28. Nature of Perception
28
NATURE OF PERCEPTION
Dawn found the deadly forest swathed in clinging, greasy fog. Creaks and sighs raced through the trees; Leshe stood at the very edge of the stone floor, staring intently at a wall of white vapor as she held the Cup to her chest.
She could keep it, so far as Ari was concerned. Never touching the damned thing again seemed like a great strategy. Blue flame in the large stone dish paled bit by bit as daylight mounted.
Hannixe’s fingers moved in Ari’s hair. “Perhaps resting would have been better,” she said, anxiously.
Ari hunched, hugging her velvet-covered knees. Of course the sudden storm had awakened everyone, but she barely felt any breeze while tucked under the chained man’s arm as he shepherded her back to the pavilion—where Hannixe was wringing her hands, Leshe round-eyed and clutching at the other woman, and the guys stood tense and braced, ready for the worst with rapiers drawn.
Just as when it happened, Hannixe had sobbed, while she and Leshe threw their arms around Ari. The chained man let this happen, clearly consigning her to the women, and the guys sheepishly put their blades away—Keners last of all. It took a while to calm the Grey Lady down, and honestly Ari was glad because while she was focusing on someone else, her own unsteady hands and roiling stomach could be ignored.
Pretty soon she was going to have to seriously rethink a few basic assumptions about her role in all this, and Ari wasn’t looking forward to the event.
“The Golden corrode swiftly in the Poisonwood,” Jazarl said, his hand resting on the hilt at his belt. “But if that protection fades…”
“’Tis not them I worry about, but the restless dead.” Keners’s nose wrinkled. “Perhaps the traitor has found Gesthel abandoned, and he will not overlook a tumult near the Mere.”
Ari shuddered at the mention of the lake. It was clean, cool water now, so clear the sandy bottom could be seen—and how about that , friends and neighbors? The reek of fresh blood was gone. So was the persistent toxic heaviness in crowded, poisonous vegetation. The creak-cracking sounds rising in waves all about the pavilion as dawn strengthened were like the forest around the Keep as it grew in fast-forward.
Do you doubt now, Ariadne?
It was like a trick question on the nature of perception administered by a particularly snotty philosophy professor. If everyone but Ari believed she was a reincarnated fairy queen, were they right or was she? The fact that inanimate objects seemed to agree with the prevailing sentiment couldn’t be ignored, either.
Was she a changeling? Was there a mortal Ari waking up in a landslide, the cops on her trail? She should’ve been overjoyed at a minor success, but it only made the anxiety worse.
“How long until the Conjunction?” Darjeth wanted to know.
“Some short while.” The chained man said it like calendar days and timetables were annoyances best ignored. “When our lady Moon is rested, we shall leave for the Blight and the Mirrored City. He built it at the entrance to the Whispering, more fool he.” Grim amusement tinted his tone.
Ari hoped she wasn’t supposed to do something terrifying at this ‘Blight’ as well, or the ‘Whispering’. Would there be an infinity of progressively more difficult, horrifying tests—an escalating fairytale curve? The consequences of inevitably bombing an exam were unimaginably unpleasant.
“There.” Hannixe had finished her ministrations; without a mirror Ari couldn’t see the result, but that didn’t matter. “How lovely. And the color, like sapha bark. Soon it will be longer, and we will have such pleasant times choosing ribbons.”
Ari finally stirred, pulling the pale mantle—Hannixe had insisted on bundling her back into it—closer. “What’s the Conjunction?”
“They do not happen often. The Moon moves before the sun; all grows hushed and the Whispering is open to any who have taken the greater drink. Normally only you and our lord prince may enter that place.”
An eclipse, okay. The Whispering, though. Sounds grim . “What’s there?”
“Indeed I do not know, it is a sacred place only you and the prince may enter. Many among your companions are awakened within before being brought to the Keep. I was, though I do not remember the event. None do.” Hannixe settled next to Ari on the folded blanket, reaching for a canteen. “Here, take a mouthful. The Mere is cleansed, soon the traitor and his Blight will be dealt with and we may return to the Keep. Then there will be great celebration. Perhaps we will dance—do you still enjoy dancing?”
I doubt you guys will set up a mosh pit . Ari’s waltz or foxtrot was deeply substandard at best. “Dancing is nice,” she agreed, carefully, and weighed the canteen. Not a lot of water left, and no more bottles of that ‘greater drink’.
