Jenny got to her feet, stretching her sore limbs. The pain had mostly gone now, the touch of the water having soothed the bites and hastened the healing process. She almost felt herself again.
Except for the fact she was wearing Jack’s cloak of leaves. And was completely naked underneath.
She wondered where Jack was. The river, she supposed, still washing her clothes as he had promised. Which meant only Puck was there to keep an eye on her. Puck, who snorted, muttered something, and rolled over, smacking his lips together.
How far would she get before he noticed? Neither of them was even bothered to keep an eye on her.
Jenny walked out of the camp. Moving through the forest, her instincts sharpened, the old fear reasserting itself. Forests were dangerous. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath her bare feet. She’d forgotten her mud-clogged shoes. Backtracking, she found them on the edge of their hiding place. The mud had dried, so she scraped it off and slipped the shoes onto her feet. If only she had the rest of her own clothes. Maybe Jack had finished and they were already dry in this warm air. She set off again, picking her way through the forest, back toward the river.
She hadn’t gone far when she saw the tree. Not as big or as impressive as many of the others around her. It was a small, twisted hawthorn, gnarled and ancient. Its branches carried both white clumps of sweetly scented flowers, and sharp thorns. And tied amid the branches, from the lowest to the highest, were scraps of white cloth. They fluttered in the breeze. Jenny reached up to touch the nearest rag and shied away again as she recognized it. The remains of the nightdress.
She recoiled, her breath caught like a lump in her throat.
“There you are,” Puck said sleepily, his voice emerging from the undergrowth a moment before him. “Don’t wander off. It’s dangerous.” She glanced down, irritated that he’d appeared. “Don’t scowl at me, lass. Jack said I was to keep you safe when he’s not here. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, barely trusts me. Made me swear binding oaths. My life wouldn’t be worth dirt if anything happened to you.”
A rustling in the bushes ahead made them both stop, frozen on the narrow path, fixed in place by a jolt of sudden fear. There was something in the bushes, something small and furtive, coming closer.
“Down,” Puck barked. “Use the cloak to hide. Stay still.”
Jenny drew in a breath and dropped to her knees, the leaf cloak camouflaging her against anything that might come out. She made herself small and still. Waited.
Then she realized, Puck was gone. Completely gone.
So much for her fearless oath-bound protector.
A tiny figure, like something a child might make from clay, lichen, and fungus, tumbled out from under the bush, dragging a sycamore leaf twice its size after it. Jenny made a surprised sound and it twisted around in front of her, baring its teeth and a tiny knife. The obsidian blade flashed in the late afternoon light and they both froze, staring at each other.
The little creature took in the cloak she wore and slowly lowered the knife. Jenny allowed herself to breathe again. The thing retreated, dragging the leaf after itself, then stopped suddenly and tried to jump up at the tree, the lowest branches far out of its reach.
Jenny followed its frustrated gaze to a spiderweb spun between the branches of the rag-strewn tree.
“It’s a pixie,” said Puck’s voice from behind her. “It just wants the gossamer. Silly thing. It’s too high. Let it be, let’s go back.”
But Jenny didn’t move. She rose slowly, taking care not to startle the pixie, not to move too fast. She pulled the web free carefully, trying not to break too many strands, and bent, offering the web. The pixie stared at her, jerking forward suddenly to snatch it from her hand, grabbed hold of its leaf again, and took off into the darkness of the undergrowth.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Puck muttered. “Taken it off the tree. May Tree’s magic. It’s dangerous.”
“Right, dangerous. It’s a tree.” She was careful to say it casually, but a chill passed through her. Who was she kidding?
“The Realm is dangerous,” Puck said. “Especially to those who would be kind, like you. Especially when the queen is out and about. Mind you, she’ll follow the river home soon enough and we’ll all breathe more easily.”
“What’s a May Tree?” she asked, ignoring his admonition. He couldn’t know what she was planning. The idea itself was only germinating, and she’d need to pick her moment.
“That is.” He yawned and scratched his rump, referring to the tree tied all over with scraps from the white nightgown.
