Tithe (17 page)

“But they—,” Kaye began, and he held up a hand to forestall her objection.

“Smallish sects of beings, of which Faery is certainly one, require enemies to give them purpose. Think on Milton’s angels. Was not his God wise in giving them a devil to fight?”

Kaye was quiet a moment. “Okay, you’re saying that the Seelie Court needs to hate the Unseelie Court. But does that mean that you think that they’re not all bad?”

“I can think of no insult too rich for the Unseelie Queen, but I have seen kindness in some of her court. More kindness and wisdom, surely, than I would have ever been given leave to expect.”

“So what adversary does the Unseelie Court have?”

“Again, the parallels to your devils are amazing. They struggle with their own boredom. It is a struggle that often requires increasingly cruel diversions.”

Kaye shuddered. “And you?”

Roiben shrugged. He had nearly forgotten what it felt like to just sit and talk with someone. “I am some other thing, not of any court, nor truly solitary. There are too many possessors of my soul.”

She moved to her knees, and reached for
both his hands. “Just so you know, I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said automatically. Nevertheless, he found himself no longer wanting to punish her for her faith in him. Instead, he found himself wanting to be worthy of it. He wanted to be the knight he had once been. Just for a moment.

He watched her take a breath, steeling herself, perhaps, for the next turn of the conversation. He found that he could not bear it.

Roiben leaned forward before he might think to do otherwise and pressed a kiss to her dry lips. Her mouth opened with a rush of warm breath, and her arms ran over his shoulders to rest lightly, almost hesitantly, at the nape of his neck.

His tongue swept her mouth, searching for some escape from the chill inside him. It felt so good it made his teeth hurt.

Nor from hell one step more than from himself can fly
. Charmed. He was kissing a charmed girl. He jerked his mouth back from hers. She looked a little dazed and ran her tongue over her lower lip, but said nothing.

He wondered what exactly she might think of it when her mind was better disposed toward the contemplation of such things. But then, his mind whispered, tomorrow would never come to her, would it? There was only
now and if he wanted to kiss her, well, it was only kissing.

Kaye moved slightly back from him, folding her knees against her chest. “Would that piss her off?” Again, he didn’t need to ask to whom she referred.

“No,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, giving a short laugh. “Hardly. It would doubtless amuse her.”

“What about the other one—the other Lady?”

He closed his eyes reflexively, as if something had been thrown at him. He wondered why he was enamored of a girl that could dissect him with the odd comment, throw him off balance with the idle, earnest question.

“You can kiss me, if you want,” she said softly, roughly, before he found an answer. It seemed that the magic had burned out of her, because her eyes were as clear as they were bright. He could not tell whether the Queen’s spell held her or what compulsions it put on her. “I should just stop asking you stupid questions.”

He leaned forward, but there was a rapping on the door then, soft but insistent. For a moment, he didn’t move. He wanted to say something about her eyes, to ask her perhaps a better question about her enchantment, or at least one that might produce a better answer.
Tell her that she could ask him anything she wanted. And he wanted to kiss her, wanted it so badly that he could barely pull himself to his feet, march to the door, and heave it open.

Skillywidden had somehow gotten a redcap to do her delivering for her. It stood in the doorway, stinking of congealed blood and rot. Pointed teeth showed as it smiled, looking beyond him to the girl on his bed.

Roiben snatched the white cloth out of its hands. “This better be clean.”

“Lady wants to know if you’re done with her yet.” The leer on its face made it obvious how the Redcap interpreted those words.

Fury rose in him, choked him so unexpectedly that he feared he was trembling with it. He took a breath, then another. He trusted that the messenger would not notice. Redcaps were not much for details.

“You may tell her that I have not yet finished,” he said, meeting that gaze with what he hoped was a small smile and a bow of his head as he shut the door, “but I expect to in short order.”

When he turned back to her, Kaye’s face was blank.

He swallowed the emotion he felt without even bothering to identify it.

“Put it on,” he said harshly, not even trying to keep the anger out of his voice, letting her think it was directed at her. He tossed the gown
toward Kaye, watched her flinch as the slippery silk slid over the edge of the bed, watched her lean down mutely to pick it up again.

She didn’t trust him after all. Good.

