A Trace of Moonlight

by Allison Pang

  The unicorn sniffed. “Jesus, Abby. You stink. When was the last time you had a bath?”

  “I love you too, Phin.”

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”

  Four

  A sharp nip on my backside jerked me from an uneasy and restless sleep. I swatted the unicorn away and sat up, yawning. I’d been unable to reach the Dreaming at all this time, which didn’t surprise me much, given how tired I’d been.

  “What do you want?” I mumbled.

  “Breakfast,” Phineas announced primly.

  “Gods, what I wouldn’t do for a Denny’s right about now.”

  “Moons Over My Hammy.” He sighed. My stomach rumbled at the thought, but there wasn’t much point in wishing for what couldn’t be. Stretching carefully, I patted my neck with an experimental touch. The welts protruded less than they had, but the rawness still lingered. At least they weren’t infected. Although it seemed vain to worry about that when I actually had the use of my arms and legs.

  And—oh yeah—wasn’t actually dead.

  I tottered over to the washbasin on top of the dressing table, the intricate carvings on the drawers catching my attention the way they always did. The water in the basin steamed slightly and I knew the serving girl must have brought it up a short while ago. Efficient and quiet was a winning combination, even if I’d probably never get comfortable with having people wait on me.

  I made a cursory attempt at splashing the water over my face, though my bones ached for a proper bath. The mere thought of a hot shower made me groan into the hand towel I used to pat my face dry. That done, I finally turned to face the mirror. “Might as well get this out of the way,” I muttered, trying not to flinch away from my reflection.

  I paused for a few moments, letting the brutal reality of what Maurice had actually done to me sink in. The welts were ugly and expected . . . but my forehead was an aurora borealis of bruising in myriad blues and greens.

  “Christ, I’m lucky he didn’t bash my skull in too, while he was at it.”

  Phineas coughed politely. “Who said he didn’t?”

  I frowned, pressing my temple. “At least my nose isn’t broken.” On impulse, I braided a narrow band of my hair, tying Ion’s bells to it. They chimed in an almost amused way and I flushed despite myself. “I just don’t want to lose them,” I told my reflection with a prim twist of my lips.

  “Keep talking to yourself and people are bound to think you’re nuts, you know.”

  “Get in line,” I retorted, moving to find some clothes in the wardrobe. I shuffled through the layers of silk and tulle with a sigh. I needed pants. “Don’t I have anything other than dresses in here? I feel like Princess Barbie.”

  “Well, that would actually make sense, wouldn’t it?”

  I stiffened, recognizing the clipped tone of the Queen’s voice. While my lethe-hazed self had seen the Queen as a friend, I knew better now. Still, best to try not to piss her off more than I was already going to. Regret at not having Talivar here warred with relief that he wouldn’t have to see her treat me like dog crap. I hastily threw on a clean chemise.

  “Your pardon, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid I’m not decently suited to receive you.” I peeked out of the wardrobe, heart sinking as I watched her sit in the large chair next to the window. Unusual for her to take such an interest in me, but given the situation, I suppose it could be expected. However, it did sort of beg the question of why she had come here directly, instead of demanding a more formal audience. Somehow I doubted it was out of concern over my health.

  “I will wait,” she said as she waved her hand at the wardrobe with the careless arrogance of someone who is used to being obeyed without question. I was gratified to see that the madness that had plagued her before seemed to be absent, but the lack of her use of the royal “we” flared a warning in my gut.

  The Queen was not one for informality.

  Phin was remaining strangely quiet, an exaggerated snore suddenly vibrating from the bed that sounded an awful lot like AC/DC’s “Big Balls.” I snorted. Faker. The Queen had no love for the little beast, though, so perhaps it was for the best.

  I struggled with the lacings of the light blue overskirt, finally managing to make them look halfway presentable. “Your Majesty?” I attempted the small beginnings of a smile, a tight flush of pain at the creases of my cheeks. Her gaze flicked over me mechanically, assessing the damage on my face and neck. I stood my ground, keeping as calm as I dared. I’d never realized how much Moira was like her mother, but I could see it now in the detached smoothness of the Queen’s face.

