Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Stop looking at them,” Conrad says. “’Tis their spells that are muddling your head, the threads they’ve woven into their hair and clothes. Do not look, and they’ll have no power over you. Keep your eyes on me, Rose.”
My muffled panic breaks free and sends spikes of alarm vibrating through my body. I start breathing sharply, my heart fluttering too fast.
“I have to get out of here,” I whimper.
“Gently now,” Conrad murmurs. He pulls me close, his lips against my ear, which sends a wave of heat rippling over my skin.
Those blasted visions of him kissing me come roaring back to the front of my thoughts.
“We cannot leave just yet, or they will take notice. We must be subtle, and you must stay clearheaded.”
“She means to kill me,” I gasp. “She’ll drain my life force to fuel her own, or drink my blood, or—”
“You’re speaking nonsense. Morgaine doesn’t do things like that.” He pauses, then adds, “Not usually.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. I twist around, looking for her, but Conrad gives me a little shake.
“Don’t look!” he says angrily. “Do you ken how close you were to losing your mind entirely? Once you forget who you are, you can never leave this place. And they are drenched in forgetting spells. ’Tis how they survive immortality, by constantly wiping away the past. But their magic is too strong for you.
It would obliterate your mind entirely. Not that you wouldn’t deserve it, blundering into places you’ve no business.
Honestly, why must you be so profoundly nosy? ”
“What about your mind? Or are you one of them?”
“I am as human as you are,” he replies, his jaw tight. “But I am also more used to this place.”
“You’re a bastard. You’ve been lying all this time. To me, to Sylvie.”
“I’m the bastard who’s going to get you out of here,” he returns roughly. “Whatever I say or do, Rose, you must play along as if your life depends on it. Because it does. Remember: Keep your eyes on me.”
But my eyes dart upward, to the Dwirra Tree on the hill, and the smaller saplings shooting up from its roots like children gathered around their mother’s feet. Those slender limbs would be within my reach, if I could slip away unseen.
But Conrad is tugging me away, through the dancing fae. I resist, glancing at the Dwirra, wondering how I could reach it, if I might create some sort of distraction.
“Rose,” he whispers urgently.
Who knows if I’ll get a chance like this again? I pull away a little more, until he has me by the wrist and we are stretched apart, clearly not dancing anymore, and it is this which gives us away.
She is on us in a blink of the eye, black silk and spiderwebs, inhuman eyes crackling with anger.
Her arm snakes around me, gripping my waist tight as if I were her wayward child, and Conrad’s hand falls from mine.
He meets her gaze silently, and the three of us stand locked in a terrible tableau as the dancers whirl around us.
My head swims; I watch Conrad’s face now in earnest, as I feel the tug of fae memory spells wash over me again, stronger and sharper, like flowering vines turned into venomous snakes.
“Are you trying to steal my pet away, Connie?” Morgaine asks.
Conrad’s jaw is hard, his face schooled to calm. He does not flinch away from her.
“She is a guest in my house,” he says after a moment. “She only lost her way.”
“Is that it?” Morgaine looks at me. “Did you lose your way, little witch?”
“I am responsible for her,” says Conrad. “Let me take her home.”
The queen’s fingers creep up my arm. She slides her hand up my neck, toying with me, letting me feel her strength. She smells of magic; it glitters on her skin, tingles at her touch. One of her spiders crawls over my shoulder.
“You know I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me, Connie.”
“She’s hardly a secret. She’s a terrible meddler, aye, but she’s just passing through. She’s no one.”
“You don’t look at her as if she’s no one. You don’t dance with her as if she’s no one.”
He looks at me, anger sharpening his cheekbones, souring the line of his mouth.
“You’re right,” he mutters. “I didn’t—I hadn’t planned on telling you like this, but I suppose we cannot hide it any longer. Rose and I . . .” He steps forward, takes my other hand. I feel like a rope being pulled by two dogs. “We plan to marry.”
My eyes open wide; I stop myself just in time from blurting out a prickly denial, remembering his whisper to me moments ago. Play along as if your life depends on it.
So I pry apart my teeth and say in a strained voice, “Yes. Of course.”
Morgaine’s head tilts, a faint smile on her lips. “Is that so.”
Conrad’s hand is clammy in mine; other than that, he gives no outward sign of his nervousness, of his lie.
