Swallowing Darkness mg-7

by Лорел Гамильтон

  "Look at yourself," he said, his voice soft.

  I didn't understand what he meant; then I caught the soft glow on the edge of my vision. There was something on my head, and it was glowing, but the glow was so faint that I hadn't noticed it.

  One of the Red Caps unsheathed his great sword, and held it up for Doyle. He took it, and held the flat of the blade so I could see myself. The image was distorted, but I could see something black and silver on my head, though silver was too strong a word. I turned my head, and the moonlight caught the dew, and outlined the spiderweb that formed the crown.

  "Oh, my God," I whispered.

  "It is the Crown of Moonlight and Shadows," he said.

  I stared at him. "But that's the crown of the Unseelie Court."

  "Yes," he said.

  "And it's mine!" Cel screamed it, from the edge of the field. He held a spear in his hand. The runes glowed across the field, and I knew it was the spear known only as Shrieker. The queen had indeed opened the weapons vault to her son. Shrieker had once been able to slay armies, not with its blade, but with the screaming it made in the air when it was thrown.

  I saw a flash of white on the edge of the field. Cel's arm pulled back, and he made a small running start to cover us all with its deadly scream. The white stag leaped. It made a graceful arc, and put itself in the way of the spear. Cel couldn't stop the blow, so the spear buried itself in the white stag's side, and was jerked from Cel's hands as the stag tried to run.

  Doyle and the rest were running, closing on Cel. I had eyes only for the stag as it collapsed to its knees. The Red Caps and the brothers ran for the fight, except for Jonty. He scooped me into his arms, as he had that one night when he'd run across the fields to get me to a different battle in time. Now he ran like the wind was at his back to get me to the stag. To get me to Frost's side before he breathed his last.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The fight was between us and the dying stag. As always, Cel was between me and what I loved. Jonty sat me on the ground. My body was splattered with the warm blood of the Red Caps' magic. He looked carved of blood from holding me so close. He drew his own sword to wade into the fight, but I realized that the reason the fight was taking so long was that they were trying not to kill Cel. He wanted them dead, and even as I watched he opened a wound in Galen's arm that sprayed blood, and made him retreat.

  There was blood on Rhys's face and a wound in Mistral's side that he was favoring, which meant he was hurt. Cel was no match for them, but if they only wanted to disarm him and he was willing to kill them, it put even the best warrior at a disadvantage. Holly and Ash were actually not fighting, because a goblin does not fight except to kill. It raised again the idea that the Red Caps had once been their own kingdom with its own customs.

  Doyle sprang backward just in time to avoid a sword thrust. He had not drawn his sword. I think he didn't trust what he would do to Cel with a blade in his hand. It had been ingrained in them for centuries that they were not allowed to harm Cel, no matter what he did. The queen would have killed them for it. But Andais was no longer queen.

  I yelled, "Kill him! Do not die to protect him!"

  Galen looked my way, and got a cut across his chest that made him stumble. Cel came in for the kill, and only Doyle's sword kept the blow from falling. He'd drawn his sword at last. He drove Cel back with whirring swordwork so that his blade moved too fast to follow with the eye, like the blade of some handheld electric thing. No one was that fast, no one but Doyle.

  Cel actually kept the blade at bay, his own swordwork an answering blur. In that moment, I saw for the first time that Cel wasn't just a mamma's boy. There was a warrior in all that spoiled prince. Few could have withstood Doyle, even for a few moments, but Cel managed. He made no progress, but he kept the blade from touching him or disarming him.

  The field had gone utterly silent; there was nothing but the ring of blade on blade, and the grunts of effort from Cel. Doyle worked in silence, except for the slither of his feet on the ground as he moved, and the hiss of his blade along Cel's.

  It was too fast for me to follow, but Andais was a goddess of war, and she saw more. She yelled out across the cold air, "Darkness, please, spare him!"

  I saw a hesitation, a moment in Doyle's whirring movements. Cel tried to press the advantage, but suddenly his blade was spinning through the air, and Doyle's blade was at his throat, as he lay on the ground, panting up at the other man.