  Royalty had no time for such petty things as feelings.

  She motioned for me to sit on the bed and I took the opportunity to play the game of Whose Head Is Higher.

  “Does it hurt much?”

  “Enough,” I said. “But I am very grateful for the help your healers could give me.”

  She frowned at the harshness of my voice. “It sounds as though they did not do all they should have.”

  “It’s fine. The circumstances were rather unusual . . . I’m grateful to be here at all.” Her face darkened and I decided reminding her I was the reason Maurice was gone was probably a very stupid thing to do. “I thank you for coming to check on me personally,” I added hastily. “Though your son has been doing an admirable job in that respect.”

  “Has he now? I wonder,” she murmured. “Are you still set on being handfasted? Given the change in your . . . situation?” The gleam in her eyes would have had me retreating several steps had I been standing. Mad the Queen may have been, but she hadn’t stayed Queen as long as she had without being able to see a very large picture.

  She snapped her fingers, impatient at my silence, and a serving maid appeared holding a vessel of wine and two stone goblets. At the Queen’s request, the maid poured the wine and set the cups on the small table beside her. “I knew very well what he was planning, but I wanted to see how far he would take it,” she said mildly, picking up one of the goblets and holding it out to me. “Come and drink. I would see what it is about you that he finds so fascinating.”

  I didn’t need Phin’s warning cough to tell me this was probably some sort of trap, but I also couldn’t refuse the woman without fear of setting her off. Cautiously I slid off the bed and knelt at her feet. Galling to think of bowing to anyone, but I’d found that if played the part willingly, she would accept it—even if neither of us was fooled.

  A subtle baring of the virtual throat, I supposed.

  Her gaze darted over my face and neck, fixating on where the amulet had been. “Careless,” she reprimanded me.

  “Yes,” I agreed, not bothering to point out that I wasn’t responsible for Maurice’s actions. Or the daemon mercenaries. Not that it mattered. I was already so far down on her shit list, I doubted I could do much else to lower myself further.

  Her cool fingers brushed against mine. Did they linger more than they should? I held up the goblet, peering into the depths as though I might pull answers from the liquid. It looked harmless enough—but the last time I’d accepted a mug like this I’d lost my memories. My own choice, but still.

  The Queen must have sensed my hesitation and she smiled, taking a sip of her own. “ ’Tis a healing draught,” she murmured, the words tinged with dark amusement.

  “What are your plans . . . now that you’ve been . . . reborn?” Such a casual question, but layers upon layers of meaning were wrapped in that phrase, the crispness of the word “plans.” She hadn’t forgotten the Tithe in the slightest.

  Her mouth curved into something that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but the ruby darkness of her lips hinted at something more sinister. It took every ounce of will to carve my own mouth into a returning grimace. A fleeting glance at the mirror showed the horror of my efforts, but the Queen didn’t flinch.

  “I would like to go home,” I said finally. “There are things I need to take care of there . . .”

  A drawn-out sniff was
my only answer. “How tiresome. I would have thought you might attempt to get to know your . . . relatives better.”

  The alarm bells in the back of my head went off with a vengeance. She hated that I was related to Moira, even if it was somewhat convenient to have a mortal KeyStone tied to the family. But then, I imagined having your lover stray every few years would have been bad enough. The fact that said lover had actually dared to procreate during that time surely left a sting. Hell hath no fury and all that.

  My thoughts turned to Melanie and Katy and all the rest of my friends. “I have a family there, Your Highness,” I said softly. “And I rather think I’ve given enough of myself to my family here for the time being. Surely you cannot question my loyalty?”

  “Clearly not,” she retorted dryly. “Drink. You insult me with your hesitation.”

  I flushed despite myself. “Your pardon, Highness.” I paused a moment longer and took a sip. It went down easy enough, whatever it was. Not quite water, not alcoholic, but with a hint of lavender. Perhaps it truly was nothing more than a healing brew.

