by Jocelyn Fox
“There’s not a back door,” Ross answered, pulling a stethoscope from its pouch in her kit. “But the bedroom windows are close enough to the ground that they’ll serve in a pinch. Take a lap if you want, I’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
He nodded and caught Merrick’s eye. “You good for now?”
“If by that you mean that I’m reasonably certain I won’t embarrass myself by retching or fainting, then yes, I’m good for now,” replied the navigator dryly, crossing his arms and leaning slightly against the wall by the couch. Duke smiled and slid out the front door, shutting it firmly behind him. He stood on the front porch for a long moment, gazing out into the riotous wet green of the foliage around the house. Then he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, setting off on a perimeter of the house’s exterior. No fence marked the extent of the property, but Duke did spot the little flags that denoted an invisible fence for the dog. What had Ross said the dog’s name was? May. He stood at the back of the house and estimated the distance to the river. Ironically, it was the same river in which Luca had nearly drowned, a little offshoot of the Pearl that threaded its way through Cairn before rejoining the larger river and emptying into Lake Pontchartrain. He examined the windows. Like the screen door, they were old but well maintained. In some old windows, you could turn the manual lock from the outside by sliding a knife between the seams of the frame; Duke’s hand strayed to his belt as he thought of testing the method, but then he saw the simple bit of wood, painted to match the window frame, fitted vertically against the sill from the inside. Even if anyone managed to turn the lock from the outside, the small beam would prevent the window from actually opening. He smiled a little and thought that he should’ve expected no less from Ross.
After completing the circuit of the house and noting all the pertinent details, distance to the trees, distance to the road, visibility and coverage at all angles, Duke walked back up the stairs of the front porch and went inside, throwing the bolts again. He pulled off his boots and lined them up again with the other two pairs. The main room was quiet. Luca sat on the couch, head leaned back against the wall. He didn’t open his eyes at the sound of Duke’s return. Ross wasn’t in the living room, and neither was Merrick. He felt his heartbeat increase with a little jolt of adrenaline, even though the rational part of his mind knew that Ross was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and this was her house, after all. It wasn’t that he suspected Merrick of any ill intentions, either. It was just his protective instinct rearing its head again after the time apart. He took a deep breath and evened out his heart rate with calm focus.
“She said that she couldn’t bear the smell any longer,” Luca said. “Though I think she was partly joking.” The ulfdrengr fixed Duke with his pale blue gaze. “She’s your wife?”
“Fiancée,” said Duke. “Engaged to be married. I left for deployment, and then I got thrown into your world. They told her I was dead. So I guess you could say things are…uncertain.”
“Why would things be uncertain? Does time change the love in your heart?”
Duke felt half a grin on his lips. “I swear, sometimes you sound like a bad Hallmark movie.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Luca said bluntly.
“I know. Sorry. I get what you’re saying. I just…it’s a lot for her. Missing for eight months and we were gone for a few months before that.” Duke ran a hand through his hair and took the other half of the couch. “So she hasn’t seen me in over a year, they had a funeral and everything for me. And then I drop out of the blue with you two in tow.” He smiled humorlessly. “I think she’s handled it really well, considering.”
“Yes.” Luca nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “There was a time when I thought that all I loved was destroyed, when I was held in thrall by the darkness.” He raised his scarred hand and looked at it contemplatively. “Death seemed preferable to a world without all I’d ever known. And it was preferable to allowing evil to control me and use me for wicked deeds.” Settling his hand back on his thigh, he gazed at Duke again. “And then Tess freed me. All my people were not dead, and I fell in love with the mortal woman who had saved my soul.” There was something pained about his smile. “Even now, with the veil of the worlds between us, I love her. I would die for her. And if you love Ross, she will know that you never stopped loving her, not even a world away.”
“She was my first thought in the morning and the last thought before I closed my eyes,” said Duke in a low voice, his drawl imbuing his solemn words with a prayer-like cadence.
