“Summer,” I whisper.
Even though every fiber of me wants to turn around and find my way back to Tír na nÓg, I take a heavy step forward. Toward Oberon’s realm. Toward Kingston.
Toward the beginning of the end.
Episode Five
Chapter Fifteen: Bad Romance
The farther I walk into Oberon’s realm, the stronger the memory of entering here with Kingston grows. It feels like my head and my heart have been thrown in a blender set to “Majorly Fuck Up.” Every step, I’m flashing back to the illusions Meadowsweet showed me, the memories of potential futures. A life of luxury and limelight with Kingston, or a quiet, cozy life with Austin. It doesn’t help that I still can’t sort my feelings for either of them, and it’s not looking like I’m going to have any time to try. The finish line is beckoning, and I don’t know or care if that line is death or victory. Either way, the end is almost here. Soon, I can stop fighting. I just want to stop fighting.
Zal gives a twinge on my arm, and I glance down.
“What do you want?” I ask.
The tattoo doesn’t answer, of course. It doesn’t even really speak in my mind, not like Kingston did. But I get a sensation, an impression of an idea. And somehow, I know it wants me to let it out. It wants to show me how to get to Kingston.
“Okay,” I say. “But you better not abandon me out here.”
Zal shakes its head, then begins to uncoil from my wrist, the faded ink peeling off into a slightly less-faded golden apparition. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but his light seems duller than before, the sparks he drops heavier. Even Zal is tired, fading, and that doesn’t exactly bode well for finding Kingston.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Lead on.”
Zal takes off, undulating his way across the field and shedding sparks like golden streamers as he goes. Even with the shifting aurora overhead, we’re a dead giveaway in this empty landscape. It’s not exactly like I expected us to be able to sneak in—I’m pretty certain the only entrance to Oberon’s kingdom is through the giant gates I was led through a few weeks back. If Oberon’s anything like Mab—and I know he is—there’s no way I’d be able to go unannounced in his realm, glamoured or not. But I still cringe at Zal’s light; I’d like to have some ace up my sleeve, and the element of surprise is the only one I can think of. What we’re doing is suicidal enough that Oberon wouldn’t expect it.
As we walk closer and closer toward the dilapidated city outskirts, I can’t help but feel we’re the only living things out here. The fields are empty, the hovels and broken houses completely abandoned. Dark windows stare like bruised eyes, the crumbled facades pockmarked and hellish in Zal’s golden light. I keep waiting for something to crawl from the shadows, some emaciated faerie craving my life force or dreams. For once, my imagination is worse than the reality; nothing stirs in the dead night air. It’s almost a pleasant evening, really, and under any other circumstances the aurora overhead and the castle in the distance would be a beautiful sight.
The downtime gives my brain a chance to catch up to itself, my emotions cartwheeling as flashes of alternate lives reel through my mind. There’s nothing to distract me from the memories, nothing to keep me from wondering what I actually will choose in the end. Or whom. If I make it out of this alive, will I be able to leave the show for a life with Austin? Or will I want to stay, to live forever under the limelight with Kingston at my side? Mab said my contract would be up, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t renegotiate if I wanted to stay. No matter what, Austin is getting out to live his life—he’ll be free of Mab’s clutches. I can’t tell if I’m trying to convince myself that will be enough to make him happy or if I’m just trying to rationalize hurting him by choosing Kingston.
“She’d piss herself,” I mutter. Zal looks at me; if he had eyebrows, I’m sure one would be raised. Maybe it’s the desperation of my situation, but a chuckle escapes my lips. “Could you imagine that meeting? Hey Mab, I know I tried to kill you and throw a coup on your show, but I actually think I want to stay on for a few more centuries. Getting old and having a baby sounds boring.”
My heart twists at that unrealized thought. I had a baby. A daughter.
Having a kid was never something I put much thought into—before the show, I had Claire, and keeping her safe was more than enough of a project. And after…well, after I joined, the thought of anything even remotely domestic was a pipe dream. Sure, Kingston had mentioned a family after we got out, but that would be a long time coming. If at all.
