4 #2
It was true, and it made him want to escape even more.
The narrow kitchen with its table and several chairs, the fireplace with a fire laid ready and a kettle on the hob, was familiar.
Beyond that was a fourth room, little more than a cupboard, tiny and doorless, with a low cot wedged against its far wall.
The black curtain twitched in Idhri’s mind, as if it might pull back and let him see… something. Anything.
It didn’t. It hung where it was, leaving him with the unsettling impression that he recognized this house.
Idhri shuddered when he felt the fae woman’s hand on his shoulder, and when she tugged at him, as if he were a donkey on a lead, he found his body no longer under his own control.
He had to go where she directed him, though it was the last thing he wanted to do.
He tried to glance back at Braithe, but his vision had gone blurry.
He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t see anything.
He stumbled uncertainly beside Vivyan, out through the front door and into the fading afternoon.
His vision recovered swiftly, but control over his body did not.
He couldn’t resist the pressure of Vivyan’s hand.
Her nails were long and sharp, digging into his shoulder as she pulled him along.
The sun had set, but a thousand sparkling lights had come alive to brighten the city streets.
They danced here and there, floating like the bubbles that rose to the lake surface when the fish were feeding.
He asked, weakly, “Please, where are we going?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” She pulled him to the left, and they started down a cramped lane that led away from the boulevard and toward a cluster of cottages. They appeared to be as pristine as the guesthouse but were smaller, nestled tightly together.
“Why did you take me?” he asked, trying to pull away but still unable to resist her. “The councillor promised I would stay with—”
“Never mind that, little half-blood. There’s someone who needs to see you.”
“Why do you call me that?”
She gripped his shoulder tighter. “Don’t be stupid.”
“But I don’t know what it means!”
“Here we are.” She stopped before one of the little houses.
The only thing that seemed to differentiate one of these dwellings from its neighbor was the color of its door.
This one was a pale green in need of a coat of paint.
Vivyan rapped on it with her knuckles, and when there was no immediate answer, she struck it with her fist, as if she were angry at it.
Everything about this fae woman seemed angry, in fact.
She was angry at Priestess Morgana, angry at him, and now she was angry that the door didn’t open immediately.
Idhri wished she would let go of him. The touch of her hand made shivers run over his shoulder, as if spiders were crawling across his skin.
He thought of promising her he wouldn’t run off if she would let go but then dismissed the idea.
He didn’t think she would believe him, and she would be right.
He would break that promise in a heartbeat.
When the door finally opened and a tall man appeared, Idhri’s heart jolted in his chest.
Vivyan spoke to the man, but Idhri couldn’t hear her words above the blood pounding in his ears.
Looking at this man was like looking in a mirror.
Emma had given Idhri a bit of a looking glass so he could properly wash and dress.
He had a good idea of how he looked. Now his own face, or a version of it, was looking back at him.
The features were distorted, dragged down in some places, marked by lines in others, and the dark eyes were the coldest he had ever seen.
Even the flecks of gold in them didn’t soften the meanness of this man’s expression.
The resemblance unnerved Idhri. It didn’t help that the man wore a knife in a prominent scabbard at his waist, as if he was expecting trouble.
Idhri was trying to convince himself he was mistaken when Vivyan’s hard hand on his shoulder propelled him into the house.
It was not nearly as nice as their guesthouse.
The ceiling was lower, and so were the doorways.
The man who apparently dwelt there must have to duck his head often.
The planks in the wooden floor were uneven, and the windows unglazed.
There were only two rooms Idhri could see.
The man stood in the cramped entryway, his arms folded, glaring at Vivyan.
“What do you want?” he demanded. The depth of his voice told Idhri he, too, was fae, and the realization made his stomach sink.
There were many things Idhri didn’t know or couldn’t remember, but despite Vivyan’s barb, he was not stupid.
His mind often leaped ahead when Master Hugh was teaching him some aspect of boat craft.
He only had to be shown a knot once. He found the principles of rowing intuitive, though he listened respectfully while his master explained them.
He had swiftly grasped the art of reading the sky to gauge the weather, and he often anticipated whatever tool his master needed when doing repairs on their own boat or any of the others that came to their yard.
