A Sliver of Shadow

by Allison Pang

  The other daemons paused, the largest one letting out a grim chuckle. “The Crippled Prince has killed our lieutenant,” snarled the closest one. “The Fae have made the first shot.”

  The hum of challenge burst from behind us, a clarion call of power that made my ears ache. “Oh, shit.”

  We’d just declared war.

  Twenty-six

  In an instant I was in Brystion’s arms and we were bounding toward Talivar. The tall elf let loose round after round, deadly shafts buying us a little time. Behind us, the silver pull of the CrossRoads snapped away and the Door faded. With our cover blown we couldn’t possibly go through—not if we didn’t want to lead the entire contingent of daemons straight into the Barras.

  Not to mention a few of the fuckers had pulled out their axes and started chopping at the woven tree branches that had made up the frame.

  “Bitches,” Brystion swore.

  I held the scrap of my dress above my naked breasts as best I could, trying to ignore the heated flush of my cheeks. Talivar wasn’t paying any attention to me at all, which was probably for the best, given that the daemons were clearly lining up for some sort of attack.

  He gestured at Ion. “Get her behind us. There’s an empty bear den you can take shelter in. The body of the boy is not too far from it.”

  “Dead?” The last flare of hope I’d had dribbled away. “What are we going to do?”

  The elf’s mouth tightened as he eyed his quickly emptying quiver. “Try to find another way out.”

  “But that’s—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” the incubus snapped, scooping me up and heading for the woods, ignoring my feeble struggles with an air of impatience. The heat from his ebony skin was blistering against my hands. “You’re distracting him and there’s no sense in making us a bigger target. Besides,” he added smugly, “I think the cavalry is at hand. It would seem Kitsune has tossed her hat into the ring, after all.”

  A high-pitched cackle sailed past me, the velvet wings of hundreds of pixies filling the air until we were nearly swimming through a sea of flower petals. One of them grinned at me as it sailed past, displaying a set of tiny fangs.

  “What the hell can they do?” I muttered. “They’re so small …”

  Ion slid into the cover of a fallen tree and we peered through the branches, watching in awe as the pixies swarmed over the daemons, falling upon them in a flurry of tiny teeth and toothpick swords. It was strangely effective. And bloody.

  The daemons retreated, unable to attack such small enemies with any real accuracy, and most of them were getting a sharp stick in the eye for their troubles. It seemed almost comical, their arms flapping in sudden panic. And yet I was struck by how easily the pixies were able to get through their defenses. How much stronger would the Fae be as a whole if they all worked together?

  Talivar watched impassively as the group was driven off. With a limping stride, he loped toward us, finding us easily enough when Brystion whistled low. Crouching down, he stared at my tattered dress and then exhaled in a ragged breath. “They’ll be back.”

  “Reinforcements,” I said. “And I’m guessing the pixies won’t be able to hold them for long.”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance. They had the element of surprise here, but now that the daemons know what they’re up against, they’ll take steps.”

  “What about Tresa’s son?” A lump filled my throat.

  “Aye. He’s been dead for a while. There’s not much left of him, but I’ll see him properly buried.”

  “Do we have time for that?” Ion sniffed the wind, blowing out as though he tasted something bad.

  “We’ll put him in the cave,” Talivar said. “I cannot simply leave him here; he deserves better. We have a bit of time.”

  “Until what?” I wondered aloud.

  He didn’t answer me, moving past us with his head bowed slightly. “Come here,” he said, taking my hand. Our fingers entwined, tight and hard, as though he were absorbing my flesh through his. Leading us down a gentle slope, he paused at the bottom, the leaves crackling beneath our feet.

  “There.” He gestured to the prone form of a child curled into a fetal position, half buried beneath a hollow log.

  I knelt down beside the lifeless boy. His skin was waxen and soft in places, like the rotting edges of an overripe fruit, but his face retained a terrible innocence, pale eyes reflecting a glassy confusion. I choked back a sob, sliding the ruff of red-gold hair from his forehead. The chill of his death ran like the prickle of ants’ feet upon my fingertips.

