“Lady Sorceress Gwynn,” he said steadily, no fear in his face. Larch. This was Larch and I was...
Predator. The cat ghost, silver-white, flashed through my mind and disappeared into the hot course of my bloodstream. And here I’d thought Rogue’s and Falcon’s strength came from the leverage of their long limbs. I hadn’t imagined that it was fueled by these animal natures. My left temple itched and I scratched at it. Wondering if the lines were visible.
Liam watched, wary, though looking less like a deer in the headlights than before. Behind him, a fair distance off, nearly shrouded by the tall coastal grasses and the lengthening shadows of evening, the Black Dog sat. Waiting for me.
“I beg your pardon, Officer Liam. I can’t say what came over me.” I sounded like Rogue. It was an effort, to keep my gaze on Liam and not stray to the Dog.
“It seems that you’ve...progressed, Lady Sorceress.” Liam still hadn’t caught his breath.
“Yes. It does seem that way.”
I bit my tongue on thanking him, said farewell for now instead, asked Larch to take my weapons back to my tent, and strode off to meet the Dog. As I walked through the grasses, each blade a different citrus color that made a sound of chimes when they rustled together, I wished my shorts and sports bra into a long, flowing white dress. It suited my mood. I kept the cross-trainers though—all the better for squelching through the increasingly marshy stuff.
He’d been sitting on his haunches, as if carved from a block of obsidian, glossy black and unnaturally still, but now the Dog stood, wagging his tail, tongue lolling out. It would be a happy dog look, if not for the white fangs inside the massive jaws. They were tinged with blood and I resolved not to wonder whose it was. He nudged his broad head under my hand and I stroked the short silky fur.
Of all the denizens of Faerie, the Dog seemed unconditionally devoted to me. He required no payment from me and followed no rules himself.
Something similar grew out of me now and somehow I knew the Dog understood. More, was attracted to it.
Restless, I kept walking and the Dog paced by my side, waist-high so I easily rested my hand on his muscular shoulder. Though I now knew for certain that Rogue lurked somewhere inside this beast, he felt no more present to me than ever before. Rogue wasn’t aware of the Dog’s actions, couldn’t remember them, so where did his consciousness go? Maybe he was less inside than temporarily suspended elsewhere for a time.
Where had mine gone, for that matter, when the feline-ghost in me decided to take over the physical fight? I didn’t remember being anywhere. The lost time was the only evidence. That and Liam’s dramatic reaction.
At least it seemed I didn’t need to be concerned about self-defense anymore.
A breeze blew in off the ocean, scented with salt, lifting my drying hair. I skirted the human camp, giving them a wide berth. Together the Dog and I walked up a bluff that overlooked the beach. The sea glowed a nearly fluorescent blue now, in the late day sunlight, flashes of orange in the foaming surf. I didn’t see any sign of my fiberglass half boat, but huge wooden scaffolds had been constructed and already frames of new sailing ships sat in them. Made of fine golden floss, the ships seemed to be woven instead of built and the sails seemed made of the petals of orchids, vivid, ruffled pastel.
As if they could sail into the sunset and become one with it. Part of me longed to go with them.
The Dog bumped my hand and I crouched in front of him, scratching his ears. “Rogue? Are you in there?” I asked it anyway, though I felt sure he wouldn’t answer. The Dog never did—never communicated even in images. He cocked his head and gave me a canine grin. Then he slurped my hand with his tongue and took off down the bluff, fae and humans alike scattering with shrieks of terror.
I watched long enough to make sure he didn’t eat anyone—though what I’d do about it, I didn’t know—and saw him leap into the water, dog-paddling out toward the horizon. No doubt Rogue would make an appearance before long then.
I turned to walk back and found Larch waiting just behind me.
“My lady.” He bowed. Said nothing more.
“Something you wanted, Larch?”
His stolid face puckered as he considered. “The Black Dog is not evil. You should know that.”
