by Lindsay
He watched, and waited, while a tiny glimmer grew in her hands, transforming the newly made water into pure light between her palms. Just when he imagined that she could not contain it any longer, and her limbs trembled from the force of the energy flowing from her body, she flung her hands upward with a sharp cry, and the light she had built hovered over them, bathing the forest in the only sun it would likely see that day.
“Is it still there?” she asked, opening her eyes warily.
He did not answer her, but let her see for herself the undeniable proof that she had accessed her magic. More than that—that she was truly Fae.
She launched herself at him with a squeal of delight and flung her arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” she cried. “Thank you so much!”
Reflexively, he put his arms around her, squeezed her tight to him, laughing with her in her joy.
“I thought I was hopeless! I thought I would never…” Her words died off, killed by the realization that she once again stood in his arms. Immediately, he released her. She stepped back, gaze firmly pointed at the ground.
“We should return to the camp,” he said, more for himself than for her.
“Yes, that is wise,” she agreed quickly. “We should eat, and go see Danae before she thinks we are slighting her.”
She tried, as he did, to talk herself out of lingering in this place, with the danger of each other.
“Should I find the way myself? The way you told me I should?”
He was pleased at her enthusiasm for her new skill and waited while she found a direction, followed her as she cautiously picked her way through the forest. She babbled excitedly about something, he did not know what. He could not hear her, consumed as he was by need.
Every step he took closer to camp increased his despair. The presence of their guards and the meeting with Danae would provide a welcome distraction and help to keep his raging need in check.
He dreaded, and welcomed, what would occur later, after night fell and there would be nothing but his own will to dissuade him.
Ten
W hen they had left their camp, four of their guards set off with them. Two had stayed behind to keep watch.
“If we took all of them, would it not seem more…important?” Cerridwen had asked as they started out on the winding path through the forest.
“Perhaps,” Cedric had said, as though he"d actually considered it. “But Bauchan still has allies here. I would rather our home be defended.”
“Our temporary home,” she had corrected. And he had smiled.
She longed for that smile now, as they made their way through the stares of Human and Fae closer to Danae"s Palace. If there had been so much open hostility when they had arrived, Cerridwen had not noticed it. She had been too tired, too disheartened, to notice more unhappiness. But now, buoyed from that bleak mood by the discovery of her new skills, she felt each angry glare like a knife to her throat.
“They do not like me,” she muttered under her breath.
“They do not know you.” It was meant as an encouragement, she knew, but Cedric"s jaw was tight, and he spoke through clenched teeth, as though he did not believe that what they knew mattered, one way or the other.
She was not inclined to believe that, either. If they knew her, they would know that she was not as kind, not as selfless, certainly not as beautiful as Danae. From their first impression, there was nowhere to go but down.
She wished she was back in the forest with its multifarious greens and blacks. It had been so easy to be confident there, to be proud of herself. These Faeries who judged her with every step she took would not be impressed that she could conjure a ball of light or find her way when lost. She would need to be vastly more skilled than them. The prospect began to leave her hopeless and hollow.
Danae awaited them on the steps of her Palace, surrounded by ladies-in-waiting. They were identical in appearance, their hair shaved close to their scalps, dressed in plain black robes that fell from their high, pointed collars straight to the ground.
“They look like a murder of crows,” Cedric said, low enough that they wouldn"t hear as they approached.
Danae, standing in the middle of them, her dark curls pinned in a tight roll behind her head, wore regal robes of blue and a torque of gold glittered with blue stones about her neck. If she was ready to give over her position as Queene, she did not look it.
“Your Majesty,” Danae intoned, and she and her maids bowed in unison. If there were any irony in her tone, Cerridwen did not recognize it.
Cerridwen almost bowed back, but Cedric put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Lady Danae,” he called out in response. “The Queene desires an audience with you.”
“And I am honored to receive her,” Danae said, her kind eyes glittering to compliment her smile. “Please, come inside. We have much to discuss, and it will not be a conversation for so many eager ears.”
Danae and her ladies broke their cluster and allowed the pair to pass through their ranks.
Danae bowed again toward Cerridwen. When they stood on the platform, two of the ladies-in-waiting opened the tent flaps for them. But Danae did not follow. She stood on the topmost step and cried out to the onlookers in the clearing, “Go about your business! This is a royal order!”
Inside, the tent was sectioned off by more cloth segments. The room they stood in was bare but for a rug on the wooden floor and a carved wooden throne.
“There is no place to sit,” Cerridwen whispered.
“The Queene will sit on her throne, I assumed,” Danae said, her voice close to Cerridwen"s ear.
She had not heard Danae come inside, had not realized that she would be overheard.
Cerridwen did not look her adversary in the face, and she did not move to sit in the ornate chair. “No, I could not—”
“Nonsense,” Cedric said, gripping her by the elbow and steering her toward the throne. “You are Queene, after all. Danae will not expect you to make these overly generous concessions to her pride forever.”
“Indeed, I would not,” Danae hastened to agree. “In fact, I will have my things moved from the Palace this very evening. Two nights out in the wretched wild is too much for my Queene.”
