by Lindsay
“Queene Ayla did not survive, then?” Danae spoke as though she had known her, as though she felt real remorse at the news of her death. It might have been a trick, but it seemed so genuine. Did a Faery exist who could care for someone or something sight unseen?
“This Faery killed Bauchan! There are witnesses!” Mothú cried, seeming less sure of her accusation as she looked from Cerridwen to her Queene.
“There are no witnesses,” Cedric said calmly. “There are many who can attest to seeing Bauchan"s empty robes, and the Queene beside them. But none can truly say what happened in that corridor.”
Danae"s questioning gaze, warm despite the suspicion that clouded it, fell on Cerridwen. “Is this true? Did no one see what happened?”
Cerridwen did not answer, because she knew that the question was not meant for her. And Cedric did not answer.
“Tell me,” Danae said, scanning the Fae refugees that crowded the grove. “Can no one tell me that they saw her kill him?”
A ripple of outraged whispers went through the crowd, until a lone voice shouted, “She admitted it! She confessed to the crime!”
“Is this true?” Still that pretended caring, that false kindness. “Did you kill Bauchan?”
Cerridwen"s lies had never worked before. But then, why should she lie? She could not imagine a deed she was more proud of, or an action more warranted.
The hatred coming from the Fae from the Underground could scorch her flesh, so hot it burned. They had already forgotten who had kept peace in the Lightworld. The true Faery Queene. They had abandoned her, only twenty short years after they welcomed her onto her throne, only days after she perished while trying to protect them. Faithless, hopeless, pathetic traitors. Why should she wish to live among them a moment longer? And why should she care if they thought her a murderer? Were they not just as terrible, abandoning their fellows and her mother, who had served them so faithfully, who had struggled to keep them free of some foreign Queene"s tyrannical rule?
Seeing her now, though, Danae did not look to be the tyrant Cedric and her mother had feared. Still, a kind appearance was not enough. Cerridwen had long heard how fearfully low the Humans were, how immoral and grasping. Yet her kind had fared no better.
She was not ashamed. She lifted her head and answered, loud enough so the entire clearing could hear her, “Yes. I killed Bauchan. He committed high treason against me. I sentenced him to death, and carried out his execution myself.”
The moment of stunned silence that followed her declaration seemed to last longer than the lives of the trees stretching over their heads. Danae"s face, so comically composed before, was frozen in shock, and her mouth hung open like the mouth of the fish on the Strip markets.
She took a breath, looked almost as though she had regained her control, then lost it again to confusion.
Cerridwen could not look away from the Queene"s eyes, but she could see, in her peripheral vision, Cedric had gone very still beside her. He did not move even to breathe.
Now would be the time that Danae would pronounce her guilty, and have her head sliced off.
Those terrible words hovered unspoken in the air, like the ax blade poised to fall.
But Danae did not speak those words. She did not speak at all. She daintily lifted the hem of her gown and walked down the steps from her Palace, to stand in front of Cerridwen.
She was taller, only slightly, but enough to make Cerridwen feel like a child being treated as a fully grown Faery out of courtesy and pity. Danae closed her eyes and, with a shaking breath, threw her arms around Cerridwen"s shoulders and embraced her.
It would have surprised her far less to be slapped or stabbed. Perhaps that was an indication of how diseased her own mind was, that she would not expect kindness. But when Danae"s arms closed around her, Cerridwen"s stomach dropped.
Danae stepped back, all pity and sweetness, her gaze far too intense as it locked on hers. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, that my emissary caused you so much pain.” Then, she bent her back in a sweeping bow.
The crowd seemed to gasp in unison, as Cedric let out a relieved breath. He was pleased to have delayed the inevitable. But her own heart was hollow.
She should have been relieved that Danae seemed almost certain to spare her. Perhaps it was that she was more shocked than the rest of them, and she could not yet believe it to be real.
But when she searched her feelings, she found that she recognized the reality of the situation, and therein lay the real problem.
She had counted on dying. She had imagined an end to this empty feeling of displacement and grief. She had wanted to die. And that, more than any need to keep her secrets safe, more than a desire for revenge, had made her kill Bauchan.
If she crumpled to the ground now and wailed, what would they say?
Danae stood and motioned for a guard. “Cut the Queene"s bindings! How shameful, that she was brought here in such a state. Let this never be recorded as such.”
A guard stepped forward with a dagger; Cedric took it and waved him away. “You will pardon me if I do not trust your guards, after the way they have so disrespectfully treated my mate.”
“Of course.” Tears shone in Danae"s eyes. “And for the way my emissary treated you both.
What treason did he commit? No, do not tell me. I cannot bear to hear of his betrayal, and you do not need to offer me proof of it.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and produced a tremulous smile. “When I sent out my Ambassadors, I prayed I would find more of our kind. I prayed I would find Queene Mabb. Bauchan passed along letters from Flidais, on the Queene"s Council, and they informed me of Mabb"s death and Queene Ayla"s ascension to the throne. My heart breaks for her demise now as it did for Mabb when I read of her murder. You must forgive me, Your Majesty, but how wicked your father was!”
