by Ron C. Nieto
C H A P T E R XXIV
Troy relaxed almost immediately. The forced calm and nonchalance dissipated and the coiled tension Lily had seen in him after crossing the opening into the faerie court’s lands shimmered through as he opened the door with more energy than necessary.
She followed him in and he closed the door behind her.
“How did it go?” she asked in a murmur, as if the walls themselves might have been spying on them.
“As well as could be expected, I suppose,” he said, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. “This room is both a threat and a slight, but it shall work better for our purposes.”
Lily looked around them. The room was square, at least twenty paces across, and the floor was covered in thick rugs with leafy motives embroidered in gold and mossy green. One of the walls had a fireplace, and a settee and two chairs were arranged in front of it with a low table, carved of honey-colored wood, in the middle. Against the opposite wall, standing over a raised dais, there was a king-sized, four-poster bed. The posts were of the same wood as the rest of the furniture with only a delicate carving of ivy at eye level as decoration, but there was something very elegant in the simple lines and excellent craftsmanship. The off-white curtains around the bed were pulled back, displaying mounds of fluffy covers and cushions that added soft russet tones to the earthy color scheme.
“A threat and a slight,” she repeated dubiously. “It looks fit for kings to me.”
“Mortal kings, perhaps,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his tone. “It is a guard’s room. By placing us here and not in the guests’ wing, he is disrespecting our status as such and indicating that we are no better than a simple Seelie squire. On the other hand, we are surrounded by guards and that tells us that he does not trust us, and that the Seelie forces will respond at once to our mischief.”
“Our mischief?”
“Should we choose to cause it.” Now the smile sounded like a grin. A predatory one.
“I’m starting to wonder whether I should worry about your reputation here. Should I?”
“No. It would be useless now.”
Lily plopped down in one of the chairs, wincing on behalf of the upholstery, and looked back at him.
“Now, you say. So I should have asked before coming here.”
“That would have been wise. But you can also be assured that I would not have brought you here so agreeably if I knew they would be hostile to me.”
“Right. I won’t ask details. What’s the next step then? Search for Grandma’s old flame?”
“The next step involves a bath.” He gestured to a corner. Lily hadn’t seen it at first, but on the door’s wall there was a vanity and tucked in the corner and hiding behind it, a porcelain tube.
She stood up again. “No way. I’m not going to… No.”
“Be reasonable. You have slept twice in the wild, faced a cuelebre and hiked great distances without freshening up. It will not help our cause if you appear as a filthy beggar.”
“I don’t have clean clothes so a bath’s not going to solve a thing. And I won’t take it.”
He arched an eyebrow and crossed over to the vanity. He opened and closed a few drawers and came up with a bundle of cloth. He shook it out and it turned out to be a simple linen robe. It looked like it was made to get out of bed—or out of the tube.
“You may use this for the moment. I am sure it will be easy to procure something adequate for you to wear while we are here. We can give your current garments to the resident brownies to clean before we set out again.”
He held it out to her and she blanched. The tube was right there, in the corner but with no privacy whatsoever. She couldn’t use it, not with him standing there. The thought of him looking while she—
Her cheeks burned. “No,” she said.
Troy studied her for a moment and she did her best to hold his gaze. When she was about to break and run, he moved forward. He tossed the robe over the bed carelessly and kept going, getting closer without taking his eyes off her for a moment.
What was he doing? He couldn’t have known what she had been thinking, right? That would be almost as embarrassing as the bath itself.
Then he touched her. His fingers traced her cheeks with a phantom caress and she felt her blood pounding in her ears. His eyes fell to the hollow of her throat where her pulse hammered madly away and his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. The flash of white caught Lily’s attention and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his mouth, which was beginning to curve in a delicious half smile. She had to look away, she knew. She had to step away. But when his hand cupped the back of her head, when his fingers tunneled into her hair, she realized she… didn’t want to.
It was definitely crazy and probably dangerous, but in the whirlwind of chaos her life had become, he had acted as a steady anchor for her. She felt safe with him, and she trusted him. He had saved her life because of the pendant, perhaps, but he had also answered her questions and given her information and advice he hadn’t been obliged to.
She leaned forward without much of a conscious thought.
Something snagged in her hair as Troy pulled his hand free.
A twig.
He spared it a look, twirling it between his long fingers, and then he flicked it aside.
“There are more like it nesting in the gnarls of your hair,” he said, his conversational tone at war with the hunger of his expression and body language. “You will take a bath now to solve that problem, Lily Boyd.”
She froze. The command was gentle, almost caring as it settled over her soul, but that didn’t make it any less relentless. The heat drained from her as her body tried to move past him, toward the tube. She locked her jaw and attempted to turn, to run, to hit. Anything. Her treacherous legs took her to the tube and her hand opened the tap. It began to fill. The initial burst of water splashed her hand and part of her noted it was warm. The rest of her screamed inside.
“Good,” Troy said behind her. Farther away than he had been. “I shall leave you to the reasonable thing now. I intend to seek out the doctor’s former paramour and to learn what I can of the situation, so be at ease. Bathe, relax, sleep some more if you wish. I shall not return for quite some time.” His last words were quiet, followed by the soft click of the door.
