Gossamyr (30 page)

"Yes, blight you!"

"Bone! That is anger. What of pain? What will you do to show
me your pain? Kick me? Knock me down with your mighty staff?"

"I—I will do you no harm."

"Nor will you step from your safe past to be. To feel!
Gossamyr, feel! Be! Dare to be like me, a mere mortal who wants and
needs and aches. What if I were to kiss you? Right now?"

"You speak nonsense." She stumbled but caught herself
against the rough wood wall and slid to the right, closer to the
ladder. The man followed, relentless in his futile mortal ramblings.

A kiss? That had naught to do with the angry emotions of which he
spoke!

"I hunger, Gossamyr." He gripped her. His fingers
splayed about her shoulders—revealed by the low-necked
gown—claiming her in a way that added a shiver to her
frightened heartbeats. "I hunger to take you right now. To pour
my grief into you. Just...to share a part of me that aches. Can you
understand?"

She shook her head. What had mortal lust to do with pain and
grief? He was acting the devil he appeared.

"You hurt, Gossamyr. You ache. You weep. You can love. Show
me! Show me your loss!"

"I have loved! And I have vowed never again to cry for such a
loss!" She slipped from his touch and rushed to the ladder.

"All that pain," he called as she exited the room, "it
gets caught up inside you, Gossamyr. It must come out sooner or
later. It should have been sooner for me,"he cried. "Mayhap
Rhiana would still live."

Skirts lumped up about her waist, Gossamyr thundered down the
ladder and outside. She did not break stride until her palm connected
with the rough bark of a chestnut tree coved into the miniature
courtyard out back of the house.

Huffing and blinking, she forgot to keep back the stream of tears
relentlessly stinging. Salty liquid splat her nose and lips and
seeped down her throat.

What had he done to her? She was not like Ulrich. He carried
useless emotions for an event that could not be changed. The past
would ever remain untouchable. He could never bring back his
daughter. And yet he punished himself with hopeless desires. There
was no sense to that!

Smearing the back of her palm over her cheek, she then stared at
the wet on her flesh. Crying? No! She had expended that fruitless
emotion long ago.

I
know how to feel. I have loved!

And she had vowed to never again feel for someone so strongly...

From the corner of her eye she spied Avenall. Why did he not
flee?

"Father, I—"

"Silence!" Shinn moved his gaze from Avenall to her,
down her face and over her robe, which she clutched between her
breasts. Could he know? But fr the telling color of Avenall's wings
he must know! "This man I have forbidden from seeing you stands
in my home?"

"Forgive me, lord
—"

"You have begged my forgiveness once, Avenall...of
Rougethorn. I thought to respect your humility, but I see it was fr
naught. You lied to me when you promised you would not continue to
court Gossamyr.You have debauched my daughter?"

"No, I merely
—"

"We were but kissing, Father," Gossamyr offered
hastily. "Nothing more."

Shinn tilted his head. Hard violet arrows shot through
Gossamyr's heart. Betrayal, they spoke. You have betrayed me. His
disappointment hung in the air like a choking cloud.

"I..." Avenall managed. "I will leave."

"You will" Shinn spoke,"be punished for this
betrayal. You swore you would not seek my daughter's favor."

Gossamyr cringed at the command. Rarely did Shinn raise his
voice. Please, do not hurt him, she thought. Do not wound him.

"For betraying my trust," Shinn continued in the same
abrasive command, "banishment!"

"No!"

Gossamyr spun to Avenall. The Rougethorn f
é
e
stiffened, caught within Shinn's mighty glamour. He cried out as the
red pinpricks of banishment bore through his flesh, circling his left
eye and for ever marking him.

And with a sweep of Shinn's hand, Avenall was carried away,
over the balustrade, up into the crystal sky, and finally he
twinclianed
in a minute shimmer.

Aghast and completely stunned at her father's quick and cruel
punishment, Gossamyr stood there shaking, staring off into the sky.
Her jaw hung open. She could not comprehend. Avenall had been here,
in her arms, kissing her, loving her
—
now he was gone.

"No," she murmured, and swung to beat her fists
against Shinn's chest. "Bring him back! You cannot send him off
for loving me!"

"Love?" Shinn spat out a vicious snort of laughter.
"Go to your room, daughter. Be gone from me now."

