A Sliver of Shadow

by Allison Pang

  The tips of his ears pinked slightly. “Most can’t. Has to do with certain bloodlines and the fact that some of us are a bit more refined than others.”

  “Is that what you call it? Refined?”

  “Something like that.”

  I brushed my lips over his, lingering for a teasing moment. “Well, I think it suits you just fine. Your transformation to rogue pirate is complete.”

  He tucked the loose strands of hair behind his ears and rewarded me with a rakish leer. After worming into his tunic, he began taking down the camp, carefully binding up the loose hair I’d cut.

  “I’ll burn this later, but we need to make up some ground today. My men will be waiting at Eildon Tree. It’s a central location and a good place for us to go over our plans. Plus it’s neutral ground.”

  I frowned at him. “You’re talking about the original Eildon Tree? The one from my … father’s poem?”

  He paused and then let out a sigh. “I keep forgetting you’re not really one of us. Yes. Eildon Tree is the site of the original CrossRoads. Where Thomas made his decision to go with the Queen. The birthplace of TouchStones,” he added, reciting softly:

  “Betide me weal; betide me woe,

  That weird shall never daunten me.”

  Syne he has kiss’d her rosy lips,

  All underneath the Eildon Tree.

  I shivered, wondering how deeply my own destiny was tied to this place. My hand found my necklace, rubbing it between nervous fingers. “Were the other Doors opened? When I went through yesterday?”

  “No. After you were carried away, it was utter chaos. I damn near had to kill a few of them to let Melanie and Phin through with me, but the Door shut shortly thereafter. She still can’t use her violin to open anything.”

  “So what happens if the Queen doesn’t reopen the CrossRoads? We can’t abandon everyone we left behind. Benjamin—”

  “I know. If nothing else, I’ll have you reopen that Door a second time and we’ll lead them home that way.” His hands fisted as he tightened the saddle’s girth about the stallion. “But if it comes to that, Abby, we’re going to have far bigger things to worry about than a mere rescue.”

  “War?”

  “I don’t know. Gods save me, I just don’t know.”

  The horse’s gait was swift and smooth beneath us, hooves thudding into the dirt path. I sat pillion behind Talivar, trying not to embarrass myself too badly. With my skirts bunched up past my knees, I imagined it wasn’t the most romantic thing to look at, but a damned sight easier to throw myself off the beast if it came to it. Plus, as much as Talivar insisted I wouldn’t be a distraction to him, the way he suddenly couldn’t seem to stop touching me indicated otherwise.

  Not that it had been anything other than mostly polite, but at times it was as though he were a dying man newly introduced to water. And so his flesh drank me, the constant contact a balm to whatever drought remained within his soul.

  I’d decided that if we were actually going to get anywhere today, I had better content myself with being the medieval equivalent of a backseat driver. I draped my hands loosely about his waist.

  And what a difference a mostly full belly and a quiet night had made. It was hard to stay too grumpy once the sun came out and burned away the fog. Thick forest melted into soft fields bursting with primroses, dewdrops scattered like diamonds.

  I hugged Talivar closer, marveling at it all. “Is it always like this? This sort of wild beauty?”

  “In places. Some of it is not quite so lovely. Most of it is dangerous.” We rounded a bend, coming across a small encampment nestled in a grove of young trees. Clusters of fresh-faced children waved to us from atop their wagons, gesturing at us to join them. A long table sat in the center of the camp, covered with food. My mouth watered.

  “I think I smell bacon.” I sighed.

  His chuckle was without humor. “Take my hand, Abby.”

  Confused, I slipped my hand into his. A scrape of something metal against my skin and I realized he’d slipped a ring on my finger. “A little soon to propose, don’t you think?”

  “Look again,” he said softly. “But do not react.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, stifling a gasp. The children’s smiles had turned pointed and feral, their teeth sharp. They pointed at the table again, but now I could see it was covered with rotting vegetables, moldy bread, and fly-encrusted… something. Beneath the table, what had been flowers was now a pile of bones, stripped clean and broken open, skulls of either mortal or Fae grinning in welcome.

