"I believe so."
"Then she should shine brightest. Should at least give us clue
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where to begin the search. Darkness would have served far better to sight the charm, but clouds mar the sun this day. Trust me, Gossamyr." He touched the hem of her sleeve. In his eyes danced a trust that overruled the illicit touch. "I will help you locate this red lady."
She moved forward, bending, and brought her face directly before his—close enough for Faery. "And in return you expect me to lead you to the unicorn?"
"Sounds a fair trade."
"What if 1 refuse?"
Ulrich sighed and leaned back against the curved stone wall of the tower. "Then I wager I am on my own. But you may yet favor a guide."
"You are no more familiar with Paris than I, soul shepherd."
"Think you? You do not know the truth of me, faery princess."
With that curious comment, he unwrapped a length of dark twisted plant leaves. Cranesbill, Gossamyr guessed, for the pungent odor. A charm for the eye.
You commit ajoul sin against your own!
But could it be so wrong if it ultimately served to save Faery from a dire fate?
"I do this for Faery, and Faery is my home," she whispered, "so I do this for myself. Selfish..."
"Yes, yes. But what makes Gossamyr of Glamoursiege happy? Do you even know?"
"A silent soul shepherd, 'tis what gives me happiness."
"Sorry, can't help you there."
"Can you be quick about it?" She scanned the sky, her sight fell on the fetch. "Shoo!" She flapped her hands, but the fetch remained.
"Your father watching?"
"He once banished a man from Faery simply because he was a Rougethorn. Rougethorns dabble in magic."
"I see. And so, your father will see you dabbling? Through the fetch?"
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With one eye to the keenly perched fetch, Gossamyr vacillated for but a moment. "It is what must be done."
"I like you, Faery Not. Have I mentioned that? You're bold. And you sparkle. Now." Ulrich stood and handed Gossamyr the mortar. 'Twas heavy and cool in her palms like a river stone dredged up from the muddy depths. Inside, a fine dark powder glimmered much like the fee's natural blazon. "If you'll hold this while I summon the elements?"
"You can do this?"
"Have faith in me, fair lady." A glance to the fetch narrowed Ulrich 's eyes. "Shinn, do not fault your daughter for this magic. It is a necessary device to locate your villainess." He tipped a wink to the fetch.
With a tilt of his head and a shrug of his shoulders, Ulrich began a strange ritual. 'Twas as if he were shaking and loosening every limb in his body.
Gossamyr watched with a mixture of doubt, mirth and interest as the soul shepherd went into a remarkable concoction of gyrations accompanied by strange humming. He spread his legs and shook out his arms and shoulders, the movement traveling to his head as he rotated and worked it upon his neck. Finally he snapped to a position and hummed. "Hmm... Hmm, hmm, hmmm."
Never had she witnessed such display. Once a wizard—a practitioner of magic—had infiltrated Faery and had been given the guest treatment by her father. She wondered if the old wizard still danced the endless dance. 'Twas very possible. The mortal had no right to enter Faery unannounced; that punishment had been fitting.
A funny noise brought Gossamyr's attention back to Ulrich. He blew air through his mouth, vibrating his lips. Just what were the requirements for magic?
Eyes closed, Ulrich then clapped together his palms. His arms splayed back behind him, he gave a jump and a spin to face her. Arching his back, he opened himself to the air. Spreading his arms
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wide out to his sides, he beckoned the elements and began the low hum in his throat.
"Spread far, dance wide, become my eyes." With a decisive nod, Ulrich silently took the mortar from Gossamyr and held it high above his head. "Track the faery souls—"
"Essences!" Gossamyr interrupted.
"Er.. .essences hidden in the shadows. Sift through the masks of the common and illuminate that we wish to see. So mote it be!"
The mixture inside the mortar fluttered upward, spiraling into a glittering swirl. Tiny stars fallen from the heavens, Gossamyr mused, seeking to claim their original position. A gust of warm summer air dispersed the spell. She dashed to the balustrade and stretched out her arms. The particles danced and swooped and began to descend over the city.
"It is working," Ulrich whispered.
"You are surprised?"