“The rags, Puck. What are the rags? Did Jack do this?”
Puck froze and then his face fell. “Ah…” he sighed. “Yes, probably. He would do that.”
“Why?” She folded her arms across her chest, the effect of which was lost inside the cloak. But her expression seemed to do the trick.
Puck rolled his eyes to the heavens. “They’re wishes. Each and every one. They’re his wishes.”
“So many?”
“No. Jack only has one wish. But he wishes it a thousand times a day.” Puck turned aside, gazing off through the trees where the song of the river came from. “He dreams of it, dreams of a future. Few creatures in the Realm are so cursed as to live in hope. Poor Jack o’ the Forest, Jack in Green. He only longs to be free.”
chapter eight
It started like a warm summer breeze moving through the trees in late afternoon, a whispering voice in the forest itself. Jack lifted his face to greet it, closed his eyes and inhaled. Sweet summer flowers, all things in the fullness of life…and beneath it, decay, the moment where everything began to eat itself away.
Titania.
It could only be Titania. He shifted, looking around for Jenny and Puck, but they were back at the camp. The river sang on, the clothes hanging to dry in the sunlight. It would be evening soon. But he could not ignore such a summons. Nor did he want to. He only wished he did.
“Your Majesty.” The words stuck in his throat, bitter, but her pleasure broke over him in a wave of sweet fragrance. A series of notes rang out in the air, a trill of magic in the music. Light exploded inside his mind and he cried out wordlessly at the shock of pain.
And then he was gone from the forest.
He stood instead on her marble floor, its surface shining, inlaid with intricate patterns of roses and thorns made of many shades of stone. This was her audience chamber, the great mirrors lining the walls reflecting everything a thousand times, capturing light from the high windows overhead, multiplying it until it filled every corner. It was like standing in the center of a cut diamond. Countless Jacks, with the same blue and green eyes, gazed back at him. He shivered. But held his ground. To show weakness before Titania was suicide.
Beautiful as the sun itself, she stood before him in a gown of pale green that hugged her neck, her arms, her torso, but fell away in a sweep of silk from her slender hips. Her golden hair was arranged to emphasize the elegant curve of her neck and the porcelain smoothness of her heart-shaped face. Everything artfully prepared to show her beauty, and it worked. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The queen. His queen. His heart sped up, hammering against his rib cage. She smiled to see him, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and opened her arms in welcome.
“It has been a very long time, Jack.”
Not long enough. The thought sprang up. But he couldn’t speak the words even if he’d dared. Even if he’d wanted to. Here, in her domain, her power held sway—over him, over everyone. He was only a creature of Faerie. She was its queen.
He struggled to clear his head, forced his shoulders to relax, his hands to loosen, though he kept his weight on the balls of his feet.
They weren’t alone, of course. The queen was never alone. With effort, he dragged his eyes away from her. Two blank-eyed servants in their dove-gray clothes stood at either side of her throne in the great mirrored room, awaiting her command. Jack didn’t need to look in the mirror to know t
hat behind him, three shallow steps fell away to the vast lower part of the chamber. He could hear the drone of her courtiers, elegantly beautiful Sidhe lords and ladies, standing where the queen’s balls and entertainments took place, perfectly positioned so she could look down on them all. They hovered in their fine clothes, perfect hands covering perfect mouths, sharp smiles reflected a million times over as they laughed at him, at his freakish apparel and wild appearance.
In the mirror, Jack’s eyes picked out another figure. Beyond the queen’s courtiers, alone in a corner and watching everything with flat and passionless eyes, stood her piper. Of course Titania had retrieved him. She always got what she wanted. So now he waited on her. Waited to be called upon, waited to be of service. His silver flute in hand, he gazed at the queen in rapt adoration. And there was no mistaking him.
Jenny’s brother.
