A Trace of Moonlight

by Allison Pang

  He leaned forward to kiss me, even as he gently laid me upon the bed that had mysteriously appeared behind us. “I’d think that would be obvious,” he murmured. “I take what is mine.”

  As though this last interchange had freed him from whatever thoughts had been tormenting him, he tugged at the top of my corset, growling with approval at the newly revealed flesh. “Gods, but I’ve missed this.” He went silent, suckling at the nipples until I jerked toward him, an electric pulse of pleasure shooting to my groin. I rolled my hips at him, but he was already there, one hand rucking the skirt up to my waist.

  If I’d been wearing underwear, it was gone a moment later, his hand sliding between my thighs. I scissored them wide and bucked up to meet his fingers, letting out a gasp of relief when he slipped one inside. I tore at his shoulders, pulling the shirt away from him like paper. My palms stroked his naked chest and down the muscled ridge of his abdomen.

  With a groan he laid claim to my mouth. The motion of his fingers grew bold. I rocked in time to the movements, feeling them echoed in the way he slid against me. He chuckled at my whimper.

  “Too easy.” His eyes glowed brighter still. I caught the flicker of what might have been antlers sprouting from his brow, but he turned—and they were gone.

  “You talk too much.” I brushed my lips over his jawline, grinding harder against him. Small ripples of pleasure radiated with each clever stroke. “And what’s too easy?”

  One dark brow arched in amusement, his fingers crooking up as his thumb pressed down. “This.”

  Rational thought fled as I tumbled over the edge, the orgasm hitting me fast and hard, leaving me almost sobbing with its intensity. A satisfied croon rumbled from his chest. Was he laughing? My body continued to vibrate happily along, not caring.

  “Delicious,” he sighed, his lips parted as though he was . . . drinking? His face lowered, gaze burning at me. “Whatever happens, Abby, I have no regrets. About any of it.” Confused, I frowned at him. “The mechanics are going to be too difficult to explain right now . . . just do as I ask. You have the power, Dreamer. Please.”

  “What are you going to do?” I shifted as though to roll out from under him, but his hands tightened around me. A tremor ran through him, but it wasn’t desire.

  It was fear.

  Clasping me to him, he pulled me onto his lap. His erection remained beneath me, but it seemed to be an afterthought for him at this point. One hand stroked my cheek, the other cradled my head. “I’m going to kiss you now, Abby.”

  “All right,” I said slowly. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, a bitter smile crossing his face as he lowered his mouth to mine. It was strangely chaste, hovering and light as though he couldn’t quite find the right rhythm.

  What the hell. I’d make it easy for him.

  My fingers twined through the dark locks of his hair. He stiffened slightly, but I tugged him closer, opening myself to him as well as I could. He nipped at my lower lip, our breath mingling hotly.

  “All of me I give to you,” he whispered, the words slipping away into the darkness, and his eyes flared painfully bright like golden waves in an infinite sea. He shuddered, his exhalation filling my lungs until they burned. “Now drink my dreams.”

  I struggled, but his hands held me firmly in place. I heard the distant chimes of bells as visions darkened my sight, wrapping me in the memories of an . . .

  . . . Incubus . . .

  . . . I was crouched in the darkness outside a white picket fence with thorny edges, my hands bleeding from my failed attempts to scale it. Anything to get back to the place of my birth, the warmth of the Dreaming womb, and the inadvertent love of a mother who never knew me . . .

  . . . I was learning to feed, gleaning off the dreams of others, taking all that I could and leaving only a hollowed longing for an unobtainable sexual perfection . . .

  . . . I was singing on a stage, holding the attention of everyone. So easy to let my power roll out, lust and desire curling through the room like the flicking tongue of a snake. I could taste the scant edges of their dreams, the weight and the measure as I decided who I would visit tonight, what Contract I would make . . .

  . . . I was wrapped in her arms and the darkness, her Dreaming Heart welcomes me like a beacon of light in the shadows. I would never belong there, but for a moment I could pretend . . .

