Gossamyr (20 page)

"Oftentimes, they never wed, and instead choose the singular
life with assorted partners. A child is never born of such a
situation."

"Sounds freeing. To sort through a variety of choices before
finally settling?"

He shrugged at her wondering lift of brow. A soft, deep chuckle,
innately male, was followed by his dazzling smile. "I am a man,
Gossamyr. We men...fickle though our hearts may be, do enjoy our
women. And if given the freedom to pick and choose?"

Such freedom was far from Gossamyr's reach. For Glamoursiege, as
Shinn would remind.

"I should like to marry for love," she said. Trailing
her fingers over the surface of the stream, she fell into the fantasy
of a life she would choose for herself. "My mother loved a man
who sought her out every morning merely to watch her wake. The blush
of waking, Shinn had once told me, is the most beautiful color on a
woman's face."

"It is true. So smooth and perfect, a woman's lips, like tiny
little sweets upon a king's table." Ulrich's sigh evoked a
longing in Gossamyr. How she would like a man to look upon her with
such reverence. "Er, I suppose you will wed a faery man? Can you
ever return?" Ulrich asked.

"Of course ."

When Shinn saw to retrieving her, for she had not an idea in all
the Spiral how else to return. Without
twinclian
she was a
literal prisoner on the Otherside.

"And...you will return?"

"Anon. When my mission is complete."

"Of course, you must. So! Are all faery warriors women,
then?"

Gossamyr smirked and stroked the base of her throat. "I
explained before, male and female fée are equal. I took this
mission because I was the only one qualified for it. My father was
reluctant to send his daughter to the very land that stole away his
wife—"

"Your mother was stolen from you? Be that something like the
Dance?"

"Not at all, it was the mortal passion." She shifted on
her feet, moving closer to Ulrich. The need to scent him remained
fore.

"And do you have this mortal passion?"

"I pray not."

Those words came out more quickly than the truth registered in her
brain. Of course the passion festered within her. Else she would not
at this moment stand ready to enter an embattled city. And she would
not be sitting so close to a mortal man merely because he intrigued.
Nor, she suspected, would the air entice with every light step she
took.

The mortal world lay beneath her feet. No one stopped her from
seeking. Perhaps—following their defeat—she would listen
to the mortal opera and watch a comedy in the theater. Ride upon the
great barges floating the river and listen to the choirs sing under a
lusciously arched nave in a grand cathedral. The bestiary had
illustrated the beautiful colored windows and alluded to the
tempestuous religions that reigned in the center of many a war
between the mortals.

And then there was the chance she may stumble across
him.

But to stay? She did not wish to go rogue! And there was always
Time of which to be wary.

Ulrich's open expression beseeched her to continue.

"I do not have the leisure to think on anything but defeating
the Red Lady. She will not see me coming until it is too late."

"You are brave." He reached and touched her forehead,
smoothing aside a strand of hair that had escaped the tight plaits.
Gossamyr flinched at the touch, but Ulrich made a soothing sound deep
in his throat. Ah, that throaty rumble, initially frightening to her,
but now it fit in her breast—
right
—as she fit here
in this air.

"I mean you no ill." He lingered as his fingers traveled
down to her shoulder.

"It is said," she offered, "that a fée who
is touched by a mortal receives a chill that cleaves to his bones
ever after."

"That be mortal touched."

"Yes."

"Do you wish me to stop touching you?"

She clasped his wrist, but let it go immediately. "Your
touch... gentles."

"Your hair is soft and shiny. So elegant these twists of
summer sunshine," he marveled.

"Witch plaits. They keep away—"

"Witches?" He gave a soft chuckle. "So faeries are
as superstitious as we mortals?"

She twisted her head, tugging at the tips of her plaits, and eyed
Ulrich's hand, which, in the strangest way, claimed. She regarded the
touch as personal for it lighted a flame in her breast and
stirred—just a little—her reasoning. What did the man
want from her? She would never again wager her heart. Not for the
ache that still pulsed within.
You could find him. Mayhap he has
thought of you?

"Your closeness causes wonder, Ulrich."

