“He looks irritated?” That pleased me. I pulled on a pair of heels. Not as high as my come-fuck-me heels, but still power-sexy. Starling held back the tent flap for me and I stepped out into the bright sunshine to find Rogue lounging in a chair under a giant pink silk parasol, being hand-fed fruit by a cluster of dragonfly girls.
Chapter Five
In Which I Negotiate a Sabbatical
It seems that the fae do not, or cannot, lie directly. There is, however, plenty of room for omission, obfuscation and all forms of equivocation.
~Big Book of Fairyland, “Rules of Bargaining”
Really, I wasn’t sure what else to call them. Poor Dragonfly had been this type of fae—a sort of petite adolescent girl with a bouncy personality and not a great deal of intelligence. I hadn’t observed much variation in them. They seemed given to giggles and flirtation. None of them had the stiff, dragonfly-type wings—hence my name for her, since she seemed to have no other—but otherwise they were much like my erstwhile servant. All shades of hair, from golden to lilac tinsel, like a bouquet of frivolous flowers.
And they all just seemed to love Rogue.
My irritation was boiling up into a snide remark when Rogue glanced up, scooted the one who’d been perched on his lap off to the ground and stood, sweeping me a gallant bow.
“Good Titania—you look gorgeous, Gwynn.”
I looked like a 1950s prom date, I thought, but the glowing admiration in his cobalt eyes gave me a certain flutter. Plus, it didn’t hurt my ego to see him nearly toss the darling dragonfly girl aside for me without a second glance.
“You need something more.” He held out a closed hand, and opened it to show glittering earrings perfectly arranged on his palm. They were dangling lilies, upside-down trumpet-shaped flowers, shimmering as blue as the live indigo Stargazer lilies he’d once tried to give me. Like those, these looked as alive as flesh. Probably with the same drowningly sweet scent.
I put my hands behind my back. “No. No gifts. You know that.”
“But this isn’t a gift. It’s important that you go before Falcon with something of me on you. Proof.”
“Of what?”
He trailed a finger along the upper curve of my breast. “Don’t be coy.” Then his gaze caught, held. His face whitened.
I sighed and batted the finger away. “I mean, what exactly does it prove? If I’m making some kind of public declaration, I want to know what it is.”
But he was frowning, gaze still on my cleavage. “You were hurt yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What’s to tell? You mess with the Black Dog, you get a little torn up.” I meant it as a joke, but he had paled and now clenched his hands, as if he was stopping himself from grabbing me by sheer force of will. Even though I couldn’t accept those lovely earrings, I hoped he hadn’t crushed them. “Really it was mostly the rocks. A minor bite, maybe. I might be mortal, but I’ll heal. Don’t look so stricken.”
“I believed that the Dog would not harm you.” Rogue’s voice was deadly quiet, nearly strained.
“Are you kidding me? The Dog nearly tore my throat out the second I set foot on your sacred lawns.”
“That was before. And it was necessary.”
“That’s debatable, but these are just some bruises and scratches. Hardly a big deal. I just haven’t worked on them yet.”
He still looked profoundly perturbed. Off balance in a way I never saw him.
“Hey.” I put my palm on his cheek. The dragonfly girls watched us with avid interest, but I tried to ignore their whispers and giggles. “You didn’t do it on purpose. It’s no big deal.”
“I will decide what is and is not a big deal, Gwynn.” He nearly hissed it and I took a step back. The black lines on his face seemed to snake, in the way they did that prefaced the Black Dog asserting itself. That slice of white inside my heart responded, a chill breath of foreboding.
Around us the war camp was dancing with carnival life, full of music and hilarity. A hand-to-foot wheel of lilac pages rolled past, chanting some incomprehensible tune. A miniature unicorn with what seemed to be a pair of pink panties in his teeth trotted by, muttering to itself about fairy sluts. I took a breath, released it and sought that calm place of control.
Rogue visibly did the same. “Falcon keeps no healer in camp?”
“No. He thinks it breaks the whole dying gloriously and painfully theme.”