After a moment, Luca commented, “You are actually more serious in your own world, I think, than you were in mine.”
Duke gave half a laugh. “Well, that was because at first I thought it was all a dream. Or that I was already dead.” He shrugged. “I’ve been told that humor is my defense against feeling too much emotion.”
“It makes sense,” agreed Luca companionably.
Ross emerged from the hallway, drying her hands on a small towel. “It’s more difficult than you’d expect, explaining a shower to someone who’s never seen one before.” She raised her eyebrow at the two men. “Luca, you can use my shower. I’ll leave the instructions to Duke this time. Unless you need me to explain the niceties of civilization again to you, too?”
“I think I can handle a shower, darlin’,” drawled Duke with a lazy smile. Ross blinked and didn’t smile at the term of endearment. Duke swallowed down the hot disappointment burning in his throat. “Come on, big guy. Let me introduce you to the wonders of indoor plumbing.” He stood with a sigh. Soreness was settling into his muscles with every passing moment, and he was beginning to agree with Luca’s cave-troll assessment.
“Your clothes are still here,” said Ross in a strangely quiet voice. “In the closet of the study, the guest room. But May’s in there…let me move her to Viv’s room.”
“I’m not afraid of dogs,” Duke said lightly, watching as Luca levered himself to his feet.
“May is a sweetheart most of the time but she doesn’t know you,” said Ross. “She’s got a protective streak. And it’s not you I’m worried about, it’s those two. Pretty sure that they smell different than anybody she’s ever encountered.”
“True,” conceded Duke. “Well, let me get Luca set up in the shower and then you can introduce me to her.”
“I… okay,” said Ross, pressing her lips together. She rubbed her palms down the front of her cargo pants and motioned with her head. “My room is the last one at the end of the hall. It’s the master so the bathroom is attached.”
“Fancy,” he replied with a waggle of his eyebrows. He eyed Luca. “I might have a shirt and shorts that will fit you mixed in somewhere. But I’ll get you started. Come on.”
Ross’s bedroom was cool and dark, gray satin curtains covering the window. He recognized the furniture and most of the artwork from her last apartment. She favored dark polished wood and gold accents, splashes of jewel tones tastefully interspersed with muted dove gray and slate. The silver-framed photo on her nightstand caught his eye and pierced him as surely as a dagger to the chest. It was one of his favorite pictures of them, both of them covered in mud and dirt and sweat at the finish line of an obstacle course race. He’d grumbled that anyone who paid money to run ten miles and climb through mud pits was crazy, but he’d relented after she’d raised an eyebrow at him and kissed him thoroughly. In the photo, he had his arm around Ross’s shoulder and she hugged him around the waist, both laughing into the camera, the medals in their hands forgotten amid their punch drunk enjoyment of each other. They’d both decided that they’d liked that picture better than their engagement photos. He’d had a print of that photo tacked up next to his bunk on base.
“All this space for one person?” asked Luca guilelessly.
Duke grinned and shook his head. “Yeah. Just wait ‘til you see the shower.”
The bathroom was decorated in a tastefully nautical theme. Duke wondered if Ross had taken design pointer
s from her roommate Vivian. He remembered Vivian as a friend Ross made after she’d moved down South to finish school and take a job when she’d gotten out of the military. If he had the right girl, the most vivid detail about her was her hair, long and the color of a fox’s tail, wavy when she tamed it and a riot of frizz when she didn’t. His thoughts kept speeding along at a breakneck pace as he demonstrated the shower to Luca and explained the other essential functions of the bathroom. To his credit, the ulfdrengr listened with intent focus, showing little surprise at the stream of heated water flowing from the showerhead... or at least he was very good at concealing his curiosity. Duke popped open the top of Ross’s shampoo and body wash; both of them smelled fresh but neutral.
