Veil of Shadows (11 page)

In the center of it all, that would be Danae.s Palace. Before Mabb had decided to usurp a ridiculous amount of space in the Underground, before she had thought to imitate the grand and sprawling castles of the Humans above, this was the type of palace she, and her parents before her, had occupied.

It was a large structure, elevated from the forest floor on a low platform of split logs braced on the stumps of the trees harvested for the building. The platform was octagonal, as was the tent itself—and patched together from gauzy fabrics of numerous hues. The shapes of Faeries could be seen moving against the light within.

The Empath moved through their ranks, head held high. “Queene Danae! I have brought you prisoners!”

This was the moment that should have been Bauchan.s. The Empath assumed his roll—and the credit for their presence—easily.

All motion in the tent ceased in a choreographed display of surprise. Against the light, too intentionally bright inside the tent, a lone figure stood. Her profile was slender and graceful, and the other Faeries in her presence bowed, accentuating her tall, straight posture. She looked down, fingers steepled at her lips as though she composed herself, but the angle was so practiced that each of her fingers was made out against the light. A visible breath raised her chest, and she shook out her hair as she walked toward the door, her servants falling into place behind her.

Two sentries flanked the door to her Palace. They crossed the crude spears they carried, held them in a high point over the opening. “Her Majesty, Queene Danae,” one of them barked out, his voice resonating to the treetops.

It was a show, her entrance absurdly theatrical and as rehearsed as anything he had ever seen in Mabb.s Court.

Then, the Queene herself appeared.

Cerridwen beheld the spectacle of this new Faery Court through eyes rimmed red by exhaustion, dazzled by sights she could have never imagined and no tapestry could have ever rendered with such truth. She had walked through the forest lost in wonderment, forgetting the rope that bound her wrists and the near-certainty of death that lay ahead of her.

Until the moment that Queene Danae emerged from her odd structure.

Cerridwen.s heart sank in despair when she saw her. The Queene looked every bit the part she acted. She stood pale and straight, with dark curls that fell in long, unbrushed ropes beneath the gauzy veil she wore, held in place by a glittering silver circlet, like a medieval princess in a Human Faery story. Her wings spread behind her, vibrant orange framed in black, like the wings of the desiccated Upworld insect Governess had worn pinned in her hair. The vibrant gold of Danae.s gown, tight sleeved and flowing simply from her shoulders in the style of that Faery-tale princess she evoked, lit the air around her with a warm aura.

She looked beautiful and kind, and her appearance was likely deceptive.

“Mothú? You are not accompanied by Bauchan?” A delicate lilt colored her voice, and her smooth brow lined only slightly as she frowned out at the crowd.

The Empath stepped forward, her stance triumphant. “No, my Queene. He is dead. Killed by this Pretender!”

“Killed?” Her voice was a delicately broken whisper. “No. It is not possible.”

“It is.” Mothú sneered. “Every Faery aboard the ship he traveled on saw his murder.”

Cedric stepped out of the crowd to stand beside her. “That is not true.”

“Who is this?” Danae asked, turning her dark eyes to Cedric.

The Empath did not seem to hear her. She strode toward Cedric, fists clenched. “Liar!

Anyone here will attest to your involvement, as well! I have felt your panic. Not just for your mate, but for yourself.”

“Silence!” Danae shouted. She never took her eyes from Cedric, as though she had been hypnotized by him. “Who is this Faery?”

“I am the former Court Advisor to the true Queene of the Fae, Queene Ayla, mate to King Garret. I am also the mate to this Faery, Queene Cerridwen, daughter of Queene Ayla of the line of Mabb.” He gestured to the Faeries behind them. “These are her displaced subjects.”

“Queene Ayla did not survive, then?” Danae spoke as though she had known her, as though she felt real remorse at the news of her death. It might have been a trick, but it seemed so genuine. Did a Faery exist who could care for someone or something sight unseen?

“This Faery killed Bauchan! There are witnesses!” Mothú cried, seeming less sure of her accusation as she looked from Cerridwen to her Queene.

“There are no witnesses,” Cedric said calmly. “There are many who can attest to seeing Bauchan.s empty robes, and the Queene beside them. But none can truly say what happened in that corridor.”