"Yes!"
Unaware of how close the man stood, Gossamyr jerked her attention from the bespelled particles and looked upon Ulrich's face. Awestruck, he watched his spell take shape. Slack, his open mouth revealed the gap in the upper row of brilliant white teeth. Not a single line of age traced his flesh. Very near to her age? Not with a daughter grown and gone. And yet, he had not lived those stolen years. Mayhap they two were peers?
She touched his chin, fine stubble wobbled under her finger pads. Startled, he turned to her, and Gossamyr repressed a sigh. There in the centers of his dark pupils glimmered a spotlight, the origin of the bespelled particles. Exotic. She tilted her head, meeting Ulrich's mouth with her lips.
Softly she accepted his kiss. Like fire sparkles to her being, the connection quickened through her. Prinkles of energy snapped all along her extremities. Buried desires emerged. She felt want, a pining, seductive want.
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This mortal passion, it was sweet. So.. .natural. Easy to fall into.
Quickly, Gossamyr pulled back. The fetch was nowhere to be seen. Still lingering in the throes of passion, a smile could not be suppressed. A second brief but sweet kiss followed close behind.
"So mote it be?" Ulrich said with a charming grin twinkling in his eyes.
"I..." Startled at her brazenness, Gossamyr turned away, locking her arms over the balustrade. Still the smile would not leave her lips. In fact, a silly grin formed and she could but shake her head. "Forgive me, that was most uncalled for."
"Never."
"Ulrich! You are a married man."
"Whose wife has taken another man and chased me away with a huge, hurting stone."
Gossamyr reminded herself: The mortal was without ties. A giddiness filled her. Joy, such as discovering a secret hiding place. Yes, that be mine! I claim it.
He belongs to no one else.
She could secretly claim any man she wished. Yet she had been spoken for.
A kiss, one perfect kiss. 'Tis bone. Just.. .enjoy tbejeeling.
Indeed. Releasing a truly spontaneous smile upon Ulrich, Gossamyr said, "I liked that."
"Kissing has been known to bring great delight."
"But we must not do it again."
"Think you?" He leaned against the balustrade, casually crossing his ankles. "Saving yourself for a handsome faery man who will sweep you off your feet—literally?"
"No. " Yes. The wedding had been arranged. Be the groom willing or otherwise. Face your truths! "Yes."
"What if you cannot return—" Ulrich tilted a look outward, scanning the city scape. "Dragon piss!"
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"What?" Gossamyr followed Ulrich's line of vision. Thin rays of sunlight bursting through the clouds painted the red-roof tiles a brilliant orange. Shadows stretched long behind jutting towers and chimneys. Everywhere sparkled the alicorn dust. Surely, hundreds of lights, like a midnight skyscape fallen to earth. "There are so many."
"The city is verily infested with those from Faery."
"We'll never find her now."
"Mayhap we can." Ulrich pointed toward the palace plopped at the end of the island. "Do you notice some lights are brighter than others? Only few really stand out."
"The weak ones must be the Disenchanted."
"I thought all fee in the city were Disenchanted?"
"Or very near. Perhaps the brighter are the strongest and newer fee.
Disenchantment requires a few days. And if she is stealing the essence of the fee she must possess Enchantment untold. We must seek the brightest—"
"That one over there, near the Conciergerie."
"Where?" She knew not the city, nor the buildings, and followed Ulrich's directions as he pointed out next to the palace the Conciergerie—a jail, as he explained—then, across the bridge from another large cathedral, the wide-open square of the Place de Greve.
"Or there!" She pointed to a particular light twinkling brightly at the edge of the city.
"Doubtful." Ulrich sighed and settled his chin in palm. "'Tis the castle of St. Antoine—the Bastille. Another prison. I wager your bloody succubus has not hidden herself away there."
Gossamyr tried to determine where Ulrich looked now, but it seemed he stretched his gaze along her cap-a-pie. "What be to you?"
"Hmm? Oh. Er, n'importe."
Avoiding the question. So unlike the man.
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"Can you see my light?"
"Oh?"
