“They aren’t asleep.”
“Of course they are. I told them to sleep. They’ll sleep.” Sorcha’s dispassionate gaze invited no disagreement, but the High Queen was wrong.
“I can’t go into their dreams if they aren’t dreaming,” Rae lied. She could give them daydreams. It took far more concentration, but if they were creative—which most mortals in Faerie were—she could even entice them to sleep. She hadn’t had much experience with that because Devlin kept her so carefully hidden, but there were a few tricks Rae had practiced covertly when mortals or faeries were within reach.
“Make them dream.” Sorcha smoothed down her skirts as she sat on her uncomfortable throne. Her attention to the fall of her attire was more concentrated than her attention to the mortals at her feet.
“They’re awake.” Rae wasn’t sure how much disappointment the High Queen would forgive. She wished that she’d told Devlin good-bye.
“Sleep,” Sorcha repeated to the mortals, but they did not. The High Queen could change everything around them, but even she could not control the biological responses of sentient beings.
“Perhaps if you gave them pillows and something softer than the floor,” Rae suggested.
Before the words were fully said, the room shifted. The mortals were now reclining on beds that were several feet thick, more pillow than mattress; thorny frames twisted up around the pillow-mattresses. From the thorns, Spanish moss hung down like curtains.
The mortals had not moved. The world around them had shifted, yet they remained in the same deathlike positions they’d assumed. Sorcha, for her part, had no reaction to any of it. This was the High Court that Devlin had sheltered Rae from; this was the High Queen in all of her disdainful glory.
Rae, however, was not of the High Court. She was in Faerie by accident, and at first she was only with Devlin out of happenstance. Over time, that had changed: Devlin mattered.
And would be quite welcome right now.
The queen of Faerie lifted her gaze and stared at Rae. “Tell me what they dream. Now.”
On the bed, the mortals breathed slowly and evenly. They fell into sleep, and Rae followed the first one into her dreaming world.
The mortal was a worker of fabrics. In her dream, she was in a great open warehouse. It was piled high with bolts of fabric, swaths of fur, and vats of odd items. Uncut stones and sinuous metals were piled at the ready.
The mortal sat at a table that spanned the length of the room. On it, sketches were illuminated by backlighting, so that the parchment they were drawn upon seemed to glow. Some of the illustrations were already pinned to model forms. Others were cut from the fabrics, but not pinned or stitched together.
The dream wasn’t particularly interesting to Rae. It was simply an artist wishing for more tools with which to create new art. Such dreams were not the most tedious ones in Faerie, but they weren’t particularly fun to tweak either. Mortals were resistant to dream alteration. Artists were worse still. They’d been brought to Faerie for their creativity, and that creativity was their essence.
Rae pulled herself from the artist’s dream.
“Wake.” Sorcha nudged the mortal and then motioned to Rae. “Well?”
“She dreams of her art. Fabrics, a warehouse, some odd accoutrements for the attires she sketches in her dream,” Rae said.
The mortal nodded, and Sorcha smiled.
But Rae felt dirty. It wasn’t that the content was scandalous. It was the sense that she was violating a trust by reporting to Sorcha. She’d never relayed dreams to anyone.
“The other.” The High Queen gestured to the still- sleeping mortal. “What does she dream?”
Rae hesitated, and something in her posture must have revealed that resistance.
Sorcha was beside her, close enough that Rae was tempted to try wearing her body as she’d worn Devlin’s so often. It was a last resort though, a measure to take when she had no other options. It wasn’t a secret she would reveal yet.
“What is your name?” the High Queen asked.
“Rae.”
“I rule Faerie, Rae,” Sorcha breathed, her words so soft that they weren’t even a true whisper. “All here bend to my will. Air, form, everything. You will obey me, or I will not allow you to continue to exist within Faerie.”
Rae stayed silent.
“What does she dream?” Sorcha repeated.
And Rae slipped into the mortal’s mind, hoping that the girl wasn’t harboring secrets the queen would want to know. Inside the dream, the mortal was waiting expectantly. She sat upright in what looked to be the exact room they’d left.