Danae.s questioning gaze, warm despite the suspicion that clouded it, fell on Cerridwen. “Is this true? Did no one see what happened?”

Cerridwen did not answer, because she knew that the question was not meant for her. And Cedric did not answer.

“Tell me,” Danae said, scanning the Fae refugees that crowded the grove. “Can no one tell me that they saw her kill him?”

A ripple of outraged whispers went through the crowd, until a lone voice shouted, “She admitted it! She confessed to the crime!”

“Is this true?” Still that pretended caring, that false kindness. “Did you kill Bauchan?”

Cerridwen.s lies had never worked before. But then, why should she lie? She could not imagine a deed she was more proud of, or an action more warranted.

The hatred coming from the Fae from the Underground could scorch her flesh, so hot it burned. They had already forgotten who had kept peace in the Lightworld. The true Faery Queene. They had abandoned her, only twenty short years after they welcomed her onto her throne, only days after she perished while trying to protect them. Faithless, hopeless, pathetic traitors. Why should she wish to live among them a moment longer? And why should she care if they thought her a murderer? Were they not just as terrible, abandoning their fellows and her mother, who had served them so faithfully, who had struggled to keep them free of some foreign Queene.s tyrannical rule?

Seeing her now, though, Danae did not look to be the tyrant Cedric and her mother had feared. Still, a kind appearance was not enough. Cerridwen had long heard how fearfully low the Humans were, how immoral and grasping. Yet her kind had fared no better.

She was not ashamed. She lifted her head and answered, loud enough so the entire clearing could hear her, “Yes. I killed Bauchan. He committed high treason against me. I sentenced him to death, and carried out his execution myself.”

The moment of stunned silence that followed her declaration seemed to last longer than the lives of the trees stretching over their heads. Danae.s face, so comically composed before, was frozen in shock, and her mouth hung open like the mouth of the fish on the Strip markets. She took a breath, looked almost as though she had regained her control, then lost it again to confusion.

Cerridwen could not look away from the Queene.s eyes, but she could see, in her peripheral vision, Cedric had gone very still beside her. He did not move even to breathe.

Now would be the time that Danae would pronounce her guilty, and have her head sliced off. Those terrible words hovered unspoken in the air, like the ax blade poised to fall.

But Danae did not speak those words. She did not speak at all. She daintily lifted the hem of her gown and walked down the steps from her Palace, to stand in front of Cerridwen.

She was taller, only slightly, but enough to make Cerridwen feel like a child being treated as a fully grown Faery out of courtesy and pity. Danae closed her eyes and, with a shaking breath, threw her arms around Cerridwen.s shoulders and embraced her.

It would have surprised her far less to be slapped or stabbed. Perhaps that was an indication of how diseased her own mind was, that she would not expect kindness. But when Danae.s arms closed around her, Cerridwen.s stomach dropped.

Danae stepped back, all pity and sweetness, her gaze far too intense as it locked on hers. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, that my emissary caused you so much pain.” Then, she bent her back in a sweeping bow.

The crowd seemed to gasp in unison, as Cedric let out a relieved breath. He was pleased to have delayed the inevitable. But her own heart was hollow.

She should have been relieved that Danae seemed almost certain to spare her. Perhaps it was that she was more shocked than the rest of them, and she could not yet believe it to be real. But when she searched her feelings, she found that she recognized the reality of the situation, and therein lay the real problem.

She had counted on dying. She had imagined an end to this empty feeling of displacement and grief. She had wanted to die. And that, more than any need to keep her secrets safe, more than a desire for revenge, had made her kill Bauchan.

If she crumpled to the ground now and wailed, what would they say?

Danae stood and motioned for a guard. “Cut the Queene.s bindings! How shameful, that she was brought here in such a state. Let this never be recorded as such.”

A guard stepped forward with a dagger; Cedric took it and waved him away. “You will pardon me if I do not trust your guards, after the way they have so disrespectfully treated my mate.”

