The timing would have to be flawless.
All the Seelie and Unseelie Princesses would have to be dead and the queen killed at the precise moment—there could be no contenders to the throne of matriarchal power—once whoever it was had merged with or acquired all the knowledge from the Book.
All the power of the Seelie Queen and the Unseelie King would be deposited in a single vessel.
I shuddered. That could never be permitted to happen. Anyone with that much power would be unstoppable by anyone, by any means. He or she would be undefeatable, uncontrollable, unkillable. In a word: God. Or Satan, with the home court advantage. We would all be doomed.
Did they believe me dead? Gone? Apathetic? Think I would just stand by and let this happen? Was this unknown enemy responsible for the condition I was currently in—human and confused?
My power and the queen’s magic. Who was behind this? One of the dark princes?
Perhaps it had been Darroc all along, and the Book had popped that plan like the grape his head had been. Perhaps Darroc had only been taking advantage of someone else’s cunning, riding on the coattails, so to speak, of a more clever and dangerous foe.
I shook my head. The magic wouldn’t have gone to him, and he’d known it. Eating Fae wasn’t enough. The successor to Fae magic had to be Fae.
The concubine had awakened and said a Fae prince she’d never seen before, who had called himself Cruce, had entombed her.
According to V’lane, he’d brought Cruce to the original Queen of the Seelie (the bitch) and she’d killed him in front of my eyes.
Did I possess that memory?
I turned inward, searching.
I clutched my head as images slammed into me. Cruce had not died easily or well. He raged and ranted, was ugly at the end. Denied being the one, denied having betrayed me to the queen. I was ashamed of his death.
But who’d faked my concubine’s death?
How had I been deceived?
Deceived.
Was that the key?
ONLY BY ITS OWN DESIGN WILL IT FALL, the prophecy said.
Limited in form, what was the Book’s design? How did it get around and accomplish its ends?
Its currency was illusion. It deceived people into seeing what it wanted them to see.
Was that why the fear dorcha—who was probably one of my good friends if I had time to pick through all my memories—had given me the tarot card, pointing me toward the amulet?
The amulet could deceive even me.
I’d worried about giving it to the concubine for that very reason. What enormous love, what dangerous trust.
The Book was only a shadow of me.
I was the real thing, the king who’d made the Book.
And I had the amulet capable of creating illusions that could deceive us.
It was simple. In a contest of wills, I was the guaranteed victor.
I felt almost giddy with excitement. My deductions had the ring of truth to them. All arrows pointed north. I knew what had to be done. Today, I could put the Book down once and for all. Not inter it to slumber with one eye open, like the first prophecy had said, but defeat the monster. Destroy it.
After I’d gotten a spell of unmaking for Barrons. Ironic: I’d given all my spells over to a Book to get rid of them, and now I needed one back from it.
Once I had it, I would roust the traitor, kill him or her, restore the concubine to being the Seelie Queen (because I sure didn’t want her, and she didn’t remember anything, anyway), where she would grow strong enough to lead again. I would walk away, leaving the Fae to their own petty devices.
I would return to Dublin and become just-Mac.
That couldn’t happen soon enough for me.
“I think I know what to do, Jericho.”
“What would you want if you were the Book and it was the king?” Barrons asked later.
“I thought you didn’t believe I was the king.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. The Book seems to.”
“K’Vruck does, too,” I reminded him. Then there was the dreamy-eyed guy. When I’d asked him if I was the Unseelie King, he’d said, No more than I. Was he one of my parts?
“Have an identity crisis later. Focus.”
“I think it wants to be accepted, absolved—prodigal son and all. It wants me to welcome it back into me, say I was wrong, and become one again.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
“I’m a little worried about the part where it says once the monster within is defeated, so shall be the monster without. What monster within?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always know.”
“Not this time. It’s your monster. Nobody can know another person’s monster, not well enough to cage it. Only you can do that yourself.”
“Speculate,” I demanded.
He smiled faintly. He finds it amusing when I throw his own words back at him. “If you are the Unseelie King—and note the word ‘if’ there, I remain unconvinced—one might speculate that you have a weakness for evil. Once you acquire the Sinsar Dubh, it’s conceivable that you would feel tempted to do what it wants. Instead of trying to lock it away, you might choose to relinquish human form and restore yourself to your former glory—take all the spells you dumped into it back and become the Unseelie King again.”
Never. But I’ve learned never to say never. “What if I am?”
“I’ll be there, talking you out of it. But I don’t think you’re the king.”
What other possible explanation was there? Occam’s razor, my daddy’s criteria for conviction, and my own logic concurred. But with Barrons there to shout me back and my determination to live a normal human life, I could do it. I knew I could. What I wanted was here, in the human world. Not in an icy prison with a pale silvery woman, caught up in eternal court politics.
“I’m more concerned about what your inner monster might be if you’re not the king. Any ideas?”
