Veil Of Shadows. Jennifer Armintrout
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she’d felt at the sight of battle, or her sorrow at watching her parents cut down before her; those images would force themselves into her mind every time she closed her eyes, and chase away any happy thought she might begin to feel, she was certain. But she would always remember the awfulness of the lives lived by the creatures there, the scrabbling for sustenance, the very real possibility that something could come out of any one of the shadows and end the life they struggled to lead.
She would not live in such a way, nor would she allow anyone she cared about to, if she could help it.
If the days were interminable, the nights were only slightly less so. But the evenings, they were nearly pleasant. Once the sun set, a change would come over the Fae. Probably relief. Cerridwen felt this every day that passed. The setting sun showed them that they were one day closer to their destination, that soon they would be quit of the ship and one another, free to seek out new companionship in the Upworld settlement. Free to set up new lives not encircled by walls.
A few of the Faeries had brought instruments in their flight from the Underground, drums and whistles and pipes, and a harp. They assembled on the deck, under the night sky dazzled with stars, and played until the dawn lit the sky. Sometimes, the Human sailors would come and watch them, but always from a safe distance, always wary.
Cerridwen watched, as well, because she was not fool enough to think that she could truly be a part of it. But being near the others was enough to make her feel less lonely, and so she watched them celebrate their journey’s progress.
On the fifth night, Bauchan approached her, practiced smile in place. “And where is your mate? I have not seen him any night yet, when everyone else is here.”
She would not let him goad her into giving anything away, not even her unhappiness. “He is tired,” she said with a shrug. “And he does not care for parties.”
“Too tired to dance with his lovely betrothed?”
Bauchan clucked in disapproval.
“Too tired for disrespectful celebration in the wake of terrible tragedy,” she replied coolly.
The humor fled Bauchan’s face, and his eyes glittered like those of the great, sleek sea creatures that bumped and brushed against the hull of the boat as they slept at night. “Tragedy, yes. The death of your mother, the Queene.”
“And countless others, and the destruction of our way of life.” She held his gaze, hoped he would see something of her mother in her.
“But no such a tragedy for yourself? You will be Queene, after all.”
Be cautious, she warned herself, but her anger was far stronger than her restraint. “Not all of the Fae in the Underground have survived,” she snapped. “Many of them died at the hands of the Elves and Waterhorses because they would not turn their back on their true Queene.”
She had said too much, but she did not care. Her hands trembled, her chest jerked with her angry pulse.
“I have upset you.” He tried another harmless smile. “It seems I cannot say the right thing when I am near you.”
“I am sure it is not just me.” She would give him no foothold. “Why does anyone fall for your obvious manipulations?”
Hatred, she had learned long ago, looked especially ugly on a beautiful face. Bauchan was more beautiful than most, so on him the effect was terrifying. “You should watch your step, little one. I may have underestimated you, but I know exactly the kind of creature your Cedric is. I can turn him from you in a moment.”
She laughed at the absurdity of his arrogance. No power on Earth, the Upworld or the Underground, could make Cedric betray the last promise he’d made to her mother.
“You do not believe me?” Bauchan’s voice was as cold and deadly as a blade. “I turned Flidais, ever faithful Flidais, from your mother.”
“I would be careful if I were you,” she warned.
“What will you do to me?” Bauchan had the nerve to laugh at her. The fool. “You have no allies. No real power. If you do intend to overthrow my Queene, and I suspect you do, you have no army and no Court.”
“I do not need an army! I can easily do what I did to Flidais, to you and anyone else who stands in my way!”
The music stopped; the dancing followed.
They could not have all heard. Soon, she knew, a ripple of whisper would begin, growing and spreading until their outraged voices would be louder than the instrument had been.
Bauchan looked so pleased with himself, she wished she really could do to him what she’d done to Flidais. The red haze of her anger was so similar to what she’d felt in the battle in the Elven Great Hall. A family trait, she thought with pride. Her mother had been a skilled assassin. Her father—her true father—a great warrior. She did not falter under the accusing stares.
Bauchan called for quiet, and the crowd fell silent. He stalked forward, so close that if she’d had a knife, she could have easily sent him the way of that treacherous Fae.
“And what did you do to Flidais?”
It was too late now to keep from telling everything. And that must have been his plan all along. To push her to this. He was, indeed, very good at this sort of trickery.
Still, she would not let him see that he had beaten her. “I killed the traitor Flidais. Before we boarded the ferry, I killed her with a dagger in her throat, and I have not thought twice about it since!”
A gasp went up, and she turned to address the Faeries that had formed a circle around them. “I dealt with Flidais the way we should deal with all cowards and traitors. She lied to you, working with Bauchan to deliver you as playthings to his Queene. You would not be here, on this boat, bound for an unknown future, if she had not promised this man something in exchange for your presence!”
Bauchan smirked at Cerridwen and looked around. “You would not be free of the oppression of your Queene, who would not let you decide for yourself whether or not you wished to stay buried underground,” Bauchan countered. “Give up this foolish argument, little one. I have won, my Queene has won. You no longer have a Court to support you, Your Majesty.”
“Bauchan! What is the meaning of this?”
Cedric appeared out of the air, it seemed, and stalked through the crowd of Faeries around them. He did not look at her, did not divert his focus from Bauchan.
She’d seen him look this way before, when he’d stood, blood-drenched in the thick of battle. He was no less terrifying now. He stood between Bauchan and Cerridwen, so that she could not see his face, but the tone of his voice told her that she would not want to see it, anyway.
“Step away from my mate,” he growled.
Four
Cedric had been nearly asleep when the guard had burst through the blanket that partitioned off their sleeping quarters. It was difficult, he found, to sleep with another body beside his. Twice now, he’d woken to find that he’d put his arm around Cerridwen as she slept, had dreamed she was Dika lying asleep in his arms.
He was not sure which was more acute, his embarrassment with himself at touching her so intimately, or his pain when he woke and remembered that it was not, could never be, Dika. He was relieved when Cerridwen had begun to linger with the Faeries on the deck, so that he could steal a few hours of rest without fear of frightening her.
Or worse, leading her to believe something that would never be.
He squinted at the intruder through sleep-bleary eyes. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“You should come above. Immediately.” The guard’s tone and expression were enough to jolt Cedric fully awake. In an instant, he was on his feet, pushing past the guard.
He did not ask what he would find above deck. Bauchan would