  “Jesus,” I whispered. I looked at the field we’d passed through moments ago, shuddering at what was clearly a marshy swamp, cool puddles of stagnant water and dying vegetation.

  “They lure in the unwary,” he said. “Those who cannot see through the Glamour are easily trapped.”

  “Why do you allow it? Can’t your Queen do something?”

  “And what would she do? They have a right to live according to their nature. As long as they are not in the kingdom proper and she doesn’t have to look at them, anyway.”

  “Then why are they out here—instead of the Barras? Jimmy said the Queen had banished the Lesser Fae.” I frowned as I said it, an unpleasant thought crossing my mind. “Or are you telling me the Barras is really some sort of Fae concentration camp?”

  “The explanation becomes complicated. Long ago, my people were split into two kingdoms. You might know them as the Seelie and Unseelie Courts?”

  “Yeah.” In the old tales, the Seelie Court was supposed to have been made up of the “good” Fae, although I had the distinct impression that “good” really depended on one’s definition. The Unseelie Court was the yang to the Seelie’s Court’s yin, and primarily consisted of the less pleasant denizens of Faerie.

  “The short answer is that the Barras is actually the remnants of the Unseelie Court. They’re forbidden to have their own kingdom longer than a day in any one place, so they’re constantly on the move.”

  I chewed on my lower lip, Tresa’s cry for sanctuary suddenly making sense. And Talivar had claimed the same once? “And they retain their sovereignty? When did they dissolve as a Court?”

  “Yes,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing against the scar on his finger. “And about two hundred years ago.” I bit back the last of my questions, something in his voice indicating that I was treading dangerous ground. That he’d had something to do with it was more than clear, as was the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Fair enough, I supposed. For now. I spared a last look behind me, trying not to shiver at the narrowed eyes following our progress. The longer I stared, the less like children they were, their forms becoming gnarled and stooped, skin saggy. One of them bared her teeth at me. I returned in kind, suddenly tired of the intimidation factor; she did nothing but turn away eventually. Sour grapes that she wouldn’t be dining on my mortal flesh, perhaps.

  And then there was that matter about the Key. I said nothing about the necklace, but something told me that there were plenty of folk willing to take me down at a chance to control the CrossRoads, seal of royalty on my finger or not. Abruptly I switched the subject. “What about the body of the Protectorate?”

  “She was taken to the Tree as well. We will investigate as to how she died, but in truth it only proves that Tresa was clearly an imposter.”

  “Well, duh,” I said dryly. “She said Maurice has her son, but didn’t get into the specifics.”

  “Motive,” he agreed, “but not one we’ll be able to prove unless we find the boy—and she must still answer for her treason. Better to blame Maurice, as he surely has his finger deeper in this pie then we know.”

  At that we both went silent, my own thoughts lost in what was coming. The web was becoming increasingly tangled the more I tried to unweave it. The only real question was what we might find in the center.

  Eildon Tree was less about an actual tree than it was a central space, I discovered. Not that there wasn’t a tree there,
but for some reason I imagined it to be something monstrous, filled with tangible power.

  But it wasn’t.

  Ancient and gnarled, for certain, and covered in small white blossoms, the Eildon Tree was wrapped in quiet humility, and an ethereal vibration that seemed to emanate from its branches. I could feel it drawing me in, my limbs trembling in response. Talivar glanced down at me, eye filled with a gentle amusement.

  Here is where it all began, my inner voice said, filled with a quiet awe. Your history starts here.

  With my father. My mouth went dry at the thought, almost seeing it before me—the Scottish bard taking solace at the tree’s roots, the music of his lute so utterly heartfelt as to draw the attention of the Faery Queen herself. What would he be like?

  My stomach churned, each new question beating at my brain like a butterfly made of velvet nails. My legs shook as I slid off the horse, heedless of Talivar’s helping hand. The silken blades of grass sprung beneath my naked feet as I staggered over to the tree, my hand already reaching out to touch its smaller branches.

