by May Dawson
Arlen stared back at him. “Is that supposed to mean I approve of sixteen-foot-tall bears peeling back rooftops and gobbling up villagers? Or giant silver cats clawing open horses as if they’re goodie bags?”
For a second, Tiron had seemed genuinely upset, but now he was smiling so easily that I wondered if I’d just imagined it. “No, but you’d think maybe you could whisper to the things and win them over…”
Azrael added, “If only we could whisper to the beasts instead of killing them. Alisa and I would have stayed a bit cleaner dealing with that dust worm.”
“I know this will come as a surprise, but killing isn’t always the answer, Az,” Tiron said.
Arlen kept staring at Tiron, almost as if he recognized him, and I glanced at Tiron, wondering if he’d noticed too. But Tiron had already started to chat with Raura, and somehow he managed to make even the combative princess-who-didn’t-want-to-be dissolve into laughter.
“I’m glad one of you is charming,” I murmured to him when he turned to me later, and Az cocked an eyebrow as he said, “I heard that.”
When the dining hall began to empty out, I said, “I should pay my respects to Fenig. For her decision not to kill us and all.”
The Delphin and Fenig still sat at the table, which had almost emptied completely. A very young knight-in-training lay with her head in Fenig’s lap, her thumb popped into her mouth, already asleep after her meal.
“Don’t change her mind,” Duncan warned me.
Fenig looked at me in amusement as I approached the table, tilting her head curiously. I should’ve asked Azrael about the polite way to break into a conversation. I still wasn’t really sure how to do that Earthside either. I always flopped my way into the conversation like an awkward noodle.
“Good afternoon,” I said. “I had a question for the Delphin, if you don’t mind.”
“Make yourself comfortable.” Fenig patted the table, indicating that I should take a seat. “I have questions for you, summer princess.”
Well, that statement did nothing to calm my nerves. Funny that I’d face down any monster with a quip and a quick sword, but when it came to my past, my stomach knotted painfully.
As I slid into one of the smooth-worn benches, I wished I could just talk to the Delphin without an audience.
But I couldn’t, so I plunged ahead. I met the old woman’s eyes in a wrinkled face to ask, “Did we ever meet?”
“You want to know if I can see anything about your future,” she answered, folding her narrow, leathery hands on the table. Each bone and sinew seemed pronounced in her narrow hands.
“No,” I said, then tripped over my words as both females regarded me skeptically. “I mean, that would be great, but it’s my past that I’m curious about right now. I met another Delphin who hadn’t known me before, but she said if I found a Delphin who had, you might know my past as well the future.”
“Is there some particular memory you’re trying to unlock?” Fenig asked.
I didn’t want to answer. “I’ve been trying to understand who took my memories from me. How I get them back.”
“You know how to recover your memories. The other Delphin told you.” The Delphin stared at me curiously. “You have a different question. You want to prepare yourself.”
I stumbled over that. “Maybe? I want to know if I did something, something I don’t remember.”
“Why can’t that answer wait until you reach the cursed caves?”
I bit my lip. I didn’t want to speak the words out loud and make them real.
I’m afraid of what I may have done. And if I hurt Azrael, if I destroyed his kingdom, I needed to steel myself now to face that truth.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice gentle, as if she were taking pity on me.
“I need to know if I betrayed my friends.”
I glanced at them across the room. The three of them sat around the table deep in conversation, now that Raura and the others had left.
Tiron rested his chin in his hand, his elbow on the table, giving him that mischievous, boyish look he had sometimes despite being such a tough warrior. Duncan said something, and Azrael’s broad shoulders shook with laughter.
My throat closed up. I couldn’t have betrayed them; I wouldn’t.
“Why do you doubt yourself?” she asked gently.
“I don’t,” I said, my voice coming out fiercely. “I know who I am now. But if I hurt them before…”
“Then what?” she pressed. “What changes?”
I shook my head. It was ridiculous to even contemplate the idea that I’d betrayed Azrael. I couldn’t imagine myself turning over the key to my father. I never would have torn apart the autumn court; I never would have torn apart Azrael.
“You should be able to answer that question before you try to answer any others,” she warned me.
“Can you just tell me?” I asked.
She sighed. “I can show you what happened if you insist, but it won’t be the same as having your memories back. You won’t know what you were thinking. I can only see from the outside.”
“I’m a Hunter, I don’t think too much,” I promised.
She and Fenig exchanged a glance.
“What do you think?” she asked Fenig.
“I think the Princess deserves her memories back,” Fenig said, in a tone I couldn’t read. “If she’s so eager for this one, perhaps you should help her, since you can.”
“I met you when you were just a little girl,” the Delphin told me. “You and Faer were so cute then. Just the sweetest, most innocent little children.”
Fenig snorted, but said nothing.
“Could you see what would happen then?” I asked.
She smiled thinly. “I try to keep my mouth shut about the future. Knowing it has never made anyone happier.”
“That’s a bleak thought,” I said.
“It’s just our nature. We all like to live in anticipation of the future’s pleasures without thinking of their end,” she said. “But if you wish to grasp the future, you have to hold both.”
