A Kiss of Shadows

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I gave his arm a little squeeze. “I think I missed you.”

  “I know I missed you. No one else at court knows what the hell film noir means.”

  “I most certainly do,” said Doyle.

  We both looked at him.

  “It means dark film, correct?”

  Rhys and I looked at each other and started to laugh. We walked down the hallway to the echoes of our own laughter. Doyle didn’t join in. He kept saying things like, “It means dark film, doesn’t it?”

  It made the last few yards to my aunt’s private chambers almost fun.

  Chapter 27

  ONCE THE DOUBLE DOORS OPENED, THE STONE CHANGED. MY AUNT’S chamber, my queen’s chamber, was formed of black stone. A shiny, nearly glasslike stone that looked as if it should shatter at a heavy touch. You could strike it with steel and all you got were colored sparks. It looked like obsidian, but it was infinitely stronger.

  Frost stood as close to the door leading into the room as he could, and as far away from the queen. He stood very straight, a shining silver figure in all that blackness, but there was something about the way he held himself that said he was near the door for a reason—a quick getaway, maybe.

  The bed was against the far wall, though it was so covered in sheets, blankets, and even furs that it was hard to say whether it was a bed or merely a gigantic pile of covers. There was a man in the bed, a young man. His hair was summer blond, cut long on top and short half way down, a skater’s cut. His body was tanned a soft gold from the summer or maybe a tanning bed. One slender arm was flung outward into space, hand limp. He seemed deeply asleep and terribly young. If he was under eighteen, it was illegal in any state, because my aunt was fey and the humans didn’t trust us with their children.

  The queen rose from the far side of him, emerging slowly from the nest of covers and a spill of black fur that was only a little blacker than the hair that swept back from her pale face. She’d pulled the hair atop her head until it seemed to form a black crown, except for three long curls trailing down her back. The bodice of the dress looked very much like a black vinyl merry widow with two thin lines of sheer black cloth that graced her white shoulders more than covered them. The skirt was full and thick, spilling behind her in a short train; it looked like shiny leather but moved like cloth. Her arms were encased in leather gloves that went the entire length of her arm. Her lips were red, her eye makeup dark and perfect. Her eyes were three different shades of grey, from charcoal, to storm cloud, to a pale winter’s sky. The last color was a grey so pale that it looked white. Set in the dark makeup, her eyes were extraordinary.

  Once upon a time, the queen had been able to dress herself in spider-webs, darkness, shadows—bits and pieces of things she governed over would form clothing at her will. But now she was stuck with designer clothes and her own personal tailor. It was just one more sign of how far we’d fallen in power. My uncle, the king of the Seelie Court, could still clothe himself in light and illusion. Some thought it proved the Seelie Court was stronger than the Unseelie Court. Anyone who thought that was careful not to say it in front of Aunt Andais.

  Her standing had revealed a second man, though he was sidhe and not mortal. It was Eamon, the royal consort. His hair was black and fell in soft, thick waves around his white face. His eyes were heavy-lidded either from sleep . . . or other things.

  Frost and Rhys hurried to the queen’s side. They each took a leather-clad hand. They braced her at hand and elbow and lifted her over the blond man. The black skirt swirled around her, giving a glimpse of layers of black petticoats, and a pair of black patent leather sandals that left most of her foot bare. As they lifted her and set her gracefully on the floor, I half expected music to begin and dancers to appear from nowhere. My aunt was certainly capable of the illusion.

  I dropped to one knee, and my dress had enough give to make the gesture look graceful. The material would spring back into place once I stood, which was one of the reasons I’d chosen it. The garter was pressed in outline against the material, but all you could tell under the burgundy cloth was that I was wearing at least one garter—the knife didn’t show. I didn’t bow my head yet. The queen was putting on a show. She wanted to be watched.

  Queen Andais was a tall woman even by today’s standards: six feet. Her skin glowed like polished alabaster. The perfect black line of eyebrows and the thick black of her lashes were an almost startling contrast.