He looked like her—the same coloring, the same brown eyes—and yet not like her at all. Aloof, cold. Familiar, though. Jack had seen the piper often enough. He’d grown to manhood in the Realm, and that left its mark in the coolness of his gaze, in the disdain that clung to his every expression. A far cry from the boy Jack had found in the forest seven years ago, this man. He should have noticed the resemblance in Jenny when he first saw her, but he hadn’t been looking for it. He’d only been trying to get rid of the girl. And now within reach was the one thing that might make her leave the Realm. Not that he could bring her brother to her. The queen would not stand for that, and neither, Jack suspected, would the piper.
Jack studied the young man’s reflection, trying to work out how he could use this knowledge to his advantage, before he realized, too late, that he had taken his eyes off Titania. Never wise.
She stood too close. Far too close, the scent of roses that clung to her encircling him as well. Her fingertips brushed his cheek and she laughed when he flinched away.
“I’d forgotten how handsome you are, Jack.”
He took an involuntary pace backward and Titania followed him, matching him step for step. Theirs was an old dance. He knew it well and it never failed to seduce him into thinking things might end differently this time.
“Nothing to say?”
His voice finally found a way of escape, even if it was at her implied command. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I want to talk,” she said lightly. Her hand caught his wrist, closing on it like a vise. His pulse thundered beneath her touch. The pressure was both intimate and threatening. “Are you guarding her, Jack? Keeping her safe? Taking her to him?”
Venom dripped from the final word and he saw the flash of sharp teeth behind those full and luscious lips.
“I’m doing my duty, Your Majesty. The one with which I was charged.”
“Ah yes, your duty.” She glanced down the great mirrored hall to where the piper stood, now staring blankly into the fire. He seemed to sense the queen’s eyes on him and turned; his gaze, though without passion, lit at the sight of her. “You’re remarkably good at that, Jack o’ the Forest. No one better.” She didn’t release him. Instead, she leaned in closer, peering into his eyes as if to see all his secrets. “You never call me ‘my queen.’ Everyone else does. Why would that be, Jack?”
Her lips were too close to his. Her presence stole his breath. Even though he was aware she was throwing every glamour she had against him, even though he knew the being beneath this charade and all that she was capable of, he still wanted to kiss her. He licked his lips, his face turning toward hers—
Wires of pain shot through him, breaking the creeping tendrils of her enchantments, and he felt suddenly sick with himself. His curse protected him, and damned him. It kept him from Titania, and kept him free of her.
Still Titania didn’t release him. Her grip only tightened. “Do you remember what it was like, Jack? Before, I mean. When you weren’t”—she brushed her silken fingertips against his cheekbones, underlining each eye—“as you are now?”
Remember? Of course he remembered. It was seared into his mind. The power, the strength, the pure wonder of freedom. She must have seen it in his eyes, on his face, in the tight line of his mouth.
Titania tilted her head. “I can give that back to you, Jack.”
The hall grew quiet with expectation. The light through the high windows cast crimson-gold bands around the room. Outside, the sky would be turning red.
Chains of iron seemed to be crushing his ribs, and Jack realized he had stopped breathing. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t. He belonged to Oberon. They both knew that. Unless she and Oberon had worked out a deal…But Titania never bartered. It had always been orders, or threats, or simply torment. Never cajoling. Titania didn’t need to offer honey when her sting was so vicious.
She turned away, luring him after her as she swept up the steps to her Rose Throne and to the mirror beyond it. He staggered to a halt at her side and tried not to look into the mirrored glass, staring at his feet instead. He couldn’t listen to her. What she implied, what she could be promising—it was too much. The thought of it dangling so close and yet still out of reach. Freedom. His mouth was dry. Oberon would never allow it, would unleash all his fury if he even thought she was suggesting it. And Titania would never make such an offer, veiled or not, unless Jack had something she wanted.
For the queen surely wanted something in return.
Jack forced his mind to calmness. He stood straight, spread his feet on the cold marble floor, and made himself look up.
Titania stood just behind him, facing the mirror. Her free hand shook as she smoothed back her golden hair from her face. She hid it through sheer force of will and an expertise gained from centuries of being watched. But Jack could feel it when he stood so close to her, when he forced himself to be detached and wary. She pressed her body to his back, snaked her hand across his chest and rested her cheek against his upper arm. He shuddered.