It was much, much later when the knock at the door came. It had been long enough for her initial panic attack to subside, for her to get over the fear that someone would burst into the room and enjoy the way the hot water relaxed her aching muscles, for her to wash and disentangle and dry her hair. She even had had time to curl in the bed and read a good chunk of the notebook her grandma had left for her.
“Enter,” she called out, arranging the linen robe she had put on to make sure nothing was visible or even insinuated.
Troy came in, a bundle under one arm and a light frown in place. “Are you feeling better?”
She thought about screaming “no” and chucking her notebook at his head. But while she soaked, she had thought she understood why he had done what he had. He had seen what she needed and had given it to her, whether she wanted it or not. It wasn’t ideal, but he hadn’t been cruel or taken advantage of her, either. He just hadn’t thought she would feel so wretched. He hadn’t known any better, and she shouldn’t forget he wasn’t human. She couldn’t expect him to have the same moral limits a man would.
“Yes,” she said instead.
He nodded. “Then you might be pleased to learn that you shall be attending a faerie ball after all.”
She wasn’t sure if she should feel thrilled or terrified.
“Is that a good idea?” she asked, settling for curious.
“Of course not.” He smiled, coming over and settling the bundle he carried at her feet in the bed. “But it is the only way Cadowain will entertain you, and he will only discuss the doctor with you. Here,” he said, opening the cloth package. “I have procured you a dress.”
It was beautiful. More than
beautiful. When he pulled it out, the fabric flowed over his fingers like water and pooled at his feet with the rustle of the breeze ruffling the newly born leaves in spring. The color shifted through a myriad of blues, all the tones of the open sky from dawn to twilight but also those of the rivers flowing down the mountains full of melted snow and twisting along the glens like silvery mirrors.
“Do you like it?” he asked when she said nothing.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s very pretty.”
He let it fall over the bed. “I shall give you some privacy to dress,” he said, turning the way he had just come. “I shall wait outside the door.”
“What, now?”
He didn’t turn to reply. “Yes. The festivities begin at sundown.” And he was gone, and Lily was dumbfounded.
She closed her notebook and stored it back in her knapsack. Then, she took the dress in her own hands and studied it again. She couldn’t tell what sort of fabric it was, but she noticed that the changing shades didn’t depend on the light. Even while she held it steady at arm’s length, it shimmered and shifted, a thousand shades of blue chasing each other in such a subtle way that it was impossible to tell where a tone melted into another or when the dress went from sapphire to cobalt to azure.
She slipped out of the robe and stepped into the dress. She could have sworn that people who wore dresses like this needed maids to don them. Wouldn’t that be humiliating? Calling out for help because she was stuck in a dress. However, it turned out the cut was very simple: a laced body, a boat neckline, long sleeves and long skirt. Almost unassuming, and yet it made the whole dress that much more stunning. She struggled to tie the laces, and after some tugging and a couple of attempts, she managed. More or less.
She smoothed the skirt and looked down at herself.
It was not a pretty dress. Not even a beautiful one. It was otherworldly.
“I’m done now,” she called out, not taking her eyes off her reflection in the vanity mirror.
There was a click and the reflection of Troy appeared over her shoulder. His eyes scanned her image and met her gaze.
“It appears you have missed a hook in the bodice,” he said. “May I?”
“Go ahead. I’m almost surprised I only missed one.”
He hummed in reply and focused on her back. There was a tug and a delicate pull, and his hands flitted over her waist and her hips, adjusting the dress. Then he tied it off again, not quite as tight, and she had to admit it was more comfortable.
“You do not need artificial means to accent your figure,” he said. “And I was correct.”
“About what?”
“The color.” He found her eyes in the mirror, offering her a smile. Not a smirk, no mischief. Just a smile. “It does compliment your eyes.”
She bit the tip of her tongue before the words “thank you” escaped her and began to arrange her hair. She only had a scrunchy and a few hairpins, so there would be no miracles, but she didn’t want to leave it loose and wild. It looked unkempt rather than natural.
“So,” she said while trying different looks. “About this Cadowain. What did you learn?”
“He is more infuriating than I remember,” said Troy, from the corner. “I rather hoped we could use our stay here in the guards’ wing to meet with him and avoid the unpleasantness of a court meeting altogether, but he was quite adamant about refusing to visit our quarters. It appears to be improper.”
“I think he knew you wanted to avoid people and is just being difficult. Even if it were improper to visit us here, he could still have agreed to meet us somewhere more private. He wants a rise out of you, that’s all.”
“You are correct, of course. And I would not begrudge him if he would agree to talk to me, but he insists on your presence.” There was a splash and Lily jerked in surprise at the noise.
“What are you doing?” she said in a voice she hoped didn’t sound squeaky.
Troy had taken off his shirt. It lay discarded on the floor at his feet. He had claimed her washcloth and, perched on the lip of the tube, was using it for a cat wash.