Cerridwen wondered if there was a polite way to tell Danae that the entire camp was a wretched wild, but something stopped her. Her day in the forest had softened her to Faery life, she supposed.
“And I look forward to returning to the forest,” Danae continued, her expression going soft and dreamy. “I did not realize how very tired I was of this post until Her Majesty showed up to claim it. Queenedom is not for me. I prefer a simpler Fae life.”
“On the contrary,” Cedric corrected, “Her Majesty prefers the privacy of Bauchan"s former quarters. She might keep a small staff here, and she would certainly conduct her business here, but she, also, longs for the simplicity of the forest, now that she has been freed from the tedium of the Underground.”
The conversation was civil enough, but Cerridwen had been at enough of her mother"s audiences to recognize the tension coiled beneath spoken words. Though Danae"s entire manner was guileless, something shrewd glittered in her eyes. Though Cerridwen wished to believe that the former Queene was not practicing Faery trickery, she could swear that Danae meant to insinuate that she was more Fae than Cerridwen. It seemed that Cedric strove to show the Queene that he saw through her ploy and warn her that he found it weak and unacceptable.
A smile touched the corners of Danae"s mouth. “Of course. I can only imagine how very disconnected from her true heritage Her Majesty must feel, having been born underground.
And such a young thing she is, too.”
“Yes, youth is one of her virtues,” Cedric said with a wave of his hand, as if to dismiss the unspoken accusation. “It does lend her the advantage when trying to judge things with a fresh eye in an alien world the Fae have inhabited for but two centuries.”
Though she hated being spoken of as if sh
e were not there, or worse, as if she were a child and could not understand, she found the play between the two of them fascinating.
“No doubt her youth is what drew you to her,” Danae said with a sly look to one of her ladies.
“Your last mate was quite young, as well, wasn"t she?”
“Last mate?” The question burst from Cerridwen before she could stop it.
“There is no last mate,” Cedric said tightly. “That union was a false one. It was rent by Mabb, herself.”
“Yes, Mabb was often fond of distributing favors to you.” Danae covered her smile with her hand and turned away, to circle the room behind the ring of her servants. “How are your children? Do you hear from them often?”
“Children?” Cerridwen"s chest felt as though it were caving in. She looked to Cedric for a denial, and he looked away; he could not meet her eyes.
Danae strolled lazily around the perimeter of the room, her skirts whispering as they brushed the wood beneath her feet. “There were seven, I think? That he knows of. Your mate was quite…social, in his youth.”
“That is enough!” Cedric shouted, his antennae flattened against his head, the red glow of his anger illuminating his pale hair.
In the strained silence that fell over the room, Danae hid another smile by ducking her head, and Cedric"s hands clenched into fists. But Cerridwen found herself surprisingly calm. She saw now that Danae was not the kind face she showed to the Faeries and Humans of her Court, but a viper, like so many of the Fae that Cerridwen had known in her life at the Palace.
She saw, too, that Cedric was not all he had seemed. The revelation of his past hurt like a physical blow, and that, she knew, was because of what had happened that morning. But now was not the time to let such a thing create division between them, as Danae had surely intended, and it should not, anyway; they were not true mates.
There were two roads she could go down now. She could attack Danae, screaming, casting her out. That would be the next turn in the long game Danae hoped to play, and it would make Cerridwen, already a murderer tainted by mortal parentage, more of a monster in the eyes of this strange new Court. Or, she could play a game of her own, and not participate by the rules Danae had laid out.
“Your handmaidens are quite interesting, Danae.” Cerridwen looked them over, trying to appear regal. “Are they loyal only to you, or to any Queene who takes the throne?”
“They are loyal to the Morrigan, Your Majesty,” Danae said, her mouth quirked into a smile she did not try to hide this time. “They serve me because I am a warrior. The Morrigan—”
“I know what the Morrigan is,” Cerridwen said, though she did not. The image of the three-faced woman from her dream flashed through her mind. The helm, the spear, the shield. “The Warrior Goddess, in triple form.”
“Very good.” Danae"s eyes narrowed. “Her Majesty has learned of the Old Gods.”
Cerridwen imitated Cedric"s dismissive wave. “She visits my dreams from time to time, to offer guidance. I, too, am a warrior. I fought in one of the final battles of the Fae Underground. Against the Elves, and the Waterhorses.”
Though the servants did not move, something about them changed. Perhaps she imagined it, but Cerridwen thought they admired her a bit more now.
“A warrior is tested many times, on many battlefields,” Danae said, coming forward with her gaze on Cerridwen"s feet. She stopped a few steps from the throne and looked up. “I am sure that, if you live a long life, you will have other experiences, and earn the title of Warrior Queene.”
“To speak of the Queene"s life as an uncertainty is treason,” Cedric snapped. “Especially an Immortal Queene.”
Cerridwen did not address this. “I do not believe the Morrigan would appear to me if she thought me unworthy,” she said, as though her spoken musings were of no consequence.
“She seems too plain a speaker for that. I value plain words above artifice. Do you not agree, Danae?”
