Touch (Touched by the Fae Book 3)

by Jessica Lynch

  It won’t touch you. And if it does, the shadows will protect you.

  Will they also protect Nine?

  Only one way to find out.

  I don’t need any darkness to do this. Nine is made up of shadows and, I guess I am, too. I pull them toward me, pouring as much strength and power into them as I can, creating some kind of buffer around Nine. Here’s hoping it’ll do something to keep the Light Fae magic from draining him.

  I’m terrified that Nine will follow me right into an obvious trap only to be too weak to defend himself. I’ll take care of him—I’ll do whatever I have to in order to shield Nine this time—but hopefully the shadows will protect him for now.

  We keep on pushing through the portal until, with a soft pop, it leads us right into a familiar space. I don’t want them to know what I did so I purposely dissolve the shadows as soon as we cross over.

  And then I swallow my groan.

  Oh, come on.

  Fairy jail. The Seelie portal brought us right back to the same cell that Melisandre put us in the last time we were here.

  “Open,” orders the lead soldier. The door opens and he says, “Inside.”

  We walk into the cell together because, well, we don’t have any other choice.

  The lead soldier gestures for two of his squad to stay put, watching over us, before heading off with the rest to tell the Fae Queen that we’re here.

  Once we’re as alone as we’re going to get, I squeeze Nine’s hand. “You okay?”

  A quick jerk of his head. A nod.

  I exhale softly. Good.

  Since the Fae Queen is the one who sent her soldiers to find us in Newport, I know she’s eagerly waiting for news that they managed to bring me back to Faerie. I don’t expect her to keep us locked in the cell for that long, and I’m not even a little surprised when, in no time, the lead soldier is back, ready to take us before her. In case he’s worried we’ll try something, every last one of his squad stands surrounding me and Nine, their swords at our back.

  Whatever.

  Let’s get this over with.

  Just like last time, the winding trip through the freaking huge palace takes forever. You think it would be over in a blink of an eye because I’m dreading it. Nope. It’s just another layer of torture, the anticipating that each room we’re led to will be the last—before discovering there’s countless more we have to get through.

  By the time he leads us into Melisandre’s massive throne room—full of way too many fae, both Light and Dark—forcing us by swordpoint to stand before the actual throne, I’m so keyed up that I just want to throw out my arms and be like, Fine, I’m here, what do you want now?

  It looks like half of Faerie has come out to see this confrontation. Because of course they did.

  The Fae Queen is sitting primly on the throne, the skirt on her violet dress fanned out beneath her. She’s wearing an opulent crown on the bed of her loose golden curls. Her lips are painted a soft pink. She smiles as her lead soldier bows, then retreats.

  “Shadow. Ninetroir.” Her pale yellow eyes sparkle. Some might think she’s being sweet. Me? I know better. That’s pure malice. “So glad you can join us.”

  From behind us, a loud, mocking voice calls out, “On your knees before the queen.”

  “Aven, please.” Melisandre’s perfect face goes from innocent to scandalized to amused in a few flashes. The prim little ‘o’ formed by her pouted lips turns into a small smile. “Then again, my subject has a point. I am the queen.”

  She lifts her hand, waving it, a gesture meant for the guards.

  I can’t turn since I’m surrounded, a threat at my back and in front of me. I don’t know who called out—or what the guards are about to do—until Melisandre’s lips curl just enough to have a shiver shooting down my spine.

  “Down on your knees, Ninetroir.”

  Nine buckles.

  No!

  That’s not right. The name isn’t supposed to work. Not from her. She told me so herself. In Faerie, the fae can’t use another’s true name against them. It’s why she couldn’t just force Ash to hand me over when I was a baby, and Callie’s gift of seeing through glamour saved her from being touched. It’s why Melisandre turned them into statues—they were useless to her and, whatever her reasons, she didn’t kill them outright.

  I don’t care about any of the threats around me. I only care about Nine. I turn to him—and that’s when I realize something. It wasn’t her command that had him moving, nearly falling forward.

  Silver ichor pools beneath him.

