A Trace of Moonlight (34 page)

“He needs a Healer. Find one, Phin.”

“Watering the Tree,” Thomas murmured, his voice a husky whisper. “The music wasn’t strong enough. Tell her that.”

“She’ll know.” Brystion laid a hand on his shoulder.

I startled, having half forgotten he was there. But then my attention was drawn to the Tree. It was . . . whispering. I played my hands upon the remaining bark, but I could detect nothing more than a desiccated pulse. I wasn’t thrown into the depths of its EarthSong like before. It sang a song of mourning, a parting dirge to its own existence.

“What can we do to save you?” I didn’t know if I
thought or spoke the words, but the faintest of echoes tinkled back at me. I got the impression of a connection to a greater sense of self. Talivar had once told me Eildon Tree was most likely an offshoot of the World Tree, though I don’t think even he really knew for sure.

But if that was the case . . . perhaps another offshoot could be convinced to grow here? It wouldn’t be the same, of course, but if it would keep the CrossRoads as a whole together?

There was a pause, an odd hesitation as though the Tree weighed my thoughts. I caught a vague sort of approving hum, tinged with a warning. The first Tree was an equal combining of Paths . . . to attempt to force the growth of another in the midst of all this chaos would be an extraordinarily dangerous thing. It would absorb the influence of those around it, which would in turn shape what it would become, and not even Mel’s ability with the Wild Magic would be enough to keep it growing to follow its own path.

The idea of having a CrossRoads completely in control by daemons, or all angels, for that matter, didn’t bode particularly well, but it would be a chance I’d need to take, as the current alternative would be much worse . . .

Actually, fuck that; if I didn’t at least attempt to balance things out, there wasn’t going to be much of a future to worry about.

“What do I need to do?” I asked the Tree.

Again, that ambiguity, but what stood out strongest was a vision of my mother’s amulet. The Key to the CrossRoads.

Which Maurice currently wore.

I suppressed a shudder.

We wouldn’t be able to convince Maurice to come here to fix it of his own volition . . . Besides, did we really want a new Tree created by his warped sense of reality?

No. And the Key stayed on as long as the wearer was alive . . . which really left us with one choice. And not one I was particularly heartbroken about.

Maurice was going to have to die.

“Guess that’s that,” I muttered.

After a few moments listening to the Tree’s song, I emerged from its hazy headiness, blinking rapidly to clear my head. Grimly I noticed the elvish healers had surrounded my father, working their fading magics to heal his worn fingers. Somehow I knew we’d need his talent again soon. Perhaps he and Melanie could trade off for a while, anyway.

Shaking my head, I stiffly got to my feet, my bad knee cracking loudly. Above us the angels swarmed and the daemons continued their raucous shouts of taunting laughter, the sound pressing in upon us with malevolent force.

To their credit, the Fae didn’t flinch before it, their calm faces stalwart and smooth, but I wondered how long they’d be able to keep that up. Kitsune tapped me on the shoulder.

“We’ve established a cease-fire for now. Representatives from all sides will meet in the clearing shortly. You should be there, as ours.”

I blinked at her. “Are you sure you want me? I mean, I would think you’d be a better choice.”

Her teeth bared in a feral grin. “Of course I would. But Talivar chose you. Therefore, I must obey. Not that I won’t be there to nip at your ankles.”

I craned my head over the crowd, an uneasy roil in my belly as I was escorted to a silver gilt pavilion, Moira and Kitsune flanking me, Brystion and Phineas behind. We were met at the tent by Nobu and Robert, each with their own contingent of followers.

I sighed. “Now doesn’t this look familiar?”

Nobu rolled his eyes at me, but I caught the tail end of a smile flickering against his lips. In the distance Melanie’s music continued to waft over the assembly. The daemons and angels turned to stare at her for a moment before focusing their attention on us.

Moira finally spoke up, her voice as ice-cold and collected as always. “We would have all parties quit the field this day and allow us to seek out a peaceable solution.” She ignored the mocking chuckles of the daemons, even as one of the angels stepped up, his hair golden in the light.

