A Sliver of Shadow (14 page)

He looked at me gravely. “It would be my honor.”

Roweena shook her head at me. “This is asking for trouble.”

“Yeah, well, I get that you all have your little secrets, but unless you want to enlighten me on the red flag here, this is the best course of action.”

“As you will.” Roweena’s eyes darted between me and Talivar before moving on to Melanie. “We will have to rework the Contract, of course,” she said coolly. “Unless Melanie wishes to remain his TouchStone.”

Melanie shook her head violently. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She gave me an imploring look. “I’m sorry, Abby … but there are other things in my way that won’t allow it. It would be a very, very bad idea.”

I stared at her, watching as she nervously stroked her violin. It wasn’t in me to judge, but for a brief moment I really wished someone else would step up to the plate here. On the other hand, she’d nearly lost her soul for me and it’s not every day you can say that about a person.

“All right.” I nodded at Roweena. “How long will it take to draw up an official Contract?”

“Normally, not too long—but this is getting a bit complicated. I will endeavor to have it to you tonight.” Roweena straightened up. The effects of her injuries appeared to be fading, her words becoming less slurred. “And in the meantime, we can nullify the Contract between Melanie and Talivar. Thankfully Moira left it in the archives. Without the CrossRoads behind it, it won’t be binding, of course, but it will go a long way. Come by the Judgment Hall this evening.”

“I didn’t think we could get in there with the CrossRoads shut.”

“It’s a KeyStone. Like the Marketplace. Like you. It exists under its own pocket of power. It won’t last forever, of course—but think of it as a temporary generator. The Queen
is the only one who can reopen the CrossRoads, and we have no way of reaching her—so this will have to do.”

“Too bad cell phones don’t work across planar dimensions,” Melanie muttered. “This would be so much easier if we could text the Court or something:
Plz open XRoads. KThxBai
.”

Phineas shook his head, waggling his beard. “The Key to the CrossRoads could be used to open a Door, allowable for just such a purpose.” His eyes darted to me, unblinking. “It was intended to be a fail-safe, should any be trapped on one side or the other.”

Tresa rolled her eyes. “The Key? That’s a myth, even for those such as us. After all, the Key hasn’t been seen for ages. We have no idea where it’s gone.”

“Or what it looks like,” Talivar added sourly. “Though there might be something in the library at the Judgment Hall that delves into it.” He glared at her. “Not that anyone was asking you.”

Roweena sighed. “Oh, it’s real enough, I suppose. Or it was, once. But as to its location …”

“Missing talismans, this week only, on
Scavenger Hunts of the Magical and Fucked,
” I quipped. Not that I was planning on leaving that much to chance. I glanced over at Melanie. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Sonja around today?”

Melanie shook her head. “No. Why?”

I tapped my head. “Well, if I find her in the Dreaming, maybe she can get onto the CrossRoads from there? She could carry a message to the Queen. I don’t think she uses a Door when she travels that way.” I chewed on my lower lip. “Of course, if she’s not around I suppose I could try to break through myself…”

She bopped me on top of the head. “Um. No. You can’t go through Doors that way either. You remember what Ion
told you? That whole thing about dying if your Shadow Self emerges on the wrong plane?”

“It was just a thought.”

“Of course, that sort of begs the question. What if Sonja isn’t there? Could you ask Brystion?”

I flushed as Talivar stared at me. “Erm. Yes, I guess I could. If he’s there. Though it’s not like we see each other much there. Like not at all, really.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Phineas agreed. “I’m not sure how much luck either one of them will have actually getting into Faerie, but maybe they can pass along a message.”

“Good enough.” I looked at my watch. Even after everything that had happened it was only approaching noon. I nudged Talivar. “So now what, Protectorate-to-be?”

He frowned, and I could almost see the way the thoughts calculated behind his gaze. “First thing is to get … her”—he tilted his head toward Tresa—“situated in the Judgment Hall. I don’t want her escaping. In fact, I want Robert guarding her. She is to have no contact with anyone. Understood?”

