Any Other Name (17 page)

“Obtaining your approval, and that of Society, is not something I ever want to aspire to, so I shouldn’t let it feel good when I get it.”

He groaned, throwing his hands into the air. “You are simply determined to be unhappy!”

“You’re determined to mould me into something I’m not. You and Iris, no doubt.” She felt a flicker of anxiety at the thought of him.

“I know you’re afraid.” He reached across, but she pulled her hands back and he withdrew. “I was, when I had to go to him.”

His unrelenting kindness irritated her. “I don’t even know how to get into Exilium.”

“Now you’ve been summoned, all you need to do is stand in front of a mirror, alone, and speak his name three times.” William’s voice was quiet and his fingers were laced tightly together.

“You’re worried too,” she said.

“Of course I am,” he snapped. “You’re my wife.”

The words were like a slap. She sank into silence, oscillating between the desire to scream and the need to weep with fear. She hated the feeling of being like a cork bobbing in the ocean, lifted up and down by them all.

“He’s very precise,” William said after a while. “He won’t accept anything less than total obedience and deference. Your manners must be impeccable.”

“All right.”

“You don’t need to pretend to be delighted about the marriage, not in the way Lord Poppy seemed to want you to be at the Oak. I think it’s irrelevant to our patron. All that matters is that you do as you’re told, regardless of how you feel about it.”

“My father would approve,” she said, wondering whether he’d had any idea of the life he’d forced her into. Not that it would have changed anything.

“And I assume you know not to eat or drink anything, and to be wary of–”

“I know how to survive in Exilium.”

“Good. You should go there as soon as we’re home. And wear that dress. You look very fine in it.”

She felt remorseful then, for throwing everything back in his face all the time. “Thank you,” she said, but he just looked out of the window. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she could make a go of it in Society, if that evening was anything to go by. She had actually started to relax in Margritte’s company and was sad to leave so suddenly. But was it even possible to make a friend in the Nether?

 

14

 

Sam scratched his neck and felt the stubble. He’d been wearing the same clothes for three days, hadn’t left the house in the last four and was watching daytime television. He grabbed the remote and killed the show. His life was never going to be enriched by a discussion about which man had fathered which baby. “You slob,” he said to himself.

He got up and stretched, doing his best to ignore the pile of unopened post he’d dumped on the chair. It had been building up for a while and yet he just couldn’t face opening it. He was supposed to call an estate agent, probably at least three, and get the house on the market but he couldn’t face that either.

He trudged up the stairs, peed and stood in front of the sink, trying to muster the energy to have a shave. He was out of routine and with no job; being clean-shaven had lost its importance.

He pulled a stray hair from the sink as he revisited over and over again in his memory the moment of being sacked. He couldn’t deny that his work had suffered and important deadlines had been missed. He hadn’t argued when his boss had accused him of being irresponsible and neglectful and letting the rest of the team down. It was all true. He just didn’t care anymore.

He’d packed up his personal belongings, said goodbye to Dave, who was too shocked to insult him, and came home. That first day he hardly moved as he tried to work out when exactly he’d stopped caring.

He wondered if Exilium had done it. After seeing a place like that, its colours and beauty, everything else had felt dull in comparison. But his memories of the place had already faded again, like the places he’d visited as a backpacking student.

“You’re a slob and terrible husband,” he said to the grotty face in the mirror. He’d been unemployed for less than a week and already looked like he’d never earned an honest wage in his life. He still hadn’t told Leanne either.

He shaved and showered. By the time he was towelling himself off he felt a little better. He’d decided he should make the most of the time, eat better, get a little exercise. At least he didn’t have to serve out a tedious notice period. He put the toilet seat down and sat in the steam, shaking his head. Who was he trying to kid? He felt like shit.

His mobile phone rang and he reached it just in time. “Lee?”

“Hi, Sam.”

He checked his watch. Eleven thirty in the morning. “You OK? Has something happened?”

“I called your work phone.”

“Oh.”

“Dave said you’ve been sacked.”

He chucked the towel on the bed and sat on top of it. For a few seconds there was no sound except the pattering of drips on the carpet. “Yeah, about that… I was waiting till I saw you.”

Her high heels were clicking down a corridor, then there was the quiet squeak of a door opening and it sounded less echoey. “When did it happen?”

“Couple of days ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Like I said, I was waiting till I saw you this weekend.”

“Are you going to move to London now?”

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t explain that he was waiting for an Arbiter’s report on her boss, the company she worked for and the dodgy apartment they’d given her.