“Return,” a disembodied voice said. In the waking world, Sorcha was speaking to the dreamer.
“What?” Rae asked the girl.
“The queen is summoning you. Remove yourself from my dream.” The mortal was motionless, but then she glanced left and right as if someone else could come into her dream. With a look of alarm in her eyes, the mortal added, “Hurry now. She is not to be ignored of late. The Queen of Reason has become something other than rational.”
Rae nodded and stepped back into the room where Sorcha was. “You summoned me?”
The High Queen’s entire posture shifted. Her arrogance faded under unmistakable excitement. Her silvered eyes glimmered as if full moons hid there. She smiled at Rae, not affectionately, but with pleasure.
And Rae had rarely felt as frightened as she did in that instant.
“It works.” Sorcha looked at the mortals and said, “Make ready.”
The two girls sat up. One came to take the High Queen’s outer garment. The other arranged the pillows on an ornate bed that was suddenly there in front of them. The frame was cut of stone, and on it thick quilts were piled in lieu of a mattress.
Sorcha leaned close to Rae and whispered, “I will see my son. You will make it so.”
Rae couldn’t move for fear.
“You will depart from my dream once I can see him.” Sorcha ascended the half-dozen stone stairs to the bed. After she reclined on it, clear glass walls raised up on either side of her. “Only Devlin or Seth will have the ability to wake me. Tell him—when he returns—that I am safe in my bed.”
Both mortals curtsied. Neither spoke.
“You will do as ordered, and each day, you, Rae, will visit me to tell me what my ears and eyes”—she looked at the two mortals—“report.”
“Your Highness—”
“My Queen,” Sorcha corrected. “I am the queen of all in Faerie. Do you wish to live in Faerie?”
“I do.”
Sorcha raised one delicate eyebrow.
Rae curtsied. “I do, my queen, but what if there is danger? Shouldn’t we be able to awaken you?”
“No.” The High Queen closed her eyes, and the glass expanded over her, encasing her. “I have spoken. You will obey.”
CHAPTER 19
As Ani worked through her anger, Devlin stayed as silent as he could be—which after centuries in Faerie was akin to the stillness of the earth. However, unlike his experience in Faerie, staying still with Ani beside him was challenging. The more the car raced forward, slipping in and out of small spaces between vehicles, the more Ani radiated calm.
Unlike me.
Devlin found the steed’s resemblance to a mortal car unnerving. Being trapped in a steel cage wouldn’t make him physically ill as it would many faeries, but it was disquieting nonetheless. Moreover, the steed’s choice of a smaller vehicle meant he was physically uncomfortable. Gone was the spacious Barracuda, and in its place was a ridiculously tiny Austin Mini. It was cherry-red, convertible, and, according to Ani, “a 1969 classic.” Nothing about it was subtle or designed to blend in—or fit anyone above average height. Added to that was Ani’s need to play music at a volume that undoubtedly would cause permanent damage to mortal ears. It was the final aspect in a trifecta of discomfort.
“Ani?” He raised his voice over the din of someone singing about being “tired of cheap and cheerful.?
??
She ignored him, so he turned down the volume.
“Ani, I’d like to discuss our plan.” His voice revealed none of his frustration or worry.
“Our plan?”
“Yes. Our plan. Do you think you could stand against my sister alone?” Devlin tightened his grip on the door as she sped up again.
“I might as well be alone. You were absolutely no help when I wanted to attack her.” Ani glanced his way and bared her teeth. “You were useless. I ought to just leave you along the road somewhere. Maybe if we’d tried—”
“You would’ve been taken or killed.” He closed his eyes for three seconds, opened them, and tried to find a sentence that wouldn’t reveal how disquieting both of those possibilities were to him. He settled on, “This was the best decision. We need to keep moving, find a place reasonably free of faeries if we rest for long. Perhaps if we are gone, my sister will redirect her attention. She is not always constant in her interests, and there is much discord in Huntsdale to distract her.”