“King Garret was a King of the Fae in name only, never in deed,” Cerridwen said, fearing the Empath and her strange abilities would catch on that Garret had not been her actual father.
“Just as I consider him my father in name only.”
“Your kind words are appreciated, Danae,” Cedric said with a courtly bow, “but we are tired, and we require a place to sleep. As do all of our misplaced Court.”
“Of course!” She paused. “But I fear that it would be impossible to move my entire household tonight. And my servants are intensely loyal to me. I would hate to think that they might, misguidedly, seek to harm you both in an effort to…defend my now-forfeit position. I can offer you a comparable dwelling until you are better established here. I will even provide you with my best guards—”
“We have our own guards,” Cerridwen said, feeling like a child left out of a conversation.
“They have traveled here with us, in secret.”
Danae nodded. “Very wise, Your Majesty.” She sounded sincere.
The six Faeries who had fled the Underground and served Cerridwen faithfully came forward. They had stayed close without her realizing it, and she felt a little better for that.
Danae ordered a Human to go ahead of them and prepare their quarters with a bathing tub and clean linens. If she had asked them to prepare a chest of gold, Cerridwen could not have been more grateful. “You will have Bauchan"s home, for now,” Danae said, a look of arrogant fury on her face. “And all of his possessions. He loved them, so do with them what you will. There would have been no more fitting punishment in life than to see all of his precious treasures given away. And in the morning, you will dine with me, in the Palace, and we will discuss the best way for you to assume control of your people here.”
Cerridwen nodded. It was the only response she could muster.
“Stay close by me,” Cedric whispered, sliding an arm around her waist as they followed Danae"s guards through the crowd, which fell away from them as though afraid to touch them. “I do not entirely trust that Danae is willing to give up her throne.”
Cerridwen did not care. She had come to this place willing to die. She l
eft disappointed, and far too alive.
Eight
B auchan"s quarters were exactly what Cedric had expected: far more opulent than the rustic surroundings of the village, as pretentious as Bauchan had been himself.
They had walked away from the central village and taken a path deep into the trees to find the tent, raised on a wooden platform like Danae"s Palace, and nearly as large. Bauchan"s home boasted its own fire and cooking pot, something Cedric suspected owed more to Bauchan"s distaste for sharing anything with the other Fae than to any official need for privacy.
To his relief though, privacy was exactly what this place would offer. The guards could easily keep watch around the small clearing and roust out any spies, and there would be plenty of room inside for them to sleep when not on watch. There were trunks crammed full of bedding, from feather-filled cover-lets to rough-woven mats, enough for twenty people, far more than any one Faery need own.
If Bauchan had come to Mabb"s Court, he would have been welcomed by her as a kindred spirit.
Cerridwen trudged into the dwelling behind him, her steps heavy, her eyes not seeming to focus on anything but the floor before her. The child who had been the Royal Heir to the Faery Throne, used to such finery and deprived of it since their departure from the Underground, should have enjoyed her new acquisitions, but the Faery Queene seemed more intent on the bed in the center of the round tent than on the glittering copper oil lamps and delicate lightning glass sculptures. From the way she shuffled her feet as she made her way toward it, it could have been any bed, not one so fine as what lay before her.
“This is suitable. For now.” He was unable to gauge her mood. Was she angry that he had let her be treated so poorly on the trek here? Certainly, that was possible, but had she not willed it herself when she had looked so pleadingly to him in the boat? It would not be unlike her mother, he thought grimly, to ask for one thing and be unpleasant when she did not receive another.
Cerridwen did not answer him, but lay down on top of the meticulously tucked covers on the bed, curling her legs against her body and folding her black wings over herself like a shelter.
Cedric motioned to the Human servant, a slip of a young girl who seemed all too eager to be close to the Faeries. She nodded and lifted a pile of linens from atop one of Bauchan"s chests, and hurried to the bedside. “Your Majesty,” she said timidly. “Would you like your bath? I can help you.”
Far too meek, in Cedric"s opinion. He doubted she had seen even eighteen summers, but perhaps it would be good for Cerridwen to have someone closer to her Earthly age to serve her. She wouldn"t feel like she had a governess, then, though if she were to begin acting this way all of the time, she might need one.
“I will go outside to speak to the guards and establish our perimeter,” he said to Cerridwen, not expecting a response.
Outside, the guards had already strung up strings of bells at ankle height between the trees and the eight corners of the wooden platform as some measure against Human spies. They had not forgotten, then, how to live among the creatures. They assembled around the cooking pot, which already held the beginnings of an evening meal simmering away, and apprised Cedric of their plans for the Queene"s security.
“It goes without saying,” he told them after they had finished their reporting, “that I am concerned about spies. Danae puts on a good show for her public, but I will not trust her from one compassionate display. Check the surrounding woods often, and make sure that this clearing is well-lit at night. That should discourage anyone from coming too close.”
They all nodded and murmured in agreement.
“And it should also go without saying that none of you—not one—is to divulge any private conversations you might overhear to anyone, even a fellow guard in this very group.” He watched each of their faces, looking for something, some tiny effect that might tell him which of them, if any, would be dishonest in this respect. When he was satisfied that he had seen none, he thanked them and excused himself while they sorted out the details of their watch.