  I bowed my head at last because it was expected. I kept my head bowed low so that all I could see was the floor and my own leg. I heard her skirt slither across the floor. Her heels made sharp sounds as they passed from throw rug to stone floor. Why she didn’t get wall-to-wall carpet escaped me. The petticoats crinkled and hissed together as she walked toward me, and I knew they were crinoline, scratchy and uncomfortable next to the skin.

  Finally, a spill of black skirt showed on the floor at my foot. Her voice was a low, rich contralto. “Greetings, Princess Meredith NicEssus, Child of Peace, Besaba’s Bane, my brother’s child.”

  I kept my head bowed, and would until told otherwise. She had not called me niece, though she had acknowledged our kinship. It was a slight insult not to name my familial relationship to her, but until she named me niece I couldn’t name her my aunt. “Greetings, Queen Andais, Queen of Air and Darkness, Lover of White Flesh, Sister of Essus, my father. I have come from the lands to the west at your request. What would you have of me?”

  “I’ve never understood how you do that,” she said.

  I kept my gaze on the floor. “What, my queen?”

  “How you can say exactly the right words with exactly the right tone of voice and still sound insincere, as if you find it all terribly, terribly tiresome.”

  “My apologies if I offend you, my queen.” That was as safe an answer to the charge as I could make because I did find it all terribly, terribly tiresome. I just hadn’t meant for it to show so clearly in my voice. I stayed kneeling, head bowed, waiting for her to tell me I could stand. Even two-inch heels were not meant for prolonged kneeling in this position. They made it hard not to wobble. If Andais wished, she could leave me just as I was for hours, until my entire leg fell asleep except for a point of agony on the knee where nearly all my weight rested. My record for kneeling had been six hours after I’d broken curfew when I was seventeen. It would have been longer, but I either fell asleep or fainted, I really wasn’t sure which.

  “You cut your hair,” she said.

  I was starting to memorize the texture of the floor. “Yes, my queen.”

  “Why did you cut it?”

  “Having hair nearly to your ankles marks you as high court sidhe. I’ve been passing as human.”

  I felt her lean over me, her hand lifting my hair, running her fingers through it. “So you sacrificed your hair.”

  “It is much easier to care for at this length,” I said, voice as neutral as I could make it.

  “Get up, niece of mine.”

  I rose slowly, carefully in the high heels. “Thank you, Aunt Andais.” Standing, I was woefully short compared to her tall slender presence. With the heels she was over a foot taller than me. Most of the time I’m not that aware that I’m short, but my aunt tried to make me aware of it. She tried to make me feel small.

  I looked up at her and fought not to shake my head and sigh. Next to Cel, Andais was my least favorite part of the Unseelie Court. I looked up at her with calm eyes and fought very hard not to sigh out loud.

  “Am I boring you?” she asked.

  “No, Aunt Andais, of course not.” My expression had not betrayed me. I’d had years to practice the polite blank expression. But Andais had had centuries to perfect her study of people. She couldn’t truly read our minds, but her awareness of the slightest change in body language, breath, was almost as good as true telepathy.

  Andais stared down at me, a small frown forming between her perfect brows. “Eamon, take our pet and have him dress you for the banquet, in the other room.”
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  The royal consort pulled a purple brocade robe from the tangle of bed clothes, slipping it over his body before he climbed out of the bed. The sash had been tied behind the back of the robe so it no longer closed over his body. His hair fell in a tangle of black waves nearly to his ankles. The dark purple of the robe didn’t so much hide his body as act as a frame for the pale glimpses you got as he moved across the floor.

  He gave a small nod as he passed me. I nodded back. He laid a gentle kiss on Andais’s cheek and walked toward the small door that led into the smaller bedroom and bathroom beyond. One modern convenience that the court had adopted was indoor plumbing.

  The blonde sat on the edge of the bed, naked as well. He stood stretching his body in a long tanned line of flesh. His eyes flicked to me as he did it. When he realized I was watching, he smiled. The smile was predatory, lascivious, aggressive. The human “pets” always misunderstood the casual nudity of the guards.

