A Thief of Nightshade (23 page)

He’d wanted so badly then to tell her how he felt about her and had considered waiting on that first kiss, despite how perfect the moment had been, but her shy smile had overcome his reasoning.

She saw herself asleep in the dark of her room from where he sat in silent watch. It was then, to Aubrey’s surprise, that he first took the Oran from the leather pouch Tabor had given him. He placed it in the palm of his hand and whispered in the same tongue Saralia had used, watched as it came slowly to life, and then tucked it into the corner of her window seat.

She watched Jullian walk with her father to his study and behind closed doors cast a spell to sway Mr. Wright’s opinion of him. Jullian was saddened to see her reaction not as he’d expected, but more so he was grieved not to know the reasons behind it.

The feeling persisted after they’d spoken in the car the night of Brooke’s engagement party and he’d stayed awake that whole night as well, wondering what to do and frustrated that Aubrey was so guarded about it that even the Oran could relay nothing to him but the shame she felt and the wounds she bore because of her past. He’d gotten up to go to the bathroom, just as Grant had said, but it was because he’d known she was behind the door. He just hadn’t been aware of her intentions.

Not until he found her lying on the floor.

She saw how much restraint he’d really shown the weekend they were in Aspen, how he’d touched the Oran at her chest and experienced her pain for himself; how much it’d taken him to keep from killing her father in his anger. After that night, though they’d never mentioned it again, Jullian and Grant developed something akin to friendship—as much as her brother was capable of.

She

saw

every

birthday

and

anniversary,

every

Christmas

and

Thanksgiving. She relived, through his eyes, every kiss, every breathless glance and intimate moment they’d shared. He laughed with Harry, who reminded him of Aislinn, and through those shadowy memories, Aubrey saw who Aislinn had once been—no trace of the bitterness that would take hold of him as the creature he’d now become. And then, amidst the pleasure and happiness of her life with Jullian, she saw finally what he dreamed of. Like he’d said, it was mostly the past and visions of what his life could have been at Saralia’s side, but because of the Oran’s connection to the Lyr, he would occasionally see what had become of his closest friends and those who would betray him and Aislinn after he’d left Avalar. He saw Merrial in her drugged stupor give away Aislinn’s location and then weep in her own filth after the Nightshade had run out.

She felt exhaustion as Jullian had worked tirelessly at building what was more than just a cabin for her—his intent was for it to be a refuge for them both, a place where she could be without all of the things that weighed so heavily on her heart. Where they could have their own world, away from pain that dogged both of their heels. And when he’d said enchanted, he wasn’t kidding. He’d had a little help with the framing. The stained glass, however, he’d done on his own and as she’d suspected, each piece was done with her in mind. It was his way of sharing with her everything he didn’t know how to tell her. He’d begun to formulate a way of telling her the whole truth ... through writing another novel. This time, he would show her how he’d come to her world and why.

And finally, she followed in his footsteps as he’d kissed her on the cheek when he left to go hunting. She’d still been sleeping and he hadn’t wanted to wake her up to say goodbye. It was a decision he’d regretted in agony as the Sidhe had come ripping through the dark woods that morning. He’d screamed her name and fought viciously, even to his own detriment, until the moment Saralia had cast her spell on him. And all was forgotten.

Aubrey blinked as though waking from a dream and pulled her hand to her side, away from the Oran. She was breathing heavily and was as close to breaking down as she’d ever been.

“What did you see?” Aislinn asked

softly.

“Everything,” she whispered and before he could refuse her, she took the Oran from Aislinn and held it tightly with both hands, speaking to Jullian in her mind —ignoring the pain that seared through her like a bullet as she made contact with it.

Fight this! I know you can. I’ll be strong enough for both of us if I have to be. You don’t recognize my voice, or remember my name. But I love you, Jullian.

Aislinn pried the Oran from Aubrey’s hands just as she fell limply into his arms.

As angry as Saralia had been when Jullian had escaped, he’d never seen her this furious. Aubrey would have one hell of a headache when she woke up.

He pulled her close to him, gritting his teeth and ignoring the discomfort from his new metallic limb. He’d asked Aubrey what she’d seen because he hadn’t wanted her to know he’d been privy to it as well —considering the private nature of a few of those moments—but now, as she lay asleep against his chest, he allowed himself the freedom to mourn everything his brother had lost. His heart broke with the weight of Jullian’s worry, not for what would happen to him when he returned to Avalar, but how Aubrey would feel when he never came home. And now she was dying, even as she would gladly give her life to spare his. Aislinn had never known what

it

was

like

to

deeply,

unconditionally, love another in this way and in the quiet stillness of the cold dark night, because his brother couldn’t, Aislinn wept in Jullian’s stead.