This surprised me, not because I disagreed, but because Larch was rarely forthcoming. Especially about anything to do with Rogue. “I do know that.”
“There is such a thing. Evil.”
I never had really believed in the concept. All was shades of gray. There was cruelty and self-absorption to the point of being destructive to others. I suppose I thought everyone believed they were doing what they needed to do. But evil? “Perhaps. But no, not evil—the Dog is simply what it is. Elemental.”
Larch inclined his head, part agreement, part tribute. “I thought that might be something you needed to remember, Lady Gwynn.”
“I see.”
We walked back in silence and now my thoughts creaked back into life, parsing what had happened. The cat thing in me had taken over, briefly, but with a stealth and power I couldn’t resist. It wasn’t evil though—that much I knew. It simply operated as the Dog did, without rules or boundaries, as purely itself. That was what Larch wanted me to know, offering me reassurance in his funny, oblique way. For surely he’d witnessed it, had seen clearly through his blueberry eyes that I had temporarily become something else.
At least it hadn’t torn my mortal body to limp shreds of flesh. Yet.
“Do you come with us to Castle Brightness tomorrow?”
“Yes, Lady Sorceress. Your tribute stores have been packed for storage. I assumed you would wish to travel light for now.”
“I assumed Rogue would have given you instructions.”
He snorted, a most un-Larchlike sound. “Lord Rogue is not speaking to me at this time. I believe he’s still angry that you slipped past me the other night.”
“Ah.” I took that in. “So, you are my prison guard then.”
“No, Lady Sorceress.” He blinked up at me with a sly smile. “That’s why you were able to escape so easily.”
I revised my assessment of Larch then. One more player for Team Gwynn. That should be rewarded.
“How much am I paying you, anyway?”
“As your seneschal, Lady Blackbird takes care of that.”
Well, yes—I knew that much. It still didn’t answer the question.
“How about a bonus then? Pick something from the Tribute Tent. Which I imagine is now the Tribute Self-Storage Unit.”
“Anything?” He sounded aghast at my cavalier generosity. Frankly, though, the vast majority of the things that had been given in tribute to me was stuff that I had no idea how to evaluate. If I did want to know the relative value of something, I just ended up asking Larch or Starling anyway. Given Starling’s tendency for hyperbole, I didn’t quite trust her take. Certainly Rogue couldn’t be counted on for a straight answer, particularly if another would give him more power over me.
“Yes, anything you want. One thing.” All I needed was to be embezzled of my entire fortune, such as it was. “And while you’re at it, could you dig out that vial of distilled dragon’s blood I concocted?”
“I will pack it in your bags for you.”
“No. I want it close to hand. Call me paranoid.”
He didn’t call me anything, but the disapproval wafted off him. Whether for my unladylike behavior or the risk-taking, I wasn’t sure and didn’t care.
“Um...” We were closing in on the tent. “You won’t say anything about...today?”
“Your secrets are always safe with me, Lady Gwynn.”
That, I did believe.
Starling was busily packing up the contents of the tent, a manic Mary Poppins with her singing and flinging about of dresses. She gave my dress the hairy eyeball and sighed.
“Did you just poof away the other one? It was expensive, you know.”
Oops.
“I could maybe recreate it?”
>
“Did you pay enough attention to the fabric and the lines to do that? It was woven by pixies—not easy to replicate.”
“Oh. Probably not. Sorry?”
She snorted at me. “No, you’re not. But next time, could you maybe send the expensive dresses back to the tent and make your new getups out of something else?”
I looked down at my white dress and tennies. It wasn’t that bad. I’d been feeling kind of Jane Eyre-ish and tragic. And it wasn’t like there were phone booths for me to slip into to change into my superhero costume while I dutifully teleported cocktail gowns back and forth.
“I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile I suppose I’d better get ready for Rogue’s visit. He probably wants dinner again.”
“He does,” Starling confirmed. “It’s all arranged. Nightgown and robe then?”
