Dockalfar (23 page)

The sidhe were avoiding him like a plague. He was not after any of them. He was not out particularly to do harm.

Merely to quench curiosity. Curiosity could be such an overwhelming burden to one whose every whim was always sated.

He did not like unanswered questions or mysteries. And what he had brought into his world was a great mystery to him.

He found the human in the baths with a handful of the court. Leanan was not in attendance, which was just as well. She was becoming a bit too proprietary over the human. Azeral slowed his pace to make it seem mere chance that he happened by. The high sidhe still looked up uneasily, well aware of his mood of late. They greeted him respectfully, as did the human, but a few of them made hasty excuses to leave, snatching towels and silks on their way out. Azeral paid them no heed. He allowed a trembling serving wench to take his cloak and tunic and settled into the warm waters of the great baths. The water smelled of spices and herbs, and swirled warmly about cold skin. He sat across from the human, who was engaged in conversation with one of the younger members of his court.

Azeral stared pointedly at the sidhe.

Pale skin grew paler and the boy found reason to take his leave. Azeral looked across at Alex Morgan and the human fearlessly returned the gaze.

“How have you been?” It was always his opening greeting to the human. Always backed by the perfect host’s smile and cynical blue eyes. Alex inclined his head, a gesture of equals. Azeral allowed it. The dark lord stretched his long legs and contemplated having the bath wench come over and massage his back.

“I think,” he said casually, “that we are very close to finding your Victoria.”

Alex blinked at him dumbly. There was no recognition. Leanan was so very skillful in her weavings. Azeral repeated the name.

“Victoria. You remember Victoria? The woman you came here with.” He gently prodded the web of fey suggestions that his daughter had planted. He needed the memories of the human woman.

“Victoria?” Alex repeated the name and a slow light of familiarity came to his eyes. “Vicki.”

“Tell me about her,” Azeral prompted. “What does she look like?”

Alex furrowed his brow, perplexed over the difficulty in conjuring a mere picture of the girl. Azeral tore more of Leanan’s webbing away and memories flooded in. The boy’s eyes lit with excitement.

“Victoria. Where is she?”

“Coming,” Azeral assured him. “First you must tell me about her.”

“She’s beautiful. A red head without the freckles or the temper. She’s – she’s wonderful.”

“Malleable?”

Alex stared at the interruption uncertainly. Azeral clarified.

“Obedient. Easily controlled?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean, I never thought about it. She’s sweet and gentle.”

“Good.”

“She’s coming here?” There was bewilderment behind that question and uncertainty and vestiges of a hope that was not understood. All of those emotions were a sort of rebellion. A tearing at the reins of magic that was wrapped around the human. Azeral did not know if it was a failing of his or Leanan’s or merely nature taking its course. Powerful things tended to take captivity poorly. Magic was essentially a force that defied logic and restraint. It only stood to reason that sooner or later the boy would gain enough control over his power to shed the web of manipulation that had thrown over him.

Azeral fully accepted that as fact. It was just a matter of prolonging his hold until a greater goal had been achieved.

“Does she love you?” The question was asked in much the same manner as he might have inquired of the weather. Alex blinked at him. Sweat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the baths broke out on his face. The lost look amplified.

“Love?” He looked away from Azeral, eyes panicked. The baths echoed like an empty tomb. All the other sidhe had slunk away long ago. “I can’t – remember,” he whispered.

“I think you can.” There was no stab of power, merely the force of his voice. A voice accustomed to a thousand years of obedience. Alex flinched, fighting through the devious fibers of Leanan’s web, struggling for memory of a lost human girl.

