A Thief of Nightshade (22 page)

Given closed her eyes, hoping to avoid the look that would cross both Oberon’s and Ian’s faces at the mention of the whorehouse. Ian’s hand clamped her arm, most likely to let her know that he wasn’t willing to let it go quite so easily.

She was grateful that her uncle spoke before Ian had the chance.

“Given, I will not trade your life for the life of a human who is destined to fall prey to Saralia’s ways. I advised you against this. And what do you do? You go straight to the proof of it. If this girl Aubrey had any chance at all of succeeding, why would she have gone there? Why would she have gone to the most debased place in the kingdom of Man? It is not a place for you, a princess.

This is not a burden for you to bear. You cast a suffrage spell, didn’t you?” He pressed a weathered hand to her throat and spoke the words to restore as much of her voice as he could. As he did, the King seemed to take note of the wounds on her back. He pulled her shirt at the base of her neck and grimaced at what he saw.

Given painfully sat up, brushing Ian’s hand away as she did, and tried her voice again: It was tired and hoarse, but it would do for now. “She bears the Oran, Uncle. And yes, I took on her pain.”

She hadn’t told Aubrey much about the Oran because she couldn’t have without revealing how she’d known it to begin with. The particular Oran she wore, like everything else about her, was not ordinary. It had to have been given to Jullian by the Dragon King himself. The dragonfly Oran had once belonged to Queen Eila, who was killed by Saralia during the first war; it was said that the Dragon King had destroyed it after her death. But somehow he’d found the strength to spare it. Perhaps it was all he’d had left of his beloved, she thought sadly.

“Given,” Ian said as one would to a child who’d made the wrong assumption from a grown-up conversation, “it’s not miraculous that a member of the royal family would have found an Oran that survived. If any would have had possession of it, it would have—”

“The Dragonfly Oran,” she said. “I saw it glow at her touch. Not only does a human possess it—it responds to her.

Tabor must have known this. He sent her to the Crimson Stair to barter for the glamour potion. What little remains.”

Both Oberon and Ian sat back. Lipsey climbed into Given’s lap as she gently sat upright.

Everything

hurt,

her

head

especially, and the longer she held onto Aubrey’s wounds, the worse she would feel. But it was a burden she gladly bore.

Oberon thumbed the end of his white beard. “I just don’t know, Given. I need to think about this more. I need time to make a decision.”

“You don’t have time. Aubrey is in danger, as is Jullian’s brother, and they don’t have an eternity for you to argue with your advisors.”

“An hour, then. If I am to send my people into war, you must humor me a mere hour.” He looked at Lipsey. “Come, little one, we may have use for you and your chatter yet.”

“We aren’t speaking of war,” she protested.

Oberon tilted his head sternly, though he kept a gentle expression on his face.

“But we are. If we intervene with our forces to spare her now, it will mean the declaration of war. It will mean the end of thousands of years of peace.”

“Peace at what cost? Help them, Uncle. Please. This is also your chance for redemption.”

“Perhaps. I will return shortly.”

“Please hurry.”

Oberon left his study, his long robes swishing behind him.

“He’s been worried sick about you.

You defied him by leaving after he refused you his blessing in this and now you ask for his help?” Ian frowned, reaching for a basin of water and a rag.

“It appears that he wasn’t the only one,” she said smugly. “And I’m asking for more than his help. I’m asking for yours as well. For all of Agincourt’s. She is

this

world’s

only

chance

for

restoration.”

“You wish his Majesty, your uncle, dead? With such little grief? Do you know how that breaks his heart? He’s loved you like his own daughter since the day he spared your life.”

She snatched the rag from his hands as he neared her with it and was about to tend to her wounds when he took it back and dabbed at her cheek and hairline. She bit her lip to keep from lashing out at him.

He apparently noticed.

“That was unfair of me, Given. I’m sorry. You can’t understand what it was like. We’ve been searching for you for days, knowing you could find us whenever you chose. I would never have imagined the lengths you’d go for this. Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because you would have said no.”

Not to mention that she’d recently denied his request for her hand in marriage, after her own uncle had approved the proposal.

She loved Ian, but more like a brother.

She wanted to avoid hurting him any more than she already had. “We’ve had nothing but one terrible blow after another.” She touched his hand pleadingly, “Aubrey’s been marked by a Time Wraith, likely sent by my mother to even the odds. Jullian’s brother is Ellohim and Jullian knows nothing of what he’s lost. Imagine what it would be like to be him. He was willing to give everything, leave everything that he loved behind so that those who betrayed him would have a chance at freedom, all to have it taken from him the moment he finds happiness again for himself. I gained more than just her pain when I cast the spell. She loves him more than even she can understand, far more than she cares for her own well being.

Please, Ian, for me.”

Ian finished with the rag and considered this. After a long, quiet moment, he motioned to the door. “Let them escort you to your room so you can get changed.”

Given started to protest when Ian pressed his hand against her mouth.

“You’re hardly fit for burial in these scraps,

let

alone

a

fight

against

Koldavere.”

Aubrey screamed at the door when it closed behind her. She wasn’t much for pouting or pitching fits, but she’d reached her limit.

“Sweetheart, save your strength.” It was the first time Aislinn had used the term sincerely and the sound of it took Aubrey’s breath away. Jullian.

