by Allison Pang
“Abby!” Talivar’s ragged voice sounded from behind me.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I shouted over my shoulder, walking away as swiftly as I dared. “I don’t even know who you are!”
“If you would just let me explain,” he insisted, his hand closing on my wrist. “Please.”
I jerked away and he let me go, even as I whirled to face him. His shifted his weight onto his good leg, but I refused to feel sorry for him. “I don’t know what sort of idiot you all take me for, but I’m done. I want . . .”
My voice trailed away. What did I want?
After a moment with that question, I proclaimed instinctively, “I want to go home. Wherever that is. Surely I have a family somewhere. A real family,” I added darkly. “Not this palace full of liars.”
“Abby.” He raised a hand as though to stroke my cheek, but I stepped back. He sighed, his gaze troubled. “You are home. Please, come with me and we’ll explain everything. Or try to.”
“Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”
“You don’t understand. We have tried to discuss these things with you before, but within hours you no longer remember any of it. Some of the small details stick with you, but as to who you are or how you got here?” He snapped his fingers. “Poof. All we’re trying to do is keep you safe.”
“Oh, sure. By marrying someone you find abhorrent?” My lip curled at him. “Planning on making me some sort of royal brood mare? And what’s a TouchStone? A Tithe?”
“Abby, it’s not like that. Moira is your sister—your half sister . . .”
“How the hell could I be related to Moira?” I snatched at my rounded ears. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like you.” I paused, something awful taking hold of my thoughts. If Moira was my sister and Talivar was her brother . . . “Wouldn’t that make you my brother?”
Recoiling at my words, he let his hand drop. “I know you’re confused right now, so I’ll forgive that,” he said softly. “But I never meant to hurt you.”
“I can’t . . . be here. This is all terribly wrong.”
He nodded, a sad smile touching his mouth. “Even like this, you avoid what causes you pain. Take some time, and when you’re ready we’ll talk.”
I made a helpless gesture at him that could have been a yes or a no, but my body was vibrating with the need to extract myself from this situation. Talking with him should have helped, but all the conversation had done was convince me I didn’t belong here. Whatever this Tithe thing was, it didn’t sound good. Coldness clenched my heart as the realization slid home.
Sacrifice.
Of course. That’s why the Queen had been so generous with me. Why everyone handled me with kid gloves, seeing to my every need. Why they wouldn’t look at me directly.
“See if this fatted calf rolls over for you,” I muttered. Lost memory or not, things did not add up. I needed to get away and sort out my thoughts. The hedge maze would be as good for that as anything and I immediately retreated into its welcoming puzzle. If nothing else, I could be alone while I figured out what to do next.
I’d always found the maze calming, but today my feet raced along with my thoughts, moving in a singular cadence pounding through my brain with a dull thud. I let my shawl flutter to the ground behind me, my arms pumping as I took turn after turn, doubling back when I hit a dead end.
I turned a corner of the hedge, blinking when I saw the dolphin fountain, its brass fixture spraying a bright mist gaily upon the water. My feet skidded in the gravel, shoes digging in to avoid windmilling headfirst into it. My knee buckled, a sharp pain twisting beneath the kneecap, and I tumbled to the ground.
Gravel stung my palms as I staggered to my feet, fingers clenched around my thigh.
An older man sat on the edge of the fountain wall, his hands and feet clapped in chains, and he watched me slyly as I limped toward the fountain. He was flanked on either side by elvish guards, their faces grim and attentive.
“Stand back, milady,” one of them warned. “This man is a dangerous prisoner.”
The old man scowled at him before giving me a friendly wink. His eyes were beetle bright, a chitinous shine that was meant to be reassuring, but it cut through me with a calculated edge. “Oh, clearly I’m dangerous, as wrapped up as I am.” He rattled his chains in emphasis. “Why, I can barely totter out here for my weekly walk as it is. What harm could I possibly be to anyone now? Be a dear, Reginald, and at least help milady to find her balance?”
