The Decline of Roses
Preface
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/36493918.
The Decline of Roses
Before Taryn thought better of it, she rammed the letter opener into Locke's throat. Blood spurted out and Taryn stared in shock at the jewelled knife sticking out of his windpipe, her hand around its hilt.
He was no longer laughing, his mouth hung open in surprise or pain, and as she watched him, Madoc's lessons came back to her. "If you start a fight," he used to say to her and Jude, "be prepared to finish it." For Taryn, he'd had an additional warning: "Hesitation kills more surely than a sword."
So she pushed the knife deeper into Locke's throat, and at first there was resistance around the knife. Then she broke past whatever it was and the knife slid in more easily, until she had to shove once again.
A metallic smell hung in the air, and Locke slid onto the rug. When she pulled the knife out, blood splattered everywhere across her face, her hands, her silver gown, the carpet. It was the gown that bothered her the most. It'd been a gift from Oriana, one of her favorites, and she'd worn it for their conversation to give herself courage and to remind herself of what she wanted to do. Now she supposed the blood wouldn't wash out.
As she stared down at the hole in Locke's throat, her thoughts began to thicken with panic. She'd killed one of the Gentry. It didn't matter that she hadn't meant to, or that he'd provoked her first: she was a mortal here, and he was one of the Gentry, and he was dead. The Folk would never forgive her, and Madoc and Jude weren't at court to help her any more.
Nera and Neve had gone down to the market, and she had some time alone. She had to get rid of the body—the sea was close by. She could dump him in there, toss him over the cliffs and let the waters carry him away. Crouching down, she lifted up the corner of the rug. It had been new, one of the ones she'd redecorated the house with; now Locke's blood upon the golden vine patterns looked like grisly red blossoms. She rolled the rug up around him and began to drag.
To celebrate the treaty between Land and Sea, Locke hosted a revel that lasted for seven nights. The banquet tables overflowed with cakes, wines, and drugs; new dancing circles had been laid into the floors, made of black stone from the new isle the king had raised, and the Gentry dressed in their finery and filled the halls, laughing and dancing and toasting their king.
It made Taryn want to hide in the shadows. She couldn't do that any more, though, now that she was Locke's wife; people would gossip, and she was too closely tied to the recent problems at court. So inside of sneaking away, she smiled graciously and gathered in front of the throne with Locke and a coterie of courtiers, keeping her eyes lowered and staying quiet to avoid attention. If anyone asked, she would say that she was too tired to speak much; the Folk would believe her, because everyone knew mortals were fragile and weak. Besides, it was true enough: she was exhausted, her thoughts spinning in disarray and her feet aching from all the dancing Locke had pulled her into.
For now, though, the dance music had stopped. The only song to be heard was the ballad of a harpist who sang in front of the throne, praising the power and wisdom of their king—a valiant effort of a song, considering that he'd probably only begun it a week ago.
When the last note died, Locke stepped forward and bowed extravagantly to Cardan. "How did you like it?'
The minstrel fidgeted, casting an anxious glance toward the throne, where Cardan lounged, frowning with a goblet in his hand.
Cardan inclined his head to the musician. "It was well-made," he said, and Locke waved a hand to dismiss the musician.
When the musician was gone, Locke turned back to Cardan. "You seem grave tonight, my king. Do our celebrations not please you?"
From his tone, he was playing games again, and Taryn stiffened. She tried desperately to catch his eye, but he did not look at her.
Cardan gave Locke a dry look. "It seems rather late to ask that question."
"But your court may still offer you comfort or remedy," Locke said, "What troubles you, my king? Is there something missing, my king? Or someone, perhaps?"
Taryn flinched, and the Folk around her stirred restlessly. Cardan only smiled, though.
"Right now, I seem troubled by a surfeit of questions," Cardan said. "Are you referring to my seneschal's exile, or to my former Grand General's defection? Those matters will be dealt with in time."
He looked languid upon the throne, but there was a hard certainty to his voice that had not been present in the first months he'd been king. Even Locke had no answer, and in the silence that fell, Cardan gazed around the crowd and caught Taryn's eye. He had no trouble spotting her, though she lingered at the edge of the coterie around the throne; without being obvious about it, she'd tried to avoid his attention for the entire night.
"Lady Taryn," he said. "Your husband reminds me that it has been a while since we spoke."
He was clearly summoning her. Reluctantly, she stepped out of the crowd and curtseyed, trying to hide her nervousness with a smile. The Gentry watched her with curiosity, their gazes pressing like knives against her back.
"Your Majesty," she said.
Cardan raised his goblet in a salute. "You look unmistakable today."
The Folk around her laughed. They thought he was mocking her for being a mortal, that "unmistakable" was the only vaguely complimentary thing he could find to say about her. It was the kind of word games the Folk enjoyed—all the more when it targeted her or Jude.
Only she and Cardan would know his real meaning. He was referencing the day she'd come to him with enchanted earrings in her ears to make her beautiful, pretending to be Jude to steal away half the army of Elfhame. Unmistakable, he called her, because today he would not see her as anything but what she was.
A chill ran through her. She'd never thought that she'd get away with the deception forever, but she'd trusted that Jude wouldn't let him harm her. But now the seneschal's spot beside the throne was conspicuously empty, with no one to keep Cardan under control, and Taryn knew very well how vengeful he could be.
Taryn shot Locke a pleading look, but he just smiled, his face open and interested. She would find no help there; Locke didn't mind that Cardan had chosen to change the focus of the game, not when it could still provide him one of the pageantries of grand emotion he liked so much.
She bowed her head to Cardan and forced herself to smile as if he'd given her a true compliment. "You're too kind, Your Majesty."
"I do seem to be, don't I?" Cardan drained his winecup and set it aside. "Kind, and merciful, too, even to liars and traitors."
The Court would still think he was talking about Jude and Madoc.
She sank to her knees before the throne, intensely aware of the eyes of the Folk upon her. "Your Majesty," she said. "I'm ashamed of the actions of my sister and my father. I don't stand with them."
Her heart pounded hard: she was lying to his face and they both knew it. But he could have had her dragged off to be imprisoned at any point so far, and he had done nothing. Maybe he only wanted to use her to deflect Locke's attention—and making her uncomfortable was as far as his revenge would go. He had been merciful to Jude, as much as the Folk were ever merciful, and so he would be generous to her as well, for Jude's sake if not for her own.
Or so she hoped. Pinned down beneath his gaze, she tried not to fidget.
"You are very quick to renounce your family, my lady," Cardan said.
"My family is Locke now," she said, gazing up at him. "I only want to honor my husband and to serve the High King. If there is anything I can do to prove my loyalty…"
"I have no need for proof," Cardan said, his expression unreadable. "Nor do I have any intention of holding you accountable for the actions of your sister or father. At least for today, though, I suggest you depart from my presence. Your face puts me in mind of someone I would rather not see." Without waiting for her answer, he rose from his throne and turned to Locke. "Enough of the ballads. Call for a dance."
With that the game was over. He stepped toward one of the dancing circles, and the Folk trailed after him. Locke signaled for the musicians to play, and the sounds of fiddles and pipes swelled around Taryn. The Folk left Taryn behind: the spectacle was over, and she didn't matter. How could she, when she was a mortal in the court? She wasn't even her sister, who had commanded the court for a time.
She sighed. Cardan had only wanted to make her uncomfortable after all. She couldn't deny that he had reason to, after what she'd done.
Obeying his orders, she rose from the floor and stepped toward the exit. In the circles of stones, the Folk began to dance, her husband and Cardan among them: on Cardan's head, the Blood Crown gleamed beneath the lights, and Locke was laughing, dancing next to a bark-skinned dryad. No one took any notice when Taryn left the hall.