“Have you at least got the house on the market?”

“Well, the thing is–”

“I don’t think you want to move to London. I’m beginning to think you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

“I came to see you, didn’t I? I wanted to talk but you just kept–”

“I’ve had enough.”

“Of what?”

“This. Us, the marriage. You’re not committed, you–”

“
I’m
not committed? You’re the one who moved to London at the drop of a hat!”

“I want a separation. This hasn’t been working for a long time and we’ve both been deluding ourselves. You don’t want to live with me anymore, otherwise you’d have jumped at the chance to move up here sooner.”

“Bloody hell, it’s been two days! I needed to come to terms with it.”

“What’s there to come to terms with? You were going to hand your notice in anyway, weren’t you?”

He paused. He hadn’t planned to do that. He hadn’t planned any of it, not the Fae, not the Fool’s Charm, not the kidnapping or the weird wedding-ring business, none of it. The sharp pitch of her voice reminded him of the new Leanne, the skinny, driven, joyless woman he’d barely recognised at the flat. Why bother to fight for the marriage anymore?

“If that’s what you want,” he said and she ended the call. He listened to the silence for a moment, then let his hand drop to his lap and the phone slide to the floor.

 

The wedding band tingled as Cathy approached the mirror. William watched from the doorway to their bedroom. She looked at him as she spoke Lord Iris’s name three times, making the glass ripple, and then Exilium was revealed in its hyper-coloured glory.

“Good luck,” he mouthed silently.

The worry in his eyes made her hesitate and the tingling strengthened until it became uncomfortable. She stepped through, taking the hint. The trees of Lord Iris’s domain were straight in front of her, which reduced the risk of running into Lord Poppy. She breathed in through her nose, released the breath slowly out of her mouth to steady herself, and then walked forwards.

Just like Poppy’s domain there was a path leading deeper into the copse. The trees were more densely packed the further in she went, making it feel more like a tunnel. Soon she caught sight of splashes of iris blue, then some of the flowers edged the path. As she passed, the blooms turned as if they were watching her. She tried not to think about that.

She expected to reach a clearing, but instead the path led to a structure made of saplings. They’d been woven into a complex latticework half-dome, its apex twice the height of her. Lord Iris was seated within it on a chair carved out of a large tree stump. His long white hair was perfectly straight and his eyes the same blue as the flowers surrounding them, freakish in their lack of pupil, iris and humour, just a solid blue. He wore a black frock coat and trousers, very similar in cut to what William had been wearing that evening. His waistcoat was embroidered with golden thread, each tiny iris flower beaded and sparkling with the small amount of sunlight that reached them.

Cathy shivered under his gaze, dropped into a deep curtsy immediately and waited to be invited closer. Again, all of the flowers were turned towards her and she felt as if she were being watched by dozens of creatures, not one Fae lord.

“Come here.” It was the first time she’d heard his voice and there was no warmth in it. At the wedding, he’d spoken only with Lord Poppy and the Patroons.

She straightened herself and walked forwards. He watched her with a terrible intensity. When she was a few feet away she slowed, now beneath the half-dome, but he pointed to a spot just in front of him. She clenched her chattering teeth and moved closer until she was mere inches from his hand. It felt too close. He looked down at the ground beneath his finger most deliberately and she realised he expected her to kneel. She planted her left knee exactly where he pointed and knelt on ground soft with fallen leaves.

Now she would have to look up to his face, which was of course what he wanted. There was none of the chaotic danger she felt around Poppy – instead she felt chilled to her core. If he carried on staring at her like that he would bleach the colour from her hair as well as her cheeks.

“Your hand,” he said, pointing to her left.

She extended it towards him, trying to stop it from quivering. He mimed turning it palm up, which she did and he slid his hand beneath it until her wrist rested on his palm. His cold fingers curled around it. All of the tiny hairs on her body stood on end as he touched her and her heartbeat went from fast to frantic. His thumb curled until it was a couple of inches above her pulse point, then the nail elongated and sharpened into a talon. She gasped and reflexively pulled her hand away but his grip tightened just as quickly, his fingers holding her fast.

“Look at me.” She forced herself to look into the intense blue, feeling the deep primal fear of being exposed to something so alien. “You are one of mine now,” he said. “Poppy no longer holds dominion over your blood and bones.”

She was certain he could feel her shivering. “Yes, my lord,” she stammered. What else could she say?

“In all the time I have known Poppy, one as plain as you has never caught his eye, let alone steal his affection. Never have I seen him so enthralled by such an unremarkable creature. There’s only one conclusion to be reached: you’re not as unremarkable as you appear to be.”