The last was said with a bit of an edge to his voice, and I could only wonder as Roweena finally bowed her head. “As you say.”

“I’ll call Charlie and let her know,” Melanie said, winking our way. “Consider it one of my last TouchStone duties.”

Katy approached us from behind the bar. “And actually, I was thinking maybe we should see about trying to notify any of the OtherFolk who might be stuck somewhere else. We had a fair number of people on that dating list—we can try contacting them. They’ll be just as confused as we were if they all woke up from seizures.”

I blinked. “That’s actually a damn good idea. I hadn’t even thought of that, but there’s bound to be OtherFolk
unable to travel, especially if they’ve lost their Glamours.” I glanced over at Brandon. “Can we use the Hallows as a base of operations? Maybe find a way to transport people here?”

The werewolf sighed, his eyes suddenly twinkling as he watched Katy. “Guess we’ll find a use for that potential TouchStone list after all.”

Katy beamed at him. “I can borrow my mother’s van.”

“Shotgun,” Melanie said as we shared a look. Katy could be enthusiastic, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone a little more knowledgeable about the situation tag along—and everyone knew Mel by reputation, if nothing else.

“Sounds like a plan.” Tresa let out a derisive snort.

“If I wanted your opinion I would have given it to you,” I said sourly, somehow knowing whatever I did here, it would likely come back and bite me in the ass.

I shoveled down the last forkful of my mac ’n’ cheese, scraping the yellow cream off the bottom of the fast-food container. “Stop hogging it all,” Phineas whined, poking me hard in the ankle.

“Belay that,” I retorted. “Besides, it’s all gone. There are still some chicken strips left, though.” He grunted what I assumed was an affirmative and I tossed a few into his bowl on the floor.

Talivar paced in the kitchen, his arms crossed. The prince had cleaned up the mess from before in rather short order after we got back from the Hallows, scraping the broken crockery into the trash without a fuss. He’d eschewed the chicken when I bought it, so I didn’t bother offering a second time. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Do what?” I shrugged. “All I have to do is fall asleep. It’s not going to be a big deal or anything. What’s the worst that could happen? Aside from Sonja not being there.”

“I mean about the TouchStoning thing. And me being the Protectorate.”

“Well, sure. I mean, you fit the bill well enough. Unless there’s something I don’t know.”

“Isn’t that usually the case?” Phineas grunted at my feet, narrowly avoiding my kick.

I leaned in my chair, studying Talivar’s profile as he continued to pace, one hand reaching up now and then to rub the back of his neck. His hair hung in a loose tangle about his face, the braids a tattered mess. “Care to tell me what this is all about?”

“Not really.”

“Please. You’ve lived here for, what? Eight months? I’m pretty sure Moira wouldn’t have dumped some sort of mass murderer on me, so what is it? Why do people dance around you like you’re some kind of Fae leper?”

He stilled, his back to me, but he shuddered as though he was holding his breath. In an instant he had removed the hoodie and pulled up his shirt, giving me a glimpse of a flawless form. The muscles moved smoothly beneath the dusky skin, my fingers suddenly aching to touch his sculpted beauty. The T-shirt dropped to the ground like the discarded scales of a snake. And then the Glamour melted away and I froze.

Welts crisscrossed into the flesh of his back, working their way around his left shoulder, wending over his hip before dipping below the belt. He shifted so that he was turned partway to face me, unflinching as he allowed me to look at his chest, the white scars like a spider’s web along the left side of his abdomen. His face remained mostly untouched, expressionless marble except for the barest of twitches in his right cheek. Slowly he removed the patch covering his eye, the puckered skin marring the perfection of his brow.

I thought he’d be done there, but a moment later and
he’d removed his jeans too. And hey, Talivar went commando. Who’d have thought? But he gestured downward and I could see the ravaged remains of his knee, the slightly shrunken thigh, ropey with scar tissue.

“Behold the Crippled Prince.” He stared at me from beneath the shadow of his hair, daring me to react.