She headed to a garden in another wing of the palace. Beneath her feet, the winding path glowed like faint moonlight, and a fountain trickled in the distance, the sound growing steadily closer as she walked. The bright lights and the frenetic music of the hall had faded into memory, but she couldn't shake the way she'd felt in the hall, like she'd been a rabbit among wolves. Even before Cardan had called her forward, the Folk had not been kind.
She'd hoped that she would find some peace at the center of the garden, but there was already someone there. In front of the leaping dolphins of the fountain, Nicasia sat in profile, lamplight shining upon her sharp cheekbones. Tonight, her hair was dark blue-grey like the sea around Insmire before the coming of a storm, and she wore a diadem of silver decorated with shark-teeth and pearls. On the edge of the fountain beside her sat a cup and a wine bottle.
Hastily, Taryn turned to leave, but Nicasia's head snapped toward her, her face twisting into a frown. "It's you. Where did you come from?"
Taryn could have asked the same question. This garden was one of the secrets of the palace; it had been a gift from High King Eldred to one of his consorts long ago, but these days, it went mostly unused. Taryn had known about it only because Locke had taken her here for a tryst in the garden.
She'd never seen anyone else here before, nor had she expected to. But then, Nicasia and Locke were friends, and maybe she wasn't the only lover he'd brought down these moonlit paths.
Taryn dropped into a curtsey. "Princess Nicasia. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I came out here for some air, and I hadn't expected to find you here." She would make her excuses and leave.
Nicasia laughed. "Did you expect me to be back in the hall, listening to the court go over my mother's humiliation again?" Nicasia picked up the cup, pouring herself some more wine. Some of it splattered out of the cup, the red droplets landing on Nicasia's dress, but she didn't seem to care.
Taryn bit her lip, trying to think of what to say. "Queen Orlagh and the High King have a truce."
Nicasia gave her a disgusted look. "I'm a hostage for my mother's good behavior. Cardan just wants to use me now. He doesn't speak to me at all, except formally. We were still friends, even if we were no longer—" She broke off. "How could he do this to me?"
She was complaining, Taryn realized incredulously, as if she wasn't still a princess of the Undersea and now an Ambassador on top of that. Even after everything she'd done, Cardan still gave her an honored place in the court. If Jude had managed to keep control of the court, she would have punished Nicasia in truth–and Nicasia would have deserved every bit of it.
That was a dangerous thought to have in Nicasia's presence, and Taryn tried to ignore the workings of her own mind.
"He didn't even care any more. And the rest of the court—" Nicasia paused, glaring at Taryn, and then snapped, "Don't look at me like that."
"I'm sorry," Taryn said automatically. Perhaps some of her thoughts had shown on her face.
Once, she'd hoped that she and Nicasia could get along; after her betrothal to Locke, she'd worked to ingratiate herself to his circle of friends so that they would become her friends as well. Nicasia had even begun to accept Taryn in her company: the two of them had attended parties together, though Nicasia rarely acknowledged her, and apart from a few barbed comments, she'd never done anything to punish Taryn for her relationship with Locke.
But then the Sea had threatened the Land, and Nicasia and her mother had kidnapped Jude. Taryn had only seen Jude briefly afterwards, but Jude had been shockingly thin and hollow-eyed, weak from a month of starvation and beatings.
Nicasia drained her cup and set it down with a loud clatter; when she looked back at Taryn, she seemed to notice Taryn more. It was the kind of attention a cat paid a mouse that it had just noticed crossing its path.
"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be with your husband?"
She was probing for a weakness, punishing Taryn for whatever look she thought Taryn had given her, but it was no use trying to hide the truth when Nicasia could find out anyway.
"The king ordered me to leave."
"Of course Cardan wouldn't want to see you," Nicasia said. She seemed pleased with that, as if it made everything right in the world again, and then she smiled at Taryn and tapped the spot next to her. "Come sit beside me."
It was better to just give Nicasia what she wanted; as long as Taryn endured, Nicasia would tire of this soon enough. Nicasia had always been that way, even when they were children going to school together. Taryn sat down next to Nicasia, prickling with anxiety at their proximity. If either of them reached out, they could touch the other, but sitting farther away would have been an insult. She was glad of the rowan berries pressing against her skin beneath her dress.
Nicasia shifted position, refilling her cup. "I don't see Locke. He could have followed you…but he didn't, did he? I'm sure he finds Cardan a more interesting game."
Taryn clasped her hands in her lap, saying nothing. Fortunately, it didn't seem like Nicasia wanted a response anyway.
"He must be getting tired of playing the romantic lover by now," Nicasia said. "I warned your sister about him, back when I thought she was his lover."
The audacity of those lines left Taryn breathless. Nicasia referenced Jude so casually: as if she had not schemed to steal Jude away to the Undersea, threatened her and hurt her.
A flicker of her feelings must have shown on her face, because Nicasia gave her a small, superior smile. "Do you not like it when I mention your sister?" She laughed and added confidingly, "I don't like it either."
Then Nicasia leaned forward and her face was very close, her eyes large and dark as the sea. Transfixed, Taryn did not think to back away, and Nicasia reached up, her fingers brushing against Taryn's cheek. Nicasia's touch was cold, but a warm thrill ran over Taryn's skin nonetheless.
"I've always wondered what Locke and Cardan see in you two." Nicasia's lips still curved into a smile, but there was a different quality to it now, hungry and eager, and her touch signaled both invitation and ownership.
Taryn thought about Locke, who was probably still dancing in the hall with his dryad. She could imagine the flirtatious looks he would be giving, and the way they would escalate to touches of the hand and face and still more intimate touches yet. Taryn didn't begrudge him his other lovers, not with the promise he'd made to love her forever, but sometimes it made her feel small.
She was feeling that way now. Nicasia wouldn't be gentle to her, wouldn't be kind if they kissed, and anything they did together would just be a game to Nicasia. It would be about power instead of love or even lust, and Taryn wasn't even sure she would enjoy it, and that had its own dangerous appeal.
But then reality hit her. She couldn't do this: Locke had other lovers, but the rules were different for her. As a mortal in Faerie, she had to be faithful; her mother had broken the rules and died for it, and Taryn couldn't make the same mistakes.
Besides, this was Nicasia—who had tormented her and Jude throughout their childhood, who had kidnapped Jude and tried to force her way onto the throne of Elfhame. She was the last person Taryn should be doing anything with.
Drawing away, she tried to buy time. "What do you want from me?"
Nicasia frowned. "Don't pretend to be an innocent." Her hand cradled Taryn's cheek, and then Nicasia leaned in and kissed Taryn.
Her lips were rough and devouring, and her breath smelled like wine; she nipped at Taryn's mouth and then explored Taryn's mouth with her tongue. It was no sweet kiss beneath the moon, but the sound of water was rippling in her ear, and Nicasia's hands drew around her shoulders, pulling her close, caging her.
Taryn managed to pull away. "Someone might see."
"Who cares?" Nicasia laughed. "It's just a game."
Of course, bedding a mortal would only be a game to her. Taryn thought about making her excuses and trying to flee: she could head back to the guest room and hide until Locke found her in the morning. But if she did that, she would be alone in the yawning emptiness of the night, accompanied by only her thoughts and the memory of music and Locke's dancing. Besides, who was to say Nicasia would even let her go? Now that Taryn was here, she couldn't back out.
In the light of the garden, Nicasia looked splendidly beautiful—but then she always did. Even among the Gentry of the Court, her beauty had always stood out, and Taryn had always envied her for that, just as she envied how Nicasia never had to care.
But at least in this moment, she did care, at least enough to desire something from Taryn, and that idea was tempting in its own way. Perhaps it would be all right as long as Locke never found out—as long as it was a secret.
"You can't tell Locke," Taryn said.
Nicasia gave her a sharp, amused smile. "Why would I bother? I promise I won't tell. Come to my chambers with me." She grabbed Taryn by the wrist with a grip hard enough to hurt, her words as uncompromising as the tides, and Taryn let herself be swept away.