I was feeling steadily less enthused about this idea. I glanced back at Azrael, Duncan and Tiron, only to find them watching me with open curiosity. They immediately pretended to be deep in conversation.
I turned back to her, raising my chin. I deserved my memories—and so did they.
When she held out her hands, I pushed aside my hesitation and took her narrow fingers in mine eagerly.
“Close your eyes,” she said gently.
A few seconds later, she told me, “Now open them.”
I opened my eyes, but I was in an entirely different place. Faer’s apartment. The sun was breaking over the water; the curtains that framed the window hung still for once.
I jerked my hand out of hers, automatically reaching for my weapon as panic unfurled.
For a second, I thought she had somehow leapt me across the distance and brought me back to face my brother. Then I noted the little differences in the room; different sofas, bare surfaces without any flowers. I’d jumped back in time as well as place.
When she grabbed my hand again, I realized she was still there with me. She was much shorter than I was, barely reaching my shoulder, but her hand latched around mine as if it were made of steel.
“We’re ghosts in the past,” she hissed. “Don’t let go. I don’t want to lose you in time.”
A younger version of myself walked into the room. I was barely more than teenager, coltish and leggy, my lavender hair braided up in an elaborate style. I carried a book under one arm.
A man entered the room from the apartment behind, his face unlined but his hair silvery-white. He was tall and slender.
“Daughter,” he said, holding out his arms.
“You saw me just earlier at the dance.” I went to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Neither of us seemed enthusiastic about the contact.
“I believe you and I have a bargain to strike,” he said, gesturing to the couch.
&n
bsp; I sat on the sofa across from him, running my fingertips absently across the edges of the book. I stroked it almost as if it were my pet.
I frowned, trying to read the title, but I couldn’t see it from this angle. I started to move forward, and the Delphin grabbed my wrist, holding me still.
“Well?” he said. “Did you see your autumn prince?”
His tone was barbed.
“I don’t think it was him, Father.”
“You don’t think Azrael would betray you?” He laughed a little, cruelly. “I’m sure he enjoys laughing at your naivety when you leave his bed and slink back through the portal like a little whore.”
The girl I’d been stared at him with an impassive face. “It’s strange to think that I used to believe you loved me.”
“I did,” he said, “and I still do. I just think you’ve embarrassed yourself and our court by spreading your legs for the same prince who has ruined your brother.”
I leaned forward, trying to understand. What was Herrick accusing Azrael of having done to Faer?
“And you’ll stop at nothing to salve your ego.” My voice was light and mocking. “You’d even turn me to stone, wouldn’t you, Father?”
“Don’t be dramatic.” He glanced at the book in my hands. “Do you still keep a diary, like a little girl?”
“It used to be part of the responsibility of every royal to keep a record of their lives,” I said, running my hand over the cover again, as if it were a pet.
He snorted. “Make sure you keep that out of your prince’s hands. Just one more way he could use you.”
I smiled mysteriously but didn’t bother to answer.
He held out his hand. “The key, daughter. Then I’ll help you with the spell to save Faer, since you’ve failed over and over on your own to wrest it from Azrael.”
“You won’t let your son suffer to spite me.”
“No?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You seem to be the one suffering. Your beloved twin despises you now.”
He rose and moved to the same carved sideboard that still stood in Faer’s apartment, uncorking a bottle and pouring wine. He turned around with a glass of dark wine in either hand and crossed to me with his silent, graceful stride.
“No thank you,” I said drily. “I’ve had my fill of your wine for a lifetime, Father.”
He shrugged, a shameless smile crossing his lips. “I’m sorry for your pain. But when our wills cross, Alisa, I’ll always win.”
“I don’t think any of that was true,” I disagreed.
“It’s an interesting scenario,” he mused, sipping the wine. I rolled my eyes, but waited for him to go on. “Azrael enchanted Faer to despise you, and as soon as you tasted a little loneliness, you darted into his arms. I never thought you were so weak and girlish at your core.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t him. Perhaps it was you.”
“Our spies all say the same thing, Alisa.”
“And our spies answer to you.”
He clucked his tongue. “The key, and I’ll help.”
“You should help because your son is a miserable prick now.”
“I don’t mind it.”
“Mm, I’m not surprised by that. He’s only become more like you.”
My father touched his chest, making a face as if he were aghast at the insult.
“Show me the spell can work first.” My voice was cool. “It’s failed twice. There’s no point if it doesn’t save him.”
“Alisa. Be reasonable.” His voice had taken on the same commanding tone that irritated me so much when Azrael or Duncan tried to use it with me, and I gritted my teeth—both my past self, and the present. “My patience is not… unending.”
“You should be reasonable, Father,” I said. “I think I’m the one with the power here.”
His lips parted in a crude approximation of a smile. “Are you? Sooner or later, I’ll find the key.”
I sat forward. “Sooner or later, the truth will come out about your…state.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Family doesn’t threaten.” I patted his knee, smiling at him with pure innocence. “Family promises.”
“Here’s a promise for you, Alisa.” He sat forward, catching my neck with the back of his hand. My face went taut around my eyes, but my smile never faltered, even as he dragged my face toward his.