Gossamyr looked over her body and all around and above her head. Stretching out an arm, she slid her palm over the soft yellow gown, hoping to see a glint from the spell. A frantic wave of her arm proved fruitless. The sudden disappearance of the sun behind a cloud shadowed her body. Not a glow, not a glimmer.
"I have not been marked, have I?"
"Well..."
"I am.. .unremarkable? Tell me true." She needed to know! This man was the only one she trusted.
"It is likely the Disenchantment. Mustn't worry, Faery N—er, my lady."
She nodded, and yet knew she had not been marked. That Ul-rich would not tell her troubled. Why did he seek to protect her, and from what? The emotions he so relentlessly strove to dig up from her depths?
"I'm sorry, Gossamyr. I thought the spell would be successful."
"It has been." She squeezed his shoulder. "It worked too well. Let's begin with those sights close by."
He gathered his supplies into the saddlebag and they began to circle down the stairs. Disregarding the darkness and the cold stone, she traced her fingertips along the curving walls. The short steps and tight twists enclosed Gossamyr in her thoughts.
Do you know the truth ofyourseip
Why had she not been marked? The Disenchanted had been. Was it her mortal blood? Did it alter the spell, blinding it to her fee half? Perhaps Ulrich had merely been too close? Close enough for Faery, not nearly close enough for her newly kissed desires.
"Likely we need to view my light from above," she called up to Ulrich.
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"Certainly, that is the case."
As they gained the last dozen steps, Ulrich's voice was low but close to Gossamyr. "So, are we to pretend it never happened?"
Pressing to the wall and looking up to him, Gossamyr feigned ignorance. A teasing gesture. It took all her determination to keep the smile from her mouth. She picked at a tuft of fur at her shoulder. "What never happened?"
"That kiss. Two kisses, actually."
Ah. Touching her lips invited a silly grin to her face. "Of course it happened," she offered slowly. "I kissed you because I wanted to."
"Will you kiss me again?"
Blue eyes on a white sky. Exotic, he. "Mayhap. If you are worthy."
"Ah, I am always up for a challenge put forth by a beautiful lady. Were I a knight, I should wear your favor onto the tournament lists."
"Were you a knight, you should come to arms against me in the tournament lists."
Ulrich's chuckle echoed in the twisting stone stairway. His final step as he brushed past Gossamyr swept a shimmer of feeling through her. Touched. Connected. For a moment they two had spoken silently their needs. It was a moment she planned to hold for ever in her heart. A heart that would need sweet memories to endure a loveless marriage.
As he turned to bow to her, Ulrich misstepped and stumbled. The saddlebag spilled its contents.
Gossamyr lunged to catch up the mortar and pestle and the al-icorn. The blade he'd been using to scrape at the base of the al-icorn landed the ground at Ulrich's toe, but a hair from doing harm. Fine particles of the alicorn glittered upon the tiled stone floor of the cathedral. She scooped up everything.
The mortar tucked inside the bags, Gossamyr stood, ready to chuckle at the man's clumsiness and offer a chiding remark, when Ulrich's expression silenced her mirth.
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"You cannot touch that thing without pro tec—" he started. "You're holding it."
His sudden awe switched her attention to what she was doing.
"You are holding the alicorn," Ulrich gasped, "in your bare hand."
Indeed she did hold the unicorn's horn against her flesh. She'd picked it up without thought, hadn't been concerned the loose linen wrap had come off from the horn.
Not possible. She must not—
Suddenly a shock of power hit Gossamyr like a blow to the chest. Her arms stretched wide and her body tense, she stood within the vibrations, unable to move but feeling no pain. Something radiated through her being, seeping into her every pore and permeating her veins. 'Twas a remarkable sensation limned with a solemn fear.
She must drop the alicorn. This was a sacred horn. Only the pure could touch it.
"Gossamyr, are you.. .fine and well?"
Ulrich's voice barely edged the sensation surrounding her as if widi a brilliant beam of cool light. She could not utter a reply. 'Twas as if all the magical lights Ulrich had cast across the city gathered in her breast, inflamed but not burning.
"You will lead the unicorn right to us!" he cried. "Keep hold of it, Gossamyr."
