Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

T he pathway that led to the centre, where Kit and Adelaide had met less than a week before, should have been no more than eight or nine paces, but they kept walking. This was not the same maze and after the glowing lights Kit was not surprised. There was no pergola, and the shrubs were unfamiliar with gently moving fronds and clusters of berries the colour of venous blood. The walls were curved and Kit suspected that from above it resembled a giant thumbprint or spiral. Now he understood the reason and was thankful for the thread linking him to Miss Dove.

Eventually, they emerged into sunlight and Kit’s sense of disorientation was complete. There was nothing familiar about where he was and disconcertingly it appeared to be daytime.

‘This is impossible. We left in the dark,’ he murmured. The air was completely silent. No birds sang. No cattle lowed. Not even the susurrus of leaves caught by a breeze. The world seemed dead. He shivered even though it was warm.

‘And yet here we are,’ Miss Dove said spreading her arms.

Kit turned back to look at the maze, only to discover it had changed. Shimmering light hovered above an ancient and gnarled oak that had grown out of a cluster of moss-covered rocks, the branches curving downwards to make an arch. As he stared at it, the light ebbed away, and he saw that what he had assumed was one tree were separate branches laced together with delicate strands of ivy leaves. The ivy withered, and with a creak like an elderly woman pushing herself from her chair, the branches collapsed and the archway vanished. There was no way home.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ Kit murmured.

Miss Dove lowered her arms and gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Breathe slowly and look at the horizon. Count to ten.’

He did as she told him. The sky was a pale magenta and tinged with buttercup yellow; colours no sky should be, which didn’t help, but eventually the nausea passed. When he was capable of standing upright, Miss Dove untied the threads and rolled them onto a bobbin that she slipped into her bag.

‘Miss Dove,’ Kit began, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

‘I hate that name. It’s the one Silas gave me to walk in your world. It does not follow me here.’

‘Then what should I call you? Alexandra?’

‘That’s not my name, either.’

She lifted her chin, straightening up. Her appearance had changed. Not a great deal, but subtly. Her eyes more catlike and her jaw broader. Her hair was lighter and shorter; spiky waves flecked with the colours of walnut shell.

‘You may call me Valentine.’ She waved a hand around her. ‘Kit Arton-Price, welcome to the Faedemesne.’

He could do little more than nod and follow the direction of her hand. They had emerged on the edge of a forest. The colours of the trees were brighter, more vibrant, than anything he had seen before. The tree trunks glowed with a soft, golden light, so thick that Kit felt sure it would feel like velvet if he were able to somehow touch it, and the air smelled of honeysuckle and cinnamon.

A figure appeared before them, tall and lithe. It wore a cloak of leaves with the hood pulled close. Kit’s nerves twanged and he stepped forward, hands curling into fists.

‘Silas Wilde?’ he snarled.

Valentine caught his arm, pulling him back.

‘For Mab’s sake, what are you thinking?’ she exclaimed.

The figure lowered its hood. It was not Silas, though there was a similarity to the features and the golden skin. Kit knew without a doubt he was in the presence of a fae. As Kit stared, the figure tilted his head and looked at him, pupils sparkling like stars against a backdrop of violet. It smiled, and it was as if a hand had reached into Kit’s chest and taken hold of his heart. The fae’s face shimmered between male and female, changing from angular and slender to plump and heart-shaped, full-cheeked to wide-jawed, smooth to bearded, broad to narrow, all equally captivating.

It slowly licked its lips and Kit felt his penis throb and swell. He heard a groan of longing erupt from his mouth, knowing deep in his consciousness that he should be embarrassed about such unconcealed arousal but he took a faltering step towards the fae, reaching his arms out. He’d die happy if only he could kiss the full, sensuous lips that were now smiling at him so enchantingly.

‘Enough!’

If Valentine’s shout had not been enough to jolt him from his reverie, the slap she delivered to his cheek did the trick. The sharp pain made him blink, breaking the gaze between him and the fae.

‘Be off! This one is mine!’ Valentine snarled, stepping towards the fae. ‘He is under my protection, and you will not have him.’