I shook my head. Irrelevant. He might be having a hard time accepting what I was, but he didn’t know everything I knew, and there wasn’t time to explain. Every day, every hour, that the Sinsar Dubh was free, roaming the streets of Dublin, more people would die. I had no illusions about why it kept going to Chester’s. It wanted to take my parents from me. Wanted to strip away everything I cared about, leaving only it and me. As if it could force me to care about it. Force me to welcome its darkness back into my body and be one again. I now believed Ryodan had been right all along: It had been trying to get me to “flip.” The Book thought if it took enough from me, made me angry and hurt enough, I wouldn’t care about the world, only about power. Then it would conveniently appear and say, Here I am, take me, use my power, do whatever you want.
I inhaled sharply. That was exactly the frame of mind I’d been in when I’d thought Barrons was dead. Hunting the Book, ready to pick it up and merge with it and unmake the world. Believing I would be able to control it.
But I was on guard now. I’d experienced that grief once. Besides, I had Darroc’s shortcut in my hand. I had the key to controlling it. I wasn’t going to flip. Barrons was alive. My parents were well. I wouldn’t even be tempted.
I was suddenly impatient to get it over with. Before anything could go wrong.
“I need to be certain you can use the amulet.”
“How?”
“Deceive me,” he said flatly. “And convince me of it.”
I fisted my hand around the amulet and closed my eyes. Long ago, in Mallucé’s grotto, it had not been willing to work for me. It had wanted something, had waited for what I’d thought was a tithe, as if I needed to spill blood for it or something.
I knew now it was much simpler than that. It had flared with blue-black brilliance for the same reason the stones did, because it recognized me.
The problem was I hadn’t recognized myself.
I did now.
I am your king. You belong to me. You will obey me in all things.
/> I gasped with pleasure as it blazed in my fist, brighter than it had ever burned for Darroc.
I looked around the bedroom. I remembered the basement where I had been Pri-ya. I would never forget any of the details.
I re-created it now for us, down to the last detail: pictures of Alina and me, crimson silk sheets, a shower in the corner, a Christmas tree twinkling, fur-lined handcuffs on the bed. For a time, it had been the happiest, simplest place I’d ever known.
“Not exactly incentive to get me out of here.”
“We have to save the world,” I reminded.
He reached for me. “The world can wait. I can’t.”
45
I knew the moment he began to reconsider.
I could feel the tension in his body, see the tightening around his eyes, which meant he was thinking hard and not liking the topic. “It’s not enough of a plan,” he said finally, and got out of bed.
It was nearly impossible to make myself move. I wanted to stay in bed forever. But until this was over, no one I cared about was safe and I wasn’t going to be able to relax and get on with life. I pushed up, tugged on my jeans, buttoned the fly, and yanked my shirt over my head.
“What do you suggest? That we get everyone together and make them all hold the amulet? See if it responds to anyone else? What if it lights up for someone like, say, Rowena?”
He glared at me as I slipped the amulet around my neck and tucked it beneath my shirt, where it lay cool against my skin. I could see the strange dark light of it through my shirt. I tugged my leather jacket on over it and belted it.
It didn’t flare with blue-black light for him. I knew if it had, and he’d known what the second prophecy said, he’d have gone after the Book long ago.
“I don’t like this one bit.”
Neither did I, but I didn’t see any alternative. “You helped make this plan.”
“That was hours ago. Now we’re about to walk out into the streets and you’re going to pick the bloody thing up, believing in some prophecy scribbled by a mad washerwoman who used to work at the abbey, with no concrete idea what to do, trusting that the amulet will help you deceive it into submission. It’s the ultimate in seductive evil, and you expect to wing it. The plan stinks. That’s all there is to it. I don’t trust Rowena. I don’t trust—”
“Anyone,” I finished. “You don’t trust anyone. Except yourself, and that’s not trust, that’s ego.”
“Not ego. Awareness of my abilities. And the limitless nature of them.”
“You got killed on a cliff by Ryodan and me. Classic case of a time when a little trust might have gone a long way.”
His eyes were black and bottomless. I was just about to look away when something moved in them. I trust you.
I felt like he’d handed me the keys to the kingdom. That sealed it: I could do anything. “Prove it. You’ve been training me since the moment I got here to make me strong enough, smart enough, tough enough to do whatever has to be done. I’ve been through hell and back and survived. Look at me. What is it you say? See me. You made me a fighter. Now let me fight.”
“I fight the battles.”
“You are fighting this battle. We’re going after it together.”
“Watching. Who’s driving this motorcycle and who’s in the bloody sidecar? I don’t ride in the sidecar. I wouldn’t even own a pussy bike with a sidecar.” He looked aggrieved to the bottom of his soul.
“More than watching. Keeping me tethered, like you did when I was Pri-ya and couldn’t find my way back. I never would have made it without you, Jericho. I was lost, but I could feel you there, grounding me, holding my kite string.” He’d stalked into hell for me, sat down on my sprung sofa in my insane place, and kept me from being stuck there forever. He’d dragged me out by sheer force of will. He always would. “I need you,” I said simply.
A haze of crimson stained his eyes. He pulled a sweater over his head, muscles flexing, tattoos rippling. “It’s not too late,” he said roughly. “We can let the world go to hell. There are other worlds. Plenty of them. We can even take your parents. Whoever you want.”
I searched his eyes. He meant it. He’d leave with me, go through the Silvers, and live somewhere else. “I like this world.”