I look at Zal.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Would Kingston be a good father?”
Zal shakes his head like I’m going insane. Which really isn’t too far off. I wonder if any of this is getting back to Kingston. I wonder if it matters. At this point, everything seems like it’s tilting over the edge of delusion anyway.
“I dunno,” I continue, kicking a stone into a pile of rubble. “I think it’d be kind of cool to raise a kid with a witch as his dad. He’d never get bored, that’s for sure.”
And maybe it’s exhaustion or my powers or some lingering trace of Tír na nÓg’s magic, but I’m struck with an image of a little boy, maybe four or five, wearing a tiny leather coat and black jeans, his blond hair slicked back as he rides on top of Kingston’s shoulders.
“We’d have a boy,” I say, the words ringing with prophecy. “We’d probably call him Dante. Do you think he’d be a witch, too?”
Zal doesn’t answer, of course. Neither does Kingston.
“No matter what, I could have a kid. Not that I even want a kid. I’m just saying. A normal life or an enchanted one. What would you choose?” Zal looks back at me, but only for an instant, and I have the feeling he’s trying to tell me to shut up.
“What? It’s not like there’s anything out here. This place is a ghost town.” Another glance back at me. “Fine. Fine. I’ll shut up.” It’s not like this is even a conversation. I’m just trying to keep myself from going insane. Or running back. I have no doubt that Tír na nÓg would be there for me the moment I reached the Wildness.
We stop a few hundred feet from the wall, hiding in the shadows of a broken barn.
“Any chance you can, I don’t know, dim yourself or something?” I mutter to Zal. I don’t expect him to actually do anything, but the serpent’s light dulls to a low shine, barely the glow from a cell phone. I mutter a quick thanks.
There’s no way I’m going any closer to the castle, not with Zal lighting the way. There’s no telling where the demons are. Hell, the fact that they haven’t spotted us and tried to incinerate us yet has my skin flush with goose bumps. It feels like walking into a trap.
And when I reach into my pocket to pull out the vials of chimera blood, the dread doesn’t get any better.
There’s only one vial, and it’s the one I’m not supposed to open: dried blood, for Kingston’s lips only.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter. I look at Zal, like maybe he’ll give me some advice, but the serpent just undulates unawares in and out of a broken window. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
If I use the powdered glamour, I won’t have enough to get Kingston and me out of the castle. If I don’t use it…what? Am I just going to walk up to the gate and hope Oberon will open it? Even if he does, there’s no way in hell he’d let me see Kingston’s body, let alone allow me to get close enough to throw powdered blood on him. Not that that would help me get out at all. I need more blood.
More blood.
I glance at the vial in my hand. Last time I was in Oberon’s dungeon, Kingston was held in a cell next to the chimera itself. Not that I know how to get down there, but if Kingston’s body is still held in the cellar…
“Zal,” I say. “Can you show me where Kingston is?” If Kingston is in the dungeon, Zal can lead me straight to him. I can use this glamour to get through the castle and somehow grab more blood from the chimera before it kills me or spits acid in my face or whatever the hell chimeras do in this
world.
In answer, the familiar wends its way over to me and nuzzles around my neck like a feather boa. The moment his body alights against my skin, my eyes flutter back and my sight curls at the edges.
Wall and sunlight; light slashed on amber curtains; laughter, laughter; butterflies on topiary outside the window; grass carpet; brown stone; amber curtains; dancing butterflies, dancing light; a statue walks by, holding a tray of glittering champagne flutes and grapes. A statue with horns and fawn-like feet; he looks at me.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when Zal floats away. He undulates in the air before me, staring at me with expectant eyes.
“Helpful,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Very helpful.”