He whispered into my ear. My chin lifted, my face never changing.
“I can’t hear,” I told the Delphin, her fingers still tight on my wrist. “What did he say? What’s the point of this if I can’t hear him?”
He sat back, watching me.
“Well?” he demanded. “Tick-tock, Alisa. Bring me that key, my love.”
“What are you going to do to the autumn court?” I asked.
“Put your lover in chains if he won’t see reason,” he said. “But I think Azrael will. He’s always practical, and all I want is free passage through the autumn lands and more knights to fight the rift. Two very reasonable accommodations.”
“Why don’t you just seize him when he’s here? He comes to our parties.” My voice was glib. “You don’t need to go through all this trouble.”
“Ah, but I do,” he said. “Because you slip out of our castle into autumn lands where I’m not wanted, and you fuck the autumn prince. And if I don’t stop you, you’ll be High Queen, won’t you?”
“That’s not why I fuck him.” My voice came out flat, although I had a feeling for the old Alisa, that ugly expression so coldly delivered spoke of deep love and devotion for Azrael.
“No,” he said, “but I bet you think it’s a perk.”
He flashed a cold smile my way. “Of course, when you pretend to be my obedient and less-whore-like daughter, you’ll still get your chance to rule.”
“Your language is atrocious,” I said. “And you prefer Faer.”
“I do,” he agreed. “And yet, you still love him so much, don’t you?”
He stared at my past self with something like triumph in his dark eyes. I wondered why he’d thought Faer was such a weakness of mine.
“It’s too bad you never loved either of us like we loved each other,” I said. “Our family could have been worthy to rule.”
“Worthy.” He scoffed. He held his palm out to me. “Give me the key, Alisa. I promise. I will not harm Azrael. Nor your other little pet, Duncan.”
“Not their men, either. You can do this bloodlessly—I know you can—”
“I can,” he admitted, then sat back with a bit of a laugh.
Reluctance was written across my face, but I reached to my earlobe and unhooked one of my little shimmering crystal earrings.
“This close, all that time, really?” he asked. He studied the crystal in his palm as it reshaped itself into a key. He stood from the couch. “You should stay here, daughter.”
“What are you talking about?” I leapt to my feet, as if I were about to try to wrestle the key back from him. “Now? But you promised me—you could send just a few Fae in, to bring the prince back to the dungeon—”
“I promised you Azrael and Duncan, Alisa. That’s all. The rest of the autumn court can burn.”
I pressed my hand to my lips as the two of them disappeared into the hall. Herrick was about to head into the autumn court’s castle. I wrenched away from her, desperate to go after them, desperate to help. She grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
I’d betrayed Azrael. The reality of it hit me like a fist across the face. The world went black around the edges. I glimpsed the worried faces of Fenig and the Delphin as I swayed. I grabbed the edge of the table, but darkness washed over me and I felt myself fall.
The next thing I knew, I was being carried, held against a hard, masculine body. “You’re all right,” Duncan murmured in my ear, his voice warm and caring. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
I struggled in his arms, catching glimpses as we walked of the stone walls.
“The autumn court,” I babbled. “My father was going through—”
I broke off, fully realizing where I was. Duncan’s jaw was set, but he carried me through the stone archway, down the narrow hall of cells. He turned to pass through the doorway into my own room, making sure my head didn’t bump the wall.
He set me down on the bed carefully, then pulled away without hesitating. I scrambled up onto my elbows, but his face was closed-off, his eyes dark.
“You knew what he was going to do,” he said flatly. “The Delphin showed you.”
Tension crackled between us.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You gave him the key,” he said. “You knew.”
Those two words fell like stones on my chest. He backed up all the way to the doorway, his gaze never leaving mine, as if he didn’t dare turn his back on me. As if he didn’t trust me.
“Duncan.” I didn’t know what to say. I needed time and space to process what I’d just seen. Then maybe I could’ve found a way to explain it, a way to begin to fix it. As if there was any way to fix it—those members of the autumn court could never be resurrected from the dead.
That Duncan was his answer. It was all the answer he needed. Something snapped closed in his face. The distance between us when we first met was back again, only this time, it hurt to have Duncan look at me like an enemy.
The guys had told me I’d betrayed them. And yet maybe even Duncan had wished the truth was something else, because he seemed furious all over again.
“I let down my guard,” he said flatly. “I wanted to believe you were something different—someone different—than I know you to be.”
He turned for the door, but Azrael blocked his way. Azrael demanded, “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She just remembered giving her father the key.” Duncan spat back. He shoved past Azrael, as if his anger flared into violence just for a second, then he was gone.
Azrael was left standing there, his face blank. He nodded slowly.
“Azrael,” I murmured.
He didn’t look at me as if he hated me, like Duncan had. As shame and guilt crashed over me, he raked his hand through his hair, then looked at me with sympathy written across his face.
If I’d thought it was bad to have Duncan rage at me, that was nothing compared to Azrael’s pity. He shrugged, as if he’d known never to cling too tightly to any hope.