Beside me Phin let out a low whistle, but I ignored it. What sort of reaction was he going for? Shock? Surprise? Sympathy? The unveiling of one’s scars could be terribly traumatic, but given the circumstances …

“Who did this to you?” I said finally, my voice steady, keeping my eyes upon his face.

“My father.”

I raised a brow at him. “There’s a whole lot more to this than just the normal sort of ‘I accidentally drove Daddy’s car through the garage door,’ I’m thinking.”

He grimaced as he bent to retrieve his clothing, carelessly pulling on the jeans. “You might say that.”

“But why does that make you unfit to be Protectorate?”

“Aside from the fact that I committed regicide and patricide? Those inconveniences could so easily be overlooked, but for my physical flaws.” At my questioning grunt, he shook his head. “In Faerie, only the most physically perfect of us may rule. We’re considered to be representative of the land. A broken body indicates a broken kingdom. To lose a limb, or an eye … or both?” he said pointedly. “Well, there isn’t much chance for me, regardless of how royal my bloodline may be.”

“You killed your own father?” I debated taking a few steps back and then decided that would be asinine. There was a massive story here, but somehow I had the feeling I wasn’t going to get a straight answer from him. Not yet.

“And quite rightly so,” he said mildly. “The damage had already been done. I saw no reason for my sister and mother
to endure life beneath his thumb.” He rotated his hand. “So to speak.”

“They don’t seem to care about my scars that much,” I pointed out.

“You’re not Fae. Or in line for the throne … Frankly, none of them care.”

“Ouch.” Nothing like a little bluntness to make a girl feel good. “Most of my scars are hidden anyway. Except this one.” In a show of camaraderie, I pulled up my shirt, exposing a silver oval on my belly. “I got this one for Moira, when Maurice tried to gut me through the painting.”

A gentle smile crossed his face. “I know.”

I touched the scar on my head. “I’ve always kind of wondered why they didn’t try to heal the rest of me. The Royal Healers, that is. Seems like a bit of a waste, doesn’t it?”

He shrugged into his shirt. “Why would they? You didn’t earn the others while you were in Moira’s service.”

“Practical. All right then. So you’ve got some issues. And you have flaws.” I smacked my lips. “I’m going to have to say, I don’t care much. Just don’t fuck up.”

He blinked, carefully replacing the patch over his eye. “Is that all?”

“Yeah well, something tells me you’re a fast learner. And it’s only temporary, right? Until we get Moira back.”

“Famous last words,” Phineas muttered. “And speaking of, don’t you have the Dreaming to get into? Succubi to chat up? Messages to pass along? Our asses to save?”

I glared at him, scooping up the remainder of the food. “All right, all right. I’m on it. As soon as I can fall asleep, anyway.” I winced at the light streaming through the window. I always had a tough time napping deeply enough to get to the Dreaming, but I would try.

I headed for my bedroom, the unicorn trotting at my heels. On impulse, I looked behind me, my gaze meeting
Talivar’s as he stood in the kitchen, watching us go. “Good luck,” he mouthed, one hand sliding over his mouth as though he were going to kiss the palm. I felt the blush creeping over my cheeks, but said nothing as I carefully shut the door behind me.

T
he Dreaming seemed empty tonight. Dimmer maybe. I’d gotten here the usual way, but even my nightmares couldn’t be bothered with me; the sharks kept their distance, dead eyes focused somewhere else.

Not a good sign.

Still. I was here, sitting on the front porch of my Heart. I closed my eyes, the breeze whispering its way through the darkness, tickling the back of my neck. It was always night here. I didn’t know if it was my subconscious or the state of my mind, the inner darkity-dark reaches of my soul or what. There were times when I wouldn’t mind a little dream sunshine, but I hadn’t quite mastered the whole weather thing.

The iron gate was closed—the way I’d left it—but there was no sign of Sonja. Sometimes she would wait for me on the outside; sometimes she’d show up after the fact. I trotted down the stairs, the gate opening with a creak as I approached. “Sonja?”