Shadow Faerie

by Rachel Morgan

  After another few moments of staring, he turns away from me without responding. I shouldn’t be able to see his expression, but he’s facing the mirror above the mantelpiece. In the mirror’s reflection, for just a moment, I see his face scrunch up with fierce and terrifying fury. He bares his teeth as his fists clench briefly at his sides. Then he closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and his anger is replaced by a blank expression.

  I would have been utterly confused if I’d witnessed this yesterday. Now, I know better. Roarke’s patience is nothing but a ruse, and clearly he’s having a hard time reining his anger in right now. How frustrating it must be for him to play the kind yet cautious fiancé when all he wants to do is consume my magic and make it his. How difficult—and yet absolutely necessary—if he’s hoping for me to come willingly to him.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says as he turns back to me, his expression soft now. “I messed up.”

  Damn right, I want to say. You’re supposed to be wooing me into total compliance, and instead you’ve upset me and made me doubt that you trust me.

  “I just … I couldn’t find you,” he continues, “and I was worried that … that maybe you’d taken advantage of me. That maybe you’ve been lying to me all this time. And I’ve …” He takes in a deep breath, steeling himself to reveal something. “I’ve come to care for you more than I thought I would in this short space of time. It hurt to think that you might have betrayed my trust. It hurt a lot more than I expected.”

  I almost congratulate him on coming up with a great explanation for his anger. If I didn’t know the truth, I might almost believe him. “I … I don’t really know what to say to that.”

  “You don’t feel the same way?”

  It would be easy to say that of course I do, but I can’t push this too far or he’ll know for sure I’m lying. “I … okay, look. We both know that we’re only going through with this union because we’ll each get something out of it. Neither of us started out looking for love or anything soppy like that. But … I …” I wish that I could blush on demand. I wish I could look as shy and embarrassed as I’m pretending to be. I glance down, then peek up at him between my lashes. “I do think I actually like you. I expected to hate you, but … but I don’t. And the shadow world … I’ll admit that it’s still a little scary with all the ink-shades, but it’s exciting too. I can’t wait to see what it will all look like when we’ve finished building.”

  Roarke’s mouth spreads slowly into a smile. Then, without warning, he closes the distance between us. His hands are gripping my arms, and his lips are pressed to mine, moving hungrily against them. I’m a solid statue, too shocked to move. But I have to give him credit for this. His acting is far better than mine. He seems totally into this kiss, when all I want to do his shove him far away from me. But that isn’t the way to play this game. So I try to get into it. I press a little closer to him, place my arms around him, and tell myself to imagine I’m kissing someone else. Someone I might actually enjoy kissing. But it’s been a while since I had a crush on anyone, so I can’t picture any faces except brief glimpses of hunky celebrities who mean nothing to me. Then Dash’s smirking face takes its place at the front of my imagination—which is super weird, so I quickly force that thought aside.

  “Lady Emerson, are you—Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry.”

  At the sound of Clarina’s voice, I disentangle myself from Roarke. “It’s—it’s fine,” I say with an embarrassed laugh. Fortunately, I’m not the only one feeling awkward in this moment. Clarina’s standing in the main doorway to my suite, her gaze pointed firmly away from us and her cheeks turning pink. “We shouldn’t—before the union … I mean, it isn’t appropriate, is it?” I don’t know nearly enough about the customs of this world to know what’s appropriate and what isn’t, but I’m very much hoping people are more conservative here than in the human world. I might be able to fake a kiss, but I don’t think I can fake any more than that.

  “Don’t worry, my love,” Roarke says, taking my hand and running his thumb along my skin. “I don’t have any inappropriate intentions.”

  Right. Except for the intention to steal all my magic. “Okay, well … then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” He kisses my hand. “I would love it if you’d join me for breakfast in the morning.”

  “Oh. Um. I was going to have breakfast with Aurora. We have some, uh, girl things to chat about.” Hopefully that’ll buy me an extra hour or so before anyone comes looking for me.