  Fae blood.

  Oh, hell no.

  The Fae Queen’s soldier nearly cut him off at his knees. Hitting him with the edge of his sword, he tried to force Nine to kneel. It wasn’t enough of a strike to cut entirely through the backs of his legs, but enough to make him stumble while leaving the evidence of the wound dripping onto the floor.

  Rage. Pure incandescent rage. It slams into me and, as I whirl on Melisandre, I’m not sure what exactly I’m going to do.

  Because that’s the thing. When I get like this, even I don’t know what I'm capable of.

  I used to have a terrible problem controlling my anger. My temper. When I lose my grip on it, nothing is impossible. It’s why there was always that thought in the back of my mind: am I responsible? Did I kill Madelaine? Did I create the fae to cover up the darkness inside of me?

  For too many years, it was safer to stay to myself. Getting close to someone else meant the risk of being abandoned, of being left behind, but it also meant that I gave myself my own weakness. When I lost it—like I’m about to lose it—nothing can stop me.

  I ran through fire for Madelaine. As soon as I heard that fatal snap and saw her fall, not even the flames could have held me back. From going after my poor sister, from trying to save her, or from turning my rage on Rys.

  When I finally calmed down, my rage turned to fear and I spent six years dreaming up the golden monster who stole my sister from me.

  I refuse to be afraid. She wants to come after me. She can bring it.

  Not Nine.

  I won’t let her touch Nine.

  But what am I supposed to do?

  Oberon’s snide comment whispers in my head. Only it doesn’t sound as snide as I remember, but almost prophetic. Like a hint or a clue.

  Why you? What makes you so special? You’re a halfling, born of a Blessed One and a human. But you wield the shadows like you’re Unseelie. What are you?

  I’m all three.

  I’m the Shadow.

  It isn’t just about using the shadows to travel by myself. It’s about using the shadows to break the rules that have always been in place. And what else can I use shadows for?

  I… have an idea.

  I start to build a pocket. I weave the shadows, gathering them toward me, rage paling in the face of my absolute concentration. The idea blossoms at the same time as the pocket does.

  It’s risky, but I don’t have any other choice. Maybe she’s expecting me to pull the same stunt as last time and, well, she’d be right. The pocket starts to widen, growing at a clip in the corner where I called for it the last time I was here. It’s far enough out of her vision that I hope she doesn’t pick up on it yet.

  And if she does? That’s fine. It’s not only an escape portal that I’m working on.

  It’s Nine’s pocket—the same pocket where he keeps his sword.

  She pushed me to this. The one thing I never wanted to do. She left me no choice the second she sicced her guard on Nine.

  I know how to get there, too. Pushing past Nine won’t work, and I haven’t forgotten about the pointed swords at my back or the crowd watching this as if it’s all just entertainment for them. But, despite the blow to his knees, he’s still standing. He’s right at my side. I brush against him, pulling shadows from his coat, his clothes, his skin just like I did when we were in the Seelie portal.

  They wrap around my glove, creeping up my wrist.

 
Just a little more…

  That catches her attention. Before I can finish calling enough shadows so that I can slip through them and pop out on the other side of the throne room, Melisandre rises from her throne, a triumphant expression twisting her too-perfect features as she comes toward me.

  “Enough of that. You’re wasting your power. Now, tell me, are you ready to own up to your end of our bargain?”

  Bargain? What bargain?

  She's' doing it on purpose. Has to be. Drawing my attention away from my shadows by mentioning a bargain that doesn’t exist.

  Don’t fall for it, Riley.

  Her pale yellow eyes glow brightly in her golden face.

  “We had an agreement, Shadow,” she claims. “You as a statue for my garden in exchange for your parents’ freedom. I gave them back to you. Now it’s your turn to give me what I want.” Her lips turn upward, a cruel smile that erases the whole innocent thing she’s going for. “It’s only fair.”

  I gave them back to you.

  My concentration breaks. The shadows at my waist flutter and evaporate. I manage to hold onto the pocket in the corner because it’s far enough developed to just disappear, but I forget all about my plans to chop off Melisandre’s head myself when she says that.