“I wish. Somehow I agreed to wear a nightgown of his choice.” Sure seemed as if I’d agreed to an awful lot lately. I must be slipping. “So I might as well wear a decent dress.”
“You mean—not like whatever it is that you’re wearing?”
“Hey! Leave my tragic Jane Eyre outfit alone.”
She cocked her head at me. “Does that mean anything at all?”
“No.” I sighed and plunked myself down in front of the mirror and started brushing my tangled hair. Starling took the brush out of my hand and did it for me, with considerably more soothing care than I gave myself. “I had a self-defense lesson with Officer Liam and some other stuff happened. Plus Falcon is a right bastard. It’s been a day.”
Starling raised an eyebrow, catching my eye in the mirror. “What else happened?”
I realized I didn’t want to tell her about the ghost-cat. Turning my head to the right, I could maybe see a faint gleam of white-silver on my left temple. Just a hint, a minor capillary breaking. I resisted the urge to lean forward to study it more closely. What are you looking at, Gwynn? Oh, just signs that I’m turning into a monster.
“Gwynn?”
I started, for a moment thinking we were having the conversation out loud.
“Oh, nothing. Just Rogue being high-handed and Falcon being the nasty dictator he is. Is there anyone here not grabbing for power?”
It was a rhetorical question, of course, but she screwed up her face, thinking hard. “No. I don’t think so. After all, what else is there?”
What else indeed?
Starling left my hair down and helped me into a pretty blue gown that matched my new earrings.
“Do you know how I can take these off, by chance?”
She shook her head without looking. “They’re very beautiful.”
“But?”
Starling shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “But I’m surprised you accepted them.”
“Why? What do they mean?”
“You don’t know?”
I reined in my impatience. “How would I know, Starling? I’m not from here.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Well, you might not like the answer.”
Color me oh-so-surprised. I kicked some pillows aside, sending them blinking into different jewel-tone shades, and padded barefoot over to the food table. Pouring myself a full glass of wine, I took a long, grateful sip, and braced myself.
“Okay, tell me.”
“Well—they kind of mark you.”
“Yeah. That’s what Rogue said. Proof.”
“Exactly!” She nodded vigorously in relief. “So you do know.”
“Not so fast. Proof of what?”
“Um.” She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in what should have been a cheerful, innocent look, but instead gave her a manic chipmunk cast. “I don’t know how things worked in your old world. But here there’s married—which is official and all—and then there’s, well, other kinds of relationships.”
“So, you’re saying that these earrings mark me as, what, Rogue’s concubine? Mistress—that kind of thing?”
She clasped her hands together. “Um. Yeah.”
I savored the wine—so much better than the alcoholic Kool-Aid Falcon served—and considered. “I don’t think I care.”
“You don’t? It’s not an, um, flattering status. Not as if you were his lady.”
“Yeah. That much is parallel in my old world. But I imagine marrying Rogue would bring a whole raft of obligations and rules, yes? Whereas, if the analogy continues, being a mistressy sort gives you social freedoms that wives don’t enjoy. This place is so feudal in some ways, I’m betting that’s true here too.” I raised my glass in a little toast. “Here’s to being Rogue’s official concubine—much good may it do him.”
“Oh, it may do me more good than you think.”
Chapter Seven
In Which I Embark Upon a Quest with My Brave Companions
It’s an inescapable conclusion that Rogue and the Black Dog are one and the same. But somehow it runs deeper than simple shapeshifting. If shapeshifting can be called simple.
~Big Book of Fairyland, “The Black Dog”
I whirled around to find Rogue lounging on his silken nest of a bed, boots crossed at the heels and his hair loose, spread enticingly over the pillows.
“You just love to do that, don’t you?”
His lips curved in a satisfied smile. “I do, yes. Taking you by surprise, Concubine Gwynn, is always rewarding.”
He infused the words with sexual intent, embarrassing Starling into a flutter of activity. She stammered something about sending dinner in later and dashed out. I studied Rogue. He was relaxed now in a way he hadn’t been before. The restless anger had dissipated, leaving behind the playful version of himself. Sated, rested. Refueled.