The door to the study proved to be Taryn's first obstacle. Pushing the rolled-up rug forward had been manageable if awkward, but turning the rug to get Locke through the door was harder—and there were many twisting hallways up ahead. She stared down at the rolled-up rug, frustrated enough that tears came into her eyes. Then she wondered if that was what she actually should be crying about.
The whole thing felt absurd. Somehow, killing Locke had been the easy part, and the hard part was getting out the door.
Madoc's teachings weren't any help. He may have taught her how to kill people, but he'd never taught her how to hide a body; he'd probably never thought she would need to.
She glanced around the room, desperate for some idea of what to do. Jude would have probably known what to do, in her place. Of course, Jude would probably have never got into this situation in the first place. Then again, maybe not. Jude was in exile for killing Balekin, after all.
Her eyes fell upon the garden through the window, and she remembered the wheelbarrow. The servants had used it to work in the garden when they'd planted roses from the Court of Swallows a week ago. It would be large enough to fit a body.
Hastily, she dragged the wheelbarrow from the garden into the study and managed to get Locke inside. She rolled him out into the hall, the clattering of the wheels making her heart hammer. Even though Nera and Neve were out, she kept expecting one of them to appear around the corner and spot her covered in blood.
But no one came, and no one knew what she had done. Making it to the side door, she stepped out into the night.
The morning after she visited Nicasia, Taryn headed back to the quarters she shared with Locke. He wasn't there, and after searching, she found him in one of the other guest rooms. He sprawled naked on a scarlet divan; around him, pillows and wine cups scattered across the floor, and the air bore the nauseating, sweet odor of fairy fruit.
Locke got up and gave her an absent kiss of greeting. "There you are, Taryn. I was beginning to wonder where you were. You missed an exciting night."
As he dressed, he told her about the delights he'd arranged, the dances, and the gossip, the secrets and stories he liked so much. He didn't tell her who he had spent the night with, but she knew better than to think that he was trying to spare her feelings: Locke simply didn't consider it worth remarking upon.
"We didn't see Nicasia at all for most of the night," he said as he buckled on his belt. "She must have been sulking somewhere."
Taryn tried not to flinch. She couldn't let him know what had happened; she had no idea how he would react. When she'd taken other lovers in the past, it had been with his knowledge, for his pleasure as much as her own. Perhaps he would be angry at her faithlessness—but worse was the thought that he might only be indifferent or amused. And if she told him what she had done, she would have to tell him why.
Locke didn't seem to notice anything wrong with her; he gave her a sly, delighted smile, inviting her to share his joke. "The sea princess is a sore loser. It applies to politics as well as love."
It bothered her to hear him talking of Nicasia that way. She told herself it was only because he was being foolish; even though they were in private, there was still the chance that someone might overhear.
Turning away to hide her expression, she picked up his coat from the ground. It was one that she'd picked for him, and the green suited him, bringing out the intensity of his eyes and the russet of his hair. She helped him put it on, and he smiled at her, giving her a tender look of regard. In the past, that expression had always made her melt; it made her feel as if she could take on anything. With that look to fortify her, she'd found the courage to join Cardan's circle and felt like she'd had a place among the Gentry; it'd made her forgive the way he treated her like a game.
"Why didn't you come find me last night?" she asked him.
Locke's eyes widened. "Are you angry with me?" He looked wounded as he took her hands into his. "Taryn, my blossom, how could I leave the king's side? I had duties to attend to."
He reached up, tucking her hair solicitously behind her ear, and she shivered.
"Is that really why you didn't leave?"
Locke frowned. "If I had followed you, I would have drawn more attention to you," he said, "and Cardan might have been displeased with both of us."
He touched her cheek, and she pulled away.
"You're right," she said, hoping he wouldn't notice how strange her voice sounded. It was useless to fight with him—and she supposed it had been such a minor thing. Besides, if he pressed, maybe she would have to lie about where she was last night.
"Can we go home now?" she asked. "I want to go home."
Locke smiled at her, clearly pleased to be forgiven. "Of course we can go back to the manor."
He pulled her into his arms, and this time she did not resist; she clung to the fact that they were going back to the estate. In the palace, everything had gone wrong, but once they returned to the house, surely everything would be all right. They could stop with the secrets and betrayals; she could make a fresh start, catch her breath and forget everything that had happened.
Back at the house, there was a letter from Vivi that said that Jude was living in her apartment now. Jude was furious and restless, but she was alive and safe.
Taryn cried when she read that. For the past week, she'd danced and smiled among the Gentry, not knowing what had happened to Jude. Maybe the knights had hurt Jude, or maybe Jude had tried to do something foolish out of anger; there'd been no one she could ask and nothing to do but worry. She'd wondered iif Jude's exile might have been partly her fault: if she hadn't tricked Cardan, maybe Jude would have been able to stay.
She couldn't imagine Jude in the mortal world again, any more than she could imagine herself. They'd just been children the last time they were there; Vivi had been living there with Heather for a while now, but it was different for her. Vivi had always longed for the human world, and even if she went there, she was still one of the Folk.
By the way, what did you do to make Jude so mad at you? Vivienne asked at the end of the letter. She won't even speak your name.
Taryn set the letter down on her writing desk and pulled out the blank sheet that had come with the letter.
I sided with Madoc against her, she wrote.
Madoc had sounded so reasonable when he summoned her from her room to talk about the chaos in the court, how much it was hurting both Elfhame and hurting Jude. Gravely, he'd reminded her that she had duties to her family, and he'd said that her loyalty wouldn't go unrewarded. For her, he would find a way to strip Locke of his position at court—which Jude had lied about being unable to help her with.
All Madoc had needed was for her to pretend to be her sister and coax Cardan into freeing Madoc from his oath to the Blood Crown. She hadn't known then that Madoc would betray the High Court. Or at least, she hadn't asked.
I didn't mean to hurt her. I didn't even know that was what I was doing at the time…
Except that she'd known that Jude would be angry and that she would never have agreed to Madoc's plan—otherwise, Madoc wouldn't have needed Taryn at all. She forced herself to stop writing down excuses, ending the letter and signing her name.
Taryn opened the window to a grey and cloudy sky; the wind was cold and biting, carrying to her the scent of the sea. For a moment, it reminded her of Nicasia; then she repressed the thought and folded the paper into a bird.
"Go find Vivi," she said. Inside her palm, the paper bird came alive with Vivi's magic and lifted its triangular head. It flapped its wings and rose into the air, and the sea breeze carried it toward the mists that separated this world and the other.
Vivi's letter came back a few hours later. She didn't ask for any more details about what had happened; maybe Jude had told her, or more likely, she just didn't care enough about the details of Faerie politics. You two should talk it out. Why don't you come visit?
Taryn laughed at that until tears came into her eyes again. Vivi made everything sound so simple, but then, for her, things usually were.
I can't leave Locke, she wrote back. Besides, I think Jude would rather not see me right now.
And Taryn had nothing to offer Jude except empty apologies and excuses. She regretted hurting her sister, but she didn't regret what she had done. She had needed help with Locke, and she had wanted to stay on Madoc's good side; she knew what happened to Madoc's enemies—and to the family that betrayed him. Jude should have remembered that too.
Vivi didn't ask her to see Jude again. Taryn never wrote to her twin either.
Two days after they returned to the mansion, Locke found Taryn at breakfast. He was dressed to go out, dapper in a fine coat with the scent of his favorite cologne lingering around him.
"I'll be going to a revel for the next week," he said.
Taryn set her fork down. The thought of having to flirt and laugh and dance at another party was unappealing, but then she realized that he hadn't mentioned that he was bringing her.
"Are you going without me?"
"You weren't invited," Locke said, smiling patiently at her.
Taryn stared at him. "But I'm your wife."
Locke shrugged.