  “Well, I’ll see you after breakfast then.” He lowers his voice so Clarina can’t hear. “We can decide what to build next for our new home.”

  I watch him brush past Clarina and leave my suite. Without looking at me, she tells me in as few words as possible that she’s relieved to see nothing happened to me while I was missing this evening. Then she hurries away before I can ask her how long it took for Roarke to start telling people I was ‘missing.’

  Finally alone again, I change into pajamas, gather up every spell book I can find in my suite, and climb into bed. I spread the books around me and begin paging through them one at a time. I should be sleeping, but I’m hoping to find some sort of invisibility spell so I can easily hide in the garden tomorrow. I remember Calla concealing us with invisibility when she, Violet and Ryn first rescued me, but she used her Griffin Ability for that, so perhaps invisibility isn’t possible with normal magic.

  After going through almost all my books and finding nothing, I eventually turn, in desperation, to a book that details some of the less pleasant Unseelie rituals. Among other things, it talks about methods to gain extra power. Certain methods that the Unseelies apparently share with the witches. Finally, I come across a spell that seems useful. It won’t make me invisible, but it will help me to be inconspicuous by detecting my surroundings and reflecting them back on me. A form of camouflage, I suppose. I repeat the words over and over in my head until I’ve memorized them. Then I come to the final instruction, which tells me that I need a ‘sacrifice’ from my surroundings. This sacrifice will form a bond between me and my environment for as long as I’m holding the spell in my mind.

  The word ‘sacrifice’ makes me feel immediately uncomfortable, as does the word ‘living,’ which is written in parentheses beside this last instruction. A living sacrifice doesn’t sound good at all. I look around, but the only other living thing in my bedroom is Bandit, and there’s no way in hell I’m sacrificing him. I wonder if the garden counts as the same environment as my bedroom. How does the spell know if this ‘sacrifice’ comes from the area I’m in or some other area? Then again, how does my Griffin Ability know exactly who or what I’m referring to when I give an instruction?

  Magic makes no sense.

  I flop back onto my pillows, about to give up on this camouflage thing. Then I blink at the lights on the ceiling. “Glow-bugs,” I whisper. Glow-bugs are living creatures. Perhaps I can use one of them to form this magical bond with my environment. I climb out of bed, stand on the chair in the corner of the room, and unstick a glow-bug from the ceiling. The feeling of its squishy little body between my fingers makes me cringe. I drop it quickly onto the floor and kneel beside it. I can’t see a head or legs, only a blob-like body filled with golden light. It’s pretty, and I don’t want to kill it, but it’s essentially just an insect, right? If I was back in the human realm, I’d have no problem swatting a fly or squishing a cockroach. Why is it any different just because this bug has some magic in it?

  I remove the heaviest book from the bed. Then I hold my breath and quickly press down on the glow-bug with the book while quietly muttering the spell. When it’s done, I stand and look across the room into the mirror inside the open wardrobe door—and suck in a quick breath as I watch my skin and clothing take on the design of the carpet, the edge of the bed, the wall behind me, and a small section of the window.

  A small hoot comes from the direction of the bed. Owl-formed Bandit watches me with enormous eyes. “Shh,” I tell him.
I look at my reflection again and realize the camouflage doesn’t cover all of me. Patches of my body still appear normal. I look at the spell book again and re-read the line about the sacrifice. A sacrifice of adequate size and magical composition. What exactly does ‘adequate’ mean? Perhaps a glow-bug isn’t big enough. I have no idea what creature I’ll use when I’m in the garden tomorrow, but I’ll face that hurdle when I get to it.

  I release my mental hold on the spell and jump quickly back into bed. I’m torn between elation that I taught myself a new spell and queasiness that I had to kill a creature in the process. You’re going to fit in so well with us, Aurora said to me only a few days ago. I turn over, ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and try to fall asleep.

  Twenty-Six

  Sleep manages to evade me for most of the night, and my eyes are open as the first light of dawn peeks below the curtains drawn across my windows. I get up and witness, for the first time, the way winter melts into the ground and gives way to a fresh and vibrant spring morning.

