Radiant Shadows (14 page)

Rae had thought that being trapped in the cave was frustrating, but being caught inside Sorcha’s palace made her realize how very fortunate she’d been. In the cave, Rae had been alone, but she’d not been at anyone’s mercy. Here, she was Sorcha’s prisoner; here, she was the only link between Faerie itself and the queen who was to keep the world in order.

And has lost interest in doing so.

Sorcha had retreated to a dream so she could watch her absent son.

One of the veiled mortals sat observing the sleeping queen; the other had left the room to speak to whomever she consulted to find information for the queen. Neither spoke to Rae unless it was unavoidable. They kept themselves far from her, sitting on the step of the dais. Even with the room empty of faeries, they didn’t step on the top of the dais or near the chair of twisted strands of silver that sat there. They remained silent and distant.

Fear of her or me?

The room in which Rae waited was far larger than the cave. It was vast, fading to shadowed reaches on one side and enormous arched windows on the opposite side. The farthest corner of the room was lined with barred doorways, some covered by ancient tapestries. Beyond the mosaics that surrounded the sleeping queen’s glass bed, the floor was of slick black rock, and the whole of the room was interspersed with white pillars supporting a star-scattered ceiling.

Rae stood and approached the queen. The glass had taken on a deep-blue tint; it darkened the longer Sorcha slept. And as it darkened, more and more faeries drifted into sleeps from which they would not awaken. Rae could feel them, feel their dreams beyond the room where she attended the sleeping queen.

Where are you, Devlin? Please, please, come home.
But wishes didn’t change the waking world, and hoping to be rescued was as futile now as it had been in her mortal life.

“It is time again.” The mortal spoke. “You must check on our queen.”

Rae had no idea how the girl knew the time or could keep count of the moments that had passed. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Rae needed to go to the High Queen.

“I hate this,” she muttered as she stepped up to the blue glass chrysalis and into Sorcha’s dream.

Sorcha didn’t look away from the mirror. It was the same cloudy glass framed by fire-blackened vines as in the first
dream. In it, Rae could see Sorcha’s son, Seth. He sat in a strange green chair drawing in a notepad. As far as interesting visions went, this one didn’t rate at all, but Sorcha was transfixed by it. The High Queen’s expression was one of utter rapture.

“He creates such beauty.” Sorcha lifted her hand and made as if to trace the sketch. “Would that I were so skilled.”

“You create the entire world. That’s—”

“
Nothing
compared to him.” Sorcha pulled her gaze away to scowl at Rae.

And Rae knew that openly disagreeing was unwise. “Yes, my queen.”

Like Faerie itself, the landscape around Sorcha’s dream was shrinking. In the dream only the two walls of the small room where she sat with the mirror were in full detail. Beyond that, it was as if they were in a painting only partially completed. The dreamscape was a darkening blue void, as if it were some sort of endless sky or sea that wasn’t yet in focus.

Rae began envisioning the fields of Faerie, rebuilding the landscape as it had been when the dream began. The emptiness of the dream was unsettling, more so because the dreamer was the one who built and maintained Faerie.

“No. I want none of that.” Sorcha waved her hand, blanking it all out before the vista was truly even there. It was her dream, so such an alteration was possible—more so, perhaps, because the High Queen understood the particulars of remaking reality.

If she cannot look beyond the mirror in her dream, what does that mean for Faerie?

Rae stood uselessly in the dream room, not quite in the nothingness beyond it, but close enough to that abyss that she had to struggle against her instinct to form worlds there. It was an empty plane with no one’s desires, no one’s horrors, no one’s fingerprints to alter.
This must be how Faerie looked before Sorcha.
The High Queen, however, was oblivious to the things around her. All that she saw was the image of her son in the mortal world.

Sorcha did not look away from the mirror a second time. “Leave me.”