She gave him an urgent look. "Don't go then. Tell the host you won't, stay with me." When he frowned at her, she tried again. "Get me an invitation then. You can do that, with your position at court."
"Taryn.” His expression conveyed how unreasonable he thought she was being. "You can't expect to follow me everywhere. Think of the guests, too—some of them might be uncomfortable with you there, with your sister a murderer and your father a traitor."
For a second, she wanted to fling a plate at his head. Jude would have done that; no, Jude would have hit him until he apologized. Taryn took a deep breath, composing herself.
"Did you ensure that I wouldn't receive an invitation?" she asked softly.
Locke smiled at her. "It's only a week, my love. Can't you even wait that long?"
If she protested, it would only drive Locke away: this was probably just another of his tests, anyway.
She managed a smile. "Come back soon."
He was gone after breakfast. She waited for him inside the mansion, the house feeling like an empty cage: she had no friends to visit her, and in the mansion there were only two servants who obeyed her but did not welcome any conversation. She missed the bustle of Madoc's home, the guards and servants coming and going and the visits of Oriana's friends—and her family with her.
Taryn planted new flowers in the garden, replaced the somber, aging furniture that Locke's father had left behind, and managed Locke's neglected properties. She hung new curtains, embroidered foxes, and watched the ocean from the windows. At night, she could make out the distant glow of the lights of the mortal; though she strained to see, she could never make out any detail through the fog.
Locke did not return after a week, or two. She sent Nera to inquire and learned that he had gone from one revel to the next. When she sent letters, he did not reply to her letters.
It was three weeks before he returned, winestains soaking into his jacket. She met him in the main hall, wearing a dress woven of moonlight. "You told me you would be gone for a week," she said, unable to stop the accusation in her tone.
"My friends and I delighted so much in each other's company that we thought it would be a pity to part," he answered. "What could we do but hold another? Are you angry again?"
"No," she said.
"You're lying." He beamed at her, and for the first time in their conversation, his eyes grew bright with interest. "Did you weep and long for me?"
Of course she had. “What about you?" she asked. "Did you think about me?"
Locke reached for her hand and she brushed his arm away. When she glanced back up at his face, he was smiling.
"You can't just abandon me like that," she said.
"I told you that I would be changeable and fickle," Locke said, "and that I would not love as mortals do."
She stared at him, wondering where it had all gone wrong and wishing that she did not already know. "Let's talk tomorrow," she said at last, trying to keep her voice from trembling. If they kept talking, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from crying, and she would feel worse if she cried and he did not care. "I'm tired."
She turned away from him. For a moment she hoped that he would stop her, that he would grab her by the arms, tell her that he regretted what he'd done, and beg for her forgiveness—or at least that he was here now and that he loved her.
"Go to sleep," he said.
He did not join her that night in bed. She cried herself to sleep, surrounded by the golden pillows and beautiful curtains of foxes she had ordered for their bed, and in the morning, she learned he had left the house again.
She waited for him for a week and he did not come. When at last her solitude was broken, it was not because of Locke but because of the High King.
Cardan lounged on the couch in her sitting room as if he owned it, gazing curiously around the room at the new paintings of forests that she'd picked out. His tail laid next to his leg, and Taryn tried not to stare.
She curtsied. "Your Majesty—"
"None of that," Cardan said. "We're alone here, and we both know where your loyalties lie."
He shifted on the couch, and she looked away nervously. She hadn't expected him to show up in her home, and the sight of him on the couch reminded her too much of the last time she'd seen him alone.
Cardan gave an exasperated sigh, and in that moment, he sounded neither like a High King nor the prince who had tormented her and Jude. "Don't worry. I have no intention of executing you or tossing you in the Tower of Forgetting—though the thought has crossed my mind once or twice. I only want you to tell me what you've heard of your sister."
She blinked at him. "She's in exile." Did he think she was hiding Jude in her house?
"I'm aware," Cardan said drily. "Has she written to you?"
She looked down. "We don't contact each other."
"No," he said. "I suppose you wouldn't." His fingers tapped absently against the arm of the couch. "Your other sister, then. Vivienne must have written to you of Jude."
She hesitated. "If I answer your questions, will you make me some promises in return?"
Cardan frowned, and the look in his eyes turned dangerous. "What do you want?"
"You can't make any reprisals against me if you don't like the answers I give," she said quickly. "Also, I plan to host a party soon. I want you to attend and be a gracious guest."
"You place a high price on serving your king," Cardan said. He didn't seem pleased, but he didn't seem angry either.
She'd guessed rightly. Cardan still desired Jude, and that hadn't gone away with his brother's death or Jude's exile. Taryn couldn't completely understand what was happening between him and Jude, but it meant that he would bargain with her for news of her sister. It gave her influence over the High King of Faerie, and the thought was both horrifying and exhilarating.
"Jude wouldn't be happy with me if I told you about her," Taryn said.
"And when have you ever concerned yourself with your sister's happiness?" Cardan smiled at her flinch. "But very well. I agree to your terms."
"She's living with Vivienne and Oak," Taryn said. It wouldn't cause any harm to tell him that; there were Folk in the mortal world who could have told him the same thing. "She's working for the Folk who live in the mortal world."
Cardan nodded impatiently. "I want to know if Jude has mentioned coming back."
Taryn stared at him in surprise. "She wouldn't. She can't. You exiled her from all of Faerieland—it'd be a death sentence if she came back."
A flicker of motion drew her eye to the seat of the couch: his tail, lashing back and forth. She glanced away quickly, afraid that Cardan would take offense, but he was gazing thoughtfully into space.
"Banishment should hardly stop her," Cardan said irritably.
Taryn frowned at him. Even Jude had to realize that she couldn't defy the full might of Faerie—or so Taryn hoped. The recent months had taught Taryn that she knew Jude less well than she'd thought.
"Why wouldn't it stop her? Besides, why should she want to come back? Jude was tearing herself to pieces holding onto her position in the Court, enduring the humiliations of the Gentry all the while, and then you took her power away from her." She paused. "Her family in Faerie also betrayed her."
She hated saying those words, especially to Cardan; it was an admission of wrongdoing she didn't want to give.
Cardan was staring at her. Taryn realized that he was watching her expression, checking for the tells that she was lying: it was a habit that even some of the Folk in Madoc's household didn't have. Had Jude taught him to do that?
"She's living with the family that didn't betray her, and Vivi says she's settling into her life there. There's nothing left for her but revenge—and she wouldn't come back for it unless she could get it."
"She wouldn't need to come back for that," Cardan said absently. Then focusing upon her, he continued, "I wonder if I ought to believe you, Lady Taryn." He stood. "Still, you were wise to ensure that there would be no repercussions for your words. My father imprisoned courtiers for far less."
Even with the promise between them, she stiffened. His mouth crooked into a mocking smile. "I look forward to your revel, Lady Taryn."
When he was gone, she sank into a chair, her legs suddenly weak. She'd done the right thing. She'd said what she'd needed to in order to keep Cardan away from Jude; he'd all but said outright that he wanted Jude to return to his side, but being in Faery beside Cardan would only destroy Jude. Jude would try to defy her limits again, reach for things that a mortal in Faery shouldn't, making more enemies and coming into conflict with Madoc. It was better that she stayed in the mortal world.
Cardan was wrong. Taryn did care about Jude's happiness.
Later, she found Locke drinking at the house of one of his friends. Taryn ducked through the crowd and pretended that she didn't notice the hostile looks the Gentry directed toward her; it was rude of her to come here uninvited, but she couldn't be sure Locke would read her letter.
When she found Locke, she grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away from the crowd. "I'll be hosting a party for the quarter moon. I want you to come home for it."
He gave her a startled look, drunk enough that he didn't recognize her at first. Then his face brightened with a smile. "Taryn, my dear—"
"The High King has agreed to attend," she said. "Don't you want to see him again?"
