A Kiss of Shadows (26 page)

“Why does one usually call home the prodigal child?” he returned.

“No riddles, Barinthus, just tell me.”

“She has told no one what she plans, but she was most insistent that you come home as an honored guest. She wants something from you, Meredith, something only you can give her, or do for her, or for the court.”

“What could I possibly do that the rest of you can't?”

“If I knew I would tell you.”

I leaned into Barinthus, running a hand down his arm and calling a spell. It was a small spell, like wrapping a piece of air around us so that noise bounced off. I didn't want to be overheard, and if we were being spied on by the sidhe no one would wonder at me doing it with the reporters around.

“What of Cel? Does he mean to kill me?”

“The queen has been most insistent, to everyone”—he emphasized the “everyone”—“that you are to be unmolested while at court. She wants you back among us, Meredith, and seems willing to enforce her wish with violence.”

“Even against her son?” I asked.

“I don't know. But something has changed between her and her son. She is not happy with him, and no one knows quite why. I wish I had more concrete information for you, Meredith, but even the biggest gossips at court are lying low on this one. Everyone's afraid to anger either the queen or the prince.” He touched my shoulder. “We are almost certainly being spied upon. They will be suspicious if we keep up the spell of confusion for our words.”

I nodded and withdrew the spell, flinging it into the air with a thought. The noise closed around us, and I realized in the press of people that we'd been lucky not to be bumped into, which would have shattered the spell. Of course, I was walking with a seven-foot-tall blue-haired demi-god, which did tend to open a path for you. Some of the sidhe welcomed the faeriephiles, the groupies, but Barinthus was not one of those, and a mere glance from those eyes was enough to make almost anyone back up a step.

Barinthus continued in a voice that was a little too cheerful for his normal words: “We'll drive you from here to your grandmother's.” He lowered his voice. “Though how you got the queen to agree to you visiting relatives before paying your respects to her, I do not know.”

“I invoked virgin rights, which is why you're also taking me to my hotel to check in and get changed.”

We were at the baggage carousel now, watching the empty silver of it glide around and around. “No one has invoked virgin rights among the sidhe in centuries.”

“It doesn't matter how long it's been, Barinthus, it's still our law.”

Barinthus smiled down at me. “You were always intelligent, even as a young child, but you have grown to be clever.”

“And cautious, don't forget that, because without caution, all clever will do is get you killed.”

“So cynical, so true. Have you really missed us, Meredith, or did you enjoy being free of all this?”

“Some of the politics I could do without, but—” I hugged his arm. “I've missed you, and Galen, and . . . home isn't something you can pick and choose Barinthus. It is what it is.”

He leaned down to whisper, “I want you home, but I fear for you here.”

I looked into those wonderful eyes and smiled. “Me, too.”

Galen came bounding up to us, putting an arm across my shoulders and the other around Barinthus's waist. “Just one big happy family.”

Barinthus said, “Do not be flippant, Galen.”

“Wow,” Galen said, “the mood has plummeted. What were you two talking about behind my back?”

“Where's Doyle?” I asked.

Galen's smile wilted a little round the edges. “He's gone to report to the queen.” His smile flashed back into place. “Your safety is now our concern.” Something must have passed on my face, or Barinthus's, because Galen asked, “What is wrong?”

I glanced in the shiny mirrored surface in front of us. Jenkins was just outside the barrier for the carousel. He was staying back his fifty feet, more or less. Certainly far enough away that I couldn't have him arrested.

“Not here, Galen.”

Galen glanced, too, and saw Jenkins. “He really hates you, doesn't he?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I've never understood his animosity toward you,” Barinthus said. “Even when you were a child, he seemed to despise you.”

“It does seem to have become personal, doesn't it?”

“Do you know why it's so personal for him?” Galen asked, and there was something in the way he asked it that made me look away, to avoid his eyes.

My aunt had decreed years before I was born that we could not use our darkest powers in front of a member of the press. I'd broken that rule only once, for Jenkins's personal edification. My only excuse was that I'd been eighteen when my father died. Eighteen when Jenkins plastered my pain across the media of the world. I'd pulled his darkest fears from his mind and paraded them before his eyes. I'd made him shriek and beg. I'd left him a quivering mass curled beside a lonely country road. For a few months he'd been kinder, gentler, then he'd come back with a vengeance. Meaner, harsher, more willing to do anything to get a story than he was before. He'd told me that the only way I could stop him was to kill him. I hadn't tamed him, I'd made him worse. Jenkins was what helped me learn the lesson that you either kill your enemies or you leave them the fuck alone.

My suitcase was one of the first to come sliding along the carousel. Galen picked it up. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

I looked at him. If it had just been Galen, I might have believed it, but Barinthus wouldn't do the publicity stunts, and a chariot was definitely a stunt.

