Lord of Legends

by Susan Krinard

  And its eyes…The creature stared at Mariah as if it could see her, and its eyes were black. So black that no light could plumb their depths. The same eyes she saw before her, gazing at her from Ash’s face.

  ASH STOOD IN THE meadow, reveling in the glory of his true shape. The blood flowed through his veins like honey as vibrant birds circled overhead, scattering many-hued feathers over his back like a royal cloak. Even the very air sang of his purity.

  He saw Mariah from a great distance, as if through an imperfect glass. She seemed unreal to him, a character in one of the many books he had devoured during his time at Donbridge: a mortal woman with dark hair and blue eyes, waiting for him on the other side. She reached out to him, and her lips formed a single word.

  Ash.

  But that was not, had never been, his name. He lifted one leg and pawed the ground, crushing fragrant blossoms under his hoof. He remembered how he had lived in that other world, the things he had seen and done, the human language he had spoken. Memory called to him just as the girl did…soft, yearning, refusing to withdraw from his innermost sight.

  Stay, whispered the soft wind. Stay, cried the trees and the gentle sun and the lesser beasts gamboling at his feet.

  He turned his head toward the Fane structures that glittered beyond the trees. They were empty. No king, no queen, no courtiers currying favor—not even the half-Fane children who were supposed to be the saviors of the once-immortal race.

  This was his world now, his entire, and his people were racing out of the trees to meet him. They were beautiful in a way no creature in human skin could be, liquid silver and gold and bronze sliding over powerful muscle.

  “Our king,” they said in the language of their kind. “Our king.”

  He turned to meet them, head high, nostrils flared. The first to arrive knelt before him, touching her horn to the ground. One by one the others bowed, dark eyes joyful.

  But then one, silver-coated, lifted his muzzle. The others rose with him in a silent wave.

  “Who are you?” the first one asked.

  “You are not our king,” another said.

  “Tainted. Impure. Impostor.”

  “Human.”

  Tir-na-Nog shuddered around him, blurring in his vision. His subjects, eyes wild, galloped away. The birds ceased their song. All the colors ran together in a flood that stopped his nostrils and carried him toward the flawed glass and the girl behind it.

  The glass shattered. He sat again in the small room, his hands frozen on the girl’s shoulders.

  “Ash!” she cried.

  “My name,” he gasped, “is Arion.”

  Her eyes were dark, a narrow blue ring setting off the dilated pupils. Her body trembled. She opened her mouth but didn’t speak.

  “I am Arion,” he said, knowing he must make her believe.

  She closed her eyes. “One of us is mad,” she said in a still, small voice. “Or perhaps we both are.”

  His fingers were numb on her body. “Mariah,” he said, shaping the name with a clumsy tongue. “Not…mad.”

  She rolled away from him, curling her body like a hedgehog. “I don’t know how you did what you did, how you made me see those dreams. But you are not a unicorn, Ash. You are simply a man.”

  A man. He got up, his two legs almost refusing to support him, and went to the mirror above the washstand. He ran his hands over his flat human face.

  Tainted. Impure. Impostor.

  Nothing had changed since he had first woken in the cage. He could feel himself sliding backward, losing everything he had gained. His eyes still saw Tir-na-Nog, glorious and untouchable. They would always see it.

  “I am Arion,” he whispered.

  Mariah came up behind him, the reflection of her face beside his own. “It is time we went back.”

  Back to the cage. He banged his head into the glass.

  “No.” She pulled him away and forced him to sit. “We will return to Marlborough House. You will…be better again, Ash, when you are around the people you have come to know.”

  He tried to look at her, but her face would not come clear. “They…they blame you,” he said.

  “For what I did in the ballroom? I know that, Ash. You helped me.”

  The horn weighed heavy on his forehead. “More,” he said. “Do not go back, Mariah.”

  “I’m not afraid of what they think of me.”

  “They will hurt you.”

  “Only if I let them.”

  She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his. He remembered holding that hand through the bars of his cage, healing the small wound in her thumb without any thought at all.

  “We will return together,” she said. “I will fetch Nola.”

  She left the room, and Ash was alone. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from the sliver of that other world that still lingered in his vision. He heard movement outside the door, and voices, very low.

  “Is something wrong, your ladyship?”

  “Ash has come,” Mariah said. “But…something is not right.”

  “With Mr. Cornell?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know at all.”

  The door opened, and Nola entered, followed by Mariah. The maid, red hair undone for sleep, averted her gaze and quickly began packing Mariah’s things. Mariah took a dress behind a tall screen and remained there until Nola joined her. She emerged in a gown of pale blue, several shades lighter than the color of her eyes.

  “Ash,” she said, touching the back of his chair. “How did you get to the hotel?”

  He knew the answer, but the word refused to come. “Horses,” he said. “Box.”

  “A carriage.” She turned away and spoke quietly to Nola.

  “But if you travel together at this hour…” Nola said.

  “I know. But I can’t leave him alone. And I will have you as chaperone.”