Just as she'd expected, that brought him to a pause. He gave her an appraising look. "I'd already agreed to go to a friend's house," he said, "but I suppose I can find the time."
One of his friends called him away, and Locke staggered back to the party. Her triumph felt oddly hollow.
Back at the house, Taryn sent letters of invitation to the other members of the Court, promising them wine and other pleasures. She hesitated before writing the invitation to Nicasia: they hadn't seen each other since the night at the palace, and Taryn wasn't sure she wanted to see Nicasia again. In the end, she wrote the letter: she could hardly leave out the Ambassador of the Undersea.
She tried not to think too hard as she sent the servants away with the letter. There were plenty of other things to worry about, and if she was lucky, Nicasia wouldn't accept.
The sea cliffs weren't far from the mansion, and Taryn had almost made it there when, to her horror, Nicasia showed up, heading in the direction of the mansion. Nicasia's eyes widened in shock as she looked first at Taryn, and then the wheelbarrow and the rolled-up carpet inside. She must have seen Locke's russet hair inside the rug, because she paled, the shock on her face giving way to horror and anger.
"What did you do?" she demanded.
In the sky above them, seagulls screamed. Nicasia stood frozen, staring at Taryn.
Taryn gave Nicasia a pleading look, trying to hold her still by the force of her gaze alone. "Please, you can't tell anyone."
At Taryn's party, the music played merrily, and enchanted lights floated in the air, shedding bright light upon the halls. Though it was early in the party, the Gentry had already begun to celebrate. Laughter rang out and wine flowed, and the Folk gathered on the divans and pillows, conversing and doing more than conversing. Her husband was among them, drinking with a violet-haired girl curled into his chest.
Taryn moved among the revelers, alert to the needs of her guests and keeping an eye upon the servants. She'd begun to wonder if Cardan would arrive at all when she saw him entering, a group of courtiers behind him. Hastily, she went to greet him, curtseying.
"Lady Taryn," he said, bending to kiss her hand. "I must compliment you on the revel you've prepared."
He was speaking not just to her but for the Gentry who gathered around him; he was keeping to their bargain, and behind him, the members of the Court exchanged looks. No doubt it would become a piece of gossip that the High King looked upon Locke's mortal wife with favor.
Taryn smiled at Cardan. "I'm honored that you agreed to come, Your Majesty." Just as he did, she spoke for the crowd, showing her gratitude for the High King's regard. "I hope you enjoy the festivities."
"I'm sure there are many delights to come," he said. His tone was all courtesy, but she noticed that he didn't say that there were any delights for him. For the briefest moment, irony flashed in his expression, and then he glanced toward Locke. "I think I'll go greet my old friend. Take care, Lady Taryn."
She curtsied as he departed, the courtiers following behind him. Nicasia was among them; for a moment, she glanced at Taryn as she passed, but then Lady Asha leaned in and murmured something to distract Nicasia's attention. Rumor said the two of them had become close ever since Cardan had released Lady Asha from the Tower of Forgetting; from what Taryn had observed, it was probably because they both had a streak of cruelty and no qualms about indulging it with their rank.
As the night passed, Taryn mingled among the partygoers, smiling and expressing her delight at their presence. She pretended that she did not notice or care when some of them snubbed her; in any case, there were fewer unkind words than there could have been. At least some among the court had taken notice of the attention given her by the king. She resented having to be grateful to Cardan for that.
It came as a surprise when she heard Lady Asha's raised voice through the crowd.
"It's decent enough," Lady Asha was saying, "though I've attended better. Still, what can one expect from a mortal?" She was beside Nicasia again, placing a solicitous hand upon her arm. "Does being here bother you, Princess? I've heard the stories of your relationship with our Master of Revels."
Colour rose in Nicasia's face.
Lady Asha smiled, patting Nicasia on the arm. "No doubt you're better rid of him. He can't have much taste, to choose a mortal. And perhaps my son may come to his senses."
Taryn wondered if she had been wrong to think that Nicasia and Lady Asha were close. Nicasia was frowning, her deep blue hair turning stormy at the tips. Taryn recognized the look in her eyes from their days in school: Nicasia wanted very badly to hurt someone. She should have felt happy to see Nicasia discomfited, but instead it just felt wrong; Nicasia had always seemed so confident and powerful.
Trying not to think too hard about what she was doing, Taryn stepped closer, dipping into a curtsey of greeting. "Princess Nicasia, Lady Asha," she said, smiling brightly.
Neither Lady Asha nor Nicasia seemed pleased to see her, but it was too late to back out now.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Taryn said. Not for the first time, she was grateful for how easy it was to lie as a mortal. "But I've hoped to speak with Princess Nicasia this whole night. Your Highness, may I have some of your time?"
Lady Asha glared at her for interfering, but she did nothing. This was Taryn's revel and the High King had just shown Taryn signs of favor, and Lady Asha wouldn't go against that when her entire position at court depended on Cardan.
At least for today, Taryn was safe from Lady Asha's moods, and that knowledge made it easier to meet Lady Asha's eyes and smile. Was this how Jude had felt when she dealt with the court as their seneschal, knowing that they detested her but that they couldn't do anything about it? Taryn wasn't sure she liked the feeling—or maybe she liked it too much. Uncomfortably, she thought she understood Jude better now.
Lady Asha smiled coolly at Taryn and then turned to Nicasia. "I would hate for you to go. But still, if you wish to speak with her…"
The Folk around her glanced toward Nicasia, curious if she would accept a mortal's invitation. Nicasia hesitated, and for a moment Taryn thought she would refuse.
Then Nicasia raised her chin and said haughtily, "I'll hear what she has to say."
She grabbed Taryn's arm, her fingers digging into Taryn's skin, and Taryn barely managed not to gasp as Nicasia dragged her off. Nicasia led Taryn onto the terrace and turned to her, releasing Taryn's arm. Absently, Taryn touched her own arm where Nicasia had grabbed her; she still felt the phantom pressure of Nicasia's touch.
She tried to think of something to say, but Nicasia spoke first.
"Enough of this farce. As if you have anything to say to me." Her eyes burned with disdain, and Taryn froze. "Do you expect me to be grateful?" Nicasia continued. 'I don't need a mortal to intervene on my behalf, especially not you. I can deal with Asha on my own."
"I would have done the same for any other of my guests," Taryn said. As the host, she had a duty to make sure her guests were happy, and Nicasia had looked so angry; she didn't want gossip to start about her party.
Nicasia glowered at her. She took a step closer, raising her hand, and Taryn backed away.
"You can't," Taryn said. "Someone will see, there'll be a scandal—"
Nicasia paused, her mouth curving upwards. "You're right." She dragged Taryn deeper into the garden. "I shouldn't hit you, when you're the host. But still, you need to be punished."
Smiling wickedly, she wound her hand through Taryn's hair and tore hard enough to hurt. Then before Taryn could cry out, Nicasia's mouth covered hers in a kiss.
She took no interest in Taryn's pleasure, but still the sounds of the party faded away as heat flooded Taryn's body. Taryn closed her eyes and Nicasia's grip gentled in her hair, one palm slipping to cradle Taryn's cheek. Then Nicasia deepened the kiss into something gentler and sweet, a lover's kiss instead of something meant to hurt.
Taryn shoved Nicasia away. "No, you can't." Her voice sounded strange, breathless; her body still felt light and too hot. "Locke…"
For a moment, she thought Nicasia wasn't going to listen, but then Nicasia took a step back, her eyes bright. "Think of it as a punishment," she said. "For 'helping' me."
She swept away and headed back into the hall with its colorful lights. Taryn reached up, touching her lips. For the rest of the night, Nicasia's words lingered: she'd said to think of it as a punishment, not that it was.
"He was being cruel," Taryn said. "I just wanted him to be quiet. It was an accident."