“We’re lucky she doesn’t like girly scented stuff in the shower,” he told a slightly bemused Luca. He pointed to the bottles. “That’s for your body, and that’s to wash your hair. You only need a bit of it, so don’t go crazy. Towels are there. I’m gonna leave the door unlocked just in case, I’ll be back to check on you.”
“You hover like a mother wolf over her newborn cubs,” said Luca, shedding his shirt and tossing it unconcernedly to the tile floor.
“Yeah, well, I just don’t want you to drown in the shower,” muttered Duke. “And I’m gonna take a look at those bruises on your ribs later.”
Luca slid the shower curtain back with comical delicacy, his eyes narrowing as he watched the brass rings move along the shower curtain rod. Then he shrugged slightly. “As you wish.”
“All right then…I’m just gonna go,” Duke said as the ulfdrengr began unlacing his breeches. He shook his head slightly and left the door to the bathroom open a crack. Before he walked away, he heard Luca step into the shower, an unabashed sigh of enjoyment accompanied by wordless humming of a Northern song that Duke thought he remembered from around the fires of the Vyldgard camp. He smiled as he walked back through Ross’s room, thinking for the first time since they’d been thrown through the portal that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out all right after all.
Chapter 9
Finnead padded down the dark streets of the city, making no more noise than a shadow passing over the paved path. Vell knew where he was going – he could keep nothing from his Queen. But unlike the Unseelie Queen, the Vyldretning let even her Three have their privacy most of the time. He could still feel her through their shared bond, but it was not the constant watchfulness and cold, efficient collection of his thoughts that he had experienced with Mab.
The sentry knew him by sight and let him pass with a grave nod, though Finnead thought he saw a flicker of disdain in the Unseelie Guard’s eyes. The man’s gaze settled for a moment on the sapphire in the pommel of the sword at Finnead’s hip, the sword that had once been the Brighbranr of the Unseelie Court and was now the Brighbranr of the Wild Court. None of the Guards or Knights showed outright malice, but none of them welcomed him on his visits to the Unseelie stronghold. None of them except for loyal Ramel, he amended silently to himself. He brushed a hand against the hilt of the Brighbranr as his feet led him surely down the dim passageways.
The Unseelie Court had found what had once been an armory carved into the hill on the western side of the White City. It had reminded them of Darkhill, he knew, because it reminded him of Darkhill as well, though he didn’t quite feel sadness at the memory of his former home. The golden age of the city must have been splendid indeed for the Sidhe to put such care and skill into such an expansive project. He admired the smooth curves of the passageways and the subtle details of the carved vines about the arched doorways as he walked. He encountered no one as his strides led him down a passageway that sloped downward at a noticeable angle, burrowing deeper into the hillside.
Finally, he turned the last corner. Two Guards stood at either side of a great wooden door. He felt the same familiar disgust welling up within him. What did Mab think, that her sister was capable of breaking her chains and slaughtering grown men with her bare hands? The memory of another prison cell in Darkhill nudged at him. He took a deep breath as he contemplated the barred door and let the memory wash over him. He’d learned long ago that it was easiest to let the darkest parts of his past break over him like a wave, swirling about him and then dissipating as he accepted its pain and absorbed it back into himself. Once, Mab had chained him in a cell in the depths of Darkhill. He had survived and escaped the Enemy, but she had not trusted him. The rebellion had eaten away at her faith in her subjects, and the death of her beloved sister had dealt the final blow to her magnanimity. She had locked him away still broken and bleeding. For the safety of all her Court, she had said, or so he had been told later, when he regained his senses. That had been the first time that Ramel had proven his unswerving loyalty and friendship.
He took another deep breath and addressed one of the Guards. “Are they here?”
The Guard gave a silent nod.
