Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  She listened to the talk, straining for some bit of information that might hint at what Bashru wanted to know. No one mentioned anything about Deigah’s knife.

  No one brought up the supposition that he had help falling from the garden balcony.

  Or that he was dead before he fell. Only Neferia’s occasional glowering stares.

  When the feast was completed and the sidhe drifted from the table in order to pursue their various entertainment’s, Victoria prepared to leave. She had no wish to find out what the Unseelie court did to amuse itself upon coming out of mourning. She made it to the door before Neferia slid out from the shadow of a column to block her path. The sidhe’s face was composed out of anger and into a sly mask of shared confidence. Victoria would have given much to just push past her and whatever she wished to say. She stood her ground, spine stiff, and waited.

  “Poor Deigah,” Neferia crooned. “How we all will miss him. And you too, I’m certain, considering.”

  “Considering what?” She kept her voice level. Kept the calm.

  “Why, he courted you, did he not? Were you not alone on several occasions? Perhaps you even saw him the dark day he died?”

  “I knew him only through you,” Victoria could not keep the tremor from her tone. She could not quite keep her hands from shaking, so she folded him before her. “We danced once that night. Further than that? No, I did not know him at all. It’s much more likely, Lady, that you saw him that day. Not I. Excuse me.”

  She gathered her skirts and swept past.

  She could feel her heart hammering all the way up to her head.

  Neferia did know. She knew exactly what had happened that day because she had planned it. The more Victoria thought about it, the more it made sense. Neferia had introduced Deigah to her. She had almost forced him on her. And why not? It served to have her in someone else’s arms instead of dancing with Azeral. And Neferia was Azeral’s favorite. A favorite who no doubt could not understand or abide the attention her Lord gave a plain human girl.

  Jealousy motivated the introduction and jealousy initiated an attack that might tarnish Azeral’s favorite human pet.

  Victoria wanted to hit something. She slammed her feet down particularly hard on the steps leading up to her level. She was so certain of her hypothesis. It made sense. More sense than Deigah’s uncontrollable desire for her, a simple little human. She wished for some small portion of her power, just enough to set that sidhe bitch on her shapely derriere.

  She stormed into her room and the door rocked behind her. Silence and darkness met her and she glared into it accusingly. She waved an arm at the wall set lantern and it came on of its own accord. Not by any power of hers, but set to activate by her presence. An old and lasting magic, she was told. The spriggan crouched on her bed. She started as the soft light illuminated his craggy features.

  His small, narrowed eyes reflected the light.

  “Take you all night to find out a few facts?” he complained. “I thought they’d strung you up.”

  “And would you have come to my rescue again?” she asked sweetly, tightly.

  “Not likely,” he muttered. “Bashru don’t repeat the same mistake twice.”

  “Charming,” she muttered right back, folding her arms and taking up her stance in the middle of the room. “If Azeral suspects foul play, he’s not letting on.”

  She began the debriefing. “I sat a seat down from Tyra and she never mentioned finding the dagger. Are you sure you saw her pick it up? Maybe it was her own and not something she found.”

  “I know what I seen,” the spriggan snapped, almost in a panic. “What’s the lot of them plannin’? I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

  “I don’t think they’re planning anything,” Victoria commented. “I don’t think they suspect anything. Not all of them at any rate.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I’ve got my own suspicions.”

  He stared at her expectantly. She was not certain she wanted to tell him. She shook her head.

  “Never mind. Just set your mind to rest. They’re not planning on hunting you down in revenge. They’re very much returning to their own routine.”

  The spriggan stared at her for a long moment. Finally he shifted his weight and sprang off her bed. He came to stand before her, the top of his head barely reaching her chin. His assessment of her ended with a shrug.

  “All right, wench. For now I’ll trust your word. I’ll let the Ciagenii know not to expect Azeral’s wrath.”

  Ciagenii was very much becoming a key word with her. She started and caught the hard, hairy shoulder.

  “Now? You’re going to tell him now?”

  “I told him I would.” The spriggan’s voice was close to a whine. “Rather find him than have him coming lookin’ fer me.”

  “Let me. Tell me where he is and let me tell him.”

  Bashru’s snort of laughter spattered spittle on her face. She calmly wiped it off with the back of her hand.

  “Fool of a wench. You like to tempt death?”

  “Let me tell him. I need to thank him for what he did. I didn’t get a chance earlier.”

  “He don’t want your thanks,” Bashru exclaimed. “He don’t kill for thanks.”