“Yes.” A tremulous whisper, fraught with misgivings. A genuine smile crossed Azeral’s face. His eyes sparkled “Wonderful.” With a flick of a finger than sent droplets of water bouncing, he restored the web of magic. The uncertainty faded slowly from Alex Morgan’s face.

~~~

She slipped back to her room late.

The sun had long set and the sky was resplendent with a tapestry of stars. None of the constellations were familiar. They seemed closer, somehow brighter than the stars back home. She wondered if it were the quality of the air, or the innate magic of this land that made even the night sky seem more brilliant.

She stood on her balcony, listening to the night sounds. The insect song and the mating cries of bullfrogs. An occasional night bird that broke the smaller creatures symphonic orchestration with its shrill hunting call. Somewhere there was the delicate trill of pipes and strings and the fainter melody of a sidhe voice. She closed her eyes and listened. So beautiful.

So wistfully romantic, that sweet lilting voice. It had been so long since she had lifted her own in song. So long since she had the sweet dreams that inspired her lyrical imagery.

She hummed a familiar tune as she slipped into a warm bath. The waters drained tension, soaking her flesh clean and scenting her skin. She dried herself with thick soft towels and walked, naked back into her room.

Her own room. It was wonderful. No less charming than Aloe’s had been. Only hers was bathed in gold and cream, from the stone of the walls to the silken sheets and pillows of her bed. The glow of the fey lamp made everything a delicate filigree of shadow and light. A shading of her own skin tones. Silken curtains billowed softly from the balcony and urns of plants stood near the windows and on the balcony itself. There was a small table and soft divan and a great soft mound of pillow and silk that was her bed. There was an alcove that housed her clothing.

She had a wonderful selection of gowns and robes, leathers and cloaks. She loved the gowns most of all. Soft and filmy, as light as feather caresses on her skin.

She chose a trailing gown of cream and forest green, luxuriating for a moment at the utter softness of the material against her newly clean skin. She wondered where Phoebe was. The cub usually spent part of her night sleeping curled next to Victoria. The rest of the time, she roamed.

There was a convenient tree outside the balcony that an agile gulun could easily navigate for her comings and goings. The sidhe had taken to putting the beautiful, ornamental birds that wandered the grounds up at night since Phoebe’s arrival.

She had only managed to catch one, but had been vastly proud of that achievement.

Everyone else had been horrified. No matter how much they spoiled her with tidbits she did not have to hunt for, they could not curb the hunting instinct. The cub was perfectly willing to accept the bribes, but she still went out each night to prowl the wood in search of small, unwary prey. She was not very good at catching it yet, but she was getting better.

Victoria leaned over the stone railing, searching the dark ground below for the cub. The tree was a mass of latticed shadow. Phoebe was not in the area. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves, stirring the branches. It cooled her half-dry hair. She hugged herself, shivering.

The chill was not quite unpleasant, but it was unnerving in an otherwise balmy night. It hinted at winter and cold evenings. Did snow fall here? Did the forests succumb to sleep and shed their bright foliage? How much colder would it be in the mountains of the north?

The silken sheets rustled beneath her as she sat down. She smoothed a wrinkle absently. Something pricked her nerves. Made her skin itch. It was nothing she could put a finger to. Nothing solid.

Perhaps nothing more than her reaction to the cool breeze. Sleep would take it away, but she feared the nightmares.

She curled onto her side, tucking her feet close to her body. It was either go to sleep and brave predictable nightmares or stay awake and let her mind conjure worries on a more conscious level. So she closed her eyes and let herself be encased in darkness.

And suddenly she knew she was not alone. As sure as she felt the hammer of her heart, she felt a presence. Knew it was there, watching her. She lifted her lids, peering out from under lashes. Faint flicker of fey lamp. Shadows that were deep as ink. She could light the room with a surge of magic, but there was the underlying fear of not wanting to know what was there. Of knowing the monster was under your bed, but being afraid to stick your head under the bed curtain to see what it looked like. And what if it were nerves? She would feel foolish.

Terribly foolish. What if it were only Phoebe practicing her night time stalking?

Carefully, Victoria lifted her head. “Kitten, is that you?” A bare whisper. “Don’t play games with me, kitty.”

Silence. No pads of furry paws. No punitive mewl. She sat up, slowly adding energy to the single fey lamp. The shadows shrunk in the face of golden light.

There was nothing in the room.

Nothing, she told herself. Just the soft movement of the curtains and the man sized plant across the room.

