Swallowing Darkness (3 page)

“I can’t remember anymore which of them took insult first,” Doyle said.

“That war was more than three thousand years ago,” Rhys said. “The details tend to get fuzzy after that much time.”

“So all the great fey wars have been over stupid reasons?” I asked. “Most of them,” Doyle said.

“The sin of pride,” Gran said.

No one argued with her. I wasn’t certain that pride was a sin—we weren’t Christian—but pride could be a terrible thing in a society where the rulers had absolute sway over their people. There was no way to say no, no way to say “isn’t this a stupid reason to get our people killed?” Not without being imprisoned, or worse. That went for both courts, by the by, though the Seelie Court was more circumspect over the centuries, so that its reputation among the media had always been better. Andais liked her tortures and executions more public.

I looked from Gran to Sholto. His handsome face was uncertain. He tried for arrogance, but there was a flinching in his tri-yellow eyes. Was it fear? Perhaps. I think he believed in that moment that I might cast him away, because three thousand years ago he had slain my ancestor.

“He waded through our people as if they were so much meat, something to be cut down, so that he could get to the main fightin’,” Gran said, with rage in her voice that I’d never heard even for the abusive bastard who had been her husband at the Seelie Court.

“Sholto is the father of one of your great-grandchildren. Sex with him awakened the wild magic. Sex with him is what has given back the dogs and faerie animals that are appearing in the courts and among the lesser fey.”

She gave me a look—such bitterness in that one look. It frightened me a little. My gentle Gran, so full of hate. “Rumor said that, too, but I didnae believe it.”

“I swear by the Darkness that Eats all Things that it is true.”

She looked startled. “Ya did nae ha’ to make that oath to me, Merry-girl. I would believe ya.”

“I want this clear between us, Gran. I love you, and I am sorry that Sholto slew your mother, my great-grandmother, in front of you, but he is not only the father of one of my children, he is also the consort who helped me bring back much of the magic that has returned. He is too valuable to me and to faerie to be accidentally poisoned.”

“The sidhe cannae be poisoned,” she said.

“Not with anything occurring in nature, no, but you’ve lived in the human world for decades. You know very well that there are man-made poisons now. The sidhe are not proof against artificial creations. My father taught me that.”

“Prince Essus was a very wise man, and for a sidhe royal, he was a great, great man.” There was a ferociousness to her words. She meant them, for she had loved my father as a son, for he, more than my mother, had loved me, and had allowed Gran to help him raise me. But the rage in those words didn’t match what she was saying, as if there were other words in her mind than those on her tongue.

“He was, but his greatness is not what is in your mind, grandmother. I see a rage in you that frightens me. The kind of rage that all the fey seem capable of, so that they will trade their lives and the lives of those who depend on them for vengeance and pride.”

“Do nae compare me to the lords and ladies of the court, Merry. I have a right to my anger, and my thoughts on it.”

“Until I can trust that you are more my ally and grandmother than a revenge-seeking daughter, I cannot have you around me.”

She looked startled. “I will be with you and the babes as I helped raise you.”

I shook my head. “Sholto is my lover and the father of one of the children. More than that, Gran, sex with him brought back the most magic to faerie. I will not risk him to your vengeance, unless you make our most sacred oath that you will not harm him in any way.”

She searched my face as if thinking that I must be joking. “Merry-girl, you cannae mean this. You cannae think that this monster is more to you than me.”

“Monster,” I said softly.

“He has used sidhe magic to hide that he is more a monster than any a’ the rest.”

“What do you mean, ‘the rest’?” I asked.

She motioned to Doyle. “The Darkness kills withou’ mercy. His mother was a hell hound, his father a phouka who bedded the bitch when in dog form. You could ha’ puppies inside ya. They act as if the high lords are perfect, but they are jus’ as deformed as we are. They can just hide it behind their magic better than us lesser folk.”

I looked at the woman who had helped raise me as if she were a stranger, because in a way she was. I’d known that she resented the courts—most of the lesser fey did—but I had not known that she had this prejudice inside her.

“Do you have a special grudge against Doyle too?” I asked.