He actually shoved her from his body. And Gossamyr, lost in the
devastating rush of the moment, fled from her mother's study.

But oh... it did ache there... right in the center of her chest
where Ulrich had touched her bruised heart. Gossamyr clutched at the
gown, her fingers filling with the soft brown fur. Seeing Avenall in
the market square had shaken off the shroud of indifference she had
built up. Emotions were mortal. Unnecessary.

Truly?

You fear loss of family.

She was all alone. So far from Shinn. To Be seemed the greatest
challenge.

That Shinn had banished a Rougethorn... The only reason her father
had the ability to banish one not of his tribe was because Avenall
had lived in Glamoursiege since he was very young. He had lived in
Glamoursiege longer—and so he was considered a citizen.

Avenall. The one man who had loved her had looked through her as
if she did not exist. The Red clouded Avenall's vision.

Yet Ulrich saw her clearly.

He touches a part of you that does feel, the mortal part that
knows emotion before your fée instincts ever could.

It would be simpler if she were completely fée.

You fit into the air here. No one looks upon you with a
disdainful sneer.

Sliding down against the tree trunk, Gossamyr squatted and caught
her forehead in her palms. Tears flowed through her fingers and
dropped to the ground, wetting the soil.

Ulrich pushed away from the small triangle smoke hatch where he
watched Gossamyr struggle with tears. He was halfway to the stairs,
determined to rush outside and comfort her, when he stopped, and
returned to the window.

"Let her cry," he whispered. "Let her feel the
pain. It is good. You are learning, Gossamyr of Faery. Disenchanted?
It is bone."

As they gained the bell tower of St. Genevieve, Ulrich sprawled
across the stone floor to rest. He had chosen the cathedral for, set
upon a hill, it offered one of the highest lookouts in Paris.
Excellent view of the entire city.

Having sprinted up the last dozen or so steps of the tower,
Gossamyr closed her eyes and tilted back her head. The air up here
was even lighter than on the ground. Sounds of humanity, the rush of
horses and carts and carriages wobbling across cobbles, segued into
but a hum. A nest of hawfinch chirped nearby, tucked away beneath the
chin of a sooty gargoyle.

And there on the snout-nose of the gargoyle perched the fetch, its
wings folded upward, obliquing in the midday sun. Always there, her
father.
I
have not lost family.

She wondered now how Rhiana felt when she had thought of her
missing father. To wake one morning and never again know the comfort
of his presence? And, if she was ill thought by her mother, as Ulrich
had explained, it must have been a lonely existence.

No, not gone, my family.
Who then was she to claim such
pain?

But it did pain. For she was alone, and the uncertainty of her
return to Faery would not rest.

She must defeat the succubus and—then what? Would she
Passage back to Faery? Where to find a Passage? Surely Shinn could
merit a trip to Paris to retrieve her.

What if he were injured, or worse, the staunch Faery lord was
killed battling the revenants? She would not know. Mince may not know
where to find her. Had Shinn told Desideriel of her task? Certainly,
the marshal at arms would never come for her.

Each day spent in this mortal realm challenged her beliefs. Where
did she belong? And why had her conscious so suddenly altered?

"I hadn't realized there were so many steps," Ulrich
huffed. He tipped over the saddlebag he'd carried up the spiraling
stairs. "Must be hundreds."

"You are winded," Gossamyr said as she leaned over the
stone balustrade and cast her eyes across the city.

"Not at all! Just—"
puff, puff "
—breathing
in this fresh clear air. A man's got to do such, you know, for to
tread the city, all close and dirty, tends to make one's humours
sluggish."

Yet Gossamyr fancied she could leap from this tower and soar, so
light and perfectly fit into this air stood she. Had she wings,
flight would not require thought. One leap and she would soar over
the kingdom, come hunting hawk or mighty dragon, naught would bring
her down.