Sarcasm, yeah, but there’s a hint of truth. I’m pretty certain whatever that was is what Kingston was seeing. He’s indoors, somewhere by a window overlooking the gardens. I look up to the star-filled sky. No way to tell if the scene was past or future or present tense, especially since Oberon probably has the entire palace glamoured to look sunny and pretty 24/7. But it does mean he isn’t in the dungeons, which sucks.
Basically, I have no idea where Kingston is or how I’m going to get him out. Perfect.
“What do you think?” I ask Zal, not actually expecting a response. “Do we just walk up and say hello?”
The apparition goes still, his scales practically bristling. I’m about to say, “I’ll take that as a no,” when I look up, past the houses, toward the castle. Toward the light that’s suddenly glowing like a burning beacon a hundred feet above the walls.
That’s when I smell the brimstone.
“Shit!” I curse. “Zal, quick!” I hold out my arm and he snaps toward me, burrowing back under my skin in a second flat, the pain either numbed by panic or familiarity.
But it’s too late. I know by the tingle of static in my palms and the brimstone in my nostrils that I’ve been spotted. Of course we stuck out. Of course the demons were watching. Whichever demon this is hurtles toward me like a comet.
So much for a smooth in and out.
So much for having a plan.
I unstopper the vial and choke down the congealed blood, praying it will turn me into something small and nimble. Images of tiny birds flash before my eyes as I feel the vile concoction worm and fizz in my throat, static soaring through my limbs. Something small, something fast, something hidden. I have only a second to wonder if it worked before the static lances me with pain and I crumple to the ground, twitching and screaming as the chimera blood turns me into something else.
When I feel hands burning into my skin, I know it wasn’t fast enough.
* * *
I wake up pinned to a wall.
One glance to the side tells me I’m still human: my arms are definitely humanoid and wrapped in fibrous vines, my skin raw and welting under their snare. Did the chimera blood not work, or have I been passed out for longer than I thought?
I look to my other side and nearly scream.
Kingston is propped up on a Roman pedestal like a puppet. He’s standing and wearing the same jeans and T-shirt he was the last time I saw him, though there’s no blood staining the white fabric or dark denim. His glazed brown eyes stare at the wall, his neck still slit but now clean, no longer bleeding, the gash barely visible. Despite the fact that he’s dressed like the living, there’s zero expression in his face—his features are limp, sagging, like a wax sculpture left in the heat just a little too long.
Even after all this time, even after knowing this is what I was getting myself into, the sight of him like this still makes me gag.
“Kingston,” I whisper. Of course he doesn’t look at me. Of course he just stands there like a martyred statue. But a part of me had hoped. Maybe, just maybe, he was still in there, still able to heal himself and get us out of here alive.
“Good morning,” Oberon says, his voice a deep rumble that somehow manages to set my frayed nerves at ease, despite my hatred and fear of him. Damn him and that power. “I was worried we were going to lose you. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that chimera blood has an expiration date?”
I have nothing to say to him, no witty comments, no sarcastic comebacks. So I just stare as he walks closer, his brown robes sweeping against the grass carpet. The hall I’m locked in is the exact same one that Zal showed me. Oberon stands beside the window overlooking a garden filled with hedges; within, statues dance and play instruments and serve wine to a myriad of faeries enjoying the magical sunlight.
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask. Laughter rings out in the garden; I don’t know if it’s from the statuary entertainment or someone overhearing my question. I’m not comforted either way.
Oberon’s face drops.
“I do wish we would stop meeting like this,” he says. He drops into a crouch in front of me, his robes shifting into a smart brown business suit the moment he does. The change makes me think that, despite the emotion in his voice, this is all business. Isn’t everything, to the Fey? Dark circles ring his eyes, and a spiderweb of lines spreads from the corners of them. Everyone else in his kingdom seems to be enjoying the day, but he looks about as worn as I feel. Apparently, for him, business isn’t going so well. “We don’t need to be enemies.”
“This, coming from the man who has me chained up.”
He shakes his head. “That was only to keep others from stealing you away,” he says. “You’re quite a commodity, you know.” Then he waves his hand, and the vines shrink back into the wall with the rustle of foliage.