  The blonde stalked toward us putting a swing in his step. The pun was intended. It wasn’t the nudity that made me uncomfortable. It was the look in his eyes.

  “I take it he’s new,” I said.

  Andais watched the man with cool eyes. He had to be very new not to realize what that look meant. She was not happy with him, not happy at all.

  “Tell him what you think of his display, niece.” Her voice was very quiet, but there was an undertone to it that you could almost taste on your tongue like something bitter in among the sweet.

  I looked him over from his bare feet to his fresh haircut and every inch in between. He grinned as I did it, drifting closer to me, as if the look were an invitation. I decided to take the smile out of his step.

  “He’s young, he’s pretty, but Eamon is better endowed.”

  That stopped the mortal and made him frown, the smile returning to his face but uncertain now.

  “I don’t believe he knows what ‘endowed’ means,” Andais said.

  I looked at her. “You never did choose them for their intellect,” I said.

  “One does not talk to one’s pet, Meredith. You should know that by now.”

  “If I want a pet, I’ll get a dog. This . . .” I motioned at the man, “is a little too high-maintence for me.”

  The man was frowning, looking from one to the other of us, obviously not happy and also confused. Andais had broken one of my cardinal rules for sex. No matter how careful you are, you can end up pregnant. That’s what sex is designed to do, after all. So, never sleep with someone who’s mean or stupid, and ugly is a judgment call, because all three may breed true. The blonde was cute but not cute enough to make up for the frowning puzzlement on his face.

  “Go with Eamon. Help him dress for the banquet,” Andais said.

  “May I come to the ball tonight, my lady?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. She turned back to me as if he ceased to exist.

  He looked at me again, and there was a sullen anger there. He knew I’d insulted him but wasn’t quite sure how. The look made me shiver. There were people at court a lot less pretty than her new “pet” that I’d have slept with first.

  “You disapprove,” she said.

  “It would be presumptuous of me to approve or disapprove of the actions of my queen,” I said.

  She laughed. “There you go again, saying exactly what you should say but making it sound like an insult all the same.”

  “Forgive me,” I said and started to drop back to one knee.

  She stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Don’t, Meredith, don’t. The night will not last forever, and you are staying at a hotel tonight. So we haven’t much time.” She withdrew her hand without hurting me. “We certainly don’t have time to play games, do we?”

  I looked at her, studied her smiling face, and tried to decide if she were sincere or if it was a trap of some kind. I finally said, “If you wish to play games, my queen, then I am honored to be included. If there is business to be done, then I am honored to be included in that, as well, Aunt Andais.”

  She laughed again. “Oh, good girl, to remind me that you are my niece, my blood kin. You fear my mood, distrust it, so you remind me of your value to me. Very good.”

  It didn’t seem to be a question, so I said nothing because she was absolutely right.

  She looked at my face, but said, “Frost.”

  He came to her, head bowed. “My queen.”

  “Go to your room and change into the clothes that I had made for you to wear tonight.”

  He dropped to one knee. “The clothes did not . . . fit, my queen.”

  I watched the light die in her eyes, leaving them as cold and empty as a white winter sky. “Yes,” she said, “they did. They were literally tailor-made for you.” She grabbed a handful of his silver hair and jerked his face up to meet her gaze. “Why are you not wearing them?”

  He licked his lips. “My queen, I found the other clothing uncomfortable.”

  She put her head to one side the way a crow looks at a hanging man’s eyes before it plucks them out. “Uncomfortable, uncomfortable. Do you hear that, Meredith? He found the clothes I had made for him uncomfortable.” She pulled his head backward until his neck was a long exposed line of flesh. I could see the pulse in his neck jump against his skin.

  “I heard you, Aunt Andais,” I said, and this time my voice was as neutral as I could make it, bland and empty as a new penny. Someone was about to get hurt, and I didn’t want it to be me. Frost was a fool. I’d have worn the clothes.