  Nola’s lips turned down, but she made no argument and quickly left. The thing on the mantel—the clock—ticked for a long time. Mariah said nothing, gone far away inside herself.

  Finally Nola returned.

  “The carriage is ready, your ladyship.”

  Mariah nodded. “Ash?”

  He rose, staggered, felt for the support of the chair. Mariah reached for him, but he shook his head and made for the door.

  No one stirred in the corridor, though there were smells of food coming from another part of the building, burning flesh that made Ash’s nostrils close in disgust. Men stood with the horses in front of the carriage. The sun was at least an hour from rising, and the lights on the carriage cast their brightness in Ash’s face. The horses bobbed their heads at him, sensing what he was. The men helped Mariah inside the box, and Nola climbed up after her.

  He followed, though the walls of the box closed in like great stones meant to crush him. Mariah sat across from him, watching him, her face calm but her eyes almost frantic.

  The carriage rattled over cobblestones, past wagons laden with greens and ragged men with their hands stuffed into their threadbare jackets. The horses drew up before the palace, and the man holding the reins jumped down from his high seat.

  Something came to Ash before Mariah could leave the carriage. He jumped out ahead of her and offered his hand. She took it, paused to meet his gaze, and then climbed out.

  “Thank you, Ash,” she murmured. “Please, give me your arm.”

  He did. It was easier now that he was remembering again. They walked together toward the house, leaving Nola behind to speak to the men. They entered the building and passed into the wide vestibule. Only a pair of liveried footmen were present to greet them.

  Mariah slipped her arm from the crook of his and continued on to the north wing. Ash waited, recalling a room where he had slept alone. He traced his way there, closed the door and went to the window.

  I do not belong here, he thought. And yet he belonged nowhere else. He was in a place humans called limbo, neither fully human nor fully unicorn. Perhaps he would n
ever truly be either one again.

  PAMELA HAD FOUND it astonishingly simple to win Mr. Denham’s agreement.

  Even before she had given her reasons for her unconventional request, his reaction had been more than satisfactory. But when she explained that the entire purpose was to further humiliate Lady Donnington and take revenge on the woman who had exposed both him and his mistress, he simply could not turn her down.

  They arranged the assignation for the day of Mariah’s return. Pamela would send an anonymous message to Mariah’s hotel, urging her to come back to Marlborough House as quickly as possible. Pamela would keep a careful watch out for Mariah, and the scheme would be put into motion immediately upon her arrival.

  The place they chose was a corridor frequented by servants going to and from the kitchen. Someone was sure to pass by and see them. If that alone didn’t precipitate the kind of gossip Pamela expected, she would give the rumors a little push. In the meantime, she would take thorough pleasure in the deed that would drive Lady Donnington to disgrace at last.

  Mr. Denham met her a little before dawn, his face revealing his eagerness to take advantage of Pamela’s offer. So much for his fidelity to his mistress, she thought as she straightened her dark wig and drew him close.

  There was little delay after that. They waited until the distant voices of the kitchen servants echoed in the corridor, and then Denham pushed her against the wall. He lifted her skirts and petticoats, his hands feeling her naked skin beneath.

  “My God,” he whispered as his fingers came away wet. He unbuttoned his trousers as Pamela lifted one leg to grant him access.

  There was no love-play, no murmured words of affection. Denham grabbed her bottom, pushed her against the wall and entered her with an almost savage thrust. She cried out and gripped his shoulders as he pushed and withdrew, each time harder than the last.

  “Ash,” she moaned.

  He slowed, as if he found her use of the other man’s name disconcerting. But he had known this was all part of the game and quickly recovered himself. “Mariah,” he whispered, moving inside her more slowly. “I’ve waited so long.”

  The voices drew nearer. Denham increased his pace again, thrusting with such force that her back scraped against the wall. She called out Ash’s name again, and he repeated Mariah’s.

  The voices stopped. Over Denham’s shoulder, she could see the dim shapes of two young women. They had come to a halt in the corridor and were staring, their mouths little O’s of astonishment.

  It was fortunate that they had arrived when they did, Pamela thought. Denham was very close to coming, and so was she.

  “Ash,” she groaned.

  “Mariah.” He pumped into her almost violently and gave a great shudder as he spilled his seed. Pamela gasped and flung her head back as she reached her own completion.

  By then the servants had fled.

  “My God,” he said as he withdrew. “Pamela…”

  She pushed him away and smoothed her skirts. “I hope that Lady Strickland appreciates what she has in you, Lord Denham,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Pamela, I must see you again.”

  “You mean you must have me again.” She let her fingers drift across his flushed face. “Perhaps…when this is over.”

  He tried to kiss her, and she was very much aware that he was growing hard again. She slipped out of his embrace.

  “Go to your lover,” she suggested. “I am certain she will appreciate your vigor all the more tonight.”

  “You know…you know I can’t see her now.”

  “Then find a willing maid. We are finished.”

  Before he could protest, she had walked away, her body and her schemes well satisfied. If everyone in Marlborough House didn’t soon know what had happened by tonight, it would be a miracle indeed.