I moved over to the workbench and flipped open my grimoire. The pen I’d made lurked somewhere under a few trinkets—undoubtedly batted there by Darling. I flipped to the section on the Black Dog and made a note.
“What are you doing?” Rogue’s hand stroked down my arm with warm affection, his voice amused as he peered over my shoulder.
“Special human magic,” I replied in a lofty tone. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“May I?”
I obligingly moved aside and let him bend over the page, nearly full of notes and comments about the Dog. I’d had proper note-keeping rammed into my head by an OCD chemistry professor once upon a time, and my handwriting was as neat as an engineer’s. Rogue absently pushed the fall of his hair over his shoulder and touched the page with a careful finger, following the line of the characters, as if he expected the texture to change. It put me in mind of the way I touched his skin, searching for the boundaries of the black lines and thorns embedded within.
“This is strange indeed. Yet, I don’t feel your magic, beyond what you used to create it. What does it do?”
It still boggled me that their whole society had no concept of books or writing. Perhaps the hive mind made it unnecessary. But why hadn’t the humans developed something? Too busy slaving away for their overlords, probably.
“It’s a way of...leaving messages for myself. Things I want to remember and think about.”
He turned his head, midnight-blue eyes sparkling. “I doubt you need to remember to think about things, saucy Gwynn.”
“You’d be surprised,” I answered in a dry tone, lacing my fingers together to resist the urge to run them through the silky black hair spilling over his shoulder.
“Would I?” He straightened and touched one of the lily earrings, setting it swinging. “I thought you’d be angry when you found out.”
“If you thought I’d be angry, why did you do it?”
“Besides that it was necessary for dealing with Falcon and his cronies? Because I thought you would not agree to a formal mating.”
“Insightful of you.”
“Though the offer stands.”
“No, thank you.”
“A thousand girls would kill to be my lady.”
“Don’t let me get in the way.”
He laughed, took my hand and set it on his h
air. “Why don’t you touch me when you want to? It’s your right.”
“Because,” I whispered past the dryness in my mouth, unable to resist winding my fingers through the silk of it, watery soft as ink, “it’s dangerous.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Each time I give in to temptation, it makes it easier to give in the next time, to yield a little more.”
“Yield a little more, lovely Gwynn,” he coaxed, turning me so he had me boxed against the bench, one hand clinging to his hair like a lifeline. “Shall we have our kiss now?”
“I thought we’d have the lesson first.” But my eyes were glued to his mouth, the dark-blood lips. My body thrummed in anticipation.
“So orderly.” His mouth hovered a breath away from mine. “Work before pleasure. Do you want me to kiss you now?”
I did. I didn’t say so.
He smiled, knowing anyway. “But I think you’re right. Lesson first. When I kiss you next, I want it to be in my bed with you wearing the nightgown I made specially for you.”
“Remember I get consultation on that.”
“I need no magic to remind me. Now, shall the subject of the lesson be how your cat took you over this afternoon?” He stroked a finger over my left temple, eyes intent on the spot.
“Are the lines more pronounced now?” I asked, though I was afraid of the answer.
His gaze returned to mine, the deep blue thoughtful. “Than at midday? No. But they will be. You won’t be able to control this, clever Gwynn.”
“How do you know what happened? I thought you didn’t remember things when you were the Dog?”
His lips twisted in a wry grimace and he pulled away. With reluctance, I let his hair slide through my fingers, leaving them bereft. He tucked his hands behind his back and paced the tent. This was what he often did, pacing as he taught. I smiled to myself, that he was so familiar to me in some ways, and scooted back to sit on the bench.
“Answer me this—do you recall what occurred when the cat took over?”
I started to say no, but that wasn’t precisely true. “It’s like a dream. Flashes of images. Not vivid, like your dreamscape—whatever that is—but more an ordinary dream. Jumbled and nonsensical.”
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