I frowned, not liking the twisted pull of his mouth. By the look the guards gave each other, they weren’t overly happy either. The dour-faced Reginald sighed and reluctantly stepped forward to lend me an armored arm.
“Are you hurt, milady?” The elf said it by rote, his gaze constantly flicking to the old man.
“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with my knee, but . . .”
My memory jiggled again as I stared at the old man’s face, overwhelmed by visions of scales and a burning fire in my gut. Abruptly, my hands fell to my waist. I had a scar there that Talivar could not explain.
Or would not.
“You’re trying to place me, aren’t you, my dear?” The man snorted. “So noble of you to have drunk that lethe water . . . to forgo your own memories and willingly sacrifice yourself for your friends. Now you don’t even know who I am. Does the name Maurice ring a bell?” He let out an aggrieved sigh while I stared blankly at him. “Sort of takes all the fun out of it.”
Wordless, I shook my head. There was something about this man that emanated corruption. I didn’t need the chains or the guard to tell me that.
“I have no wish to speak to you,” I said finally, though that wasn’t entirely true. At this point, I couldn’t trust my own instincts as to guide me to who was a friend and who was not. “What is lethe water?”
“Water from the River Styx . . . or so the legends have it,” the man said mildly, though his tone suggested he didn’t actually believe that. “You drank it to seal a deal. With a daemon. You’re going to be sacrificed, you know.” He smiled.
I sucked in a deep breath, the truth of it ringing through my ears. Impulsively, I fisted the bells in my pocket, clutching hard enough to bruise. “Take me back to my rooms,” I mumbled to Reginald. “Please.”
Reginald sighed. “I’m sorry, milady. I cannot leave him to escort you. It’s against orders. And you should be moving along now.”
I released his arm and tested my leg, hissing at the abrupt flush of heat emanating from the joint. But why? One more mystery of my past I was unlikely to get an answer to. The old man snickered at my grimace.
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Because I was there, my dear. Gave me a rather unique opportunity, I must say. You’re quite noble in your own way. Stupid, but noble.” The man cocked his head at me, gesturing toward my neck with a rattling of chains as I bristled. “The most pathetic thing of all is that you have the ability to leave . . . whenever you want.”
Anger snapped through me, a blind rage at the Fae’s attempt to keep me in the dark. Again.
“How? What must I do?”
He answered me with a roll of eyes. “You hold the very key to your freedom right around your neck, woman.”
I turned away, my finger sliding up to the amulet at my throat. Yet another riddle, I thought bitterly. Talivar had only said it had been a gift from my mother, and I had found that idea very comforting at one point, but now it was merely a reminder of something I didn’t know. I tugged on it experimentally, tracing the heavy stone as it lay in my palm. The well-worn silver filigree caught the sunlight, winking at me.
Perhaps the necklace was symbolic? Maybe the sacrifice wore it so that everyone would recognize him or her. I could take no chances. It would have to come off. I reached behind me, fumbling with the clasp, but again and again the catch eluded me. Maurice chuckled, his voice merry with amusement. Flushing with frustration, I tried again, pulling on it as hard as I could until
it cut into my neck, the silver chain burning.
“Why won’t it come off?” I snapped, whirling on him.
“My understanding is that it can’t come off, my dear. Though I do suspect there may actually be a way . . .” His mouth pursed in a sensual pout. “Would you like me to try?”
Reginald shook his head. “Absolutely not. No one may come within five lengths of the prisoner, under the Queen’s orders. And that includes you, milady.” He tipped his head. “Begging your pardon.”
“I don’t care.” I drew myself up as regally as I could. Hadn’t Talivar said Moira was my sister? “Everyone knows the Queen’s stepping down,” I bluffed. “When Moira becomes Queen, what do you think that will make me?”