  “Ion.” The name fell from my tongue with an easy roll. He uttered a low cry, his form seeming to waver, his body vibrating in my arms. A rush of energy pulsed through my limbs once. Twice. And then he faded, a ghostly shadow slipping away.

  Remember me . . .

  His voice echoed in my mind, even as the white bed seemed to open up, swallowing me into darkness. The scent of rose petals and earth and decaying leaves assaulted my senses. I was falling, my fingers scrabbling at nothing as I hurtled into oblivion.

  I’d been crying in my sleep. The damp trace of tears still clung to my lashes. Dimly, I rubbed at them with my hand as I sat up in my bed, trying to remember what had happened. My body thrummed uncomfortably and I knew it had been an arousing dream of sorts, but more than that I couldn’t say. I would have to ask Talivar about it in the morning.

  The elven prince had a way of being able to see to the heart of my thoughts, even when I couldn’t quite understand them myself. Not that he was here now. For propriety’s sake we had separate bedrooms. I’d never slept with him before. At least, I didn’t think I had.

  There’d been some sort of accident in my recent past, one that had apparently taken my long-term memory. No one seemed to want to elaborate on the details. Considering I was supposed to get married to the man, it was a bitch of a thing not to remember the actual proposal.

  Perhaps my dream was just a manifestation of wedding jitters like I’d guessed, or even pent-up hormones. But tears? Flopping down in frustration, I stared out the carved window at the moonless night, a rustling of branches the only sound. Usually I found it comforting, but right then it mocked me with its secrets, as though it knew more of me than it cared to tell.

  I shifted onto my side in irritation, something hard digging into my hip. Puzzled, I reached beneath me to find several small, round somethings. They jingled, a lost and lonely chime that made my heart ache. I lit the bedside candle and held the objects up to the flickering glow, swallowing hard when I realized I was holding a set of bells, tangled in red thread.

  Two

  A dream, you say?” Talivar said it lightly, but his good eye looked away from me in a way I didn’t like. The Fae couldn’t lie directly, but there was something about his expression that indicated he wasn’t going to be completely open with his thoughts. Not that I’d told him everything either. Betrothed or not, I would have found it a bit difficult to tell him about being intimate with another man in a dream so real that I’d actually brought a piece of it with me.

  I patted the pocket sewn into the inner lining of my skirts, the hard spheres of metal reassuring. Had I betrayed my intended in truth? I shifted in my seat, not sure I was willing to look that deeply at my motivations, and concentrated on spreading a pat of butter on my toast. On the other hand, if Talivar had his own secrets to guard, that was another thing entirely.

  Not that it would be entirely unwarranted. He was a prince, after all. If he chose not to let me in on everything, I supposed that was his royal prerogative. I pretended to content myself with the knowledge that maybe things would change once we were wed, but my inner voice mocked the hollowness of that assumption with merciless abandon.

  I studied the prince as I nibbled my toast. He was dressed in doeskin trousers and a pleated waistcoat, the ragged cut of his chestnut hair falling rakishly to his scruffy chin. It would have almost seemed respectable if not for the blue tattoos spiraling upon his cheeks and the dark leather eye patch covering the puckered remains of his left eye.

  And yet, despite the fierceness that sometimes blazed upon his face, there was a gentle grace in the way he sipped his tea.

&
nbsp; An elvish prince to his bones.

  A polite cough interrupted my reverie and I realized Talivar had been waiting for my answer. A wan smile crept over my face and I glanced out the window. The early morning sun seemed less bright than it had on other mornings. Less real, maybe. We were sitting in the prince’s solar as we were wont to do most days. He tended to eschew the more fashionable crystal and glass rooms his sister favored, and this room was no exception. Carved directly into the tree that housed the palace, the warmly polished wood reminded me of burnished copper. Large rounded windows allowed a glimpse of a sunken garden and provided entry to a wafting breeze carrying a hint of moist earth and wisteria.

  Talivar nudged my leg with a questioning foot from under the table. It was something of a secret game between us when we had company, but I wasn’t in any mood to play it now. “Abby?”

  I shrugged at him. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not myself today. I feel . . . restless.” I stood up as though to emphasize the point, but my thoughts strayed to the dream of the night before.