The fae looked at Valentine and became a man with an unshaven jaw and wide, honest-looking eyes.

Valentine spat on the ground with clear disdain.

The fae turned back to Kit again, still wearing the same face. It raised a sculpted eyebrow and stroked a finger across rosebud lips, but the glimmering of arousal Kit had felt was gone. There was something glassy about the eyes now; the stars cold in irises of dull mauve and Kit shivered.

‘No, thank you,’ he said. He stepped back to Valentine’s side. The fae opened its mouth and hissed, revealing a long tongue and too many sharp teeth, then drew its hood over its head and vanished.

Kit took a deep breath, his lungs ached as if he’d been swimming underwater for too long. ‘Thank you for saving me,’ he panted.

‘I did it because I need you and I swore to protect you, not because you deserve it!’ Valentine turned to him, hands on hips and a scornful expression. ‘That’s not a good start, is it! Less than five minutes here and you’re about to give your soul to a buareadh .’

‘Not just your soul either,’ she said, glancing down at Kit’s crotch then met his eyes and winked. ‘Impressive. Miss Wyndham is a lucky woman.’

Kit’s hands rushed to cover the area in question and she laughed then scowled.

‘Why did you think that would be Silas under the hood?’

‘I don’t know. I thought he’d be meeting us here. What’s a buareadh?’

‘That was.’ Valentine indicated to the place where the fae had recently stood. ‘They turn themselves into what you want them to be and promise to give you what you want. Of course, what they really do is enslave you, body and soul, for entertainment. If I hadn’t intervened, you’d have swived it then woken up tomorrow morning in an amphitheatre, chained hand and foot and digging through mounds of dirt in search of poppyseeds while the clan placed bets on how many you’d find. And you’d be doing it willingly.’

Kit shuddered at the image, remembering how close he’d come to giving into his hunger for the creature. His knees buckled slightly, and he had to concentrate to remain fully upright. ‘Then, thank you even more for saving me.’

Valentine was looking at him with eyes narrowed.

‘It didn’t know how to appear to you. Female or male.’

Hot blood rushed to Kit’s cheeks and crept beneath his collar. It was disconcerting that someone could spot the shameful aspect which he did his best to deny.

‘If that wasn’t Silas, where is he? Where is Adelaide?’ he asked harshly. ‘I thought they’d be waiting for us.’

‘What, The Wilde stand and wait by the roadside on the off chance that we follow? No, he’ll be at the castle by now.’

‘Where is that?’ Kit asked, scanning the landscape but seeing nothing other than distant hills beyond the forest.

‘About three days walk in that direction.’ Valentine pointed toward the hills. She sounded irritable, which gave Kit no reassurance, at all.

‘Three days! I can’t take that much time to find Addie.’

‘Did you think we would arrive exactly where we wanted to be, going straight there?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Can you catch a train to Meadwell directly from London or do you have to walk part of the way?’ She laughed at the answer written on his face. ‘It’s the same with our gateways, and this one is the safest if we’re to avoid trouble.’

‘Avoid trouble?’ Kit folded his arms. ‘We walked straight into something that would have kept me as a pet! Besides, I don’t think Adelaide will have enjoyed a three-day walk.’

‘Oh, Silas had his coach waiting. We could’ve travelled that way if you hadn’t been stupid enough to refuse him and come when she did.’ Valentine crossed her arms and glared at him, clearly very unhappy. ‘We could have driven to the castle in style but instead we’re on foot. I hope you’re happy with yourself.’

‘I’d rather be a free man on foot than a slave in a coach,’ Kit snapped.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, well done, free man. I hope you’ve got good shoe leather.’ She indicated a well-trodden, rutted track that led, to Kit’s growing unease, directly into the forest.

‘It’ll be sunset soon. We can get beyond the worst of the forest before it becomes completely dark if we hurry. Believe me, you don’t want to be too deep in after dark.’

She picked up her bag and stormed off towards the forest, following the track. Not wanting to be separated, even by a few feet, Kit heaved his rucksack over his shoulders and followed. His body still throbbed with the occasional remnant of desire caused by the buareadh, though knowing what would have happened to him, he felt sullied and filthy at feeling it. He wished he’d brought a knife or cricket bat so he could defend himself against further assailants. He’d memorised Merelda’s and Enid’s rules but there was precious little he could do against an enemy he didn’t even know existed.