  “What do you think we should do with our disobedient Frost?” she asked.

  “Have him go to his room and change into the clothes,” I said.

  She pulled his head back until his spine bowed and I knew she could snap his neck with just a little more pressure. “That is hardly punishment enough, niece. He disobeyed a direct order of mine. That is not allowed.”

  I tried to think of something Andais would find amusing, but wouldn’t actually be painful for Frost. My mind went blank. I’d never been good at this particular game. Then I had an idea.

  “You said we wouldn’t be playing any more games tonight, Aunt Andais. The night is short.”

  She released Frost so abruptly that he fell to the floor on all fours. He stayed kneeling, head bowed, silver hair hiding his face like a convenient curtain.

  “So I did,” Andais said. “Doyle.”

  Doyle came to her side, bowing his head. “M’lady?”

  She looked at him, and the look was enough. He dropped to the floor onto one knee. The cloak spilled out around him like black water. He stayed kneeling beside Frost, so close their bodies nearly touched.

  She put a hand on both their heads, a light touch this time. “Such a pretty pair, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Yes, what?” she said.

  “Yes, they are a pretty pair, Aunt Andais,” I said.

  She nodded as if pleased. “I charge you, Doyle, to take Frost to his room and see that he puts on the clothes I had made for him. Bring him to the banquet in those clothes or deliver him over to Ezekial for torture.”

  “As m’lady wishes, so shall it be done,” Doyle said. He stood, drawing Frost to his feet, a hand on the taller man’s arm.

  They both began to back toward the door, heads bowed. Doyle flashed me a look as they moved away. He might have been apologizing for leaving me with her, without him, or warning against something. I couldn’t decipher the look. But he left the room with my gun still in his waistband. I’d have liked to have had the gun.

  Rhys moved so he’d be by the door like a good guard. Andais watched him move the way cats watch birds, but what she said was mild enough, “Wait outside the door, Rhys. I wish to speak with my niece in private.”

  The surprise showed on his face. He glanced at me, the look on his face almost asking my permission.

  “Do as you are told—or do you wish to join the others in Ezekial’s workplace?”

  Rhys bowed his head. “No, my lady.
I will do as I am told.”

  “Get out,” she said.

  He left with one more quick glance for me, but he closed the door behind him. The room was suddenly very, very quiet. The sound of my aunt’s dress moving along the floor was loud in the stillness, like the dry rustling scales of some great serpent. She walked to the far end of the room where steps led to a heavy black curtain. She flicked the curtain aside to reveal a heavy wooden table with a carved chair at one side and a backless stool at the other. There was a chess game laid out on the round table, the heavy pieces worn smooth from centuries of hands shifting them across the marble surface. There were literally grooves worn in the marble board like paths worn by tramping feet.

  Against the rounded wall of the large alcove was a wooden gun case full of rifles and handguns. There were two crossbows on the wall above the gun case. I knew the arrows were underneath in the closed doors of the bottom of the case, along with the ammunition. There was a morning star like a heavy spiked ball on a chain and a mace mounted to one side of the gun case. They were crossed like the crossed swords on the other side of the case. A huge shield with Andais’s livery of raven, owl, and red rose on its surface was underneath the mace and morning star. Eamon’s shield was underneath the crossed swords. There were chains in the wall set for wrist and ankle on either side. There were hooks above the chains where a whip lay coiled like a waiting snake. A smaller whip hung above the right-hand side’s chains. I would have called it a cat-o’-nine-tails, but it had many more tails than that, each one weighted with a small iron ball or a steel hook.

  “I see your hobbies haven’t changed,” I said. I tried for neutral, but my voice betrayed me. Sometimes when she swept back that curtain, you played chess. Sometimes, you didn’t.

  “Come, Meredith, sit. Let us talk.” She sat in the high-backed chair, spilling the train of her dress over one arm so it wouldn’t wrinkle. She motioned me to the stool. “Sit down, Niece. I won’t bite.” She smiled, then gave an abrupt laugh. “Not yet, anyway.”