  His face became pensive. “And there’s nothing you can remember?”

  “Shadows,” I muttered. “Shadows and dreams—and why is this so important to you? It was a dream. There was a man there, but more than that I don’t really remember. He had a name . . . but it escapes me now.”

  “Perhaps you’ll remember it later,” he said. “And forgive me my concern, my love, but you had been plagued by terrible nightmares . . . before.” Again, that hesitation, but he covered it up by pouring me another mug of tea, fixing it with my usual three lumps of sugar. “I’ve got to meet with Moira to discuss the possible transfer of royal duties from the Queen to her.”

  A twang of sympathy shot through me. “The Queen still suffers? I thought she was getting better.”

  His smile wavered. “Aye. Well, the price of the cure was a bit too dear for me, Abby. And it came a little too late. Oh, she’ll manage for a while longer, I think, but she continues to fade a little each day. Before long the Council will insist she step down. The poison left her an imperfect vessel.” His mouth curved sardonically and he patted his crippled leg. “The gods know we cannot have that.”

  I reached out to stroke the scarred edge of his face. “Then they are fools. Though I do feel bad for your mother. She has never been anything but kind to me.”

  And that was true. Since I’d come here, lost memory and all, the Queen had insisted the Court treat me with respect, making sure I had the finest of clothes and the most sumptuous of foods. Every night the Queen held a ball, full of great wonders and magic, endless food and drink, sweeping music and quiet laughter.

  It had been fascinating at first, but the days and nights had at some point begun to blur into each other. I could have been here three days or three hundred. For all the Fae’s fine words and courtly manners, there was always an aura of strain beneath their polite faces. I rubbed at my temples, the beginnings of a headache threatening to break.

  Talivar captured my hands, leaning forward to kiss my brow. “Go and rest in the garden. I’ll send Phineas out to keep you company. And then if we have time later, we’ll ride out to see the falls. I think you’ll like them.”

  “All right.” I gathered my skirts and left, feeling his gaze upon my shoulders. Something was going on here, and even though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, I was not one to believe in coincidences.

  The dream.

  The bells in my pocket.

  Talivar’s strange concern.

  By themselves I would not think much of them . . . but now? The loss of my memory tugged at me like a tangible thing, tangled in a healthy dose of frustration. Always there was the hint of something looming from the back of my mind. If I could just push through the fog that seemed to wrap up my thoughts, surely I would find the answer. Or maybe it was the question I needed to discover.

  I took one last look over my shoulder at the solar, but Talivar was already gone. Fine by me. I knew his garden well enough at this point and I’d never given cause for him to think I would do anything other than what he asked. After all, what else was there to do?

  The garden had been allowed to become overgrown and wild, but I suspected Talivar liked it that way . . . or perhaps he didn’t care. I was rather enchanted by the curling vines clinging to every wall, each branch nearly as thick as my forearm. Their emerald brilliance twirled and caressed the stone pillars in a dress of sparkling leaves and bulbous blue flowers as large as my head. They only bloomed in moonlight, their tiny stamens glowing with gentle bioluminescence.

  There were other flowers, of course—none of which I had names for—and elegant trees with slender branches and leaves of gold. It was not unusual for me to spend my hours here, lounging about in the perfect afternoons. No one would find it amiss if I was not heard from for a while.

  My heart beat a sharp staccato, chased by a wave of guilt.

  I needed answers.

  It seemed wrong to attempt to sneak up on someone I was supposed to love. My own distrust left a bitter taste in my mouth. And yet . . .

  “Secrets upon secrets,” I sighed. I knew Talivar kept council with Moira in a private wing of the castle, but sometimes they would stroll through the more manicured royal gardens together. With any luck I might catch them there, or perhaps overhear something via the servants’ tunnels.

  Wrapping my emerald cloak around my shoulders a little tighter, I escaped the far end of the garden through a side door and hastily made my way toward Moira’s wing. The few attendants I did see paid me no mind, and it was easy enough to slip into the royal wing proper. No sign of Talivar there, but a passing scullery maid informed me that, indeed, the pair had gone out to the nearby gardens. I thanked her and found another door that led to the hedge maze, keeping a low profile until I spotted them, the sibling elves pacing carefully along the outer edges of the garden, their heads bent low in heated discussion.

