Veil of Shadows

by Lindsay

  She gasped and opened her eyes, saw the shock on the faces of the handmaidens. “I feel…”

  she mumbled, and staggered back from the foreign reflection.

  Pale, skeletal hands, surprisingly strong, gripped her and helped her to sit. Black fluttered around her, white faces peering at her in concern.

  “Leave her, give her room,” the one who appeared to be the leader ordered, and the other crows fell back, exited the tent bowing. The servant girl remained, clutching the abandoned mirror and looking as though she would like to hide under the bed.

  “You may go, as well,” the crow told her gently, and watched her scurry from the room.

  “She is afraid of you,” Cerridwen said, realizing how foolish she sounded, stating such an obvious fact.

  The crow nodded, her fingers stroking idly, comforting, over the black feathers of Cerridwen"s wings. “She fears us, because of our association with Our Lady, the Morrigan.

  Many do not understand her beauty, and see only death in her.”

  “Mortals fear death.” Another painfully plain fact, but Cerridwen could think of no other reply.

  “Some mortals,” the crow replied pointedly. She smoothed down Cerridwen"s feathers.

  “Sometimes you might say immortals fear it more, since it is so unnatural to their life cycles.”

  Staring up into the crow"s face, Cerridwen saw what she had not noticed before, and felt suddenly foolish. No antennae sprouted from the woman"s forehead, and a faint network of lines ringed her features. “You are…you are a Human.”

  The woman nodded again, patiently. “I am the High Priestess of our order, named Moira by my mortal parents, named Trasa by Our Lady. I came to Queene Danae guided by a dream of the Morrigan. You have had visions of her, as well?”

  Cerridwen did not know how much she should reveal. If Danae inclined to send spies, surely her handmaidens would be ideally suited for the role.

  Trasa put her hands on Cerridwen"s shoulders and gently turned her on the stool she perched on, then dove her long, thin fingers into the thick waves of Cerridwen"s hair. “We are loyal to only one master, Your Majesty,” she said, as though she had read Cerridwen"s thoughts. She hummed a little, combing through the copper strands. “That is Our Lady. We do no one else"s bidding.”

  “I have…seen her once,” Cerridwen admitted, wincing a bit as Trasa took a brush to her tangled hair. “In a dream. But it was so vivid, it was almost as if—”

  “As if she stood before you. And when you woke, you were as certain that you had spoken to her as you are certain that I speak to you now.” Wistfulness crept into Trasa"s voice. “Our Lady does not grace us often with her presence, but when she does, it is powerful.”

  “Yes, it was.” The uncanny way that Trasa had described the experience cast it in a new light, made it all the more real to her. Gooseflesh raised on Cerridwen"s arms, and she rubbed them through the sleeves of her gown.

  “We thought that you should know,” Trasa continued, her words low and measured, “that although we have loyalty only to Our Lady, we believe that she wishes us to welcome you as our true Queene. We will not become involved in any plot against Danae, for secrets and lies are not the weapons of Our Lady. But we will follow the Morrigan"s chosen.”

  As Trasa continued to fuss with her hair, Cerridwen struggled to control the trembling in her body. It all seemed to be coming together. Until now, she had been going through the motions with regards to becoming Queene of the Upworld, never truly believing—though she had not realized it—that she would ever actually lead this new Faery Court. But in one night, she had gained the following of a new Assassins" Guild, and Danae"s own handmaidens.

  Had the Goddess truly chosen her, then? Was that what the dream had been about? It seemed all the more heady, such a weighty responsibility when she thought it one handed to her by a deity so feared and long thought to have vanished.

  She thought at once that she should tell Cedric, but an inner voice warned her away from that course. He would want to know; of course he would want to know. But it seemed far too private, and, strangely, as though she would be breaking a confidence held with the Morrigan herself.

