Veil of Shadows (12 page)

Cedric motioned to the Human servant, a slip of a young girl who seemed all too eager to be close to the Faeries. She nodded and lifted a pile of linens from atop one of Bauchan.s chests, and hurried to the bedside. “Your Majesty,” she said timidly. “Would you like your bath? I can help you.”

Far too meek, in Cedric.s opinion. He doubted she had seen even eighteen summers, but perhaps it would be good for Cerridwen to have someone closer to her Earthly age to serve her. She wouldn.t feel like she had a governess, then, though if she were to begin acting this way all of the time, she might need one.

“I will go outside to speak to the guards and establish our perimeter,” he said to Cerridwen, not expecting a response.

Outside, the guards had already strung up strings of bells at ankle height between the trees and the eight corners of the wooden platform as some measure against Human spies. They had not forgotten, then, how to live among the creatures. They assembled around the cooking pot, which already held the beginnings of an evening meal simmering away, and apprised Cedric of their plans for the Queene.s security.

“It goes without saying,” he told them after they had finished their reporting, “that I am concerned about spies. Danae puts on a good show for her public, but I will not trust her from one compassionate display. Check the surrounding woods often, and make sure that this clearing is well-lit at night. That should discourage anyone from coming too close.”

They all nodded and murmured in agreement.

“And it should also go without saying that none of you—not one—is to divulge any private conversations you might overhear to anyone, even a fellow guard in this very group.” He watched each of their faces, looking for something, some tiny effect that might tell him which of them, if any, would be dishonest in this respect. When he was satisfied that he had seen none, he thanked them and excused himself while they sorted out the details of their watch.

The soft sound of a female voice turned his attention back to the tent. The light inside was low, so no shadow revealed to him what took place inside. He went to the opening in the tent.s fabric and parted it, just a fraction, to peer inside.

The voice had belonged to the servant. Subdued in his presence, she talked quietly, but cheerfully, now that he had gone. Perhaps it was Cerridwen.s silence that caused the Human to chatter on so, but whatever the reason, the girl had gotten her off the bed and into the tub.

From Cedric.s vantage point, he saw the pale line of Cerridwen.s back as she knelt in the water and the ebony wings that sprouted from her shoulder blades dipping down to touch the floor. Her hair lay in a wet mass between them, dark from saturation, and she stayed motionless as the girl dithered on and poured another dipper of water over her head.

He let the flap fall closed and stepped back, hand paused in midair. He looked guiltily back to the guards around the fire, but they had not seen.

Whatever had come over him was some aftereffect of their harrowing journey, some twisted tribute to the horror they had experienced and the continuing strife they endured. He cared for her; of course he cared for her. But it could not truly be anything more than what he felt out of obligation. He had promised her mother he would watch over her.

Another concern bit at him, one not so easily denied. Cerridwen had only known the affection of her mother, for as long as she would be able to remember. Malachi had doted on her in her infancy, but he had distanced himself as she had grown. Now, there was no one in the world to care for the new Faery Queene. She was lonely, there was no denying, and that loneliness made her fragile. Even if Danae.s theatrics were to be believed, as Queene in a new land, she would be isolated for the rest of her life.

From inside the tent, he heard the chatter of the serving girl as she dried Cerridwen.s hair. He waited, listened for the creaking of the floor and peeked inside again. Cerridwen lay on the bed, wrapped in linen, in much the same position he had left her in.

Judging it safe to enter, he strode in and announced, “The guards seem to have things well in hand.”

Cerridwen did not respond. The serving girl, however, did. “That.s good to hear. With all these new arrivals, Queene—I mean, Danae.s—guards will be quite busy, I expect.”

Momentarily mute with astonishment at being spoken to so casually by a servant, Cedric had to pause to regain his senses. “I would like a bath, as well. Draw me one as quickly as possible.”

“Of course!” The servant smiled brightly and dragged the tub across the floor, sloshing water as she went to dump the contents.

