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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 be involved, he had no doubt. They passed no one on their way, so there was nothing to flee from. It gave him no clue to what he might find. Had Cerridwen fallen overboard? Had she made some pact with Bauchan? He did not wish to know; at least, not before he had to. So, he did not ask.
But he had not expected to see the scene on the deck of the ship, a ring of Faeries crowded around the two that he had already known would be involved.
“Bauchan!” he shouted, and it was enough to draw the attention of the Faeries away from Cerridwen’s words. He shoved one last Faery from his path and strode into the center of the circle. “What is the meaning of this?”
At the sight of him, Cerridwen began to tremble. If it was from her anger, then he could top it. If it was out of fear of him, then she was wise. She’d revealed too much, and come far too close to disaster, even after his warnings. The very sight of her sparked an intense desire to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the life from her. He turned his back to her as he stepped between her and Bauchan, and directed all of that rage toward his real enemy. “Step away from my mate.”
Bauchan smirked and made a mocking bow. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
A twitter of nervous laughter rippled through the crowd. Cedric turned to address them directly. “You laugh, yet you do not accept that you have been led to this place by a trickster, a jester? You abandoned your Queene, who fought to protect you, in order to follow this wretch?”
“What Queene did they abandon?” Bauchan laughed. “Your Ayla was a half-breed, a half-Human, with no more right to the throne than you, or any of these Fae.”
“Queene Ayla carried the Royal Heir, who stands before you now as Queene, descended from the line of Mabb. What right does your Danae have to call herself Queene?”
“Her Majesty Queene Danae has never lost a battle against the Humans. She has never allowed herself to be forced underground. What good is a bloodline if it stems from a source as powerless as your Mabb?” Bauchan smirked and turned toward the crowd. “You were not coerced. You made a choice. And Queene Danae will reward you for it!”
As the Faeries mindlessly clapped and cheered, Cedric spared a glance at Cerridwen. She did not look queenly. She looked like a terrified child, with her head bowed and shoulders sagging as she hugged herself and trembled.
The desire to throttle her faded somewhat, replaced by the instinct to comfort her. But that would not help her. Silently, he willed her to look more dignified, to revive her anger, if that was what she must do in order to appear less weak.
If she would not fight back, he would have to. “How will they be rewarded, Bauchan? With the privilege of bowing to your Queene’s vanity? You promised you would deliver them from the threat of the Waterhorses, and you’ve done that. But you’ve not made any of your other intentions clear to them.”
“They will be rewarded by living at a Court where the Queene does not permit lawlessness, and does not indulge in it herself.” Bauchan leveled a finger at Cerridwen. “And she will not excuse traitors like this one. She will pay for the death of Flidais, who only sought to protect innocent Faery lives.”
This brought Cerridwen to life, animated her with pure hate. “Your Queene has no authority over me! I name you traitor, and if you turn your back on me, even for a moment, I will carry out my own sentence upon you!”
“Cerridwen!” Their position was too precarious here. He wanted her to display some courage, but not foolish bravery. They were surrounded by an easily swayed crowd, who would think nothing of tossing them overboard—and who knew how long their wings would hold them above the endless ocean, if Bauchan let them? Bauchan wanted to see them humbled at his Queene’s feet, and a reward for himself—but Cedric could not let this continue.
She snapped her head to face him, the rage in her eyes flaring to new intensity. Her mouth opened, to issue a challenge, no doubt, but she thought better of it.
Good. She had no one else, and she should tread cautiously with him, as well. Especially now, after what she had done. She may have ended the royal lineage of Mabb—and her own life—with her actions. One an ancient dynasty, the other barely beginning to sprout.
He took her by the arm, aware that by humbling her in this way, he contested her authority and damaged her in the opinion of the Court. But the Court was a shambles now, and any real chance of ruling had died with her mother. Now, he merely sought to save her life.
“She has threatened me. They all heard it,” Bauchan shouted, finally losing his infuriating calm as Cedric pulled Cerridwen through the throng. “You cannot simply leave!”
Cedric composed his features into an impassive mask before he turned to face the Ambassador. “Do you think we will run? To where? If you wish for some kind of justice, if her words have caused you some damage, if you so respect the law as you claim to, you can pursue the matter when we arrive at your Queene’s Court. For now, I am removing her from your company, until you can treat her with the respect that the Queene of the Fae deserves.”
Bauchan moved forward, as though he would follow them, but the Faeries, seeing that the evening’s entertainment was now finished, began to scatter, blocking his path.
“You’re hurting me!” Cerridwen cried, digging in her heels as soon as he’d pulled her through the door and closed it behind them.
He flexed his fingers, and she whined, jerking her arm from his grasp. “I am glad!” he shouted, not caring at this moment who heard him. “But there is no way I can hurt you more than you have hurt yourself tonight! How could you be so stupid?”
