Midnight's Daughter(55)
The Fey’s otherworldly looks did not keep him from being attacked by a growling gray blur, however. “What do we have here?” The light, musical voice sounded amused, and a softly shimmering hand plucked the creature out of the air. “Ah. An infant Duergar. Is it yours?” I just stared as he held the poor Duergar securely by the nape of its neck. It tried to scratch him, but the Fey’s arms were even longer than its own and kept it just out of reach. “But this cannot be the fearsome warrior,” the Fey said, his eyes widening as they took me in. “She is too young, and far too pretty.”
“She is five centuries old,” Louis-Cesare replied tersely.
“As I thought,” the Fey said. “A mere child.” He lifted my hand to his lips and if the dried blood on it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. “I believe you are called Dory, am I right? I am known as Caedmon, at least in your world.”
The Duergar seemed to object to Caedmon touching me, and started flailing its sticklike limbs in a frantic attempt to scratch his eyes out. The Fey glanced at it. “They can be very useful: resistant to poison and most magic, fierce in battle, extremely loyal, and many are skillful smiths. I once had a wondrous belt with a gold buckle—exquisite work—made by one of their renowned artisans. But if you’ll forgive the observation,” he added, “this is a poor specimen.”
I grabbed the snarling thing away from him, and it quieted after wrapping two spindly arms around my neck. “It’s only a baby,” I said defensively.
Caedmon nodded. “True, but without the proper training and the supervision of its people, it will never acquire their skills. And I think it unlikely to be welcomed among them. There appears to have been some mixing of bloodlines. It would almost certainly be viewed as an abomination. It would be a kindness to put it out of its misery.”
I hugged the Duergar and fought not to gag. After a bath, he’d kind of look like Animal from the Muppets. I always liked the Muppets. “I think I’ll call him Stinky.”
Louis-Cesare rolled his eyes, but Caedmon merely smiled. “How apt.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, doubting he’d come to buy anything. The Fey tend to be a bit more particular about their slaves.
He gave an elegant shrug. “It seems we have a common purpose: I, too, am looking for your friend.”
“The Fey Council sent him,” Louis-Cesare explained, shooting the newcomer a dark look. Apparently, they’d met before I woke up, and it didn’t look like Louis-Cesare was impressed.
“To investigate this unfortunate matter,” Caedmon added. “I am greatly concerned for your friend. She must be found, and the sooner the better. I thought I had discovered her whereabouts, but was too late.”
“Why are you interested in Claire?” She’d never mentioned a connection with the Fey. And here I thought I was the one with all the secrets.
“I greatly look forward to discussing that with you,” Caedmon said, “but”—his gaze swept my battered form—“perhaps when you have recovered?”
“Tell me now.” I put a hand on his arm, and found it almost cool to the touch, or maybe that was the liquid feel of the silk. If any fashion designers saw how he wore his plain gray tunic and leggings, the medieval look would be on every runway come fall. I tried to sit up, but still didn’t have the strength. Even the pain from the wound Louis-Cesare was currently picking at hardly registered. I couldn’t remember a single twenty-four-hour period in which I’d lost consciousness this often, but it felt like I was slipping away again.
“Here, allow me.” Caedmon laid a hand on my forehead. His power surrounded me, like sunlight on my skin. Despite the fact that we were underground, it threw a pattern of gently waving branches across my body and gilded the dusty air until everything glittered. The sounds of the cleanup became a distant background noise, overwritten by musical laughter and voices singing unknown songs. I breathed in a rich forest smell, and vague shadows swirled up around me in a storm of green and gold, like leaves caught in a high wind. For an instant I thought the cave would disappear altogether; then a phantom leaf brushed my cheek and I jerked away, scrambling to reinforce my shields. The sensations hadn’t been threatening, but neither is the sun until it burns you.
I didn’t know whether the images were deliberate sendings—an unobtrusive attempt to calm my nerves—or simply part of what he was. Either way, they passed quickly, and with them went much of my lethargy. Unfortunately, their passing also broke Louis-Cesare’s suggestion, and that meant a return of some serious pain.
I let out a string of Romanian curses I thought I’d forgotten and pushed the vamp away. Stinky hissed at him. “What are you trying to do, an amputation?”
I looked down at my legs, which a moment before had been peppered with seeping wounds, only to find that all but one had closed over—the one he’d been digging in. As I watched, a lump appeared under the skin and, instead of staying put, began roaming around in a very unpleasant way. Then out of the wound popped a squashed metal object that I distantly realized was the bullet Louis-Cesare had been trying to locate. A second after that, the wound closed.
I stared at it in amazement. No one healed like that except a first-level master. Or, it seemed, the Fey. My mind immediately began wondering how you’d go about killing someone who could repair major injuries that quickly, while Caedmon helped me to my feet.