  After admiring the one and only sunrise I ever hope to see from this palace, I cross my room to the wardrobe and dig through it in search of an outfit that might possibly be considered comfortable. Something similar to the pants, shirt and ringmaster coat combo Clarina laid out yesterday, since that proved to be easy enough to run in. I’d prefer to go without the coat—in a few hours it’ll be far too warm to wear one, and it might get in the way if I need to run—but I’d be conspicuous without it. According to Clarina, this kind of outfit isn’t considered formal enough without the coat. She’d put me in a dress if she knew I planned to be outside any later than mid-morning, but a dress is out of the question. I definitely can’t climb in one.

  After choosing what I deem to be a suitable combination—black pants, a black shirt with gold ruffles down the front, and a bottle green coat with gold detailing—I dress quickly and slide the stylus I stole weeks ago from Aurora into one of the coat pockets. I’ve asked for my own stylus each time I’ve been taught a spell that requires one, but apparently Roarke wanted me to wait until he could gift me a special one. A stylus covered in diamonds and sapphires, or something outrageously unnecessary like that. I know it was only an excuse not to give me one before the union.

  I pull on flexible pump-like shoes with no heel, then write a note to Clarina telling her I woke early and decided to return some books to the library before going to Aurora’s chambers for breakfast. Hopefully she won’t check my story with the guards who patrol the hallway outside my room. I wake Bandit, encourage him to shift into something smaller than a cat—he chooses a tiny hamster-type form with blue hair the same color as mine—and let him climb into one of my pockets. Not the same pocket as the stylus; I still don’t trust that those things don’t have residual magic in them, and I don’t want Bandit to accidentally get hurt.

  I’m about to walk onto the balcony when I remember the book of witch spells hidden beneath a cushion on one of the chairs. If Roarke finds it, he’ll realize Aurora was the one who warned me about his plan. I don’t know what he’d do to her if he discovered her betrayal, but I’d rather she didn’t have to find out. The fire in the sitting room fireplace has long since gone out, but I stride across the room to it, place the book onto the ash, and add another few pieces of wood. I quietly say the spell to light a fire and step back as a single flame ignites the book’s cover. I watch it burning for several moments before turning away.

  Outside on the balcony, I look down and around to see if anyone’s patrolling nearby. Then I swing my legs over the balustrade and begin to climb down. It’s early enough that most of the occupants of the bedrooms I pass on my way down will hopefully still be asleep with their curtains drawn.

  I hide in one of the flowerbeds while doing the camouflage spell, using a bird that Bandit catches for me while in one of his cat forms. The bird has a tiny crown of gold ridges atop its head, and its wings are almost transparent with flecks of gold. I feel so sick at having to kill this beautiful creature that I almost can’t do it. But I remind myself that Dash will remain a tortured prisoner and probably end up dead if I get caught before I reach the prison.

  The spell works. I push my nausea aside as my skin and clothes rapidly takes on the appearance of my surroundings. The dark earth, the green bushes and colorful flowers. The strangest part is looking down at myself as I stand and walk out of the flowerbed—my appearance continually changes so that I roughly blend in with whatever’s around me.

  Since I have to wait until mid-morning so I don’t run into the guards, I take my time walking through the gardens. I look down often to make sure I’m still camouflaged, and I try to ignore the constant low-level anxiety twisting my insides into knots. Everything will work out fine, I tell myself repeatedly. When I reach the pool with the fountain—no longer frozen—I hide behind a nearby rosebush with blue flowers. I could probably release my hold on the camouflage spell, but I don’t want to risk being seen. Besides, it doesn’t feel like it’s draining too much of my magic.

  The longer I wait, the more anxious I become. The people I care about go around and around my head: Mom and Dash and the Griffin rebels who are probably trying to find their way into this court because Dash never returned home. My imagination shows me the worst things that could happen to everyone, and eventually I have to shut my eyes and tell my mind to go as blank as if someone were leading me through the faerie paths.