Rae started, “Perhaps you might wake. The world is falling apart—”

“I will wake when my son returns.” The High Queen waved her fingers. Suddenly three winged leonine creatures wrought of moonlight and lightning stood between them, guarding the queen, keeping her out of reach. The animals’ translucent bodies flickered with the lightning that flashed inside them. As one opened its mouth, sparks escaped. It didn’t advance, but it watched Rae. The second creature stretched out at Sorcha’s side. Its wings spread wide and blocked the sight of both the High Queen and the mirror. The third snarled as it crouched down.

Rae wasn’t sure what would happen if she were to be bitten by them, but she didn’t care to stay and find out. With a barely proper curtsy, Rae turned and stepped from Sorcha’s dream into the deteriorating world of Faerie.

She needs to wake.

Rae had given Sorcha the window into the mortal world. It was an anomaly, but the High Queen was the embodiment of logic. She shouldn’t be so fascinated. Something was amiss, and the cause of it was beyond Rae’s understanding.

I need to reach Devlin.

Of course, he hadn’t even told Rae that he had a nephew. The High Queen had a son who lived in the mortal world. It explained Devlin’s frequent secretive visits there, but it didn’t explain why the Queen of Order would behave so irrationally.

Something here is wrong.

Silently, Rae drifted across the throne room and stopped.

One of the mortals was weeping.

“What happened?” Rae asked.

The other mortal pointed toward one of the tall arched windows. Rae couldn’t approach it, not as bright as the sky was, but she could see even from a distance that the mountain was partially gone. Faerie was shifting, unmaking itself more and more. As the queen’s mind noticed only the images in the mirror, the landscape of Faerie was no longer real to her. Some faeries could not adjust to the lack of logic and were following her, retreating into their own dreams.
The truly High Court faeries are lost without her.
In the street outside, those faeries stretched out in odd positions, fallen to sleep where they’d been. Faerie was going dormant.

The weeping mortal lifted her veil and stared at Rae. “The world is ending.”

Behind Rae, the High Queen slept. She wore a smile, looking more at peace than she appeared in waking or in her dreams.

“Go back.” The mortal sank to the floor and stared up at Rae with a tear-wet face. “Talk to her. She needs to wake.”

And Rae had no choice. Outside the palace, faeries were apparently either sickening or sleeping. Within the palace, there were few faeries left awake. Rae could feel the tendrils of all of their dreams like whispered summonses. For the first time since she’d entered Faerie, there were dreamers all around.

Rae slipped back into Sorcha’s dream.

The High Queen hadn’t moved; she remained crouched at the mirror.

“My queen?” Rae tried to keep the tremble from her voice.

“How long has it been?”

“Your court needs you. I think it’s time to awaken.”

“
You
think?” Sorcha laughed. “No. You are to only interrupt if there is a crisis.”

“There is.” Rae knelt beside the queen. “Faerie seems to be… falling apart. Parts of it are vanishing.”

Sorcha glanced down at her long enough to give her an indulgent look. “It’s large enough that it’ll be fine, child. Leave quietly. My son is resting. He sleeps so fitfully sometimes. I wonder at his health.”

The High Queen had no interest in Rae’s remarks, her own court, or Faerie itself. Rae debated removing the mirror, but there was no one around capable of dealing with an angry queen who would be forcefully brought back to Faerie.
What I need is Devlin… which means I need to reach him… which means…

Sorcha leaned closer to the mirror. “I can’t see what books he prefers to read. He stacks them haphazardly rather than shelving them.”

And with that, the High Queen’s attention was gone from Rae, from Faerie, from the crisis that her sleep was causing.

Silently, Rae stepped back into Faerie—hoping that it hadn’t unraveled further still.

The room was lit by several candles, and the scant light was barely enough to make out the area immediately around the sleeping queen. One of the mortals was missing.

Before Rae could ask, the other said, “She has gone to the kitchens.”

“I need to go for help.” Rae wished she could take the mortal with her or promise her that things would get better, but she had no words of comfort.

Sleep soon, Devlin. I need you.

“She doesn’t wake.” The mortal rested a hand on the darkening blue glass. She caught and held Rae’s gaze as she asked, “Where will we go if Faerie vanishes? Will we fade away with it?”