She shoved him with enough force that, combined with his shock at her action, he stumbled backward. It gave her time to get past him, to run down the steps to the lower hold, her hair like a banner behind her as she whipped through the door at the bottom and out of his sight. He did not pause in his pursuit of her. She would go to the place where they slept, because there was no other place for her to flee to. She was as trapped here as she had been in the Palace, he thought with mean satisfaction, only this time she could not as easily run away.
“What did you think to accomplish with that display?” he asked as he pushed past the blanket partitioning their space from the rest of the hold. He had shouted the words, and now the echo rang off the steel walls, taunting him with a reminder of how silent, how close, the space truly was. He lowered his voice and continued, “Do you really think that you have the power to rule these betrayers?”
“Of course not!” Cerridwen was not as conscious of the possibility of eavesdroppers, and she shrieked like the Bean Sidhe.
“What, then? Did you think Bauchan would simply hand over power to you?” A rage burned deep in him, oddly protective and perhaps even jealous at his next thought. “Did he make a promise to you? Did he seduce you with pretty words? I told you that you could not trust him!”
“You think me so stupid as to fall for such an obvious trick?” Tears sprang to her eyes, and her antennae drooped on her forehead. “No, his manipulations were far more clever. Even you would have been impressed.”
“What do you mean by that?” Now, the rage that had been directed toward Bauchan turned ugly and pointed to her.
Though her words had been intended to cause a fight, there seemed to be none left in her. Her breath left her in a long, shuddering sigh. “Why are you here?”
“Because I made a promise to your mother.” It was automatic, simple, and not, he realized, the entire truth.
She slumped to the floor and stared at the floor. Her hands lay limp in her lap. “My mother is dead. You need not honor that promise any longer.”
How to explain the concept of honor to her? If she had not learned it from her mother or her father—two of the most loyal beings he had ever known—perhaps she was destined to never know it. “I cannot abandon you.”
But it was not just his promise to her mother. In their flight from the Elven hall, he’d hated Cerridwen, and had seriously considered leaving her for dead. It had been only his promise to Ayla that had stopped him. But in the time that had passed since then, in the time since he’d made yet another promise to Ayla that her child would not be harmed, he’d learned something about his charge.
She could not survive on her own.
It might have been the way she’d been raised; in the Fae tradition, the Royal Heir was never truly expected to inherit the throne. Mabb had gained hers only when her mother had stepped down. That Queene was still out in the world somewhere, but she’d merely tired of ruling her subjects. She’d prepared Mabb for the job, though. No one had prepared Garret. What kind of a King could he have been? Ayla, a complete outsider, had learned what she needed to know about life at Court in such a short time, but she had come armed with the cool, logical head of an assassin. That she had not prepared her daughter to come into her title was not a surprise; she’d left behind what should have been the more dangerous life.
If Queene Ayla would have been able to see ahead, to know that her rule would be so short, she might have instructed her Heir in the ways of the Court. Not the manners, for as surly as Cerridwen could be, and the poor choices she could make, she knew the graces of the Court and could also make herself a pleasing addition to a gathering. But she did not understand the games, the intrigues, that one needed to be aware of to maneuver at Court. Not knowing, one could not rule, not successfully. And success was measured by how long one could reign before someone stuck a knife in one’s back.
The truth was, as he had marched through the crowd on deck, he had not seen Cerridwen standing there, but Mabb lying on her bier, limbs twisted to withered branches by death. When Cerridwen’s face had replaced hers, he had known what he was called to do, not simply because of a geis made to a dead Queene.
“I cannot abandon you,” he repeated, forcing the image of Mabb’s cold face from his mind, “because if I did, you would not survive long.”
He was not certain how she would accept this explanation. He expected anger, and a heated denial. Instead, she looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, and said in a near whisper, “Then you should abandon me.”
It was some mortal trait, surely, to wish for one’s own death. He could not think of hearing an immortal creature long for the end of their life. In fact, they feared such an unnatural event. He recoiled without meaning to, and she looked down again, as if his disgust were another weight added to her burden.
“You should not say that.” He tried to sound comforting, but she had frightened him too much, and it came out stilted and insincere.
“I should not say it, because it makes you uncomfortable, or because it is true?” A bitter, mocking laugh came from her, as if coming from another body altogether. “I have destroyed them, Cedric. My parents, my fellow Fae. I am nothing, was nothing. If I had not been Garret’s daughter, I would not be the Queene now. I would be some worthless half-breed dying on the Strip, or in the Darkworld tunnels. But I am not Garret’s daughter. I am more mortal than Fae, and somehow, by being both of those things, I am less than either. You should let Bauchan’s Queene kill me. I can bring only despair to those I touch.”