My first instinct is to run. But I don’t. I have nowhere to go, and besides, I’m where I’m supposed to be. Kingston is only five feet from me, though there’s no way I’m going to get him out of here. Not like this.
“Why are you here?” Oberon asks. There’s so much pain in his voice I can almost believe he’s not acting. Almost.
I bite my lip. If I tell him about Kingston, there’s no chance I’ll get the body out of here. Hell, Oberon would probably burn Kingston’s corpse just to spite Mab and keep me here. So I try to think of a fitting lie. One that won’t get me killed or Kingston incinerated.
“You told me to come to you,” I say.
“And you refused.”
“Until you tried to burn down my show.”
Despite his earlier sadness, a small grin twitches the edge of his lips, a hint of trickster mirth or insanity slipping through the facade.
“I did warn you,” he says. “I like to deliver on my oaths. Unlike some people.”
I shake my head. The stories never really touched on how passive-aggressive faeries actually are.
“Still,” he continues, “that doesn’t answer why you came.” He peers down to my wrist. “And with such unusual company.”
Shit. Zal is perfectly visible on my arm, smudged and dark.
I shrug and try not to sound like he has me cornered. “Zal didn’t want to die with its master, so it came to me. I’m the new host.” I look back at Oberon, try to meet his eyes. “But you’re right. I didn’t just come back for the fun of it. I’m here to make a deal.”
“A deal? My dear, you have absolutely nothing to bargain with.”
“I do,” I say. My brain is racing a hundred miles an hour—I’ve never been good at thinking on my feet, but a few weeks impersonating Mab has me thinking I can. Vivienne, what are you doing? I’m not sure if the question is my own or Kingston’s. “Me.”
Oberon chuckles. “I’m listening.”
“Spare the show,” I say. “Let Mab keep the circus, and let my friends keep their lives. That’s all I want.”
“A tall order,” he says. “Seeing as Mab still has control over most of the Dream.”
“Only because she has me,” I say. “You said it yourself. So long as she has Kassia and me to control the demon, she can’t be toppled.”
“Are you saying you’d join me?”
“No,” I say. I take a deep breath. My eyes flicker to Kingston. I�
��m sorry. “But I’ll leave the show.”
Oberon stands. “Not good enough, I’m afraid. You’d just be a vigilante, then. There’s no telling where your loyalties would lie, and you’ve already proven you will always choose her over me.”
“Don’t you see?” I say. “If I leave the show, I’ll be mortal. And if I’m mortal, I’ll die.”
His eyebrows furrow. For all his talk of death and destruction, it’s clear he’s not keen on the idea of losing me.
Vivienne, seriously, what are you doing?
I don’t know if this will work out or not—I’m not a faerie, my vows mean nothing. But in a past life, I wasn’t exactly human, and apparently some part of my soul has been and always will be connected to this place.
Forever.
And Oberon wants that back more than anything else.
“If I die,” I say slowly, “I’ll come back again as the Oracle. Until the end of time. That’s always been the issue, hasn’t it? Who gets me when I come back? So I’ll take the risk out of it.”
Oberon lets out a small gasp.
“You mean—”
“Yeah,” I say. “You let my friends live, and I swear my next incarnation to you. I’ll be yours again. And all of Summer will return to its former glory.”
Oberon is speechless.
His mouth opens and closes a few times, a gaping fish struggling for air. I can’t tell if he’s overjoyed or upset, but when he drops to his knees in front of me, I’m pretty certain it’s the former. He reaches out and puts his hands on my knees. I try not to flinch. I meet his gaze dead-on, though my expression is definitely more stoic than his.
“Vivienne,” he finally manages. “You mean it? You would swear yourself to me?”
I shrug. “If it keeps my friends safe, sure. Whatever. It’s not like I’ll remember making this choice the next time around anyway.”
The Immortal Circus: Final Act (Cirque des Immortels) Page 16