“Or…” Cathy ventured, “he could be mistaken, and his affection misplaced.”

“I did not invite you to speak,” he said. “Poppy may have delighted in your opinion, but I am not he. You are here to answer my questions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.” She spoke with as much deference as she could but it had never come easily to her.

“Why did Poppy value you so highly?”

The last thing Cathy wanted to do was tell the truth, but she didn’t know if she could bear to lie under his scrutiny. “I impressed him, my Lord. And amused him.”

“How did you impress him?”

“I… I managed to humiliate a Rosa.”

A tiny movement at her wrist tore her eyes from his; the thumbnail was closer to her skin. “How?”

“By helping a mundane man beat him in a duel.”

“A Rosa duelling a mundane? What precipitated this?”

She hesitated, and the talon moved closer. “A wish I made, my Lord. It resulted in the Rosa losing a mundane woman he’d been promised. But it wasn’t my fault.”

“Who granted you a wish?”

“Lord Poppy.”

“Only one?”

She could hear the shortness of her breath as the nail moved closer. “Three, my Lord. I was tasked to impress him with my choices, which I did.”

“You told me humiliating the Rosa impressed him.”

“It… it was complicated.” She struggled to speak, the fear tightening her throat as the nail hovered above the vein. It was dark blue and she could see her pulse making the skin quiver up and down.

“Poppy was never complicated. He hasn’t granted any of his pets three wishes for five generations. Why give them to you?”

“A whim?” She didn’t want to reveal what had really caught Poppy’s eye.

The nail touched the skin, as sharp as a pin, making her jolt and the breath fly from her lungs. She couldn’t take her eyes off it and felt his intense focus on the top of her head. As the seconds passed the pressure increased, so slight she thought she was imagining it, then she saw the skin being pushed inwards and the pain increased.

“I asked to go to university at my coming of age,” she blurted, but the pressure didn’t ease. “And then I ran away from my family and lived in Mundanus.” She felt the skin break. “I hid from them for over year,” she cried as a deep-red bead rose and started to trickle up the nail in a most unnatural way. “I hid from Poppy too until he found me, I don’t know how!”

The blood ran back down the nail, pooling where its sharp tip was still pressed. Her heartbeat was roaring in her ears, she could feel sweat rolling down her back and she shook violently. It was hardly a wound, yet she felt as much distress as if it had been a knife driven deep.

“Always better to tell me the truth as soon as you speak.” He tilted his head, studying her discomfort. “Such fragile reluctance…” The nail drove deeper and the bead of blood elongated into a narrow rivulet, sliding down the side of her wrist onto his fingers. “There is something you cling to, a vain hope perhaps.”

He squeezed and she cried out in pain, frustrated by her impotence and enraged by his casual cruelty.

“That’s better,” he said. “I can hear your secret now. Did you really think that learning of your little rebellion would concern me? Did your family lock you away once you were returned?”

She nodded, watching the blood and wanting to run.

“And you think that now I know your plan to do it again, I’ll do the same?”

She looked up from the nail to his eyes, closer than they were before. How did he know? A good guess?

“A mortal says so much when in crisis, and they rarely use words,” he whispered, answering her silent question. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” she said, doing everything she could to hold in the gathering tears.

“And that hope endures even after I summoned you. I have no concern about your fantasy, for that’s all it can be now. You felt my summons. There is no magic in the Split Worlds that can hide you from me, should I discover you’ve disobeyed your new family.” The fingers holding her wrist curled and she saw their nails growing too, felt them prickle her skin but not pierce it yet. “But now we have met, I’m sure you are more keen to please my family.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said and screamed when the four other points drew blood.

“Not very intelligent. Lie to me again and I will write this lesson into your flesh with scars only you can see.”

Tears splattered on the leaves in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“There’s something Lord Poppy holds over you. He mentions it when we see each other. He seems to think he still has some claim to you. Is there a contract between you?”

“He… he made me promise to paint him the best picture of my generation.”

“You’re an artist?”

“No, my Lord, but my third wish was to reach my full potential. After I made it, he told me to find paints and canvasses.” She didn’t mention the new deadline, fearing she’d suck Sam into Lord Iris’s schemes as well as Poppy’s.

He looked at her,
into
her. She shut her eyes, the urge to withdraw too strong for a moment, but she could still see them, like twin blue suns burnt into her retina. When she looked again his left hand was reaching towards her head and she twitched fearfully.