Queene Of Light. Jennifer Armintrout
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into panic as Mabb’s guard cut a swath through them, clearing the way so that Ayla might escape.
How, she wondered, had Garret turned out so kind and generous when his sister was vain and spoiled? Were the roles of the Queene and the Male Heir so vastly different?
They must be, she decided as she passed through the Palace doors and into the common streets of the Lightworld. Stalls lined the tunnel leading to the Palace, all selling wares emblazoned with Mabb’s image or name. Tired from your long journey through the Lightworld? Use Queene Mabb’s Restorative Potion! Used signet rings! Gain an audience faster with documents stamped by Mabb’s own seal!
Garret did not crave the kind of fame that Mabb had encouraged. It was a shame that only a female heir could ascend to the throne. He would not have abided such folly.
But he had not lived a life with such restrictions as Mabb had, either. Mabb had not been free to pursue her own interests, as Garret had. And she had to keep her wings hidden, by some royal edict that her parents had passed long before they had died, long before the destruction of the Astral plane.
Turning from the main tunnel onto a slender byway, Ayla avoided further exposure to the Palace market. Garret made his home in a more quiet—and exclusive—part of the Lightworld, near enough to the Palace to be convenient, far enough to keep him away from the tourists and pilgrims. The tunnel widened slightly, ending in a long concrete staircase. Ayla opened her wings and drifted down, the weight of the sword dragging some of the grace from her flight. It was good to be in the open, away from the stifling rooms of the Palace. Though the training areas of the Guild had plenty of space for aerial sparring, there was nothing like being able to simply open your wings and fly without thinking of defensive combat.
She envied Garret his life outside the Palace. His existence did not hinge on the Queene’s whim. He did not even need to work for his wages, if he chose not to. Being the son of a Queene might not merit a crown, but it did earn a reasonable allowance from the Palace treasury. Ayla had asked Garret once why he continued to work at the Guild. His answer had been, “For you, Ayla. Always for you.” The answer had unnerved her, and she had not dared to ask it again.
At the bottom of the stairs was a tunnel, accessible through a hole with a ladder. Ayla folded her wings carefully and slipped into the hole, dropping down to land hard on both feet. A shock rippled up her ankles; she thought belatedly that she should have used the ladder. But it was good to be doing something physical, testing her body just a bit before going on whatever assignment Garret had for her.
Garret’s apartment was one of four in this small, square tunnel. There were two on either side, stacked atop each other. One end of the tunnel branched off on a path leading deeper into the Lightworld. The other ended in a wall of water-stained concrete, and climbing ivy grew there, carefully trimmed around a stained stone fountain that leaked a trickle of rusty water. It was one of the nicest dwelling areas Ayla had ever seen, though she hadn’t had much reason to explore the homes of the Lightworld.
Garret lived in one of the second-level apartments. There were no stairs. These were exclusively Faery dwellings. Ayla opened her wings and raised herself up, grasping the polished metal bar beside the door. She knocked, and when Garret opened the door to admit her, she used the bar to swing herself inside as she folded her wings.
Garret’s apartment was a wonder to her after sleeping in the barracks for so long. The space was L-shaped, the sleeping area hidden from the door by the bend. There was a low, flat table with cushions all around for entertaining—a luxury many Faeries could not afford—and a brick oven set into the wall for heating and cooking. Garret had well-stocked cupboards and a fine collection of wooden dishes, all of which seemed to be on display on the square table in the center of the room.
Ayla hesitated, one hand still on the door. “Am I…have I interrupted your supper?”
Garret smiled and held out his arms, and she allowed him to embrace her, but it turned out as awkward as it ever did. “No, this is for you, Ayla. I have something I wish to speak to you about. Sit down, please.”
He guided her to a cushion and took the sword from her, propping it against the wall by the door. He gestured to the table, laid out with fat, round loaves of bread, a bowl of sweet cream and strawberries, a very rare delicacy that grew only in the Upworld. “Please, help yourself.”
Sinking to her knees beside the table, she viewed the fare uneasily. “Garret, what is this about?”
“I have had a wonderful day, Ayla.” Instead of sitting across the table from her, Garret took a seat beside her, almost too close.
She inched away a bit, tearing off a chunk of bread to focus her attention on instead of Garret’s unusual nearness. “A good day? Then you must have heard better news than I gave you this morning.”
She chanced a look at his face then, and saw a shadow flicker across it. But he smiled, a bit forced, and held out one of the berries for her. “I must talk to Cedric about that, still. But you and I have much more pleasant business to discuss tonight. My sister, the Queene, has granted my petition.”
“Your petition?” She opened her mouth and let him slip the berry inside.
“Yes. I asked her permission to make you my mate.”
Her breath hitched. She choked on the berry.
Garret slapped her back until her spasms passed, and gave a dry chuckle. “That was not the reaction I had hoped for.”
“I am sorry.” Ayla fumbled for a cup on the table and sucked down the honeyed wine within. “You surprised me.”
“It should not come as so great a surprise, Ayla. You have known for some time how much I’ve wanted you.” His words ended on a desperate whisper, raw and a little frightening.
Ayla looked away from the intensity on his face, the pleading in his words. There had to be a way to remove herself from the situation with grace. But when she opened her mouth, the words, “But why?” came out, and she felt the current in the air change. She glanced up at him, at the antennae laying against his hair, fluttering in irritation. He could put on all the charm in the world now, and she would know it false. She had angered him.
The beginnings of many tentative smiles twitched his mouth as he tried to find sincerity. “There are many women at Court who would throw themselves on such a change, Ayla. To be mated to the Queene’s brother…it could one day mean a throne.”
It could, if the Queene were to die. And among their mortal race, death occurred only in battle. Or assassination. She pushed the evil thought aside. What she needed was time to think, to weigh the benefits against the risks in this battle. “I do not mean to offend. You’ve taken me by surprise.”
His demeanor softened in earnest then, and he rubbed a comforting—at least, it was meant to be comforting—hand down her arm. “What have I been thinking? Here you are, worried about your position in the Guild with your recent transgression looming over your head, and I make you a silly offer, thinking only of myself.”
Ayla swallowed. Had she been unsettled by the consequences of her experience with the Darkling, or by the experience itself?
Garret rambled on. “Only, think of what this means. Ayla, if you were my mate, you wouldn’t need to worry about your future in the Guild.” He paused to let the point sink in. “Your future would be secure.”
So, he was not above playing his wealth and status as an incentive. And why should he be? Ayla had lived at Court long enough to know that wealth purchased many opportunities. Were she to ally herself with Garret, despite her lack of passion for him, she would purchase a life away from the barracks, more leniency within the Guild. Perhaps, even greater favor with the Queene, though Garret already said his sister held her in high esteem. All of these things would make her way easier. Why choose the difficult road, when a clear path lay before her?
Garret pushed her braid from her shoulder, brushing elegant fingers across her skin. She shuddered, and hoped he would mistake it for more than it was. He did not disgust her, but