  Because she did, didn’t she?

  I always wondered why Nine was still a statue when we landed in the apartment in Newport, but Ash and Callie were alive and awake. The magic never made sense, but I was too grateful to question it any further. All my focus had been on bringing Nine back since I didn’t have to worry about my parents.

  But if Melisandre is telling the truth, then that would explain it. Before I finished pulling me, Nine, Callie, and Ash through the portal, she must have released the spell keeping my parents as statues.

  She has to be telling the truth. Evil bitch or not, she’s still a fae.

  And fae can’t lie.

  Oh, no.

  Oh, no, no, no.

  I entered into a bargain with a fae. I gave my word that, if she let my parents go, I’d take their place.

  She let them go.

  I can’t stop what’s going to happen next if I tried.

  Melisandre waves her hand. It’s a graceful gesture, though the flinty look in her pale yellow eyes warns me what’s coming a split second before I go absolutely still.

  Nine finally reacts.

  He’d been careful. Even after the guard slashed at him, he refused to react. This was my show, I guess; he was my back-up. He’d protect me and he’d cover me, but he wasn’t going to get in my way.

  Until I turned into a statue.

  His hands go to my shoulders, shaking me as if that’ll do something.

  “Riley?” He shouts my name. “Riley!”

  “Leave her, Ninetroir.” Melisandre’s coy laugh makes my poor ears want to bleed. “Perhaps, if you beg at my feet for my forgiveness, I’ll let you visit the halfling in my garden. Until she has a little accident, of course. Statues don’t just stay standing as long as they used to.”

  Nine’s face is terrible. Lifting one hand high, showing the Fae Queen his palm, his pale skin starts to go even whiter as the entire hand glows.

  He’s going to shoot a blast of magic at her. Just like he did to distract the guards, only this time he’s aiming for the Fae Queen—and he’ll be next casualty. I know. And I can’t do anything to stop him.

  Wait—

  My parents said they lost their years in captivity. One moment they were alive, then they were statues, and they don’t remember a damn thing in between. Even Nine admitted that some of the most terrible few weeks of my life—when he was standing as a statue in the apartment—passed him by in seconds.

  I can’t move. I’m definitely frozen. But I… I can hear him.

  Something’s wrong with Melisandre’s curse.

  I struggle to lift my hand, desperate to catch Nine’s attention before he gets himself killed.

  My pinkie wiggles.

  My lips part. “N-n—”

  I want to say Nine. Or no. I get out the ‘N’ and that’s about it.

  It’s enough.

  The silver glow building up in the center of Nine’s palm dies. He spins, eyes wide as he plants both of his hands on my shoulders again.

  This time, I feel it. By the time he shakes me again before pulling me into his embrace, the last of her spell slides off of me. I wrap my arms around Nine and give him a tight squeeze.

  I’m okay.

  For now, I’m okay.

  Melisandre, on the other hand, is furious.

  “That shouldn’t be possible. What powers do you have?”

  I regretfully pull away from Nine before reaching beneath my hoodie, revealing the necklace I stole from Gillespie. The Brinkburn. It neutralized her spell.

  Ha!

  Look at that.

  Look at that.

  Yes!

  “No magic, just trickery. Still, the iron’s bad enough,” she sneers. “Now you bring a fae-killer into my Court? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Hell, yeah, I do. I just saved my ass and I didn’t even mean to.

  “I’m done with these games. If I can’t have you in my garden to remember my victory, I’ll have to satisfy myself with your head instead. Guards. Kill the Shadow.”

  Uh-oh.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  Nine lurches toward me, wrapping his arms around me as if he’s all the protection I need against the Fae Queen’s soldiers and their diamond-edged swords. Only the killing strike doesn’t come. It’s like the guards, despite Melisandre’s command, are frozen in place.

  The air changes, the room gone quiet, as a voice rings out, “I’d reconsider that if I were you.”

  I… I know that voice.

