Masked Desire

  “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed surprised at Tismelda’s offer,” she said, putting a violet into her mouth. Her lips were red and wet. A maw.

  “I was,” he said. There was no point in lying when it could be so easily confirmed with a conversation with the queen. “I thought she would offer Rendell. He’s served her well and was on the winning side of the war.”

  A faint frown showed on her perfect features. “I was told Rendell doesn’t have your power.”

  “He’s much better trained than I am.”

  She laughed at the ambiguous wording. “No doubt, but I don’t want you here for a pet. A week, maybe less, and you’ll be back in the feyland.”

  “I’m in no rush. What do you have planned?”

  She said nothing but instead tapped her fingers on the table. The side door opened immediately.

  Cormac nearly leapt up from the table as power surged through the room, a blast that seemed almost insane. In the doorway stood—what? It must be Yangzei. Cormac blinked and saw a red-haired woman become an old man, eyes white with cataracts, then a plump and laughing youth with ebony skin. An Arabic woman. An albino child. Yangzei flickered through the masques so quickly that Cormac barely had time to register one before the next had taken its place. He averted his eyes, trying to keep from getting dizzy.

  “Speak,” Frieda ordered.

  “Help me, Auntie! Help me. It’s so cold and I don’t know where I am.” Ivy’s anguished wail came from Yangzei’s mouth, echoed with the sounds of thousands of other voices, and Cormac knew horribly that it was the real woman he was hearing.

  “How?” Cormac’s voice came out raspy.

  “Yangzei obeys my orders,” said Frieda. Cormac raised his eyes high enough to see that a small collar had been bound around the Ancient’s throat. Some sort of controlling device, but based on the aura of malignant power that surrounded the Ancient, he was grateful that he was under control.

  “He attacked Ivy.”

  Her full lips pursed. “A misunderstanding. He was to get Michaela, but the little girl is as good as a hostage. Almost better.”

  Cormac managed to maintain his neutral expression. “It’s always wise to have a hold on your enemy’s heart.”

  “We understand each other, then.” Frieda appraised him. “I didn’t believe Tismelda at first, but she assured me you would be an asset.”

  “I want my exile finished.”

  “Good.” She nodded. “Then we’ll begin.”

  * * * *

  Michaela stopped dead and stared at the stranger.

  “Who are you?” Both women spoke at the same time.

  A minute ago, Michaela had been in Cormac’s tree slapping at the smooth indent on the wall that he’d pointed out as a portal. Now she stood in the middle of a spring meadow with bluebirds singing overhead. She would have thought it was a hallucination except for her sigil, which almost seemed happy and gave little warm pulses every few moments. Then the woman had appeared, her pale pink dress tattered around the hem and holding a gigantic knapsack that nearly bent her double.

  A shout came from a distant hill and the woman—clearly fey—frowned. “Introductions can wait. Do you like dungeons?”

  “No.”

  “Torture?”

  “I can live without it.”

  “Then you’d better come with me.” Adjusting the backpack with a heave, the feywoman brushed by Michaela and gave a tree a gentle kick. “Open,” she said peremptorily.

  The tree shimmered and projected a small gate. “In,” ordered the woman.

  Dogs bayed from the same direction as the shouting and Michaela didn’t hesitate. The fey came right behind her, muttering something under her breath. Michaela paused and turned in time to see her toss out a handful of powder that burned so brightly it left white spots in her vision. Then there was nothing but emptiness.

  “Are you the opposite of claustrophobic?” asked the woman. “You’re afraid of open spaces?”

  “Agoraphobic and no.” Now that the woman had mentioned it, Michaela noticed that they were simply standing in space. There was no floor or ceiling, but they also weren’t floating. “My God. Where are we?”

  The woman said a long fey word and, “It is better for you to think of it as the in-between. We need to stay for a moment so I can ensure the hunters don’t come after us.”