  Her smile disappeared abruptly. “I think . . . that I would very much like you to stay here. In fact, I insist on it, Abby Sinclair. You will not remove yourself past the boundaries of Faerie until I release you.”

  I blinked, the truth of her words vibrating into my bones, an echoing mockery of a TouchStone Contract. “What have you done?” I whispered, letting the goblet drop to the floor. It shattered into pieces, the carved stonework scattering over the wooden floor.

  “It’s a geas,” Phineas said grimly from the bed. He’d jerked upright at the noise, his nose quivering.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I glared at the unicorn, my arms shaking with the need to lash out. “If you knew it was a geas, why didn’t you stop me from drinking?”

  He glanced over at me, the nub of his horn barely peeking out from the tangled mess of his forelock. “We’re not TouchStoned anymore, Abby. We lost that when you . . . died. I don’t sense things about you as well without it.” His tail lashed around his hocks like a cat and he let out a weary sigh. “And it wasn’t the drink that did it directly. You’ll notice she drank it too?”

  My brow furrowed. What had Talivar said about enchanted food?

  “Intent . . .” I muttered. “It wasn’t the drink—it was the intent behind it. I’m a fucking idiot.”

  “The beast speaks the truth,” the Queen said simply, placing her own goblet on the windowsill. “And so do you, it would seem.”

  “You poisoned me in your own house? Doesn’t that smack of some sort of guest-friendship treachery?” My mind continued to whirl. “And what do you mean I can’t leave?”

  Her upper lip curled in disdain. “Just as I said. You will not be able to step onto the CrossRoads without my permission. In fact, you will not even be able to attempt it without severe . . . discomfort.” Her brows arched as though she was contemplating several possibilities. And enjoying them all.

  “As to why?” She shook her head, the blond curls cascading down her neck. “I am not an idiot. I know very well what my children have planned and I will not give up my throne simply because they think I’m ill.” She leaned forward so that our noses nearly touched and I could see the madness still lurking deep within her gaze. “I have far too much invested here to throw it all away. You’re too rare an asset for me to let you leave, KeyStone,” she hissed. “And if you can’t leave, then neither will my son. Keep a bitch in the kitchens and the dogs will continue to sniff for her, as they say.”

  “Not if the dog has any balls,” Talivar said mildly from the doorway. A glimpse at his face told a much different story. His good eye burned with fury.

  She met his gaze, impassive. “Then I guess I don’t have much to worry about.”

  The prince’s head jerked as though he’d been slapped, and for a moment I could see the similarity in the arch of their brows and the set of their jaws.

  “Don’t you?” He strode past her, his presence filling the room with a regal righteousness to match her own. “You’ve gone too far,” he snapped. “Abby helped save your life! Offered herself up to save mine . . . to save our kingdom, and instead of focusing on the true problems at hand, you settle for a petty game of thrones borne of jealousy.” He thrust his hand through his hair. “To keep her here after she has died for our cause is beyond cruelty.”

  “So says the one who only yesterday conspired with his sister to take my throne from me,” the Queen sneered, straightening in her chair. Her hands folded primly in her lap as she regarded me like something she’d found under a microscope. “Abby is no longer your concern.”

  His mouth pursed. “Fair enough. Then I’ll make her mine.” He pushed past me, and I noted he was dressed for traveling beneath his cloak, a thick leather vest overlaying his tunic suggesting an extended journey might be in order. I couldn’t help the small smile from reaching my lips as he looked at me.

  “And what do you intend to do? Kidnap her? Spirit her away from the palace? She cannot leave.” The Queen let out an angry laugh. “I’ll have you hunted down for treason, son or not.”

  He paused, as though weighing his options for a moment. “Witness,” he said suddenly.

  She stiffened, nostrils flaring. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her gaze darting to me. “I’ll leave.”

  “Witness,” he barked. He held out his hand to mine. “Take it,” he said softly.

  “What are you doing?” I was all for finding a way of escape, but not under any false pretense. Something in my face must have shown this because his mouth gentled.

