A Sliver of Shadow (34 page)

There was another murmur at that, but Moira had already turned toward him. “Your words are not needed, traitor. Still your tongue.”

“I have earned the right to be heard, as well you know, lover. How’s our son, by the way? I can’t help but notice he’s not with you. I do hope the poor lad is okay. What with all those strange seizures going around.”

I opened my mouth to interject, but a warning squeeze
from Talivar stopped me and I bit down on my lower lip instead. Maurice chuckled, the sound rippling like ice water down my spine. The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know your pet daemon is here too, Abby darling? I heard he broke your heart. Pity.” He raised his bound hands in front of him, one finger pressing into his lips. “Say, isn’t there a daemon army camped out by Eildon Tree? Convenient.”

The throne room exploded in an uproar, accusations being thrown in all directions. I shared a panicked look with Melanie, trying to measure how quickly I could get the hell out of the room, when things immediately quieted down. The Steward calmly walked toward the Council, one hand held up.

“Peace, friends,” he said, his voice ringing over the crowd with a tone of warm finality. I frowned, the soothing cadence of his words sinking all around us like raindrops on a pond.

If I’d had any doubts that this was the True Thomas of legend, they were gone now.

“I do believe our guest has overstayed his welcome once again.” Thomas gestured toward a smirking Maurice. “Perhaps it would not be amiss to see him to his cell while we sort out these grave accusations he puts forth.” A hint of mockery lingered on the word “accusations” as though one would have to be mad to believe them. Awkward chuckles emerged in response, but I caught several courtiers exchanging glances of dismay. Maurice supporters, perhaps?

The Steward gestured to a pair of guards standing on either side of Maurice, indicating they should escort him away.

Maurice said nothing, but his eyes sparkled with glee at the interruption he’d made, laughing to himself as he was led out of the throne room. I sighed with relief that I wasn’t going to be made a spectacle of this time when I caught sight of the Queen, still sitting upon her throne.

She tilted her head at me as though nothing had happened. “What do you do?”

“I’m sorry?” Talivar coughed at my bluntness and I flushed. “Your pardon, Highness. I’m not sure I understand the question.”

Her lip curled, a flash of pointed teeth showing. “What art do you perform? Are you a bard, a teller of tales, a juggler? Surely one of Thomas’s get would be blessed with some sort of talent.”

“I’m the TouchStone to the Protectorate of Portsmyth, Highness.”

“Do not mock me, mortal.” She snapped her fingers, rising to her feet to descend from the throne. “And do not make me ask you again. What are you?”

“I used to be a dancer.”

“Used to?” Her brow arched. Pushing Talivar out of the way, she circled me critically.

“I was … injured.” I kept my eyes down, though some part of me burned to look at my father, to will upon him the knowledge of what he’d left behind. But there was a tiger in my face and it would be folly to ignore her. “I am no longer able to perform in such a way.”

“Pity. I prefer songs and poetry to anything else.” She frowned, pulling at my skirts. “Where is this injury you speak of?”

My face burning, I exposed my leg, demonstrating its hypermobility. “I’m a bit messed up in the head too,” I added, revealing the scar on my skull. “It sometimes affects my balance. And I have seizures.”

That drew her up short, Talivar’s warning shake coming a few seconds too late. Her gaze darted between me and Moira and I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. Silence filled the room as the others made the connection.

I was Moira’s sister. I had seizures … something she had
also recently suffered from. Such a lack of perfection would clearly make her unsuitable to rule. That the OtherFolk of Portsmyth had suffered even as their Protectorate had was irrefutable proof of the bond between ruler and land. Suddenly the Queen’s refusal to reopen the CrossRoads made a hell of a lot more sense.

Bad enough she suffered her own mental illness, but to have it appear as though there were a genetic pass-down of physical instability? There was clearly a shrewdness to her methods, an instinctual need to protect her daughter despite her madness.