Rogue nodded, curt, his thoughts too wrapped up in whatever was eating at him to be amused at me. Then raised his hand and opened his palm, the lily earrings as lush and perfect as before. “You will wear these. And in return, you will allow me to do what I can to heal your wounds tonight.”
Arguing with him in this mood would be clearly futile, but I still balked. “That sounds an awful lot like you giving me two things.”
“It’s not.” He bit it out. “You will allow me this reparation. You owe me that much.”
“Fine, fine.” I held up my palms in a no-foul gesture. “I accept these earrings and, in even exchange, I’ll let you heal these bruises and scratches.
I snatched the earrings from his palm and suddenly remembered that the fae healer had closed up my pierced ears when she fixed up everything else following the infamous throat-rending incident. A little unnecessary surgery that had likely added months on to the time I owed Falcon. The ends of the earrings, which would have hooks in my world, had instead little fibrous hairs that waved slightly, as if reaching for something.
“Hold them against your earlobe. It will attach.”
Creepy. But in for a penny, in for tentacles on my earlobes. The sensation was odd but kind of pleasant. They did smell of Stargazers, sweet with spice.
“There—happy?”
Rogue’s eyes glittered, the centers cobra-black. “No. Far from it. But taking a bite out of Falcon shall go a long way. Shall we?”
He presented his arm and I slid my hand through it, grasping his lean forearm through the black leather. Larch popped out from wherever he’d been lurking and began to precede us through the camp, demanding in his surprisingly booming voice that all make way for the High Lord Rogue and his lady, the sorceress Gwynn.
“Now I’m your lady?” I muttered.
“Don’t be difficult, Gwynn. I’m not in the mood.”
“All the better to sic you on Falcon, I say.”
His lips twitched and I knew he suppressed a smile this time. “Hush. Look dignified.”
I rolled my eyes but decided against baiting him further. Instead, I mentally rewound our conversation, parsing it for clues. I knew the Black Dog progressively escaped his control, so I suspected his anger stemmed from that. He’d also counted on the fact that the Dog, for whatever reason, seemed to have a fondness for me and so wouldn’t, oh say, crush my skull with his jaws as I’d seen him do to others.
The thing about him having proof of our relationship on me, though, that was troubling. Especially with Larch announcing us as if we were a married couple. Not that I was hoping to date around or anything, but I really wondered what the undoubtedly complex rules were here about that sort of thing.
“Do you ever stop thinking?”
I sent Rogue a sunny smile. “Nope. Not so much. You’ll want a different girl for that.”
“You say that as if I have a choice in the matter.”
“That’s me—the old ball and chain.” Still, the remark stung and I felt stupidly hurt—a response I took care to bury very deep. After all, I wasn’t thrilled either about the metaphysical forces that tied us to each other. His life, and blue balls, would likely be far better off with one of those countless noble fae girls Starling mentioned.
Not that I was feeling sorry for myself or anything.
We climbed the rise toward Falcon’s tent-complex. His people always seemed to find a high point for him to lord over the camp. Not easy here in these lowlands by the ocean. The tent sides were all tied back to the poles, creating a kind of open-air pavilion feel. Falcon sat o
n what amounted to a throne, built up high so he could glower down from it, yellow eyes bright, even from a distance.
He was another with a face-pattern, though on the right side of his face, and nowhere nearly as complex as Rogue’s. I’d also never seen it seem to come alive and visibly grow as Rogue’s did. But he had once shapeshifted into a falcon in front of me. Involuntarily, to all appearances, but he didn’t seem as driven by his demons as Rogue did.
Or as I might be.
I shivered and Rogue glanced down at me, a warning in his eyes. Right. Dignified.
Larch led us up to the foot of Falcon’s chair and stepped aside. Falcon glared at Rogue from above his harshly hooked nose, thick fingernails digging into the wooden arms.
“Lord Rogue. How is it possible that you are lurking around my camp?”
Rogue released my arm but slid his hand around to the back of my bare neck. Falcon watched the movement and I saw him take in the flower earrings with an inaudible hiss. I really hoped they didn’t count as some kind of engagement ring.
