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She nodded.
He led her to the door. “Do you need anything else?”
All sorts of things no one will give me.
Ani said nothing. Instead, she hugged him, knowing from other rejections that his offer didn’t include the other things she needed. Irial—for all of his love for court and king, for all his protection for family and beloved—didn’t want to hear what she truly needed. He wouldn’t share his bed with her or force her father to let her run free with the Hounds.
“I need to go,” Ani murmured, and then she turned her back on him before she gave in to the temptation to beg. He gave her enough to keep her from starvation, but the former Dark King wouldn’t help her fully sate her hungers. She would have to find a few tastes here and there to silence the gnawing inside her.
Again.
CHAPTER 4 (#u2b921e75-9bf0-5674-a73f-7d18306faa0d)
Rae walked into the image of a tiny kitchen. Ani stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. A memory played out in the adjoining room. The tableau was set in a different era than the one where Rae had lived. It was familiar though: it was a memory that Ani replayed over and over in her dreams. So, Rae waited for the memory to run its course.
“Tell me about her?” Ani asked her sister.
“Who?” Tish paused mid-math, pencil held in the air.
“You know. Her.” Ani practiced cartwheels on the sofa. Until Rabbit came up from the shop to remind her she wasn’t to do it, she’d cartwheel and flip in their tiny living room.
“I was six. How would I know?” Tish rolled her eyes. “I remember she was nice. She read books. There was a blanket Dad gave her. Her hair was light brown like yours.”
“Dad visited her?”
“Uh-huh. “Tish was done talking. She was filled with sadness that she was trying to hide. “Go read or something, Ani.”
Tish’s pencil was making scratching noises on the paper, like the sounds cockroaches made when all of their feet brushed the floor or walls. It was one of the many reasons Ani hated schoolwork. Tish never heard how loud her pencil was though. Her ears didn’t work right.
Ani flipped over and snatched the pencil.
“Tag.”
“Give it back.”
“Sure … if you catch me.”
Tish looked at the clock, just a little glance. Then she snorted. “Like you could ever outrun me.”
And Ani was off, not as fast as she could run because that would make Tish sad, and making Tish sad was the one thing Ani never ever did on purpose.
Ani’s thinking of Tish so protectively wasn’t unusual, but more and more often, the memories of difference, of awareness of the sisters’ dissimilarities, had become central in Ani’s dreams.
“She is well? Your sister?” Rae asked, drawing Ani’s attention away from the memory.
Ani turned to face Rae. “Yeah, Tish is good. I miss her.”
“And you? Are you well?” Rae materialized a sofa that was reminiscent of one from her own long-gone sitting room.
Ani sat on the arm of the sofa, balanced there with no effort. Even in dreams, Ani had innate animal grace.
“I’m mostly okay.” Ani’s gaze skittered away from Rae.
Her words weren’t a lie; if they were, the Hound wouldn’t be able to speak them. Even here. They were together in a dream, but because Rae was a dreamwalker, this, too, was a sort of reality. And some rules, faery rules, are inescapable in every reality.
“Mostly okay?” Rae envisioned a nice cup of tea and a tray of finger sandwiches, pastries, and other assorted treats. In dreams, she could adjust the world around her, so the imagined treats appeared as quickly as the thought had. “Scone?”
Absently, Ani took one. “It’s weird to dream about eating.”
“You needed comfort, so you dreamed of food,” Rae said. Unlike faeries, Rae could lie at will. “You were stressed over thinking about your sister. It makes sense.”
The Hound slid from the arm of the sofa into the seat. “I guess.”
As Ani sat silently and ate, Rae enjoyed the semblance of normalcy. If Ani realized Rae wasn’t a figment of her imagination, they’d stop talking, but Rae had been visiting her dreams since Ani was a child. Ani rationalized Rae’s presence.
“I think I’m lonely.” Ani pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her. “Plus, being apart from Tish is … wrong. What if she needs me? What if—”
“Is she alone?”
“No, but still …” Ani’s voice drifted off as distorted images from her fears formed around them.
A faceless faery reached for Tish.
Hands covered in blood swung at Rabbit.
Ani’s mother, Jillian, lay dead outside a cupboard.
Ani was trapped behind a too-small barrier as a faceless faery reached for her.
Unlike the tea and food, these weren’t things Rae created. They were the terrors of Ani’s imaginings. Here, where Ani felt safe, she envisioned a mix of memories and fears. Rae could alter reality, but the dreamer’s mind also held sway.