The air grew thick. The trees seemed to stretch higher, their branches intertwined to form a canopy that blocked out the sunlight, and he wondered whether he’d even know when the sun had set. The ground beneath his feet felt spongy, covered with moss that suggested the path wasn’t well used. Valentine set a fast pace, walking in long, easy strides and swinging her arms. She’d changed – not just physically – she moved with more assurance and seemed to occupy more of a space in the world. It was an intriguing change and one he quite liked.

Despite her diminutive size, she strode along with a sense of purpose, her steps quick and efficient, seemingly unburdened by the terrain, whereas his back and calves ached in a way they hadn’t since he’d been in France, marching from location to location – something he’d thought he would never have to do again once he’d returned home. He did his best to keep up with her, gritting his teeth against the discomfort, and before too long he felt his muscles ease back into a comfortable gait. The long trudges through France and Belgium had been relentless but at least he’d had friends at his side to make it bearable. There had been crude songs and even cruder jokes to make the miles speed underfoot, but occasionally he’d found companions to confide in. He missed them. He missed those days, though he would never have imagined he would.

“We could always have another go at the tango. If you’d like to, that is…”

He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his quivering lips together. Missing Andrew. Missing Adelaide. Missing not knowing that places like this or people like Silas existed.

‘Is there something wrong?’ asked Valentine from up ahead.

Kit shook his head. There wasn’t much right.

As the Sun descended, the air grew cold and clammy. Birdsong gradually became replaced with the hooting of owls. Valentine slowed down and she and Kit walked closer together. He refrained from asking whether it was for his benefit or hers, but she moved with a touch less swagger, eyes darting from side to side.

They reached a stream and followed it. Kit’s throat was parched but the water looked stagnant, and he’d die of thirst before drinking from it. Will-o’-the-wisps danced before them, ducking and weaving, darting about, leaving trails of dust that lingered in the few shafts of sunlight that broke through the dense foliage.

‘They’re beautiful,’ Kit remarked.

Valentine waved her hand and hissed, and they scattered.

‘Lightmares. They’re little wretches,’ she said, in response to Kit’s raised eyebrow. ‘The males are the worst. They buzz as they fly around, and when you’re disoriented from the sound they lead you off into the marshes.’

‘And then what happens?’ Kit asked. He wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s going to be something horrible, isn’t it?’

‘They lead you deeper until you trip and then they descend and mob you until you sink. Most likely you drown or suffocate. Then the females lay their eggs in your corpse.’ Valentine shuddered. ‘I saw them hatching once out of a greyback stag that had broken his leg. He screamed in a way I’d not heard before, and never want to hear again.’

‘It was alive?’ Kits stomach churned. ‘I thought you said they drowned their prey.’

She grimaced. ‘If you’re lucky. If not, well, it’s mercifully quick. The whole cycle from laying to hatching takes no more than a day, and then of course the newlings feed so?—’

‘Stop!’ Kit held his hands up. ‘I don’t want to hear anymore. This place is monstrous.’

‘More so than your world? There are places there that were once beautiful and no longer are, thanks to the destruction wreaked on it.’

Kit pursed his lips to ward off the bitter taste of memories.

‘Your face has changed,’ Valentine said quietly. ‘You’re thinking dark thoughts.’

Kit looked at her, slightly flustered that his emotions were so clear to see.

‘After what you’ve just told me that’s hardly a surprise,’ he said, making a feeble effort.

‘No, you went somewhere else,’ she said, looking at him with an expression that suggested she could see into the pain in his soul.

‘A friend of mine broke his leg once in the trenches. It was a whole day before the stretcher-bearers got to him. When they got his boot off the stench was unbelievable. There were already maggots growing. It was just outside a town that had once been a spa where people went to taste the waters and bathed. I find it hard to think of those places being somewhere people would go to visit for their beauty.’

‘Is that when you got your injuries?’ Valentine asked quietly.

