Veil of Shadows

by Lindsay

  But Cerridwen had a point. If they were to work toward the long-held goal of their race, dominion over the Earth in the absence of an Astral home, it would not be fair to expect the Humans to aid them in their own extinction.

  Trasa regarded her Queene with a placid expression. “Is this what you will work to achieve, Your Majesty? The destruction of my people?”

  “There is no way to peacefully share the Earth with Humans,” Cedric said, as respectfully as he could manage.

  “There is no way to share it with those Humans who seek to destroy us,” Cerridwen corrected him. Any hint of the loving, unsure mate, who had been so eager to please him in private, had vanished in the presence of her subjects. It was as it should be, he supposed, but he could not help the protest from his wounded pride. It had been different with Mabb; he had not cared for her, not as he loved Cerridwen, and so her casual dismissals of his opinions and words had not stung quite as much.

  Cerridwen rose from her seat, bracing her palms on the table in front of her. “If we are enemies with the Humans, why do they remain here? Danae treated them as slaves, but what kept them here?”

  “A desire to be among magical creatures,” Amergin supplied. “Many of them do not care that they are little more than slaves, so long as they are enslaved to a magical creature. The Enforcers have, in their strict forbiddance of any magic, made it a much more tempting plum.”

  Cerridwen shook her head. “You are right, and wrong at the same time. It is not merely their desire to be near magic, but their desire to be away from the Humans who do not believe as they do. We have no quarrel with these Humans who walk among us, nor any other Human who worships the Old Gods. They lost the Astral Plane, as well, when the Veil rent. We are immortal—” her gaze flickered over Trasa, as if to say she were excluded, of course “—and so we do not truly have to fear death. Unless we are killed in accident, or by assassination, we go on. Humans become ill, they reach the ends of their normal lives and then they die. Where do they go then? To nothingness?

  “I cannot condemn an entire species to that grim fate. So, I will no longer strive for a world free from Humans. We will protect ourselves, and the Humans who are loyal to us. We will kill the Enforcers, if we must. But I will not become involved in an all-out war against the Humans.” She took a breath. “Not when Human blood also runs in my veins.”

  “My Queene!” Trasa exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears that seemed to surprise her as they surprised everyone else.

  “This is true?” Amergin looked from Cerridwen to Cedric, and Cedric nodded in Cerridwen"s direction. It was for her to confirm it.

  “My mother was half-Human. My father was a mortal, but not Human, not fully.” She stumbled over the words, confusion on her features. “He was a Darkling. But I do not know…”

  “It is not important,” Cedric said quickly. “As far as your parentage, you must remember that Garret, brother of Mabb, was your mother"s mate, Your Majesty.”

  She winced. “I should not have said that.”

  “Your secret will remain safe with us,” Amergin assured her, and Trasa hurried to agree.

  “There will be those who disagree with your choice to break from the old ways,” Cedric cautioned. “How will Your Majesty confront those who dissent?”

  “I will tolerate no dissent,” she said firmly. “If they disagree, then they mean to take up arms against members of this Court, Human or Fae, and they will be branded traitors.”

  “And banished?” Cedric pushed, cautious not to move her to anger. He did not wish to insult her, but to enlighten her to the challenges she would face. He was not sure if he supported her idea, himself. The Earth had been a paradise before the Humans had grown to such a number to cover it all, sending the Fae into hiding and, finally, to the Astral permanently. He would gladly return to the Astral, if that were an option, and he was not fond of the idea of an immortal life in the company of constantly dying mortals.

  Cerridwen nodded. “I have learned when to fight, and when to leave well enough alone. I will not ask them to follow me on pain of death.”

  “Then they can band together and rise up against you,” he warned. “I fear Your Majesty has not thought this through.”

  “As always, I appreciate your guidance, but in this matter I will stand firm.” A smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “Of course, you could always choose to leave, with the banished, if the idea is so distasteful.”

  She was a confident ruler. That was one problem that Cedric had never thought he would encounter with her.

  “If Your Majesty does plan to keep the Humans free, what then?” Amergin asked. “The Humans believe that, one day, the Astral will return, and they will be allowed a place there for following the Old Gods. Will you promise them this?”

  “I cannot, and I will not promise them something that I cannot be certain of giving them.”

  She paused. “I do not know much about the differences between the Old Gods, and the One God, and I do not know of the Astral. I was born here on Earth. Beneath it, actually.”

  “The circumstances of your birth are no excuse for continued ignorance,” the wizard stated.

  From anyone else it might have been insulting. “The Astral was a world that ran parallel to this one. It occupied the same space, though it was not constrained by the space of Earth. At certain times of the year, the in-between times, the two realms overlapped and became one.

  Everyone kept to their own business, though, and did not meddle. Humans guarded the secrets of magic fiercely. It was only after they began to see magic as an endeavor of commerce that the Veil was damaged beyond repair.”

