A Trace of Moonlight

by Allison Pang

  “Not that helpful, thanks.”

  “Such loyalty. Suit yourself, Abby.” Nobu touched the Door and I tried not to flinch as it lit up, an electric hum vibrating over my skin in answer.

  “That’s not so bad.” I exhaled softly.

  “Famous last words,” Sonja muttered, as Nobu disappeared through the doorway with a flash of silver.

  A lance of fire cut through my gut, my stomach roiling as though I’d swallowed a tub of Atomic Fireballs and washed them down with a chaser of lighter fluid. Gagging, I sank to my knees with a gasp. I caught Sonja’s eye for half a second before vomiting noisily at her feet.

  Which would have been fine the first time, but the moment I stopped long enough to wipe my mouth on my sleeve, another cramp tore through me, sparking off a second blast of nausea. The Door was still activated, its silver sparkles falling upon me like glittering snowflakes.

  Knives prickled over my palms where one of the sparkles touched it, branding me to the bone. Every instinct urged me to run from the Door, my mind gibbering madly, somehow knowing that even if I crawled until my feet were bloody stumps I would never be far enough away.

  I whimpered, my limbs shivering as Sonja dragged me away from the Door, neatly skirting the puddle of puke. Immediately the burning nausea receded. The Door shuddered and winked out, and relief flooded my veins. I lifted a shaking hand to push back my now-sweaty hair, the gritty sweet taste of bile lingering on my tongue.

  Staggering to my feet, I only managed a few steps before I sank to the ground, my head on my knees. “I never thought I’d actually wish to die again, but that just came pretty damn close.”

  Sonja stared at the still fading Door. “This geas is linked to proximity. You didn’t react until Nobu went through it, so it’s the activation that’s the key. I wonder . . .”

  “You have an idea?”

  “Just that there are other ways to get to the CrossRoads than Doors. Certain times of the year where the veil between Paths and worlds is very thin. Sometimes you can cross right over without using a Door at all. Like during Samhain, for example.”

  I ignored the quailing part of me that wanted to know which year it was back home—time traveled oddly between worlds, and I’d long since given up trying to figure out how it worked. Something to do with the sun and the moon and a bunch of other metaphysical crap I’d never actually had explained.

  I rubbed at my chin with my wrist. “So what now? I don’t think I can sit around and wait for Samhain or whatever to roll around. And I should probably let Talivar in on this too, you know, seeing as we’re married and all.”

  Sonja’s lip curled. “I’ll talk to Brystion. He’s always been better at thinking outside the box—now that we know what the trigger is, he may know of a way to counteract it.”

  “Short of trying to escape through the Dreaming, I honestly don’t know. And that wouldn’t help me in the long run anyway.”

  “No.” She hesitated. “Will you be okay?”

  “As okay as I can be.” I snorted. “Make sure you bring the barf bags with you next time. Think I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

  “All right. Come to the Dreaming later and I’ll let you know how things went. Nice touch with the new grass, by the way.” Her face crinkled into a sad smile. “You’re learning.”

  “I can be taught. Sometimes I actually listen.”

  “And you only had to die once.” She smirked. “At least now I know how to get you to pay attention.”

  I bit my lower lip. “Could you tell Ion I want to see him? Please? I know you said he’s doing okay, but . . .”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Before I could answer she hugged me again, pressing a gentle kiss on my forehead. And then she was gone, wending through the crowded paths of the Barras without looking back.

  Nine

  Talivar was not overly thrilled to hear about my little rendezvous with the daemons: “You’re playing straight into their hands and I didn’t leave my kingdom and my kin to save you, simply to see you throw everything away.”

  “Sonja wouldn’t betray me. Not like that. And Nobu . . . probably would,” I admitted. “But I think there’s something else going on. He’s playing his own game—I just don’t know what it is. But I don’t think we’ll get any answers soon. What did you think about Sonja’s suggestion? The Samhain thing?” I was far more interested in ways to help me break the geas than guessing at whatever Nobu was doing.