He raised his hand to stop her. “Cease your self-pity!” he barked, jerking his head toward the curtain, hoping she understood his sudden change in mood.
Her head lifted, eyes going even wider as she looked at the curtain. She saw the silhouette of someone standing, listening, on the other side of the partition.
He spoke again, louder, and inched toward the curtain. “And your lies. Garret might have been a worthless King, but you cannot distance yourself from the stain of his ignoble lineage with a falsehood!”
Cedric turned and launched himself at the figure on the other side of the curtain, but he knew the moment he moved that he would not be successful. He tumbled through the cloth, arms full of empty air, and saw Bauchan fleeing. In the next instant, he saw Cerridwen’s feet as she leaped over him, and he ducked his head to keep from being hit by them. He called after her, but she did not stop. “He heard everything!” she shouted back.
It took him a shocked second to realize what she’d done, and what she intended to do. It was an increment of time he hoped to make up as he chased after her. If he did not reach Bauchan before Cerridwen did, the Ambassador was dead.
“Cerridwen—stop!” he shouted after her as Bauchan fled out the door, down the hall that lead to the stairs that took them above deck. Bauchan was halfway up that steep rise, and Cerridwen on the bottom. Cedric knew he was too far when he saw the curved flash of the Elven knife. “Bauchan, look out!”
Even in his days as a young, untried warrior of fifty years, he would not have done something so foolish. To shout out a warning to someone already engaged distracted them; for Bauchan, it was a fatal distraction. Even as Cedric blanched and heard the echo of his mistake off the metal walls, Cerridwen brought the blade down, down into the base of Bauchan’s neck. The point of the warped blade appeared nearly level with the handle as it protruded from Bauchan’s throat, and Cerridwen jerked it free with a grunt, releasing an arc of blood that sprayed her, the floor, the ceiling, the wall.
Bauchan opened his mouth to scream. That was unmistakable. The gaping mouth, the ropey lines that stood out against his jaw, as he struggled to make a sound that would not come.
Cerridwen stepped back, still gripping the knife as though he might attack her. But it was too late. Crystals of ice stole up Bauchan’s face, covering his visible skin like frozen diamonds. From his open mouth, a breath of snow unfurled in a wintery gust. The blood that flowed from him came as clear, crystalline water, and he fell against the steps, shattering as his eyes rolled back into his head and closed over like ice on a pond.
Within moments, Fae surrounded them. Ones who had heard the commotion from the deck and had come to investigate for themselves, and ones who had seen the confrontation begin only seconds before and had followed. Rough hands grabbed Cedric, jerked him backward with his arms pressed up tightly between his wings. Cerridwen tried to fight her way free with the knife, but lost it embarrassingly quickly. Two Faeries gripped her by the shoulders and forced her to her knees. The meaty sound of a booted foot connecting with flesh cut through the riotous noise, and Cerridwen’s cry cut through him more effectively than her blade ever could.
“What the hell are you lot doing?” A Human fought his way into the fray. Stocky body, hard, lined face. He would not choose sides. He was afraid of all of them, and that was far more dangerous, Cedric realized, than the murderous horde surrounding them.
One of Bauchan’s retinue, a sickly thin-looking thing with long, green ropes of hair, called out, “This is none of your concern, Human!”
Her vehemence startled Cedric; he feared what reaction the Human would have now. He might produce one of those Human weapons, with the devastating projectiles, and kill them all out of fear or malice. He might be moved to contact the Enforcers.
More Humans arrived. One of them seemed to have more authority than the others, as the rest of them stood down when he barked his command. “Where is Bauchan? I demand to see him!”
“Then see him, Human!” the green-haired Faery hissed, sweeping her arm and brushing the other Fae away as though they were flies.
Cedric followed the Human’s gaze to the ground, where Bauchan’s robes lay in a puddle of melting ice that used to be his body. But it was an uninteresting sight, and he used the distraction of the crowd to look for Cerridwen.
The Fae that had taken hold of her had dropped her. She lay, unmoving, on the floor, her body turned in on itself so that he could not see her face to tell if she was conscious.
Anger churned in him, flaring red at the center of the tree of life force inside him. Some of it was still directed at Cerridwen herself, for her rash actions. Some was reserved for Ayla, for forcing him into a promise that he could not keep since she had not bothered to teach her daughter to rein in her temper and recognize the consequences of her actions. But those were diminished in the face of the rage that made him wish he could do to these Faeries exactly what Cerridwen had done to Bauchan.
“What is this? Is this some sort of joke?” The Human looked to Cedric on the ground, at Cerridwen, and back to the green Faery. He recognized her as the representative of the Fae. Cedric ground his teeth.
The green Faery straightened her long back and tossed her matted hair over her shoulder. “This is no joke, Human. Bauchan is dead. Killed by these traitors. And we will punish them as we see fit.”