“Some prices are too high. You aren’t invincible. Merely long-lived and hard to kill.”
“You can’t protect me forever.”
He gave me a look that said, Are you crazy? Of course I could.
You would ask me to live that way?
Key word there being: live.
Don’t put me in a cage. I expect better from you.
He smiled faintly. Touché.
“We could see if it works for Dageus. He’s inhabited, too, or so they say.”
“Funny girl, aren’t you? Over my dead body.”
“Then stop tilting at windmills. You can’t use the amulet. That leaves me, with you at my side. It’s the only choice. You can’t die—I mean, you can, but you’ll always come back. And we know it won’t kill me. We’re perfect for this.”
“Nobody’s perfect for battling evil. It’s seductive. When we find it, it’s going to come at you with everything it’s got.”
I was braced for it. I knew it would. I took a deep, slow breath, filling my lungs, squaring my shoulders. “Jericho, I feel like my whole life has been pushing me toward this moment.”
“That’s it. Fate’s a fickle whore. We’re not going. Take your clothes off and get back in my bed.”
I laughed. “Come on, Barrons. When have you ever run from a fight?”
“Never. And others paid for it. I won’t have the same happen to you.”
“I don’t believe this,” I said with mock horror. “Jericho Barrons is vacillating. Will wonders never cease?”
The rattle moved in his chest. “I’m not vacillating. I’m … ah, fuck.”
Barrons doesn’t lie to himself. He was vacillating and he knew it.
“The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble.”
“Ditto.”
“I wanted to drag you between the shelves, fuck you senseless, and send you home.”
“If you’d done that, I never would have left.”
“You’re still here anyway.”
“You don’t have to sound so sour about it.”
“You’re upsetting my entire existence.”
“Fine, I’ll leave.”
“Try and I’ll chain you up.” He glowered at me. “That’s vacillating.” He sighed.
After a moment, he held out his hand.
I slipped mine into his.
The Silver in Barrons’ study belched me out. I went flying across the room and slammed into the wall.
I was tired of the mirrors not liking me. When this was over, I wanted Cruce’s curse lifted. In my free time, I might like exploring the White Mansion.
I frowned. But then again, I might not. Maybe I needed to cut all my ties with my past.
Barrons glided out behind me, looking urbane and unruffled as usual, dark hair and brows frosted, skin icy. “Stop,” he ordered instantly.
My feet rooted to the floor. “What?”
“People on the roof. Talking.” He stood still so long that the frost began to slide in droplets down his cheeks and neck. “Ryodan and others. The Keltar are near. They’re waiting for—what the hell was that noise?” He strode past me and stalked from the study.
He pushed through the door that joined the rear, private residence part of the bookstore to the public portion.
I followed, hot on his heels. It was dark outside, drizzly with a light fog beyond the tall windows, and the interior was lit only by the soft amber glow of the recessed lights I left on all the time so the store would never be fully dark.
“Jericho Barrons,” an elegantly cultured voice said.
“Who the fuck are you?” Barrons demanded.
I caught up with Barrons just in time to see a man step from the shadows in the rear conversation area.
He walked toward us, offering his hand. “I am Pieter Van de Meer.”
Long and lean, with the impeccable posture of a man trained in martial arts, he was in his mid to late forties. Blond hair framed a Nordic face with deep-set pale-green eyes. He had the quietly watchful air of a snake, coiled but not about to strike unless he had to.
“Take one more step and I’ll kill you,” Barrons said.
The man paused, looking surprised and impatient. “Mr. Barrons, we don’t have time for this.”
“I’ll decide what we have time for. What are you doing here?”
“I’m with the Triton Group.”
“So?”
“Let us not play games. You know who we are,” the man chided.
“You own the abbey, among other things. I don’t like your kind.”
“Our kind?” Pieter Van de Meer afforded a small smile. “We have watched you for centuries, Mr. Barrons. We are not a ‘kind.’ You are.”
“And why am I not killing you now?” Barrons purred.
“Because ‘my kind’ is often useful, and you’ve long sought a way to infiltrate our ranks. You never succeeded. You are curious about us. I’ve brought something for the girl. It’s time for the truth.”
“What would anyone in the Triton Group know of truth?”
“If you will not hear me out with any degree of objectivity, perhaps you will listen to someone else.”
“Get out of my store right now and I’ll let you live. This time. There won’t be another.”
“We can’t do that. You’re on the cusp of making a grave mistake, and we have been forced to show our hand. It’s her choice. Not yours.”
“Who is us?” I’d been alternately eyeing Pieter and peering into the dimly lit conversation area, keeping a careful watch on the other figure seated there. There wasn’t enough light to make out her features, but there was enough that I knew it was a woman. I had butterflies in my stomach and a strong sense of foreboding.
Pieter’s pale-green eyes drifted from Barrons to me. His features softened.
I was instantly uneasy. He was looking at me like he knew me. I didn’t know this man. I’d never seen him before in my life.
Karen Marie Moning’s Fever Series 5-Book Bundle: Darkfever, Bloodfever, Faefever, Dreamfever, Shadowfever Page 167