  He scowled. “It’s an old story. Hell, the writer of it is sitting two tents down. You should ask him about how relevant all this is to getting rescued.”

  His mouth pursed at my nonplussed expression. “My father, you mean?”

  “Aye. Thomas played the same trick on my mother years ago . . . or his lover did, anyway. Vexed the Queen something fierce, but she never tried to bind him to her like that again. Ask him about ‘Tam Lin’ and see what he has to say about it.”

  I let his words sink in for a moment. “Tam Lin” was a ballad of a man who had been held captive by the Queen of Faerie, only to be rescued by his mortal lover. A mortal lover who had pulled him off his horse as he rode upon the CrossRoads with the Queen . . . breaking the spell.

  “And you think something like that might work?” I shook my head, easing onto the pallet on the floor. I would definitely have to ask Thomas—ballad or not, details could so easily be changed over the years, and who knew if he’d changed any of it to protect the Fae?

  I removed the shirt I had on and wiped my face with a clean cloth. “Did you find out what’s going on with Moira? I’m assuming you were able to travel the CrossRoads without incident this time.”

  “They wouldn’t let me into the castle,” he said dryly. “Apparently I’ve been branded a traitor and I have to go through the ‘proper’ channels now.”

  I frowned. “Moira wouldn’t do that.”

  “You know what a stickler for protocol she is, and things are so volatile right now she may have to do things she doesn’t agree with, purely to keep the peace. At least until she becomes Queen in truth.” He waved me off. “I have no fear of my sister’s betrayal on that account. I’ll simply need to play the game according to the rules.”

  “And what does that entail? Enlighten me, oh husband mine,” I drawled.

  “We’ll meet at Eildon Tree at midnight, of course, with our respective households. It’s partially to display our power and partially to put us on equal footing.” He looked at me ruefully. “You’ll be required to attend, I’m afraid. Even if you’re no longer technically my TouchStone, you’re mine.”

  I bristled and his face softened. “Plus, I want you there, Abby. No secrets, remember? You need to see how all of this works if you’re going to be a part of the family . . . for however long that is.” He left the rest of it unsaid, but I knew what he meant.

  On impulse I reached up to stroke his cheek and pulled him down beside me. Not that there was time for anything, but he sank into the mattress, wrapping his arms about me so my cheek was resting in the crook of his arm. His fingers found the back of my head and stroked it gently, twining the loose strands of my hair.

  “Sonja still wants to try to free me, Talivar . . . and I think she has the right idea. Even with all the rest of this political bullshit, you have to admit if I can get myself away from Faerie, that will be one less thing they can hold against you. At least it will be a reprieve of sorts—and I may be able to help you more from the mortal world.” My mouth tightened. “If you had the Wild Magic on your side . . .”

  “Assuming you can even find Melanie, I would never use her like that. Not unless she volunteered.” His fingers tightened in my hair.

  I stifled a snort. He wasn’t lying . . . but circumstances changed everything. And I had no doubt that if the shit really hit the fan, there wouldn’t be much he wouldn’t try to help save his kingdom.

  And even if he wouldn’t, there were plenty of others who would.

  “I’m going to go check on my fa
ther. Maybe he can give me some . . . insight,” I told him, a wan smile curving my lips as the elf kissed me.

  Thomas was but a few tents away, as Kitsune had promised. Phineas had scrounged up a lute and the two of them sat there singing sea chanteys of all things. Phineas shot me a warning look as I entered the tent. My father had his eyes closed, lost in the music.

  I’d never actually seen him play before. At Court, the Queen was too jealous to let anyone else hear, and if he had played music when I was a child I didn’t remember. In an effort to keep my existence under the radar, some of my memories had been stripped so I wouldn’t be forced to ask my mother any awkward questions.

  I understood the reasoning behind it, but it still pissed me off to no end that I’d been kept in deliberate ignorance.

  But that could be dealt with later. Or not at all. I knelt to listen, the rise and fall of his voice almost tangible. It spun around the tent with a simple power, the notes spilling from his lips with ease.