The soft sound of a female voice turned his attention back to the tent. The light inside was low, so no shadow revealed to him what took place inside. He went to the opening in the tent"s fabric and parted it, just a fraction, to peer inside.
The voice had belonged to the servant. Subdued in his presence, she talked quietly, but cheerfully, now that he had gone. Perhaps it was Cerridwen"s silence that caused the Human to chatter on so, but whatever the reason, the girl had gotten her off the bed and into the tub.
From Cedric"s vantage point, he saw the pale line of Cerridwen"s back as she knelt in the water and the ebony wings that sprouted from her shoulder blades dipping down to touch the floor. Her hair lay in a wet mass between them, dark from saturation, and she stayed motionless as the girl dithered on and poured another dipper of water over her head.
He let the flap fall closed and stepped back, hand paused in midair. He looked guiltily back to the guards around the fire, but they had not seen.
Whatever had come over him was some aftereffect of their harrowing journey, some twisted tribute to the horror they had experienced and the continuing strife they endured. He cared for her; of course he cared for her. But it could not truly be anything more than what he felt out of obligation. He had promised her mother he would watch over her.
Another concern bit at him, one not so easily denied. Cerridwen had only known the affection of her mother, for as long as she would be able to remember. Malachi had doted on her in her infancy, but he had distanced himself as she had grown. Now, there was no one in the world to care for the new Faery Queene. She was lonely, there was no denying, and that loneliness made her fragile. Even if Danae"s theatrics were to be believed, as Queene in a new land, she would be isolated for the rest of her life.
From inside the tent, he heard the chatter of the serving girl as she dried Cerridwen"s hair. He waited, listened for the creaking of the floor and peeked inside again. Cerridwen lay on the bed, wrapped in linen, in much the same position he had left her in.
Judging it safe to enter, he strode in and announced, “The guards seem to have things well in hand.”
Cerridwen did not respond. The serving girl, however, did. “That"s good to hear. With all these new arrivals, Queene—I mean, Danae"s—guards will be quite busy, I expect.”
Momentarily mute with astonishment at being spoken to so casually by a servant, Cedric had to pause to regain his senses. “I would like a bath, as well. Draw me one as quickly as possible.”
“Of course!” The servant smiled brightly and dragged the tub across the floor, sloshing water as she went to dump the contents.
Cedric took a few steps closer to the bed, but something about Cerridwen"s stone-still posture warned him to stay back.
“There should be something to eat soon,” he told her cautiously, watching for any reaction.
There was none. “I look forward to our meeting with Danae tomorrow.”
Quiet. Unmoving.
“I know this must be a shock to you, never having lived aboveground, and growing up in the Palace. This must all seem very primitive. But this is the way we are made to live. You are closer now to your Fae heritage than you have ever been before. You may find it difficult, but this life is in your blood.”
She did not respond.
It would take time. How long had it taken him to adjust to life underground? But that had been so different. That had been imprisonment. This was deliverance.
Remarkably, he had begun to feel better about their situation. He would never have wished to come here if he had known the price would be Ayla"s death, and Malachi"s. But now he was here, and he could not force himself to stay shrouded in mourning. He was Above, in familiar surroundings. Yes, they were on the physical plane. But it was so similar to what he remembered on the Astral that he could easily trick himself into thinking all was right again.
The serving maid was small, and too talkative, but efficient. It was not long befo
re she had the tub filled and fresh linens set out for him. He eased his arms out of his robe and turned to see her still waiting, expectant. “I do not need you. You can leave.”
“Supper will be done soon. Do you want me to tell you when it"s ready?” She shifted from one foot to the other as she awaited his answer.
He frowned. “No. I will come out when I am finished here. Do not disturb me.”
She"d only just disappeared through the tent flaps when another thought occurred to him. “Do not bother the guards, either!”
A talkative servant, distracting the guards and plying them with comforts, would make quick work of any security they thought to establish. Perhaps she would not be such a boon after all.
He shed his clothes and eased into the hot water. He had not felt such comfort since the night they had stayed in the ferryman"s warehouse shelter. His muscles ached, from the day"s long trek, from rowing the boat, from sleeping bound in the prison cell….
His mind drifted further back. From carrying Cerridwen to safety. From tearing her from her mother"s arms. From fighting to protect her in the Elven hall.
His fist clenched and he pounded his thigh, splashing noisily through the surface of the water.
These thoughts were sent by some evil force to torment him. Those memories inspired tender feeling, and he would have to be made of stone to prevent that. He could not give in to them.
Dika"s image insinuated itself in his brain, her brown skin gilded by firelight. He could almost feel her warmth against him, her body enveloping him. How could he replace her so easily? How could he betray her with thoughts of Cerridwen?
Briefly, he wondered if this camp was what life with the Gypsies would have been like. But he could not fool himself. They would have constantly been in fear of the Enforcers, moving anywhere they could find even a single night of safety. And eventually, they would have been driven underground.