  When Trasa finished with Cerridwen"s hair, she carefully applied color to her lips and cheeks, and produced a small hand mirror to show her the results. The face Cerridwen saw was more familiar now, painted beautifully, the weariness of her eyes concealed, the colors carefully blended to fool the eye into seeing robust health where little existed.

  “I have this, as well,” Trasa said, pulling a medallion from around her neck. It was a miniature shield, copper hairs winding into a protective knot at its center. The Human slipped the heavy chain over Cerridwen"s head. “Wear it so that Danae will see it. You will not have to tell her of our allegiance to you. She will know it on sight.”

  Cerridwen clasped the pendant in her fist, tried to stop the pounding of her heart. “Then perhaps I should not wear it. Not yet.” She pulled the necklace over her head and wound it around her wrist, concealed inside her sleeve. “Thank you, though. I will treasure it.”

  “Deifiúr Trasa?” Another of the crows peeked through the tent flap suddenly.

  Trasa turned. “Deifiúr Siofra?”

  The girl showed no deference to the age or station of her priestess, and this sparked Cerridwen"s curiosity. Deifiúr Siofra motioned to the outside. “The Royal Consort has left for the feast. He thought we would make a more…suitable escort for the Queene.”

  “He thought he could force our hand and make us appear bound to the new Queene,” Trasa said with a note of annoyance. She waved a hand in the air. “It does not matter. He is shortsighted, if he believed we would not have supported her without his machinations.”

  Cerridwen might have defended him, but to hear Cedric"s actions described in such a manner made them seem indefensible.

  Before they left the tent, Trasa helped Cerridwen push her feet into jeweled white slippers, and then they joined the rest of the handmaidens in the clearing. They nodded their approval of her appearance as she came down the steps, and clustered around her as she made her way past the fire.

  She stopped them. Looking to the guards who followed behind, she ordered, “Stay here. I do not need protection. I do not need your weapons.” She straightened her back and lifted her chin. “This is an entirely different kind of battle.”

  The clearing around Danae"s Palace was lit with globes of light that dipped and swooped, controlled by the entertainers who had cast them. The brightness made it seem as though the sun had risen in this section of the forest alone and the huge bonfires that blazed all around seemed dim in comparison. Rows of trestle tables flanked a huge space cleared for a fire and more entertainers. Humans did acrobatic tricks and juggling for the enjoyment of the Faeries, who watched their antics in amusement at the quaintness of it all. One table sat apart from the others, on a dais in front of the Palace steps. Danae presided there on the carved wooden throne, watching over the festivities as though she were the Queene.

  She even wore a crown.

  Cedric could not help but grin at the pathetic gall of it. She truly believed she would remain Queene here, that her life did not hinge on his control of Cerridwen"s murderous impulses.

  Spotting him as he approached, Danae took his smile as a friendly greeting, and she, foul deceiver that she was, returned the expression warmly. “Your Highness,” she said with a nod.

  “Please, do not take my position here as a slight against your Queene. I thought it would be a lovely symbol if I were to cede the throne to her upon her arrival.”

  “A lovely symbol,” he echoed, as if in agreement. His palms itched for the dagger in his boot.

  This monster had colluded with the Upworld Elves and sent the Waterhorses to the Underground. His mind clouded with the memory of Gypsy screams he had not heard, blood he had not seen shed. He saw Dika"s face under the surface of the water, and the image did not twist to show him Cerridwen as it had so often lat
ely. The loss washed over him, as keen as the very moment he had first realized it. The very sight of Danae, knowing she had caused his pain, brought it all back.

  “Are you all right, Your Highness?” Danae asked, her expression faltering. Her concern would have seemed genuine, if he had not known her to be a disgusting fraud. “You look as though you have seen a specter.”

  “The ghosts of worse days,” he said with an mock apologetic smile, wishing he could leap across the dais and pull her throat out with his teeth. “We saw much hardship in our last days underground. All of this light and noise disorients me.”

  He sat beside the throne to await Cerridwen"s arrival. “You will cede your throne, but not your power entirely?”