“I do.” Her antennae stirred against her hair, but she concealed her irritation well. “So, let us speak plainly. I do not believe you are fit to be Queene. I have worked too hard and for too long to raise this settlement out of darkness. I will not see it imperiled.”
“And you believe that I would imperil it?” Cerridwen shook her head. “You mistake me for a fool. I have no other home. No other Court. If this colony were destroyed, I would be destroyed with it.” She turned to Cedric. “There must be some solution, some way we can put our petty differences aside, in order to do what is best for our race, and give them back their true Faery Queene.” She gave Danae an apologetic smile. “I do not wish to offend, but you know, as well as I do, that you do not possess the advantage of lineage as I do.”
“I know that there are rumors about your true parentage,” Danae snapped, but then softened.
“Still, I will not fight your claim.”
“There is much that needs to be attended to,” Cedric said with a heavy sigh. “But I suggest we break for the day and reconvene on the morrow.”
“No.” Cerridwen spoke firmly, though all she wished to do was crawl into bed and sleep until she forgot everything that had happened. “There is too much that needs to be done.”
“And too much that needs to be discussed privately,” Cedric pushed.
“It can wait.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile, to let him know that she did not care about his past. She was not as good at playacting as Danae was; she could not mask her uncertainty and anger completely.
“Sadly, it must.” Danae bowed, and this time it seemed genuine, not mocking. “I had arranged a celebration tonight, to welcome the new Queene, and the Underground Court.
Nothing so glamorous as you"ve seen in Mabb"s Court, surely, but there are so many preparations already under way, we could not cancel it now.”
Once again, Cerridwen found herself trapped. She loathed politics. Still, she forced a smile.
“That sounds…pleasant.”
“I assume Your Majesty wishes to dress and prepare…. You will sit on the dais with me, and assert yourself as Queene, will you not?” She turned to Cedric. “And you will be there, as well?”
“I do not see a way to refuse,” he replied, as though he would have, if there had been.
Danae faced Cerridwen again. “We have started badly. Know that, although I am still not comfortable with the thought of entrusting my Court to you, I admire the way you have conducted yourself today.”
Cerridwen did not know how to respond, so she bowed, out of habit, knowing it was the wrong thing to do only after she had begun the motion. She righted herself and made no comment on her mistake. “We will speak again this evening.”
After they concluded their polite goodbyes to Danae, during which she promised to send an appropriate gown and two of her maids to help Cerridwen prepare for the night"s festivities, they left the Palace. On the steps sat Mothú, calmly twisting a knife into the wooden floor.
“Cedric,” Cerridwen began, but he took her hand and squeezed it hard to silence her. By the time they reached the camp, other matters had pushed the Empath"s presence from Cerridwen"s mind.
There was so much she wished to ask Cedric. Had he been mated before? Did he truly have seven children that he had hidden from her? And why not tell her? Why hadn"t her mother told her of his past? Had she known? But all of these questions burst when they reached her mouth, the way her energy had burst against her fingertips. She did not ask, because she did not wish to know, too afraid of the answers.
When they reached their camp, she went past the little serving girl, ignored her eagerness to help. Directly into the tent, every step full of purpose, and when Cerridwen reached the bed, she did not fling herself across it as she had imagined she would. Instead, she sat on the edge, hands resting lightly on the neatly folded covers, and let silent tears fall.
Cedric"s footsteps alerted her to his entry, but she did not turn to see him. She would sob, in humiliation and anger. She would scream thos
e questions at him, and they would not burst.
She would force them into him, and pull the answers from him, whether it was his will or not.
She could not stand to think of the consequences.
“You did very well.” He did not come to her. In her mind"s eye, she imagined him standing just inside the tent, looking as ashamed as he sounded. “I apologize for my behavior. I let her get the better of me. It will not happen again.”
You do not apologize for lying to me? For lying with me, when you have another mate? She squeezed her eyes shut tight. He had not lain with her. He had barely touched her again since that morning.
Barely looked at her.
He owed her no explanation.
He took a few steps toward her. “I should explain myself, after what Danae said.” He paused.
“Your mother should have mentioned it, when she betrothed us.”
“Do not blame my mother!” she shrieked, unable to hold back her rage any longer. “My mother did not deceive me! You did!”
He stood before her, and when she would not look up, he knelt down. “I was betrothed, as you were, against my will when I was very young. My mate…she won me through deceit, and when I discovered this, it was too late. I had entered into a contract of a year-and-a-day handfast. When it expired, I was out trooping, and Mabb saw fit to punish me for not meeting my obligation. She ordered us mated. I did what I could by Aidbe. And yes, I did father children. But after a century, Mabb took pity on me, and released me from my misery.”
“You abandoned your children?” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She did not know if she could love him if he"d done something so terrible. Her heart clenched, then; it did not matter if she could love him, if he did not love her in return.
“I did not abandon them. They were grown, and none of them inclined to stay. They were unhappy in our home, and their mother had done what she could to poison them against me. I have not seen any of them since, and I think they prefer it that way.” There was pain in his voice. “I warned your father once not to turn his back on happiness with your mother. That was because I have had so little, in my life.”