  For a few brief moments I let myself be transported, the singular quality of his voice bringing the story in the song to life:

  I was on board a ship, the waves rocking beneath my feet, the splash of the sea spray spattering the deck, the distant clarion calls of the sirens from the rocky isles enticing me closer . . .

  I blinked. I’d been turned into a mermaid while trapped in Topher’s painting, so the irony wasn’t lost on me, but it was still a tad unnerving for all that. Shaking myself out of my stupor as the last of the music faded, I coughed politely to let him know I was present.

  His eyes fluttered open and he favored me with a small smile. “Any news, lass?”

  “Not really. Talivar said we have to go to Eildon Tree to meet the other members of the Seelie Court. Something about a Mexican standoff, I guess.” I blew my bangs from my eyes. “Sounds like more bullshit grandstanding, you ask me.”

  “Politics usually is,” Phineas pointed out. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t serve a purpose.”

  I flopped onto my elbows. “Whatever. I just wanted to let you know that I was tagging along.” I looked at my father. “I suppose you probably should as well?”

  “As the hostage, it might make things go smoother,” he agreed. He set the lute down, but his empty hands appeared awkward in his lap, the left pinky tapping upon his thigh.

  “Do you miss her? The Queen?” I blurted the words before I realized what I was saying, the heat of a flush rolling over my cheeks.

  “My relationship with her isn’t really your concern, Abby,” he chastised me gently. “Not that part of it. And I am here by her request as much as I am for Moira.”

  “I wish you’d been that loyal to me,” I muttered, ignoring the way he flinched. “Did you even visit me after I died?” Silence was my only answer. I snorted. “I don’t even know why I bothered asking.”

  Something inside me clenched down, my emotions frozen. As much as I needed the information, I couldn’t quite bring myself to question him any further. Not about that, anyway. Abruptly, I got to my feet.

  “What do you know about the ballad of ‘Tam Lin’?”

  His brow furrowed. “I wrote it, if that’s what you’re asking . . . though it was under a different name. The Queen wasn’t particularly pleased, as you can well imagine.” A pained smile crossed his face. “I could play it for you, if you like.”

  A subtle peace offering, but not one I had time for. “I just want to know how it works. How was your . . . lover . . . able to free you?”

  “Janet,” he corrected me. “She was more than just my lover, at the time. It was during one of the solstices. Everything is thinned then. The Queen was parading us about as she was wont to do in those days . . . see the lay of her lands, that sort of thing. But I’d told Janet where to find me upon the path, and she did, the delightful woman. She found me, saw right through the Glamour, and yanked me straight from the saddle.”

  His mouth flattened. “The oddness of it all—the stories say I shifted my shape until I became a lump of coal and she tossed me down a well, but that last part never happened. The shapeshifting was the worst part of it. It wasn’t a Glamour, but it felt like I was being turned inside out, and I lashed out at her. By the time we were done she had a black eye and some cracked ribs, but somehow she managed to keep hold of me.”

  He paused. “It’s more than the holding on. It requires that a mortal do it . . . can’t just be some random OtherFolk.” The blue eyes blinked painfully, tearing beneath the memory. “It’s almost as if they become your TouchStone. Like your time in Faerie changes you enough to make you nearly part OtherFolk yourself. Their soul anchors yours, pulls you back to the Fourth Path, but the force of will that it requires is fierce . . .”

  An odd chill wriggled down my spine at his words. If I stayed here long enough would I lose my humanity? It only strengthened my resolution to get the hell out of here. Somehow.

  “It changes you,” he added softly. “The both of you . . . because the trust it requires is beyond that of mere friendship.” He exhaled sharply as he leaned his head against his seat. “I did not return to the Queen until Janet died, you know. I owed her and her child that much. I’m not sure the Queen ever really forgave me that transgression, but what else could I do?”

  “Nothing,” Phineas said softly, blowing the forelock from his brow. I wiped away the hot rush of tears from my cheeks. So much that Faerie had taken away from us . . . it had stripped us of our pasts and our futures. It was too easy to blame the Queen, though. After all, some of us gave ourselves over willingly.

