was wild and hungry and fierce. Consuming. He tasted like I remembered. Of fire and passion. Of dark nights and lost days and pleasure that was almost too much to bear. Almost. But I could bear it. I had borne it, and the memory of it, for too long now.
I drank him down and he drank me and I could no longer tell where I was or who I was or anything beyond the feel of him. Before I knew it, we were tumbled on the floor and his hand skimmed over my breast and I arched into him, wanting more.
I was pulling his shirt up toward his shoulders when there was a knock at the door.
We froze and reality crashed back like a cold wave. “Yes,” I called, hoping I didn’t sound as breathless and dazed as I felt.
“Lady Bryony, you have been summoned to court.”
Fuck the Veil. A thousand curses ran through my head, but I was already pushing Ash off me. This was why we’d come here, and regardless of what I’d rather be doing, I had to take the chance now that it had come.
Ash rolled off me, his face a mix of frustration and wry acceptance. “Duty calls.”
I hid my surprise. Once upon a time, he would have tried to keep me there, not willing to let me go until we were both satisfied.
Maybe he had changed.
I pushed that particular notion away too. He was being sensible because right now he was being paid to be sensible. He was still the one who had started this while we’d been waiting to be called to court. Knowing full well that this could happen. Of course, I was the one who’d let him do it, so maybe I had to absolve him of that particular infraction at least.
I could control myself. I’d been doing it for thirty years. I would continue to do it.
Asharic or no Asharic. I got to my feet, straightened my clothes with a few quick tugs and a tweak or two of glamour, and waited for Ash to do the same.
Then I crossed the room and opened the door.
ASH
I had forgotten the size of the court . . . the way the marble that formed the floor beneath our feet seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. It wasn’t quite that far, of course, but it was at least a mile square. Supposedly it was meant to be able to house all the Fae if they were summoned. I’d never seen that happen. What was more usual was that the High Families gathered here and the lesser Fae went about their business as much as possible, trying to avoid being drawn into the whims of the court if they could.
And now it seemed we weren’t even to face all the High Families. The ten men and women who greeted our party, arrayed in a line in front of the empty throne, didn’t represent all the High Families. Just the most influential of them.
Sa’Eleniel, sa’Inviel, sa’Uriel, sa’Namiel, sa’Liniel, sa’Seviel, sa’Kariel, sa’Anamiel, and lastly, sa’Oriel. Stellan’s Family. And it was his mother, dressed in robes of the orange and brown and black of their house, who faced me now.
Salvia sa’Ambriel’imbril, who had wed Isak sa’Oriel several centuries ago and borne him a succession of sons and daughters. The youngest, and most beloved of whom, had been Stellan. Stellan of the copper hair and bronze eyes, who resembled his mother more than his father. Stellan, who’d been a complete spoiled pain in my ass but who was the light of Salvia’s eyes. Those cool, cruel amber eyes that regarded me now as if I was a noxious thing crawling across her carpet.
Fair enough. I’d killed her son. Though that was as much blame as I would accept. She’d been the one in the background goading him on in his foolishness, and she was the one who had to live with that just as I had to live with what I’d done. What I’d never had time to find
out was why she’d pushed him into the duel or who else might have been involved in whatever game she’d been playing at the time.
What was clear from the anger in her face, and, indeed, her very presence here, was that the game wasn’t done.
I ignored her, shifting my attention to Lord sa’Eleniel and Maxim sa’Uriel. My father. Whose face was stony, as though he was determined to give no clue as to how he felt about seeing me, his wayward son, restored to the court.
I inclined my head to him, as was required, but didn’t speak. No point making a move until I knew what he was thinking.
Besides which, it was Bryony who was meant to take the lead here. Bryony and the others who were here to try to get these ten to see reason and return to the negotiations. To try to stop a war. A war that I would have to fight if they failed. That had to be more important to me now.
No matter how much I wanted my father to show me that he was glad to see me.
Bryony wore court robes that matched her father’s sleek black and sapphire. Heavy layers of velvet and silk and satin and looping ropes of jewels that meant she had to be more uncomfortable than I was in the robes that the sa’Eleniel servants had presented to me. They were in my Family colors but not half as elaborate as the ones worn by the Fae standing before us. For which I was thankful.
I was used to being unhampered by finery. Free to move.
Free to fight.
Which I might yet need to do.
But for now I had to stay silent and let Bryony do what she had come here to do. She stepped forward, beautiful in the colors that echoed her hair and eyes, looking just as regal as the lords and ladies who waited to hear her petition.
She’d always been beautiful, but here in the court, she shone somehow. Or maybe that was just my alarming degree of sensitivity to her presence. I could still taste her kisses. Still wished to no little degree that we were back in her room and that no one had interrupted us.
Wished that that dark hair was loose and flowing over my skin so the scent of her surrounded me as we moved together.
Pay attention.