Dissected by the Seine, the city spread wide and vast. Narrow
streets barely stitched demarcations between the dwellings. Stuffed
tight within the bounds of the fortressed city walls thousands upon
thousands of buildings fought story by story to reach into the sky
for a breath of the light air. Great spires and towers and banners
proclaiming royalty, religion and wares populated the sky. Sun
glinted on red tile roofs and glittered upon the river. Great
conglomerations of buildings hugged the cathedral, looking more to
support than actually surround. Packed tighter than a honeycomb, the
city, and as bustling and productive as a queen's hive. People were
but gnats in colorful bits of fabric. Shopkeepers clopped about on
red wood sabots. Archers bore a deer hung by its quarters from poles
through the spiderweb of streets. Laundry flagged the stretches of
cord from window to rooftop. And everywhere children scampered and
dodged and shouted.

Surprising how a different perspective designed the city most
beautifully. The intricacy of it all marveled. "Be that the
royal palace there at the end of the island, where your king lives?"

Ulrich tilted his head, honing his directions. "I believe so.
I don't much answer to King Henry myself. He is English."

"You mean the drunkards and—"

"And tails, my lady, indeed! One country isn't enough for
him; he's got his grubby mitts on Paris, as well. Pray either the
vulgar Burgundians or bloodthirsty Armagnacs take this city soon."

"You don't care which of the two?"

"So long as they are French, no. Though I do favor the
Armagnacs, simply because our unseated French king sides with them.
The village I am from is under his reign. He's a good king, so far as
kings go."

Gossamyr propped her elbows on the balustrade behind her and eyed
Ulrich's sorting about in the saddlebag. "Glamoursiege has been
a place of peace since I can recall. Unlike the Netherdreds, we value
peace."

"Sounds like your Netherdreds would get along well with the
Armagnacs. That is the tribe the Red Lady hails from?"

"So far as I know."

"What was the tribal name of your Avenall?"

"Rougethorn." She pronounced it as Avenall had.
Rogue—Torn. A cad's dashing mannerism.

She looked down into Ulrich's expectant gaze. Stirring within the
pale whites of his eyes swam a glitter not unlike mirth. It beguiled
Gossamyr. Change had crept between them. In addition to being
fascinated by her surroundings, Gossamyr found Ulrich held interest.
A man alone and on a heartfelt quest. Of the tribe Mortal. An
intriguing race.

"What the hell is that?"

She followed Ulrich's gaping stare to the gargoyle's chipped nose.
"The fetch. You've seen it before. I've explained—"

"Yes, but you said it was a dragonfly." He stood. The
sudden movement caused the fetch to flutter its wings, so Ulrich
stilled. He embraced the air, pointing, but uncertain whether to let
out a cry or swallow back a shout. "It be a dragon!"

"The size of a fly," Gossamyr said with a shrug. "What
troubles you?"

"You! Faery! Tiny dragons and man-eating frogs?" He
drilled his fingers into his hair and stretched out the curly
strands. "What next? A hornless unicorn?"

"If you are vigilant."

A sigh preceded his accepting nod. "Indeed." He propped
his elbows on the balustrade aside Gossamyr. A glance to the fetch—
both summed up the other. "What wonders I have known and wish to
ever erase from my eyes."

"The fetch is not so remarkable."

"So say you, lady from Faery."

She stretched her hand before her to encompass the city. "Here
be true wonders. So many eating, sleeping, dancing, making love."

"Fighting, killing, maiming."

"Skipping, birthing and growing."

"Dying."

"Ulrich."

"I know. You see the wonders of a new world. I have closed
mine eyes to all but strife."

"Anon," she offered. "Your heart will change if you
see her again?"

He swung a bemused look at her. "Yes, anon."

Stretching out her arms, Gossamyr tilted her body forward.
Standing on tiptoe, she moved with the sway of the air. Flight, she
had never before known the sensation.

"Faery Not!"

Groping for the balustrade, Gossamyr teetered forward as Ulrich
caught her ankle, catching her from a sure fall.

"What in all of Hades? Think you to fly?"

"Of course not." She smirked and made show of clutching
the balustrade for support. No, and yes. Flight? What a dream.

Sighing, she knelt beside Ulrich to watch him sort through the
various items within. The wrapped alicorn remained tucked inside the
leather bag. After defeat of the Red Lady, there was the matter of
returning the sacred object. Could she convince Ulrich to hand over
the alicorn to her? Had she any right? It was his find. Only he held
the power to claim his wish. And what a wish it was. Faery owed
Ulrich for his stolen years. Haps 'twas intended the alicorn fell to
Ulrich's hands as repayment for his suffering?