The guard gave me a look filled with pity and I knew that was the wrong tactic. I tried again. “Look, if I’m going to be . . . sacrificed anyway, what difference does it make if I get close to him or not? After all, I’m going to die, aren’t I?” The guard’s eyes flickered. Answer enough. I let out a barking laugh. “I suppose that’s that.”
Maurice tsked at me. “A little quick to be giving up, aren’t you? The old Abby wouldn’t have been nearly so cowed.”
I flushed. “I have no memory of who I was,” I said coldly.
“For someone who tried to kill you at least once, he’s remarkably altruistic with the advice,” a small voice retorted from my ankles.
I glanced down at Phineas. “Kill me?” The unicorn shook out his mane, the tiny horn glinting silver in the sun. A scowl crept over my face. “At least he’s not lying to me. Hell, for all I know he tried to free me and that’s why he’s been locked up.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Abby—” Phin began.
“And why shouldn’t I try to free her?” Maurice gave me a wan smile. “We mortals need to stick together in this place, don’t we? Can’t expect a creature like that to understand.”
“I want this necklace off, Phin.”
“It can’t come off.” He sighed. “And no one has lied to you. Omitted information, yes—but there were reasons for it. Look, I know you’re upset right now, but this is not the way or the place to handle it.”
My fingers clenched tight around the bells again. “As opposed to keeping me in the dark?” I inclined my head toward the old man. “He says there’s a way to get it off. We can ‘handle it’ however you want, after that.”
Maurice glanced toward the tops of the hedges. “I think we’re going to need to hurry up this conversation, my dear.” His mouth quirked mockingly. “You’ve got an impeccable sense of timing.”
Phineas frowned, his nostrils flaring. I caught the whiff of rotten eggs and smoke on the breeze and exhaled sharply to try to avoid tasting it any more than I had to. Was something burning?
“Daemons,” the unicorn hissed. “The castle’s been breached!”
Around us the carefully manicured hedges exploded in a great cracking of branches, wood and leaves scattering in all directions. Phineas reared up and shouted something about reinforcements before tearing away into the maze. The elvish guards whirled in unison as the first of the daemons emerged from the broken hedge, his head and body cloaked in black. Swords bristled like quills from his shoulders.
The guard who had spoken to me before snatched me by the arm to press me behind him, my calves scraping against the fountain. Of course, this also put me within reach of Maurice, who studied his fingers. “The sad thing is that a few more minutes with you and I wouldn’t have needed this sort of thing. Oh well.” He shrugged. “Opportunities never come when you think they should.”
The daemon attacked the guards, and I flinched at the sound of screeching metal. “We have to get out of here.” I blinked as his previous words sank in. “What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said,” he murmured. The clink of the chains rang like a warning in my ear, my brain slowly connecting the sound, even distracted as it was with the fighting guards. Three more daemons had joined the fray, slowly pushing my would-be protectors away from the fountain. Instinctively, my body shifted away from the noise, but Maurice’s fingers snatched my hair, yanking me back. He slapped me hard across the jaw when I struggled. My eyes watered with the sting, my own hands coming up to ward him off.
Grunting when my nails scored his cheek, he twisted my hair harder, and slammed my head into the stone wall. I let out a dull groan, my vision going red. Dimly I heard what sounded like Talivar shouting my name, but it came from a great distance, through walls of cotton. The heavy chains rolled thick around my neck, the metal pressing into the soft flesh of my throat.
“And now I’ll remove that pretty amulet for you,” Maurice said pleasantly. I barely registered the words beyond the struggle to breathe, my fingers clawing at the chains. He cupped my jaw, his thumb tenderly stroking my parted lips like a lover. A pause, an anguished cry from someone nearby, and a crack.
Just a little thing, really—a subtle crushing of my windpipe and the twist of vertebrae separating from the base of my skull. The inner part of me gaped with a sort of detached astonishment, Maurice’s face the last thing I saw before everything faded into darkness.
And then I died.
Three
I’d like to say that dying was the greatest adventure I’ve ever had, but honestly? It sucked.