  “That gives us enough time for you to tell me who you are.” Michaela wasn’t exactly afraid of where she was, but at the same time decided that concentrating on something solid would help calm any potential fear immensely.

  “Isindle of Yetting Hill.” Isindle spoke her name with a kind of aplomb.

  “You’re Cormac’s sister?”

  “I am. How do you…” Isindle’s voice trailed off. “You’re his mate. My brother’s mate.”

  “Michaela.” She had a name and enough of being a man’s property when she was young, thank you.

  Loud voices and fierce dog barks erupted from all around them and Isindle held up an imperious hand. Michaela got the hint and stayed silent. For some reason, she’d gotten the impression from Cormac that his sister was a powerless young girl who needed protection. That was definitely not this woman. Isindle exuded authority and wisdom.

  Plus, she was breathtaking. She and Cormac shared the same coloring, with pale hair, golden skin and mutable green eyes. Isindle’s hair flowed in smooth waves to her shoulders, held back by a simple band of golden leaves. “Come closer to me,” Isindle whispered. “It’s easier for me to keep us covered.”

  Michaela knew when a woman was an adept and she moved closer. Cormac’s scent, that intoxicating pine, rose from Isindle’s skin, but mixed with peony. A voice came from what sounded like right beside her. “Can’t find her, sir.”

  “Queen Tismelda will have our heads if we come back without her.” This was a woman, with a high voice. “You’re sure that was her? It’s more likely Isindle would stay in Yetting Forest.”

  “The queen has the Redoak lands now,” said the first hunter. “Another family she’s destroyed.”

  Isindle and Michaela both winced at the heavy sound of a blow. “Never say that out loud,” hissed the woman. “You don’t know who is around.”

  “If Princess Kiana—” Another grunt of pain.

  “Enough.” Now the woman’s voice was cold. Another blow. “You never learn.”

  “You refuse to see the truth,” said the man sullenly.

  “The queen wants to question Isindle. Do you want to be the one to say we failed?”

  A slight pause. “No, but Lady Isindle is not here. The dogs must be confused.”

  “What about the woman we saw? The one in pink?”

  “There is no woman here,” the man said. “Are you sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks? There are stories about the Redoak woods.”

  There was a short pause. “You could be right. We should check the mage’s fortress again. I heard a rumor she was still there.”

  “A good idea.”

  Isindle held up her hand for continued silence, but it was unnecessary. Michaela knew enough to stay quiet well past the point when an enemy could still be around. After what seemed like an hour, the fey turned to her.

  “Well,” she said cheerfully. “Shall we go?”

  Michaela glanced around the empty space. “Why don’t you lead?”

  In a moment, she stepped right from the gray emptiness back into Cormac’s High Park tree. Isindle dropped her pack with a heavy thud and rolled her shoulders back before turning to Michaela.

  “I am told you are a warrior, so I will keep my distance.” A faint smile played on her lips. “One day I hope to embrace you as my sister.”

  “Not likely.”

  Isindle sat down in a smooth swirl of dirty skirts. “I have come to help with Ivy. I have some informa
tion.”

  Michaela stared at her, torn. Isindle smiled thinly. “You don’t trust me, but rest assured that Cormac’s actions are not what you think.”

  “No?”

  Isindle ignored the brittle tone. “No. The queen forced me to give her our forest in return for his life. He is getting it back for us, so we can live. Without our connection to Yetting, we die.”

  Michaela could barely speak. “What did you say?”

  “He did this for us. He is the steward of Yetting Forest. The exile was bad enough, but he was at least still connected to the land.” She sighed. “The queen wanted to punish him for mating without her permission. She was going to send the ihune, the assassins, but I begged her to take our forest.”

  It all began to fall into place. “You need the forest because your souls are in the trees. They help keep you alive.”

  Isindle nodded. “As you say.”

  Another betrayal. Another truth he hadn’t trusted her with. He should have told her what the mating meant for him, that he was going to lose his forest and his life.