‘No. I don’t talk about that.’

He hefted his rucksack and increased his pace and she fell in behind him as they picked their way through increasingly unpleasant dense undergrowth.

‘This is really the land that Wilde persuaded Adelaide to come and help rebuild?’ Kit growled, after plunging to the calf in a pool of stinking brackish water.

Valentine shook her head gently. ‘It isn’t all like this. It’s not very pleasant here but when we get through the other side of the forest you’ll see what we’re fighting to reclaim.’

Valentine walked to a fallen tree trunk and clambered on top of it, sitting with her legs crossed. Kit sat by her side, leaning back, but very soon inside him there grew a disconcerting sense of something unpleasant around his ankles and he too lifted his feet up, drawing his knees to his chest.

Valentine grinned.

‘You sensed something then, didn’t you? You feel it sometimes when your feet are dangling. I bet as a child you used to hate the thought of anything under your bed.’

Kit laughed genuinely for what felt like the first time in weeks. He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

‘That’s what the sickness here feels like,’ Valentine said. ‘A wrongness that you can’t explain. We think your war has affected our world. Some of the folk say it’s the blood that was spilled that has caused our air to grow rotten, but others think it’s the deluge of sorrow and hate. In any case we felt it here and it’s just getting worse.’

‘The war is over now, won’t things go back to how they were before?’ Kit asked. ‘God knows we’re all trying to do the same back home.’

He ran a finger along the tree trunk and it came away moist and dirty. As a visual illustration of sorrow or hate it was a good example.

‘Some factions are happy for it to continue.’

Valentine hugged herself tightly, her expression darkening. It was probably the same back home in some quarters. There was money to be made from wars, after all.

She heaved her shoulders and stared upwards. ‘We’d better keep moving. The light will be going soon, and I want to be clear of the swamps before we find somewhere to camp.’

She lowered herself off the log. Kit’s eyes caught something scuttling underneath his feet. His jaw clenched and he suppressed the feeling of revulsion, telling himself it was only a beetle or grass snake.

‘Shall I go ahead and see what I can find?’ Valentine suggested. ‘You can follow at your own pace.’

‘Not a chance. I’m not letting you out of my sight,’ Kit said hastily, growing cold at the thought of being abandoned in such an eerie place. Not wanting to appear cowardly he cast his face into a frown. ‘For all I know you intend to abandon me here to the wisps or whatever else there is. We stay together.’

‘Why would I do that?’ Valentine asked. ‘It’s in my interests that you get where we are going and I swore my oath. You are being deliberately insulting to suggest I’d break it.’

She sounded genuinely offended. Kit owed her nothing, but the injury in her voice succeeded in penetrating deep enough into his conscience that he held a hand out and apologised.

The trees began to thin and although the sky was darkening with impending night, there was still more light than there had been in the depths. A thick layer of greasy, grey clouds covered the moon, but a silvery edge to the sky meant that they could pick their way reasonably easily. The area beyond the marshland was desolate. The trees looked ill, with parched leaves and mottled trunks.

Kit was close to dropping by the time they found a small structure that looked like an animal shelter of some sort with a low roof and three sides. There were no animals but the straw was sweet smelling and looked clean, so they lay down end to end and huddled next to each other for warmth. Valentine wriggled around until she’d created a satisfactory dent in the straw, lying with her back to Kit. He lay on his back, letting the knots in his shoulders begin to loosen. Although night had only recently fallen, they’d left Meadwell at midnight and his body assumed it must be about four or five in the morning.

If anyone had told Kit that morning that he would end the night lying beside a fairy in a field, he’d have laughed at them, assuming he had the strength. He tried to keep watch but before too long his eyes refused to stay open. He didn’t trust Valentine, far from it, but with her back curved against his side and the scent of mimosas mingling with the smell of the hay, his anxious thoughts began to disperse, giving his mind enough ease for sleep to come.

And thus ended his first night in the Faedemesne.

