Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(56)
A lone figure stood by the stone bench in the center of the room, his back toward me. He cut an impressive figure, and really did look like a prince out of an old tale. His dark hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck so it fell in a straight line down the center of his back. He wore a red cape over his black oiled armor, the material swishing around his calves as he turned to face me.
He smiled, and it was a handsome smile, but there was no warmth to it, no sincerity. “I brought you these.” He held out yet another bouquet of roses, this time the black intermixed with deep red.
“Uh . . .” I accepted the roses, feeling more than a little awkward. How did fae manage to interact without insincere thank-yous? Finally I said, “They’re lovely.”
Then I had to figure out what to do with the enormous bouquet. I had no interest in holding it the entire conversation. I settled for setting it down on the bench.
Dugan looked from me to the flowers and back. The fake smile slipped, ever so slightly, but he stepped forward, capturing my hand in his. I think, perhaps, he’d meant to lock our fingers, but he paused as he caught sight of my palm.
I jerked my hand away, but not fast enough. I always remembered to put my gloves on before I entered the Bloom, but I’d been so preoccupied, I hadn’t even thought about it before entering this small pocket of Faerie.
“You wear the blood of your enemies,” he said, his voice betraying what sounded a lot like impressed amazement. Which wasn’t what I was expecting. Faerie took the phrase their blood on your hands very seriously and most fae reacted with fear or revulsion. His gaze moved to where I’d pulled gloves from my purse and he frowned. “Why do you try to hide it?” He reached out and took the gloves. “That is not the way of the shadow court. We wear our blood with honor.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly proud of it.” And I wasn’t a member of the shadow court. Not yet at least. Hopefully not ever.
Dugan didn’t give me back my gloves. “Was the kill disgraceful or unrighteous?”
I thought back to the fight that had earned me the blood on my hands, or at least, the first blood on my hands. It had happened in this very room, on the night I’d learned I was a planeweaver and I’d first merged the planes. But I’d more than just killed the body of my enemy that night. I’d consumed his very soul in my attempt to stop him. I shivered.
“This isn’t what I asked you here to discuss,” I said, trying not to look at the spot where Casey’s bed had been. Where I’d almost died under the Blood Moon.
“Of course. The planebender awaits us whenever you’d like to travel to our court.” He pointed to a far corner. I hadn’t even noticed the small cloaked figure at the back of the room. Good thing he hadn’t been an enemy intending me harm. “I thought you’d bring more with you. It will be . . . complicated to return.”
“Wait. You thought I—” I cut myself off. Had he really thought a bouquet or two of flowers would convince me to marry him? To run off and join his court? Yeah, no. Not happening. I shook my head. “I’m not going to Faerie,” I said, but when his frown deepened I added, “Today, at least. I just wanted to ask you some questions about the shadow court.”
He studied me for a long moment before nodding. “That is a reasonable request. You did not grow up in our lands. You likely have many questions.”
He motioned me to sit on the bench, and then joined me. While his smile might look less than genuine, his expression was earnest. He wanted to convince me to join his court—and take his hand in marriage—and he’d answer my questions if that would help. I got the distinct impression that his betrothal to me was the only reason he was the named heir and prince to the shadow throne. If I reneged on the agreement my father had made, what would happen to him? It didn’t matter. Even if he was a decent guy, I wasn’t marrying him just because my father approved of his bloodline. Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d ever marry anyone. That fact wouldn’t stop me from pumping as much information out of Dugan as possible though.
Now to find a way to word my questions that wouldn’t offend him or cause him to cut me off. “What types of fae are members of the shadow court?”
His brow crinkled. Not confusion, more like bafflement that I’d ask such a stupid question. “Like any court, all types of fae make up our kingdom. The nobles are of course Sleagh Maith, though admittedly, we have fewer than we once did . . .”
“Because you lost some power when the realm of nightmares was severed from the court?”
Again, I’d surprised him, but he didn’t look displeased that I knew this fact. “Quite so. With no physical doors like the seasonal courts, the shadow court and the light court rely directly on mortal imaginations. The shadow primarily through mortal’s dreams and nightmares and light primarily through mortal creativity and flights of fancy, daydreams. Without the realm of dreams we are . . . weaker than we should be.”
It sounded more like they’d been forcibly crippled, but I didn’t point that out.
“Hopefully that will be repaired soon and we will be returned to our former glory.”
Interesting. I wanted to ask how, but we were getting off topic. Faeries were notoriously secretive. While I had him talking, I needed to keep this conversation on point.
“Are there many bogeymen in the shadow court?”