Shadow's Light (22 page)

I straightened my shoulders, plastered a smile on my face and took hold of Michel's offered hand to follow our pretty
fīfrildi
guard out the door. Queen Sofiq of the
Dökkálfa
Court was waiting. And there wasn't a blind thing I could do to prevent what was about to occur.

Sora kept glancing over her shoulders and frowning at my straight, long hair, hanging loose down my back. It was shining under the sconces that graced the long hall. Golden highlights flickering in the depths of brown, a natural colouring I had only gained since being with Michel. Before my hair had always been a mousy brown. For some reason being around Michel made it shine in ways I had never thought possible, but had always been grateful for. Despite that, I would still have settled for thicker hair. At least I did have long hair though. I've always kind of been attached to my long hair and I mean that in a psychological way. Long hair is feminine. To me, short is not.

Even fighting vampires every night of the week, didn't make me tie my hair up. Granted I'd paid for it on more than one occasion, but my goal had always been to
not
let the vampire I was about to stake get close enough to grab a fistful of hair. If I didn't tie my hair up for the Dark that graced our streets, there was no way I'd tie it up for a Queen of the Dark fairies, that was for sure.

It took a good ten minutes to reach wherever Sofiq had decided to meet us. Every step closer I felt Michel's tension ratchet up a notch or two. It wouldn't have been obvious to those around us, but I knew Michel better than most. The fact that he had stopped breathing altogether though, would be noticed in due course.

Breathe
, I commanded him mentally, forcing myself not to reach for my Light to help calm his nerves.

I heard a slow, quiet, rush of air escape his lips and his hand squeezed mine in thanks. I would kill her for making Michel feel this way. I had no doubt about it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I
would
kill Queen Sofiq, or die trying.

Now, it is your turn to breathe, ma douce,
Michel quietly chided me in my head. I obliged, me not breathing would definitely not be overlooked. I worked hard on schooling my features into a neutral, guarded façade. I'd had years to practise around the vampires, but somehow, their evil paled in comparison with the Fey. I don't know why. One evil couldn't necessarily be worse than another, could it? Evil is as evil does. But, there was just something about fairies that I knew I should be wary of. The
Ljósálfar
had stolen our babies for centuries, wanted us to parent their young and could play every trick in the book. The
Dökkálfa
would steal our hope, our courage, our love, our happiness and leave only a shell of a human in its place. Whether or not they obeyed certain rules was irrelevant. They were both thieves that threatened humanity. They were both forms of evil I had never before encountered.

Hiding my fear was the hardest thing I had ever attempted to do in my life. I almost reached for my Light out of habit to help me. A natural response that would have left me vulnerable to attack from the Queen. I spun the silver bracelet as a reminder of what not to do, as we crossed the threshold into what had to be the
Dökkálfa
throne room.

This one was equally as grand as Queen Isoleth's. A large, ornate stone throne hewn from the same smooth, black, shiny granite-like stone the rest of the fort was made from, stood sentinel on a plinth at the very end of the room. Speckles of different shades caught the light here and there, like the natural grain of granite back in our realm. It was never just a plain, dull, flat colour granite. There was always more to it when cut and polished and refined.

The rest of the room was full of statues made from the same stone. Larger than life, ringing the edge of the long thin room. They depicted what was obviously
Dökkálfa
. I wondered if it was the higher echelons of their society, rather than the lowly servants such as
fīfrildi
maids and
hyrða
guards. Both of which I couldn't spot in the line-up of statues at all.

Courtiers were evenly spaced about the place. They were a mixture of stunningly beautiful, either their natural appearance or glamour, I could not tell which. And various colours of their people I had come to expect. Green, yellow, blue, red. Some displaying proudly row upon row of pointy teeth, others purposely smiling with lips closed in an effort to appear less threatening. Talking amongst themselves quietly, dressed in all their black, grey and white splendour. The materials and lush fabrics making up for the lack of diverse colour.

The
Dökkálfa
Court was a strange combination of monochromatic simplicity and intricately presented and polished design. I begrudgingly admitted I liked it. There was an absence of complication to their outlook on life. No lies. Act as you are prone to act and therefore expected to act. I'd always felt the bright colours of the
Ljósálfar
Court were trying to hide something. Just like their actions and words, trickery was the name of the game. But here, I wondered if we had a chance after all.

Queen Sofiq was not hard to spot. Her resemblance to Isoleth, her sister, was striking. The most noticeable difference being her hair. Sofiq had pure strands of silver, whereas Isoleth's was all gold. Sofiq's hair shimmered and shone in the lights of the room, catching every stray beam like a bee to honey. Try as I might, I could not look away from that waist length of captivating hair. The silver of it called to me, like fey silver does. I stroked my bracelet to calm myself. Willing my body not to act on that call.

Her eyes were the vivid green of Isoleth's and Lutin's. A family trait, obviously. And next to her, standing tall and regal was a young man with the same vivid green eyes and shoulder length silver blonde hair. A son maybe? The resemblance was too great to consider he was not related to her. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the green eyed god, who-could-be-her-son, were two more fey. Both as equally compelling, perfectly formed, perfectly shaped, perfect in every way. When the gods designed the Fey's ruling class, they didn't favour the
Ljósálfar
over the
Dökkálfa
at all. I was guessing that Queen Sofiq and her band of merry men, were not using an ounce of glamour to achieve that perfection either.

Sora floated across the expanse of polished stone floor to present us to her Queen. She stopped within six feet of the throne's dais and curtsied low and long. Michel bowed low as well, which kind of left me in a bind. Curtsy and admit Sofiq had power greater than mine or stand like an idiot and garner her wrath? She wasn't my Queen, but then again I lived at her discretion. Staying alive a little longer won out over pride, so I curtsied. But, I sure as hell didn't make it as long or low as Sora's. One, I'm not practised in the art of curtseying with style and two... are you kidding me?