  “It was not just magic users,” Trasa interrupted. “The followers of the One God were not free from blame. They abandoned their leaders, the men who could talk to God, and sought to communicate directly with a being who, by the admittance of its own followers, had only spoken directly to a handful of righteous men. They prayed and demanded ridiculous favors from the One God regardless of their ability to provide for themselves. That was frivolous magic, in itself.”

  Cerridwen rubbed her forehead with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut. “And these…breaks in protocol created this trouble we find ourselves in today?”

  “I am afraid so, Your Majesty.” Cedric could not help his amusement at her reaction, the weary condemnation of Human foolishness. “The Veil had become so thin, and so many pulled magic from the other side into this world, that it tore away and spilled everything out.”

  “No one has been able to enter the Astral since,” Amergin told her. “It is simply gone.”

  “It was not just the fault of the Humans,” Trasa spoke up, her anger plain on her features, which could conceal nothing. “Your kind have flitted between worlds for centuries.” She turned to Cerridwen. “It was not only Humans desiring Faeries. Some Fae were content to dally with Humans, as well.”

  “I will think over all of this. But my decision stands. I will announce it to my subjects tomorrow. Put up notice to gather in the clearing at the noon hour.”

  “It will be done, Your Majesty,” Trasa said with a bow of her head.

  “Good. Now, leave me. I need time to think.” They all stood, but she put her hand out to touch Cedric"s arm. “You, stay a moment,” she said. “There is something I must ask you.”

  He sat back down, studied her while the other two made their bows and exited. Dark circles ringed her eyes, as though she had not slept. That, he knew, was not the case, as he had watched over her through the long night. But she had not slept well, tossing fitfully and occasionally whimpering, as though some evil dream plagued her. “What is the matter, Your Majesty?”

  “We are in private now,” she reminded him.

  “Cerridwen,” he began again, taking her hands in his. “What troubles you?”

  She pulled her hands back and folded them in her lap. “You will think me strange, I am sure, for saying this. But…I can no longer hide the truth about my father.”
/>   Breath filled his lungs before he could still its harsh sound, and he leaned back, hands braced on the tabletop. “Your claim to the throne—”

  “Runs through my mother,” she interrupted. “My „official" father, Garret, was never King. He was the Queene"s mate. My mother was Queene because she was his mate. The circumstances of my birth would not change that.”

  “It might give your subjects cause to protest,” he warned.

  “They followed a field commander with no blood claim to the throne, and called her Queene.

  I doubt Court protocol will matter all that much in the wake of her death.” She paused.

  “Besides, my father was not Human. He had wings, but he was a mortal. He could not have been Human. What was he?”

  “An Angel. A Death Angel, he would say.” He struggled for a way to explain the creatures, even though he did not really understand them himself. “They are messengers of the One God of the Humans. I think. I am not sure. But they belong to him, and follow his will. Malachi told me of his past, but honestly, I did not want to hear. It was easier for me if I thought him like us.”

  “It is easy for me, too,” she admitted. “I cannot imagine that I am…less Fae than mortal.

  What does that mean?”

  “If you have but one drop of Fae blood, you are Fae.” He did not know where the ferocity in his tone came from, or why it was so important to make her understand. Perhaps because he did not want to think of her as less than completely Fae. It seemed absurd, after his willingness to abandon the Lightworld and his entire race for Dika.

  But then, looking back, that willingness now seemed absurd. He had not lusted after Dika, he realized, but for a return to the Upworld through the Gypsy.

  He took Cerridwen"s hands again, and this time she did not resist him. “Do what you must,”

  he said, though he could not help his hope that she would change her mind. “You rule these Faeries now, and the Humans. Your parentage does not matter.”

  She nodded, but did not meet his eyes. “You may go now.”

  He did as she asked, but looked back before he ducked out of the flap, into the room beyond.

  She sat motionless, her gaze trained on the tabletop in front of her, but she did not truly see it, he could tell from the faraway look in her eyes.

  She was a confident ruler, and that he was proud of.

  She was not as secure in herself, and that tore at his heart.

  Eighteen

  C erridwen did not emerge from the dining room as the noon meal passed, and did not accept food at supper. Only when Cedric had entered and informed her of the hour had she gone to her bed, and she had refused the bread and wine he had urged her to take. The thought of what lay ahead of her had consumed her, and she had not wished to cloud her mind with Earthly things.

  No, she had planned it, in the time she sat, staring at the rough grain of the table but seeing nothing in particular. She wanted to face her subjects made of nothing but herself, her Fae and mortal blood, her scarred body and her belief that what she would tell them was right.

  It was a heady thing, to carry responsibility for so many lives.

  It would have been too easy to dismiss Humans as lesser beings. No matter the time she had spent among them on the Strip and in the Darkworld, she had been told over and over in her youth that Humans were not the same as Fae, not as important or developed. But Cerridwen had never seen Humans as petty and cruel as Faeries, and she could no longer believe that all she had been told by Governess was true.

  The night had brought her no dream visits, no guidance, and she had been disappointed at that. Perhaps it was too much to ask, to be guided in everything she did. She would have to assume some responsibility for her own choices.