“And we shall go riding in the mortal realm, to rescue more companions.” Hannixe’s relief was plain; she took the canteen back, uncapped the top as if for a child, and offered it again with a grin.
“That’s right, you said they don’t all come from the Whispering place.” The water was cool, and soothed Ari’s stomach. The variance between physical well-being induced by their magic drinks and the constant anxiety failing to find an echo in her body was almost worse than simply being sick with fear.
“Oh, no.” Hannixe laughed as if the suggestion was hilarious. “When you have a mind we go riding. Leshe adores such things, and when we find a mortal with your mark we take them up.”
“If the traitor has gone forth among his servants the contagion will be strong.” Majan’s expression suggested he disliked raising the issue, but since nobody else would, he was nominated. “Should not our ladies be held in some safeness?”
“Where is one to be found?” Darjeth’s sarcasm was gone, and so was his amusement. He glanced at the fog outside the pavilion, a quick catlike motion; his pale hair was slicked back and his blue eyes narrowed.
“The Blight shall spread no more since the Mere is renewed, and the restless dead are only dangerous while I remain fettered.” The chained man’s gaze rested on Ari; even at this distance it was a palpable weight. “When my lady Moon and I confront the faithless accursed during the Conjunction, I shall be freed. He will rue uttering such a foolish curse; he did not compass her return.”
Wait a minute . Blinding realization burst inside Ari’s head as she re-capped the canteen. So she was supposed to face down this Bright King? It was a condition of getting the chains off?
That definitely explained why the chained man was so eager to have her performing errands. He just needed someone to stand in for this Moon-queen of his. Maybe once it was done he’d be grateful and send her back through a door to the mortal world? Or these people would let her stay in a little cottage somewhere, with pearl-cabbages and a flower garden.
Which would be nice, but Ari wished he’d just told her so outright instead of all this nonsense about heaths and blossoms, hunting and games.
Now everyone was looking at her except Leshe, who examined the forest instead, dark braids rippling down her back. Hannixe’s mane was astounding, but the other woman’s looked like a solid century of growth with nary a split end.
“My lord prince,” Jazarl said, carefully, “perhaps our queen should not be forced to endure the Blight or the traitor’s presence. Surely we may simply deal with him in a manner befitting, without troubling her more.”
Thank you . Ari’s gaze met his, and the blue-haired man straightened slightly. It was nice to know her careful attempts at finding allies had borne at least partial fruit.
“Unfortunately, that is the condition of release.” The chained man might have said more, but Leshe stiffened and whirled, blue velvet skirts belling.
“’Ware,” she hissed, a low fierce warning. “Movement in the woods, and ’tis not friendly.”
Nobody argued. Keners immediately broke away from the group of men, bearing down on Hannixe. The Grey Lady rose, bending to catch Ari’s hand and draw her upright. Darjeth and Alzarien ran for the equines; Majan, Naithor, Jazarl and Sarle drew rapiers, the sound of edged metal leaving sheaths dismally familiar by this point.
The canteen dropped from Ari’s nerveless fingers; Hannixe caught it, hustling her for the equines as Keners hovered, rapier-hilt gleaming and his head up, scanning the fog. The pale streak at his temple glowed, and he steered his lady for her dappled grey mount the moment she let go of Ari’s arm.
The white equine stood stock-still, ears back and dark eyes ringed, its lip lifting to show those definitely non-herbivore teeth. Ari had to put her foot in the chained man’s cupped hands yet again, hauling herself into the saddle. She gathered the reins, and the chained man’s grasp found her ankle. He looked up, and the metal-clad fingers tightened.
It was probably a warning, like Mike staring across a crowded room, cautioning her not to say anything to tarnish his public image, not to talk too long to another man, not to laugh too loudly or spill anything. Don’t fuck this up.
Now she was wishing she’d gone back to sleep after the nightmare, but at least the Mere was dealt with. She should’ve known even worse was around the corner.
“Do not worry,” he said, his tone slicing through the confusion of others mounting, Leshe hopping neatly into a saddle and Sarle swinging up behind her. Everyone except Ari knew exactly what to do. “Your work is done, my kindness. Simply let me finish this, and all will be well.”
Oh, yeah. Sure. Ari nodded, and didn’t bother replying.
There was no point.