  The sound of humming washed over me. Earthsong, my mind named it, though I had no recollection of the word. A moment later found me kneeling, my face pressed into the bark of one of the larger trunks of the hawthorn. Abruptly, I plunged into a hazy swirl of visions, as though I stared at a multifaceted gemstone, thousands upon thousands of images superimposed upon themselves in a blur of faces and movements. My emotions turned inward, spiraling from great joy and terrible sorrow, uplifted into a gentle hope for the future, my brain short-circuiting at the myriad possibilities.

  “What is this?” I said finally, my voice a husky whisper. I caught the impression of amusement from the tree, though that seemed impossible.

  Talivar crouched beside me, one hand upon my shoulder. “They say when Lucifer left the heavens, God was stirred to tears and this is where they fell. She holds all knowledge of the past and future within her branches. She’s the one who gave your father the gift of prophecy.”

  I pulled away from the tree, the music dimming into something less overwhelming.

  He chuckled softly at my expression. “I grew up playing beneath it. Its song doesn’t sing quite so loudly to me these days. Or perhaps I have grown used to it. Mortals have forgotten so very much,” he mused, his voice dropping low. “Do you understand what we fight for now? We are its guardians and its keepers. Regardless of what happens with the Queen or Moira or even your father, Abby … this is what is important.”

  I only nodded, a lump swelling in the back of my throat making it hard to breathe. For an uneasy moment I wondered if this was how the Queen convinced Thomas to go with her.

  Answers would hopefully come in time and until I met him, what was the point of speculation? A crimson fluttering caught my attention. “What is that?” I pointed at the silk rag knotted elegantly on one of the branches.

  “A wish.” Talivar got to his feet, pulling me up beside him. “People come here to make requests of the Tree. Wishes and hopes and dreams, each represented by a piece of cloth.”

  “Everything here is about wishes,” I said sourly, thinking of my own Contract with Moira. I supposed I’d lost that particular benefit when I’d signed on with Talivar. “Do they come true?”

  He shrugged. “Some do. Some don’t. The Tree keeps her secrets.” I took a closer look and realized the Tree was covered in them, in all different cuts and quality. Some were quite new and others twisted, thread-worn and nearly disintegrating in the breeze. I resisted the urge to touch one.

  Dreams were sacred and I had no such illusions of what they might mean to others. On impulse I tore a piece of the underskirt of my dress, knotting it tightly around one of the other branches. No wish sprang to mind, and I let the cloth slip from my fingers to blow with the others. “Just in case,” I said to the bemused prince, pushing the hair from my face. “What now?”

  “Our camp is past the crest of the hill. Gives us a good view of the land, so to speak.” His fingers wove through the tree’s lower branches for a moment. “No one would be so crass as to actually pollute this place with an army.” His face became grim. “Not even the daemons.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I muttered. I waited for him as he retrieved his horse, letting it trail behind us as we started the climb. The hillside was more of a gentle slope, but I leaned on Talivar anyway, my knee still aching from the day before.

  Not that it mattered anyway. I cocked my head, recognizing what sounded like the chorus to Wolfmother’s “Joker and the Thief” wafting on the breeze. Nothing serious, then—Mel was merely playing for an audience as opposed to rousing the troops to war.

  My mouth curved into a grateful smile. At least one thing was still right in this world. If she could continue to play music, things couldn’t be quite so bad, could they?

  Talivar was now in deep conversation with what looked like an elvish scout standing sentinel, his chain mail glittering in the sun. Below us a series of tents were laid out in layered semicircles, a large pavilion set up in the center of the farthest ring. It wasn’t enough to be considered a full army, but clearly the Fae were at least attempting to make show of their force without escalating into something more.

  Clusters of elves in pale armor dotted about the camp, everything a flurry of metal and horses, campfires and messengers. And sure enough, I could see Melanie’s familiar form standing in a loose circle of warriors, her bow moving madly upon the violin.