“Queen Andais sent her own personal car for you,” Barinthus said.

I glanced from one to the other of them. “She sent the black coach of the wild hunt for me? Why?”

“Until dark this evening,” Barinthus said, “it is merely a car, a limousine. And that your aunt offered it to you with me as your driver is a great honor that should not easily be dismissed.”

I stepped in close to him and lowered my voice as if the waiting reporters could hear us. I couldn't keep calling magic to hide our words because, though I couldn't sense it, I couldn't be sure we weren't observed. “It's too great an honor, Barinthus. What's going on? I don't usually get the royal treatment from my relatives.”

He looked down at me, silent so long I thought he wouldn't answer. “I do not know, Meredith,” he said finally.

“We'll talk in the car,” Galen said, smiling and waving for the reporters. He shepherded us out to the automatic doors. The limo was waiting like a sleek black shark. Even the windows were tinted black so that you could see nothing of what lay inside.

I stopped on the sidewalk. The two men walked past me, then stopped, looking back at me. “What's wrong?” Galen asked.

“Just wondering what might have crawled into the car while we were inside the airport.”

They glanced at each other, then back to me. “The car was empty when we left it here,” Galen said.

Barinthus was more practical. “I give my most solemn word that to my knowledge the car is empty.”

I smiled at him, but it wasn't a happy smile. “You always were cautious.”

“Let us say that I do not give my word on things that I cannot control.”

“Like my aunt's whims,” I said.

He gave a small bow that swirled his hair like a multihued curtain. “Indeed.”

My aunt had chosen well. There were three times three times three royal bodyguards. Twenty-seven warriors dedicated to my aunt's every wish. Of those, the two I would have trusted most were standing beside me. Andais wanted me to feel secure. Why? My security or lack thereof had never interested her before. Barinthus's words came back to me. The queen wanted something from me, something only I could give her, or do for her, or for the court. The question was what was that one thing that only I could do? Off the top of my head, I couldn't think of a single thing that only I could give her.

“In the car, children,” Galen said through smiling, gritted teeth. There was a television news van in the distance, caught in traffic but coming closer. If they pulled in and blocked our escape, which had happened in the past, we'd have other troubles than just my paranoia. No matter how well justified that paranoia happened to be.

Barinthus took keys out of his pocket and hit a button on the key chain. The trunk popped open with a hiss of escaping air like it was hermetically sealed. Galen put my suitcase in it and held his hand out for my carry-on bag.

I shook my head. “I'll keep this with me.”

Galen didn't ask why—he knew, or could guess. I wouldn't have come home without more than the weapons I was carrying.

Barinthus held the rear door for me. “The news van will be here soon, Meredith. If we are to make a—how do they say?—clean getaway, we must do so now.”

I took half a step toward that open door and stopped. The upholstery was black, everything was black. The car had too long a history not to ring every psychic bell I had. The power from that open door crept along my skin and raised the hair on my arms. It was the dark coach of the wild hunt, sometimes. Even if there were no tricks waiting inside it now, it was an object of wild power, and that power flowed over me.

“By the Lord and the Lady, Merry,” Galen said. He moved past me and slid into the blackness of the car. He slid all the way in out of sight, then slid back out, holding his pale hand out to me. “It won't bite, Merry.”

“Promise?” I said.

“Promise,” he said, smiling.

I took his hand, and he drew me toward the open door. “Of course, I never promised that I wouldn't bite.” He pulled me into the car, both of us laughing. It was good to be home.

Chapter 21

 

THE LEATHER OF THE UPHOLSTERY SIGHED WITH AN ALMOST HUMAN
sound as I settled back against the seat. A panel of black glass blocked our view of Barinthus. It was like being in a black space capsule. There was a cloth-wrapped bottle of wine in a silver bucket in a small compartment across from us. Two crystal glasses sat in holes meant to cradle them, waiting to be filled. There was a small tray of crackers and what looked like caviar behind the wine.

“Did you do this?” I asked.

Galen shook his head. “I wish I had, though I'd have known to leave out the caviar. Peasant taste buds.”

“You don't like it either,” I said.

“But I'm a peasant, too.”

I shook my head. “Never.”

He gave me his smile, the one that warmed me down to my socks. Then the smile faded. “I peeked in back before we drove off.” He shrugged at my look. “I agree that the queen is acting strangely. I wanted to make sure there were no surprises behind all that black glass.”

“And?” I said.

He picked up the wine. “And this was not here.”

“You're sure?” I asked.

He nodded, sweeping the cloth aside enough to read the label on the wine. He gave a low whistle. “It's from her private stock.” He held the bottle carefully for me because it had been opened so it could breathe. “Would you care to try some thousand-year-old burgundy?”