  “I wish for the Court that has trusted me to know that I will always be there for them,” Danae said with a kind half smile. “I do not think it fitting to go out of their sight entirely this night.”

  “We will see what Her Majesty thinks,” he said, a tone of joviality changing the subject.

  “This is quite clever. Reminds me of the Human Courts after the sons of Míl invaded.”

  “I would not know.” Danae struggled to warm the frost that crept into her voice. “I was not born yet.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot.” He waved his hand. “I have a very difficult time remembering that not everyone is so ancient as I.”

  “Such as your mate, I am sure,” Danae said, eyes fixed on the gathering before her. “I say this with as much respect as can be applied in this situation. You are a fool to have mated yourself to one so young.”

  “It was arranged by her mother, the Queene.” Cedric followed the path of a globe of light through the air, idly added his own contribution to it as it passed. “She thought it would be a good match. And it"s proven so.”

  “I do not believe you, Cedric.” Danae turned to him, her beautiful face composed into a mask of pity. He wanted to snatch it off her skull. “There is a shroud of misery around you.”

  Misery. She would know the cause of it. Everything he had known for the past hundred years had been destroyed on her whim. His friends, his lover, his life—all of it had disappeared the moment Bauchan had stepped into the Underground. He could tell her this. She would see through it. To be so vile, so reprehensible, one had to be shrewd enough to pull their schemes off. She would know that the misery he felt now had to do with the torment he felt every moment that he spent at Cerridwen"s side.

  “Much has changed lately. I am…struggling with it.”

  Danae placed a hand on his knee. He did not react. She leaned closer. “You deserve your happiness, Cedric.”

  “And you should teach your Empath to keep out of my feelings.”

  A hush fell over the clearing. Danae looked up, and Cedric brushed her hand aside.

  And then he saw her.

  Cerridwen strode into the clearing, luminous white like the center of the sun on a clear day.

  Her black wings separated themselves slowly from the darkness. Her skin glowed, her gown shone. Her hair was pulled away from her face, piled atop her head like a crown and raining fiery ringlets down her shoulders.

  The cadre of crows that Cedric had mocked earlier followed behind her, almost obedient. No guards accompanied them; a bold move that Cedric would compliment her for, later. The Humans and Faeries they passed were struck dumb, only remembering to bow when she had gone far by.

  The firelight gilded her as she passed. This close, the stark contrast of her black wings to her radiant white dress stood out even further. Cedric stood, bowed, forced his heart to calm its rapid beating. She was a hundred times more regal than Ayla had ever been, a thousand times more than Mabb. She let the maidens lift the train of her gown so that she could ascend the dais, and, with a secret smile that showed only in her eyes, she bowed to Cedric.

  “Your Majesty,” Danae said, overloud, so that the attention would turn to her. She stood and bowed. “How glad are we all that you are here with us on this day.”

  As though she had barely heard her, Cerridwen slipped between Cedric and Danae, edging her carefully out of the way before seating herself on the throne. “Thank you, Danae, for entertaining Cedric in my absence. And thank you for the gifts you sent me.”

  Cedric covered his smile with his hand and motioned to the crowd. “How does Your Majesty receive this feast? Is it to your liking?”

  Forgotten, Danae stood, stunned into silence, face taking on the hue of a polluted sunset. She cleared her throat and sat in the chair on the other side of the throne, folding her hands in her lap.

  Cerridwen"s gaze slid sideways, and Cedric knew she checked to make sure that Danae was appropriately humbled. “I like it very much. So far.”

  For a long while, the crowd seemed content to stare at their new Queene. For her part, Cerridwen appeared as composed and natural as if she had presided over Court functions every day for a thousand years, as though the combined attention of the hundreds gathered in the clearing affected her not at all. But even this new radiance of hers could not hold their attention forever. Soon, the food was brought on great platters, and the festive air returned.

