by Ron C. Nieto
“A tome on water faeries, you say,” said Troy when she was finished, giving the sentence the barest inflection to indicate it might be a question.
Lily flinched. She had heard the scowl in his voice. “I was curious,” she tried to explain. “The book on omens wasn’t going anywhere, and the fact that you were dry when we woke up this morning kept circling my mind.” She turned her head enough to rest her cheek over his collarbone. “You’re mostly dry now, too. I wanted to know why.”
“Hmm.”
She felt the sound he made rather than hear it. It wasn’t reassuring.
“I shouldn’t have tried to go behind your back,” she said. “I should have just asked you.”
“I would not have told you, and knowledge is power. You did well seeking the information.” Despite his words, Troy’s tone was covered in ice.
And anger.
“I’m sorry,” Lily said, even knowing he despised hearing those words.
The reaction was immediate. His body relaxed—she hadn’t noticed just how tense he had become while she spoke—and he tightened the arm he had draped around her middle to hold her up.
“No,” he said, his chin brushing the top of her head. “There is no fault with you this time.”
“This time. Gee.”
Troy said nothing and the light mood Lily had tried to create dissipated.
“What’s wrong then? What did I do?” she asked after a moment, drawing comfort from his cocooning presence and hating it.
“The tome found in your hands,” he said, slowly, measuring out his words. Telling the truth while trying to lie. “It did not concern water faeries.”
A chill that had nothing to do with Troy’s usual body temperature raced down Lily’s spine. “What was it about?” she asked.
Silence ensued.
So that’s what he wishes he could lie about. “Troy?” she prompted.
“It was—”
The door opened at that moment and Marast strode into the room, shattering the privacy of the moment and unwittingly rescuing Troy from having to give an answer. He greeted them with a brisk nod and whatever embarrassment Lily might have felt about being found curled up in bed with a man, lips probably still swollen from kissing, became moot in the face of the Royal Hunter.
When they had met, he had been dispatched on a mission to find and retrieve the Wild Horn. Even if the last time they had seen each other he had sported the look of a courtier, she thought she had seen him geared for battle.
She had been wrong.
Marast wore the same white breeches tucked into the knee-high boots he had worn during his hunt for the Wild Horn, but this time he also wore a finely tailored coat of white-silver mesh that fell to mid-thigh. Leather guards wrought with silver and studded with clear gems protected his forearms, and a matching pad covered his left shoulder. Strapped to his back were his bow and quiver, of course, but a curved saber also sat by one hip, and a long dagger by the other. He had at least another knife in his left boot, and another one hidden under his right forearm guard, that Lily could see. He must have been toting at least half a dozen more in hidden places.
And his blue eyes were cold and hard and gray as flint.
“Are we at war?” she blurted before she could help herself, the joke the only thing coming to mind in the face of such intensity.
“Of course,” said Marast, not breaking a stride.
C H A P T E R XX
“I was joking.”
Marast raised an eyebrow. “I was not.”
“I believe we agreed I would be the one dealing with the Herald,” Troy cut in, his voice deceptively even.
“I am not the one lying in bed with her, am I?”
“No, you are the one interrupting in a private room to share information far out of your incumbency.”
“You have enjoyed your privacy.” Marast tsked. “There is no more time for coddling.”
“I had time to awaken her, not to deal with her.”
Lily closed her eyes. There they went again, speaking over her head as if she were a simple possession or, at best, a glorified pet.
“I’m right here,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Stop talking as if I couldn’t understand you.”
“Indeed you are still here,” said Marast, gliding over the second half of her statement. “That is the issue.”
“Marast. Leave.”
“I intend to. And you must come with me. Unless you plan to refuse the express wish of our Queen?”
“How express?” Troy shifted, finally loosening his grip on Lily.
“Her Majesty wishes to see the Herald and tasked me with escorting her.”
“Nobody thinks I should be included in this conversation?” Lily half shouted, half asked. Embarrassment over losing her temper ate at her the moment the words were out, but she was tired of being treated like an object to be toted about. She needed to know what was going on.
Marast gave her an amused glance, then tilted his head toward Troy in question.
He climbed out of bed and nudged Lily to stand up too. “Ready yourself,” he told her, ignoring them both. Lily went to complain, but a warning look cut her off before she could get started. “The conversation shall continue en route.” Straightening his clothes and running a hand through this hair to slick it back while he walked, he began to herd Marast toward the door.
“It is encouraged that you dress for action,” the Hunter called over his shoulder before being evicted.
Action. Lily glanced about, and sure enough, her mortal clothes were clean and folded on top of a chair. They’d been there since moment one, she guessed, but for once she had been comfortable enough wearing the faerie gown not to notice them sooner.
Playing the game, she thought, running the gossamer fabric of the skirts between her fingers. And she had been so good at it, she had forgotten that’s what she was meant to be doing for a moment. Her lips still tingled, and she glanced at the vanity mirror to check if they were kiss-swollen.
They were. And her cheeks were still flushed. And her hair tousled.
Great.