“These aren’t real memories,” Rae reminded. “This is not what happened. You don’t even know—”
“She was there, and then she was gone.” Ani glared at Rae. “There was a monster. There had to be. He took her and … did something. Hurt her. Killed her. He had to have. If she was alive, she’d have come home. She wouldn’t have left us. She loved us.”
“You’re a creature that creates fear in others, not one who should dwell in it.” Rae concentrated on remaking the landscape around her. She removed the faceless faery, the dead mother, and the trembling girls. She wiped it all away, and—hopefully—Ani’s fear with it. “Tell me about your court. Think about that. Tell me how things go with the Hunt.”
“I rode again. The wolves were at our feet; the steeds were like shadows.… It’s perfect when it happens. I want it always like that.… I want a steed; I want to be stronger; I want … oh … I want everything.” Ani’s eyes glimmered the strange green of the Hunt’s beasts. Despite her mixed parentage, she was meant to be among faeries; it had been obvious to Rae since she first met the girl.
Ani had no awareness of the vows they’d made and broken so Ani could live. Rae did. She remembered it each time Devlin refused to talk about the Hound, each time he refused to go check on her. They’d spared Ani. The time was coming when they’d have to deal with the inevitable consequences.
Rae reached out and squeezed Ani’s hand. In the dream-scape where Rae walked, she could do that, touch another body. “You’re too impatient.”
Ani pointed at herself. “Hound. What do you expect?”
“Exactly what you are,” Rae said.
Ani wandered into the dreamscape. To her, this was just another dream where her mind worked through fears and worries. And, just then, Ani didn’t want to work through them—so she walked away.
Rae followed in what was now a vast shadowed forest.
Time was running out, and neither Devlin nor Ani was any closer to finding their rightful places. And I can’t tell them without undoing everything.
From the depths of the forest, wolves’ songs rose. A space between the trees opened up, and as Rae walked she could hear the pad of their feet on the needle-covered trail. Rae shuddered as the wolves drew near. Beside her, Ani sighed: the wolves were a comfort to her.
Ani spun to face Rae and blurted, “Do you think the monster was High Court? They hate my court. They steal halflings. They are monsters.”
“Monsters are called such by those who are doing the naming.” Rae tensed as a sulfurous green glow illuminated all of the wolves’ eyes in the forest. “Mortals write stories of the beauty of Faerie, of the delicate fey creatures of other courts, and your court’s creatures are the fiends.”
“He wasn’t my court. That’s for sure.” Ani crouched on the path and the wolves began to slip from among the woods. Their muzzles butted against Ani and Rae. Furred sides brushed against them. Howls rose into a cacophony.
Ani opened her arms to the wolves. The creatures began circling them in a blur of white teeth and green eyes, musky fur and growling throats. They ran faster and faster, pressing against Ani.
Rae visualized herself outside the circle, at a far distance up the path.
One by one, each wolf dove into the center of Ani and disappeared there. They were a part of her, the part that would wake and change the world.
If. That was the worst part of knowing: the knowledge that the future Rae so desperately wanted was only an
“if.” She didn’t know what the other possibilities were, but she did know that the future she had glimpsed was one she wanted, one where she would have autonomy for the first time. Please, Ani.
“I hope you are able to forgive him,” Rae whispered. “He’s not a monster. Neither are you.”
And then she was gone from Ani’s mind.
After being in the dream forest, her cave felt even more restrictive. Rae paced around the perimeter, counting out steps as if the murmuring of numbers would make the small space seem somehow larger. It didn’t work.
Darkness, the time of dreams, was Rae’s rightful place, but the past few weeks, Sorcha had insisted that there were but a few dark hours in Faerie. The moon did not go through normal phases; instead, it almost always stayed full in the sky, casting silvered light over them as if they were caught in one endless day. And without the dark, Rae was caught, trapped in the small cave that was her prison.
“Rae?” Devlin was in the doorway of the cave. The light from outside shone around him, illuminating him and adding to his otherworldly appearance. His coarse white hair, loosened from restraints, offset the harshness of his features a little, but not so much that the sharp angles of his cheeks looked human.
“You’re here.” Rae shifted her attire to match Devlin’s more formal garb. Her dress was pale rose with a hem that swept the ground, and although the waist was narrow, the bodice
was demure. Her almost floor-length hair was swept up with gilt combs. The only ornament beyond her combs was a black band around her throat that held a cameo. If Devlin looked closely, he’d see that it was his image in the ivory.
The stern set of his mouth softened. “You need not change for me.”
