Veil of Shadows

by Lindsay

  “But you loved your Human,” she protested. “You loved her, and that made you happy.”

  “Yes. For a time.” He took her hands in his. “Our lives are too long to be lived alone, Cerridwen.”

  It was the time to tell him. To say the words. But once she said them, they could not be taken back. So, she said nothing.

  “Guild Master!” A voice from outside interrupted them.

  “Guild Master?” Cedric climbed to his feet. Halfway to the tent flap, he stopped and turned back. “Cerridwen, I—”

  “Go.” She stood to follow him. “This is more important.”

  More important, and less frightening.

  Perhaps it was a sign from the Gods, wherever they might have gone, that this unnatural attraction he felt toward Cerridwen was not to be acted upon, Cedric though as he exited the tent. It seemed so many forces conspired against him on that subject—the serving girl, his past, this current interruption—that it could not possibly be meant to be.

  Outside, six Faeries stood, held off by the guards, at the end of the path leading into the clearing. Cedric recognized one of them on sight. The others were more difficult to place.

  “Stand down,” he told the guards as he got closer. “What do they want?”

  “They are from the Underground,” one of the guards said, sneering. “Came over on the ship, or so they say.”

  “They did.” Cedric folded his arms across his chest. “But it is their purpose here now that concerns me. Tell me, what would bring the group of you to my door?”

  One of them, tall, willowy, with long brown hair, pushed back the braid that fell from her temple to display the Guild Mark on her neck. “We are Assassins. All of us. We come to declare our loyalty to our Guild Master.”

  “Your loyalty?” Cedric turned his head and saw Cerridwen standing at the top of the steps.

  “Did you hear that?”

  She nodded and kept a coolly composed expression on her face. She was so skilled at this. It had come as a pleasant surprise. He"d feared, from the way she had behaved on the ship, that she would be as wildly impulsive as her mother. Growing up in the Palace had proven much better training than he had expected.

  He turned back to the Assassins who waited there. “We do not need loyalty that only proves true when convenient. Best you go and find another occupation, for I will not employ you, and I do not believe Her Majesty, the Queene, will, either.”

  The leader stood straighter, her expression sharper, though no offense showed there. “Perhaps we could speak to Her Majesty herself, and pledge our loyalty there. Explain ourselves, and why we betrayed Queene Ayla.”

  “You admit you betrayed her?” Cerridwen came down the steps, her features carefully composed, still. “You admit that, by leaving, you turned your back on the Lightworld, and the entire Faery Quarter?”

  “It certainly can be perceived that way,” the Faery answered with a bow. The other five bobbed their heads respectfully, as well.

  “It is not a matter of perception. It is a matter of fact.” Cerridwen turned her back to them and started up the steps, as though she would go inside.

  “We were lied to, by Flidais,” the Faery called, and Cerridwen halted.

  Cedric saw her spine go rigid, her hands form to fists. The sound of her blade, slicing through the traitor"s throat, filled his head anew.

  She faced them again, and remained silent for a long time. “Perhaps I have misspoken.

  Perhaps it is a matter of perception, after all.”

  They seated themselves on the ring of stumps around the fire. The cooking pot had been put into service for the preparation of the night"s feast, and small flames crawled along the embers, white with ash in the twilight.

  The Faeries had, in turn, introduced themselves. The only female, the one who had spoken for the group, was Fionnait. She had brought with her Colm, Scathach, Prickle—a Pixie who Cedric had reprimanded numerous times in his tenure as Guild Master—Bardan and Hawthorn. They each bore the Guild Mark and seemed content to let Fionnait speak for them.

  “Best state your purpose, rather than waste our time, if that is what all of your talk turns out to be,” Cedric told them gruffly after they had finished their hasty introductions.

  Cerridwen placed a gentle hand on his arm, as if to restrain him. For a moment, he was affronted, before he had the sense to remember that she was, indeed, the Queene, no matter what their personal dynamic might be.