“Back to wasting questions?” He opened the tap, wet the cloth, and wrung it. Slid it down his neck and shoulder. “And you were doing so magnificently.”
“That washcloth is dirty.”
“It appears to be the only washcloth available.”
“Troy, please.”
He stood and let the object of contention fall to the floor with a wet flopping noise. “What would you have me do? Sit at the high table in dirty rags?” He stopped close to her, giving Lily a faint sense of déjà vu, and bent his head to look her in the eye. “I need to freshen myself. I need to change, just as you have. I have procured you clothes and given you what privacy I could, but unfortunately, there is not a pitcher of water sitting in the open corridor for me to use now. So I ask you again. What would you have me do?”
“I could go wait in the corridor,” she said in a small voice.
“No, Lily, you could not. Just as a hare could not sit to wait in the hounds’ den. Remember that while you are here, you are prey.” He ran his hand through his hair and turned back toward the tube. “If the sight offends you, wait on the settee and observe the many and varied qualities of the fireplace. I will make haste.”
She wasn’t sure if she should use the word “offend,” but her blood was pounding again and she chose not to argue. She sat where he had indicated, her back to the tube and to him, and studied her laced fingers while she listened to the sloshing of water and the rustling of fabric.
Strange, she thought, that it’s taken this for me to realize how attractive a man Troy is. The first time she had seen him, it had been a blur of terror and darkness. Then, he had changed into a horse of all things and she had actually ridden him. Then, she had been knocked out. They had argued. Fought again. Argued again. Fought once more. It had all been a roller coaster of action and, while she wasn’t blind, she had thought of him as an ally, a companion. This room changed her perception. Sleeping curled up and leaning against his thigh in the wild was acceptable, but to do so in a bedroom made it different somehow. It was more intimate. And that shift in the way she perceived him had also changed the eyes with which she looked at him.
He was fay. Of course he was gorgeous, in a graceful, chiseled, statuesque sort of way. That’s the impression she had gotten when she first studied him back in his clearing, and it ashamed her to admit that it had made him a bit of an object. She had been conscious of him being a man, as evidenced by her embarrassment when he suggested she rode his horse form, but it hadn’t truly affected her. Not like it did there. In the room, he was more real, more tangible. Within reach.
Perhaps that was the key. After seeing the fay guards, she had realized that Troy did not possess the beauty of a statue, not at all. His skin might be flawless and his body perfect, but he was alive too. There was curiosity and mischief and anger and softness in his features, but she could not imagine the fay they had met before feeling, much less showing, such emotions.
“If you are ready, we should leave.”
His voice sounded at her side and it startled her. When she looked up, she had to smile. They had given him an ensemble very similar to what the guards had been wearing, pants and shirt and doublet that made him look right out of a Shakespearean play, but instead of earthy tones, they had dressed him in solid black. It shouldn’t be far enough from his usual colors of slate gray and mossy green to be shocking, but the change to his features was drastic. His cheekbones looked more angular, his lips thinner, the line of his jaw sharper. His skin was alabaster against the sable of cloth and hair and the only flash of color came from eyes that looked twice as green.
“I’m ready. Let’s go.” She stood and he offered her his elbow.
C H A P T E R XXV
Music guided them along deserted corridors. There was laughter interlaced with the notes, high-pitched and giggling, and Lily felt Troy tense more and more with each step.
“A
ny last-minute advice?” Lily said when they could see open space beyond the arch of their corridor.
“Do endeavor not to appear too out of place.”
And then they had crossed the arch and had joined the ball. The music enveloped them and thrummed in Lily’s veins like a living thing, and it was all she could do not to join the dancing figures that twirled and twisted around, silk skirts and scarves trailing behind like a kaleidoscope. The dancers were all beautiful, perfect enough to be surreal. They were men and women, if men and women could be untouched by pain and worry and grief, if they didn’t know the meaning of time and toil, if their only purpose in life were to be admired and make merry.
“Gaping does make you appear out of place,” said Troy in her ear.
Lily clamped her mouth shut and wrenched her eyes from the whirlwind of color and life that devoured the center of the party. She turned her eyes to the edges of the room and noticed her hand had fallen from Troy’s elbow without her consent and she had taken a couple of steps ahead of him, wanting to join the revelry.
She kept forgetting how this beauty was meant to mask the dangerous and, when she moved closer to the high, white stone walls that encircled the glen where the ball took place, she remembered stories of humans dancing and dancing until death. After listening to the faerie music, watching their fluid motions and experiencing the longing to be part of the festivities, she could see where the danger came from.
“Okay. I’ve got it now,” she said, ignoring his dubious look. “Where is he?”
Troy pointed discreetly with his chin and she lifted her eyes to find rows of exquisitely carved balconies. Some stood empty, but ethereal figures lounged in others, watching the dancing from afar. One of such figures, a man of white-blond hair and silver robes over silver-blue clothing, was leaning on the railing and staring at them. While Lily looked at him, he pushed back and disappeared into the shadows.
“He saw us. Let us reach the tables in the back and meet him there.”