But her throat closed around the words. The memories shook loose in her mind: Locke's look of surprise, the letter opener sticking in his throat, and then the blood everywhere and the gap in his throat.
She hadn't needed to aim for his throat; she hadn't needed to grab the letter opener at all. But the things he'd been saying had been horrible and she hadn't been able to bear them, and she'd known that the letter opener would pierce all the way to bone. It had been a gift from Madoc and like all of his gifts, it would always strike sharp and true.
"Please," Taryn said again, but Nicasia shook her head.
"He was my friend," she said furiously. "How could you?"
And something inside of Taryn snapped for the second time that day. She clenched her fists, scowling at Nicasia. "And you've never hurt anyone in your life?"
In the morning, Locke left the house again. He kissed Taryn, complimented on the revel, and then told her he was going hunting for a week.
He could have waited. She had barely seen him in the night: he had surrounded himself with his friends and other lovers, drinking and goading Cardan, and left her alone to manage the party and deal with the guests. But it would have been useless to protest about that: she had, after all, offered to host the party herself.
After he was gone, she ordered the servants to clean up and rearrange the furniture. There was glass and spilled wine to clean up, and some of the furniture had broken over the wild night; after it had all been cleaned up, she paid the servants she'd hired just for the revel and sent them on their way.
The colors of the house seemed too bright around her, the silence ringing in her ears. She headed up to her quarters, craving the quiet and comfort of a nap.
When she opened the door, she froze. The bed was rumpled, the pillows askew and the blanket half tossed-aside; the gown she'd left on the bed had been tossed into a disorderly heap on the divan. As if in a dream, she stepped toward the bed, passing the wine bottles that lay carelessly on the ground. Wine soaked into the rug, and when she got closer, she spotted whitish stains upon the bedsheets.
She stared at the bedsheets, and rage made it hard to breathe. It could only have been Locke, of course. The other members of the Gentry wouldn't have used the room without his permission. She imagined him pulling in one or more of his lovers, laying them down and speaking tender words of love; carelessly, he would have tossed aside her gown to make room on the bed.
When had he even come up here? It must have been during one of the times she'd lost track of him during the revel. Had he left the room in such a disorderly state to send her a message, to see what she would do, or had he not thought of her at all? She could not tell which she hated more.
On the curtains, the foxes gazed out at her with dark and mocking eyes. She'd commissioned them to flatter Locke, and he had barely taken notice of them when she hung them up. Viciously, she pulled the curtains back until she didn't have to look at them any more.
Nausea rose in her throat. The sharp sting of tears pricked at her eyes, but if she started crying, she would never stop, and it would be too humiliating to cry here, surrounded by the signs of what her husband had done in their room.
She took a deep breath, composing herself, shoving her hurt and anger deep down inside of her. Then she changed into a new dress, combed her hair, and picked out a small box from her jewelry bag, trying to ignore the mess in the room behind her. When she was satisfied with her clothes and her composure, she jerked the bell to call for a servant.
Neve came after a few minutes. She glanced around the room and then at Taryn, waiting for an order, and Taryn was glad she couldn't read the expression in the faerie's inhuman face.
"I'll be leaving the house for a few hours," Taryn said. "Please clean up the room before I'm back. Have the bedsheets and blankets replaced." She would replace the rug and the curtains as well, but that could wait. For now, she didn't want to be here.
"As you command, my lady," Neve said impassively. "Will you require anything else before you go?"
Taryn shook her head. "I don't need anything." The calm of her own voice surprised her, as did the calm inside of her. The storm of rage inside her had faded, giving way to hollowness. At least, it made it easy to keep moving.
The palace was quiet this early in the afternoon, with many of the Folk still in their beds. She was glad of that; it meant that there weren't that many of the Folk looking at her, the mortal among their midsts. She still remembered the path, since it hadn't been that long since she had come here, but still everything around her seemed both new and strange.
At last, she paused in front of the great oak door of the ambassador quarters. She hesitated for only a moment. There were so many reasons to leave, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
She pulled the jewelry box out of her bag. Nestled inside the box were the glowing moon-and-star earrings that Locke had given her for her wedding—she'd never learned how it was he'd gotten them, but their enchantment made her beautiful beyond even the dreams of the Folk. She'd worn them at her wedding and in the days afterwards, using them to hide her exhaustion and worry at Jude's disappearance. The last time she'd worn them had been when she'd dressed in her sister's doublet to charm the High King in his parlor. After that, she'd buried the earrings in a drawer, telling herself it wasn't wise to taunt the High King with a reminder of her own deception.
She put on the earrings now, first the moon and then the star. The weight of them settled into her ears, but she didn't feel any different. Then, before she could think better of it, she lifted her hand and knocked at the door. Nicasia's selkie servant opened the door. She stared at Taryn, a stunned look on her face; the earrings had worked their magic.
"I'm here to see Princess Nicasia," Taryn said.
The servant frowned. "I'll announce you."
"Can't you just take me to her?" Taryn said, widening her eyes. Leaning close, she laid her hand on the woman's arm. "She'll want to see me, and I want to surprise her."
The selkie looked dazzled, but she frowned as if she would refuse. Then she said, "You're the mortal the Princess came back with the other time. I suppose that's all right, then."
Trying to conceal her triumph, Taryn followed the selkie into Nicasia's quarters and down the hall.
"She's in here," the selkie said, gesturing toward a door down the end of the hall.
Taryn smiled at her. "Can you give us some privacy?"
When the selkie departed, she opened the door and entered a room that looked like no room she'd ever seen. The walls around her were mottled, a brilliant orange—not stone, she realized, but like coral. The plants that lined the walls were kelp, somehow growing in the air. Above her the ceiling moved like water; small, colorful fish swarmed and darted across its surface.
Wonder suffused her, and for a moment, she expected to feel the weight of water upon her face, but she still breathed air. None of it was real; it was only a room enchanted to look like the mansions of the Undersea.
The floor sloped just ahead, becoming a pool. Nicasia lounged at the edge, naked, her tail resting in the water. When Taryn closed the door, Nicasia's eyes snapped open. Her tail became legs, and she stood and stepped out of the pool.
"What are you doing here?"
The words were a demand, but they came out hoarse, startled. Nicasia stared at her with wide, transfixed eyes, and Taryn smiled. The earrings worked on the sea fae, as well, and it made Taryn beautiful enough to fan the desire that was already there.
"We have unfinished business," Taryn said, stepping up to the pool.
She grabbed Nicasia's hand and gave her a teasing kiss, tracing her lips along the edge of Nicasia's ear. Water dripped onto her skin from Nicasia's; she tasted salt on Nicasia's lips. Of course the water in the pool would be salt water
Then Nicasia pulled her into the water, pressing her against the wall of the pool. Taryn's dress soaked, and the water's cold bit sharply against her skin, but then Nicasia kissed her, so that they shared both tongue and breath. The water's chill eased around Taryn; she felt comfortable, cradled there by the water, Nicasia kneeling in the water over her.
Nicasia touched the crescent moon earring Taryn wore. "I recognize this. Grimsen made these earrings of yours." She laughed quietly. "Did you think I would turn you away?"
"Would you have?" Taryn asked.
Nicasia reached into Taryn's dress. Her fingertips brushed against Taryn's clit, the touch of it teasing enough to make her want more, and Taryn gasped, imagining Nicasia's fingers inside of her, stroking her and leaving her senseless with pleasure.
But that wasn't what she'd come for. She squirmed beneath Nicasia, bringing her leg up between them and intentionally rubbing against her cunt. Nicasia gasped, her grip slackening, and then Taryn sat up and trailed teasing kisses from her lips and then to her throat. She traced her tongue along Nicasia's collarbone, light and teasing, cupping Nicasia's breasts in her hands.