  Cel was breathing hard, but he was smiling. He was smiling up at Doyle with that same arrogance I'd seen him wear all his life. His mother had saved him again. The Queen of Air and Darkness had that power.

  Doyle stood with Black Madness pressed to Cel's throat, but did not drive it home. Andais was walking across the field toward us. "No, not again" was all I thought.

  I looked at Mistral on his knees, clutching his side, leaning on his shining spear, his sword still naked in his hand. Galen was down to one useable arm. He stood breathing hard, his sword in his hand, rage plain on his usually smiling face. Rhys's face bled freely, and I realized that Cel had tried to cut out his only good eye. He had missed, but the fact that he'd tried meant he hadn't taken the fight seriously. He had wanted to hurt us, not necessarily kill us. He had wanted to maim.

  Ash and Holly bore wounds, for they had joined the fight after I called for Cel's death. That Cel could wound them so quickly said just how much I'd underestimated him as a warrior.

  I said "No." The crown glowed like a dark halo as I moved forward. I looked at Sholto on the edge of the field with his sluagh, and I yelled out, "Why did you not join the fight?"

  "The queen forbade it," he called back.

  I stared across the field at Andais. She wasn't quite to us. I called out, "Andais, do you see the crown upon my head?"

  She hesitated, then said "Yes." The one word sighed and seemed to touch everyone on the field.

  "What crown is it?"

  Her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword, Mortal Dread, which could bring true death to anyone. "It is the Crown of Moonlight and Shadows. It was once my crown." There was bitterness to that last.

  "Now it's mine."

  "So it seems," she said.

  "You vowed in open court that whichever of us became pregnant first would be your heir. You may not have intended to keep your word, but faerie kept it for you. Goddess and Consort have crowned me."

  "You wear the Crown of Moonlight and Shadows," she said.

  Cel screamed out, "And it is mine! You promised it to me!" Doyle's sword tip pushed a little harder, and a drop of blood welled black in the moonlight.

  Andais stood there with her cloak of darkness and shadows swirling around her. Her helmet was tucked under one arm. We looked at each other over that cold ground.

  "Did you promise him your crown?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "After promising me the chance to be queen," I said.

  "Before," she said.

  "You are an oathbreaker, my aunt. The wild hunt lives."

  "I know you and my Perverse Creature can summon the wild hunt. I know you slew your cousin and the other conspirators of the Seelie Court."

  "Would you have us hunt you?" I asked.

  "Would it save my son's life?"

  "No," I said.

  "But still, I am an oathbreaker. I deserve to be hunted."

  Andais was the ultimate survivor. There was only one reason she would choose to die.

  "Before Sholto and I give chase, I will order Cel's death," I said. "Our chase will not give him time to escape, and I don't think he has enough friends left in court to save him."

  "I have allies," Cel yelled from the ground.

  I looked only at my aunt, not at him, as I said, "Siobhan is dead, and your so-called allies fled when they could. The only one who came to save you is your mother. If she is dead, then I think, cousin, you will find that you have no allies left. They don't follow you. They follow her."

  "They will not follow
you, Meredith," Cel said. "Crown, or no crown, if it is not me on the throne, then they will kill you and choose their own ruler. My spies have heard them plot this."

  I laughed, and finally looked down at Cel. Whatever he saw on my face widened his eyes, and made him catch his breath, as if he saw something that frightened him. "You never understood me, cousin, or you, my aunt," I said. "I never wanted to rule. I know they hate me, and no matter how much power I show them, they will always see me as the future of the sidhe. They see me as the diminished them. They see in me what they see in Sholto, that the sidhe grow weak. They would rather hide in their hollow hills and waste away than change and go outside to meet the world. I had hope for our people. My father had hope for our people."

  "His hope is what killed him," Cel said.

  I looked down at him where he lay on the ground, Doyle's sword at his throat, but he didn't look frightened. He believed that Andais would save him. Even now, he was confident in her power to protect him.

  "How do you know that hope killed my father?" I asked.