  ASH WAITED BY THE window for a long time, listening to the humans move through the corridors and thump up and down the stairs. He hardly heard the soft knock on his door.

  “Sir?” Nola opened the door and peeked in, her hair disheveled and her round face drawn. “I’m afraid there is trouble, Mr. Cornell.”

  Her words formed slowly into something that made sense. “Trouble?”

  “For Lady Donnington.” She entered the room and closed the door. “They are saying that…that you and her ladyship were seen together early this morning in the servants’ area.”

  “Seen…together?”

  Her cheeks turned scarlet. “Seen committing an indiscretion, sir.”

  Indiscretion. Something of which others disapproved. Of which Mariah disapproved.

  “But I have been here,” he said.

  “It does not matter, sir. The rumors have already begun.”

  Ash remembered that servants had seen them enter the house just before sunrise. “Why would anyone say this?”

  Nola’s face wrinkled. “I don’t know, sir.”

  He stirred from the window, beginning to remember how certain humans had spoken of Mariah after they had blamed her for sending the message to Lady Strickland’s husband. Now they had more reason to hate her. Anger began to simmer in his blood.

  “I will go to her.”

  “Please be careful, sir. If you are seen together now…”

  “I shall be.” There was simply no question of leaving her to face the humans alone. He would make them realize that he and Mariah had done nothing wrong—even though he had wished it with all his heart.

  He bared his teeth and walked out into the corridor.

  NEVER COULD MARIAH have been prepared for what occurred after her return to Marlborough House.

  At first she assumed that the icy stares were only a lingering consequence of the ballroom incident, that the prince’s guests had not let the matter fade, even in her absence.

  But those ladies and gentlemen she met in the hall after she emerged from her room did not simply give her odd looks or acknowledge her with a certain coolness as she passed. They avoided her as if she were a leper, and she heard whispering behind her when she went in to luncheon.

  On her way back to her room she was intercepted by a most apologetic butler, who regretfully informed her that her chambers had been assigned to another guest. She was directed to a small, cold room, one without so much as a dressing closet or a fireplace to ward off the chill.

  She sat on the bed, her mind a weary blank. After what had occurred at the hotel, she wondered that she still had the ability to care what the Marlborough House Set thought of her.

  It was so real. The sky, the trees, the…

  The unicorn. The one called Arion. The creature Ash had claimed to be.

  One of us is mad.

  No not one, but both. Ash with his delusions—his seeming return to what he had been when she had first found him. And herself…

  Herself for believing he had somehow made her enter another world. The same beautiful, perfect world her mother had seen so many times. Somehow she and Ash had shared a vision, and Mariah could find no explanation for that. She knew only that she had imagined it all.

  She spread her hands and stared at them, at each slender finger so well formed for its tasks. If she were indeed on the final path to going insane, it wouldn’t matter what anyone thought of her—not here, not at Donbridge, not anywhere. She would retreat into a world of her own creation and choose, as her mother had done, never to leave it again.

  For several hours she lay on the narrow lumpy bed and tried to sleep. No one came to her door. Sometime after noon, she went to the mirror at the tiny dressing table and unpinned her hair. Nola had gone about her own business, but Mariah felt she was far better off alone. Slowly and deliberately she put up her hair again, caring little whether or not the style was fashionable or flattering to her face. Working patiently through the difficulties of dressing herself, she changed into the most conservative afternoon gown she owned.

  There was nothing more to be done but to go downstairs and face her judges.

  “Mariah.”
<
br />   She looked up into the eyes of her brother-in-law, who had entered the room without knocking. His expression was so grim that she braced herself to hear some terrible news.

  “Are you all right?” Sinjin asked, taking a seat beside the dressing table

  Giving him the real answer was out of the question. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?” she asked calmly.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I have been away, as you must be aware,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Oh, Mariah.”

  “Tell me.”

  In terse sentences he explained how she had been blamed for a letter exposing Lady Strickland as an adulteress. Those rumors alone would be enough to damn Mariah in the opinion of many in the Set.

  But there was worse to come. “You were seen with Ash in the servants’ corridor near the kitchen just before dawn,” he said.

  “Seen with him?”

  “I know of no polite way to phrase it. Nearly everyone at Marlborough House now regards you as the worst sort of hypocrite.”

  She began to understand, though her anger and shame still hid behind a protective veil of despair. The upstart American girl, only a few months married, had resented the behavior of her betters, so she had taken petty revenge for the cuts she had endured after the ballroom incident. Then she had committed the very same act for which she had exposed Lady Strickland to the condemnation of her husband and the more conventional society outside the Set.

  “We returned together to Marlborough House an hour before dawn,” she acknowledged, beginning to shiver, “but we parted soon after. Ash and I were never near the kitchen. Whoever reported this must have seen someone else.” She held his gaze. “Do you believe these stories, Sinjin?”

  He looked away. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. Those who might never have suspected anything untoward between you and Ash have now been dissecting every moment that you have been observed in one another’s company. And the fact that you are only recently married and have borne your husband no heirs…” He cleared his throat. “It would be best if you left Marlborough House.”