Rogue's Paradise

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Oh, interesting. “So, there are other sorcerers here?” I didn’t recall any from the introductions—from when I had been paying attention.

  “Not in person. They will have sent secret representatives.”

  “Spies?” That kind of tickled me.

  Rogue cocked his head, no doubt confused by the onslaught of fictional images behind the word, then nodded slightly. “Close enough.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “You will eat and relax. I will concentrate on the situation.”

  “I thought we were supposed to be a team.”

  “Don’t be concerned there. I fully intend to use every one of your many abilities to the utmost.” He gave me a salacious smile when I blushed at the image behind his words. “Follow along, if you like. Let me know what you notice.”

  Rogue’s gaze ran over the crowd in idle curiosity, seeming to revel in being the generous host. I’d seen him play this role before and it had confused me, how little he seemed to care. This time, though, the electricity of his cautious attention sounded loud in my ears, like a radio tuned between stations. Falling silent, which provided the additional benefit of allowing me to eat at the most rapid rate possible, I piggybacked on his thoughts, following along as he dipped in to read different minds, sampling their conversations and the deeper motivations beneath them.

  “Go back to the last one,” I murmured. “The woman talking about my dress.”

  He slid me a dubious glance and I smiled, close-lipped, my mouth full of some kind of delicious gravied vegetables. Then tipped my head in the woman’s general direction.

  His mind, so incisive and powerful in his confidence, arrowed straight back to the fae woman I’d pictured. Riding it felt like being on a horse at full gallop, exhilarating and impressive. He’d passed by the woman quickly and I absolutely understood why. She still hadn’t finished talking about my gown and speculating how many silk nymphs had died while weaving, sewing and affixing the tiny beads.

  I really hoped none of that was true. I also made a mental note to add “silk nymphs” to my species list. Where I would put Rogue’s nonintelligent nonbeings bore some contemplation.

  Showing a level of trust in my assessment that warmed me, Rogue stuck with the woman despite the inanity of her monologue. There. What I’d glimpsed before. Rogue caught it now, too—the black, ropy signature of Titania’s mind control. Many of the fae probably had some taint of it, if examined closely, but this one coiled around a different part of her mind, around the part that knew who she was. A spy secret even from herself.

  “What was her name again?” I asked Rogue casually. “You know me—I just can’t keep all these strange names straight.”

  “Sweetheart, you recall Lady Nimbus.”

  “Oh, of course!” A pretty decently coded message there, given that he’d never called me “sweetheart” in all our acquaintance.

  Of course, we couldn’t discuss much more than that. By mutual accord, Rogue continued dipping through thoughts while I kept an “ear” on the garrulous spy. The more I listened to her, the more I thought that even she didn’t know who she actually was. What did the spy novels call that—something like a sleeper? Seemed as though there had been movies like that, with some American kid growing up thinking he was all normal and then the trigger clicked in and he was suddenly a Russian spy. Always seemed unlikely to me, knowing how the brain worked, though the fiction had been entertaining.

  With the addition of Titania’s potent magic, anything seemed possible.

  Bored beyond belief by the woman’s chatter—she had to have spent thirty minutes on my shoes, which I’d barely noticed beyond them being black, sparkly and low-heeled enough for dancing—I almost missed it when she turned her attention to the diamond ring.

  She was, it finally penetrated, cataloging every detail about my appearance. From counting the lilies on my necklace to the cascading curls of my hairdo. Embroidering the narrative with social details that made her conversation sound like a celebrity-watcher, she nevertheless had minutely described how I looked at this moment. Who for? Someone listening from afar in some way?

  I could think of only one reason someone would want to know so much about how I appeared at this exact moment.

  To create a doppelgänger.

  Leaving me to watch our one known spy, Rogue had diverted his attention elsewhere, though he looked as much indolent lord of leisure as ever. I put my hand on his and he shook his head infinitesimally, his thoughts clearly across the room.

  Dropping my hand to his thigh under the table, I squeezed harder, impatient to get his attention. Though, as long as we sat side by side, what could happen? It wasn’t as though someone could drag me away and replace me with some puppet of myself without him noticing. Still, he needed to know my suspicions ASAP.