* * *

Kit snored gently. Valentine had feigned sleep until she sensed his body relaxing into slumber. Now she lay awake staring through the gaps in the wooden roof at the midnight-blue sky spiralling away. Even though night was the time she took for herself, when the moon cast her placid flame over the land and no one had claim on her, the warmth of another body beside her was welcome in the chill of the evening. How could she explain to the man beside her that the cold was abnormal; yet more evidence of her world dying.

Despite herself, Valentine was impressed with Kit’s resilience and acceptance of what he had seen. She’d been right to follow her instinct. He already stood taller and prouder as he walked, watching out for dangers, though she doubted he would be aware of that. Just as well: the next two days would involve a lot of walking and it would be tiresome having to warn him of everyone who might decide to prey on him. The buareadh had got far too close.

It didn’t stop her hating him for his treatment of her back at Meadwell. Her whole frame shivered violently as she remembered the suffocating feel of the iron doors and bars of the room where his meagre hoard of valuables was stored. She would have revenge one day for the discourtesy he had shown, she swore on her mother’s blood.

She folded her arms and cradled her bangle. The hair-thin crack in the stone had healed as soon as she stepped through the gateway, but it had been there. That would be something to report to Silas; either there were ways around enchantments that hadn’t occurred to him, or the powers of her world were fading in Kit’s.A link or a coincidence?

Her explanations of the sickness had been poor and she wasn’t sure how bringing more humans to the faedemesne would help.

‘Blast you, Silas Wilde. Why must you keep things so close to your chest?’ she muttered.

Kit stirred and rolled onto his back; no doubt disturbed by her movement. She wondered if he ever slept with someone at his side. She assumed the beautiful Miss Wyndham was saving herself until they were wed in that ridiculous way humans did. They seemed to place such a curious emphasis on virginity, which meant nothing, whilst throwing away favours and bargains without even knowing what they were worth.

She leaned up on her elbow and studied him. His head lolled to one side and his scarred cheek was upright, giving her the opportunity to examine it in a way he would never sanction otherwise. It mattered a lot to him, she could tell. It was the source of his self-effacing behaviour and his unease in the world, which was stupid because the balance of his face was barely affected, and the other side was handsome enough. A glamour would fix it easily. Valentine wasn’t powerful enough, but if she felt so inclined, she might intercede on his behalf to Silas as a kindness.

She stretched out her legs, luxuriating in the space. No doubt Silas would even now be courting Miss Wyndham. Had he made her love him yet? Surely so. He was charming, vibrant and so utterly dashing. How could she not give in to his persuasions. Poor Kit. He’d gambled on his fiancée refusing Silas’s appeal when he’d given his blessing and he’d lost. If Valentine ever loved someone, she would not be so cavalier with her claim. Silas would definitely succeed in seducing Miss Wyndham, so the best Kit could hope for was to mop up her tears when Silas eventually tired of her.

She must have sighed out loud because Kit mumbled in his sleep and rolled over. The crook of his armpit looked like an enticing place to rest her head and she might as well be comfortable. The membrane of darkness that stretched over the sky was beginning to take on a lighter hue. Morning would be here soon enough and Valentine needed some sleep. She pulled her cloak a little more snugly around her, ignoring the impulse to lean against Kit. He was so innocent.

He was learning, though. He had demanded assurances from her, which had been unexpected. The old one who was under the enchantment had helped him with the knowledge and thank goodness for that! Without the mead he had given her, she would have taken much longer to revive. She licked her lips, recalling the taste, which in turn made her remember the kiss. Oh yes, Miss Wyndham had not granted Kit many favours. He was filled with a suppressed thirst that was just pleading to be released like the cork from a bottle of champagne.

Even though she had promised not to, just a small drop of Heartswell Moss tincture slipped into his food or drink would buy her an hour or two of pretending she was the one he had chosen. He’d be completely convinced his devotion was genuine and he’d have no memory of it afterwards. She’d resorted to taking it herself on occasion, when she’d had the prospect of an unpleasant evening ahead of her and couldn’t fake desire convincingly enough to please whoever her master had gifted her to.

She shook her head and rolled over. She couldn’t do it. Taking advantage could so easily turn to actually caring. She didn’t give her affection lightly and wasn’t going to waste it on someone who would be gone from her life in a day or two.

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