by Melissa Marr
The one truth that was inevitable was that Sorcha had stopped seeing Ani when her life was tied to his and to their lives. He realized it in an awful moment of clarity: Sorcha had known then that Ani’s thread was to be entwined with his.
The insight became so clear to him so suddenly that he felt sick with it. He had no doubt at all that both of his sisters were jealous or cruel enough to change his life for their interest. That’s who they were. Sorcha reshaped the world to bend to her will; Bananach manipulated faeries to bring about destruction. Perhaps it wasn’t ever that Ani was meant to be entangled in their lives, but always in his. Was that how her blood would kill Sorcha? By his refusing to shed it? By his not killing her? Such interpretations would not be out of character for Bananach.
But her blood is different. I tasted it. She is different.
“Are you okay?” Ani’s voice startled him. “You’re, ummm, locking down your emotions again.”
“Tell me what exactly Bananach wants from you.”
“Kill Seth. Kill Niall. And to give her my blood because”—Ani took a deep breath—“if you tell anyone what I tell you next, Irial will want you dead. So you can’t. Ever.”
He nodded.
“Irial’s overprotective, but… he…” She paused, took another breath, and continued, “I can trust you?”
He hesitated. The weight of that decision was unexpected. Devlin had never willfully chosen to put another before his queen.
Until now. I would. For you.
“You can trust me,” Devlin assured her. He considered telling her then that he’d spoken to Irial about her, but mentioning that Irial had given consent for him to take Ani wasn’t something he wanted to do. The premeditation might anger her, and that wouldn’t help matters.
It would also lead to more things I don’t want to discuss. The former Dark King’s taste of Devlin’s emotions apparently had revealed enough of his concern to convince Irial that Ani was safe in his care. Devlin would get her to safety and then find a way to extricate himself from her life. It was the logical choice, the appropriate path.
“Tell me,” he prompted Ani.
“So you know how I can feed off your emotions?” She paused only a fraction before saying, “That’s a Dark Court thing.”
“I know.”
“But I can do the same with mortals.” She accelerated the car, whether consciously or not. “I really shouldn’t be able to do either.”
Devlin struggled to keep his own emotions in check. The more Ani revealed, the more he realized how rare she was. If Sorcha realizes Ani lives, she will hunt her. The chances of Bananach telling Sorcha, of letting slip that he was with Ani, were strong. War needled. It was her way.
Neither sister will rest until one of them possesses or destroys Ani.
Ani didn’t look his way. She drove the car faster still. There were things she was not saying, things she obviously worried that she should not say, so he waited.
After several quiet minutes, she continued, “You know, Hounds don’t feed like that anyhow. We aren’t about emotions. They’re what we evoke, not what we consume.”
“Hounds need touch, not emotion,” he said, realizing then what she hadn’t said earlier, what she was admitting now: she required touch. He reached out and covered her hand where it was on the gearshift. “I’ve been insensitive. Forgive me?”
She sped up faster still. “What do—”
“Skin hunger. Hounds have skin hunger.” He slipped his fingers between hers. “That’s why you were wanting near me. It makes sense now. I should’ve thought of that. I apologize.”
He watched her draw several breaths as if she were afraid. Hounds typically had skin hunger, not emotional appetites, and in all of his looking at her as a mortal and as Dark Court, he hadn’t been thinking about her father’s lineage. Few Hounds so young could handle it well enough to hide it all. They didn’t travel without their pack because of it, and Devlin had assumed—erroneously—that her independence meant she did not carry that trait.
“I won’t take advantage,” he whispered. “You can hold my hand or… embrace me as you did if you are in need of nourishment. I should’ve—”
“I didn’t want to touch you for that reason.” She blushed a little.
It was so out of character that it made him falter. “Oh. Should I remove my hand?”
Ani laughed. “Gods, no. I’m afraid. I’m hungry as hell. I’m wondering if I’m going to die. Hounds need touch…. I’m not sure if it usually gets easier with practice, but for me nothing seems quite right. I’m getting worse.”
Devlin looked out the window, not at her, but he lowered his control so some of his emotions were there for her to taste. He let her in further.
“Dev?”
He looked over, but he couldn’t speak. The rules he’d lived by for all of eternity were all vanishing. He’d nourished his need for blood over the years, reveled in fighting. He’d taken other pleasures that he knew weren’t High Court. But at the core of himself, he chose to live as if High Court was his instinct. Every day, he had made that choice.
“Can I keep hold of your hand?” she asked. “Please? I want to, and you… and I think you want me to.” The last words were rushed together, and now she paused. She turned her hand so it was palm up, and the car adjusted around them so it was suddenly an automatic. The gearshift had vanished. “Am I wrong?”
“No.” He squeezed her hand in his.
In all of his life, he’d never had a relationship. It was occasionally done in the High Court that two faeries chose to entwine their lives, but no one had ever looked at Devlin that way. He was deemed inapproachable, too fearsome to want, as if they recognized that he was not truly of their court. I am the innocent in this. The thought amused him: only two faeries had existed before him, and yet he was inexperienced in relationships.
What does it matter? I cannot stay with her. I cannot have a relationship.