I shook my head. “I'm not eating or drinking anything that this car happened to put out for us. Thanks anyway.” I patted the car's leather seat. “No offense meant.”

“It could be the queen's gift,” Galen said.

“An even better reason not to drink it,” I said. “Not until I find out what's going on.”

Galen looked at me, nodding, and put the wine back in the bucket. “Good point.”

We settled back into the leather seats. The silence seemed heavier than it should have, as if someone were listening. I always thought it was the car that was listening.

The Black Coach is one of the objects among the fey that has an energy, a life, of its own. It was not created by any fey or ancient god that we knew of. It has simply existed for as long as anyone among us can remember. Six thousand years and counting. Of course, then it had been a black chariot pulled by four black horses. The horses were not sidhe horses. They didn't seem to exist at all until after dark. Then they were things of blackness with empty eye sockets that filled with leprous flame when they were hooked to the chariot.

It was a coach—a coach and four—by the time I saw it. One day, no one remembers just when, the chariot had vanished and a large black coach had appeared. Only the horses had remained the same. The coach had changed when chariots were no longer in use. It had updated itself.

Then one night not even twenty years ago the Black Coach had vanished and the limo had appeared. The horses never returned, but I've seen what passes for an engine under the hood of this thing. I swear that it burns with the same sickly fire that filled those horses' eyes. The car doesn't take gasoline. I have no idea what it runs on, but I know that chariot or coach or car sometimes vanishes all by itself. It'll drive away into the night on business of its own. The Black Coach had been a death portent, warning of impending doom. There were beginning to be tales of a sinister black car sitting across from a person's home with its engine running and green fire dancing along its surface, and then doom would fall on that person. So, forgive me if I was just a tad nervous riding in its oh-so-soft leather seats.

I stared across the seats at Galen. I held my hand out to him. He smiled and wrapped his hand around mine. “Missed you,” he said.

“Me, too.”

He raised my hand to his lips and laid a gentle kiss across my knuckles. He pulled me toward him, and I didn't struggle. I moved across the leather seats into the circle of his arm. I loved the feel of his arm across my shoulders, wrapping me against his body. My head ended resting against the wonderful softness of the sweater, the firm swell of his chest underneath, and underneath that I could hear the beat of his heart like a thick clock.

I sighed and cuddled against him, wrapping my leg across his so that we were entwined. “You always did cuddle better than anyone else I know,” I said.

“That's me—just a big, lovable teddy bear.” There was something in his voice that made me look up.

“What's wrong?”

“You never told me you were leaving.”

I sat up, his arm still across my shoulders, but the perfect comfort of a second before had been spoiled. Spoiled with accusations, with probably more to come.

“I couldn't risk telling anyone, Galen, you know that. If anyone had suspected that I was running away from the court, I'd have been stopped, or worse.”

“Three years, Merry. Three years of not knowing if you were dead or alive.”

I started to slide out from under his arm, but he tightened his grip, pulled me against him. “Please, Merry, just let me hold you, let me know you're real.”

I let him hold me, but it wasn't comfortable now. No one else would question why I had told no one, why I had contacted no one. Barinthus, Gran, no one, no one but Galen. There were times when I understood why my father had not chosen Galen for my consort. He let emotion rule him, and that was a very dangerous thing.

I finally pulled away. “Galen, you know why I didn't contact you.”

He wouldn't meet my eyes. I touched his chin and moved him to look at me. Those green eyes were hurt, holding emotion like a cup of water; you could see all the way to the bottom of Galen's eyes. He was miserably bad at court politics.

“If the queen had suspected that you knew where I was, or anything about it, she would have tortured you.”

He grasped my hand, holding it against his face. “I would never have betrayed you.”

“I know that, and do you think I could have lived with the thought of you being tortured endlessly while I was safe somewhere else? You had to know nothing, so there would be no reason for her to question you.”

“I don't need you to protect me, Merry.”

That made me smile. “We protect each other.”

He smiled, because he could never go long between smiles. “You're the brains, and I'm the brawn.”

I rose on my knees and kissed his forehead. “How have you stayed out of trouble without me to counsel you?”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me in against the line of his body. “With difficulty.” He looked at me, frowning. “What's with the black turtleneck? I thought we both agreed never to wear black.”

“It looks good with the charcoal grey dress pants and matching jacket,” I said.

He rested his chin just above the swell of my breasts, and those honest green eyes wouldn't let me avoid the question.

“I'm here to get along if I can, Galen. If that means wearing black like most of the court, then I can do that.” I smiled down at him. “Besides, I look good in black.”

“You do, indeed.” Those honest eyes held the first stirrings of that old feeling.