  Except for the camouflage spell. I can’t go blank on that. I open my eyes and look down at the pattern of grass across my hand. I’ll focus on that instead.

  By the time I hear footsteps, my back has begun to ache and my left leg has gone numb. I shrink further down as I peer between the leaves of the rose bush. A line of about ten guards marches toward the fountain. They come to a halt on the far side where the trapdoor is. The guard at the front leans forward with a stylus in his hand, but once he bends down with it, I can’t see what he’s doing, and I can’t hear if he’s saying anything.

  I slowly roll my shoulders a few times, check the ruby on my wrist, and remind myself to be patient. I have to wait until the guards are gone and my Griffin Ability has fully restored itself. Unless … I pause with my shoulders pulled back. What if I sneak down now? Right behind the guards? Then I don’t have to use my Griffin Ability to open the trapdoor. I won’t have to risk accidentally losing all my power in one command and then having to wait until late tonight before freeing Dash and Zed from their spheres.

  I bite my lip as I watch the guards descend the stairs one at a time. How close can I risk getting to them? How well does this camouflage spell work? And what if the guard at the end of the line turns back to close the trapdoor?

  But … what if I can’t let Dash and Zed out until tonight, and Roarke discovers where I am before then?

  I don’t give myself another second to think about it. I rise to my feet and tiptoe quietly across the grass. I make it to the pool seconds before the last guard steps down through the trapdoor. With one final glance at my feet to make sure I can’t see anything more of them than a faint outline, I step silently through the trapdoor. I pause at the top of the staircase, waiting to see if the guard just ahead of me plans to turn around and close the trapdoor. But he continues descending without a glance behind him.

  Holding my breath, I tiptoe down the staircase, shrinking into the shadows on one side when I reach the bottom. I don’t dare venture any further into the vast underground chamber while all those guards are still present. They spread out, each heading in a different direction. Here and there, I notice several prison cell spheres slowly descending and disappearing amongst the many other spheres.

  In the first row, a guard stops beside the sphere nearest to me. The prisoner inside—the woman who was curled up and sleeping yesterday—scrambles to the other side of her cell. But as the guard flicks his hand, she slides abruptly across the floor and slams against the bars with a groan. The guard crouches down, and I notice he’s holding a bott
le in one hand. He dips a stylus into the bottle, then reaches through the bars for the woman’s arm. He writes a few words across her skin before standing and moving on to the next sphere. Moments later, as the woman slumps against the bars, part of the floor within her sphere shimmers and ripples. A tray of food appears, and after staring at it for a while, she reaches out with a clumsy hand and drags the tray closer.

  I wait as the guard performs the same spell on the next prisoner, and then the next. From what I can see down another row of spheres, it looks like the other guards are doing the same thing. By the time the lowered prison orbs rise into the air again and the guards begin marching back toward the stairs, the woman I’ve been watching has finished eating and her tray has vanished.

  I crouch down and keep my head lowered as the guards clomp, clomp, clomp their way back up the staircase. Finally, when the trapdoor is closed and I’m certain they’re gone, I let go of the camouflage spell I’ve been hanging onto for hours. I straighten slowly and peer up the stairs once more. Then I tiptoe past the spheres, not wanting to attract the attention of any prisoners in case they start calling out to me and their cries become audible outside the prison.

  I run the last few paces toward Dash’s cell and crouch down beside his bars. He’s lying on his side, his eyes half-closed, one hand wrapped loosely around a bar. “Hey,” I whisper to him as I touch his hand. “Ready to get on with this escape thing?”

  His gaze shifts to me. He gives me a weak smile. “You made it. No one … saw you?”

  “No. I found some sort of camouflage spell in a book last night.” I pause, looking hurriedly over my shoulder at the sound of a voice. But it’s only a moan from one of the other spheres. “A weird spell that required a sacrifice,” I continue, “but I managed to do it.”