“Faerie won’t disappear. Neither will you.” But even as Rae spoke those words, she wasn’t sure if they were truth or lie. Without the High Queen to direct the world, Rae suspected that Faerie
would
unravel—and she had no idea what that meant for the faeries and mortals living there.

Devlin slid the key into the door of the motel room with a gratitude that he felt almost embarrassed to admit. It wasn’t that Ani’s driving was bad.
There is appeal in chaos.
The car, however, had periodically slid the passenger seat so far forward that he was forced to sit with his legs folded into uncomfortable positions. When it wasn’t cramming him into too-tight spaces, it was dropping the seat back so that he was lying completely prone.

Ani, of course, smiled each time—which was probably the only reason the car needed to repeat it over the past several days’ drive at illegal speeds. Neither the Hound nor her steed understood the concept of avoiding attention.

“You speaking to me yet?” Ani’s tone was confrontational, as was her posture. She leaned against the wall next to the doorway. One hand clutched the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder, and the other hand rested on her hip. “Or are you still pretending you’re alone?”

He stared at the angry tilt of her chin. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t said a word in at least eight hours.” She walked past him and dropped her bag on the bed.

“Eight hours?”

“Yeah.” She spun and glared at him. “Eight silent hours.”

“I was contemplating our situation.”

“Short version? It sucks.” Ani folded her arms.

“I…” He watched her with an affection he needed to quash. All of his High Court traits seemed to vanish in her presence.

And I like it.

She turned her back to him, unzipped her bag, and then added, “You are caught between Banan—”

“No.” He was beside her with a hand over her mouth before the next syllable could be spoken. “Don’t name her
or
the other one anymore. For safety. Do you understand?”

Ani nodded, and he lowered his hand from over her mouth.

“Why?” She resumed sorting through her bag as if nothing had transpired. Perhaps for a daughter of the Hounds, it wasn’t odd.

“Not only Hounds hear well. We were already found once. They will carry news to her, and there are others who want what she wants.”

“
Which
‘she’?”

“Both have their followers. And I’d rather not kill anyone
tonight. I could enjoy a fight but…” He glanced at the closed curtains and then back at her.

“Me too.” She smiled at him as if he was something amazing.

It was unnerving to have anyone look at him with such intensity. Devlin forced himself to lift his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll keep you as safe as I can.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” Devlin turned the lock on the door. It wouldn’t stop faeries, but it would keep any wandering mortals out. “If you go nearer my sister without doing her bidding, you’ll die by her hand. If you do that sister’s bidding, you’ll die by order of the
other
sister. I’ll be the one ordered to kill you… and for some reason I dislike the idea of your death.”

He kept his distance, staying close to the door, out of her reach.

And keeping her out of my reach.

She pulled a change of clothes and a hairbrush from her bag. “Wouldn’t it be more logical to just kill me and get it over with? You know they’re both going to be furious with you, and somehow I don’t think they’re the forgiving sort. You could go back to Faerie, go back to the way things were—”

“No. I don’t want that. I don’t want you hurt, and I don’t want to go back.” He paused and shook his head as soon he realized what he’d said. “I don’t want…”

“What?”

But Devlin couldn’t respond. He stared at her.

Silently, she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Could I go back? Could I hurt her? Why does she matter?
Rae had answers; she’d pressured him so often to go see Ani that he was sure now that she knew something. He just didn’t know what it was—or why she kept the reason from him.

When Ani returned, she set her bag on the floor on the opposite side of the bed from where he sat, but didn’t speak. Instead, she stayed there and turned her back to him and contorted her body into several muscle-loosening positions. The shirt she wore lifted up, exposing her midriff.

Devlin stared at her bare skin.

She is not mine to keep.

He wanted to, though; for the first time in all of eternity, he looked on another faery and thought about relationships, futures, fighting alongside her.
Hounds are not inclined toward relationships.
He reminded himself of that truth, as if it was somehow more important than the fact that she would likely die because of one of his sisters.

She continued stretching for several more moments, and then came to stand in front of him—hands on her hips again—and asked, “Is this more contemplation or are you going to say something?”