There'd been tension between us since I'd been old enough to realize what that strange feeling low in my body was. But no matter how much heat there was, there could never be anything between us. Not physically, at least. He, like so many others, was one of the queen's Ravens, and that meant he was hers and hers alone to command. Joining the Queen's Guard had been the only smart political move that Galen had ever made. He wasn't powerful magically, and he wasn't good at behind-the-scenes scheming; the only thing he really had was a strong body, a good arm, and the ability to make people smile. I meant that about the ability. He exuded cheer from his body like some women leave behind perfume. It was a wonderful ability, but like many of my own, not much help in a fight. As a member of the Queen's Ravens he had a measure of safety. You did not challenge them lightly to a duel, because you never knew if the queen would take it as a personal insult. If Galen had not been a guard he would probably have been dead long before I was born; yet the fact that he was a guard kept us eternally separated. Always wanting, never having. I'd been furious with my father for not letting me be with Galen. It had been the only serious disagreement we'd ever had. It took me years to see what my father had seen: that most of Galen's strengths are also his weaknesses. Bless his little heart, but he was very close to being a political liability.

Galen laid his cheek against the swell of my breasts and gave a small movement, rubbing against me. It made my breath stop for a second, then roll out in a sigh.

I traced my fingers down the side of his face, running a fingertip across the full soft mouth. “Galen . . .”

“Sshh,” he said. He lifted me with his arms around my waist and brought me around in front of him. I ended with my knees on his thighs, staring down at him. My pulse was thudding so hard in my throat that it almost hurt.

He lowered his hands slowly down the line of my body, to end with his hands on my thighs. It reminded me forcibly of Doyle last night. Galen moved his hands so that my legs gradually parted, sliding me slowly down his body until I sat facing him, straddling him. I kept back from his body, putting just enough space between us that I wasn't actually riding him. I didn't want the feel of his body that intimately against me, not now.

His hands slid along my neck until he cradled the back of my head, long fingers sliding underneath my hair until the unbelievable warmth of his hands stroked against my skin.

Galen was one of the guards who believed that a little touch of flesh was better than nothing. We'd always danced the razor's edge with each other. “It's been a long time, Galen,” I said.

“Ten years since I could hold you like this,” he said. Seven years with Griffin, three years gone, and now Galen was trying to take up where we left off, as if nothing had changed.

“Galen, I don't think we should do this.”

“Don't think,” he said. He leaned in to me, lips so close that a sigh would have brought him to me, and power breathed from his mouth in a line of breath-stealing warmth.

“Don't, Galen.” My voice sounded breathless, but I meant it. “Don't use magic.”

He raised back enough to see my face. “We've always done it this way.”

“Ten years ago,” I said.

“What difference does that make?” he asked. His hands had slid under my jacket and were massaging along the muscles in my back.

Maybe ten years had not changed him, but it had changed me. “Galen, no.”

He looked at me, clearly puzzled. “Why not?”

I wasn't sure how to explain without hurting him. I was hoping the queen would give me permission to choose a guard as consort again, as she had when she'd given my father permission to choose Griffin. If I let things go back as they were with Galen, he would assume he would be the choice. I loved him, I would probably always love him, but I couldn't afford to make him my consort. I needed someone who would help me politically and magically. Galen was not that person. My consort would no longer have the protection of the queen once he left the Guard. My threat was not enough to keep Galen safe, and his own threat was less, because he was less ruthless than I was. The day Galen became my consort would be the day I signed his death warrant. But I'd never be able to explain all that to him. He'd never accept how terribly dangerous he was to me, and to himself.

I'd grown up, and I was finally my father's daughter. Some choices you make with your heart, some with your head, but when in doubt choose head over heart—it will keep you alive.

I knelt over him, starting to move off his lap. His arms locked behind my back. He looked so hurt, so lost. “You really mean it.”

I nodded. I watched his eyes try to make sense of it. Finally he asked, “Why?”

I touched his face, brushed my fingers through the edge of his curls. “Oh, Galen.”

His eyes held sorrow now the way they could hold happiness, or puzzlement, or any emotion that he was feeling. He was the world's worst actor. “A kiss, Merry, to welcome you home.”

“We had a kiss in the airport,” I said.

“No, a real kiss, just once more. Please, Merry.”

I should have said no, made him let me go, but I couldn't. I couldn't say no to the look in his eyes, and truthfully if I was never going to let myself be with him again, I wanted a last kiss.

He raised his face to mine, and I lowered my mouth to his. His lips were so soft. My hands found the curve of his face and cradled him as we kissed. His hands kneaded at my back, spilled lightly over my buttocks, slid along my thighs. He pulled my legs gently so that I slid down the line of his body again. This time he made sure there was no space between us. I could feel him pressed tight and hard against his pants, against me.

The feel of him pressed against me tore my mouth from his, brought a gasp from my throat. His hands spilled down my body, cupping my buttocks, pressing me harder against him. “Can we get rid of the gun? It's digging into me.”