A Thief of Nightshade(79)
Or rather my daughter and Ian, they’re the ones who told Cedrick to come to my court. He’ll be here soon enough.” She turned then and crossed back through the bars to leave the dungeon without a second glance at Aubrey.
Aubrey crumpled to the floor, a strangled sob escaping her lips before the pain made her bite her tongue. She was about to tuck her hands against her chest when she caught sight of her wedding rings and with the little bit of strength she had left, she pulled them off and gripped them tightly in her right hand, squeezing until she was sure she’d drawn blood.
And a song came to mind then, the very one she’d sung in the garden, the one Jullian had begged her to sing for him; except this time she didn’t care who heard her, the guards, the walls, none of it
mattered anymore. So she laid her head back, closed her eyes and sang.
Jullian had already closed his eyes for the night. Unsettled by the evening’s events, he’d dreamed of foreign things, images that were accompanied by emotions he didn’t fully understand and when he awoke in the dark in a cold sweat, the feelings lingering. Until he realized what really woke him.
He sat up in bed, throwing his sheets to the side and swung his feet to the ground. It echoed through the icy corridors like the whisper of ghosts and sent chills skittering across his skin. Yet the sound brought an aching sweetness with it that he felt all the way to his bones, like a hot drink on a cold day. He threw on his clothes and boots, unsure of what he was going to do next.
He braced himself against the door frame and paused before stepping into the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest.
Who are you?
The urgency grew then, forcing his feet to move faster and carry him in the direction of the singing. He circled down the spiral stairs that led into the lower portions of the keep and down one lonely hall after another. It seemed that no matter how far he traveled, the sound never grew stronger or weaker, as though it were coming from inside his head. He stopped again, breathless, as the voice grew
choked, the words weighted with sorrow and though he could scarcely comprehend it, it was familiar: He knew the words and in his mind he spoke them as they were sung.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there. He once was a true love of mine.
Oberon’s hand shook as he traced the outline of a unicorn’s mane, carved of Corry wood, on the far left wall of his throne room. It was at that exact spot that everything he’d ever known had come crashing down on him. It was there that he’d learned of Given’s birth and it was there that he’d vowed to do everything in his power and beyond to save her from his sister’s cruelty.
The room had taken five mortal lifetimes to complete. Made entirely of wood, each piece hand-sculpted and rendered with excruciating detail, each spiraled column wound with magic, it represented everything that was and everything that should have been in Avalar. Man would be surprised to learn that he too was depicted among the Fae and the animals, his sorrows drawn and brought to life beside that of every other creature who called this once bright and brilliant place home.
The ceiling had been designed so that the war bells, unheard for over a thousand years or more, would echo loud and clear.
Oberon drew in a staggered breath, knowing what was to come, grateful that he’d insisted on a moment’s solitude, when he heard the toll of the first bell. The faces, bent in anger or grief, seemed to come alive around him then; children screamed in fear and the whole of Avalar grew as one in their penchant for power and wealth; the Fae desperately clinging to life and Lyr, gave no regard to Man or Beast, just as Man and Beast had given no regard to each other and thus were enemies, not allies, on the battlefield. It was the exploitation of that single weakness that had allowed the Fae to overcome Avalar; that had allowed him to overcome Avalar. As the second and third bells joined the first, Oberon pressed his
weathered hand to his mouth and wept.
The Oran flared to life, illuminating their surroundings in brilliant blue light. Given looked at Aislinn with hope, but didn’t speak.
“Whatever you’re doing, Aubrey, keep doing it,” he rasped. “Don’t stop!”
Given’s eyes watered as she pulled it from his metal sleeve. “He’s waking up, isn’t he?”
Aislinn was almost too afraid to touch it. With shaking fingers, he laid his palm over the Oran, closed his eyes and was instantly overwhelmed with emotion, so much so that he couldn’t speak or
move.
Jullian’s head spun and his surroundings grew sickly known to him; the ice, the darkness lit by unnatural flame—Fae flame.
His gaze turned down to his clothes, the ornate leather belt, his handmade boots. He felt the fabric of his shirt, gently touched the stitching and the nacreous buttons. It reminded him of something he’d once held in his hands: pearls—a bracelet and earrings.
Tell him to find me an acre of land.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
The sound of footsteps sent him into the only corner he could find, where he watched two female Sidhe pass. Armed with swords, clad in the armor of guards, they didn’t seem to hear what he was hearing at all. The only place he could be was Avalar, judging by his initial observations and now the Sidhe, but how?
This certainly didn’t feel like all of the other dreams.
Between saltwater and the sea strands. Then he’ll be a true love of mine.