The expression in her eyes was telling: she was frightened, tired, and hungry. Her response was that of most Dark Court fey when weakened—irrational attacks.

Devlin took her hands in his. “Time is different for me. If I am silent too long for your comfort, speak to me. I’ve never been in a place where regular conversation is required of me.”

“Well, that just…” She clearly wanted to say something hostile, and for a moment, she looked like she would, but instead she stared at his hands holding on to hers. Her shoulders relaxed a little.

And he realized that not only had he not spoken, he hadn’t touched even her hand. In four days, Ani hadn’t even had a brush of skin until she’d tapped his hand to send him to acquire their room.

He released her left hand and unfastened his shirt.

Ani didn’t move, didn’t look at his face, didn’t respond at all.

It’s not personal for her. It is merely a physical need.
He stared at her, watching her reaction, wishing he could taste her emotions.
It is not logical that I want this to mean something.

Still without speaking, he released his hold on her right hand and removed his shirt.

She lifted her gaze to his. “What are you doing?”

“You need nourishment.” He slid farther onto the bed. “I am here.”

Ani stayed where she was. She turned to watch him in a predatory way. In a very low voice, she asked, “What are you offering?”

“Skin contact.”

“Are you sure?” She took two steps forward so that the edge of the bed was against her. “I mean…”

He dropped his walls, so she could feel the things he would prefer she didn’t know.
Craving. Fear. Doubt. Joy. Hope. Excitement.
It was all there, emotion to feed her second appetite.

She knelt on the bed. “If you want me, why not—”

“You are not mine to keep, Ani.” He held out a hand. “If you were someone else… but you’re not.”

She removed her shirt and then took his hand. “I don’t get you, Dev.”

With a sigh of some emotion he didn’t know how to name, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Her hand was splayed out on his stomach, and her cheek rested on his shoulder. Tendrils of damp pink-tipped hair brushed against his chest.

Devlin remained immobile. The only indication that he was alive was the rise and fall of his chest. He concentrated on keeping it this way and on hiding his emotions again. Her nearness frightened him, and he couldn’t bear the idea of her knowing how afraid or how happy he suddenly was.

Ani, however, seemed oblivious. After an hour or more of being silently curled into his arms, she pressed a single kiss to his chest—directly over his heart. “You confuse me.”

“You require contact. It’s a logical thing to supply it.” He relaxed a little though, his body and mind refusing to follow
the reasonable path. Just for a moment, he let his fingertips graze her skin.

She sighed and pressed closer. “If we were in Faerie, and I wasn’t
me
, but just a faery… what would you say?”

“About?”

“If I was in your arms like this.”

“You wouldn’t be.” He smiled at her curiosity. “This isn’t done.”

“Being near each other? Are you saying there’s no sex in Faerie?” She lifted her head to stare at his face. “For real?”

“Of course there’s sex, but
this
”—he gestured at the two of them—“is not sex. Sex is a very different thing than what we are doing.”

“What about after?”

“After sex one bathes and dresses.” Devlin repressed a sigh of pleasure as she snuggled back into his arms. He’d never simply held anyone, not for pleasure or need or emotion.

“Faerie sounds horrible.” Ani shuddered a little. Absently, she began to trace some sort of pattern on his stomach.

“No, not horrible, just out of balance,” Devlin admitted the truth he hadn’t ever spoken aloud. His frequent trips to the mortal world had made him increasingly aware that the beauty of Faerie was missing something. Without shadows, the brightness was insufficient. The Dark Court’s prolonged absence from Faerie had created a void. Faerie was out of
balance and had been for centuries.

Is that why Sorcha acts so unwell?
He felt guilt at the thought, but it seemed shameful that the Queen of Order kept sending him off to check on a newly made faery.