“It is time,” he said.

“A word is dead
When it is said
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.”

—EMILY DICKINSON, “VI. A Word.”

Corny sank lower in the warm, silty water as Nephamael swept into the room. The faerie women who had cut his hair and oiled his skin finished and left without being told to do so.

“They have made you quite lovely,” Nephamael said, yellow eyes reflecting in the flickering candlelight.

Corny shifted self-consciously. The oil made his skin feel weird, even under the water. His neck itched where stray strands of cut hair stuck in the oil. “Making me look good is about as likely as turning lead into gold,” he murmured, hoping he sounded witty.

“Are you hungry?” Nephamael asked in his rich-as-butter voice. Corny wanted to ask about Kaye, but it was so hard when the knight was
walking toward him with slow, even strides.

Corny nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. He still could only half believe that Nephamael had brought him from his ratty, ridiculous life, to this.

“In this country there are fruits that taste better than all the meat of your land.” His wide lips twisted into a grin.

“And I’m allowed?”

“Very like, very like.” Nephamael gestured to a pile of clothing. “Dress and I will show you.”

Corny was both grateful and disappointed when Nephamael left him to dress on his own. Hurriedly pulling on the blue velvet tunic and tight pants, Corny ignored the dampness of his skin.

Nephamael was waiting in the hall. He ran his fingers through Corny’s hair, smoothing it back into place. “A compliment would go amiss, I’m sure.”

With those hands on him, he could hardly manage a reply.

“Come,” Nephamael said, and Corny followed.

Candlewax dripped down the walls in an imitation of the stalactites above them. He could hear music and laughter as from far away. They walked through open doors of silver ivy to a garden where silver apples weighed the boughs of trees nearly to the ground. A
slender path of white stones wound around the trees and back over itself throughout the garden. Above the orchard, the curved ceiling glowed as though it were day and they were no longer under the hill. Corny could smell freshturned earth, cut grass, and rotting fruit.

“Go ahead,” Nephamael said, nodding toward the trees. “Eat whatever you desire.”

Corny was no longer sure whether he was hungry. Still, to be polite and to avoid displeasing the knight, he went over and plucked an apple from one of the trees. It tumbled easily into his hand. The silver skin was warm to the touch, as though blood ran beneath the surface.

Corny looked up at Nephamael, who appeared to be studying a white bird perched in one of the trees. Corny took a cautious bite of the fruit.

It tasted of fullness, of longing and wishful thinking and want, so that one bite left him empty. Nephamael smirked as he watched Corny lick the broken fruit, devour the pulp, sink to his knees, sucking the pale center pit.

Several of the Host gathered to watch him gorge, beautiful faces with upswept features and teardrop eyes turned toward him like flowers. They were laughing. All Corny could do was eat. He barely noticed Nephamael laughing uproariously. A woman with thin, curving horns tossed him a bruised plum. It burst in the
dirt, and he hastened to lap up the pulp, soil and all. He licked the dirt after the fruit was gone, hoping for a darkened drop.

Black ants crawled over the sticky, fallen fruits and he ate those as well, blindly questing for any morsel.

After a time, Nephamael came forward, pressing a cracker to Corny’s lips. He took it in his mouth thoughtlessly. It tasted like sawdust, but he swallowed it down.

It felt solid in his stomach, and the overwhelming empty hunger abated. It left him squatting under one of the trees, awake and aware. He looked at his filthy hands, the stained clothes, the laughing Folk, and he choked to keep from crying like a child for sheer helplessness.

“There, there,” Nephamael said, patting Corny’s shoulder.

Corny stood, fists clenched.

“Poor Corny. You look so fragile, I’m afraid your heart will break.” There was amusement in the knight’s tone.

Corny could feel himself reacting to that rich, smooth voice, could feel the shame and embarrassment receding until they seemed of only distant importance.

“Come here, my pet. You’ve made a mess of yourself.” Nephamael raised his hand, beckoning.

One look into those yellow eyes and he
broke like a wishbone. Corny stepped into the circle of Nephamael’s arms, basking in the feel of thorns.

Tonight the revels were quieter. No dueling fiddlers or raucous daisy-chain dances. There were no piles of fruit or honey cakes. Instead there were whispers and smothered laughter. The only light came from braziers throughout the brugh and the small faeries that flitted over the congregation.