  If this was even true.

  “Cormac is a master strategist,” Isindle said clinically. “Do you know what task Queen Tismelda entrusted him with?”

  “No.”

  “We can find out.”

  Isindle stood and went to the wall, laying both hands and her forehead against it. A slight hum built and Michaela knew it was the sound of life around her. Isindle’s voice rose in a song without words, her pure voice bringing purpose to the forest’s purr. She lifted a hand up and reached it behind her. Knowing what she wanted, Michaela took the outstretched hand and placed her other on the wall as well.

  It was as though she was on a highway through space. In that instant she was on the verge of knowing everything. Her sigil vibrated against her skin.

  Cormac. She thought his name and he rose up in front of her. It was dark, and he was at a table with laptops and maps spread around him. Leaning over him, her chest pressed against his shoulder, was Frieda Hanver. It was a cozy scene.

  A third person was in the room. He looked up and the empty light of his eyes hit Michaela like a physical punch. With pained cries, both women released their hold on each other and the tree and fell back. It was a moment before Michaela caught her breath and when she did, she saw that their handprints had been etched in black on the wall.

  “Who was that with Cormac?” Isindle gasped the words out as she clambered to her feet. Her hair was in a huge frizz around her head. “I’ve never met such strength.”

  “Yangzei,” said Michaela grimly. “Our enemy.” She remembered again Cormac’s words about the fey war—that he had chosen his forest over loyalty to his troops.

  “That traitor.” Yuri came out of nowhere with a roar of anger and Isindle stared up in shock. “You’re coming with me.” In a moment, she had Isindle’s bag over her shoulder, the feywoman’s arm in her hand, and was heading back to her car.

  Now that she knew where Cormac stood, it was time to get this finished.

  Chapter 41

  Two days later, when Cormac was out of excuses to avoid Frieda’s bed, it was almost a relief to see Madden come through the door. Almost. He was overtaken with an intense desire to feed the man his own teeth. Never mind. Michaela would not be pleased if he killed her former mentor before she had a chance to do it herself.

  Yangzei had not been out again after that first night, and he’d learned that the ancient masquerada was held in a secure cell. He was a tool for the Dawning, to be maintained and used when required, but Frieda was obviously wary of his capabilities and uncertain of their extent.

  Madden laid a hand on Frieda’s shoulder and flashed an urbane smile at Cormac, who watched with detached interest. Was this the affectionate show of a lover or the dominance play of a competitor? The uprising was obviously Frieda’s show. She had been the one to collect the Dawning. She had been the one to work with Iverson. Cormac suspected that as a masquerada, she was the one with the primary relationship to Yangzei.

  He also knew Madden was a political animal with no morals. He would use Frieda and whomever else he needed to get what he wanted. Cormac looked closely. What did Madden want? Should the Dawning succeed in instigating another war it would be as devastating for vampires as the other arcane groups. Did Madden think he could create a new society out of the ashes, one where he was in charge? It was possible. He certainly had the ego to think he could. He would be one to watch. While Frieda was driven by revenge, it was Madden who wanted much more.

  Frieda put her hand on top of Madden’s and faced Cormac with her golden smile. “Present your plan.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cormac had found it easier to treat this as if he was still a soldier. “Eric Kelton has made certain preparations that indicate he’s about to move his headquarters. To maintain the Law, it’s logical to assume it will be to a more isolated location. His goal will be to minimize human exposure to the arcana.”

  It took over an hour to walk through the battle plan. Judging from what Eric and the others had said when they were together, Cormac now knew they had drastically underestimated the number of troops the Dawning was able to muster. The most stunning revelation had been the sheer numbers of troops they had prepared to sacrifice, those newly made masquerada Hiro had been helping to supply. Then there was Yangzei, who Frieda insisted be kept as a final weapon. The nuclear option, so to speak, and Madden had not disagreed.