  “What did he die of?”

  “I don’t know,” Talivar said, his voice thick. “But I suspect it’s the same as what the Queen suffers.” He pulled up the threadbare remains of a sleeve, revealing thick scratches scoring the boy’s arms. On closer observation, I noticed the ragged fingernails, the rust of dried blood beneath them.

  “They poisoned him,” I said, tears burning hot. Had it been exposure to whatever his mother had been working with? Or perhaps Maurice had ordered it done to keep Tresa pliant, or to find a cure … or any number of things. It made no difference. A child was dead.

  “Give me your knife.” I held out my hand without looking up. He hesitated for the barest of moments before unsheathing his smaller dagger and pressing it into my palm. If he had any inkling as to what I meant to do, he said nothing as I sliced off a lock of the boy’s hair.

  Talivar was right. We couldn’t take him with us, but some part of me wanted to take this small bit, if only to prove that he’d been alive, that he’d had a voice in the world.

  Clutching the hair tightly, I handed the dagger to Talivar. He gave me a nod of approval, but there was nothing particularly happy about the motion.

  “The den is over here. It’s been abandoned for at least a season.”

  Brystion followed us in silence, his dark eyes thoughtful. Together, he and Talivar cleared a bit of space and gently laid the body into the shallow hole, collapsing it when he was fully entombed. It wasn’t much of a grave, but it would have to do. At least the woods were peaceful enough, and he’d be covered shortly by a blanket of golden leaves.

  Small comforts.

  “What will we tell Tresa?” I said finally, breaking the silence. In the distance I could hear the sound of drums. The daemons would be on the move soon. “I doubt she’ll give us the antidote now.”

  “If there even was one.” Brystion glanced down at the hair still woven through my fingers. “We should get out of here before those fuckers come back.”

  The prince shook his head. “We’re not going to be able to outrun them. There’s an entire encampment of the bastards over the far ridge. Which is the only way out of this valley, by the way,” he added dryly. “Short of scaling a few mountain peaks—and none of us is dressed for that sort of snow.”

  His mouth tightened and he ducked below the branches of a fallen tree. “The Key must not be allowed to fall into their hands.”

  His words stung, even though I knew he was right. Lover or not, TouchStone or not, at the moment I was merely a commodity and a resource. And quite possibly the only way we had to get out of here in one piece, my inner voice reminded me.

  “Surely, there has to be another way. Another Door?”

  “They won’t be easy to find without the CrossRoads open,” Talivar said, snapping his fingers. “But there’s a set of old ruins further down the hillside … they’ve been around forever. If there was ever a place for a Door, that would be it, though I suspect it’s been closed for some time.” His gaze lingered at my neck. “It could be that the Key would convince it to open.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” I said.

  He exhaled sharply, sliding his fingers through the sweaty fall of his hair. “All right. Let’s get moving, then. I don’t think we’ve got much time left.”

  The calls of the daemons rang out nearby, their great feet tromping through the golden leaves signifying they were on the hunt. Without another w
ord, Brystion hoisted me up. “Hold on to me as tightly as you can.”

  I wrapped my legs about his waist and my arms around his shoulders. It seemed a bit obscene, honestly, but I was a bit past caring. A pixie fluttered by, bowing to Talivar, its voice a hissing sibilance I couldn’t understand.

  The prince nodded at the little thing. “He’s taking his people and leaving. They’ve done all they can do and there’s a sorcerer at the daemon camp. He doesn’t want to lead his people into death.”

  “At least ask him if he knows anything about the ruins or the Door.” I was all for exploring, but given the time constraints, prudence dictated we find the way sooner rather than later.

  The prince quickly rattled off something to the tiny Fae in the same language as before. The pixie hovered there a moment, scratching his head before pointing down the hillside and gesturing anxiously.

  “Time to go,” Brystion said. “Lead the way.”

  The pixie tore off at a frantic pace, Brystion jogging easily behind it, his hooves rapping upon the ground. Talivar kept abreast, his mouth becoming a grim line when our eyes met. He seemed so much older than before, the weight of his several hundred years suddenly very obvious.