Ani was silent, staring ahead at the increasingly congested road in front of them. She downshifted and then slammed through the gears as she darted past a large truck. Devlin wondered what she’d have been like if she’d been raised by the Hounds. Her temper was less fierce than Hounds’, but her impetuousness was more extreme.
She broke the silence. “She asked me to kill Niall, and I considered it.”
His calm faltered. “You probably shouldn’t tell this to many people.”
“I know. I didn’t consider it much. Niall being gone would upset Iri.” She frowned. “I’m Dark Court so I should be okay with the murder thing, but even if it wouldn’t upset Iri, I don’t think I could kill Niall. He doesn’t deserve death.”
“Could you kill to protect Irial?” Devlin prompted.
“Sure.”
He continued, “Wouldn’t killing Niall be betraying your court?”
“I suppose so, but I never swore fealty. Hounds don’t. Mortals don’t.” She swerved into a minuscule space between two cars and then back out, passing a sports car going too slow for her taste. “He’s not really my king then, so I mean, technically—”
“You’re not really a mortal,” he interrupted. “Hounds are loyal. Irial has earned your loyalty, so your choices are perfectly rational and within the expected parameters for a Hound of the Dark Court.”
“Riiight. The parameters.” She pulled her attention from the road and scowled at him. “Your court must be a nonstop party.”
“Indeed.” Devlin couldn’t repress a smile at her fluctuating mood.
Ani directed the car onto an exit ramp without slowing. “Thing is, I’m trying to make sense of it, but the part I don’t get is that she wants me to kill Seth too.”
Devlin stilled. Of all of the things Ani could do, striking Seth would be one guaranteed to result in her death. Is this what Sorcha had foreseen? Devlin stared at Ani, pondering. She didn’t kill Seth though. If Seth was in danger, Devlin should return to Huntsdale. However, Seth was with Niall and Irial. It wasn’t as if he was unprotected—or defenseless in his own right. Sorcha wouldn’t see it that way, of course: Devlin’s failures to his queen were multiplying.
Midway through a sharp S-turn, Ani turned to look at him rather than the road. “Why kill Seth? You have the logic skills, so help me figure it out.”
“To increase hostilities,” Devlin murmured. “It’s why she does all that she does, to position us for greater discord.”
“And Seth is that important? Huh.”
As are you, Devlin thought, but couldn’t say aloud. Not to her. Not right now. Letting Ani know that she was important enough that the first two faeries both noticed her, that her death had been ordered, that her death was still very possible, that assuring her continued life had been his greatest betrayal—of both sisters—and a betrayal he would continue as long as possible… it all felt too weighty to say. Instead, he sat silently.
Ani slid into a parking space, and the engine cut off.
Outside the car, a bustle of mortals milled around at what the signs had proclaimed as a highway “rest stop.” No one appeared to be resting despite the early hour. Mortals walked over to nondescript buildings, returning with as little notice of the world as they had when they entered. A few faeries perched in the boughs of trees in a dusty area where some mortals let their pets relieve themselves. One black- and-white dog snarled at a rowan-man who swiped at it for trying to urinate on him.
“I’m stretching while you think or ignore me or whatever you’re doing.” Ani opened the door and left.
Which isn’t safe. He thought of the possibilities: of their being followed, of Sorcha—or Bananach—knowing that Ani was fleeing, of solitaries knowing she mattered, of random faeries trying to attack her because she was thought to be fair game. The world suddenly looked more menacing than it ever had before.
He was out of the tiny car and following her in a heartbeat, but she was already across the parking lot and headed into a building. She was Hound-fast, especially when displeased. He followed her through a heavy door—and was greeted by angry expressions from several mortal women and girls standing at a row of washbasins.
“Are you okay, sugar?” one older mortal asked Ani. The woman clutched a small black canister with a spray nozzle.
“Devlin.” Ani took his hand. She walked the several steps to the door. “You can’t follow me into the ladies’ room. Out.”