“When ya came to me, Merry, you had Galen with ya, and Barinthus. Them I ha’ nothin’ agin’, but I didnae dream you would go to the Darkness. Ya feared him as a child.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Do ya not understand, girl, that if the queen had had your father killed, who she would ha’ sent to do the deed?”

Ah. “Doyle did not kill my father.”

“How do ya know, Merry? Did he tell ya he did nae?”

“Doyle would not have acted without the queen’s express orders, and Andais is not a good enough actress. She did not order my father, Andais’s brother’s, death. I saw her anger over it. It was real.”

“She didnae love Essus.”

“Maybe she loves only her son, but her brother meant something to her, and she did not like that he died at someone’s hand. Maybe it was anger that she had not done the ordering of it. I do not know, but I
do
know that Andais did not order the deed done, and that Doyle would not have acted without that order.”

“But he would ha’ done it, if ordered. You do believe that,” Gran said.

“Of course,” I said, and my voice was as calm as hers was growing strident.

“He would ha’ killed your father at the queen’s orders. He would ha’ killed you.”

“He was the Queen’s Darkness. I know that, Gran.”

“How can ya sleep with him, then? Knowing the blood that must be on his hands.”

I tried to think how to say it so she would understand. Her reaction had caught me completely off guard. I didn’t like that, and not just for the normal reasons that a granddaughter might not like her grandmother hating her husband-to-be. I didn’t like that she had been able to hide this level of hatred from me all these years. It made me wonder what else I’d missed, what else she’d hidden.

“I could say simply that I love him, Gran, but the look on your face says that won’t do. He is my Darkness now. He would kill at my orders now. He is one of the greatest warriors to ever walk the courts, and he is mine now. He is my strong right hand, my killing blow, my general. In all the courts I could not have taken a king who would have made me stronger than Doyle.”

Emotions chased across her face so quickly that I couldn’t follow them all. Finally, she said, “So ya took ’im to your bed because it was good politics?”

“I took him to my bed because the Queen of Air and Darkness ordered him to my bed. I never dreamed that I could part her Darkness from her side.”

“How do ya know that he is nae still her creature?”

“Gran,” Galen said, “are you feeling all right?”

“Ne’r better. I just want Merry to see the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” Galen asked, and his voice held a tone. I studied his face, but his eyes were all for Gran. It made me study her, too. Her eyes were a little wide, her lips parted, her pulse rate up. Was it just anger, or was it something else?

“They cannae be trusted, ana of them.”

“Who, Gran?” Galen asked. “Who cannot be trusted?”

“The queen’s men, girl.” She addressed me now. “Ya grew up knowin’ the truth of that. She must see the truth.” The last was whispered, and she had lost her accent. She was upset: the accent wouldn’t lessen, not on its own.

“Did you see anyone from either court when you went to her home?” Doyle asked.

Galen actually thought about it before saying, “No, I didn’t
see
anyone.” He put too much emphasis on “see.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked softly.

“There be nothin’ wrong with me, girl,” Gran said, but her eyes were a little too wild, as if the spell, for it was a spell, was growing stronger.

“Gran, you and I were buddies once,” Rhys said, moving up so that Doyle could move back out of her sight.

She frowned at him, as if she were having trouble recognizing him. “Aye, you ne’r did me or mine harm. You kept to yourself in the old days, and you were on the side of gold and dreams. You were allied to us once, white knight.” She grabbed his arm. “How can you be with them now?”

The accent was gone; the voice was almost not hers at all. “What’s happening to her?” I asked. I reached out, and she reached for me, but Galen and Rhys stepped in the way, nearly knocking each other over in their haste.

“What is it?” I asked, and this time my voice rose. I could hear the monitors getting excited again. If I didn’t calm down, we’d have doctors and nurses in here. We didn’t need humans in the middle of what looked to be a magical attack. I tried to calm down, while my grandmother tried to push past Rhys and Galen. She was trying to persuade them, as well as me, that we were on the side of evil.

Doyle’s voice cut through mine, “There’s something in her hair, a thread, or another hair. It glows.”

“I see it,” Rhys said.

“I don’t,” Galen said.