“I came to claim my property.”
I tensed and his hand flexed on my neck. Oh boy, this was so not going to be fun.
“Oh?” Falcon raised his brows and sat back in the chair, acting as if he’d just now noticed my existence. “I was under the impression that the Lady Sorceress Gwynn was my pet for the time being.”
“That time has ended.”
“No.” Falcon propped an elbow on the throne and leaned his head in his hand, putting on a thoughtful face. “No, I’m quite sure I have six years left of her oh-so-valuable services. Why, we would never have won the Battle for the Shining Seas without her brilliant strategy the other day.”
He beamed at me, like the fake-affectionate uncle who molests you at night and knows you don’t dare tell. It turned my stomach and I lifted my lip in a sneer. Falcon knew perfectly well what I thought of him.
“Of course, her performance yesterday left something to be desired.” His fingers flexed and I knew he longed to use those thick yellow nails on me, just as he’d used his teeth before. “Which part of drowning did you not understand?
I twisted my fingers together to keep from fussing with the elaborate updo. “In the final analysis, my instructions were to sink the ships. You know it’s important to me to do exactly as I’m told.”
His lips curled in a silent snarl as he turned his attention back to Rogue. “Regardless. The agreement is ironclad and nonnegotiable. I won her years of service fairly.”
“Those years were a trade with the healer. They don’t truly belong to you.”
“On the contrary, I have performed considerable...services,” he leered at me, “for the sensitive Lady Healer in return. She likes her pain in precise and unusual ways. How is your tit, by the way, Sorceress? Do you still bear my teeth marks? I’d be pleased to renew them, if you beg nicely.”
Rogue glanced at a passing butterfly, lazily observing its bobbing, polka-dotted path. I expected him to yawn with boredom next. I smelled the seething beneath, though, and resigned myself to letting him fix those marks too, though I’d very nearly healed them on my own.
“I suppose then—” Rogue stroked the back of my neck, considering me, “—I could simply buy her from you.”
I clenched my jaw against the protest. Rogue saw it, his lips twitching in amusement. Now who was baiting whom?
“Oh?” Falcon studied his thick curved nails, nearly talons. “I can’t imagine what you could possibly offer that would interest me. No. I think I’ll keep my pet sorceress.” He held out a hand to me. “Come climb on papa’s lap like a good girl.”
I managed to not tell him to go fuck himself and held my tongue. No way I wanted to interfere in this battle between them.
“I’ll offer my services in her stead.”
Falcon’s eyes glittered with true lust now and I recalled how, in the so-called war-planning sessions, he’d complained about wanting Rogue’s abilities.
“You won’t be as decorative, hanging about the camp, but I suppose you could take her place. Why you’d risk this juicy lamb wandering about by herself, however, for just anyone to take a taste of, is beyond me.”
Rogue laughed, deliberately amused at the absurdity. “Don’t be a fool, Falcon. I will win your war for you and the Lady Gwynn and I shall go about our business.”
“General Falcon!” Falcon screeched it, his nails splintering the wood of the arms as he strained forward. “You will show me due respect in this place, Rogue. This war is my project and I shall choose how to end it. We have at least five spectacular battles planned and you shall not cheat me of them. You do not dictate to me or I shall feed your little slut to the sea monsters—after I’ve pillaged her every orifice and perhaps some extras I choose to make.”
“Have a care, Falcon.” Rogue’s voice was ice-quiet. “You risk your pledge to me. Perhaps I shall have to pay nothing, if you break your end.”
Falcon writhed in his seat, as if gripped by DTs. None of the fae were exactly sane by human terms, but this behavior seemed especially neurotic. Was it Rogue’s proximity? Now Falcon gripped his temples with clawed fingers, holding himself still.
“Then what?” He ground the words out.
Rogue smiled, ever calm and self-possessed. He stroked my neck and I relaxed a little, not realizing how tense I’d become.
“Five battles, you say? I could possibly assist with those. On an on-call basis.”
“I said at least five.” Falcon seemed calmer now, speculating. “I need to call a meeting of the generals, to determine our exact strategy.”
