Arwyn nodded, staring off as if not truly present.
Something inside Zeph softened. Some secret, hidden part of him that had been hardened, he had thought, beyond repair. Until now. He touched Arwyn’s cheek. “Then I want you to meet me in my solar. We need to talk about what you did here.”
Zeph sat in the chair next to the hearth, swirling his wine inside the goblet, thinking. The fire’s orange glow was all the light he needed, preferring the shadows.
He had moved all the Unseelie to the dungeon, where they would stay. Until he found a use for them, that was.
He hung his head when he thought about how wrong things could have gone this night if Arwyn hadn’t…
He brought the goblet to his lips, truly needing a drum of it if he wanted to put the night’s events to bed.
The Unseelie king was dead. He should feel free, or at least freer, yet he did not. He knew things were only beginning. Things he had put into play long before now and he had to see it through. However, Arwyn’s haunted eyes kept creeping to the fore.
He brought his bottom lip between his teeth, recalling the look of terror on her face after she had plunged the dagger into Savorin’s neck.
Her first kill. As tragic as it was for her, he couldn’t help feeling awed by how she had acted against her fears.
And grateful. Because she was the reason he was still alive. He felt the stone that was his heart crack. Just a little.
A light rapping sounded at his chamber door. Assuming it was Arwyn, he set down his goblet and got up to let her in. Opening the door, he stepped back in surprise, though he managed to keep his expression neutral, though it was difficult. Sometime between now and when he had last seen her, her human glamour had worn off. She looked more like the Fae girl he remembered. Hair the color of spun silver, eyes to match, and skin as translucent as his.
“Elin,” he said, “What brings you to my humble abode so late in the night?”
She crossed her arms around her middle. “I had a... I remembered something.”
“Oh? Why is this of importance to me?”
“May I come in?”
For a long minute, Zeph glared at the interloper before him, for he felt she was encroaching on his private space. He had given her access to the whole of the keep, save his quarters, and yet, here she was – interloping.
With an exasperated breath, he opened the door wider, allowing her entry. He realized it was irrational of him. He had, after all, interloped in her life and far more aggressively. Still. He had battled the Unseelie king and had nearly lost his life in doing so. He gave himself permission to be a bit irrational at this hour.
“What is this about? I was in the middle of licking my wounds. I am tired. So please do take your time.”
“My brother was killed,” she said, her voice wobbly.
The beating inside the wall of Zeph’s chest ceased. Even his breath caught on an exhale and he could not seem to inhale again.
She turned her face toward the fire and crisscrossed her arms over her chest like she was holding her fragile pieces together. “It wasn’t until tonight that I remembered. I was watching you do battle and a memory tugged, then pushed its way through.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “The Seelie queen had come to my parents and told them their son had been killed, that a group of eladrin found his body in the forest.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Carved into his skin was a message that I would be next. That was when my parents and I left and went into hiding.”
“You forgot you had a brother?” Zeph’s voice sounded harsher than he’d meant and Elin jumped at the roughness of it.
She shook her head frantically. “It was the elixir my parents made me drink. It blotted out everything I knew, everything I loved. I would have forgotten my parents as well had they stayed behind. They thought they were protecting me better that way.” Elin’s voice broke. “I n-never even got the chance to m-mourn him and now I feel like a part of me is dying.”
Zeph’s heart thumped once, twice, three times. “Why are telling me this?”
“I forgot my own brother, Zeph.” Her head snapped up and something inside her changed. Her entire constitution appeared to shift and rearrange right in front of him. She marched toward him, anger making her eyes glow. “You hate me because you said I took something from you. I don’t remember that! Maybe I had a good reason, maybe I didn’t. I do not know because I have no memory of it!” She held her arms out to her sides, her face stained with tears. “However much you hate me know that I hate myself more. Because my br-brother died– alone–and I left him!”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wrap his mind around this new information.
Forever went by before Zeph could speak. When he did, his tone was softer. “What was his name?” He needed to hear her say it. To say the name of the boy who had been forgotten.
Elin whispered, “Zuriel.” She looked away. “His name was Zuriel. I can remember his name. I just can’t remember his face.”
Zeph had not heard that name in so very long. After he had been taken (not killed), he’d changed it because his captors had demanded it of him. He could no longer be called by his given name. So he became Zeph.
Zuriel
Eliniana (his sister)
Pyric (his father)
Hiamoli (his mother)
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had to change their name. All this time, he had thought they had simply abandoned him, left him to die, never looking back. What he believed was that Elin had taken his family away. That was what he had been told, that his family had made no effort to get him back, that his sister had begged to leave Faery behind. Leave him behind. He’d believed the lies. He knew she had been a child, but he had been a child too, and no amount of reason could have swayed his anger.
They had also been lied to, believing he had been killed. They had fled in order to protect Elin.
His sister.
Now he understood.
He hung his head in shame, his heart clawing at his chest.