He jabbed at the Tree with a meaty finger. “This happened on your watch. Faerie is responsible and must therefore pay the price.”

Kitsune lowered her head and stepped forward. “And so we shall. We only ask that we be allowed to do so in our own way. Allow us to seek justice against the one who did this.”

“And since when have the Fae been aught but duplicitous? When do they do anything save for themselves?” The angel blew out sharply. “It is no wonder you were cast out of Heaven, you feckless bastards.”

“That’s enough of that,” I said finally, unable to remain silent any longer. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could turn my attention to trying to find Maurice again. “This may have happened on the Fae’s watch . . . but it was a mortal who did it.” My
eyes flicked over to the daemons. “One I believe that was acting partially with your . . . master’s approval at one point?”

“And who are you?” one of the daemons leered at me. “Tasty mortal wench.”

Brystion bristled, but I waved him down. No time for that either.

“King Talivar’s wife . . . and Her Highness’s sister—so I’d say that gives me a fairly high stake in what’s going on here.” I felt a guilty twinge at my words, but technically Talivar and I hadn’t annulled the handfasting. The words were true, even though the sentiment wasn’t.

“Another Faerie ally,” the daemon sniffed.

“Not quite,” I murmured. “I’m also a KeyStone. I can TouchStone any of you, right now, if that would help plead my case here. I won’t play favorites—and as a member of the Fourth Path, I have as much a right to speak as any of you.”

“Mortals are what got us into this whole mess.”

“We’re an easy target,” I retorted. “And if you’d just listen, I’m trying to tell you I might have a way to fix it.”

The daemon shook his head, but Nobu shoved him back. “You will listen.”

“Says who?” the daemon spat. “Last I heard, you’d gone rogue.” Its smile became toothy. “Freelance, as it were.”

Nobu’s wings snapped out and the angels tensed, but before I could get a word in, a Door cracked open at the edge of the field, ebony black horses pouring through it with a wave of yelping hounds. Talivar rode at the head of the line, his clothes travel stained and muddy.

“Nine for the race of man,” I muttered, ignoring Moira’s sharp look. “At least he’s not wearing black.”

The elf scanned the field, his eye grim and cold until he finally spotted our pavilion. Kicking his heels lightly, he guided the black stallion over to us. Its sides blew hard as he dismounted, handing the reins to what I could only assume was an elvish squire. Talivar pressed past the entire group to find me, his hands clasping mine, lifting them to his mouth so he could kiss them tenderly.

His face had a wan and faded look to it, the edges weary and . . . older than I remembered. “Abby,” he murmured, pulling me against him to bury his face in my neck. It was less romantic and more as though he simply needed the touch of another person.

I tentatively stroked his hair, his skin cool beneath my touch. “Are you all right?”

He blinked rapidly and pulled away, his hands trembling. “You have no idea what it’s like . . . it’s all-consuming.” His gaze darted blankly around me. “When I’m riding, there’s no room for any other thought.”

He coughed, his lungs rattling. “I found him, though. I found the bastard.”

Everyone went still at this, their attention riveted on the elf.

“Did you kill him?” Moira’s nostrils flared but he shook his head.

“No. He’s holed himself up in a Shadow Realm and we cannot reach him.” He held up a weary hand. “The Door to the realm cannot be breached directly . . . without the Key,” he said wryly, looking down at my bare neck.

“And Melanie couldn’t open it? I mean, she can open just about anything, right?”

“Mel needs a Contract,” Brystion reminded me. “And the knowledge of where that Door ends up.” His gaze darted to where her silhouette stood against the witchlight. “Besides, if she goes to open the Door, who will keep the Tree alive?” He touched my arm, his expression resigned. “There’s another way,” he said softly.

“How?” Nobu demanded, anger rippling through his voice. “What other choice do we have?”

“The Dreaming.”