Cedric took a few steps closer to the bed, but something about Cerridwen.s stone-still posture warned him to stay back.

“There should be something to eat soon,” he told her cautiously, watching for any reaction. There was none. “I look forward to our meeting with Danae tomorrow.”

Quiet. Unmoving.

“I know this must be a shock to you, never having lived aboveground, and growing up in the Palace. This must all seem very primitive. But this is the way we are made to live. You are closer now to your Fae heritage than you have ever been before. You may find it difficult, but this life is in your blood.”

She did not respond.

It would take time. How long had it taken him to adjust to life underground? But that had been so different. That had been imprisonment. This was deliverance.

Remarkably, he had begun to feel better about their situation. He would never have wished to come here if he had known the price would be Ayla.s death, and Malachi.s. But now he was here, and he could not force himself to stay shrouded in mourning. He was Above, in familiar surroundings. Yes, they were on the physical plane. But it was so similar to what he remembered on the Astral that he could easily trick himself into thinking all was right again.

The serving maid was small, and too talkative, but efficient. It was not long before she had the tub filled and fresh linens set out for him. He eased his arms out of his robe and turned to see her still waiting, expectant. “I do not need you. You can leave.”

“Supper will be done soon. Do you want me to tell you when it.s ready?” She shifted from one foot to the other as she awaited his answer.

He frowned. “No. I will come out when I am finished here. Do not disturb me.”

She.d only just disappeared through the tent flaps when another thought occurred to him. “Do not bother the guards, either!”

A talkative servant, distracting the guards and plying them with comforts, would make quick work of any security they thought to establish. Perhaps she would not be such a boon after all.

He shed his clothes and eased into the hot water. He had not felt such comfort since the night they had stayed in the ferryman.s warehouse shelter. His muscles ached, from the day.s long trek, from rowing the boat, from sleeping bound in the prison cell….

His mind drifted further back. From carrying Cerridwen to safety. From tearing her from her mother.s arms. From fighting to protect her in the Elven hall.

His fist clenched and he pounded his thigh, splashing noisily through the surface of the water. These thoughts were sent by some evil force to torment him. Those memories inspired tender feeling, and he would have to be made of stone to prevent that. He could not give in to them.

Dika.s image insinuated itself in his brain, her brown skin gilded by firelight. He could almost feel her warmth against him, her body enveloping him. How could he replace her so easily? How could he betray her with thoughts of Cerridwen?

Briefly, he wondered if this camp was what life with the Gypsies would have been like. But he could not fool himself. They would have constantly been in fear of the Enforcers, moving anywhere they could find even a single night of safety. And eventually, they would have been driven underground.

Would he have wanted that life? Imagining it now, now that he was safe and would never return to the Underground, he was not so sure. Maybe Dika would not have been enough to keep him happy, then. Maybe that was why he found himself wanting Cerridwen now.

It was Ayla, damn her! His teeth ground as he remembered that royal banquet where she had announced his betrothal to the Royal Heir. Without consulting him, without a thought for his feelings, she had planted the seed of corruption there. He would never have thought of Cerridwen in this light if not for Ayla.s insistence that he should.

This could not continue. In the morning, when he met with Danae, he would admit that they were not truly mates and that he needed his own quarters. They did not have to be so fine as these. He might take to sleeping in tree branches as he once had. If he could be rid of the sight of her, even for one day—

“I wish she had killed me.”

Lost in his thoughts, he.d almost forgotten that the object of his distress was there, with him. He looked to the bed. She still had not moved, but she had spoken. He had not imagined that.

“What do you mean?” He could not have heard her correctly.

“I wish she had killed me.” The sound of tears shook her voice.

The water had gone cold. He reached for the linens the servant had left and wrapped one around his waist as he stood. He flared his wings to dry them and stepped toward the bed, clutching the cloth closed with one hand at his hip. “You cannot believe that.”