  “Your Majesty,” Danae began in a tone of painful civility, “fifty sheep were butchered for this feast, and one hundred geese. We"ve used the last of our stores from the winter in preparing dishes for this welcome supper.”

  “That was foolish of you,” Cerridwen said blandly. “I will hold you responsible, personally, for seeing to it that whatever remains in the morning is distributed for use for the rest of the week.”

  Cedric smothered a laugh with a gulp of wine. “The food is good, though, Danae.”

  In the years underground, even during Palace parties and feasts, there had not been such excesses of food, or such variety. Cedric helped Cerridwen select the best parts of the meat from the platters that were brought before them, and the sweetest berries. She ate daintily, another practiced act; he had never seen her at a meal that she did not practically inhale. It might have been the wine, but the grim feelings of the day seemed to lessen. He found himself quite pleased at the ease with which they had managed to insinuate themselves into the new Court.

  After the platters had been cleared away, and after a short, but drearily boring masque performed for the benefit of the new Queene, a group of musicians, Faery and Human alike, started up a lively brawl, and circles of dancers formed around the clearing.

  “I have not danced in so long.” The longing in Cerridwen"s voice squeezed Cedric"s heart.

  He"d nearly offered her his hand when he remembered the work that still remained to be done.

  “Go, then, and enjoy yourself. I am sure you will find many willing partners.” He smiled and allowed himself to touch her face. But he could not dance with her, as though he had no cares.

  Not when Danae had provided him the perfect opportunity to get close to her.

  He had lied to Cerridwen when he had told her that she would one day fell Danae herself.

  That was a revenge he reserved for himself. He hoped that one day, Cerridwen might forgive him. But for now, it was worth the risk.

  Twelve

  C erridwen stumbled from the dais, hurt and confused, but she would not display those emotions to the Fae that she now ruled. Instead, she motioned to Danae"s—now her—

  handmaidens, and they helped her to tie her long sleeves behind her neck and tuck up her skirt so that it would not interfere with the dancing.

  So, Cedric thought she would find many willing partners. She moved determinedly through the crowd. She would find someone suitable. Not some high-ranking member of the Court.

  No. Someone low. Someone common, so that she could show Cedric how easily she could purge him from her thoughts.

  At the edge of the group of musicians, a dark-eyed Human played a fife, tapping his foot in time with the music. He was beautiful, with sun-browned skin and dark hair tied back at his nape. He was exactly the kind of Human Cerridwen would have danced with at one of the Darkwor
ld parties.

  She surveyed the musicians with a merry smile on her face, and clapped her hands to them when their song was done. Then, with a grin that she hoped displayed charm more Fae than mortal, she beckoned the Human to her.

  The musicians cheered and cracked wise to their friend, and he looked slightly embarrassed at having been singled out by the Queene. But he looked pleased, as well, and that made Cerridwen quite happy.

  “For the Queene"s first dance,” the bodhrán player cried over the noises of the crowd. “A Rufty Tufty!”

  The band started up the tune and Cerridwen breathed a sigh of relief. It was not a difficult dance, and it was one that she, thankfully, knew. She bowed to her partner and began the steps. “What is your name?” she asked, as she walked her half-circle about him.

  “Christopher,” he said, surprisingly confident for someone dancing with his Queene. He added, “Your Majesty,” almost as an afterthought.

  “Do you like dancing, Christopher?” She came to stand at his side, and they spun to the left.

  “No, I do not, Your Majesty. I prefer to make the music, rather than dance to it.” He took her hand and led her a few steps away, then back to the couple that danced beside them.

  Cerridwen linked hands with the male Faery beside her, and saw his partner make a face as she touched the Human Christopher.

  In the moment that she was turned again to face the dais, she looked to Cedric. Did he seek to catch her eye? Did he appear unsettled, that she danced with another? But he was leaning close to Danae, who once again had seated herself on the throne, and they were deep in conversation.

  “He is a poor mate, indeed, if he will not dance with you,” Christopher said as he took her hand and led her in a long turn.