  Just then, a little ping trilled along that new sense, where the mass mind freshly brushed my awareness. The assembly fell silent, the musicians ending the tune as if on a preplanned flourish. Enviable timing on their part—terrible on mine.

  Rogue stood and drew me up with him, his fingers brushing over the diamond on my hand like a talisman.

  He spoke words of welcome and general hospitality that sounded like blah blah blah to me. A nonsense political speech. Everyone smiled at me, particularly the brainless lady, her bright bird’s eyes fastened on me with unwavering attention. Unsettled, I clung to Rogue’s hand, as if that might stop a kidnapper from grabbing me.

  Then everyone stood and cheered, startling me. Rogue gave me a warning look, which made me think that I wasn’t behaving appropriately, so I forced a smile.

  “To the dancing!” Rogue proclaimed.

  If I’d hoped to lag back, whisper my concerns in his ear—no such freaking luck. Servants pulled apart the table in front of us and we stepped from the raised platform and down some steps, leading the way to the ballroom through a narrow aisle of congratulatory faces that made my head swim.

  “I have to talk to you.” I hissed the whisper at Rogue.

  He patted my hand on his arm and stepped into the ballroom. “Later,” he said. “Not now. Not here.”

  “But I—”

  “Have a care, my Gwynn. I do not say this lightly.” With a gracious demeanor that belied his curt tone, he led me to the center of the ballroom. Apparently we would lead off the dancing. From where we stood, the mosaic tile floor radiated in a spiral, like the start of the yellow brick road, only crimson. It spun all the way to the walls, also circular and entirely paneled with mirrors. I’d never been in this room, having been drugged and carried off for torture before the dancing started last time. Not that I was bitter.

  Okay, I was bitter and I really needed to let go of that stuff.

  “Thank Titania,” Rogue commented in a dry tone.

  So he was happy enough to listen in on that thought? Excellent. I pictured the spy and—

  “Stop.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and gripped my right hand in his, levering me up enough that I stood on tiptoes, my heart skipping in alarm at the warning in his eyes. “Dance only.”

  The music flared into life and Rogue swept me into a whirling waltz that took all my attention to keep up with. Not that I had any choice. No surprise, but Rogue led with irresistible certainty, making following a foregone conclusion. Probably he would have picked me up and carried me along if I resisted.

  The headiness of it took me over, allaying my fears for a small space of time. He held me so tight that no one could separate us. The 3/4 waltz rhythm synced with his heartbeat and that of the life inside me, soothing me further. Rogue’s flare of anger subsided into intense regard, his blazing blue eyes intent on my face, ignoring all else as we danced in widening circles.

  We were tracing the path of the spiral, I realized. Like following a meditation path, only via the flowing dance Rogue was waltzing us through. As we neared the mirrored walls, I glimpsed our reflection in the gaps between the assembled guests.

  With a bolt of
renewed alarm, I saw myself multiplied tens, if not hundreds, of times. It seemed a terrible omen.

  We finished the dance and, in what should have been a heart-wrenchingly romantic gesture, had I not been worried out of my mind, Rogue dipped me over his arm and kissed me thoroughly, to the delighted applause of the assembly. I clung to his neck, tempted to spring a claw, just to get his damn attention.

  “Don’t do it,” he said against my mouth. “One or two more dances and we can politely retire. Then you can share what concerns you so much.”

  “Don’t let me out of your sight,” I urged him.

  “Never,” he promised and brought me upright. “Besides, you are safe inside the castle. If that weren’t the case, I would never have left you alone this afternoon. There’s a reason we have it locked up and with a full guard on alert.”

  Except for sleeper spies and people like Fafnir. What shape had he taken, to creep through the chinks? The guests surged around us, congratulating and making polite noises, then taking to the dance floor themselves.