Moira’s face paled even as the Queen let out a low hiss. Even if it had been caused by a spell, the very perception that the princess suffered from such an ailment only lowered her status in the Court’s eyes.

Inwardly I cringed as I geared up to throw myself under the bus. “Moira’s seizures are not of her making,” I said, inspiration striking in the form of a half-assed explanation that actually made a strange sort of logic. Quickly, I explained Tresa’s deception, aiming my words more at the court than at the Queen herself. “When the spell went off, only those I was TouchStoned to were to suffer the same.” I paused, sparing a glance at Moira. “My belief is that because Moira was Protectorate, my seizures were given to all those beneath her protection. A sort of retroactive backlash of my own physical flaws.”

Talivar stared at me in a sort of what-the-fuck admiration and I shrugged. “You have to admit it makes sense.”

“But you are no longer my daughter’s TouchStone?” If my explanation confused her, she didn’t show it, her only focus on that of Moira’s good name. The Queen leaned close, her scent thick and cloying and dank with an underlying sweetness, as though she no longer bathed but merely tossed on a spray of perfume.

I nearly gagged at it as Talivar caught my hand to hold me still. “No, Your Majesty. Due to the … situation … we were forced to transfer the title of Protectorate to your son.”

Her eyes dropped to the ring still on my finger and she laughed, a brittle hiss. “A crippled TouchStone for a crippled prince. How fitting.”

Anger flooded my limbs as Talivar stiffened, a red haze of fury filling my vision. “The hell with this. You—”

The blow came at my face like a bolt of lightning and I flinched, stumbling from an impact that never came. The Queen’s fist slammed into Talivar’s open palm, the prince staring at her impassively. The Queen blinked in surprise at her son’s sudden movement of open rebellion.

“Not her,” he snapped. “Hit me if you must, but not her—”

His words cut off with a stutter as her hand cracked against his face. “Take your whore and get out of my sight.”

Moira rushed to her mother’s side, sending Talivar a warning shake of her head. “Come, Your Highness, let’s get you back to your rooms and cleaned up. Perhaps a spot of tea? We’ll look at the roses in your garden.”

The words nattered past me, their rhythmic and weary cadence suggesting they had been repeated many times in the last few weeks. I glanced up to see my sister and my father gently whisking the Queen from the hall.

Talivar sighed, the sound washed away by the conversation of the courtiers. As though released into mobility at their Queen’s absence, the men and women seemed to sag, though they studiously attempted to ignore my presence with all the subtlety of a shoe in dog shit. The gossip would be damned good.

“Well, that could have gone better.”

“It could have gone worse too.” The prince rubbed his cheek with a wince. It had already started swelling from
where his mother’s rings had grazed him. “She’s never been violent. A few more outbursts of that caliber and we’re going to have a real problem.”

“I suspect Maurice is counting on that,” said Phin. “He couldn’t have been any more obvious about his baiting if he’d painted a sign on his chest.”

“
Real
problem? If that little scenario doesn’t constitute a real problem, I don’t know what does.” I gestured at the throne. “I don’t understand why
any
of them are still following her commands at all. She’s nuts.”

“Creatures of habit,” the prince said. “Thousands of years of rule are hard to break. We’ve grown complacent, blindingly following protocol beyond reason.”

Melanie shifted her violin on her back. “What about the CrossRoads?”

Talivar nodded, staring where his mother had gone. “The Steward is who we really need to talk to right now, but he’ll have to wait until my mother is settled first. Sometimes she requires him to play for hours after one of these episodes. It’s the only thing that calms her.”

“Well, if it helps any, maybe I can take over for him? If it’s just about the music. I’ve been told I’m not too bad,” Melanie said dryly.

I fidgeted, discomfited in my own skin and tired of being observed like some sort of trained dog. I was done with jumping through hoops. “Well, I could use a bath. And something to eat before I fall over.”