She turned and saw Aislinn lying in a ball on the floor of the lavish bedroom.

“Oh God, Aislinn.” She went to him and knew by the way he was positioned that something was very wrong, but she wasn’t certain what until he turned over and she caught the glint of metal where his left arm had been. “I think I was the main course,”

he said drowsily.

She felt his head and even through his fur she could tell he was burning up.

“What have they done to you?” She got up and looked around the room, but didn’t see anything that would help. “Where’s Given?”

He sighed and if she didn’t know better she would think she sensed fresh sadness in his voice at the mention of the Shade’s name. “Gone. She was able to cast some spell and get herself out of the dungeon.”

“Maybe she’s gone for help?”

Aubrey suggested hopefully.

Aislinn didn’t say anything at first; when he did, his voice was devoid of its usual hostility toward Given. “After how I treated her? It’s my fault we’re here. It’s my fault you were hurt. If I hadn’t been wallowing in self-pity, I would have seen the Wraith coming. I’ve done nothing but discourage you and bring bad luck since I met you.”

Aubrey returned to his side and stroked his back. “That’s not true. You saved my life ... and you didn’t even know my name or where I was from.

Remember?”

He looked at her with tired eyes.

“You’re the only woman he’s ever loved.

Have I told you that?”

“No, but Jullian did once. I wondered if he was telling me the truth.”

“It was the truth all right, no one else ever caught even the tiniest shred of his affection.”

This reminded her a little of Jullian’s comments the first night they’d kissed— his dismay over her ex-fiance—and she smiled. Without thinking, she pulled the necklace from beneath her shirt and toyed with it. “I knew he wasn’t dead. They found his clothes and everyone said there was no way he’d survived, but,” as she spoke, she clutched the pendant in her hand, “I knew he was...” Suddenly, another vision filled her head.

This time, instead of sitting on a throne, Jullian was riding. His clothing, as it had been before, seemed otherworldly —white, but iridescent like the wings of the Oran. His mount was similarly pure in color save for its single dark horn. Beside him, laughing at whatever clever thing he was saying, was a creature so stunningly attractive yet so devastatingly vile, it had to be Saralia. Jullian, caught unaware by the detached intensity of Aubrey’s emotions, immediately stopped talking.

Saralia’s eyes grew bright with fury and she yelled out in a tongue unknown to Aubrey. The pain hit right as Aislinn’s voice registered.

“Aubrey! Let go.” Claws tore the Oran from her hands, though Aislinn didn’t have to work hard at it. Aubrey was clutching her head in her hands.

Aubrey groaned in pain, “God.”

“Jullian gave this to you?” Aislinn asked calmly.

Aubrey nodded, still moaning, “I saw —”

“I know what you saw, I saw it, too.

And this isn’t the only time. I thought I was dreaming but I wasn’t, was I? You saw him just like I did—on the Fae throne.

Stop moving around so much and it’ll stop hurting.”

She froze, her breath still coming in quick gasps. It wasn’t as bad as the Wraith wound had been, but it wasn’t pleasant.

“What just happened?”

“Well, you just told the Fae queen that her throne isn’t quite as secure as she thought it was. Do you have any idea what this is?”

“An Oran. Given told me.”

Aislinn laughed, a strange enthusiasm building in his tone. “Not just any Oran.

The dragonfly Oran. No wonder Tabor didn’t hesitate to help you, the jerk probably gave it to Jullian before he sent him to your world. He could have told me.”

Aubrey tried unsuccessfully to hide her grimace as she looked up at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“It

was

supposedly

destroyed

centuries ago, after Saralia killed Tabor’s queen. It’s tied to the Lyr somehow, not like it is now, but like it once was, when it was untainted ... before the Fae corrupted it. Did you see the look on his face? He feels you, it’s still speaking to him.”

Aubrey was so angry she was shaking. “That was her, wasn’t it?

Saralia?”

Aislinn took her hand and held it close to the Oran, but not quite touching it.

“Close your eyes.”

“I don’t want to see her—”

“Sssh. Just do it. You won’t see Saralia again, not doing it this way.”

She did as he said and took a deep breath.

“Now, listen. It will speak to you, too.” She started to pull her hand away, but he held it firm. “Just give it a second.”

She was about to shake her head when they rushed over her—not words, like she’d expected, but brief moments of emotion and sentiment. They were Jullian’s.

He’d been so lost at first, so homesick. In time he’d thrown himself into his studies and his writing and after a while he was able to swallow his distrust and his resentment and make a place for himself. He’d learned so much those first few years about life without power and privilege, but even so, he worried for his parents and for the friends and the world he’d left behind. He worried mostly about Aislinn.

Through Jullian’s eyes, she saw the moment in class when he’d first seen her.

How he’d struggled to pay attention to his own lesson plans as he’d hovered in front of her desk through the lecture. She heard his voice as he read her first paper aloud in the solitude of his home and then re-read it an hour later. She felt the hope build in his heart when he saw her Land Cruiser in the parking lot that night and how he’d laughed at himself in disbelief over what he was about to do just to steal a few moments with her away from class.

She listened to everything he’d heard from the others at the benefit that night and felt more of his heart melt as he realized how much of her recent trial was like his own journey. She watched as he called her name several times in the garden, but found that as she’d started to sing, he was glad that she didn’t know he was there.