“There was a moment tonight when I thought you were going to die,” Elin said, turning to face him. “You killed my parents and I can never forgive you for that. But in that moment, I wanted you to live.” She moved toward him and stood before him. “I wanted you to live, Zeph. Because I wanted to kill you myself.” She stared at him long and hard. He said nothing for fear he’d confess it all, that he was her brother and he had not been killed. “I think death would be too easy for you, so I want you to live. I pray that one day you reap exactly what you have sown, and I hope I am around to witness it.”
Without another word, she left him standing there to choke on his own sins.
As soon as Elin left, Zeph knew she was there, in the corridor, behind the door to the solar. If she didn’t want him to know she was spying on him she would need to do a better job of it.
“Come in, Arwyn.” He heard a sharp intake of breath. Fae ears were an impeccable thing.
Arwyn emerged from behind the door. Zeph made sure to meet her eyes when she stepped through the solar entryway. “How much of that did you hear?”
She held his gaze, as if she were trying to conjure the nerve to face him.
Growing impatient, Zeph asked, “What were you doing out there? Listening?”
She lifted her chin. “Mostly I was practicing holding my tongue.”
One dark brow lifted. “Oh? Were you successful?”
The way she held herself, never slouching, always standing tall, was something Zeph respected more than she knew.
“I suppose that remains to be seen…” she bowed her head ever so slightly, rolling out the two words he knew was meant to be insulting, “my lord.”
Zeph sighed and took his seat by the fire. He looked away from her sharp eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?” she snapped. “Before the night’s events, I believe you made it perfectly clear I am your lowly servant, here to do as you say. I have the bruise to prove it.”
Zeph felt the sting of those last seven words. He shut his eyes, not wanting to feel the way they cut him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, however, she couldn’t hear him. She was much too busy slapping her boots against the floor as she paced the width of the room, mumbling to herself about keeping her mouth shut.
His lips twitched. “Perhaps you need a bit more practice holding your tongue still. I have faith you will master it.”
The slapping sounds against the wide-planked floor ceased and the glaring commenced. He would have thought he would be used to the way Arwyn’s eyes looked through him by now. Surprisingly enough he was not. Each and every time felt like the first. It made him feel vulnerable and that, well, that just wouldn’t do. He retrieved his goblet, threw back his head, finishing the wine, and concentrated on how it felt as it slid down his throat.
“You will never do it, so stop trying,” he said, his words lashing out like a whip.
“Never do what?” she whipped back.
“Figure me out. So stop.”
“Oh,” she said coolly. “You are right about that. I gave up that quest many moons ago. Currently, I’m only trying to figure out how long it will be before someone exacts their own revenge. On you this time.”
Zeph chuffed. “Maybe that would be best.” He forced himself to look at her, and then quickly looked away. “For everyone.”
He stood and walked over to a small table and refilled his goblet, his wound an aching throb. He had yet to tend to it properly, making it worse when he had moved the Unseelie down into the dungeon. He eased off his blood-soaked tabard, hissing an expletive.
A breath of irritation escaped through Arwyn’s lips. “Let me see your wound.”
“No.”
She loped in his direction. “You stubborn ox, let me see your wound.” She pushed away his hand and gasped when she saw how deep the blade had gone. “Why haven’t you healed yourself?”
“I can only heal others. I cannot heal myself. Funny that.”
“Why?”
“This bloody cursed land we inhabit would be my guess.” He winced as he tried to move away.
“Take off your tunic,” Arwyn ordered.
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask if you were fine. I said take off your tunic.”
“I don’t need a nursemaid.”
“No, you need a swift kick in the arse.”
Zeph threw his head back in a boisterous laugh. “Would you like to be the one to do it?”
He waited for her to punch back with words and when she did not, his laughter died. Suddenly, he couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was. Rosebud lips, a slightly turned-up nose, hair that fell down her back in thick spirals. How had he never noticed before? He shook his head, not ready to have those kinds of thoughts. If ever.
Because he couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing her further, he did as she requested and removed his tunic. The skin around the gash stretched and pulled as he lifted it over his head. “By God’s bones!” he grunted, sucking in a breath.
Arwyn stepped closer and he could smell the vanilla in her hair. He swallowed. “What are you going to do? Finish me off?”
She kept her eyes locked on his injury and placed her hand over it. “Be quiet or I just may.”
His skin prickled with heat, starting out warm, then turning hot. For a moment, he thought he might pass out, then the heat subsided and she stepped back.
“There,” she said, her eyes flicking up to meet his. They held each other’s gaze for a quiet moment. He could hear her heart rate accelerate to an excitable rhythm. Or maybe it was his own heartbeat he heard.
“Why did you save me tonight?” he asked. “I haven’t earned any loyalty from you.”
Her eyes fell to his lips. “You needed saving.”
“I have been a right fool,” he said, raspy and unsure of his own voice.
She nodded. “Are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
“She deserves to know the truth.”
“Truth,” he said, sounding weary, “is sometimes too ugly to share.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Why did you save me all those years ago, Zeph? Why didn’t you let them kill me too?”