His eyes followed her every move. He couldn’t stop watching her.
And neither could her reflection.
She lifted her eyes to meet those opposite her and Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out.
They weren’t Titania’s eyes staring back. Mab, dwelling within her like a malignant spider at the center of a web, peered out at him. Not a trace of Titania’s seduction now. Her gimlet gaze made him quake inside as ancient half-remembered nightmares surged to the edge of his mind. Titania’s heart beat so hard he could feel it through his own body. She drew a breath, trying to calm herself. Even after so many centuries, the terror never died. He knew it as well as she did. It bonded them together, the fear. Mab ate at their shared past like a cancer.
And the old queen was hungry again.
“What do you want?” Jack said steadily.
A smile flickered over the mouth inside the mirror, a movement that did not originate in Titania’s smooth face.
“A May Queen has come. I sense her in the forest, in the water, changing things as she journeys toward us. Jack knows. Oh yes, he knows it too well.”
Mab’s voice snaked around them both, a voice like old nails scratching on dry skin. It reeked of malice, of hatred and bloodlust. Mab was old, older than any of them. She kept to the old ways, forcing Titania to do the same when she willed it. And the old ways cried for blood.
Titania’s voice was music in comparison. “Then we must get rid of her.”
“She’s too precious to kill. We need her. She will make us young and whole again.”
“We are young.” Titania ran her hands down her body. It should have been seductive, a demonstration of her beauty. But it wasn’t. Jack shivered, his skin contracting around a frame that was suddenly too large for it. “And whole. Beautiful. What more do you want?”
Mab laughed, mocking laughter that rang around the room, bouncing off the mirrored walls. Jack wanted to recoil, but didn’t dare show any weakness. He stood as still as a tree with deep roots before the storm. Titania’s grip crushed him. She was afraid. Very afraid. As w
ell she might be. He pitied her, but that didn’t make him want to help her, or make him loathe her any less. He had made that mistake before.
“And are we innocent? She’s fresh blood. Her heart is so full, so ripe. She knows not what she is, what power she could wield. Her innocence, her heart, her will. Her choice. She knows not what it could mean. And she’s ours. She must be. Quickly, before Oberon claims her. Time is short.”
The mirror image lifted a small casket, rosewood inlayed with gold, carved with filigree designs. The catch was a golden heart pierced with a knife. Behind him, Titania’s arms jerked up like those of a puppet, mirroring Mab’s movements perfectly. Her hands slid up the sides of Jack’s body. And came to rest on either side of his torso. In the mirror, the casket glimmered in the center of his chest.
The metal heart gleamed red in the reflected light.
“You were a hunter, before you were a guardian.” Titania’s breath played against his ear, stirring his hair. She had pushed her fear of Mab aside to be all seduction once more. He longed to give in. It would be so much easier. But he couldn’t. It was just a glamour, just her magic working on him. It would beguile him, trick him, use him. “To be free, you just have to hunt again, Jack.”
Jack swallowed. “I can’t,” he said, straining to keep his voice even. “You promise more than you can deliver.”
“Do we?” Mab laughed, the sound clawing at him. “I think you forget my power, Jack o’ the Forest. Oberon certainly does. Underestimating your foe is certain defeat.”
Mab held the casket out to them, an offering. Jack stared, hypnotized by horror and need as it moved closer to the glass and then, with only the slightest resistance of reality, pushed through. The mirror bulged, distorting their images. The hag who appeared in Titania’s place grinned, revealing needle-like teeth. Titania released him and he almost sagged to his knees but struggled to stay upright. At the first show of weakness, Mab would slash his throat before his heart could beat again. She’d drink down his blood and his strength. She’d promised it, so long ago, and Jack knew she was only biding her time. She used Titania as her agent in the world because it suited her, because despite her strength the current queen would never be as powerful as the old one. Strength and power were different things.
The Treachery of Beautiful Things Page 8