  “Handfasting. Become my wife, Abby.”

  “I will not allow this farce to continue!” The Queen rose to her feet. Snapping her fingers, she called for the guard, her face pinched. I hesitated.

  “We have no time,” Talivar hissed beneath his breath, catching my cheek to turn me toward him. “Please.”

  Dimly, I heard the clatter and shouts of elves from the hall. I had no real idea what the repercussions of this act were going to be, but given the choice of staying here trapped with an insane Queen as a possible daemon sacrifice versus a marriage of convenience to a man I cared pretty deeply about seemed like a no-brainer to me.

  At least in the heat of the moment.

  “This is not how I would have planned it,” he told me, echoing my own thoughts as I thrust out my arm. “But I’m not sorry it’s happening.” Before I could say anything, he pulled a silver blade from his hip belt. “Just a nick.” Swiftly, he sliced each of our palms, his fingers entwining with mine as he pressed them together.

  A shudder ran through my arm, a ripple of power sluicing over my flesh.

  . . . memories of sunlight and the sweet scents of the forest, the twang of a bow at my ear, the rush of blood from the silver doe as I offered her heart to the old gods . . .

  . . . I was ensconced in silks and velvets, the ladies of the court twirling about me like a bouquet of living flowers, and I their eager honeybee . . .

  . . . Ropes bit into my wrists, an iron-tipped quirt rending the flesh from my back. I rolled upon the road, her lifeless face staring as my knee was crushed, the bones twisted. And then the poker was thrust into my eye and I knew only the need for vengeance . . .

  . . . I was completely and utterly alone, limping through the empty hallways of the palace, my crippled footsteps echoing with all the hollowness of my heart . . .

  Ion’s bells chimed plaintively even as the TouchStone bond snapped into place, my bones nearly vibrating at the strength of it. “I’d forgotten about that,” I said hoarsely, Talivar’s gaze showing his own surprise when it found mine. TouchStones were usually bound via written Contract—but I was a KeyStone, which meant I could create a bond via touch, an ability he had chosen not to utilize in the past. I smirked. “People are going to talk, you know.”

  A smile kicked up at the corners of his mouth. “Sod what anyone else thinks.”

  “Aren’t there supposed to be
ribbons or something to bind us together?” I frowned at the crimson trickle between our hands.

  “Those trinkets are mostly symbolic,” he said. “The blood was the important part.”

  “Not that it matters,” said the Queen, turning her head from the hallway. “Since I didn’t see it, it doesn’t count.” Her smile became triumphant, even as the first guard loomed from the doorway. “A handfasting must be witnessed.”

  “Witnessed,” Phineas sat up abruptly from the bed. He waggled his beard at the Queen. “Witnessed by the ‘beast.’ It is done.”

  An ugly laugh escaped her and she gestured at the guards to take us. They hesitated. She was their Queen, of course, but she was also sort of insane. And the prince had their loyalty as a brother-in-arms in a way that couldn’t be easily overcome.

  Talivar raised his hand, stepping in front of me as though to block their view. “I claim first night, as is my right.”

  Time slowed for a span of heartbeats, the prince and the Queen staring each other down like leopards over a newly killed gazelle. The Queen’s eyes narrowed when he did not back down and I could see her reassessing the situation. No way of retreating without losing face, but nothing good was going to come out of the simmering boil of hostility that hung between them. I tugged on Talivar’s sleeve, and the motion attracted her attention long enough to ease the tension a hair.

  “One night, I grant you,” the Queen said between clenched teeth. “But do not force my hand further. I expect you to present yourselves to the Court tomorrow. And then we shall see what is to be done.” Her upper lip curled tight and she gazed down at the unicorn before sweeping from my bedroom in a whirl of skirts. The guards gave Talivar a troubled bow and followed suit. Talivar slumped, exhaling softly.

  “Well, at least we didn’t have to bolt out the window. Yet,” he snorted, giving me a rakish grin. “Though it would probably make for a better story later.” Reluctantly he released my hand so I could sit on the bed.