Her back shook now, as though she tried to restrain her sobs. The trembling of the feathers on her wings speared through him, as though he could feel her pain.

But he could not. He would never be able to understand a creature wishing to end its life. He could not understand, even now, how Ayla had given up hers. She had been devastated by Malachi.s death. She had not wished to live without him. He knew loss, and he did not like the feeling of it. But when he was reminded of Dika.s death, he did not wish for his own.

Perhaps it was a mortal foible. If he were a man, and not a Faery, the thought of Dika.s death might have driven him to take his own life. Now, he could not imagine anything so terrible.

And if it were Cerridwen dead? The thought stopped him. On the ship, when they had thrown her out the door, he had been prepared to follow her, hands bound, no way to save her or himself, into the water. He had been willing to die for her. Would he have died for Dika, if he had been there when the Waterhorses attacked?

He did not wish to examine the answer. It would not help him now, and it would not help Cerridwen.

“Please,” he tried again. “Do not say that you wish to die.”

“But I do.” The ache in her words was almost too much to bear. “I endured all of this because it seemed there would be an end in sight. I expected her to end this! I hurt. I miss my mother. I miss my home! I do not understand this place, or any place that is not the Lightworld. And I thought it was about to end!”

“You will learn to understand this place.” But he knew as he said it that she would not believe him. “You can be happy here.”

“With no one but myself? I can be happy alone, constantly on guard from the treachery of these creatures?” She sniffed miserably.

“You are not alone.” How ineffective that reassurance seemed. And how dangerous his next was. “You are not alone, because I am here with you.”

She made a noise, as if she did not believe him.

“Cerridwen—” He stopped. He could not say anymore.

He placed a knee on the bed, hesitating for a moment to see if she would object. When she did not, he eased himself down to lie beside her. She folded her wings, but she did not look at him. Perhaps it was better that way. If she looked at him with her perfect, heart-shaped face, he might not be able to keep from saying what he almost had. He drew her into his arms and curled his body around hers.

Cedric had only intended to hold her until she calmed and stopped crying, but when she did, he could not let her go. She did not move away from him, either. The lamps burned out, and they were left in the semidarkness of the tent, the orange light of the fire flickering outside.

He lifted his head, checked to see if she was asleep. She was not. “Do you want me to bring you some food?” he asked, praying that she would refuse, in spite of himself.

She shook her head, a small movement, and reached for his arm where it lay across her waist. She drew it tighter to her body, as though snuggling deeper into a blanket. “Don.t leave me,”

she asked sleepily.

He dipped his head, so that his lips brushed the hair at her temple. “I will not,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “I will not.”

He could not.

The dawn woke her, disoriented her. It filled the tent with feeble gray light, and seemed somehow colder than the night before.

At some point while she.d slept, Cedric had covered them with the soft blankets they had fallen asleep on top of, and now she lay, bare skin to bare skin, wrapped in his arms.

He still slept. She thought of how she might slip away without waking him. That seemed like it would be best. Perhaps then they would not discuss how they had woken this way, how intimate it all seemed in the daylight.

But how to leave without waking him? She became all too aware of how closely they were entwined. One of his legs lay between hers. His arm rested over her waist, and the other cradled her head. His face, achingly beautiful, now that she truly looked at it, was mere inches from her. If she wished to, she could kiss him, the way she had impulsively kissed Fenrick that day on the Strip.

She did not feel those same, nervous flutters in her stomach when she thought of kissing Cedric. No, not the same. A thousand times worse.

It seemed so much more important now not to disturb him, and more impossible. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, silently, willing her body to shrink.

Perhaps he was a deep sleeper, and he would not notice if she went quickly and quietly. She had not noticed him moving her beneath the blankets. Her face flamed at the realization that he must have been awake then, even if she had not been, and he would have seen her, every bit of her, as he had done so. Though she had never thought of herself as ugly, she did suddenly. Ugly and unworthy and desperate to escape him before he woke and realized all of that, too.