  “. . . and she remembers nothing?” The Faery princess’s brow wrinkled. She was clad in an elegant green dress, with jeweled ribbons twined through the chestnut waves of her hair, draping down her back to fasten at her waist. Even if I’d had hair that long, I would never be able to pull off something like that. She shook her head. “So where is he? This wasn’t part of the plan.”

  Talivar shrugged. “I do not know. It is possible the incubus ran into some trouble . . . or maybe Abby couldn’t pull him through because of her memory loss.” His hand fisted at his side. “Goddess help me but it kills me to see her this way. She’s like a shadow, drifting in and out of each day . . . and no closer to knowing herself than she was the day before. And don’t even get me started on the TouchStone thing. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep her from accidentally touching anyone?”

  “What’s done is done,” Moira snapped. “We cannot change the past and you are wasting time trying to coddle her into remembrance. Whatever possessed you to convince her to wed you?”

  He turned away and for a moment I wondered if he’d seen me crouched beneath the hedgerow, but his gaze was distant. “I never asked her,” he said finally. “I had but to tell her that we were already lovers and she accepted that well enough.”

  My mouth dropped as I sank to my knees, confusion and pain shaking my limbs to the bone. Fool and idiot! I bit down hard on my fist, trying to keep my breakfast from making a reappearance. If everything I’d been told was a lie, then who the hell was I?

  The dream from the night before took on a more sinister tone in my memories. Just what was it that I was supposed to have done?

  “I’m surprised Mother even agreed to it,” Moira was saying, her fingers gesturing lightly in the breeze.

  “Mayhap she took pity on me . . . or Abby, for that matter, given how little time she has left. What is it now, a matter of weeks?” Abruptly he sat down. “I thought if I might get her pregnant, it would nullify the Tithe. After all, the contract stipulates a single soul . . . if there are two in the same vessel, surely that would
change things?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps, but delay it a bit,” Moira conceded thoughtfully, her gaze suddenly cold as she watched him. “But you would subject her to that? That’s more calculating than I would give you credit for, brother.”

  He shook his head, tugging on his hair in evident frustration. “It was merely a backup plan if Brystion could not break through. To think of lying with her under these pretenses is abhorrent . . . and yet I will do so if it saves her life.”

  “How noble of you,” a small voice piped up from between them, and I realized the tiny unicorn—Phineas—took council with them. He trotted forward, snorting. “Forgive me if I’m not overly impressed with your scheming.”

  Talivar sank onto a nearby bench. “We’re running out of options, Phin. She pledged herself to be the sacrifice . . . and as our mother’s subjects, Moira and I cannot go directly against that. To do so would make us oathbreakers.”

  “And that I will not risk,” Moira murmured, her hand up on his shoulder. “The crown is a heavy duty.”

  “Tight enough to make your head swell,” the unicorn grumbled, hopping up onto the bench beside the prince, answering her glare with the snap of his own teeth at her backside.

  Delicately, she shifted out of his reach. “I still don’t get it. What makes you think having Brystion kidnap her would solve anything?”

  “It was a risk he was willing to take,” Talivar said. “As a daemon himself, he wasn’t bound to the Fae’s word. Besides,” the prince added wryly, “I suspect he would have tried it with or without our blessing. Why do you think the Queen banished him in the first place?”

  Unable to listen to any more of this, I fled. The three of them turned toward me as my shoes scraped the gravel . . . but I could no longer stay here. It was quite obvious that I was only a puppet—my forgetful state being taken advantage of—dancing to whatever sick tune they’d decided to play.

  I didn’t even begin to want to know what Talivar’s thought process was. To think that I’d come to trust the man with my very life . . . my love? And what was a Tithe? Frantically I wiped at my burning eyes, my thoughts racing. Where I was going to go, and how I was going to get there? The beauty of this place suddenly seemed like a Candyland nightmare—as though I’d scraped away the sugar coating only to reveal a rotten core.