He matches her gaze and nods. “It happened suddenly, but so strongly. The moment I saw her, I . . .” He glances at me, swallows, his eyes aflame as if holding back a wall of fury.
He grips my hand so tightly it hurts a little. “It was as if I’d been enchanted.”
Morgaine looks at me, clearly waiting for me to add my side of the story.
“Yes,” I confirm, and I squeeze his hand back, letting my nails dig into his palm until he winces just slightly. “Truly, I was astonished to find myself so very much in love. I can hardly believe it true.”
“I’d intended to bring her to you, for your blessing,” he says. “Just not so soon, but I suppose her curiosity got the better of her.” He raises our joined hands, his eyes hammered gold. “My beloved, I must confess, is something of a snoop.”
“Indeed, I find I must be,” I reply through my teeth. “For my dearest, most darling Conrad keeps so many secrets.”
He gives me a sweet smile that clashes with the glower in his eyes.
“My Connie,” Morgaine purrs, her other hand sliding to comb through his hair with her long fingers. “After all these years insisting you would never wed.”
“Yes, well,” he grumbles. “I suppose the Fates have made a joke of me.”
The faerie queen’s predatory grip on my shoulder releases at last. She steps back, pulls us with her, calling out, “So this is no ordinary revel, my mortal lovers. This is a revel of celebration! We shall hold a handfasting.”
Conrad inhales. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Dance!” she cries. “Drink! Love! My fae will dote upon thee, and sing for thee, and fetch thee pearls from the deepest depths of the sea.”
The dance changes, the fae responding, breaking apart, rearranging.
More of them appear; those from the enclave come bounding and howling to the revel.
More musicians add their instruments to the band, until a full orchestra of immortals drape us in their mad waltz.
Others twirl in with platters of fruit and sweets, none of which I dare touch, but Conrad drinks from a goblet some faerie gives him. It smells unmistakably of whiskey.
We are thrust onto the queen’s dais; two more chairs have been added beside hers, seats made of twisted willow branches, strung through with ivy and flowers.
I perch on mine in a daze. The fae spin and leap and perform daring acrobatics for our amusement.
Conrad has not let go of my hand, gripping it tightly on the arm of my chair.
Morgaine stands in front of us and calls out commands, sending fae scurrying this way and that to fetch more food, more drink, more gifts.
They pile things at our feet: pearls still in oyster shells, heavy jewelry, gemstones, lace, small mirrors in jeweled frames, a magnificent rose-colored conch.
Conrad leans to me, smiling as if besotted, but his whisper in my ear is heated: “At least try to look as if you can tolerate me, will you?”
“By Atropos’s needle—what are you playing at, Mr. North?”
“Playing at? I’m playing at saving both our necks.”
“You might have consulted me first as to the method of your salvation.”
“Consulted!” His smile is strained, nearly a grimace. “Tell me, Miss Pryor, where does ungrateful fall on your list of faults?”
“Number six, if you must know.”
“You trespassed into Elfhame, and she would have stolen every memory from your head and kept you like a silly, empty pet. And I would have paid the price for failing to keep you out. I am her Gatekeeper. Intruders from the human world are my responsibility. Of course this is all a charade, but if you don’t convince her you’re in love with me, she will destroy us both. ”
The fae are watching us; even as they dance and spin, their eyes return to us hungrily, and I cannot quite tell if it is displays of our affection they want, or if they hope we will falter so they can swarm on us and drag us down.
Morgaine returns to us with ribbons of blue and red and gold.
Her eyes are smug as she orders us to hold out our hands.
I swallow hard as Conrad raises them, his fingers knitted through mine.
Morgaine gazes into his eyes then mine as she winds the ribbons around our wrists, binding us together.
I cannot tell if she is convinced by our playacting, or if she is mocking us with ceremony, building up to a bloody conclusion in which she takes off both our heads.
“May the road rise to meet you, young lovers,” she murmurs. “May the wind always be at your backs. May the sun shine warm upon your faces, and may your threads never break.”
The ribbons are tied so tightly my wrist begins to throb. Conrad’s knuckles are white, and he stares at our bound hands as if the ribbons were snakes and not silk. The blood has drained from his face. I feel I must be as pale as he, my head spinning and my breath stilted.
“Well?” says Morgaine, stepping back. Her viper’s eyes flit between us. “Go on, then. It’s not every happy couple that begins their troth with a faerie queen’s blessing. Seal it with a kiss.”