“Of course.” Rogue inclined his head.
As if this exchange had set off some sort of signal, a scurry of pages and Brownies dashed up the hill, rapidly setting up long tables draped with whimsical cloths. Their noble patrons followed behind at a more leisurely pace, though with no less fervent excitement. Falcon leaped off his throne with an excited click of his heels and went to play gracious host.
I frowned at their precipitous arrival, recalling Starling’s prediction for an extended formal lunch, and realized this meeting had been planned all along.
“If this was a foregone conclusion, why the elaborate dance with Falcon?” I muttered to Rogue.
He toyed with my flower earring, stirring the sweet scent and sending a shiver through my sensitive lobe, a sly smile drifting across his lips. “Because, darling Gwynn, the dance is the important part. How can you not know this yet?”
“I’d say that should be my next lesson, but I don’t believe you.” No, I suspected it had all been an elaborate charade, staged for my benefit. The gullible audience of one.
“What reason would I have to mislead you?”
I made an O of mock surprise. “Gosh, let me think!”
He tapped me on the nose. “Such a pretty mouth. You’ve been doing a lovely job of keeping it shut. See that you continue to do so.”
Taking my hand, he tugged me in the direction of the rapidly evolving feast. I dug in my high heels and resisted. When he turned to me this time, he wore a wary, questioning look. Good.
“I want to register a complaint.”
“Not now. We must appear to be one in our objectives.”
“I know, but I don’t like this.”
“You just don’t like that you’re not running the show.”
“Exactly how you would feel, were our positions reversed. But that isn’t all of it. I will not give you carte blanche to run my life, Rogue.”
“Have I asked for it?” Impatience shimmered through him. Oh, how he hated to be thwarted in the least little way.
“Every time I give you an inch, you take miles and miles.”
He cocked his head, not quite processing my metaphor.
“No—you have not asked for carte blanche. You simply assume it is yours.”
Rogue fiddled with his dagger. Probably wishing he’d just cut my throat in the very beginning of all this. “You endanger us both with this little tan
trum. What must I do so that I can trust that you’ll behave?”
I laughed. Then stepped in and walked my fingers up his chest, looking flirtatious, I hoped. For the benefit of our observers. “You can stop manipulating me. Don’t you understand that by now? You can never trust a person you’ve manipulated, because you never know if they’re sincere or just doing what you programmed them to do.”
I tapped him on the end of his elegant nose and walked away.
“Lord Puck!” I called out. The tall fae tossed his cascading curls and danced an impromptu jig at the sight of me, then took my hand and kissed it.
“Most Powerful Lady Sorceress Gwynn.” He exclaimed with apparent delight, as if he hadn’t seen me for months, then kissed my wrist. He kissed his way up my arm, pausing between each to praise my gown, my eyes, my hair. He wore a less searing shade than usual, nearly sedate in a peacock blue lounging outfit. With his mismatched eyes, one sparkling brown, the other glass green, he still clashed. A tall feather threaded through his locks, bobbing whimsically with each kiss.
Rogue’s hand fell on the back of my neck again. I’d have to point out to him that it didn’t necessarily allow him to operate my mouth as his puppet.
Puck paused at my elbow and grinned up my arm. “And the ever-terrifyingly enigmatic Lord Rogue. Such an unexpected pleasure to have you join our merry company.”
“Oh, he’s lurking about more than you’d think,” I assured him breezily and those long fingers flexed on my neck. I glanced over my shoulder at Rogue. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
His hand stroked down and caressed my shoulder. “Any opportunity to taste the pleasures of your bed, my Gwynn.”
Touché.
In their standard mass-mind decision-making, everyone moved then to the tables, strewn with flowers and sparkling confetti. Rogue sat us at Falcon’s right hand—far too close for comfort, in my opinion—but the apparent seat for the guest of honor.
The fae noble I thought of as Navy Man sat across from us. Not in his sailing ships uniform, he nevertheless declared himself a sailor, wearing an outfit reminiscent of Humphrey Bogart in a yachting flick from the golden era.
Rogue’s Possession Page 7