  Something crossed through his eyes, some thought or emotion. I smiled at him.

  "It's just an expression," he said, but his voice wasn't so confident now.

  "No," I said, "it's not." I knelt beside him.

  "Cel," Andais said, "Cel, don't... "

  My smile stayed. I couldn't seem to stop smiling, though I wasn't happy. "I hadn't seen you fight before. I didn't understand how good you were."

  Cel tried to sit up, but Doyle's sword point pushed him back down. "I am glad you finally understand that I could lead our people."

  "You killed him. You killed Prince Essus. You yourself. It's why we couldn't find an assassin. It's why no matter how many people Andais tortured they had nothing to tell us about my father's death."

  He yelled, "She's mad, Mother. You ordered me not to plot against my uncle. I obey you in all things."

  "But you didn't plot," I said. "You did it yourself. Because you were good enough with a blade, and because you knew he would hesitate. You knew my father loved you. You counted on it."

  Andais's voice was almost a wail, "Cel, tell me she's wrong."

  "She's wrong," he yelled.

  "Swear by the Darkness that Eats all Things. Swear by the wild hunt. Swear, and I'll believe you," she said. "Swear those oaths and I will fight to the end for you."

  He tried. "I swear by the Darkness That Eats All Things... " and for a moment I thought I'd been wrong, then he stopped. He tried again. "I swear by the wild hunt... I swear." He screamed it. "I swear!"

  "What do you swear, Cel? Son, tell me you did not kill my brother. For the love of Goddess, tell me you did not kill Essus."

  He lay on the ground, staring from Doyle to me, to the circle of my other guards who had gathered around us. He stared up at us, his eyes wide, shifting back and forth as if seeking a way out. Rhys stood beside Doyle, his face a mask of blood. Galen came to kneel by me. He had no good arm left to both hug me and keep his blade. He leaned his head against my cheek, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Merry."

  Mistral was still kneeling where he'd been left, which meant he was hurt indeed. But he called out, "Essus was the best of us."

  Cel yelled, "So good, my uncle, that they wanted him to be king. They wanted him to kill my mother and be king."

  "Essus would never have done that," Doyle said.

  "My brother loved us!" Andais screamed it at him. She looked at me, and there was real pain in her eyes. In all the years of seeking, it had never occurred to her that it was her own son.

  "Yes," Cel said. He grabbed my arm, and Doyle's sword brought another drop of blood from his throat. "Do you know what your father's last words were, Meredith?"

  I could only shake my head.

  "He said he loved me." Then I felt his power spill up and over us all. One moment he was helpless, the next he was the wielder of old blood, and everyone around him had wounds to be reborn.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I waited for the pain of the shrapnel wounds, But it was nothing compared to the pain of my men. Two thousand years of war. A thousand years of being tortured by my aunt. Every sword cut, every spear thrust, every whip mark, every claw was there on their bodies in one red ruin.

  Galen writhed on the ground beside me clutching the bloody front of his pants. I knew what wound had reappeared. Rhys's missing eye was a bloody hole again. Doyle lay on his side, fighting to try to get to his knees, but he was too hurt. They were all too hurt. There were cries in the distance, and it was not just my men. The Red Caps were back to being damaged. I understood in that moment what a terrible hand of power Cel possessed. I hadn't understood until that moment. I hadn't understood so very much until that moment.

  Cel jerked me to my feet by my wrist. He pulled me in against his body, and turned me to gaze out at the field. Everyone was on the ground, everyone. Andais was just a dark heap on the frost-whitened grass. Her cloak of shadows had gone, which meant she was either unconscious or worse.

  "Draw your sword," he hissed in my face. "Let me disarm you in front of them all, and drive it into that fertile womb of yours. Did you know that's why my mother turned against me? She made me take those human doctors' tests and found that I couldn't father children. That's when she called you home." He traced his free hand up the side of my neck, until he entwined his fingers in my hair. He stopped just short of where the crown still burned with its darkling flame on my head.