  As the noon hour approached, the activity outside the thin walls increased. Voices buzzed, curious Humans wandered around the perimeter of the tent. Inside, all was quiet, though no less frenetic.

  Cedric paced their bedroom, stopping now and again to face her, as she sat, still and composed, on the edge of the bed. He"d look as though he would speak, but then would shake his head and go back to pacing.

  He was nervous because he did not agree wholly with what she would say today, that was plain, but also because he wished her to do well in her first public address. His nerves made her nervous. She wished he would stop.

  “Have you practiced what you will say?” he finally asked, shrugging his shoulders. “If you have, I have not heard it.”

  She made an “Mmm” of consideration. “That is because I have not.”

  “Your mother practiced all of her speeches,” he said. “Well, not her first.”

  “Did that go well?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He hesitated. “Yes. It did.”

  “Then stop worrying.”

  At the appointed time, she exited the tent. The crowd in the clearing broke into a chorus of cheers, and that was enough to wipe away any lingering doubts she might have had. She looked down at her gown, a bloodred one that a Human seamstress had just put the finishing touches on. It was not like Danae"s dresses, or those from medieval tapestries. The slender cut of the bodice fell to full, graceful skirts, but there were no sleeves, leaving her scars exposed for all to see. Better they see them, Trasa had advised, than let them think she was ashamed of them. The dress tied at the neck, and her hair, still tangled into ropes that would never be unwound, was bunched at her nape and wound with a long, black ribbon. Let them see her for what she was, she thought. Let them see that she could be a warrior, as Danae had, and a Queene, without compromising that.

  She walked out to the edge of the steps and smiled at all who stood below, beamed up at those who watched from their treetop homes. Their voices grew louder, and for an instant she could believe that they truly loved her.

  That was dangerous. She raised her hands to silence them, and as their enthusiasm evened out, she began to speak. “You see I am whole. Not the creature who stood before you two days ago.”

  The tone of the murmurs in the crowd became uncomfortable. They did not want to confront the fact that anything unsavory had happened, not when faced with this new beginning. She had not wanted it, either. “Forgive my bluntness, but it must be said. I am a stranger here. It would be easy for me to remain elusive, to not be honest with you, and let you form your opinions based on rumor and propaganda. It would be easy, for now. I would never be able to live up to the expectations you might form of me. Or, perhaps I would, and that would be a great tragedy.”

  She took a deep breath, braced herself for the first irrevocable disclosure she would make. “I cannot stand before you, then, and say that I was not deeply and profoundly affected by the attack against my person, made by my mate, under the direction of your former leader. I hold none of you accountable. But if any of you feel I was too…soft in punishing her, I warn you that you will not like me as a Queene. I do not wish to reign with a hand of death, or fear. I value life. All life, mortal and immortal. Immortal creatures, I find, are too careless with both.

  I care for mortal life, because mortal blood flows in my veins, as well as Faery. My mother, Queene Ayla, protected me from the Underground Court by circulating a lie, a lie I told when I came to this camp, myself. That my father was Garret, Royal Heir and brother to Queene Mabb. He was not. While my mother was mated to Garret, she conceived me with a mortal, a former messenger of the One God. And she, herself, was half-Human. She was still Queene; do not think I will brook, for one instant, insults to the validity of my position. But I will not stand before you and claim to be Fae, not fully.

  “I tell you this because I do not wish to begin our friendship in dishonesty. I say friendship, because I do not see myself capable of being your ruler in any other way. I can and will certainly rule, and do so with your best interests at heart. But I cannot rule over a group bent by threats. Except in this one thing I will ask now. The Humans who live in this camp have done so blind to the true goal of the Fae on Earth. For centuri
es, since the split in the Veil, we have washed our hands of the Astral, certain that if we could not access it, it must no longer exist. We set our sights on claiming the Earth for our own, when it is not ours to claim. The Humans are not inferior, nor are they invaders. We share their home, and yet we treat them as slaves. From this day forward, there will be change.”

  A few angry voices rose, but she ignored them. “The Humans in our camp will no longer be our servants. They may stay. We have no quarrel with them. But every Fae here will roll up their sleeves and help with the daily work of the camp. You will get your own water, your own food, tend your own gardens and stoke your own fires. If you do not, you will compensate those Humans who do it for you. Not with promises of magic or the privilege of being near you. You will compensate them with a fair trade of services or material goods.

  You will help the Humans have their own lives, in this way.”

  Outrage. It was what she expected. She did not look back to Cedric for reassurance. He did not agree with her, in the first place, and she did not need that agreement to do what was right. Still, knowing that he stood behind her was comforting.

  “We are no longer at war with the Humans,” she declared, to even more cries of anger.

  “Enforcers have been spotted in these woods. We will deal with them as our enemies, certainly, for they wish us harm. But any Human who leaves us in peace, who does not seek to harm us, will not be deemed a threat to us. This includes the…demented goal of taking the Earth for ourselves. Do we not have a life here that is sustainable without exterminating an entire race?”

  Now, a voice of agreement shouted from the crowd, and it emboldened her.