My legs went shaky as I realized what he meant. “You want me to DreamWalk? Into
his
dreams? Are you out of your goddamned mind?” I shuddered. “It would be like walking through slime. Hell, I barely managed it with Mel and I probably damn near killed her as a result. You heard what Sonja said . . . even with the extra boost I got from you, I can barely manage it.”

“That’s why you won’t be alone,” he said dryly. “You’ll be the anchor that connects us to him . . . and I’ll make sure we walk the tightrope without issue.”

“But how? I thought you were going to remain mortal.”

He shrugged, a rueful sadness curving his lips in a lopsided smile. “We don’t always get everything we want.” He untied the bells out of my hair and they jingled with an odd sense of familiarity. “It’s time,” he agreed, weaving them into his. They rang out in a quiet way, Ion’s eyes sparking in a soft gold.

Behind me, Talivar let out a startled grunt, even as Brystion shivered. A moment later his mouth pursed into a familiar smirk, one brow cocked at me. “We’ll
have to do the rest in the Dreaming, I’m afraid. I gave you my power there, and that’s where I’ll have to take it back.”

He turned to Talivar, his face sobering. “Can you take us to the Door? Assuming Abby and I can manage something on our end, it’s very likely he’ll bolt.”

“Seeing as all he probably has to do is wake up,” Talivar said sourly. “As a plan, I don’t like it much.”

Ion’s voice grew cold. “All mortals have to sleep sometime.”

I rolled my eyes, and pulled both the elf and the almost-incubus aside. “Let’s get out of here. The sooner we figure this out, the better off we’ll be. As long as we can get the Key. That’s what’s needed to heal the Tree. The rest of it doesn’t matter at all.”

“Are you sure?”

I shrugged. “Sure enough. For whatever that’s worth.” I glanced back at Kitsune. “And you might want to leave her in charge. There seems to be some confusion as to what role I’m supposed to be playing here in the Court.” I bumped Talivar gently. “I’m not cut out for being a Queen.”

He gave me a wan smile. “I would argue that point with you, had we the time. Give me a moment to talk things over with her and you can ride with me.”

Brystion shook his head. “I’m not risking her getting involved with the Hunt. We’ll ride with you, but Abby’s not riding ‘with’ you.”

The two men shared a moment of silence, the way they so often did. Talivar’s gaze darted toward me. “As you will,” he sighed, stalking off to where Kitsune continued to argue with a blue-horned daemon.

“Marking your territory?” I raised an eyebrow at Brystion.

“Still throwing yourself directly into traffic?” he retorted pleasantly. “We’re about to confront one of the biggest
douche bags
on the CrossRoads. I’d rather not come out of it only to find out you’re damned for the next hundred years or so.” He shrugged. “Besides, neither of us is really required to be there physically.”

“We’re not going to do that to him,” I said, my tone grim as I looked at the elf. “Whatever our issues, we all need to work together on this. Besides, if this
doesn’t
work? What do you think Maurice’s first line of action is going to be? Somehow I doubt he’ll wait around for us to try it a second time and I have no desire to wake up to a knife at my throat.”

Brystion frowned, touching the bells in his hair. “I’m going to need Sonja’s help to reach the Dreaming. I’m a bit trapped at the moment—not really an incubus and not really mortal. Normally I’d just take the CrossRoads there, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it alone this time.”

“What happens if you fall asleep?”

“I don’t know if I’ll still have a Dreaming Heart after this.” He turned away, his voice thick with regret. “Dreaming Hearts are only for mortals. Perhaps it will just fade away.”

I took his hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

His mouth pursed ruefully as Talivar approached us. “Guess we’ll have to.”

The elf eyed us with a slightly sour face, but gestured at us to follow him. “There are a few extra horses with Moira’s group. She’s agreed to let us use them. I’ll send the Hunt on without me and lead you there myself.”

Behind us Melanie continued playing. Her music remained strong—the dulcet tones of “Adagio for
Strings” swirling around us now—but I wondered at her fragility. Would she would fly apart into a thousand pieces if I touched her?