Then she slipped her hands between Nicasia's thighs. Nicasia was already wet, not just from the water, and the wetness between Taryn's own legs felt almost unbearable. Taryn slipped her fingers inside of Nicasia, and as Nicasia moaned, Taryn kissed her again, her tongue slipping into Nicasia's mouth even as her fingers moved inside Nicasia.
Nicasia cried out, her body tensing and then relaxing. Then she pinned Taryn down again, and this time Taryn did not pull away. Nicasia's hands explored Taryn's body and then Nicasia dove underwater. Sea fae that she was, she could breathe under the water; her tongue licked relentlessly at Taryn's clit until at last Taryn came apart.
Later, they sat in the parlor, facing each other. The blaze of the fireplace radiated heat into the room, and Nicasia's servant brought in seaweed cakes and tea. Neither of them touched the refreshments.
"Take off the earrings," Nicasia said, settling back against the couch and frowning at Taryn. "It's distracting."
After a moment of hesitation, Taryn obeyed, fidgeting inside the loose, deep-green robe that Nicasia had lent her.
"Why did you come here?" Nicasia asked, studying her. "Was this Locke's idea?"
"He doesn't know," Taryn said. Privately, she admitted it was the kind of thing Locke might propose.
"Then, why?"
Why did it seem as if everyone saw Taryn as nothing but an extension of Locke, when she'd been the one to choose him, when she'd forced him to marry her? Perhaps that was the fate of a mortal bride in Faerie. Taryn tilted her chin up, feeling rebellious. "Last night, he cheated on me in my bed, when I'd worked so hard preparing that revel for him. So I wanted to cheat on him, too."
She'd wanted her own affair. She'd chosen Nicasia because she knew Nicasia wanted her, because she'd thought about the kiss upon the terrace, and because Nicasia would understand what Locke was like. And, she admitted to herself, because Nicasia was a Princess of the Undersea—she'd wanted the desire of someone who outranked Locke.
Nicasia gazed at her in surprise. "I didn't think you had it in you," she said, sitting up with a self-satisfied smile.
"I wouldn't mind taking something from Locke," Nicasia continued. Her hand stroked Taryn's cheek, the touch surprisingly tender. "Or from you, either."
"You abducted my sister," Taryn said, glaring defiantly at Nicasia. "She was starved and beaten when she came back, and before that, we were the Circle of Worms to you. And back at school, you made Jude kneel and crawl when she was drugged, and I don't know what you did to her in the Undersea. How dare you judge me? Locke hurt me, but Jude never hurt you. Neither of us ever did!"
"I don't need to explain anything to you," Nicasia said.
"Why do you even care about Locke?" Taryn asked. Now that Taryn had started speaking, she couldn't stop. "He used you. Do you know what kind of things he said to me, about you and Cardan? He calls you a haughty, lovestruck princess, and he calls Cardan a fool. He loves it when the two of you are humiliated, more than anyone else—"
"I don't need you to tell me any of that!" Nicasia's voice rang out, loud and angry. "He was my friend." Her face flushing, she glared at Taryn. Then her voice softened, breaking as she spoke. "When my mother sent me to the Land, I had no one. I never wanted to come here, and most of the Folk just wanted to use me, and they gossiped and laughed behind my back for not knowing the ways of the Court. But then Cardan was there, and Locke and Valerian afterwards."
Tears glimmered in Nicasia's eyes. "Of course I know what Locke was like! Cardan was the only one of my friends who really cared about me. But Locke was still there when I felt like I didn't belong on the Land, and he was better than nothing. You wouldn't understand."
Taryn laughed bitterly. "Do you really think I wouldn't understand?"
She was a mortal in Faerie; she'd been stolen away when she was seven, and she'd had no one but her sisters and the man who had murdered her parents. She'd tried so hard to mold herself to Faery, to be polite and lovely and obedient, but no matter what she did, it was never enough—and throughout her childhood, Nicasia had always been there to remind her of that.
Nicasia didn't answer. Taryn should have felt triumph at that, but mostly she just felt dull and tired. Now that she'd spoken her mind, it felt as if there was nothing left inside her.
"Locke doesn't even come to see you any more. The Gentry still wants to use you. I've been with you more than any of your friends," Taryn said. "Don't I deserve something from you?"
"Will you take me to the mortal world?" Taryn asked Nicasia as they lay in Taryn's room.
Nicasia turned to look at her and scoffed. "Did you grow tired of living among the Folk?"
"I don't belong to the mortal world," Taryn said. At Nicasia's dubious look, she insisted, "I don't. I just want to visit for a while."
She wanted to visit Vivi and Jude, but she couldn't mention Jude's name to Nicasia. Sometimes she thought she was mad sleeping with Nicasia after what Nicasia had done to Jude, but Nicasia was beautiful and wanted her, and when they spent time together, Taryn could not bring herself to regret it.
"Make a bargain with me," Nicasia said, tracing her fingers along Taryn's skin in invitation, and Taryn gave her what she wanted.
Afterwards, down by the beach, Nicasia wove her a horse out of the seafoam. "It'll carry you to where you want to go in the mortal world."
The horse whickered, lowering its gray-white face to sniff at Taryn's hand.
Taryn glanced at Nicasia; she'd lived in Faerie too long not to listen for the words that weren't said. "Will it take me there safely, and then back here in Faerie?"
Nicasia gave her an impatient look. "I promise you a safe trip and a safe return, at a time of your choosing. I'm not done with our games together, yet."
Those last words reassured her as much as the promise did. Taryn mounted the horse, and it bore her away, first skimming along the water and then flying in the air. It felt like forever since the last time she'd flown above Elfhame to head into the mortal world, and nostalgia welled up inside of her at the thought of those simpler times.
The horse brought her to the street of the apartment complex where Vivi was staying with Jude and Oak. On the sidewalk, small and spindly trees squatted beneath telephone poles, and from the distance came the low and constant rumble of cars. The blocky apartment buildings seemed monotonous and staid, small and colorless compared to the grand mansions and palaces of Faerie.
She walked down the street, leaving the horse where it was. Glamour would make sure that no one noticed it; she was noticed, on the other hand, she received a few odd looks from the people passing by, since she was wearing one of her court dresses. All of her human clothing was back at Madoc's house, so she had no way to blend in.
No one bothered her, though. Maybe they thought she was wearing a costume; in its own way, the mortal world could sometimes be as accepting of strangeness as Faerie.
She paused in front of the apartments, trying to spot Vivi's, and then the door opened. Vivi came out, looking down at her phone. She was dressed in a purple light jacket and jeans, looking entirely comfortable in her human clothing.
Vivi lowered her phone, blinking. "Taryn?"
Taryn shifted awkwardly. "Hi." She hadn't intended to come in, just to look around a bit.
Then, Vivi came forward and pulled her into a hug. "I was just going to go out to grab a coffee. Come on in."
She shepherded Taryn into the living room, and Taryn sat on the couch while Vivi made them a coffee for herself and a mint tea for Taryn. "Oak's at a friend's and Jude's out working for the next few hours," Vivi said.
Taryn relaxe, hearing that, and Vivi gave her a knowing look.
"It's just you and me right now," Vivi said. "Are you visiting, or are you finally leaving Locke?'
Taryn burst into surprised laughter. "I'm not leaving Locke."
"Oh," Vivi said, sounding disappointed. "Well, if you do, you can come live with us. We'll talk Jude around. I've been saying you two need to talk, anyway."
"I'll keep that in mind," Taryn said. She took a sip of the tea, unable to remember the last time she'd had tea from a bag, and gazed around at the living room with its television and factory-made furniture. The walls were hung with Heather's art and a calendar with a picture of a cactus, and the room felt more like a dream than Faerie.
"How are you three?" she asked. She didn't want to talk about Locke or Jude.