  He let go of my wrist, and put his other hand on the other side of my face. He turned me to face him and cradled me oh so gently between his hands. "Draw your sword, Merry. Draw it, and let them see how weak you truly are." He whispered it against my face as he came in for a kiss.

  I put my hands on his hands, bare skin to bare skin, as he kissed me. My arm that had been crippled by the original injury seemed a little less hurt. Was it the crown protecting me, or the fact that I was queen at last?

  He laid a gentle kiss on my mouth, a good kiss, and not what I'd expected, but then he was full of surprises tonight.

  He drew back from me, taking my hands in his. He smiled, and his eyes were completely mad. "I'm going to kill you now."

  "I know," I said, and I used the hands of blood and flesh together. Where Holly and Ash and I had used them to heal, now I used them to destroy. I drove the hand of blood into him, not in search of wounds, but in search of blood. I used the hand of flesh to cut and tear his body from the inside out. As the hands of power had flowed over the battlefield in a wave of cleansing blood and smoothing flesh, now they filled this one man.

  Cel's eyes went wide. "You can't," he whispered.

  "I can," I said, and I flexed that power, flexed it like a giant's fist that I'd shoved deep into his body, then I opened that fist. One moment Cel was there, eyes wide, hands in mine, the next he wasn't. Blood smacked into me, and thicker things hit my face. There was a sharp pain in my cheek, and I was left standing alone, covered in blood and thicker things. I scraped what was left of my cousin off my face so I could see, and found that it was his teeth in my cheek, blown there by the force of the magic. I pulled them out, and promised myself a tetanus shot, and antibiotics if I could have them while pregnant. I promised myself a lot of things as I stood there, shaking.

  Doyle was suddenly at my side. Rhys was there too, wiping the blood from his face. His eye was back to its usual scar. Galen was with me too. His only injuries were the fresh ones from the fight.

  "But how... ?" I asked.

  "He died, and his hand of old blood died with him," Doyle said. I held my bloodstained hand out to Doyle. He took it, and I drew him over the red ruin that was all that was left of our enemy. I drew him down into a kiss, and the moment our lips met, our skin ran with light. I was moonlight, and he was black fire, bright enough that it cast shadows across the field.

  There were gasps and whispers, and I finally came away from the kiss to find that there was a crown woven into Doyle's hair. Thin thorn branches formed a latticework
above his head, but each thorn was tipped with silver. It was Jonty who whispered, "The Crown of Thorn and Silver."

  Doyle reached up and touched the crown. He came away with a bright spot of crimson on his fingertip. "It is sharp."

  "My king," I said.

  He smiled. "One of them."

  Then a sound, a horrible wet throaty sound, drove the answering smile from my face. "Frost," I said, and turned back to the stag. It lay on its side, the spear sticking up like a young tree stripped of its branches. Blood had drenched its white coat.

  Doyle and I went to him. I knelt and touched the fur where it was clean of blood. He was warm to the touch, but there was no movement. "No," I said. "No."

  "He was a willing sacrifice," Doyle said.

  I shook my head. "I do not want this."

  "He gave himself so you could rule the Unseelie."

  I shook my head again. "I don't want to rule them without him at my side." I laid my head on the stag's still-warm side, and whispered, "Frost, come back to me. Please, please, don't go. Don't go."

  I smelled roses, thick and warm as summer's kiss. I rose and there was a shower of rose petals falling from the winter sky.

  It was Galen who wrapped his hands around the spear, and took it out of the stag's side to show the horrible wound. Galen stood above us, bathed in the rose petals, the spear in his hands, his face anguished, his clothes covered in blood.

  Rhys knelt by the stag's head, hands gripping the smooth white horns. Tears trailed from his one good eye. Mistral came to stand with us, gripping his own more slender spear. I saw Sholto at the far edge of the field, his sluagh like a black cloud of nightmare shapes flying and creeping with him. He stopped to stare at us grouped around the white stag. He bowed his head, as if he knew.

  Ash and Holly stood with the Red Caps. They had all lowered their weapons and pointed them at the ground as a sign of respect.