Despite the flaw in his head that blocked his memory, the rest of Idhri’s mind was intact, and the pieces were coming together.
The fae woman had called him half-blood.
The man in front of him was fae, and Idhri had his face.
He didn’t know what that meant, but he was afraid he was going to find out.
He had a strong feeling he wouldn’t like what he learned.
Vivyan’s voice cut into the spin of his thoughts. “You need to see what you’ve done, Skye. You were warned.”
The fae man glanced at Idhri, then swiftly away. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Look at him.” Vivyan’s voice was bitter. Angry, like everything else about her.
Skye dragged his gaze back to Idhri. Dark rings beneath his eyes made Idhri think of bruises. “I’m looking,” he said sullenly.
“What do you see?”
“A boy. Nothing to do with me.”
“Except that he looks exactly like you.”
Skye gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Coincidence.”
“I think not.” She pushed Idhri forward, finally removing her hand from his shoulder.
He felt a thrill run through his body as agency returned to him, but he was still her prisoner.
She stood between him and the door, and despite her evident age, she looked strong.
It was clear Skye was afraid of her, too, though he was bigger and a fair bit younger.
“Look at him,” Vivyan said. She pushed Idhri a little closer to the fae man, as if he were a piece of furniture. “Shall I find you a mirror? There’s no doubt about it, Skye. You should have learned by now that you can’t have your fun without regard for the consequences.”
“You can’t prove anything, Dama Vivyan.”
She snorted. “I am old, but my deep sight is as reliable as ever. I have long suspected you had none, and you’re proving me right.”
He glowered at her, and then at Idhri. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Idhri.” Idhri’s voice broke as he spoke it, and his face burned.
“Idhri? What kind of name is that?”
“I don’t know. Emma gave it to me.”
“Emma? Who’s Emma?”
“Never mind!” Vivyan snapped. “None of this matters. What matters is what you did, what you’re responsible for.” She touched Idhri’s shoulder with one long forefinger but lifted it again as she said, “Wait outside, Idhri. I will take you back in a moment.”
Nearly giddy with relief, he turned to the door. Behind him Vivyan snapped, “Don’t try anything foolish, either, boy. You would never find your way alone.”
He didn’t trust his voice to reply, so he said nothing. He stepped out through the door, and as he pulled it closed behind him, he heard Vivyan say, “You will have to pay the penalty, Skye, and it will be the ultimate because you left it so long. It was a stupid thing to do.”
“You can’t make me pay. He will protect me. He hates the damned Rule.”
“He ignores it, you mean.” Vivyan’s voice dropped. “You know it’s not I who will make you pay—although I think you should—but there are many in the council who will insist on it. You, and the others like you, make everything worse. You force our hand.”
Idhri’s hearing was excellent, but he didn’t know what she meant by making everything worse, and he couldn’t guess what it had to do with himself.
He stood outside the cluster of cottages, gazing at the tiny lights dancing along the dark streets, tempted to run back the way they had come.
Vivyan had been wrong about this, too. Master Hugh had taught him to take note of landmarks.
He knew the way back to the guesthouse, but he was afraid of angering Vivyan further.
Shocked and shaken, he stood in the faint glimmer of the floating faerie lights and fought his increasing clarity about who Skye was and why Vivyan had brought him here.
It was knowledge he didn’t want to have.
Braithe wanted to go with Morgana when she went out in search of Emerlyn, but Morgana said, “Stay, brat. Should Idhri return, you will be here.”
“But where will you go?”
“The Royal Council Chamber. Emerlyn will be there, I believe.”
“Do you know where it is?”
Morgana raised one eyebrow. Her brows had stayed dark despite the sudden silvering of her hair, and the contrast was dramatic. “You forget,” the priestess said. “I have been here before.”
“As an owl?”
“As an owl.”
“So you could see everything.”
“I could see. That does not mean I understand.” It was an enigmatic thing to say, but Braithe grasped its meaning.
Morgana had never lived among the fae. The Blackbird had, long ago in the time of the Lady, but he never spoke of it.
Whenever the White City was mentioned, Braithe felt a wave of sorrow emanating from him. She had never known its cause.