  “You may speak,” Cerridwen said in her best impression of a Queene. Which was, Cedric realized with a shock, fast becoming her role, not an act.

  “Thank you.” Fionnait"s cool blue gaze slid from Cedric to her Queene. “When the trouble started, when that miserable Bauchan came to the Underground, the Guild was, each and every Fae individually, fully set on staying and fighting whatever threat might arise from his warnings. But then, Flidais came to us.”

  “She came to the Guild?” Cedric shook his head. “I would have known if she had.”

  “She did not approach the Guild, but Assassins, individually,” Fionnait corrected herself.

  “There might have been more than just us, we are not certain,” Prickle mumbled, unusually subdued for a member of his race.

  Fionnait nodded in agreement. “She came to each one of us with a letter, seemingly by the Queene"s own hand, with the Queene"s seal—”

  “My mother could not read, nor write,” Cerridwen interrupted. “The letter could not have been from her.”

  Cedric leaned closer to her to say quietly, “Your mother"s illiteracy was not widely known, not even in the Palace.”

  Fionnait sat forward, elbows braced on her knees, and spread her hands apart. She brought them back together, entwining her fingers. “Because it was from a trusted member of the Royal Council, we had no reason to doubt the origin of our letters.”

  “And what did they say?” A single glance at Cerridwen"s face showed Cedric the impatience and anger inside her; he wondered if they could see it, as well.

  “The letters told us all the same thing. That we had been chosen for an assignment of grave urgency. We were to accompany Flidais and Ambassador Bauchan, as their protection, on their journey to the Upworld settlement. We were to tell no one, not even our mentors, of our purpose, as there might be traitors in our ranks who would prevent us from leaving.”

  This was the moment that Cedric expected Cerridwen to explode with old rage at Flidais. She did not. “Why, then, did you not protect Bauchan when I killed him?”

  It was an intimidating question, but Fionnait did not backpedal. “By the time it became clear that Flidais was not coming, and Queene Ayla had been slain, I sought out the other Assassins who had fled the Underground. Of them, only these five admitted, after much pressing, to being on the same assignment.”

  “So, the ones who sit before us are the ones who disobeyed orders they believed came from their Queene?” Cedric did not know how to think of this, but he would not pass further judgment until the whole of the tale was told.

  Fionnait nodded. “Take from that what you will. If we had not, we would not have realized that we had been tricked. We approached Bauchan, but he would give us only vague answers.

  And then later we overheard him talking about the Waterhorses.”

  “What did he say?” Cerridwen leaned forward, as if her nearness could force Fionnait to produce an answer she wished to hear.

  “That Danae had done well to send them, that they had destroyed many, in her words, lesser Faeries. That her manipulation of the Underground Elves was masterful.” The Faery cast her gaze down, for the first time since the conversation had started. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but your mother was murdered by this Queene.”

  Eleven

  “I will kill her!” Rage burned, hot and uncontrollable, through Cerridwen. She screamed the death sentence to the sky, not caring if Danae herself heard. “I will tear her flesh from her bones!”

  Cedric stood, but said nothing. He was powe
rless, before these Faeries, to do as he wished, to tell her that she would not, could not, kill Danae. Not without demonstrable proof of her treachery, not unless they were to spark a war within their barely coherent Court. She felt how much he wanted to, felt it fairly vibrating off him.

  Instead of berating Cerridwen for her impetuousness, Cedric questioned Fionnait further.

  “Why, then, did you not come to the Queene?”

  “Fear.” Fionnait shrugged her elegant shoulders. “We had no idea what manner of ruler the Royal Heir would be. We feared that her grief might lead her to act…irrationally.”

  “Fear is not acceptable in an Assassin,” Cedric scolded.

  Cerridwen"s jaw dropped. They had just learned that Danae, twisted snake that she was, had sent those monsters into the Underground. That she had planned…

  But how could Cedric stand there and deliver a lesson to these Assassins, when they should be marching this very instant to kill this Bitch Queene?