  Oberon—the same Oberon who told me that he didn’t want to get involved—has just emerged from the portal I was working on in the corner of the throne room. He hasn’t come alone, either. As he pulls himself out of the pitch-black shadows, he’s carrying Nine’s silver sword with him.

  Melisandre sneers at his unkempt appearance at first, but I can tell the exact moment when she sees through his glamour and recognizes who he really is. And even if she wasn’t able to, I’m thinking that the green eyes are all she needs to see before she knows exactly who has just used my portal to burst into her throne room.

  “You.”

  “Me,” Oberon agrees. “Miss me, wife?”

  “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” There isn’t a single sound as Oberon moves across the room, to the center in front of the queen’s throne—or his throne. I’m not so sure. “I’m so glad I decided to take the Shadow up on her invitation to visit my former bride. Just as she reveals the Brinkburn. Plot twist, eh? Sorry. Human term. I’ve lived alongside them for long enough. But you, Melisandre, you’d know all about a fae-killer, wouldn’t you?”

  Ash told me before that Melisandre was a pro when it came to holding onto her glamour. He mentioned that, as one of her favored guards before he defected to be with my mom, he saw her lose it a couple of times. He just never explained what made her drop it.

  I’m, uh, thinking it’s fear.

  Makes sense. As the all-powerful ruler of Faerie, there couldn’t be much that frightened Melisandre. Having her long, lost husband return from the dead after more than two centuries? Yeah. That’ll do it.

  I’ve accepted that, when it comes to seeing through glamour, I wasn’t born with my mom’s talent. It took me way too long to recognize that Oberon was more than some homeless bum haunting my street corner, and only after years could I see that Rys wasn’t as perfect as he appeared to be.

  In front of us all, she seems to change. Her skin pales, though that might be from the surprise of seeing Oberon again. But then her eyes go from yellow to grey, her long curls from blonde to black, and her perfect, perfect face to something just not quite.

  She’s not the on
ly one who changes. One second, the homeless man I thought I knew is standing there. Grimy jeans, a dirty flannel, matted hair. In between one blink and the next, someone else has taken his place.

  This man is tall. Limber. Lean. His back is straight; no bowing down, tucking his head into his chin, arching his body to hide his true shape. His skin is a beautiful deep bronze, tanner than any other Light Fae I’ve ever seen. His hair is shorter than most, but the color is so rich, so gold, that I almost wonder if it’s from a box. It’s too gorgeous to be natural.

  Like the other Light Fae in the room, he’s dressed in pristine white. He looks immaculate, yet powerful, and I’m so fucking glad he showed up.

  I also find it nearly impossible to believe this is the homeless man I used to give singles and fives to. One peek at his brilliant green eyes, though, and I know it’s him.

  Plus, he’s still holding tightly to Nine’s sword. So there’s that, too.

  His eyes find mine. “Afternoon, Riley.”

  What is he playing at? “Um. Hi.”

  “Your mom’s that sweet lady named Callie, right? Human.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “And your father? One of mine. Aislinn.”

  “That’s right.”

  “A halfling. Born in the Iron, but the shadows consider you one of theirs. So does Faerie. That’s interesting.”

  If he says so.

  “Ninetroir,” Oberon says, greeting Nine. “A Cursed One.”

  “I am.”

  The imposing Light Fae turns toward me again. “He’s your mate. You’ve chosen a Dark Fae to be your mate. Yes?”

  ...when Dark mates Shadow, the Reign of the Damned must come to an end…

  Oh my God.

  Oh my God.

  A smile teases at the corner of my lip. He’s fae. The king of the Fae.

  And I think I finally figured out what he’s doing.

  “That’s absolutely right.”

  Oberon strides forward, putting his body between me and Melisandre. I notice there’s still enough space for him to swing, though, and I can see the fear rushing across the former Fae Queen’s face when she realizes it.

  “Seems to me that the Shadow Prophecy has been foretold and come to pass. Halfling. Shadows. Dark mate. Now it’s time to end the impostor’s reign.” He hefts up the sword. “I’ve been waiting two hundred years for this.”