Worrying about the image Marast had just seen wouldn’t help, but she could try to fix it for the Queen. Discarding the dress—and the front was still slightly damp, she realized with a groan—she put on her jeans and tee, shoving her feet into her battered sneakers instead of the dainty faerie slippers. With a few tugs, she wrangled her hair into a serviceable bun that would crash the courtly image she had been cultivating and then splashed her face, hoping to erase all lingering traces of Troy. Then, she looked into the mirror again. Still flushed, but it could be for any number of reasons.
As good as it’ll get, she decided. Then, she grabbed her knapsack, made sure her grandmother’s notebook was still there, stuffed her cardigan along and reached for—
The Horn. Where is it?
Not on top of the vanity, where she had left it still attached to Hevana’s belt. Not below the vanity, where it could have rolled off by accident. It wasn’t on the bed, of course not—Troy had been all over it, after all. It wasn’t hanging from any chair, it wasn’t on the low table it, it wasn’t anywhere.
“Troy!” she called, rushing to the door.
It opened at once, and a distant part of her brain realized he must have been waiting for her right on the other side of it. The rest of her mind thought it didn’t matter. It was too busy staring at the Horn.
It laid discarded on the floor between the door and the fireplace’s mantle, as if it had been carelessly tossed aside.
“How did it get there?” she asked.
Troy’s eyes traveled from her to the Horn. When he met her gaze again, he looked weary. “It fell during the scuffle.”
“Scuffle?”
“A very brief one.” The corner of his lips kicked up in a wry smile that attempted to be humorous.
“With whom?”
“You.”
Lily gaped. She knew she should either deny it or laugh at his tasteless joke, but she
was too busy freaking out.
“Lily.” Troy stepped back into the room and his fingers went to her hair, her cheek, her upper arm. He stood close enough to offer comfort, but his touch was far too tentative to be called a hug. “Do not worry so about it. You were not . . . yourself.”
And perhaps he was right in his assumption and she should be worrying about getting into a fight with the Winter Court’s finest, but she couldn’t bring herself to it. Something larger than that had stolen the focus of her anxiety. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember.”
“I know.”
“Why? How?” She pushed away from him and searched his face, desperate to read the truth there even knowing he couldn’t lie to her.
“A glamour,” he said, just as Marast poked his head into the room.
“She is well and ready,” the Hunter interrupted. “We must go.”
Troy’s expression shuttered down, making Lily realize he had shown her an open face, even when she couldn’t begin to guess what his features had said. “He is correct,” he admitted. “Her Majesty awaits, after all. Come, I shall try to explain on the way.”
Somehow, Lily got the feeling that the interruption ticked him as much as it did her. In silence, she picked up the Horn, put it in the knapsack, slung it over one shoulder, and nodded for him to lead the way.
The moment they hit the corridors, however, it was Marast who took point, walking half a step ahead and to her left. Troy was content to flank her right side and keep her pace while they marched.
“Where are we going?” she asked after taking a couple of turns she couldn’t recognize.
“Her Majesty’s private audience chamber,” said Marast, not bothering to look back.
In fact, since they’d left her guest room, neither Marast nor Troy had spared her a glance. Their attention was on their surroundings, which was odd because the court seemed to be as empty as always.
“Why?” she asked again.
“To discuss the events in private.” If the answer had been Troy’s, she would have heard the teasing smile in his voice. In Marast’s, there was no particular inflection hinting at a private game and that was almost worse because it meant she was being made a fool of without him even trying.
“What events?” she went on doggedly.
Marast opened his mouth, but Troy must have taken pity on her because he spoke over the sidhe. “It appears the matters discussed during the Council have become public knowledge,” he said. “Someone attempted to turn you into a game piece through a glamour, which in turn resulted in you attempting to call forth the Wild Hunt.”
“What!” Lily stumbled. “I did what?”
“You did not a thing.” Troy did glance at her then, a look of part fondness and part exasperation. “As I mentioned, there was a brief scuffle and the dropping of the Horn signaled the end of your attempt.” He stressed the word “attempt” enough to make it a light rebuke, a reminder for paying attention to what was said and how it was said because words mattered.
Lily nodded, acknowledging him, but refused to drop the subject like a good little mortal. “A glamour, then. How did it work, exactly?”
Marast snorted. “Do not worry about the mechanics of it, Herald. They are somewhat advanced.”
Biting the retort, Lily kept looking at Troy, waiting for his answer. He furrowed his brow and shot an annoyed look at Marast. “The glamour was indeed complex. A part of it must have overlaid an illusory reality over your senses to cause dissociation from reality. Another part must have planted a suggestion, one your disengaged will had no reason to fight in the constructed reality of the glamour. The third part must have acted as a lure to ensure your consciousness was receptive to the subsequent layers.”
“Did she need to know that?” Marast asked, the snappiness of his tone disguising either surprise or affront. Or both.
“Does it contravene the express wishes of Her Majesty if she does?” Troy shot back.
“You have developed a strange way of dealing with mortals, Kelpie.”