Devlin stared out the window as they crossed the landscape. If Ani survived, Devlin would return her to the Dark Court, to Irial and Niall’s care, to the Hounds. They were her court and family. And he would return to Faerie. That was the order of the world. An aberration of emotion wasn’t going to change logical order.
Focus on Ani’s situation.
He pushed his emotions back under layers of High Court control and began to think through what Ani had revealed. Somewhere in the details he’d find the answer; it was simple logic. He just needed to focus.
The reasons Bananach had were serious enough that her interest wouldn’t wane. Murdering Bananach would be catastrophic, and killing Ani was untenable. So where does that leave us? They couldn’t spend Ani’s life running, but he had no better plan.
Ani watched Devlin close her out. She felt the walls go up, and if not for his hand in hers, she’d wonder if she were alone in the car.
He’s frightened of you, her steed suggested.
Ani didn’t want to talk about that. Instead she thought, What do you think of Barry for a name?
There was silence.
It’s short for Barracuda. It can be male or female. She switched lanes again and accelerated.
I like it, the steed growled happily. It’s mine. I am Barry.
She smiled to herself. One problem resolved, a few more to go….
Unfortunately, the rest of the day was spent in silence. Eventually, Barry whispered, Sleep, Ani. I will drive.
The next four days and nights were spent in much the same way—brief stops for food, hours of silence, and fitful rest while Barry carried her farther and farther away from everyone she knew. They passed through the middle of the States, headed west to where there were wide-open parks, natural areas where camping and running were possible. They drove through every city or remotely steel-filled town they could, slowing their progress with mortal traffic, but hiding themselves more fully from faeries. If not for the threat behind them, it would be the start of a great trip. It still could be if he would let me in.
She had found Devlin impossibly tempting when she’d met him, and her opinion of him had only gone up after fighting next to him. The revelations he’d shared made her like him, but the passion he hid—and revealed during fighting and running—made her want him.
But, as they traveled, Devlin kept his walls up. He spoke less and less, and when he did, it was polite but distant. The silence and distance in such close quarters was maddening. After their brief revelations, she hoped there was something happening between them, but his actions implied otherwise.
Late on what Ani thought was the sixth day of driving, she pulled into a motel parking lot. The building was surrounded by a thick steel fence; the balconies on the rooms each had steel rails; and the windows had steel safety bars. With the faery aversion to iron and, consequently, to steel, it was the ideal place for them to rest. As long as the building didn’t catch fire, they were safe from faery and mortal dangers.
“I’ll stay with Barry while you get a room.” Ani touched Devlin’s hand briefly, drawing him out of whatever contemplation he was in.
He looked at her in confusion. “What?”
She gestured to the humming lights that said vacancy and wondered if he’d ever stayed in a motel. Somehow, she doubted that this was what things looked like in Faerie. “A room. Do you have money or a credit card?”
“Yes, but…” Devlin frowned. “Barry?”
“My steed”—she ran a hand over the dash—“has been Named.”
“I could’ve given it a name,” Devlin grumbled.
He’s still upset over the seat adjustments, Barry said with marked amusement. His knees… and head… and perhaps arms are a bit sore, I expect.
Ani wisely didn’t respond to either of them. All she said was, “I’ll be right here. Just outside the door, inside Barry the whole time.”
Helpfully, Barry opened Devlin’s door.
“Why are we stopping? It can—” His seat fell backward. “Barry can drive while you rest.”
“I want a shower. Pillow. Bed.” Ani gestured. “Please? A room for the night.”
“I don’t suppose it matters.” He sounded as exhausted as she felt, and Ani knew then that he was no closer to figuring out a plan beyond “stay moving” than he’d been when they left.
We could kill the raven one, Barry suggested.
Privately, Ani agreed, but she didn’t know if Devlin would go for that plan. Bananach was who she was. If moving and hiding for a while would be enough to make her forget about Ani, that was a better plan than asking Devlin to murder his sister.
Ani closed her eyes to wait for Devlin to return. The grungiest of rooms sounded like a treat just then. Hot water and an actual bed were rarely as tempting as they were in that moment.
They’d be even better if he’d share them….
Chapter 22
Rae had thought that being trapped in the cave was frustrating, but being caught inside Sorcha’s palace made her realize how very fortunate she’d been. In the cave, Rae had been alone, but she’d not been at anyone’s mercy. Here, she was Sorcha’s prisoner; here, she was the only link between Faerie itself and the queen who was to keep the world in order.
And has lost interest in doing so.
Sorcha had retreated to a dream so she could watch her absent son.
One of the veiled mortals sat observing the sleeping queen; the other had left the room to speak to whomever she consulted to find information for the queen. Neither spoke to Rae unless it was unavoidable. They kept themselves far from her, sitting on the step of the dais. Even with the room empty of faeries, they didn’t step on the top of the dais or near the chair of twisted strands of silver that sat there. They remained silent and distant.
Fear of her or me?
The room in which Rae waited was far larger than the cave. It was vast, fading to shadowed reaches on one side and enormous arched windows on the opposite side. The farthest corner of the room was lined with barred doorways, some covered by ancient tapestries. Beyond the mosaics that surrounded the sleeping queen’s glass bed, the floor was of slick black rock, and the whole of the room was interspersed with white pillars supporting a star-scattered ceiling.