He looked around, assessing everyone in the room—most of whom were staring at him. He nodded. “I’ll be outside the door. If there is a danger—”
“I know.” Her voice was free of emotion, but the look in her eyes wasn’t. She was inordinately pleased by something.
While he pondered the curious way she looked at him, Devlin stood outside the washroom, positioning himself as close to the door as he could be without blocking it.
And he listened to the mortals talking to Ani.
“Are you in trouble, sugar? He seems awfully worried.” The same mortal woman spoke.
“He’s shaken up over a scare earlier.” Ani undoubtedly knew that he was listening, but her voice was at a normal volume. “He’s sensitive like that, but I’m not—I’m not as afraid as he is.”
“Bless your heart, you poor things,” the woman replied. “Well, I’ll wait right here while you use the facilities. He can’t come in here, but you’re not alone.”
Outside the door, Devlin smiled to himself at the woman’s kindness. Her efforts would be futile if there were a threat to Ani, but if the Hound was the mortal she appeared to be, the woman’s kindness could be an asset. It was the sort of mortal selflessness that had astounded Devlin over the centuries.
The other mortals, who’d kept a distance from Ani at hearing her words, weren’t the only sort found in the world. Unlike so many faeries, mortals were unpredictable. Like Ani. It confounded him—and made him strangely awed.
When Ani walked out, the mortal woman stood protectively beside her. They stopped in front of him, and before the woman could speak, Ani hugged her. “You’re a good person.”
“Well…” The woman looked a little startled, but she still reached forward and squeezed Ani’s hand. “You be safe.”
Ani nodded, and cuddled against Devlin as if they were something more than strangers. “I will. He’ll take care of me. Right, Dev?”
“One can hope,” Devlin murmured.
After a few moments of chatter, the woman walked over to a mortal man who was standing several feet away waiting for her.
Ani stayed pressed against Devlin’s side and sighed in a way that evoked a number of inappropriate thoughts. He held his emotions as close to even as he could. He didn’t share his secrets or his emotions with anyone. Except Rae. A stray worry for his bodiless friend assailed him. With it came the curious realization that he wished he could introduce Rae to Ani.
The Hound in question had her fingertips grazing the bare skin under the edge of his shirt. She wa
s still leaning into him as they walked back toward the car.
“Ani?”
“Mmmm?” She stayed near him, acting as if they were… something.
“What are you doing?” He was loath to ask, fearing that any answer she offered would be disappointing. He had no business allowing himself fond thoughts of the Hound. He’d known for years that it was inappropriate to let emotion cloud his judgment.
She looked up at him with a mischievous expression on her face. “How High Court are you, Devlin?”
He couldn’t answer, not truthfully. Or maybe because I don’t know anymore. Reluctantly, he stepped away from her. “I am the High Queen’s Bloody Hands, Ani. How High Court do you think that makes me?”
She hopped up onto the hood of the car, which had shifted form while they were away from it. Once more, it had become a Barracuda. Idly, she patted its hood. “Honestly? I think you’re a lot more like my court than you’re admitting.”
He stepped closer, so that he was beside her. He lowered his voice and said, “You’re a child. I wouldn’t expect you to—”
“A child?” Her voice was dangerously soft, and the glint in her eyes was one he recognized.
Part of his mind—the reasonable part—warned him away from answering her, but instincts he typically repressed urged him forward. The two responses warred momentarily, but despite centuries of choosing logic, he knew that logic wasn’t what he wanted. If he were truly logical, he’d put her in the earth before he went even further from sanity. His queen might overlook his lapse in obedience. Rae would have to forgive him in time. He needed to put things back in order.
I can’t.
“Are you trying to tell me that I imagined your interest when we met?” She straightened one denim-clad leg in front of her. The other leg was bent, so that her right foot was flat on the hood of the car. “No parsed words. Tell me why you’re helping me, or tell me why you won’t admit the urge that went with the look back there. You were honestly worried for me.”
He wanted to take the openings in her sentences to mislead her—almost as much as he wanted to tell her the truth. “Does it matter?”