Radiant Shadows
Page 39
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“If I told her I wanted to remove you from her reach, do you think she’d have let us leave?”
She looked over at him. “Why should I trust you?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He had just betrayed his second sister for Ani, but he couldn’t say he wouldn’t kill Ani. If the options were Ani’s life or the good of Faerie, he’d act in Faerie’s best interest. “I did not come seeking your death or injury, Ani.”
Her hands tightened on the wheel. “But?”
He looked over at her, wishing that she’d stayed safely hidden, wishing she’d never attracted Sorcha’s attention before or Bananach’s now. He couldn’t tell her those things, not at the moment, not when she was already so furious and frightened. He couldn’t not tell her anything either, so he said, “But you have something she wants, something she believes will allow her to defeat Sorcha, to become more powerful than War should ever be, and I cannot let her have it.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “Do you want to help her?”
“No, but—”
Devlin interrupted, “And I prefer not to have to kill you. If you help her, I will have to.”
After that, neither of them spoke, not as she blared the music to obscene volumes, not as she drove carelessly enough that he was quite sure of her parentage, and not as she gunned the engine as they departed Huntsdale.
Please let me find a solution that isn’t her death.
Chapter 18
Rae didn’t truly sleep, but she could reach a meditative silence that felt very energizing. She felt as if she floated in a gray nothingness where the world couldn’t reach her.
“You!”
Rae focused her attention on the cave, pulling herself back to the state in which she typically existed, staring at the rock walls she had called “home” these past years. In the shadowed alcove, the queen of Faerie stood waiting. Her left hand held a broken mirror. All around her feet shards of reflective glass were scattered like the bones of the dead on an abandoned battlefield.
“None of these work as the one you made did.” Sorcha dropped the mirror to the floor, where the glass pieces joined the others already there. “You were in my mind.”
How did she find me?
Rae winced. She feigned comfort as if she merely rested on an oblong rock on the floor of the cave. It was an illusion, but it was the sort that made her feel anchored in the waking world. She looked directly at Sorcha and said, “I was.”
“I didn’t give you leave to live in Faerie. You never came to ask my permission,” Sorcha said. The words lilted at the end, a question that wasn’t meant to be. Her eyes were unfocused, her gaze not centered on Rae but on something beyond. She wasn’t as lovely here as she was in the dream world. Here, her imperiousness was off-putting; her rigidity was disconcerting. The flamelike vitality of her dream-self had been muted, like Rae was seeing her through a thick glass.
Rae would feel sympathy, but Sorcha was the queen Rae had feared, the faery who kept Devlin bound to a path that didn’t suit him. At her word, Devlin could die; Rae could die. That reality nullified any sympathy Rae would otherwise feel.
She stood and walked deeper into the shadows, putting more distance between them, standing as if she were leaning against the cave wall. Distance wouldn’t keep her safe, but it made her feel less unsettled by the High Queen’s presence.
“Can I ask permission now?”
Sorcha paused. “I’m not sure. I don’t know that I like your willingness to walk in my dreams…in anyone’s dreams. It’s indecorous.”
Rae kept silent. Once, in her mortal life, being accused of indecorous behavior was a severe charge. Rae’s long-ago instincts made her want to apologize for being inappropriate, but she hadn’t done anything untoward: she’d tried to help ease the pain of a grieving faery. The apology she owed was to Devlin, for exposing herself. So Rae stayed silent, hands folded demurely, gaze lowered. The semblance of propriety seemed a fitting response.
“Yet, I’m not sure how to kill you. The lack of a body to bleed complicates the matter.” Sorcha was as callous as Devlin appeared to most faeries, as unyielding as logic should be. It was chilling.
“I see.” Rae nodded. “Have you tried wishing me dead?”
“No.”
“May I ask—”
“No.” Sorcha was suddenly seated on a silver throne that sat atop a dais. Neither had been there a heartbeat ago. The queen had willed a chair into being, and a floor, and marble pillars, and—
We aren’t in the cave. Rae shivered. Obviously, Sorcha could relocate Rae. Or did she move the world around us?
“Fortunately for you, I have decided that I have use of you.” Sorcha raised a hand in a beckoning motion. Two mortals came forward. They were both veiled. Diaphanous gray gauze hung over their faces and draped their shoulders. Shifts of a similar cloth covered their bodies. Their arms and feet were bare.
Rae wondered if she’d met them when she’d walked in dreams or worn Devlin’s body, but she couldn’t tell from the slight glimpse of bare arm or foot. She stayed silent before the High Queen.
“Sleep,” Sorcha told the mortals. “Here.”
The floor was undoubtedly beautiful; mosaic tiles created elaborate art that they trod on as if it were merely a base surface. It was not soft or inviting, however.
The mortals lowered themselves to the ground obediently. They crossed their bare ankles and folded their hands over their stomachs, looking like cloaked corpses at a wake. Still silent, they were stretched prone at their queen’s feet. What they weren’t doing, however, was sleeping.