“Of course,” the prince agreed, pausing when a page dashed up to hand him a message before hurrying off again, his little feet slapping hard upon the floor. Talivar grimaced. “Seems my presence has been requested a bit sooner than I thought. Let me find you a guide to your rooms.”

Phineas shook himself out. “I know the way.”

“Do you?” Talivar frowned. “I don’t remember ever seeing you trotting down these hallways before.”

“You weren’t looking properly,” the unicorn said cheerfully. “And I didn’t say I traveled using the hallways. No fear, though. If I can figure out which end means business on a hedgehog, I can find a couple of bedrooms.” He lifted his nose. “Gotta follow the scent of panties.”

The three of us gave a collective shudder. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Melanie grumbled.

Talivar lifted my hand to his lips. “Were we not in the throne room, I’d send you off with something a bit more intimate. But I will come to you as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He bowed again and disappeared down the same corridor his family had taken.

For once, I would have liked things to be simple. With a sigh and a sinking heart, I followed Phin down the hallway, his hooves tapping in time like the beginnings of a dirge.

I
emerged from beneath the steaming water with a sigh, rolling my head on the edge of the copper tub. Blissful quiet hovered about the room—my suite of rooms, in fact, which had been set up adjacent to Moira’s. Melanie’s were on the other side of mine, a shared door allowing us to move between them.

Evening sunlight swept in through an ivy-latticed window, the wood polished to the same burnished glow as the throne room. It should have been wondrous and relaxing, but given my earlier impressions I couldn’t help but feel I was a bird in a gilded cage.

Of Talivar and Moira there had been no sign, although a crystalline invitation from the Queen was delivered to my rooms shortly after I’d arrived. Dinner and dancing. Like I was on some sort of hellish cruise ship. What was a mere daemon invasion against an evening of profiteroles and petticoats? A wretched giggle exploded through my nose, bubbles swirling in response.

Not like I had anything to wear anyway. The lavender dress was travel worn and dusty and probably not appropriate. Hell, what difference did it make? The Queen was
insane and wearing rags. Me showing up naked would probably be an improvement.

I wiped a weary hand over my eyes at the futility of it all. And yet I couldn’t help but see Talivar there, unflinching as his mother slapped him, and continuing to offer her support. No wonder he couldn’t find a wife. Even if they managed to overlook his physical imperfections, there wasn’t a woman in the world who’d want
that
as a mother-in-law.

Pulling the stopper from the drain, I swung my legs out of the copper tub, sighing when my feet touched the thick lambskin carpet. I toweled off quickly, pulling my hair up into a loose bun. A glance in the standing glass mirror showed the flare of bruising at my neck and I traced my fingers over them, my face flushing hot. Whore, indeed.

“See something you like?” Brystion purred at me from the windowsill.

Startled, I nearly dropped the towel before descending on him. “What are you doing here?”

“So glad you’re happy to see me,” he retorted dryly. “And obviously I climbed up the window trellis.” He flexed his fingers.

“Multitalented, just like I remember.”

His eyes sparked gold, but he merely pulled himself through the sill, crouching on the ledge with a lazy curl of thigh.

“Why are you here, Ion?”

“You should know. Weren’t you the one who asked me to come?” A rueful smile crossed his face. “Despite my better judgment, it would appear I can deny you nothing. Though I hate to say I told you so.”

“No, no, go ahead. Tell me what an idiot I am for getting us all involved in this Spectacular Craptacular production. You did warn me, after all.”

“I seem to recall warning you about a lot of things,” he pointed out. “And that’s never stopped you before.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” I scowled, hugging the towel a little closer. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already seen me in all my glory, but I wasn’t too eager to be strolling around with all my bits and pieces showing either.

His face softened. “I know.” Uncoiling from the ledge, he strolled over to the bed, one finger sliding along the bedpost. I exhaled sharply, remembering what it was like to have all that muscular perfection stretched out on top of me, the way he’d bitten my neck, licked my shoulder …