“Dev?” Ani lifted her head to look at him. “You’re doing that not-really-here thing again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and strangely, he was—not just for being aloof, but for the moments he’d missed over eternity by doing that very thing. Being reserved wasn’t something he enjoyed; being Sorcha’s creature wasn’t something he enjoyed. His pleasures were almost all found in the mortal world, where he could lower his self-control for a heartbeat here or there.
What would Faerie be like if the Dark Court returned?
The thought of it gave him an unfamiliar jolt. If the Dark Court returned home, there would be change in Faerie.
And maybe… Ani.
If not, if he couldn’t go to Faerie with her, maybe he could stay in the mortal world. Sorcha had remade Seth; she could make him her assassin. If not Seth, someone else.
I could be free.

Devlin lifted one hand to caress Ani’s cheek. “I don’t want to be distant. I want to be near to you.”

She stilled, holding her breath for a moment.

He hadn’t had a plan beyond removing her from Bananach’s reach. “Until I know you’re safe, how am I to leave you?”

“Irial could keep me safe. He’s not bound to the court… Maybe he’d move, or I could hide. You don’t have to—”

“But I
want
to.” He traced the line of her jaw, pausing just under her lips.

“Want to what?”

“Everything.” He felt an unfamiliar nervousness.

“What are you offering?” she asked again, just as she had when he removed his shirt.

“Asking,” he corrected. “I’m
asking
to kiss you. May I?”

“Yes please,” she whispered.

It wasn’t the sort of consuming kiss they’d shared at the Crow’s Nest, not at first. For a brief few moments, it was the sort of kiss that he’d never had: exploring and careful, tasting and gentle. Then, Ani pressed against him like she was starving.

No logic. No negotiations.

She was stretched out beside him, and he rolled onto his hip so they were face-to-face.

No discussion.

He had no idea where they were going, but in that instant, he set aside all thought. As long as she was alive, she was his responsibility.

My reason.

Mine.

As she wrapped a leg over him, his emotions slipped free from the last restraint. Letting down the walls that kept his very un–High Court emotions repressed had become easy around Ani. He liked it. It felt natural.

It is. With Ani, it’s the way it should be. With Ani is the
way I…
An untried emotion filled him. It wasn’t appreciation or lust; it wasn’t worry or protectiveness. Those were all threaded into it, but it was something else.

He felt her pulse race faster as they kissed.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him then, and he couldn’t focus his thoughts.

Abruptly, she pulled back. “No.”

She scrambled backward off the bed.

“Ani?” He held out a hand. “Have I offended—”

“No.” Her eyes were shimmering with the vivid green of the Hunt. She was the Hunt, and she could consume him.

He felt a thrill of terror.

She held her hands out as if to warn him off. “I can’t if you… just…
no
… not with you. You’re not safe if… You don’t know what I am.”

She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Ani sat on the dingy floor and tried not to shiver. She reached up and locked the door. It wouldn’t matter: neither of them would be even slowed by the lock—or the door, for that matter.

I won’t hurt him.

She could hear him on the opposite of the door; she could feel his emotions.
Guilt. Shame. Fear. Worry.
If she didn’t explain, he’d think he’d done something wrong.

“I can do this; I can tell him,” she whispered. Then she raised her voice and said, “Go to the other side of the room. Please?”

She waited for a couple moments, listening to him walking away. In the still of the room, she could hear his heartbeat racing.
Like prey.
It didn’t make her self-control any easier.

Slowly, she opened the door and took two steps forward.

He stood on the opposite side of the tiny room. His dangerous emotions were walled up again. “Did I injure you?”

Without meaning to, Ani let out a laugh. “No.”

His face didn’t betray anything. “I would never force—”

“I know that.” She sat on the floor with her back to the edge of the door frame. “It’s not you… I…”

Devlin stayed standing. “You don’t need to explain.”

Neither his voice nor his posture revealed any of the emotions she’d felt so clearly when she sat with the door between them, but she knew what he’d felt. He
knew
that she was aware of every emotion that had flooded him. Part of her wanted to pretend ignorance, but she wasn’t selfish enough to let him believe he was at fault.

To most people, yes, but not you, Devlin.

She sighed and started the conversation she didn’t want to have. “How did you feel after I kissed you at the Crow’s Nest?”