  Leaving Talivar to his own devices, I limped down the slope. Melanie paused when she saw me, her face splitting into a wide grin as she wrapped up the song with a flourish. Bowing to the small crowd gathered before her, she quickly bundled the instrument into its case before heading toward me, the two of us falling into a friendly embrace. “Where’s Phin?”

  She rolled her eyes, linking her arm through mine. “Think he talked someone into carrying him around. He got stepped on during the stampede and he’s milking it a bit.” One brow rose when she saw my neck. “Nice to see you had a good night.”

  I scowled at her. “Yeah, you could say that. Sorry we didn’t meet up with you earlier, but I was really dragging when Talivar and the others found me.”

  She sobered. “Yeah, I saw the Protectorate when they brought her in. They’ve got her wrapped up on one of the wagons. I suspect they would have burned her body by now, but …” We walked in silence for a few minutes, my skirt swishing through the long grass. “It looked like someone beat her head in with a rock or something. Primitive.”

  “Well, something tells me Tresa doesn’t exactly fall into warrior category. But anyone can pick up a rock and chuck it. Maybe she got lucky. Or hell, for all we know there was some sort of intricate setup and someone wants us to think it was simple.” I shook my head. “I didn’t get that good a look at her honestly—she was half in a pond when I found her and it was pretty dark. Plus I was trying not to freeze my ass off.”

  I gave Mel the rapid-fire account of what had happened to me, leaving out the more intimate bits of the evening. She glanced up to where the prince still stood, gesturing madly at the encampment. “What the hell happened to his hair?”

  “Had me cut it for him this morning. Not sure what that was all about.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure Moira will love it … Not.”

  My heart beat a little faster at the mention of the princess. Sister, my inner voice said gleefully. “Is she … um … here?”

  “Yeah. She’s been going back and forth all morning between here and the daemon encampment on the other side of the valley. Doesn’t sound like it’s going too well.” Her gaze flicked toward my neck. “They know it’s here, that the Key is awake. They want Maurice for sure, but they want that too.”

  “They do realize they can’t use it themselves, I hope.”

  “Maybe not, but how hard would it be for them to find a mortal willing to bear it and do their work for them? It’s not like you can’t be killed.” Her voice became distant, quiet beneath t
he weight of her own memories. “We’re moving into dangerous territory here, Abby. Unless the Queen reopens the CrossRoads, I think some serious shit is going to go down.” She stopped, resting her hand on my shoulder. “And we’re going to be in the thick of it. Again.”

  “The cake is a lie,” I intoned gravely.

  She stuck her tongue out at me. “It always is. But we need to be a bit more alert to what’s going on this time.” Her mouth curved into a wry smile. “There’s science to do.”

  “Well, the first thing I want is shoes,” I said, wiggling my toes. “As much fun as this is, I find I run a lot better when I’m not worried about stepping in horse crap.”

  “I’ve got an extra pair,” she offered. “Probably the fastest thing. I’m next to Moira’s tent.” She pointed to the largest tent beside the pavilion, gauzy with pink and cream cloth, a set of royal pennants snapping briskly beside it.

  “Nice and simple,” I quipped. “I like it. It’s got that whole Barbie’s My First RPG Campaign thing going on.”

  “Did Talivar take you to see the Tree?”

  “Yeah. It kind of freaks me out, honestly. There’s a part of me that wanted to throw myself down and never move again.”

  “I often wonder how much history would be changed if it had been me, instead of Thomas. Or someone like me,” she added hastily, kicking the ground roughly. “Though I imagine the end would be the same, either way. Perhaps the King would have ridden by instead … or maybe I would have chosen a different path.”

  I gave her a sideways look. “Look, I know you’ve got your thing going on with the Dev—”

  She raised a finger to my lips. “Don’t. Not here. To say the name draws attention, and that’s the last thing we need.”

  “One of these days you’re going to have to give me the whole story.” I paused as she ducked into her tent, a simple muddy brown thing. Next to Moira’s monstrosity, it looked a bit like a squashed mushroom, but Melanie had never stood on ceremony about such things before. As far as I knew, if it kept the rain off her head, she was pretty good about sleeping anywhere.