Fever 5 - Shadowfever (30 page)

“Are you absolutely certain it’s the queen of the Seelie in this coffin?” Why would the queen have been summoning me—the concubine? How did she even know who I was, once I’d been reincarnated? It wasn’t as if I still
looked
like the concubine. It was absurd to think she’d accidentally chosen me. None of this made sense. I couldn’t think of any reason seeing the queen of the Seelie would make me scream.
“Aye, I’m certain. My ancestors have been painting her for millennia. I’d know her anywhere, even through the ice.”
“But why would she call me? What do
I
have to do with any of this?”
“My uncles say she has meddled with our clan for thousands of years, preparing us for the moment of her greatest need. Uncle Cian saw her four or five years back, standing behind the balustrade of our Great Hall, watching us. He said she came to him later, in sleep, and told him that she’d been killed in the not-so-distant future and needed us to perform certain tasks to prevent it—and the destruction of the world as we knew it—from coming to pass. She foretold that the walls would come down. We did our best to keep them up. He said that even in the Dreaming, she seemed hunted, weak. I suspect now she was projecting herself from her tomb here in this prison somehow. She said she would return to tell him more but never did. It sounds like she must have meddled with your family, as well.”
She’d used me. The queen of the Fae had figured out who I was and used me, and I resented it. Though I knew she was a far-distant successor, not the original queen who had refused to make me—the concubine, I amended—Fae and grant the king’s wish, and despite that she wasn’t actually the bitch who’d sown hatred and revenge when she might have used her vast power for good, how dare
any
queen of the Seelie use me to rescue her? Me, the concubine! I hated her without even seeing her.
Would it never end? Would I eternally be a pawn on their chessboard? Would I just keep getting reborn, or forced to drink from the cauldron, or whatever had happened to me to screw up my memories, and used over and over again?
I turned away, bile rising.
“What’s important now is that we get her out of here. I can’t go back the way I came. The Silver that dumped me was two stories up, in the side of a cliff. I was stunned by the fall and can’t find the bloody thing again. Where’d you come in, lass?”
I dragged my gaze from the coffin to him. How to get him out of here was an entirely new problem I hadn’t even thought about. “Well, you certainly can’t go out the way I came in,” I muttered.
“Why the bloody hell not?”
I wondered how much he’d learned about Fae lore in this place. Maybe my sources were wrong and Barrons had died from some other coincidental cause, not because of the mirror at all. Maybe Christian would hear my answer, laugh at me, and tell me my version was a bunch of baloney, that lots of people and Fae could use that mirror, or that Cruce’s curse had messed it up. “Because I came in through the Silver in the king’s bedchamber.”
He was silent a moment. “Not funny, lass.”
I didn’t say anything, just looked at him.
“Not possible, either,” he said flatly.
I pushed my hands into my pockets and waited for him to deal with it.
“That legend is famous on every world I visited. There are only two who can pass through the king’s Silver,” he said.
“Maybe Cruce’s curse changed it.”
“The king’s Silver was the first he ever made and of a completely different composition. It was unaffected. It continued to be used as a method of execution long after Cruce’s time.”
Damn. I’d really been hoping he wouldn’t say that. I turned my back on him and moved to the side of the coffin. The queen of the Fae would make me scream. I wondered why. I was sick of wondering. It was time for truth.
Behind me, Christian was still talking. “And, duh—you’re neither of those.”
“Doona be duh-ing me, laddie,” I mocked something he’d said to me once, taking a stab at humor before my life got totally wrecked by whatever I was about to discover.
I pressed my hands to the runes at ten and two. Something clicked. There was a soft hiss of air as the lid raised beneath my hands. I could feel the spring in it. All I had to do now was push it aside.
“Only the Unseelie King and his concubine can use that mirror.” Christian was still talking.
I slid the lid away and looked down.
I was silent for a long moment, absorbing it.
Then I screamed.

To my credit, I didn’t scream for long.
But the short burst in their hellish language was enough to disturb precariously packed snow and ice. My chiming scream echoed off sheer cliffs. Unlike an echo, however, it grew louder with each rebound and I heard a rumble that could presage only one thing: an avalanche.
My head whipped around. “Grab her!”
Christian shook his head, cursing. “Christ, you open your bag of stones. You feed me Unseelie. You scream. You’re a walking—”
“Just grab her and run! Now!”
He raced to the coffin, then stood, hesitating.
“What’s wrong with you? Pick her up!”
“She’s the queen of the Fae.” Awe tinged his voice. “It’s forbidden to touch the queen.”