  “Lord Rogue. Lady Sorceress.” Fafnir appeared at my elbow, as if I’d called his name, bowing with his characteristic gravity. “Seeing you dance together did my old heart good. I greatly hope, Rogue, that you forgive my dancing with your lady during your absence.” He put a light flourish on the final word, making it clear he knew as well as we did where Rogue had been.

  “I understand there’s nothing to forgive,” Rogue replied, absently, as if far more interested in the dancers, his frivolous mask in place. “What is one dance?” He waved a hand. “Nothing.”

  “I believe we danced several, but true nevertheless. Compared to having your lady for life.” Fafnir’s gaze rested on me and I had to clear my face of the reflexive wince at him needling Rogue. He might have been seeing long-dead Cecily, the way his gaze grew melancholy. “In that case, Lady Sorceress, will you pity me and dance with me once more?”

  “Oh, I couldn—”

  Rogue squeezed my hand—I really began to miss my claws, and somewhere deep inside me the cat purr-growled in agreement—reminding me that the whole diplomatic-incident thing still applied. “Go and enjoy yourself, my lady.” Rogue laid my hand in Fafnir’s, smiling at the man with clear challenge. “I shall keep a close eye on you from here.”

  As Fafnir pulled me into the crowd of dancers, into the center of the spinning reflections, the fractured images of my hundred selves kaleidoscoped through my mind.

  Asking Rogue to watch for me had been a dire mistake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In Which I Uncover a Cabal

  Dragons are not only nonmagical, but they—and their eggs—seem to emit a magic-deadening field of influence. How far this field extends from the living dragon seems to be variable. Perhaps even within conscious control?

  ~Big Book of Fairyland, “Flora and Fauna”

  I tried to keep Rogue’s position fixed in my head, but the ballroom doors, also mirrored, had been closed, leaving me bereft of that landmark. The crimson spiral should have given me a clue, but it broadened with each loop, finishing in a wide border that circumnavigated the ballroom, making all angles look the same.

  “Are you quite all right, Sorceress?” Fafnir inquired.

  “Actually, I feel a bit faint.” I seized on the excuse. “Perhaps I should return to Lord Rogue.”

  “No, no—you must sit immediately. I well recall how weakening your condition can be.” Full of solicitude, he found me a chair near the mirrored wall and coaxed me to sit. I craned my neck, searching for Rogue. Fafnir made a signal and a dragonfly girl brought me a glass of something so strongly alcoholic, I nearly gagged on the fumes.

  “Try that,” Fafnir urged. “You’ll find it most invigorating.”

  “Oh, I can’t. It’s bad for the unborn child. Would you bring me some water?” I asked the girl. She bounced off happily and Fafnir sat beside me. “I’m terrible company, General Fafnir. I’ll rest a moment and then find Lord Rogue. Please go enjoy yourself. Find another partner.”

  “I’d much rather sit and talk to you, Sorceress. Remember how I mentioned I have a story to tell you?”

  “Perhaps another time?” I started to stand and he put a restraining hand on my arm, hinting of that terrible strength all fae possessed, his eyes flat as a snake’s, the pattern on his face glittering. Scales, not snowflakes. Abruptly I knew what his animal must be, that could slither so handily through a break in the stones. “Should I be insulted, Sorceress? I thought we had something of a friendship.”

  Where was Rogue?

  Chasing after my doppelgänger, no doubt. He wasn’t far, I felt that much through the cords between us. If only I dared reach for him in thought.

  I sent a question to Darling Hercules, who should be nearby, aiding the dancing with his anesthetic skills. He answered with a distracted Hmm? I asked him to send Athena to me. If anyone overheard that, it should seem innocuous enough.

  “We are friends,” I assured Fafnir. We cannot afford to alienate anyone at this time. “I am just overcome by the press and all the excitement. Do tell me your story.”

  I resigned myself to it. Even if Rogue did watch a copy of me instead of my actual self, what harm could it cause as long as I stayed safe? Rogue knew my internal self as well as, if not better than, my external appearance, so he couldn’t be fooled for long. The greatest danger would be if someone wanted to grab me and use an imitation to distract Rogue. But I wasn’t without weapons of my own. I readied several defensive wishes, accepted the glass of water from the dragonfly girl who reappeared, and forced myself to relax.