  The forest had grown quiet as we moved, Brystion taking great leaping strides, carrying my extra weight as though it was nothing. The thud of his hooves became louder, and I realized we were upon ancient stone and thick marble slabs, riddled with cracks and torn by time. He skidded slightly, his grunt of apology lost in the slide of gravel and the twang of fletching beside my ear.

  “Oh, shit.” I twisted my head even as he rolled, ducking so that he landed on his shoulder. I tumbled gracelessly above him, his clawed fingers pressing my head down to his chest.

  Another volley of arrows flew and I struggled to try to find Talivar.

  “Don’t move,” Ion hissed. “He’s fine … he made it behind the fallen pillar.” I felt disconnected from his words, my eyes taking in the exquisitely carved arches gleaming with the burnished softness of old bone.

  “What is it?” A sick certainty clenched my gut even as I asked the question. The metallic ring of armor upon the marble answered me soon enough. The daemons had cut us off. “Do you see the Door?” I searched frantically for the pixie.

  “There,” the incubus whispered. “Just past the altar, in that alcove.” I turned my head and saw the pixie tucked up against it, waving frantically at me.

  “All right. So what do we do now?”

  “Can you open it? The rest of it would be moot if you can’t.” He slowly turned us so that he was on top of me, snarling as he bent. A hot trickle of blood coated my fingers and I jerked my hand away.

  “Jesus, Ion, you’ve been hit.” I scrambled up despite his protest to see the arrow jutting from the perfect ebony of his skin.

  “Duly noted. Don’t think it’s too deep.” He grimaced, his teeth flashing white. “Still stings like a bitch, though.”

  “How are we going to get there?” I looked at our own pillar, swearing softly. This was a different set of daemons than before, and they didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to find us, though they certainly began a systematic flanking of the alcove. They knew what it was … and that I had the Key.

  I sank to my knees, clasping the amulet. It flared to life beneath my fingers. Maybe I was beginning to form more of an affinity with it, but I’d analyze it later.

  The power pulsed through me, seeking its way until I felt the underlying resonance shiver deep and low. This Door seemed … sleepy. It hadn’t been used in a while, and I suddenly felt as though I was being weighed by some sort of otherworldly scrutiny. Which was ridiculous. Doors weren’t sentient, as far as I knew.

  Not that you really know dick about Doors.

  “I’ve got it,” I murmured. “I think I can get it to work. Now, how do I get there?”

  “Leave that to me,” Talivar said, his voice quiet. I startled. He’d slipped his way over to us.

  Brystion’s eyes narrowed. “Ransom, then?”

  “Aye. They won’t be too kind to me, I wouldn’t think but they won’t keep me too long either,” he added bitterly. “Too much fun to throw me in my mother’s face as a reason for her to bend to their wishes.”

  “They’ll trade you,” I said, finally getting it. “You for Maurice.”

  “Probably.” His mouth kicked into a slight grin and he reached up to cup my chin. “But I suspect you’re going to figure something out. You always do.”

  Ion stomped a warning, setting me down. “You rely on her too much,” he snarled. “All of you do.”

  “And you would suck her half dry if given a chance, my friend. I saw the way you looked at her the other night.” The prince raised a brow. “Not to mention the way you nearly just shagged her against the tree.”

  I flushed. “Talivar … I didn’t mean for it to happen …”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” His mouth met mine for an instant and I could taste his sorrow upon his tongue. “And you and I aren’t over yet,” he whispered. “TouchStone.” I shivered at the word, even as my heart ached to hear it. “Take her home, incubus. Keep her safe.”

  Brystion inclined his head formally.

  I shook my head, panic rabbiting under my ribs. “We will not leave you here. I’ll go and get help. There must be a way to convince—”

  The prince pressed a finger to my lips. “I want you to tell Roweena to break our Contract. You’ll be free of any obligation you hold to me.”

