Elixir (25 page)

I didn’t finish my sentence—just looked up into his eyes.

“I know,” he whispered.

Suddenly all I wanted was to touch him, to be in his arms, to have his touch be the only thing that was real.

But he beat me to it. His hand wrapped around mine, and then my eyes were closed and he was kissing me, his rough stubble pressing up against my lips. And this time, I wasn’t afraid to kiss back.

This time it felt right. Maybe it was because my life was in shambles and I had nothing to lose anymore. Or maybe it was because I had no idea what the future would bring, and this moment was all I had. Whatever it was, I kissed him with a frenzy, my arms encircling his chest, his hands pressing me back against the bark of the tree.

His eyes a haze of hunger and heat, he whispered, “Come, I know someplace we can be alone—a secret House Tree. Even those damned mercenary pixies can’t get inside. It’s a refuge I use when I go smuggling. We’ll be safe there, for a while.”

My heart pounding wildly, I nodded, and I took his hand. We ran through the woods together, the leaves crunching under our feet. At last we got to a large tree. It was no different from any of the others, not that I could see—but Obadiah proceeded to knock rhythmically on the trunk, his fist tapping a mysterious pattern over the knotholes. A door swung open out of the bark, revealing a narrow stair.

I moved forward to climb, but to my surprise, Obadiah lifted me up, carrying me across the threshold. I squealed as my feet left the floor, but his arms held me securely, and I had to admit, it thrilled me as I hugged against his hard chest and he carried me up the narrow, uneven steps.

I closed my eyes. The place had the fragrance of trees that made me feel at home, mixed with Obadiah’s own scent as I nuzzled my head against his shoulder. We had reached the top of the stairs. He opened the door and we entered the one room.

It was furnished with only a bed. It was set into the wall, hollowed out of the tree itself, with the edges of the wood carved to resemble two wolves reclining. The mattress was piled with animal pelts, soft rabbit-fur pillows and a huge gray wolf skin made into a coverlet. There was a small clay fireplace on the opposite wall.

The room had no other furniture, no other decorations, just the bed.

My heart beat faster.

Obadiah turned to me.

“I know you’re upset, Mab, after everything that happened with the Queen . . . with your mother. Just because we’re in my bedchamber doesn’t mean that . . .” he began to say.

But I nodded. I knew in this moment I could turn back if I wanted to. We could go back to just being friends—or whatever the hell we were. I could turn back . . .

But I decided not to.

A
s I lay with my head against his bare chest, I could hear the sap coursing through the wood of the House Tree, like the slow woosh-wooshing of the heart pumping blood, mirroring Obadiah’s heartbeat beneath my cheek. The fire crackled and popped in the clay hearth, its embers slowly burning out.

Softly, almost reverently, he stroked my hair.

All my human life I’d been wishing to be someone else, somewhere else—wanting to go back to the Vale, wanting my magic back, wanting to be Fey again. In this moment—I wanted nothing. All I wanted was to stay like this in bed with Obadiah, our bodies under the furs, just breathing together. For the first time I understood why humans risk everything for this experience . . . because it was better than magic.

I realized I was crying.

Obadiah put his arm around my shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

“Better than alright—I don’t think I’ve been this happy since I changed,” I said, gazing into his dark eyes, seeing the soul in them. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I feel glad to be human.”

He smiled, a deep, genuine smile. “It does have its perks. This would be one of them.”

I laughed, my head lolling back onto the furs.

“I’m serious, though,” I said at last.

He was silent for a while, and then whispered, “Me too.”

We lay together in comfortable silence for a while, watching the dying fire. At last Obadiah spoke.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I need to go to the Queen’s palace again. She’s holding Eva hostage. I have to get her back home before her Fetch dies. And the Queen, I mean . . . my mother . . . and I have a lot we need to discuss.”

Obadiah nodded thoughtfully.

“And I want to do something to help all those kids she’s stolen too . . .”

“Mab, we’ve been over this—you can’t save them . . .”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he touched my shoulder.

“Don’t you think I tried when I escaped?” he said gently. “I managed to free myself from their cocoon—but maybe that was because I’m half Fey, so it didn’t have the same hold on me? But I couldn’t wake any of the other children up. Once they go into that enchanted sleep, it’s like they’re dead . . .”

I shivered.

He stroked my hair.

“I still want to try, though. Maybe I could free my own Shadow at least.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what the Queen did to her . . .” Obadiah began to say, but I cut him off.

“I have to at least see her for myself.”

He sighed, realizing arguing with my stubbornness was futile.

“I’d like to go with you.”

I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous for you. The Queen won’t try to hurt me. I’m her daughter.” I grimaced. “But she would try to hurt you.”

“If you insist,” Obadiah agreed reluctantly. “But if by sunset tomorrow you’re not back, I’m coming in after you.”

“I do not want you risking . . .” I protested, but he cut me off.

“You may insist on seeing the Queen alone, but you’re not alone in this—I’ll be looking out for you.”

Sheepishly, I smiled.

There was still an enormous amount of work to be done, and I didn’t know how we were going to accomplish it all—but tonight had kindled a new optimism I hadn’t felt before. Maybe because I didn’t feel alone now. I had Obadiah by my side.

CHAPTER 18

S
unlight woke me in the morning, pouring in through the round window in the wall of the tree, making a gold circle on the floor. I blinked sleepily and stretched.

“Morning.” I smiled, rolling over to greet Obadiah.

But his side of the bed was empty.

Obadiah was gone.