“Good. I will enter.” Finnead watched the Guards lift the bar from the door, opening one side enough for him to pass through. One of them lit a torch from the sconce in the wall and handed it to Finnead. When he stepped through the door, it slid shut immediately behind him, and he heard them settle the bar back into place. His breath plumed in the air before him. The passageway on the other side of the door was glacially cold. A rime of frost glimmered on the walls, and even with his natural grace he slipped a few times on the increasing layer of ice on the floor. Finally, he reached the small door at the end of the passageway. The door had no knob or handle, nor any visible hinges. It was a door merely because it fit in the space at the end of the passageway. He switched the torch to his other hand and sketched a rune on the icy surface with the tip of a finger. Numbness crept up his hand as he worked, though he tried to ignore it. The painful prickling extended nearly to his elbow before he finished drawing the symbol, and he grimly pressed his palm to the center of the rune, clenching his jaw as the cold bit deeper into his arm.
In the back of his mind, he felt Vell stir at his pain, stretching herself down their link for a moment. He knew that she sat before the fire in her chambers, reading another ancient text. Her insomnia rivaled his own, some days. She opened their bond enough that for a brief instant he felt the warmth of the hearth. He smiled a little at the jest. Liam cast a bit of attention toward him as well but drew away when he recognized the cold sensation of the rune casting. Gray must have been asleep or ignoring him.
Rather than glowing as most runes did when completed, this particular rune sizzled softly and sank into the door like a charred scar. He thought it appropriate that the rune sealing the door to this prison revealed itself in such an ugly way, an ugly rune to keep an ugly scene contained. He straightened his shoulders as the door silently swung inward.
The prison deep in the heart of the armory looked more like it was carved from ice than stone. Frost glimmered on every surface, even the small table and chairs placed near the roaring fire. Two figures sat by the fire. Neither of them turned as the door opened – there were only three of them now that entered this chamber. Mab had stopped coming after the first few days, her face hard and cold with the finality of her despair. The healers had still hopefully persisted, but even the most optimistic could not say that their ministrations had any effect, and they, too, stopped traveling to the icy chamber deep underground.
“Once more into the breach,” said Ramel in greeting, the firelight glinting off his coppery curls. The light of the fire did not penetrate the deepest shadows of the room. The silver bars of the cell, coated in ice, glinted in the darkness, looking like icicles grown from the ceiling at neat intervals.
“I wish it weren’t so cold,” the dark-haired woman sitting with Ramel said without rancor. She stood and slid closer to the fire, offering Finnead the seat closest to his former squire. He tossed his torch into the fire. They had stocked new, unlit torches beside the firewood, and a branch of candles flickered on the table.
“If she could understand us, she could make it so,” Ramel said,
glancing at the darkened corner beyond the silver bars.
“I don’t think understanding is her problem,” Molly said, still without any trace of spite. They had fallen into the habit of speaking bluntly.
“I agree,” said Finnead as he walked closer. He didn’t sit down, instead regarding Molly intently. “Something is different about you,” he said slowly.
The fendhionne swallowed and glanced at Ramel. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her show nerves. Finnead looked at Ramel, too, and discovered that the other man wore an expression of mingled pride, satisfaction and embarrassment. The emotions passed over Ramel’s face with the speed of a hawk’s shadow sweeping over the ground, but Finnead caught them. He had long training in recognizing the emotions of even the most smooth faced of his brethren.
To his credit, Ramel composed himself and said in a measured voice, “We did it.”
Finnead gazed at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.
Ramel looked at Molly, his expression once again inscrutable. Two spots of color appeared on the fendhionne’s pale cheeks.
“I restored her memories.” Ramel said the words slowly, savoring them, his eyes still resting on the dark-haired, pale woman whose body swayed toward him at the sound of his voice.
Finnead felt as though the ground shifted beneath him. He gripped the edge of the table for support, his hand sliding on the damp wood. He cursed himself for the hope that surged in his chest and filled his eyes. Damn it all, he was a fool thrice over. He shut his eyes briefly to regain his balance. When he opened them, Molly had taken a step closer to him, her cat-like eyes intent on his face.
“Are you all right?” she asked with genuine concern.
“Are you?” he returned, straightening.