“I know,” she lied. She did need to change if it brought her the smile she’d sought. His stress was heavy enough that his straightened shoulders were rigid with it.
“I must go over to the mortal world again.”
Rae stilled. “Again?”
Devlin stepped farther into the shadows of the cave. “I am not sure how long I’ll be gone this time.”
“Something is wrong with the High Queen. She barely lowers the light.” Rae couldn’t see beyond the crevice where Devlin had entered. The brightness that seeped through the small fissure was painful to her. Facing it full on would be blinding.
“Light soothes her; darkness reminds her of her twin.” He was out of the light now, comforting in his presence as none other had ever been. The High Court’s assassin was her friend, her companion, her only solace in a world that—even after decades—still made little sense to her.
Rae leaned against a flat stone on one side of the cave. “I could come with you.”
Devlin kept his distance. “And if you were drawn back to your body by being in the mortal world?”
“If I was drawn into my body, which I don’t think I would be, I suspect I’d die.” She stepped a little closer to him.
Devlin didn’t move away. “Which I do not want.”
For a moment, they stood in silence. She hated being left alone in Faerie, feared the High Queen, worried about Devlin, and wished she could go to the mortal world.
With careful deliberation, Rae stepped closer to him again. Were she solid, her skirt would be atop his feet. “Will you check on her? Ani is important. Just once go seek her out.”
“Don’t do this.” Devlin’s voice held the edge that it always did when Rae broached forbidden topics.
“You’re making a mistake,” she whispered. “You saved her. You ought to—”
“Don’t.” Devlin turned his back to her and walked away, retreating almost to the sunlight at the mouth of the cave. “I did as you wished. She lives. Nothing more is required.”
Rae lifted one hand, but didn’t follow. It wouldn’t matter: she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t force him to face her. Without his help, she had no physical substance.
Without him, I have nothing.
“Can I take a walk? Before you go?” Rae tried to make her invitation sound casual. It was one of the things she’d realized early on: she couldn’t act like it was important.
To either of us.
He turned. A flash of relief, so brief that it barely registered before vanishing, slid across Devlin’s impassive face. “If it would calm you …”
“It would,” Rae assured him. She didn’t give voice to the fact that it would calm both of them. Devlin wouldn’t have stood so pensively if he didn’t seek the reprieve. He needed an excuse, and he needed an invitation. Unless it was for political maneuvers, for the ability to lie, Devlin never admitted wanting the respite that Rae’s possession allowed them both. Letting her close to him, letting her possess him, gave him freedom from the stifling rules of Faerie. It gave him an excuse to enjoy his other sister’s heritage without consequences.
“Fine.” Devlin stood still, motionless as only a faery could be.
She walked across the cave as if she could touch the stone floor. She measured each step as she’d been doing earlier for peace, counting them out as if at one of the long-ago dances she’d attended when she still had a body. Her skirts swayed, and the illusion made her feel closer to being tangible.
Devlin’s lips parted enough that a sigh could escape as Rae stood face-to-face with him. His body tensed in anticipation. His pupils dilated in the flood of adrenaline released by fear and excitement.
She slipped into his body, pushing Devlin to the back of his own mind and animating the body as if it were her own. She could feel him, talk to him inside their body, but he didn’t control the movements. Not now. After so many times inside Devlin, it felt as familiar as her own body had. More perhaps.
She didn’t ask where he wanted to go. If she did, he would pretend not to have any interest in what she did with his body, but she felt him, watching and riding out the emotions they both felt during their shared occupation. It was the only time within Faerie that he could revel in passions—because he was not the one choosing to indulge.
“In the mortal world, you are not so cautious,” she whispered. “I know your secrets, Devlin. I’ve seen the memories. The indulgences …”
What I do there is of no consequence, he muttered. I do as my queen bids first. I serve my—
“I’m not chastising. I think you should take pleasure for yourself.” Rae stretched, enjoying the heaviness of wearing bone and muscle again. She reached her hands out and touched the rocks that jutted unevenly in the cave. It was within the side of a mountain, not visible to the High Queen or perhaps simply not worthy of her notice. Devlin had made the cave where Rae hid. Like the queen, Devlin could bend reality in Faerie if he wanted to, but no one—save Rae—knew that Devlin could remake the world at his will. Out of respect for his queen, he’d hidden that truth from everyone.
“Oh, the things we could do if you weren’t so obstinate, Dev,” she said. “The world could be ours. No limits. Think about the freedom, the pleasures.…”
I’m not going to spend all day like this, Rae, he said. Or discussing that again.