I couldn’t see around the two of them. I had only glimpses of Gran’s long brown arms trying to reach past them, almost frantically.

The door opened, and Dr. Mason and two nurses came in. “What the hell is going on in here?” she asked. And this time she sounded truly pissed.

I guess I couldn’t blame her, but I also couldn’t think of a way to explain. Was being pregnant making me slow to think, or was I still in shock?

“Everyone out. I mean it this time!” Dr. Mason had to shout to be heard over Gran’s progressively more piercing words.

Then the glass of water on the bedside table levitated, slowly, up into the air. It hovered there about eight inches above the table-top. The bendable straw in it moved a little bit from the upward movement, but the cup was steady. Gran was really good at levitating, like all brownies. She’d served me tea in china cups like this since I was very small.

The lamp beside the cup also began to rise. Then the water pitcher bobbled upward. The lamp got to the end of its cord, and moved gently in the air like a boat moored to a dock. It was all very gentle, so why was my heart rate skyrocketing, and my pulse choking me? Because brownies don’t lose control of their powers. Ever. But bogarts do. What’s a bogart? A brownie gone bad. What do I mean by that? Darth Vader is still a Jedi Knight, right? The Christians still believe that Lucifer is a fallen angel, but what most people forget is that he’s still an angel.

Dr. Mason had a death grip on her stethoscope again. “I don’t know what’s happening here exactly, but I know it’s upsetting my patient. So, it stops now, or I will call security, or the police, and have this room cleared.” Her voice was only a little shaky as she watched the bobbing lamp and floating cup.

“Gran,” Galen said, his voice sounding loud in the sudden silence. She had stopped yelling. In fact, the room felt too quiet, like that hush that falls upon the world just before the heavens open and a storm crushes the world.

“Gran,” I said softly, and my voice held the panic of my pulse in it. “Please, Gran, please don’t do this.”

Galen and Rhys were still between her and me, so I couldn’t see her, but I could feel her. I could feel her magic as it spread through the room. The pen lifted out of the doctor’s pocket. She made a small yip.

Rhys said, “You told me once, Hettie, that Meg went bogart because she was weak, and let her anger best her. Are you weak, Hettie? Will you let your anger be your master, or will you be the master of your anger?” There was more to his words than just what I could hear. There was power to his voice that was more than just words. Power, magic of a sort, filled his words like the push of the tide fills the riffling of waves. Waves can be small, but there is always that sense that behind the easy froth that curls around your ankles, there is something much larger, much less gentle. So it was with Rhys’s voice, simple words, but there was a feel to them that made you want to agree with them. Made you want to be reasonable. He would never have tried such a trick on another sidhe, but Gran wasn’t sidhe. Try as she might, even to marrying one of the great sidhe, she was lesser, and magic that would not work on the great might work on her.

It was both an insult from someone she thought a friend, and a move of desperation, because if it didn’t work, then Rhys might have done the proverbial sowing of the wind. I prayed to Goddess that he wouldn’t reap the whirlwind.

Doyle said, “Go, Doctor, go now.”

She started for the door, but said over her shoulder, “I’m getting the police.”

Rhys kept talking to Gran, slow, reasonable. Doyle said, “Unless the officers can do magic, they can’t help here.”

Dr. Mason was at the door when the water pitcher smashed itself to pieces so close to her head that the plastic cut her cheek. She screamed, and Galen started to go to her, then hesitated at the foot of the bed. He was torn between helping the woman and staying at my side. Rhys, Doyle, and Sholto had no such conflict. They moved up to the bed. They meant to simply shield me, I think, but Gran stepped back. I could see her, now that Galen was halfway to the door.

She stepped back, hands at her sides balled into fists. Her brown eyes were too wide, showing white. Her thin chest rose and fell like she’d been running. The big chair in the corner rose into the air.

“Gran, no!” I yelled, and reached out, as if my outstretched hand could do something more that my voice alone could not. I had hands of power, but none I was willing to use on my grandmother.

All the small objects in the room rushed toward the three men around my bed. Rushed toward me. But I knew that the small objects were a ruse. Throw the small then hit them with the big.