Forget the white clouds and the tunnel with light at the end of it or whatever concept you like, because for me it seemed to involve a shitstack of pain.
And memories. A flood of them, crashing into my mind with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the head. They flickered past me as though I was watching a faded movie screen, complete with dramatic slow-motion after school special moments and hyperspeed bursts until I was nearly screaming. And still they poured in, each piece captured and observed like I was catching mental butterflies.
Some I released.
Some I pinned.
Some grew teeth and devoured me.
. . . I pirouetted upon the stage and everything was shadows and light, my limbs moving with the liquid grace of water . . .
. . . Mother, her life shattered in my lap, pain flooding limbs grown cold and broken . . .
. . . me, trapped in a crippled body, trapped in a painting, trapped in my own stagnation . . .
. . . I was signing a TouchStone Contract, the pen scratching into the parchment as I traded seven years of my life to Moira, the Faery Protectorate . . .
. . . I was a KeyStone, the echo of TouchStone bonds vibrating as they snapped into place. I could see each connection like a nick upon my soul, the OtherFolk hooking their essence into mine. I was the anchor, their lives blown over the CrossRoads like falling leaves . . .
. . . Dark skin sliding over my shoulder, clawed and possessive, hot breath in my ear and the promise of an otherworldly pleasure like no other . . .
And then nothing at all.
I jerked into consciousness, a detached calm settling over me. Whatever those memories contained no longer concerned me. My time was done. A thin mist rose up in the darkness that reminded me of the CrossRoads, though there wasn’t a road to be found here. Or much of anything, for that matter. I glanced down to see if I could see my body below me, but there was a big fat nothing anywhere as far as I could tell.
Overall, death was rather boring.
Something jingled in my pocket. I patted down my dress, frowning when I found the bells from my dream. “And here I thought they said you couldn’t take it with you,” I muttered.
“Sometimes they’re wrong,” a voice whispered behind me. A frown twisted my mouth as I tried to place it. There was something clinical in the way I accessed the memories, sorting through them until I found what I was looking for.
. . . Painter . . .
. . . Cancer . . .
. . . Betrayer . . .
. . . he was taping my eyes shut, thrusting me into a vat of . . . succubus blood? Painting my essence onto canvas, trapping me a world of nightmares . . .
“Topher?”
> “In the flesh, so to speak.”
Shuddering, I stepped away from the sound, though I couldn’t see him anywhere. “You’re hardly one of the five people I thought I’d meet.”
“You’re not in heaven,” he countered. “Yet.”
“Neither are you. In fact, you sound pretty good for someone I thought had been turned to dust ages ago.”
A ripple in the mist shaped itself into a humanoid form, the shadows darkening into a semblance of . . . something. Topher’s voice may have remained the same in the afterlife, but what was left of his body looked like it had been dragged behind a taxi during rush hour. I struggled not to flinch. I’d seen worse, after all. Maybe.
“My punishment,” he murmured, motioning at the whole of himself with a severely broken arm. “Sonja has a rather interesting sense of justice. Not that it was undeserved,” he admitted with a sad sort of resignation.
The name rolled over my tongue.
Sonja. Succubus. TouchStone.
He had been her TouchStone, bound by Contract, allowing her to feed from him in return for . . . inspiration.
I swallowed hard. The succubus had always been friendly enough to me . . . but then again, I’d helped save her . . . from this asshole, in fact. Who’d murdered at least three of her sisters and helped . . . helped . . . I shook my head as the memories rose up like furious bees.
“Maurice . . .” I breathed, suddenly filled with a brilliant fury. “I guess I’m really dead, then?”
“Yes. Maurice broke your neck.”
“Seems like a dumb thing to have let him do.” I mulled this over for a minute or two, rolling around the scenario in my head. My fingers traced my collarbone and I realized my amulet was gone. I’d waltzed right into the dragon’s mouth, oblivious—and he’d killed me for it . . . Apparently my lethe-muddled self was . . .