  “But—”

  “I’m going out there now. I’ll take as many of them as I can.” His nostrils flared. “Don’t look back, Abby. Please. Just get to that Door and go through.”

  I swallowed a sob. So many ways this could have gone and we got stuck with this one. Not that I was going to let it go down like this. Not yet.

  Brystion shifted me in his arms and let out a chuffing breath. “Good luck,” he said simply. The elf bowed his head in return and then bolted from our hiding place. The whistling twang of arrows sounded through the trees and I saw his hands moving in a blur as he let out shot after shot. The incubus hesitated a moment more.

  “Go,” I whispered. His legs quivered in response.

  “I’m sorry.” His hooves dug into the thick underbrush, swift and graceful, each thrust of his curved hind legs propelling us forward with an elegant cadence. His antlers brushed the lower tree branches, leaves catching on the glassy points like a crown of gold, stark against his dark skin.

  Behind us, I heard a muffled grunt and I let out a low cry to see the prince surrounded by a cluster of daemons. His bow had disappeared and he stood in the center, sword drawn, moving in a deadly and precise motion. The silver of his blade darted and thrust until it was coated with a fine red spatter. His other hand clutched a curved dagger and with these he spun, cutting a swath of bodies as he went.

  The moment hovered before us, caught in the feral gleam of his smile and the furrow of his brow, the curl of his lip and the flex and hew of his muscles. Each movement was with purpose and for the first time I could really see how the arc of years of battle had marked him, turning his flesh into its own sort of weapon.

  The hitch of his stride was swallowed up by the swivel of his hips and the twist of his wrist, the vambraces on his forearm an inky blur. He spun again and this time his eye caught mine for the barest of seconds, its blue hue blazing in a heated fury. A scant breath later and he had turned away, ducking beneath the oncoming slice of an opposing ax. Regardless of his assumptions of ransom, the daemons weren’t going to just let him walk all over them.

  I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but the words cut off as a clawed hand fumbled its way across my lips. Brystion shook his head at me. “Don’t let his sacrifice go to waste. There’s no pride in that,” he added softly when I glared at him.

  “Get me to the Door,” I said, refusing to look away from the prince. Even if Talivar said not to, I owed it to him to watch.

  Brystion edged us to t
he alcove and set me down. “Do it quickly, Abby … and don’t look back.” He ducked low, his antlers shielding my view even as his words mocked me. Don’t look … don’t look … don’t look. I clutched at the necklace, feeling the Key spark beneath my fingertips. I willed it to open, but the magic seemed to slip through my hands as I tried to focus where I wanted to go.

  “Do you have it?” Ion grunted. “He can’t hold them off for much longer.”

  “It’s not the fucking TARDIS,” I snapped, blinking against the power. Safety I told it, my mind gibbering with the need to find us someplace we could regroup that wouldn’t potentially lead the daemons straight into the palace. The CrossRoads rushed past me like a river longing to escape.

  And why wouldn’t it really? After all, it had been cooped up and I’d only managed to let it out in spurts. If an inanimate semblance of a road could be seen to have a personality, this one was nearly alive with its need to get out. It scrambled past me and in the distance I could hear the shouts of alarm from the daemons. A moment later and the Door blazed to life.

  I glanced behind me in time to see Talivar fall to his knees, a huge daemon slamming his face into the ground. I shrieked despite myself, fighting against the suddenly iron-grasp of the incubus’s fingers around my arms. “Let me go!”

  He didn’t, of course, and judging by the attention I’d just drawn to us, this was probably for the best.

  Brystion turned toward me, his eyes golden as he kissed me hard.

  “Close it behind you, sweetheart.” Before I had a moment to process this, he shoved me through the Door.

  “Goddamn you!” I stumbled through the other side, landing in heap in the grass of the courtyard garden … below my apartment.

  Behind me the Door faded in a slurry of sparkles. I sat motionless for a matter of moments, blinking back angry tears when Brystion didn’t emerge. Numbly, I let the Key slip from my fingers, the magic sluicing away until all that stood before me was the dead space of the old gate.

  I was home.