He watched in fascination when her tongue snaked out across her lips, making them glisten under the pale firelight. “You needed saving,” he said, gifting her words back. “I didn’t want to be with that band of murderers. I was forced to be there. Saving at least one life was better than saving none. Saving yours was the only good thing I’ve ever done.”
Her eyebrows drew taut. “Then you killed your own parents.”
He stepped away from her then, remembering he deserved no kindness. He was in a war and he no longer knew which side he was on. “You should go.”
“Zeph.”
“I cannot be saved, Arwyn. I’d like for you leave now.”
“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered. “You can stop this at any time. Stop this…” she furiously waved her hands around the room “…this madness any time you want.”
“While that may have been true at one time, it is no longer the case. It has to play out now.”
“Why?”
“Because it does.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Stop acting as though–”
“No, you stop!” Zeph interrupted. He noticed the deep bruise on her arm where he had gripped her earlier. He closed his eyes to keep from seeing it, but it had imprinted in his mind, and his heart cracked a little more. “You don’t know everything. So just…” he pointed toward the door, “leave.”
He turned his back on her and headed for the bathing tub. “Now. Unless you want to watch me undress.” When she didn’t move, he turned to stare like he was undressing her. He quirked an eyebrow. “Staying then?”
Her cheeks flaming red she picked up her skirts and headed toward the door. “You’re a reprehensible arse. And you’re going to get yourself killed.”
His coldness had crept back in and that was how it had to be. He didn’t deserve a shred of happiness. Elin was right; he would reap what he sowed. He had one final act of revenge and he would see it through. Right or wrong, it didn’t matter anymore. Because the truth was, Zuriel had died and he no longer knew the young lad who loved and adored his family. All he knew now was hate. And pain.
“I am most indeed,” he quietly admitted to himself as the door slammed shut.
The seam was made entirely of trees that stood like warriors as tall and thick as redwoods. A mystical, gate-like structure of limbs and branches extended in long, thin, complex patterns of curls and swirls that connected one tree to the next.
In the center was an arched opening as high as a castle wall.
The doorway to Faery.
When Lochlan and the owl/woman (he still didn’t know what to call her) slipped through the seam, he hadn’t known what to expect. He’d never been on the other side of the waterfall and had gaped at what was before him, finding himself incapable of a coherent thought.
She had gone through the doorway first, the seam rippling like a finger touching still water when she passed through and then disappeared. Lochlan had taken a deep breath and marched through it immediately after, opting not to give too much thought about entering a realm that had been forbidden to him.
She was waiting for him when he emerged and had thoughtfully given him a minute to adjust to his new surroundings. Faery had always been a mystery to him, and now that he was in Faery, it was even more so. To his left, a narrow stream flowed through a series of lichen covered rocks with shimmering beams of light bending and warping around low hanging trees. Through the beams, pollen glowed and floated as if suspended in a thick liquid. Butterflies drunkenly flitted around the glistening water while fireflies buzzed to and fro.
It was so very dreamlike. Like nothing was real. Yet, it felt more real than anything he had ever seen before. All light and shadows, from the green grass beneath h
is feet to the purple sky above his head.
He barely had time to take it all in when he had his first confrontation with one of Faery’s creatures.
“Invitation?” a tiny man with a rounded body and spindly legs asked, shuffling out of the brush. An odd pointy hat sat askew on top of his large, pointed ears, tufts of wild hair sticking out from underneath, and a beard that stretched to his belly.
“Pardon?” Lochlan asked.
“Haven’t yer invitation? Ye must have it before I permit ye to pass. No invitation, no permission to enter.”
“He’s a gnome,” the owl/woman explained. “He must have been enlisted by the Seelie queen to guard the seam.”
“He is guarding the seam?” Lochlan queried, nearly laughing out loud. It was preposterous. What was he going to do? Bite someone in the kneecap?
“Perhaps if you tell him you lost it, he’ll go easy on you.” she said with a snicker.
“Sir, who’er yer talkin’ to?” The gnome looked behind Lochlan, waddling from side to side, his face pinched in confusion. “Are ye daft, lad?”
Lochlan looked at the tiny man like he’d grown another set of ears.
“He cannot see me,” the owl/woman said. “He doesn’t have permission.” She laughed exuberantly, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “Oh, I do love the irony.”
“What are you talking about?” Lochlan asked, feeling a bit too much out of his element.
“Exactly what I said. He needs permission to see me. He doesn’t have it.”
He gave the owl/woman a reproving look and blew out a huff of exasperation. “My companion is apparently invisible to you,” he mumbled. Of course, she was. Why would she try to make things easy for him? He turned to the odd man in front of him who spoke with a singsong accent. “I don’t have an invitation. I am here to save the Faery of Light, who was captured by the Unseelie inside the human realm where she was supposed to be safe!” He pointed behind him. “Did they have an invitation before crossing into my realm?”
The Moon Shines Red (Heart of Darkness Book 1) Page 19