  “And yet you repeated it again, didn’t you?”

  “I have a weakness for mortal women,” Thomas admitted. “Your mother looked very much like Janet. And she had much the same sort of strength.”

  I digested this statement with equal parts sorrow and anger, wondering what sort of life this other half sibling might have had . . . and if he or she might still be alive, here somewhere in Faerie, another mortal victim seduced by the twisted denizens here.

  Heartsick, I turned away, not wanting to head down that path.

  I had my own plans to make, and even though I didn’t know how things were going to go down tonight, I’d be damned if I wasn’t armed in some fashion before I got there.

  I rode pillion behind Talivar, one of Kitsune’s coal black mares prancing beneath us. Puca, I corrected myself. Not the same one that’d dumped me in the pond during my first visit to Faerie, but the golden glow from its eyes gave it away. It wasn’t like I normally cared much about the color of horse eyes, but one wild ride on a Faery steed tends to make a body wary forever. I checked out of habit now, even if the chances were high that it was Glamoured.

  This one didn’t seem inclined to gallop away with me, but I suspected that was more Talivar’s doing than anything else. It was probably bad form to dunk your king on the way to a formal meeting.

  My father rode behind us, led by Kitsune on another pair of horses and the rest of the royal entourage accompanying us on foot. Great balls of witchlight swept past, pulsing in wild colors, illuminating the darkness until I felt as though we were in the funeral procession of an Oompa Loompa.

  On any other occasion I would have found it charmingly creepy, but there was too much at stake for me to really relax about it. Talivar’s hand tightened on mine, but my tension didn’t ease up.

  An honor guard of sorts flanked us—Unseelie goblins and wights of a particularly violent nature. Redcaps. Nucklavee. Boggarts. An odd mix of elongated limbs and fanged teeth, scales and prickly spines. The stuff of nightmares at the best of times, now they had something to fight for—and that lent them an even more sinister air.

  I shook my head against that image, not liking the connotation of that at all.

  Eildon Tree itself was off-limits to any sort of weapons—on this, each Path was in agreement. It was far too precious a resource—the thought of accidentally setting it on fire, for example, was enough to cause Talivar to blanch openly.

&
nbsp; “There,” he murmured, his head inclining toward the pale branches of the tree. I could see the dim outlines of the others waiting for us. We’d had to take the long way since I couldn’t travel the CrossRoads, but Talivar refused to go ahead without me, and his Court wouldn’t let him travel alone.

  And so here we were, our entourage approaching the Tree with cautious optimism.

  The Tree hadn’t changed much since I last saw it, but it had only been about a month or so, after all—even if it felt like a lifetime. A hawthorn, ancient and gnarled and covered in small white blossoms. Strips of cloth and shiny baubles hung from its branches—the wishes of innumerable pilgrims, searching for answers.

  Above us, a trace of moonlight gleamed through the clouds, the edges of the Tree illuminated like glass. Just beyond us, the CrossRoads shone in a crystalline ribbon. A twinge of anxiety rippled through me. I was still technically in Faerie and I hadn’t stepped on the CrossRoads . . . but this was getting awfully close to skirting the boundaries of my geas.

  The last thing I wanted was to trigger it again.

  On the far side of the Tree I could see the silhouettes of other riders, the pale banners of the Queen held aloft. Moira was beneath the Tree itself, mounted upon her white mare, her face unreadable.

  Carefully, Talivar dismounted, helping me down. As soon as I touched the ground, the urgent thrum of the Tree’s EarthSong rumbled through my feet, beckoning me to come and sit beneath its branches. He linked his arm through mine and we headed to where Moira was, Thomas and Kitsune trailing behind us, Phineas at my heels.

  A blissful look flickered over my father’s face. This had been the very spot where he’d first met the Queen, after all. It appeared the years didn’t diminish the magic of it for him.

  Moira dismounted, clad in a dress of glittering silk. I stifled a smile. I could always count on my sister to put everyone else to shame in the fashion department. Her dress wasn’t the only thing glittering, though. I could see the shine of tears when her gaze fell upon Thomas.