  “You knew I meant to visit the Inn of Seven Moons and pay my respects to Cecily’s resting place.”

  “Right.” I believed he had loved Cecily. I hoped, for her sake, that he had. “How did that go?”

  “I took into account your cautions that the proprietor would be frightened to see me, so I went in disguise. Mistress Nancy is unusually sharp for a human.”

  “Yes, she is.” I smiled in fond memory of the Cockney-accented innkeeper from the 1800s who’d also ended up in Faerie. Not a sorceress, she boasted other gifts that allowed her to prosper far better than our native human counterparts here.

  “She quickly recognized me anyway, though I did not recall her at all—something she also seemed to intuit. Right away she asked if you’d sent me.”

  Smart cookie, indeed. Nancy would have known that Fafnir would have no reason to come back on his own. She thought he’d murdered Cecily and left without a backward glance.

  “I told her yes and she sends her regards. She also asked me to tell you two things. If there’s to be a wedding she’d love to assist.”

  “Ah—I appreciate the message.”

  “I asked her to show me Cecily’s grave and for the story she’d told you. She wasn’t surprised, saying you wouldn’t have sent me if I hadn’t been bespelled at the time. Apparently the fact that I did not recognize her played a part in her confidence.”

  “I’m glad you were able to at least pay your respects to the grave.”

  “Yes, and retrieve the body. She’s rather decomposed—mortality is so disconcerting, I don’t know how you manage it—but I can work with what’s left.”

  The food I’d stuffed myself with rose in the back of my throat and I took a moment to swallow it down and make it stay there. I so did not want to ask. But I had to.

  “Does Mistress Nancy know you took Cecily’s corpse?” I eased my way into the treacherous waters.

  “Oh, Titania, no! I think she’d be revolted, with her human sensibilities. I returned later and removed Cecily in secret. The grave will appear undisturbed.”

  “And what do you plan to do...” I trailed off, my own sensibilities jangling.

  “I’m hoping for your assistance there. You have a unique combination of skills, Sorceress Gwynn, with both your powerful magic and understanding of mortal flesh.”

  “I see.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Athena,
with impeccable timing, walked up right then.

  “Can I fetch anything for you, Lady Gwynn?” she asked, the soul of discretion.

  “Would you find Lord Rogue and let him know I’m taking a break from dancing and where I am?”

  Her blue-fringed eyes wide and full of polite obedience, she nodded, then spun her dagger between her fingers. “A pleasure to see you again, General Fafnir. I’ll be back straight away.”

  Multiple messages delivered. Better.

  “I’m surprised Rogue lets you keep that one. She’s most insolent.”

  “Lord Rogue doesn’t decide for me.”

  “Doesn’t he?” Fafnir’s expression took on an acquisitive gleam. “I’d hoped that might be true, given how badly he’s treated you and only offering you marriage after the fact. You know he was off fucking Titania, yes? Very bad form, even if they’ve been lovers for centuries. I would treat you far better, Sorceress.” He took my hand. “Come away with me. I will cherish and protect you. We can work together. Let this be my favor to you—I’ll spirit you away this very night.”

  “But...” My thoughts struggled to latch on to something that made sense, though I possessed the presence of mind to snatch my hand away. “I promised to marry Lord Rogue. I can’t be foresworn.”

  “Did you agree to a date? I understand the wedding is not yet firmly set.”

  I pressed my lips on the reply, unwilling to give him any further fuel.

  “Aha!” Fafnir pounced on the opening regardless. “Rogue has always been overconfident with females. It will not bother me if you remain engaged to him. Indeed, it will provide a useful leash for us to control him.”

  I laughed at that, right in Fafnir’s face. Absurd to think anyone could control Rogue.

  Fafnir’s visage clouded with angry insult, but I was beyond caring at this point. Surely he counted as alienated already. “You laugh at me, Sorceress, but we’ve carefully planned for this, for much longer that you can know. Rogue may think I’ve lost the game, but there’s more than one way to play.”