Hunter's Season (Elder Races #4.7)(10)

Xanthe never told them that she knew how to lay a Tarot spread. She also never told them of the tiny suspicion that had been born as she listened to Seremela speculate. She simply took the opportunity to gain possession of the cards when it presented itself.

The others expected her to take the deck to Dark Fae elders and experts.

She might do that, eventually.

There were ancient shrines dotted throughout Adriyel, dedicated to each of the Elder gods. She might also take the deck to each of the shrines to see if something happened, although she had not decided about that. For now Seremela had said the Power in the deck had pulled to Xanthe, and so she honored the deck’s wishes by keeping it.

The oldest of the old Dark Fae legends spoke of Powerful things that existed, put into the world by the gods to enact their will. If this was such an incredibly rare item, and if Xanthe had the knowledge, Power and skill with which to use it, she could come to rule the Dark Fae if she so wished.

If and if. For all their vast power, the gods could not take away a person’s free will, and Xanthe did not so wish. Nor did she have the knowledge, Power or skill. She hadn’t even gotten up the courage to actually lay out a complete spread, although she would one day soon.

For now she held the cards and shuffled them. She enjoyed the gentle, mellow feel of the Power that soaked into her hands as she handled them, and she liked to study the lovely hand-painted images while quiet whispers and vague images brushed along the edges of her mind.

And she took sober, respectful note of how Inanna’s card continued to surface.

Part of why she lacked the courage to lay a complete spread was she did not want to witness an augury that was filled with sacrifice or grief. Instead, she liked to imagine that Inanna’s card meant good things, light things.

Her long trip from home had been dark and violent. She had witnessed Thruvial and the others do things that turned her stomach and sickened her soul, and she had to do all of that with more than just an expressionless face. If she could not manage enjoyment, she had to at least feign support. She had not known from day to day if she would even survive the trip. There had been many nights when she would lie awake and wonder if she would die alone without friends.

Now, even if it was only for a little while, she needed to imagine those good, light things.

“You would not deny me that, would you?” she asked Inanna.

The woman on the card. She was so strong, so strong.

Xanthe spent her sevenday working on the cottage, cutting and weeding away the long tangled foliage, arranging for wood to be delivered, and walking the short path to sit and dream by the Adriyel River. Sometimes she fished for her supper. Sometimes she waded in the shallows at the edge of the river where she had played as a child.

Sometimes she watched the river barges until the sun dropped low and shone a shimmering path on the dappled, mysterious surface, beckoning her to walk an impossible journey on the water into the light.

She spoke to as few people as possible and let the silence sink into her soul. It washed away some of the terrible stains, not all, but enough so that she did not lie awake at night, dwelling on thoughts of her own death.

On the eighth day, first thing in the morning, she presented herself at the palace to await the Queen’s pleasure.

The Queen was very pleased indeed.

“Whee!” said Niniane, grinning widely as Xanthe stepped into her apartment. “There you are! I’m so excited that you are here. Did you have a good time on your vacation? Did you get enough rest? I will be most unhappy if you ever try to fib to me because it is something you think I want to hear.”

“I have rested quite well, thank you, your grace. I am excited and honored to be here.”

Xanthe stood at rest, her hands clasped loosely behind her back as she regarded the smaller woman with some bemusement. Niniane was dressed in a pale pink, filmy wraparound robe that had a neckline and hem of floating, tiny feathers. She wore odd, dainty American shoes that matched, with high heels and a single strap that somehow held them onto her feet, and with more of the floating, tiny pink feathers along the strap. Her dark hair was pinned up, and somehow it looked both messy and softly feminine.

Niniane caught the direction of her gaze and held out a small foot. “This ridiculous floaty, feathery stuff is marabou, and I love it beyond all reason.”

“It is certainly striking,” Xanthe told her in perfect truthfulness.

The Queen giggled. “How precisely worded of you. You know, I am quite the proper Dark Fae Queen out there.” She waved her hands in the general direction of the doors. “But in here, in private, I get to relax and be anything I want to be. The only thing is—” She looked around mournfully. “I don’t have cable.”

Xanthe blinked. “Then I shall fetch one for you immediately. It would help for me to know what kind of cable you require.”

Niniane giggled harder. “Oh no, I do not require that kind of cable. ‘Cable’ is slang for cable TV. I suppose in Thruvial’s household, you did not have access to any television during your months in America?”

“Ah, no,” said Xanthe. “However, we were able to examine a television in one of the motels we stayed in when we journeyed to Nevada.” She paused then added delicately, “Watching this device seemed an odd pastime.”

“Oh, it is,” Niniane assured her. “It’s also fun, if there is a good story to watch. Theoretically. In Cuelebre Tower in New York, the cable company was horrendous and installed everything wrong. Then they couldn’t seem to get it fixed right until Dragos himself went to talk to the head of the company. After that, the problems were fixed within a week. All eighty floors.” She heaved a sigh. “It must be good to be a dragon.”