I sat bolt upright.

He was nowhere in the room. I looked around. My clothes were still scattered everywhere—souvenirs from last night. I noticed my cast-off bra had almost landed in the fireplace.

But his clothes were missing from the floor. Wherever he’d gone to, he’d already gotten dressed.

The morning-after contentment crumpled up and disappeared, replaced with a sudden dread.

Where was he?

I threw the wolf-skin covers back, shivering in the early morning chill. The flames in the little clay fireplace had burned out overnight. Maybe he had gone to do some errand and would be back momentarily? But why hadn’t he woken me to let me know?

Stepping onto the freezing floorboards, I gathered up my clothes from the floor.

I looked out the round window of the tree to check if he was outside, but the little courtyard out front was empty. The wind whistled through the branches, scattering leaves over the bare ground.

A lump was forming in my throat and I struggled to push it down. He hadn’t left because of last night, had he?

I tried to dismiss what the little voice in my head kept insisting. Obadiah knew I was the Fairy Queen’s daughter. He’d said last night he didn’t care. But still. You don’t get over lifelong prejudices in one night, no matter how good that night was. Was the knowledge just too much for him—knowing that he’d literally slept with the enemy? Or had he just thought better of what we’d done? Did he regret it?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that he was gone.

I felt like crying.

Mechanically, I put yesterday’s clothes back on and ran my fingers through my hair in lieu of a comb.

Maybe he went out to hunt for some breakfast or something, I told myself hopelessly. Or he’d gone off to steal more Elixir. But I knew if he’d left for some legitimate reason, he would have said something. He would have told me where he was going. He would have kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye.

Instead he had just left.

Dammit, the lump was growing in my throat; I couldn’t hold it back anymore. What kind of idiot was I? How had I not seen the story ending this way?

Everyone always said after you sleep with someone, nothing is ever the same, but somehow I never believed them. I thought it would be different for us. We
understood
each other—we were the only two people who knew what it was like to be both Fey and human. We’d had something rare and precious. He wouldn’t just throw that away.

I didn’t know what to think anymore. The fact of the matter was he was gone. I was alone in this strange House Tree, with a burned-out fire and an empty bed.

I tried to tell myself I didn’t care, that I would move on, as I threw on my jacket reluctantly. But my eyes were blurring as I looked around the room once more, hoping to find a note, or some little sign, anything, to show that he’d thought of me, that he’d tried to get in touch . . . that he’d cared. But the room was empty.

Wiping my eyes with my fist, I shut the door behind me and slowly tromped down the winding stairs, all the while thinking about how Obadiah had carried me up this same staircase not twelve hours before. At last I reached the bottom.

As I made my way out into the little patch of grass below the tree, I turned to cast a last glance over my shoulder, hoping in vain that a window would pop open in the trunk and Obadiah would stick his head out. But of course, that didn’t happen.

You can’t think about him,
I told myself.
You have work to do.
I needed to go back to the Queen’s chambers. I needed to get Eva from her enchanted sleep. Plus, I was going to find my Shadow. I didn’t care what the Queen said. I was going to find the girl I was switched with. And I was going to try to set things right. But the more I tried not to think about Obadiah, the more he was all I could think about.

Had I been deluding myself this whole time?

Was there nothing special between us?

My heart felt leaden in my chest as I set forth down the road that would take me to the Queen’s palace.

T
he same Goblin guard met me at the door, this time with a low bow, and began the most ridiculous kiss-up greeting, but I put out a hand to silence him. I was in no mood.

He got the message, because he quickly ushered me inside.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I walked behind the Goblin up the gleaming stairs to the Queen’s private chambers. Obviously word traveled quickly here, because I could see in everyone’s eyes that they
knew
. They knew I was the Queen’s daughter. And they all gave respectful bows. Still, it was very uncomfortable. I could hear them whisper as I walked past. The tone was chilly.

They don’t like you,
the little voice in my head whispered. Perhaps I was being paranoid, seeing coldness and disdain in what was really only curiosity. But then again, why should they like me? The Queen had all sorts of courtiers and advisers around her—Fey who had trained for years to be her ears and eyes, to be the most learned, the most well-versed in court intrigue. They weren’t just trying to be the best at what they did. They were vying with each other to be next in line for the Queen’s job. Korvus Korax wasn’t the only one who hungered for the throne. There were dozens more like him. They used to stand a reasonable chance. The Queen was childless, heirless, or so everyone had thought—until yesterday.

I wasn’t going to be very popular at court. The thought just added to the feeling of dread in my stomach.

We reached the door that led to the Queen’s chambers. The Goblin opened it and I stepped inside. The Queen was standing at the far end of the room, turned towards the clear quartz window, staring at the spires of the city below.

She must have not heard me come in, because she hadn’t turned around. Instead, she continued to stare vacantly down, her expression so unbearably sad I almost wanted to go to her. But instead I just stood there, frozen. She was wearing a dress of coal-black raven plumes that seemed to have gotten the rainbow sucked right out of them, for even in all their elaborateness of layers and poofing fronds, the color was merely dull black, making her skin all the more deathly pale. She must have not bothered putting on her glamour spell this morning, not realizing I’d be back so soon, because she looked frightfully old. There were worry lines across her forehead, and sagging, aged wrinkles down her neck. Her bosom was withered like dried-up rose petals and her spine slumped forward as she leaned against the crystal wall. She was so incredibly old and tired and careworn—nothing at all like the all-powerful monarch she pretended to be—that I genuinely felt for her.