Vivi told her a little about Oak and Jude, but mostly she talked about Heather. She'd mentioned in an earlier letter that the two of them had broken up, and now she told Taryn the whole story of how Heather had found out she'd been glamoured. Heather had left, and even though Vivi had apologized and promised to make things right, she still hadn't come back.
Even though Vivi was her sister, Taryn couldn't blame Heather for that.
"You shouldn't pressure her," Taryn said, but Vivi frowned at that. She didn't understand and Taryn decided not to press her on it.
She changed the subject and told Vivi some of the news from Faerie; she said nothing about Nicasia and little about Locke. Mostly she talked about the mansion. Vivi gave her looks like she knew Taryn was hiding something, but she didn't ask.
After an hour, Taryn rose. "I should go back." She regretted leaving; drinking tea with Vivi had been peaceful, and Taryn had missed her.
"I could text Jude and let her know you're back," Vivi said.
"No!" Taryn flushed at the vehemence in her own voice. "I'm not sure I'm ready to talk to her yet." She hesitated. "Can you not tell her I was here?"
Vivi frowned at that, but she nodded. "Just remember," she said, giving Taryn another hug. "We're here for you."
Taryn smiled and nodded. Then she headed down the street to where the horse was still waiting, just as Nicasia had promised; it nuzzled her hand in greeting, and she climbed onto it, her hands clinging tightly to a mane that had once been foam upon the water.
Back in Faerie, the horse stepped into the surf and melted away. She was home, and the brilliant colors of Faerie and the sound of the sea comforted her.
As she walked back to the mansion, Taryn thought about her sisters. Vivi, at least, seemed perfectly happy to live in the mortal world; she'd invited Taryn to live with them, but Taryn couldn't imagine living there. Going to the mortal world had only confirmed how much she could never belong there; she belonged in Faerie.
But she couldn't let things stay as they were, either. If Vivi's apartment had felt like a dream, coming back to Locke's house felt like returning to a nightmare; she hadn't married him to live like this. She didn't want to leave him the way Heather had left Vivi, but she had to convince him to be a better husband. And if that didn't work, she would figure something out.
He wasn't home when she got back. She told Nera and Neve to tell him to come find her when he returned, and then she waited for him to come home.
On the shore, they stared at each other, and Nicasia was the first to look away.
"I'll let you make a bargain with me," Nicasia said. "I'll forgive you for the death of my friend, but in exchange, you'll stay with me."
Her tone was lofty, but Taryn spotted a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
It wasn't the answer to Taryn's question, but it was a better bargain than Taryn had any right to expect. If she accepted it, she had a chance of getting away with Locke's murder. But she didn't answer yet; she couldn't. "In the Undersea, did you rape my sister?" she asked.
"No," Nicasia said. Her face flushed, but she held her head high. "I'll admit I hurt her. I glamoured her, I had her beaten and starved, and I tricked her into drinking seawater. I wanted her to suffer, because I hated her for taking Cardan from me." She gave Taryn a defiant look. "I'll admit I wanted her, too. She was beautiful, despite being nothing like the Folk. Both of you were."
Taryn watched her silently, and Nicasia looked uncomfortable for a moment.
"I won't apologize," Nicasia said, regal and dignified once more. "I'm a princess of the Undersea." But she hesitated, and then she added in a softer voice, "But there are still things I might take back, if I could, and if you promise me your forgiveness, I'll help you get rid of Locke's body."
"I'm mortal," Taryn said. "We can't forgive someone just by making a promise."
"Then just stay with me," Nicasia said, a new pleading note in her voice.
Taryn shook her head. "I won't promise to stay forever with anyone, not again." She'd already tried that with Locke, and then she had killed him.
Nicasia gave her a disdainful look. "Did I ask for forever? You're mortal. Stay with me for as long as you wish my forgiveness." Her voice softened. "I'll take it back when you leave."
In Nicasia's words were an indirect answer to the question of what Taryn meant to her. Taryn laughed, tired beyond belief. "I suppose not forgiving you never stopped me before," she said, her voice just as soft. She took Nicasia's hand, and though Taryn's hand was still covered in Locke's blood, Nicasia didn't pull away. Taryn didn't want to let go either, either.
"We have a deal," Taryn said.
Taryn was answering letters in the study when Locke came in. She glanced up at him, startled by his early return, but then she stood up, giving him a firm look. "I need to talk to you."
She'd already figured out the new promises she would extract from him. He had to stop leaving her alone in the mansion like she was just a discarded toy, and she wouldn't allow him to twist her into one of his stories again, either. And there would be no more lovers inside of their bed. She would remind him of his promise to love her, threaten to leave him if she had to. Madoc had left her the money for it; it would be hard to survive in the Court on her own, but she would figure it out.
She had opened her mouth to tell him all of that, but he spoke first. "Yes, we do need to talk," he said, his eyes dancing merrily.
He leaned closer to her. "I heard a story from a servant in the palace," he said, and she froze. "It's a tale of passion and illicit deeds: a mortal wife in the quarters of the Ambassador to the Undersea."
"I can explain," Taryn said, but he didn't seem to hear her.
He shook his head, laughing. "I thought you'd grown boring, holing away in the mansion, doing nothing but picking out curtains and filling in paperwork," he said. "But it seems you've been running around behind my back. And with Nicasia, of all people." He shook his head. "How did you manage that?"
She flushed, wondering if he even meant to insult her. Then she tried to wrest it back under control. "I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't left me alone for so long. I've been miserable, Locke, and we need to talk—"
He interrupted her. "We do, about you and Nicasia. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised." He chuckled, touching her hair playfully. "I never thought she'd admit it, but she did always want a taste of you and your sister," Locke said. "Do you remember when we were courting? Once, Valerian made Jude eat some faerie fruit, and while she was drugged, Nicasia had her strip down to her strange mortal undergarments and crawl to her to lick the pulp from her hand."
"Stop," Taryn said quietly, her hands clenching.
"She stopped only because Cardan intervened." Locke shook his head. "I suppose he had a soft spot for Jude, even then, or maybe the prickings of a conscience." He laughed. "I wonder if Nicasia fucked your sister in the Undersea," he said. "She must have still been curious, and it would have been a good way to get revenge on Cardan and Jude."
She felt as if she couldn't breathe any more, as if she was drowning. Each of his words hurt, and Taryn thought of Jude, how defeated she'd looked returning from the Undersea and how angry she'd looked after that day in school. Then she thought of Nicasia, who was cruel and tempestuous as the sea, but who was sometimes gentle and who Taryn sometimes almost trusted. Locke was still talking, and she couldn't take him any more: her hand closed around the letter opener on the desk. She remembered how Madoc had made her and Jude practice their knife stabs until they were perfect.
Her hand thrust upwards without any hesitation. Locke finally shut up.
Beneath the cliff, the waves swallowed Locke's body.
"He won't surface," Nicasia said, a disturbing smile on her face as she gazed down at the waters. "The sharks will eat his flesh, and the waves will claim his bones." Her words weren't an observation but a promise.
Taryn nodded. For a moment, she felt the impulse to say "thank you", but she bit it back.
Nicasia shifted restlessly. "There are still ways to discover the cause of a death. You might still be found out."
"I know that," Taryn said.
"What will you do now?" Nicasia asked.
Taryn smiled wanly. "I need to clean my study. There's a lot of blood."
"I'll come with you," Nicasia said, and to Taryn's surprise, Nicasia's words made her smile bloom into something real.
Of course, it wasn't over yet. Even if she managed to get rid of the evidence before the servants returned, the future was still uncertain: she didn't think she could avoid suspicion forever. Still, Nicasia was by her side, and their bargain went both ways: as long as their deal held, Taryn wouldn't have to face everything alone.
She would go clean up the mess of the mansion today and wash herself clean of blood, and on the servants' return, she would pretend that she didn't know where Locke had gone. And tomorrow, if she still had her freedom and hadn't been found out for murder, she would go see Jude.
Afterword
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