She looked over at him. “Why should I trust you?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He had just betrayed his second sister for Ani, but he couldn’t say he wouldn’t kill Ani. If the options were Ani’s life or the good of Faerie, he’d act in Faerie’s best interest. “I did not come seeking your death or injury, Ani.”
Her hands tightened on the wheel. “But?”
He looked over at her, wishing that she’d stayed safely hidden, wishing she’d never attracted Sorcha’s attention before or Bananach’s now. He couldn’t tell her those things, not at the moment, not when she was already so furious and frightened. He couldn’t not tell her anything either, so he said, “But you have something she wants, something she believes will allow her to defeat Sorcha, to become more powerful than War should ever be, and I cannot let her have it.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “Do you want to help her?”
“No, but—”
Devlin interrupted, “And I prefer not to have to kill you. If you help her, I will have to.”
After that, neither of them spoke, not as she blared the music to obscene volumes, not as she drove carelessly enough that he was quite sure of her parentage, and not as she gunned the engine as they departed Huntsdale.
Please let me find a solution that isn’t her death.
Chapter 18
Rae didn’t truly sleep, but she could reach a meditative silence that felt very energizing. She felt as if she floated in a gray nothingness where the world couldn’t reach her.
“You!”
Rae focused her attention on the cave, pulling herself back to the state in which she typically existed, staring at the rock walls she had called “home” these past years. In the shadowed alcove, the queen of Faerie stood waiting. Her left hand held a broken mirror. All around her feet shards of reflective glass were scattered like the bones of the dead on an abandoned battlefield.
“None of these work as the one you made did.” Sorcha dropped the mirror to the floor, where the glass pieces joined the others already there. “You were in my mind.”
How did she find me?
Rae winced. She feigned comfort as if she merely rested on an oblong rock on the floor of the cave. It was an illusion, but it was the sort that made her feel anchored in the waking world. She looked directly at Sorcha and said, “I was.”
“I didn’t give you leave to live in Faerie. You never came to ask my permission,” Sorcha said. The words lilted at the end, a question that wasn’t meant to be. Her eyes were unfocused, her gaze not centered on Rae but on something beyond. She wasn’t as lovely here as she was in the dream world. Here, her imperiousness was off-putting; her rigidity was disconcerting. The flamelike vitality of her dream-self had been muted, like Rae was seeing her through a thick glass.
Rae would feel sympathy, but Sorcha was the queen Rae had feared, the faery who kept Devlin bound to a path that didn’t suit him. At her word, Devlin could die; Rae could die. That reality nullified any sympathy Rae would otherwise feel.
She stood and walked deeper into the shadows, putting more distance between them, standing as if she were leaning against the cave wall. Distance wouldn’t keep her safe, but it made her feel less unsettled by the High Queen’s presence.
“Can I ask permission now?”
Sorcha paused. “I’m not sure. I don’t know that I like your willingness to walk in my dreams…in anyone’s dreams. It’s indecorous.”
Rae kept silent. Once, in her mortal life, being accused of indecorous behavior was a severe charge. Rae’s long-ago instincts made her want to apologize for being inappropriate, but she hadn’t done anything untoward: she’d tried to help ease the pain of a grieving faery. The apology she owed was to Devlin, for exposing herself. So Rae stayed silent, hands folded demurely, gaze lowered. The semblance of propriety seemed a fitting response.
“Yet, I’m not sure how to kill you. The lack of a body to bleed complicates the matter.” Sorcha was as callous as Devlin appeared to most faeries, as unyielding as logic should be. It was chilling.
“I see.” Rae nodded. “Have you tried wishing me dead?”
“No.”
“May I ask—”
“No.” Sorcha was suddenly seated on a silver throne that sat atop a dais. Neither had been there a heartbeat ago. The queen had willed a chair into being, and a floor, and marble pillars, and—
We aren’t in the cave. Rae shivered. Obviously, Sorcha could relocate Rae. Or did she move the world around us?
“Fortunately for you, I have decided that I have use of you.” Sorcha raised a hand in a beckoning motion. Two mortals came forward. They were both veiled. Diaphanous gray gauze hung over their faces and draped their shoulders. Shifts of a similar cloth covered their bodies. Their arms and feet were bare.
Rae wondered if she’d met them when she’d walked in dreams or worn Devlin’s body, but she couldn’t tell from the slight glimpse of bare arm or foot. She stayed silent before the High Queen.
“Sleep,” Sorcha told the mortals. “Here.”
The floor was undoubtedly beautiful; mosaic tiles created elaborate art that they trod on as if it were merely a base surface. It was not soft or inviting, however.
The mortals lowered themselves to the ground obediently. They crossed their bare ankles and folded their hands over their stomachs, looking like cloaked corpses at a wake. Still silent, they were stretched prone at their queen’s feet. What they weren’t doing, however, was sleeping.