  She bent down to be eye level with him. “Tell me where to find him, spriggan.”

  ~~~

  Telling was not good enough. The spriggan led her most of the way. Through old, old sections of the keep that she was sure were under the mountain proper. The halls were unlit and the magic lantern had lost their charge. The spriggan carried a hand held lantern which cast a wavering, shadow filled light on the floor. A large rodent scurried out into the light, stopped and stared at them with ill intent in its eyes. It reminded her of the things she had spent a night chasing away from Dusk’s body so very long ago. It hissed at them, showing sharp white teeth. Bashru hissed back, showing sharper, yellowed fangs.

  The rodent scurried off.

  He finally surrendered the lantern to her at an intersection with directions to follow it to its end. Halfway down its length, she knew the hall ended at an opening in the mountain face. The fresh air was a cool relief from the musty stillness of the abandoned corridors. Soon a great arched doorway hinted at night sky. She walked through into the remains of a once great garden. It was mostly weeds now.

  Creeping vines and brush that had overcome the ornamental trees and flowers. There was an empty pool at its center, caked with long dry algae. She held the lantern up to survey the terrace. It was low down on the mountain. The tops of some trees were visible above the balcony rail. She walked to the edge and looked over at the tangle of forest that was no more than a few yards away. The moonlight glinted dully off of stone in that lush tapestry of green. Blocks and columns of stone sat amongst the vines and brush.

  Stone that was covered with moss and creeping vine. That was cracked with ages untold and weathered past recognition.

  But it was the remnants of something. It stretched past the forest that brushed against the keep wall and into the valley that she could see through a gap in the foliage.

  She turned away from it with an eerie chill and searched the shadows for Dusk. Of course he would never be seen if he did not wish to be. He would not have been expecting her.

  “Are you here?” she whispered. The night sounds answered her back. “Dusk?” she entreated. “Please come out.” She might have been pleading with a truant child. The wind rustled nearby leaves. A frog croaked its mating song. She forced the breath through her teeth in irritation. She would not put it past him to remain unseen and just ignore her pleas.

  “Why is it,” she said to the air, turning in a circle to spear the shadows with the lantern, “that you have to be so damned hard to get along with? Just because one is an assassin hardly means one has to be unsociable. I am merely here to impart information to you. Information I’m certain you will be interested in. You’re in no danger from me, if that’s what you’re worried…
”

  “Where’s Bashru?” He stepped out of the shadows before her, as if he had been standing there all along with her staring right through him. He probably had been.

  She smoothed her dress with one hand and smiled. “I asked to come instead.”

  She saw the whites of his eyes as he rolled them. “Are you suicidal? Have you not found enough trouble wondering these halls alone?”

  “Trouble found me,” she retorted. “It was Neferia. She set him on me out of jealousy. In fact she is the only person I’ve heard even mention the possibility that Deigah’s fall was anything but an accident. Bashru says Tyra found the dagger, but she said nothing about it. Azeral does not suspect.”

  “Fine.” The assassin nodded his head as if that were that. She knew he was going to disappear on her. She felt his need to escape as surely as she felt her own need to keep him there.

  “Neferia knows. She set me up that day. She set him after me. I suppose it was in some effort to discredit me with Azeral.”

  “Then it is not to her benefit to tell,” he concluded.

  “No, it wouldn’t be.”

  They stood there, the lamp glow competing with the moonlight. She had said the facts she had come to say. There was no other excuse to keep him here. She could only see hints of his face under the hood, no trace of emotion. Whether he was bored or exasperated, or angry at her.

  “Thank you,” she blurted it out. “Thank you for what you did. I cannot repay you.”

  He shook his head, clearly uncomfortable. She made him uncomfortable. Of course she did, human woman who used to be a magic wielder of titanic proportions. She laughed.

  “No, really. I did not deserve it. Not after what I did to you. I don’t understand why you bothered.”

  He did not answer her. Would not answer her. But something deep down inside her also prophesied that he would not flee to escape the question. She questioned the feeling. She questioned the want for him to say something. To admit anything to her. Her own sanity was the greatest question she had. Because rather suddenly all the suspicious, uncertain emotions that had been broiling inside her came to a sudden point of clarity. She wanted him. She wanted him in very much the same way she had wanted him in the fairy circle. Deeply and primevally and in no wise sanely, for what sane woman would want a sidhe assassin? She contemplated laughing. She contemplated crying. Instead she grasped for the first straw she could find in order to keep him there and talking to her.

  “What are all those stones? They look like ruins.” She waved a hand backwards towards the forest. His eyes followed the movement. It took him a moment to decide whether to answer.

  Finally, unwillingly he replied. “Yes. Ruins.”

  One syllable conversation would not do. She drifted over to the balcony and leaned over. Coiled roots and vines twisted among the rocks.

  “Ruins of what? They look ancient.”

  Behind her, he sighed audibly. “Ruins of a city.”

  “A city? Really? Who lived in it? Was it before the keep was built?”

  “Yes.” He trailed her to the balcony and stood looking over the forest a few feet from her. The wind ruffled his cloak.

  She felt it stirring her hair. She waited for him to continue.

  “Forest sidhe lived there.”

  “Lesser sidhe?”

  “If you like.” He did not sound quite pleased with the term. “The city was here when Taralian came and built this keep.”

  “Who’s Taralian?”

  “Azeral’s father.”

  “Oh. Azeral didn’t build it?”