"Ah. Indeed. Not minding my own caution." He snapped
back his hand, but did not change the distance between them, which
was fine for Faery but far too close for his mortal reasoning.
"Mortal touched aside, have you never been touched by a faery
man?"

She twisted her neck, tilting her chin away from him. "Why
ask you that?"

"Just a little jumpy. You don't like my being so close."
A tilt of his head hushed his breath across the bridge of her nose.
"How is it when you deem it fine, it is, but when I decide to,
it is not."

"It is...uncomfortable."

Now he caressed her chin. Commanding fingers forced her to look
back at him, yet the gentlest smile filled his eyes. "Perhaps
there are a few wonders for you to discover in this
Otherside,
eh?"

"Mayhap you guess at something I know well?" She pushed
from his touch and began to march alongside the stream. But
frustration kept her from treading too far, so she turned back. She
wanted to look him in the eye. To challenge his teasing. Gossamyr de
Wintershinn stepped from no challenge!

"Ah, so the woman
has
had a lover."

"You imply very much!"

Putting up both palms to placate, he then stood and brushed off
his cloak. "Just making small talk."

A slash of her staff connected just below his chin. A jerk lifted
his head so he had to look down at her. "It is small when you
seek intimate means with someone you know so little."

"I merely seek to know you better. I did not intend to
offend."

Gossamyr followed his parti-colored strides as he paced over and
stepped inside the shell of the mill. Tall and lithe, a quiet
fluidity marked his movements. If she must sum him up he was a fine
mortal man. Not so cocksure as the fée male.

Marry your daughter, my lord? Er...

One fée man had not seen the usual in her. Exotic, he had
labeled her. And his kisses, even now, stirred a longing in
Gossamyr's belly. Arousal tended to show in the fée wings,
turning the normally pellicle appendages a deep color. His papilonid
hind wings, with elegant projections that curled and uncoiled, had
shaded to a lovely violet, stirring his long black hair to elegant
waves across his back...

The memory of her loss hurt, and so Gossamyr pushed back the urge
to re-create their tender moments. Her father had been cruel,
reacting before considering his daughter's heart.

"Faeries know little of love," Shinn had warned. "It
is merely lust you feel."

Lust was not what her heart knew. It could not be! Nor could lust
have driven a man to arrive at his wife's bedside every morning just
to watch her wake. It was something more. And the only something she
could summon was love.

If her father's words held truth, why had it been so easy for
Shinn to marry Veridienne? Had he loved her? Should not his marriage
have been arranged, as was hers? Rarely did a fée lord marry
by choice. Love? Or was it merely lust wanting to be so much more?

Gossamyr could guess. Mortal women were compelling to the fée
men. Exotic and easily seduced by the Enchanted. Though, no fée
would make it known, they carried on illicit liaisons against the
commands of their elders. Gossamyr had not heard the fée women
mention such desires for the mortal male, though it was possible.

Half mortal in blood, flesh and soul—who was she to discount
a mortal man?

"Do you hear that?"

Turning to the man's voice, Gossamyr stood and strode toward the
water mill.

Ulrich propped himself in the doorway beneath a surviving wood
awning, one leg dangling, his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
Suddenly the rains increased. Now the wooden slats were beat upon by
heavy drops. The fresh scent smelled good enough to eat.

"Sweet, redeeming rain," Ulrich said reverently. Then he
twisted his attention to Gossamyr.

So fierce his gaze fixed to her, she stepped back. A slick of her
palm erased the rain from her nose and cheeks. "What?"

"I've an idea."He gripped her wrist and tugged. "Come
with me."

"But—"

Cool, fat raindrops skipped across her face and soaked into the
dusty wool gown. Gossamyr raised her face to the rain and closed her
eyes. She felt Ulrich move his hands over her eyelids, her cheeks and
her jaw but did not protest what he was doing.

"Forgive my touch, my lady."

"Blight that. Is it working?"

"Yes. Look!"

She opened her eyes to see his palms glittered with faery dust.

"It is washing from your hair, as well."

Gossamyr lifted her thick plaits and made to brush away the
offensive glimmer, but she paused.
Do I really want this?
The
surrender of all Enchantment? Her last tie to Faery and the father
she relied upon for return.
You yet have the fetch.