It was hard to think. Kaye’s feet were cold as they padded along the earthen floor. The haze of magic had lifted slowly, but the less she was enchanted, the more she was terrified.

She was going to die. It didn’t matter if her feet were cold.

Roiben’s back was to her, his pewter hair sliding like mercury over the shoulders of his coat as he led her through the crowd.

She wasn’t going to die, she reminded herself. This was a game. Only a game.

One finger rose unconsciously to touch her mouth, which felt oddly soft and swollen. She remembered too well the pressure of his lips, their softness, and she remembered the expression on his face when he had pulled back from her—horror, perhaps, or disgust. She shook her head to clear it, but nothing would come clear.

Some of the eyes she passed sparkled with
greed, and she wondered how the solitary fey planned on dividing what was left of her.

Kaye took a deep breath of cold, autumn air, then another. Not funny.

Roiben’s hand tightened on her upper arm, guiding her past beings both beautiful and grotesque. The dirt was damp under her bare feet, and she concentrated on that, steadying herself.

The Queen was standing at the center of what looked to be a large, silver dance floor. It was composed of several pieces—each engraved with representations of bound humans and fey—fitted together like a puzzle. In the center, Kaye could easily see ornate manacles attached to short, heavy chains. Unlike the base, the manacles and chains were unmistakably iron. She could smell it.

The layers of Nicnevin’s diaphanous black robes blew in the breeze. The longest layer, the train, was held up at three points by goblin attendants. Her collar was stiff, rising like a translucent black fin behind her neck. Kaye trained her eyes on the collar, let her gaze stray to the looping mound of red braids piled on the Queen’s head, let her gaze fall anywhere but into those deadly blue eyes.

Roiben dropped to one knee, and she did not need any prompting to follow.

“Do rise,” the Queen said. Kaye and Roiben rose.

The Queen waved a dismissal at Roiben, an impatient gesture of her hand. He hesitated a moment, then approached the Queen, lowering himself to his knee again.

“I would give anything for her release,” Roiben said in a voice so low Kaye was sure that only those very close could hear it. He stared downward, whether at the earthen floor, or the Queen’s slippered foot, Kaye could not say.

The sincerity in his voice frightened her. This was no safe thing, the way he was talking. Did he think he had to do this to repay some debt he thought he owed her? Did he think he had to do this because he’d kissed her?

Nicnevin’s hand brushed over the crown of Roiben’s head. Her voice was as soft as his, but her eyes sparkled with feral delight. She was looking beyond him and out into the blackness beyond the brugh. “Are you not already my servant in all things? Is there something of yours I do not already possess?”

He raised his head, then, looking up into the Unseelie Queen’s blue eyes, and Kaye wanted to yell a warning, something, but the moment was frozen and she did not move.

“Perhaps I could offer my enthusiasm,” he said. “You have oft complained of its lack.”

The Queen’s lips quirked at the edges, an almost smile, but she did not seem amused. “I think not. I find that I like you willful.”

“There must be something,” Roiben insisted.

Nicnevin put her first finger against her carmine lips and tapped lightly. When she spoke, her voice was loud enough to carry in the natural amphitheater of the hollow hill. “Tragedy is so compelling. I find myself moved to offer to play a game with you. Would you like that?”

“I am grateful, my Lady,” Roiben said, his head still bowed.

She turned her gaze on Kaye. “Well, child, it seems that you pleased my knight after all. Answer a riddle, and the Unseelie Court will gift you to him.”

There was a murmur in the crowd.

Kaye nodded her head, unsure of what constituted propriety in a faerie court.

There was true amusement in the Queen’s voice as she spoke. “Cut me and I weep tears as red as my flesh, yet my heart is made of stone. Pray tell, mortal girl, what am I?”

You are yourself
. Kaye bit her lip to keep back the hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up her throat again. Okay—red skin, stone center—what matched that description? She thought she dimly remembered an old story about someone having their heart turned to stone and then restored by tears, but she wasn’t sure where the memory came from. No, riddles usually had simple, commonsense, one-word answers. They always seemed obvious once you knew the answer.