Rae stood and approached the queen. The glass had taken on a deep-blue tint; it darkened the longer Sorcha slept. And as it darkened, more and more faeries drifted into sleeps from which they would not awaken. Rae could feel them, feel their dreams beyond the room where she attended the sleeping queen.
Where are you, Devlin? Please, please, come home. But wishes didn’t change the waking world, and hoping to be rescued was as futile now as it had been in her mortal life.
“It is time again.” The mortal spoke. “You must check on our queen.”
Rae had no idea how the girl knew the time or could keep count of the moments that had passed. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Rae needed to go to the High Queen.
“I hate this,” she muttered as she stepped up to the blue glass chrysalis and into Sorcha’s dream.
Sorcha didn’t look away from the mirror. It was the same cloudy glass framed by fire-blackened vines as in the first dream. In it, Rae could see Sorcha’s son, Seth. He sat in a strange green chair drawing in a notepad. As far as interesting visions went, this one didn’t rate at all, but Sorcha was transfixed by it. The High Queen’s expression was one of utter rapture.
“He creates such beauty.” Sorcha lifted her hand and made as if to trace the sketch. “Would that I were so skilled.”
“You create the entire world. That’s—”
“Nothing compared to him.” Sorcha pulled her gaze away to scowl at Rae.
And Rae knew that openly disagreeing was unwise. “Yes, my queen.”
Like Faerie itself, the landscape around Sorcha’s dream was shrinking. In the dream only the two walls of the small room where she sat with the mirror were in full detail. Beyond that, it was as if they were in a painting only partially completed. The dreamscape was a darkening blue void, as if it were some sort of endless sky or sea that wasn’t yet in focus.
Rae began envisioning the fields of Faerie, rebuilding the landscape as it had been when the dream began. The emptiness of the dream was unsettling, more so because the dreamer was the one who built and maintained Faerie.
“No. I want none of that.” Sorcha waved her hand, blanking it all out before the vista was truly even there. It was her dream, so such an alteration was possible—more so, perhaps, because the High Queen understood the particulars of remaking reality.
If she cannot look beyond the mirror in her dream, what does that mean for Faerie?
Rae stood uselessly in the dream room, not quite in the nothingness beyond it, but close enough to that abyss that she had to struggle against her instinct to form worlds there. It was an empty plane with no one’s desires, no one’s horrors, no one’s fingerprints to alter. This must be how Faerie looked before Sorcha. The High Queen, however, was oblivious to the things around her. All that she saw was the image of her son in the mortal world.
Sorcha did not look away from the mirror a second time. “Leave me.”
Rae started, “Perhaps you might wake. The world is falling apart—”
“I will wake when my son returns.” The High Queen waved her fingers. Suddenly three winged leonine creatures wrought of moonlight and lightning stood between them, guarding the queen, keeping her out of reach. The animals’ translucent bodies flickered with the lightning that flashed inside them. As one opened its mouth, sparks escaped. It didn’t advance, but it watched Rae. The second creature stretched out at Sorcha’s side. Its wings spread wide and blocked the sight of both the High Queen and the mirror. The third snarled as it crouched down.
Rae wasn’t sure what would happen if she were to be bitten by them, but she didn’t care to stay and find out. With a barely proper curtsy, Rae turned and stepped from Sorcha’s dream into the deteriorating world of Faerie.
She needs to wake.
Rae had given Sorcha the window into the
mortal world. It was an anomaly, but the High Queen was the embodiment of logic. She shouldn’t be so fascinated. Something was amiss, and the cause of it was beyond Rae’s understanding.
I need to reach Devlin.
Of course, he hadn’t even told Rae that he had a nephew. The High Queen had a son who lived in the mortal world. It explained Devlin’s frequent secretive visits there, but it didn’t explain why the Queen of Order would behave so irrationally.
Something here is wrong.
Silently, Rae drifted across the throne room and stopped.
One of the mortals was weeping.
“What happened?” Rae asked.
The other mortal pointed toward one of the tall arched windows. Rae couldn’t approach it, not as bright as the sky was, but she could see even from a distance that the mountain was partially gone. Faerie was shifting, unmaking itself more and more. As the queen’s mind noticed only the images in the mirror, the landscape of Faerie was no longer real to her. Some faeries could not adjust to the lack of logic and were following her, retreating into their own dreams. The truly High Court faeries are lost without her. In the street outside, those faeries stretched out in odd positions, fallen to sleep where they’d been. Faerie was going dormant.
The weeping mortal lifted her veil and stared at Rae. “The world is ending.”
Behind Rae, the High Queen slept. She wore a smile, looking more at peace than she appeared in waking or in her dreams.
“Go back.” The mortal sank to the floor and stared up at Rae with a tear-wet face. “Talk to her. She needs to wake.”
And Rae had no choice. Outside the palace, faeries were apparently either sickening or sleeping. Within the palace, there were few faeries left awake. Rae could feel the tendrils of all of their dreams like whispered summonses. For the first time since she’d entered Faerie, there were dreamers all around.