Although I knew she would have noticed - not a thing would get past her I was sure - she didn't even offer me a glance. Her eyes were all for Michel. Hungry. Lustful. Angry.

“You have recovered well, vampire.” The tinkle of her voice made my body sway, as though a thousand violins were playing an intricate musical piece that demanded I dance.

“Your accommodations befit a prince, Your Majesty,” Michel answered, neither thanking her nor outright acknowledging his quick recovery.

“I shall demand more than five days next time then,” she tinkled. And I swayed despite the rise of fury that boiled inside my veins.

Finally her gaze left Michel and settled on me. Curiosity mixed with disbelief flashed openly across her delicate porcelain features. I had the feeling that the
Dökkálfa
were not well versed in hiding their emotional responses from showing on their faces. Or, she was allowing me a false sense of security. Just because they could not tell a lie, did not mean they weren't capable of deception. I held on to that thought as I gazed back with mild interest.

“And you are the cause of all the fuss.” She snapped her fingers to the side and commanded, “Terrin, take a look at her and tell me what you see.”

One of the god-like merry men beside her stepped forward. He had a slight resemblance to the Queen, his eyes not as vivid green, but mildly so. His hair a silver grey, not as lustrous or compelling. More like an older version of the one who-could-be-her-son. When I say older, he still looked no more than thirty, but he carried himself as though he had been around as long as Sofiq.

He came and stood a foot in front of me, his head cocked to the side in an unnatural angle, more like a bird than anything human. His hand came up and cupped my face. I stood stock still. She had commanded him to look at me, somehow that made me feel secure that he would only look and do little else.

“What do you see, cousin?” the Queen asked, explaining the slight resemblance with calling him
cousin
.

“She is a
mœðr
and clearly Prince Lutin of
Ljósálfar's
elska
.” None of which was a surprise, so I remained still and just breathed slowly through my nose staring straight ahead. His face came in and looked closely at my eyes. His head cocked now to the other side. But, I don't think he was seeing me, I think he was seeing
inside
me. It was creepy. “They have completed the
kvángask
. She is a Princess of
Ljósálfar
.” Again, old news nothing I hadn't already known and already hated and already sworn to avenge.

He stepped back then and closed his eyes, threw back his head and opened his arms wide. Nobody made a sound for several minutes, not even the Queen. Time stretched, I'm sure the Earth shifted in its orbit. Then finally his head snapped down and his eyes opened to look directly at me. Despite the lack of vivid green compared to Lutin's, it was as though Lutin himself was staring back at me in that instant.

“She is connected to the vampire. There is nothing she wouldn't do for him. I doubt even you, Sofiq, would stand in her way.”

The Queen shot to her feet, her beautiful full skirt; a lush gathering of velvets and embossed gabardines, swished around her lower body, making the pattern of delicate flowers on her black dress dance. Her fists clenched at her sides and her bright eyes swirled with iridescent greens. She raised one hand, finger pointed directly at me.

I could see what was going to happen. Something very, very bad. I had absolutely no defence and I felt, more than I could see, Michel tense for battle.

Michel, just wait. Let's give her the first shot. Now is not the time to battle.
I sent the thoughts at him and kept a neutral look on my face. I could handle a lot of pain when needed. I could take almost anything she threw my way, but if she tried to harm Michel, I would not be able to survive.

Nor would I be able to stand by idly. I
would
do anything in my power to stop her.

“You come before me without care, human. Did your server not advise the correct protocol for dress?” Her voice no longer tinkled with the music that made me want to dance, it scraped against my nerve endings instead and made me want to cringe.

With a flick of her wrist and a swirl of differing shades of the brightest greens I had ever seen in her eyes, she turned her back on me and returned to her throne. At first, I thought nothing had happened. I wasn't in pain. I didn't feel sick. Nor had I miraculously been transported to a different location, such as a torture chamber in the black fort's dungeon. Nobody screamed or shouted in surprise. Even the musical chiming the Fey make when excited was missing from the room. Everything simply stalled.

And then I saw the look on Michel's face. Sadness. Not alarm, not even a terrifying loss. Just a brief look of sadness, followed by his blank mask.

I don't know what made me reach up and touch my hair. Maybe it was the way Sofiq smiled wickedly and roamed her eyes over my head that did it. But, even before my fingers touched the blunt, uneven, short ends of my new hair-do, I knew what she had done. Not a strand was longer than my chin. None reached my shoulders, let alone fell past the several inches they had before. I glanced down on the floor and saw what remained of my long locks. Discarded and no longer mine. I'd often joked that you could threaten to kill or maim me, but I would still refused to do as demanded. But, threaten to cut off my hair and I would surely comply to any request at all.

I fingered the ends of what was left of my hair and slowly looked back up at the Queen of the Dark Court of Faerie. I would kill her. I would definitely kill her. But not today. Not even tomorrow, probably. But one day, I would kill the wench who stole my Michel, tortured and abused him. And cut. Off. My. Hair.

“
That
,” I said in a neutral, even voice, “was not very nice, Your Majesty.” And then I tossed my head forward and ran my hands through the length of what she had left, making it fuller and thicker and a little bed-head messy. I came back up and smiled sweetly. “But, it will do.”

The response from the Fey, particularly the gentlemen, was immediate. My heightened senses since joining with Michel - despite Lutin reversing that joining - allow me to sense, or in this case, scent many things. One of which is arousal. I had just done the Fey equivalent of a pole dance in the middle of the throne room floor.