"What is it? Gossamyr? Ah." Ulrich's voice moved close
to her ear and he embraced her.

She remained stiff, fingering the carved bone clasp tipping a
plait, not sure how to react, or what to say. Embraced without her
consent, she initially felt violated, and yet, the feeling was
immediately replaced with relief and reassurance. How long had it
been since she'd been embraced by a man?

"I understand," he said against her ear, his wet lips
cold. "Perhaps you should take cover?"

Close, this man. Close, this mortal realm. And she but a step away
from completely joining it.

Gossamyr held out a hand, palm up, to catch the rain. Pulse,
pulse, against her hand. Beat, beat—her heart favored this
man's closeness.

Can you do it? Wash away all trace of Faery?

Can you become a champion?

"This must be done. It is...bone." Gossamyr lifted the
hem of the sodden blue wool and pulled it up over her knees and hips,
exposing her braies. Striding around the windmill and toward the
stream she called back to Ulrich, "Don't look!" And she
pulled the gown over her head and tossed it to the ground in a
tangle.

"Oh, mercy." His groan made Gossamyr smile. "Why do
this to me, woman? I have not looked upon a naked woman since my
wife. There you go and— Hades!"

She trusted he walked around to the opposite side of the mill, for
his voice trailed off. It mattered not. With or without a watcher,
'twas splendid to stand in the rain and sluice off the dust and dirt
from the road.

Shivering, she slicked her hands down her rib cage and undid the
hip belt and amphi-leather ties at her waist. Kneeling, she made
quick work of the leather strips bound about her ankles. She slid her
fingers over the braies and they dropped at her feet along with the
Glamoursiege sigil, her purse, and a clutter of
arrets.

Earth and grass, soggy and thick, squished between her toes. A
warty gray toad hopped to and fro along the stream bank and Gossamyr
followed, plunging to her knees into the cold water. She gave a
squeal and sank down and dipped her head back, surrendering to the
moment and the inevitable Disenchantment.

"To mortality," she whispered and closed her eyes.

The water barely deep enough to cover her to the waist, she
floated. The bone clasps closing the ends of her plaits were shucked
off with a tug. Quickly, she worked the braids open and splayed out
her hair. Long pale tresses took on the weight of the water, then
clung possessively about her naked flesh.

The notion of a lover's possessive embrace took shape and memory
filled her thoughts...

Gossamyr wrung her hands in frustration as she looked up to
Avenall. He hovered outside her bedchamber but could not enter. She
had not, until now, been aware of the shield of glamour surrounding
the castle.

"There is no way through this."Avenall punched out a
fist. The shield glimmered and wavered like ripples on a pond then
stilled. "You think it is only against me?"

"Not sure." Gossamyr stepped back, a finger to her
lips, and thought. "Perhaps it is merely against my room. Yes!
Go around to the south side, I'll meet you in my mother's study. No
one ever goes in there."

Avenall flew up and out of Gossamyr's sight. Her cobwebby robes
sailing out like the wings she would never own, she scrambled down
the corridor and pushed open the door to Veridienne's room. She did
not need light to navigate the room, so many times she snuck into her
mother's private chambers to study the bestiary.

Trailing a finger across the dustless book as she passed,
Gossamyr sailed to the far side of the room and pulled open the
curtain. Silk shinged to the side. Tale twilight entered. The summer
night was hot and a moth that had been clinging to the curtain,
seeking refuge from a predatory root frog, stretched out its wings
and fluttered inside.

Avenall descended from above and landed the rose-festooned deck
of the gallery with ease.

"You are sure it is safe?"Avenall folded his wings
against his back and thighs and crossed his arms over his chest in a
dashing pose.

"It is. I swear it to you"

Aware now she wore but a robe and her hair unbound, Gossamyr
took a tentative step toward the grinning man. Young man, no longer a
boy, but not quite a warrior. His shoulders were as broad as any of
Shinn's warriors, and his muscles hard. The air, tangible against her
skin, brushed her nerve endings to an alertness that prinkled.