“Fine, then stay here with her and get buried alive,” I snapped.
He scooped her up.
She was so frail, so wasted by … whatever wastes fairies, that I could have carried her myself, but I had no desire to touch her. Ever. Which was really kind of funny in a dark and disturbing way, if I thought about it. So I didn’t.
Ice cracked and rumbled high above, showering crystals across the dais.
We needed no further encouragement. We slipped and slid down the frozen ridge and fled the way I’d come, heading for the narrow fissure between cliffs. It was going to be a close race and a tight squeeze with Christian’s shoulders and with an avalanche chasing us.
“Why’d you scream, anyway?” he shouted at me over the rumbling.
“She startled me, is all,” I shouted back.
“Bloody great. Next time put a sock in it, would you?”
Neither of us said anything then, focused on trying to outrun being buried alive. I bounced between the walls of the cliffs like a Ping-Pong ball. Twice I lost my footing and went down. Christian went flying over the top of me but somehow managed to hang on to the frail queen. The avalanche chased us, growling like dark thunder, crashing from ravine to canyon, spraying the deep fissure with snow.
We finally cleared the claustrophobic path through the cliffs, slid on our asses down a steep hill, then raced across the canyon for the towering fortress of black ice.
“The Unseelie King’s castle!” Christian marveled as we dashed through the towering doors. He looked up, down, and around. “I grew up on tales of this place, but I never imagined I’d see it. I thought the closest I’d get to one of the legendary Tuatha Dé was standing next to a portrait. And here I am, holding the Seelie Queen, in the Unseelie King’s fortress.” He gave a bitter laugh. “And turning into one of them.”
I murmured the same soft command that had opened the tall doors and heaved a sigh of relief when they slid silently closed on the thundering rush of snow beyond. Would the avalanche I’d started reach the castle? Pile up outside the doors, sealing us in here more securely than any bolt? I waited for Christian to demand to know how I’d shut them, but he was so engrossed in his surroundings, he’d not even noticed.
“What now?” His fascinated gaze kept sliding between the frail woman in his arms and the interior of the dark fortress.
“Now we head for the Silver in the king’s boudoir,” I said.
“Why? I can’t go through and neither can she.”
“I can. And I can get help and bring them back to the mirror to talk to you. We’ll make plans to get you out, figure out how and where to meet.”
He cocked his head and studied me a moment. “There’s a thing you should know, lass. My truth sensor works just fine here in the Unseelie prison.”
“So?”
“What you just said wasn’t truth.”
“I’m going to go through the mirror. Truth?” I said impatiently.
He nodded.
“And I’m going to get help and bring them back for you. Truth?”
He nodded again.
“Then what the hell is the problem?” I had a lot on my mind. Delays were untenable. Standing still, my mind began to think. I needed to keep moving. I couldn’t bear to look at the woman in his arms. Couldn’t handle thinking what looking at her made me think.
His eyes narrowed. They were full black again. There was a time when it would have made me nervous, but I doubted anything would make me nervous ever again. I was beyond stress, beyond fear, beyond reach.
“Tell me you plan to save me,” he ordered.
That was easy. With each passing day, I understood Jericho better. People
didn’t
ask the right questions. And if you answered enough of their wrong ones, by the time they ever got around to a right one, you could just snap their head off and shut them up. How many times had he done that to me? I was developing a grudging respect for his tactics. Especially now that I had something to hide.
“I plan to save you,” I said, and I didn’t need a truth detector to hear the ring of sincerity in my voice. “And I will do it as quickly as possible. It will be my priority to get you out of here.” It would. I needed him. More than I’d ever understood.
“Truth.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. Something.” He shifted the queen in his arms.
She wore a sparkling white gown. I knew that dress. Who’d selected it for her? Had she chosen it? How and why? I refused to look at her. I snapped my gaze from her dress to Christian’s face.
“Tell me again why you screamed,” he fished.
He was getting too close for comfort. But I knew this game. Barrons had taught me well. “I was frightened.”
“Truth. Why?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Christian, I told you already! Are we going to stand here all day while you interrogate me, or are we going to get out of here?” Beyond the fortress, the avalanche crashed and roared. It was nothing like the roar I felt building in me. “She wasn’t what I expected, okay?”
That
was certainly the truth! “Even though you told me it was her in the coffin, I expected it to be the Unseelie King,” I tossed, to get him off the scent.
There was just enough sincerity in what I’d said to appease him. But barely. “If you’re somehow lying to me …” he warned.
He’d do what? By the time he figured out what I was doing, it’d be too late. Besides, I really wasn’t someone he wanted to be threatening, no matter who he was turning into or how powerful he was becoming. I’d just found out I was way more terrifying than anything he could possibly be turning into.