“I’m being silly,” she told herself. “There’s nothing there.”

Then the shadows moved. The darkness coalesced and drifted out of its corner and for a moment it was an unnatural shadow shape in the midst of soft golden light. Then the dark faded and slowly shifted to cream and gold and various shades in between.

She did not quite scream, but she did gasp. She knew it for what it was. Elegant layers of filmy cloak. Grace that belied human motion. Silence that was colder than the tomb. Fear welled within her breast. She scrambled back, until she pressed against the wall.

“Dusk.” She choked out the word, mind numb in shock that he was here, after all this time. Then memories of her last encounter with him came back bringing with them the shame and humiliation of what her first taste of power had done to her and what she had tried to do to him.

God, she did not want him here. She did not want to think of him or deal with him at all. He was a cold pit of guilt at the center of her soul that she could not push away.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

He inclined his head. The folds of cloth rippled soundlessly. They hid his face.

“You,” he answered softly. Simply. “You know that.”

She drew a breath, horrified at his persistence. At his indifference to trespass here, in Ashara’s keep, under Ashara’s nose.

“Why?” she half sobbed. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

He shook his head and she saw a glimpse of golden skin. And suddenly it hit her. It was almost like a physical blow.

Dusk belonged to Azeral. Dusk wanted to take her to Azeral. Dusk wanted to take her to Alex. She slid down the wall to her knees, trembling. She could not stop the laughter that rose in her throat. She giggled. She buried her face in her hands and shook with the humor of it. She had been quaking in terror of the one thing that was certain to take her to the place she most wanted to be. Terror? Why was she afraid of him? She had already proven, even in her naiveté, that she could elude him, even overwhelm him. She was not the one who should be wary here. The only thing she had to fear was the shame he brought to the surface, the wretched memory of her weakness. She could almost hate him for that. For being a reminder. She could very easily fear him for being the immoral assassin that he was. For being the only creature so far that was totally immune to her magics, for so doggedly pursuing her. For being good enough to have overtaken her three times already. But not good enough, she mused, to have kept her. Or perhaps not willing to take the only measure that might have assured she not escape.

With a subtle surge of power she brightened the lamps. Light was her comrade and his enemy. She needed that advantage. Carefully, she crawled off the bed, trailing the tail of her night gown.

Fate seemed determined that encounters with this man be held in her nightdress.

She reflexively smoothed the folds of cloth and crossed her arms over her bosom.

“Me?” she asked in a innocent voice, rounding her eyes to emulate childlike naiveté. “Why am I so important, that you would follow me here? I thought I’d made it clear I wanted nothing to do with you.”

He shifted and she caught a flash of golden eyes. He was watching her very carefully from under the concealment of his hood. It irritated her that she could not see his face. Emotions ran there that he could not always hide and she needed to observe them. To observe him to know where she stood.

“I owe a debt,” he explained.

“A debt?” she almost laughed again.

“To who?”

“To him. Your mate.”

She gaped at him, feeling her cheeks flush pink. “Alex?”

“Alex,” he agreed.

“You mean you’ve been trying to take me to Alex all this time and not to Azeral?”

He hesitated and she could almost sense him frowning.

“What do you know of – Azeral?” There was a tenseness in his voice. A wariness.

She lifted her chin. “Very little. What can you tell me?”

He shook his head and stepped forward. She held up a hand in warning.

“No, no, no. Not so fast. If you touch me, I’ll cause such a ruckus that the whole keep will be up in arms.”

“Do not fight me,” he whispered. “I do not wish you harm.”

“But you’ll do it anyway, if I don’t do what you want, right? Listen, Dusk. Maybe we do not have to work at cross purposes. Just maybe we want the same thing. Do me a favor, please, and just sit down and talk with me and maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

He drew a breath that might have been a laugh, then looked about the room as if he expected enemies to spring forth from the walls.

“I do not negotiate,” he informed her.

“And I’ve no time for talk.”

“Well, you’ll make it,” she ground out, standing back, fighting the urge to shake a fist at him. “Because I’m not going anywhere until we get a few things straight.” With a frustrated release of breath, she sat down at the crystal table and primly crossed her legs. She stared at her intruder pointedly. He stared back, unmoving. And just when she was certain that he was not going to give in her demands, he reached for the other chair and pulled it away from the table. He sat it a few feet away from hers and settled upon it. He continued to stare at her silently, waiting for her move. She swallowed the smile of satisfaction that threatened.