  If he would not initiate it, she would. “Guard! Give me your weapon!”

  Without hesitation, one of the guards stepped forward and handed over his sword. She hefted it in one hand, flipped the handle around in her hand a couple of times, as though she had wielded this blade before.

  “What does Your Majesty need with a sword?” the one called Prickle asked, his wide, gold Pixie eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  Fionnait elbowed him. “Do not question Her Majesty. Have you forgotten your geis?”

  “I haven"t forgotten that I don"t like getting stabbed,” he said, scratching his behind.

  “You hold your tongue in the presence of the Queene,” Cedric said sharply. Then, to Cerridwen, he said softly, “What do you plan to do? Kill Danae now, in full view of a Court that you do not have control over?”

  “Yes.” It should have been obvious, she had thought. She snapped her fingers, and the guard brought forward the sword"s sheath. She wound the leather strap of it around her waist and tried, ungracefully, to slide the weapon into its home.

  The Assassins stood, almost in unison, each of them pulling out a weapon of their own. “We are with you, Your Majesty,” Fionnait said, her eyes flashing. In them, Cerridwen recognized the desire for justice, and she admired it.

  “No one will go anywhere,” Cedric bellowed, dropping his obedient mate act. “My Queene, you are not thinking this through. If you kill Danae, you gain the throne through a military coup. You will not win the hearts of the Fae here.”

  “The only Fae heart I care for here is Danae"s!” Cerridwen shrieked. She had lost control; it felt good. “And I will see that it beats no more—this night!”

  He stepped to her side and angled his body so that the Assassins could not see his face. He spoke so low that they would not hear. “You will not do this. I will stop you.”

  “You will try,” she scoffed, but the resolve that hardened his face cast doubt over her heart.

  She struggled to turn her anger onto him, but she could not.

  The weight of this would crush her, she was certain. “I cannot go to this feast tonight and look into her eyes, knowing this,” she whispered. “I cannot.”

  “You can. You are…” Frustration lined his brow. “I can do nothing for you at this moment.

  Dismiss your Assassins.”

  Everything within her demanded she fly apart, but somehow, she did not. Eventually, these reserves of strength, ones she did not know she had, would run dry. “Thank you.

  Your…services will not be necessary.” She cleared her throat. “You will not only serve as the founding members of the new Assassins" Guild, but you will be my eyes and ears in those places where I cannot observe. That is your assignment tonight. Keep watch at the celebration. Protect me by uncovering any plots evidenced there.”

  “We are not trained as spies, Your Majesty,” Hawthorn protested.

  Fionnait did not elbow him, but cast him an angry glare. “Come, let us do as the Queene commands.”

  They sheathed their weapons and bowed, then left the clearing without showing their backs to her. Cerridwen stood beside the fire, which now illuminated the night that had crept up without warning, and felt the last of her strength leave her. She slipped the scabbard from her waist, feeling like a child doffing a silly costume.

  Cedric stood by silently, watching. She could feel his watching. Now, after all that had transpired between them, he would become patronizing, try to lecture her as though she were one of his Assassins. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. The little bit of pain gave her a little bit of fight. “Tell me now what I have done wrong, so that I can go to bed and have done with it!”

  It took him a long time to speak, but she did not flatter herself that he was shocked. “You did nothing wrong. You reacted as I wish I could have.”

  This, she did not believe. She rolled her eyes up to meet his gaze, then looked away with a noise of disgust. “You do not react to anything. You barely have emotions. You are, as my mother would say, truly a full-blooded Faery.”

  Another long silence. Perhaps she had hurt him. Good.

  When he spoke, it was not to defend himself. “You said before that you could not go tonight and face Danae. But I know that you can. If you do not, the Fae here will see it as a slight.

  You do not care about them, I know that. But you will care, in the years to come, when it is said that you did not embrace your role as Queene, when your enemies use that against you.