THE
mirror. It had been a while since she’d put on armor of any kind. She wasn’t in full armor as it was—just basic breastplate, shin, thigh and arm guards, but still it was a sight she wasn’t used to seeing. It was certainly something that Aislinn wouldn’t be expecting and she feared his reaction to it. It was bad enough that she’d had to lie to him, but the truth would feel worse than the deception itself.

If he didn’t hate her before he knew whose child she was, he would now.

A knock at the door startled her. It was Oberon.

“I detest seeing you like this. Not proper attire for a princess. Won’t you consider staying here? I would order you to, but we both know what that would accomplish.” Oberon came into her room and sat on the edge of her bed. Her mother had kept the appearance of youth and yet Oberon had aged. At times she wondered if Oberon’s withered frame wasn’t his soul’s way of displaying its woe over what he and his sister had been party to.

“No, Uncle. I must go. For the very reasons I went to begin with. Avalar is dying and the only way to save it is to free the Lyr from its prison.”

He nodded wearily. “I am sending Ian and his men. I trust him to keep you safe, but know that I will not consent to enter into full conflict with the Winter Court. This is not a selfish act. I’m considering the fate of all who trust me as their King. Please tell me you understand this.”

Given wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He’d been a father to her since she was six years old and, despite Ian’s curt words, she would grieve his passing deeply.

“You know how much I love you,” she said.

He smiled. “Child, your love is all that brightens my life these days. All that makes this sack of old, brittle bones worth carrying around.”

“Forgive me for asking this of you.”

He laughed then and she felt even guiltier. “There is no need. I was weak when I was mortal and remained so even after becoming immortal until I had finally lived enough lifetimes to realize the price of what I’d done. By then, it was too late.”

He paused, his lips trembling slightly. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed when this doesn’t work like you hope it will. I pray you are right. I pray you are right. My throne awaits you, Given, and I dream

of

those

days

with

bittersweetness.”

She

shook

her

head,

“Rule

Agincourt? I don’t...”

He shushed her with a modest wave of his hand. “Not now, child. We’ll have time to discuss this once you’ve returned.

Ian awaits you.”

“All right.” She hugged him one last time.

“Given?” Oberon called her just as she reached the threshold of the room.

“Yes?”

“Cedrick is a formidable opponent.

Don’t underestimate him.”

“The Goblin King?” She’d never heard his real name.

Ian’s voice interrupted them as he joined her at the door. “He was born to a poor farmer’s daughter who’d caught the eye of the Prince. When it was discovered that she’d borne him a son, the Prince demanded that the child be handed over to the palace at once. The farmer’s daughter couldn’t bear the loss of her son and the rejection of her lover, so she tucked the infant into his crib and set their house alight. The legend holds that the goblins stole him away just before the flames consumed him entirely.”

Given had grown up hearing stories of the Goblin King—they all had, but they were more related to how deeply he hated Shades. “Why does he hate Shades then, instead of his own kind?”

Oberon answered. “His mother was a Shade. Seren was mainly populated by Changelings.”

“Was? Is Seren no more?” She felt as though she knew the answer already, but it deserved to be asked.

“He had them all turned into statues —those who he didn’t turn into grotesque creatures for work in his mines,” Ian said.

Given clenched her jaw in disgust.

“You need to know what kind of magic we’re up against.” Ian smiled grimly. “He conjures spells in ways few Fae can master. His darkest work is his ability to weave soul portals. Most never return.”

Given had never heard of this before.

“That’s how he turned them into statues?

You think he’ll use one against Aubrey?”

Ian shrugged. “I cannot say for sure.

We may be too late to save either one of them, but if he does then you’ll need to consider what we must do to pull them from it. They’ll be battling their own demons. You’ve sent us to quite an engagement, I fear.”

Oberon nodded. “Use your glamour if you must, but remember that in the Glass Mountains your magic is weaker and your spells will not last.”

Oberon turned to Given then. “Be careful, child. Come back to me,” he whispered lovingly.

“I will take heed, Uncle. I promise.”

Jullian listened to his echoing footsteps as he walked across the icy floor of the palace courtyard. The sounds of revelry and celebration surrounded him as all those in the Winter Court of Neath prepared for his succession to the Fae throne. For a few brief moments, he seemed to have been forgotten by those who’d been his constant shadows for the past few weeks and for the first time he was truly alone with his thoughts.

He could not understand it, nor could he explain it, but something had come over him this afternoon. It was like waking from a recurring dream that was always close enough to remember the feeling it had brought, but never the dream itself.

The dream had taken root in him, wrapping around his heart and wrenching from him any sense of contentment he’d had. And yet, had he been content?