“Of course.” Tears shone in Danae.s eyes. “And for the way my emissary treated you both. What treason did he commit? No, do not tell me. I cannot bear to hear of his betrayal, and you do not need to offer me proof of it.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and produced a tremulous smile. “When I sent out my Ambassadors, I prayed I would find more of our kind. I prayed I would find Queene Mabb. Bauchan passed along letters from Flidais, on the Queene.s Council, and they informed me of Mabb.s death and Queene Ayla.s ascension to the throne. My heart breaks for her demise now as it did for Mabb when I read of her murder. You must forgive me, Your Majesty, but how wicked your father was!”

“King Garret was a King of the Fae in name only, never in deed,” Cerridwen said, fearing the Empath and her strange abilities would catch on that Garret had not been her actual father.

“Just as I consider him my father in name only.”

“Your kind words are appreciated, Danae,” Cedric said with a courtly bow, “but we are tired, and we require a place to sleep. As do all of our misplaced Court.”

“Of course!” She paused. “But I fear that it would be impossible to move my entire household tonight. And my servants are intensely loyal to me. I would hate to think that they might, misguidedly, seek to harm you both in an effort to…defend my now-forfeit position. I can offer you a comparable dwelling until you are better established here. I will even provide you with my best guards—”

“We have our own guards,” Cerridwen said, feeling like a child left out of a conversation.

“They have traveled here with us, in secret.”

Danae nodded. “Very wise, Your Majesty.” She sounded sincere.

The six Faeries who had fled the Underground and served Cerridwen faithfully came forward. They had stayed close without her realizing it, and she felt a little better for that.

Danae ordered a Human to go ahead of them and prepare their quarters with a bathing tub and clean linens. If she had asked them to prepare a chest of gold, Cerridwen could not have been more grateful. “You will have Bauchan.s home, for now,” Danae said, a look of arrogant fury on her face. “And all of his possessions. He loved them, so do with them what you will. There would have been no more fitting punishment in life than to see all of his precious treasures given away. And in the morning, you will dine with me, in the Palace, and we will discuss the best way for you to assume control of your people here.”

Cerridwen nodded. It was the only response she could muster.

“Stay close by me,” Cedric whispered, sliding an arm around her waist as they followed Danae.s guards through the crowd, which fell away from them as though afraid to touch them. “I do not entirely trust that Danae is willing to give up her throne.”

Cerridwen did not care. She had come to this place willing to die. She left disappointed, and far too alive.

Eight

B auchan.s quarters were exactly what Cedric had expected: far more opulent than the rustic surroundings of the village, as pretentious as Bauchan had been himself.

They had walked away from the central village and taken a path deep into the trees to find the tent, raised on a wooden platform like Danae.s Palace, and nearly as large. Bauchan.s home boasted its own fire and cooking pot, something Cedric suspected owed more to Bauchan.s distaste for sharing anything with the other Fae than to any official need for privacy.

To his relief though, privacy was exactly what this place would offer. The guards could easily keep watch around the small clearing and roust out any spies, and there would be plenty of room inside for them to sleep when not on watch. There were trunks crammed full of bedding, from feather-filled cover-lets to rough-woven mats, enough for twenty people, far more than any one Faery need own.

If Bauchan had come to Mabb.s Court, he would have been welcomed by her as a kindred spirit.

Cerridwen trudged into the dwelling behind him, her steps heavy, her eyes not seeming to focus on anything but the floor before her. The child who had been the Royal Heir to the Faery Throne, used to such finery and deprived of it since their departure from the Underground, should have enjoyed her new acquisitions, but the Faery Queene seemed more intent on the bed in the center of the round tent than on the glittering copper oil lamps and delicate lightning glass sculptures. From the way she shuffled her feet as she made her way toward it, it could have been any bed, not one so fine as what lay before her.

“This is suitable. For now.” He was unable to gauge her mood. Was she angry that he had let her be treated so poorly on the trek here? Certainly, that was possible, but had she not willed it herself when she had looked so pleadingly to him in the boat? It would not be unlike her mother, he thought grimly, to ask for one thing and be unpleasant when she did not receive another.

Cerridwen did not answer him, but lay down on top of the meticulously tucked covers on the bed, curling her legs against her body and folding her black wings over herself like a shelter.