Lily wanted to tune them out and turn her focus inward, to figuring out her new position and to do it before they arrived before the Queen, but she couldn’t. The answer Troy gave Marast’s accusation disguised as a comment mattered, although she didn’t want to dwell on why.
The answer turned out to be silence. It wasn’t as good as him defending her need to know, but it was better than saying there was nothing strange about his deals with mankind. It was enough to let her believe she got a special treatment he didn’t want to justify, and she both loved and hated it.
Focus, she thought, clenching her fists until her blunt nails dug into her palms. The half-moons of sharp pain helped to center her ideas, bringing a bit of clarity to the huge black hole where her memories should have been.
“Okay,” she said. “How did you know I was glamoured?”
There was a moment of startled silence, and then Marast scoffed. “Well, I am sure the vacant eyes and lack of witty repartee must have been a clue.”
“That, and your ability and willingness to find your rooms on your own,” added Troy, the words an afterthought jest that said much. To begin with, they said he had been watching her. He must’ve been the one who had the scuffle with her, then.
Does that explain the relief in his eyes when I awoke? Could he have been worried about having harmed me?
Can he even feel remorse?
“Last question,” Lily said, knowing there were probably a thousand others escaping her mind at that point. “Who did it?”
Again, silence. This time, Marast and Troy exchanged a look despite the previous snipping at each other. All joviality fled from the Hunter’s face, and Troy lowered his eyes to study the marble floors, his brow furrowing further as he unconsciously picked up speed.
“Well?” she insisted.
“Unknown,” Troy replied at last, camouflaging a wince.
Not a lie, but as close to it as any faerie can get. Withholding information hurt Cadowain back when we were trying to seal our first deal, and I doubt it’s something exclusive to Summer courtiers. I bet all faeries have the same problem.
But why is he doing it now?
She looked to Marast, half-hoping to find answers with him despite the preference he had shown toward keeping her in the dark, but he just ignored her.
“We are here,” the Hunter said before she had time to pester any of them any further.
The doors to the private audience chamber were, of course, unremarkable and identical to every other set of doors in the entire court. Marast knocked twice and then pulled them open without waiting for an answer.
“Your Majesty,” he said as soon as he stepped inside, bowing at the waist at an exaggerated angle no one else could have made look graceful. “I bring the Herald as requested. Kelpie has chosen to accompany her as per his previous bargain.”
The Queen was not the perfect picture of poise and calm she had been at the Council meeting. She was not the wise, eternal creature presiding with unending wisdom over a bunch of squabbling kids, as she had appeared then. She was not the essence of elegance either, as she had been during the dinner or the brief, private encounter they had held afterward in the gardens. Rather, she was a force of nature now. A building storm, or the distant rumble of a nascent avalanche. She paced from one end of the room to another, her white gown swirling around her legs and her hair whipping about her thunderous features, and when she stopped to pierce them with her gaze—to pierce her—it was like being stared at by the eye of a hurricane.
“Good,” she said, her voice cracking with a thousand echoes. “Lock the door.”
C H A P T E R XXI
The doors clanged shut with an ominous thud and for the first time, Lily felt like a cornered rabbit in hunting season. It was stupid of her, really, because from the moment she had stepped foot in the Winter Court—from the moment she had become entangled with faeries, actually—her life had been in danger, but it had ta
ken the display of the Unseelie Queen’s fully inhuman anger to take the step from knowing it to feeling it.
She would rather go back to just knowing if she could.
“Your Majesty,” she said, attempting a curtsy when those timeless, angry eyes fixed on her.
“Are you aware of your actions two days past?” she asked in her eerily echoing voice, ignoring her greeting.
“Two days?” Lily couldn’t hold back the croak, however impertinent and out of place it might have been. She felt both Troy and Marast wince beside her, and the Queen waved a hand in dismissal.
“Answer Us.”
“I know only what Troy has had time to tell me on the way here,” said Lily, trying to backpedal from her misstep. “My own memories end when I was at the Library and start again when I woke up in my rooms,” she added because she couldn’t see the information being harmful and maybe volunteering it would help her case.
The Queen chose to ignore the answer, or perhaps she just took note of it and kept going with her own agenda nevertheless. With another gesture, she asked:
“Is this the tome you read in Our library?”
A figure moved at the back of the room, and for the first time, Lily thought to look beyond the Queen. The chamber must have been meant for private meetings indeed, because it was small, especially taking into account the overlarge architecture of the Court in general. It was also elegant and welcoming, which made the group of guards in full armor crowded among velvet settees and cushioned seats all the more incongruous. One of those guards moved with the Queen’s gesture, and he came forward bearing a thin, nameless manuscript bound in tan leather.
Lily began to shake her head, but then she stopped. Troy had said a glamour had acted as bait, hadn’t he? “It could be,” she guessed. “It isn’t the one I believed to be reading, though. I believed to be reading an old book, the covers discolored and kind of falling off, thicker than that one and with a title.”
“Which title?”
“Water faeries . . . no, Faeries of the Water Realms. That was the name,” she admitted.