“The king’s bedchamber is this way,” I said coolly. “And don’t threaten me. I’m sick of being used and pushed around.”
Christian dallied. There was no other word for it. He was fascinated by the Unseelie King’s fortress, and his Keltar duties as Fae lorekeeper had been bred into him since birth, despite any misgivings he might have about what was happening to him. He took detailed mental notes on everything he saw, to pass on later to his clan. I was glad he didn’t have pen or paper, or I might never have gotten him to the mirror. “Look at this, Mac! What do you think it means?”
I glanced unwillingly where he pointed. It was a door that was much smaller than the others. There was an inscription above the arch. It was a powerful ward. The king had kept things in there he’d never wanted loosed on the world. The ward had been broken long ago. Great. I just hoped they weren’t on my world. I resumed walking, staring straight ahead, retracing my earlier steps. Unlike Christian, I didn’t want to see a damned thing.
“You’ll have time to look around when I’m gone,” I said.
“I’ll need to stay close to the Silver to know when you return.”
“Well, move a little faster, okay? We have no idea how time’s passing out in the real world. You slow it down, I speed it up.”
“Maybe we’ll split the difference.”
“Maybe.” Would enough time have passed that Barrons would be alive again? Standing at the mirror, waiting for me? Or had so much time passed that he’d have given up? Moved on to other tasks?
I’d know in a few minutes.
“She’s not breathing,” he said.
“Neither are we,” I said drily.
“But I think she’s alive. I can … feel her.”
“Good. We need her. Through here,” I said.
Moments later I stepped into the comforting darkness of the Unseelie King’s boudoir, where the dark maker of the Court of Shadows had rested—he’d never slept—and fucked, and dreamed.
Jericho wasn’t dead on the other side of the mirror, nor was he waiting for me. I assumed that meant we’d been gone a good long time as humans counted it.
Christian made it easy for me.
I couldn’t have asked for more.
He laid her on the king’s bed, close to the Silver, and tucked furs around her.
“She’s so cold. You’ve got to hurry, Mac. We need to get her warm. In my travels, I heard that during the battle between the king and original queen, some of the Seelie were taken captive before the prison walls went up. The Unseelie planned to torture them for all eternity, but legends say the Seelie prisoners died because this place is the antithesis of all they are and drains their life essence.” He gave me a grim look. “I think someone brought the Seelie Queen here, put her in that coffin, and left her to die slowly. Uncle Cian said she wasn’t really there when she came to see him but was a projection of herself. As if she was trapped somewhere, focusing all her effort and energy on sending a vision of herself to nudge events around so we would save her when the time was right. Someone wanted revenge. I think she’s been here a long time.”
And V’lane was looking like the prime suspect, considering that he’d been lying to me about where she’d been since day one. But how could any of this be? Why would V’lane have had this woman to begin with? How had she ended up in the Seelie court?
The truth was, I was standing in the middle of so many lies—some of them hundreds of thousands of years old—that I didn’t know where to begin trying to untangle them. If I pulled on one thread, ten others would unravel, and I saw little point in trying to make sense of anything now.
All I could do was what had to be done. Get them both out of here. The sooner the better. Especially her. Not because she was the queen but because Christian’s legend resonated with me and I knew it to be true. A Seelie could survive only a finite space of time in here. I doubted a human would survive half that long. And I wasn’t entirely sure which she really was.
She was dangerously weak. The slight form on the bed barely made a hump. Masses of silvery hair cloaked a body that had deteriorated to that of a slender, undeveloped child. My dreams had been trying to warn me. I’d waited too long. I’d almost been too late.
“Look over there,” I exclaimed, pointing to the far side of the bed. “What’s that on the wall? I think I’ve seen those symbols before.”
He was halfway across the bedchamber before that sixth sense of his made him look back over his shoulder. I know, because I was looking over mine.
It was too late.
I’d already scooped her up and pushed into the Silver. She was oddly insubstantial, as if she’d donned physical form to contain the energy of which she was made and, as her life essence evaporated, so did the physicality holding her. Was she beyond saving?
I know what he thought.
I was the traitor.
I was trying to finish the job of killing the queen by forcing her through a mirror only the king and his concubine could pass through. A mirror that killed all other life, including Fae.
But that wasn’t it at all.
I wasn’t trying to kill the queen. I knew she wouldn’t die. I
knew
she could go through the mirror.
Because the woman in my arms wasn’t Aoibheal, queen of the Fae.
She was the concubine.