  “The city was there. For a while it lived in concert with the keep, until the Unseelie court could no longer stand to live side by side with a people they did not dominate. There was a war. Neither side wished to leave, for this is a place of power. The forest sidhe were destroyed, the city leveled.”

  She stared out over the ruins, imagining a people living in buildings only hinted at. She imaged folk being driven from their homes. Inhuman women cradling inhuman children. So few children that were born to the sidhe. And for the Unseelie court to slaughter those innocents was a monstrosity that turned her stomach.

  “What was it called, this city?”

  “Xanadu.”

  She blinked at him, turning to stare.

  “I’ve heard of that. There’s a poem about it.”

  “Is there? Perhaps a different city.”

  She smiled sadly. “A different city. A happy one.”

  Silence reigned. The forest was dark and calm. She missed the twinkling of sprite lights. She wondered why none ventured close to this keep. Thought it had much to do with the cruelty of the Unseelies. The remembrance of an ancient destruction.

  “I was a fool to come here,” she whispered.

  “You had no choice.” Benediction from him. She did laugh. She turned on him with a sudden wash of anger.

  “I had every choice. I let you bring me back. I used you. Do you know what I was? I didn’t know. The Seelies did not know.”

  He shook his head, stubborn. “You had no choice.”

  “Why? You might have killed me, but what point in dragging a corpse back to Azeral?”

  “Your magic has no power over me.”

  “No? What about the things around you. Do you remember the fairy circle? I do. You, my dear, were the one in danger.”

  He thought about that. She could not see his face. Her own was blush covered.

  “I chose to let you bring me here,” she insisted. “Because I held the farfetched notion that Alex needed me. Imagine that? He’s found better than me. I hate him.”

  The assassin looked up at her, lips turned down in a frown. “You blame him?”

  “Shouldn’t I? God! I want to leave here so bad.”

  “You will not go far,” he promised.

  “Will you hunt me down?”

  “If Azeral commands.”

  She met his eyes, stepping close to do so. They were dark with the night. “Will you kill me?”

  “If Azeral commands.”

  Not even a hairs’ breadth pause. She felt her stomach lurch. Her vision momentarily tilted in dismay. She regained control, reinstating the distance between them.

  “Then I suppose I ought not get on his bad side.”

  She might have fled then, distraught with the knowing of just where his ultimate loyalty lay. But she stood firm, staring into the shadows the hood made of his face. Strands of night-dark hair snaked across dusky skin. His eyes were like points of deepest night. Her stare was a sort of challenge that he could not gracefully back down from.

  “Would it make you sad?” she asked softly. “Killing me?”

  That shocked him. He blinked.

  She forced a smile, a thoroughly sidhe smile that made her feel feline and dangerous. She laid fingertips lightly on the cloth of his cloak and relieved him of the pressure to answer.

  “Never mind. Don’t hurt yourself thinking of a reply.” She trailed the touch down his arm and let it drift away just shy of the skin of his hand. “I think I’ll go back to my room now. A good night’s sleep will do me good, don’t you think?”

  It was not a ruse or a flippant statement. She was tired. She was bone-weary and sore and her body ached from the punishment it had received a very few nights ago. Her bruises were turning to purple and yellow. She thought they healed quicker than bruises were wont to do on her pale skin. It might have been the place, or some residue of magic left clinging about her. The healing of herself had been one of the easiest of tricks, when the power had been open for her.

  She thought about the assassin. She thought herself the worst kind of fool. One who deluded oneself. One who was desperate for affection and rebounding from betrayal. One who found herself sidetracked by a breathtaking face and let her libido run wild. There had been an excuse when the magic ran wild through her. It had eaten away at carefully constructed restraints. It had made her giddy with abandon. There was no excuse now. She was as sane as she m
ight ever be and still she found the Ciagenii more and more frequently on her mind. The tragic part being, that he had no interest for her and admitted freely that killing her would be a casual task. Or would it? She could not bring herself to believe that it would be. Not after what he had risked for her. Not after saving her life. He had not done that out of pity, or any overdeveloped sense of honor. He was an assassin for God’s sake. Surely the violence of a mere rape meant little to him. And nothing next to the death of a high sidhe. And yet he had come to her rescue and he had killed for her. Covered the trail for her too, she thought. There had to be something. Some fondness, some attachment to do those things.

  There was laughter from an interior courtyard. The sound of sidhe voices raised in amusement. Fey lights flickered from the colonnaded doorway. The hall was a main one. It led to the center stairwell that she had to take to reach her floor. She stiffened her resolve and walked past.

  A dozen sidhe were inside, lounging around the short tables, drinking from crystal goblets that anxious servants strived to keep filled. Soft music underlay the voices. Some were raised in excitement. They were playing games of chance. The roll of the six ten sided die was a constant. The Unseelie court, she had discovered, were notorious in their gambling. They loved to wager, anything from wardrobe to slaves to prestige.

  She wanted to pass by, but her step faltered when she caught sight of an uncommon human head among the sharp eared sidhe ones. She stopped in the doorway and stared. He did not see her.

  He sat comfortably in the company of sidhe, playing their games and laughing at their humors. Leanan was not with him.

  The absence of his sidhe paramour made the hatred somewhat less poignant. She found that regardless of what she insisted out loud, it was hard to hold onto the hate.

  It was hard to wish him dead when it came right down to it. Alex was a part of her that could not be denied despite his present affiliations. And admitting that made her feelings towards Dusk all the more confusing. She wondered if it were a sort of revenge against Alex. He had his sidhe lover, why not find one of her own?