  Madden sat and listened, making only a few comments. When Cormac finished, he moved his laptop to the side. In his defense, he had provided only information that should have been clear to them through their knowledge of the enemy and mere common sense, nothing sensitive or secret.

  At least, that’s what he told himself to placate his conscience.

  “I’m impressed what you can do when you put your mind to it,” said Madden. The tone was so condescending that Cormac choked back a laugh. “It’s missing a major element though.”

  “What’s that?” Frieda tilted her head to her side. “We’ve been over everything.”

  “Yet you’ve forgotten the Law. They want to keep us hidden from the humans, living in the shadows like sub-creatures. We need chaos. We’ll break the Law by opening their eyes before we subjugate them.”

  “Chaos,” said Cormac thoughtfully. He didn’t point out that Eric and the others had trusted masquerada in positions to monitor and manipulate what humanity knew—government, media. Instead he said, “Tell me how you’d do it.”

  Madden pontificated for an inordinate amount of time and Cormac duly added his thoughts into his tactical plan. Madden had no concern about the damage he was about to inflict, which, with the revised plan, was tremendous.

  Cormac stared at his notes. “I recommend neutralizing the Hierarch first to make this easier to do. He’s weak and isolated up north, unable to get more troops. We can overwhelm him, then move on to the important core of your plan.” We, not you. He had to make them think he was part of the team, and his suggestion would at least delay the Dawning from attacking major urban centers and feed into the strategy Michaela had developed.

  Madden looked like he wanted to disagree, but Frieda nodded. “Agreed. Let’s get the troops ready,” she said. “We begin tomorrow.”

  They put him back in his room and locked the door. A collaborator he might be, but they didn’t trust him, a fact made clearer when he had first realized there was no wood in the room, or anything natural. His room had been cunningly designed out of plywood, wood so mangled that he wouldn’t be able to sense it at all. The floor was laminate. Even the sheets were polyester.

  It was like living in a sensory deprivation tank.

  Cormac slid his hands under his shirt to rest on his sigil. It stirred, a soft flutter against his skin, but he couldn’t reach Michaela. Michaela. Miaoling. It was an internal call into the void. He needed to reach h
er, now more than ever.

  He had to warn his mate that she was about to die.

  Michaela.

  Nothing.

  * * * *

  Michaela stared at the map in front of her. It was no use. Three days had passed since Cormac’s betrayal and she still couldn’t concentrate. Eric and the others had not wanted to believe what she’d seen but had no choice once Isindle had waved her hand and made a cloud appear with the same scene they had witnessed in the tree.

  Isindle was another problem. Michaela winced. This was a lie. The feywoman was a godsend who had rarely left Ivy’s side since she arrived. They had to remind her to eat, and when she did it was in front of the huge texts she had brought with her from the Queendom, all the while muttering to herself in the lovely fey language and making esoteric notes on the pad beside her.

  Eric had taken the new addition to his household with his usual self-possession. “If she can help Ivy, she can stay for as long as she wants,” Eric had said when Michaela told him the full story.

  “She’s being hunted by the queen,” Michaela reminded him. “Plus she’s the sister of the man who betrayed us to the Dawning.” She had to force the words out. What Michaela felt was so far beyond hurt that she couldn’t even bear to think about it. Even looking at Isindle was difficult because she looked so much like Cormac. The sigil over her heart was almost gone now, and she felt nothing from it.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not too happy with the queen myself these days,” said Eric. “So if taking in a refugee from the Queendom is going to piss her off, then that sounds good to me.”

  Michaela didn’t blame him. Eric had sent a message to Queen Tismelda, the usual Hey, what’s going on, heard you were thinking of joining forces with my enemy, is it true? note between rulers, and she hadn’t even bothered to reply. Eric had taken this deliberate rudeness as acknowledgement that they were no longer friends, which Isindle had confirmed when Eric had summoned her for her opinion.