  “Do you believe that Danae truly wants you there, tonight? She wants to appear supportive of you, and eager for you to be restored to the throne. She wishes to show us the face of someone who wants only that which is beneficial to the Fae. We know now that she has lied.

  What kind of a Faery would send such foul creatures after her own, rightful Queene? What kind would even think to consort with the Waterhorses?”

  “The same kind as would pretend to be a Queene, when she is nothing more than the half-breed daughter of a half-breed Faery,” she said miserably.

  “Then think on this—every moment that you are in her presence, Danae will feel you planning her death. She will not know what causes you to smile so sweetly at her. It will unsettle her, but she will not be able to find the reason for the sinister chill she feels when you are near.” From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand clench to a fist, then flex open again.

  “If you kill her now, her death will be quick, before she has time to fear it. If you wait, she will know nothing but fear, for the rest of her days.”

  It was a pretty thought, but useless. “She has an Empath. You were there today! You saw Mothú spying! Danae will know, and she will destroy me.”

  “She will not.” Cedric sounded so sure of himself, so confident, that Cerridwen was forced to believe him. “She will not find out, because you are skilled enough to conceal your emotions.

  You did it in the boat with the Empath. You tricked her into believing that you had feelings for me. You can trick her again. And while you bide your time, we will plan, and I assure you, Danae will be punished.”

  Cerridwen looked up at him, blinking back tears of mourning, and rage. Of course, he thought she had been clever enough to pretend her feelings for him. Perhaps that was what had spurred on his actions that morning. She wanted desperately to tell him how wrong he was, how much he did not know. But not here, in front of the only Fae who were on her side.

  One of the guards at the path called out a warning, and she stood, wiping her eyes. “That will be Danae"s murder of crows, then, coming to prepare me for the evening,” she said bitterly.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “And you will be beautiful, so that when you face Danae again, you will show her what a true Queene looks like.”

  The handmaidens arrived together, emerging from the darkness in an eerie cluster, looking for all the world as if they were made of the night itself. Their pale, bare heads seemed to float above their high-collared garments, and they paused just outside the dome o
f light cast by the flames, as though adverse to the brightness of it.

  “Your Majesty,” the one at the head of the group said, and they bowed together.

  They had brought with them, in packs concealed beneath their long robes, dresses and jewelry and cosmetics, which they laid out inside the tent for Cerridwen to choose. She faltered a bit. She had no notion of what might be considered fashionable, no way to tell if this were a trick of Danae"s, to make her look ridiculous in front of the Court. But Danae would not do something so blatant. She truly believed she had her rival fooled, and would do nothing to jeopardize that ruse.

  Cerridwen chose a gown so snowy white it was almost blinding, made of a material that was heavy and soft and made a shushing noise when it moved. The sleeves fell in exaggerated points, almost to the floor, and the waist and squared neckline were embellished with gold cord. The handmaids expertly fitted the dress over her wings, and cinched the lacing between them so that the fabric clung to her tightly.

  “Bring the mirror,” one of the crows ordered the Human serving girl, who had been lurking and watching, fascinated but afraid. She brought forward Bauchan"s long, oval mirror, and two of the handmaidens tilted it so that Cerridwen could see the whole of her reflection in it.

  The person in the glass was hardly recognizable. The weeks of imprisonment and constant flight had taken their toll on her. She had been fuller before, not quite plump, but not so frail as she appeared now, and never had such hollows ringed her eyes. Her wings…she had never seen them this way before. Underground, she had always hidden them. They had been a nuisance, something to be corseted tightly to her back, always ruining the lines of any clothing she might wear. Seeing them so exposed, while she stood dressed in such fine clothing—their abysmal black against the white of her skin and gown—made her feel more naked than if she stood with bare skin to the room. They were like ghosts there, and if she closed her eyes, she could still see them. In her mind, though, they were splashed with blood, patched with bits of metal, and attached to a dying mortal father whose face she would never be able to purge from her memory.