"No!" Voicing her fear released Gossamyr from the paralyzing stance. She was able to open her fingers. The alicorn landed the cloth Ulrich had kept it wrapped in.
"What be to you? Something great had begun. A signal or beacon was being sent. The unicorn cannot find us unless you keep hold of the alicorn."
Gasping in breaths, Gossamyr bent at the waist and caught her hands on her knees. "I will not be responsible for luring the unicorn to the Red Lady."
"But it is the only way the unicorn will ever have it back. Please, you must pick it up again."
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"Ulrich." She straightened and, shaking off the lingering prin-kles, toed the cloth carefully over the alicorn. "I journey to the Red Lady. Any man or beast following me—particularly a hornless unicorn—will be endangered. I cannot risk it. In fact, we must hide the alicorn. Yes. Until we can return to it knowing the unicorn will be safe."
"Unthinkable." Ulrich wrapped up the alicorn and replaced it in the saddlebag. "I have taken a vow to protect this horn. It won't leave my sight."
"You vowed to protect it?"
"Yes."
"A few whispered words of prayer as you were being chased by the big bad evils?"
"About like that."
"Sacrilege!"
"To a faith that is not mine, faery! I will give up the search when the devil is blind. It has given me strength when I only wish to close my eyes and... Never mind." He stood and made to stalk off, but Gossamyr caught him by the arm. "It is human-emotion stuff," he spat. "Stuff you would never comprehend, so I will not bother to explain it to you." He tugged his arm from her grip and marched out from the cathedral.
Gossamyr sighed. She comprehended. And that knowing frightened her mightily.
After they had passed through the Porte St. Antoine, Dominique San Juste dismounted Tor and landed the cobbles. When he'd agreed to accompany Tor he'd thought the beast merely in need of a run. Not a trek to Paris. Relentlessly, the stallion had galloped straight on to the outskirts of the capital city. The beast had seemed to fly. Almost.
Now Tor stilled, pricking his tufted white ears. Clanging metal signaled slops being emptied out a window close by, and beyond
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that a baby wailed like the wind. With a glance to Dominique, the beast regarded the changeling with what Domin
ique had come to learn a very sad look.
"I know what you seek, fair friend." Dominique smoothed his palm across the base of Tor's neck. That one spot, there beneath the braided witch locks, pleased him so whenever it was itched. "I will accompany you evermore. Onward?"
The stallion snorted and pawed the ground, hooves scraping hard cobbles. Dominique remounted, and threading a hand through the witch locks—for he never reined the beast—he prepared for the ride. Tor stepped into a regal march. One step, pause to listen, and then another.
Sliding a hand up Tor's mane and leaning forward, Dominique wondered if the bare spot on the forehead of the beast wasn't shining more brilliantly than usual. Could it be Tor had finally located what he had been missing all these years?
NINETEEN
Ill-sprung, this carriage. His jaw clacked as each uneven cobble bit at the rotating wheels. The pin man drew a pin crusted with dried blood beneath his nose, remarking the scent as most curious. Female certainly, as his mistress had remarked. Though not the usual female scent. Strangely, it seemed familiar. Yet.. .exotic. How could that be?
And that the woman had spoken to him with some familiarity struck him harshly. She could not know him, for he did not recognize her. Much as he knew his memories of the past were blurry...
Pressing the heel of his hand to his brow, he winced as he tried to dredge up what he could not touch.
He knew he had been banished from Faery. The markings on his face were the same as the Red Lady's. But while she knew the reason behind her banishment, he couldn't conjure the memory— save for the name Shinn. And that name came to him only because his mistress used it so frequently.
Was the reason for his banishment so evil he'd blocked it from his mind? He did not feel evil. What be evil true? Blood and pain
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and wicked laughter? No. Something deeper, more visceral, like a slug that cleaves inside one's belly.
He did not subscribe to evil. Serving his mistress sickened him. The only reason he did so was because he craved freedom. And there remained the fact he had no choice. The red bitch held him in thrall, his very essence pinned to the marble wall like the others. But unlike the others she was able to keep him alive.
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