went on as far as the eye could see.
“The Fae set it,” Dean said. “They were looking for insurgents, some of my kind who’d set off an explosion in the silver mines in the Thorn Land. They burned the entire forest to the ground. Killed thousands.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. I understood then why Shardhad looked at me with such coldness. It didn’t excuse her locking me up and refusing to believe a word I said, but it at least explained it.
Dean shrugged. “Not my world. I left as soon as I was able.”
“Shard and Skip,” I said, “they both call you Nails. Why do you have two names?” Cal had two names, but he was a ghoul—wholly other. Dean was more human by a mile than he was Erlkin, from what I could see, and I wanted to know what his name in the Mists meant. I wanted to know everything about him, not that he’d tell me without a lot of effort on my part. But I was willing to try.
“Nails isn’t my name,” Dean said tightly. He fished in his pockets and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes, crushed beyond recognition. “Dammit,” he muttered, shoving the twisted cardboard back into his jeans.
“Your mother seems to think it is,” I said. Dean shook his head.
“You have to understand, the Erlkin are a slave race. Way back in the primordial ooze they lived underground, and when the Fae dug down looking for silver, they enslaved the creatures they found. They wouldn’t give us real names, names with meaning and magic, so they called us after scraps—glass and silver, drill bits and rock crushers.”
“Nails,” I offered.
“Yup,” Dean said. “When the first generation of free Erlkin named their children, they gave them slave names as a way to tell the Fae they didn’t own us anymore. It’s tradition now.” His mouth twitched. “But I’m not Erlkin, and I don’t need to be reminded that I was ever anyone’s slave.”
“I noticed your mother doesn’t have any problem withyour being a half-breed, unlike her problems with me,” I muttered.
“Oh, she has plenty of problems with it,” Dean said with a laugh drier than the dead trees all around us. “But she knows that I’m her fault, too. Stealing away and meeting a human—tsk, tsk and all that. I know it was a lot easier for her in her position at Windhaven after I lit out for Lovecraft and decided to live with my old man. She got that nice shiny captain’s promotion the minute I left.” Bitterness tinged his voice like unsweetened tea on the tongue.
“You really have a brother?” I asked. Dean had only mentioned him in passing, but I was realizing that in spite of spending nearly all my waking moments with him since we’d met, I still knew virtually nothing about his family or his life before me.
“Half-brother,” Dean said. “One hundred percent pure boring human. Older than me by a good few years—my pops had a wife before Shard bewitched his poor dumb self. The woman ditched him and Kurt—that’s my brother. Kurt was never too fond of me, even though his old lady was long gone. Didn’t blame him except when he and I were slugging it out. I wouldn’t be itching to bond with the bastard child of my father’s new girlfriend if I were him either.”
“And where’s Kurt now?” I prompted, racking my brain to remember what else Dean had told me about his past.
“Hell if I know,” Dean said. “He went MIA fighting the Crimson Guard, ’bout a year before you and I crossed paths.” He sighed, and I could tell from his twitchy gait and fingers that he wanted a cigarette. “Truth is, Aoife, I never really felt like I was part of the family. I was a wayward kid and I wasn’t at home much. But it beat the pants off stayingin Windhaven and marching in lockstep like my good little Erlkin relatives.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “About Kurt.”
“It’s all right,” Dean said. “Like I told you, we were never close. Not like you and Conrad.”
“Conrad and I haven’t been that close for a
“The Fae set it,” Dean said. “They were looking for insurgents, some of my kind who’d set off an explosion in the silver mines in the Thorn Land. They burned the entire forest to the ground. Killed thousands.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. I understood then why Shardhad looked at me with such coldness. It didn’t excuse her locking me up and refusing to believe a word I said, but it at least explained it.
Dean shrugged. “Not my world. I left as soon as I was able.”
“Shard and Skip,” I said, “they both call you Nails. Why do you have two names?” Cal had two names, but he was a ghoul—wholly other. Dean was more human by a mile than he was Erlkin, from what I could see, and I wanted to know what his name in the Mists meant. I wanted to know everything about him, not that he’d tell me without a lot of effort on my part. But I was willing to try.
“Nails isn’t my name,” Dean said tightly. He fished in his pockets and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes, crushed beyond recognition. “Dammit,” he muttered, shoving the twisted cardboard back into his jeans.
“Your mother seems to think it is,” I said. Dean shook his head.
“You have to understand, the Erlkin are a slave race. Way back in the primordial ooze they lived underground, and when the Fae dug down looking for silver, they enslaved the creatures they found. They wouldn’t give us real names, names with meaning and magic, so they called us after scraps—glass and silver, drill bits and rock crushers.”
“Nails,” I offered.
“Yup,” Dean said. “When the first generation of free Erlkin named their children, they gave them slave names as a way to tell the Fae they didn’t own us anymore. It’s tradition now.” His mouth twitched. “But I’m not Erlkin, and I don’t need to be reminded that I was ever anyone’s slave.”
“I noticed your mother doesn’t have any problem withyour being a half-breed, unlike her problems with me,” I muttered.
“Oh, she has plenty of problems with it,” Dean said with a laugh drier than the dead trees all around us. “But she knows that I’m her fault, too. Stealing away and meeting a human—tsk, tsk and all that. I know it was a lot easier for her in her position at Windhaven after I lit out for Lovecraft and decided to live with my old man. She got that nice shiny captain’s promotion the minute I left.” Bitterness tinged his voice like unsweetened tea on the tongue.
“You really have a brother?” I asked. Dean had only mentioned him in passing, but I was realizing that in spite of spending nearly all my waking moments with him since we’d met, I still knew virtually nothing about his family or his life before me.
“Half-brother,” Dean said. “One hundred percent pure boring human. Older than me by a good few years—my pops had a wife before Shard bewitched his poor dumb self. The woman ditched him and Kurt—that’s my brother. Kurt was never too fond of me, even though his old lady was long gone. Didn’t blame him except when he and I were slugging it out. I wouldn’t be itching to bond with the bastard child of my father’s new girlfriend if I were him either.”
“And where’s Kurt now?” I prompted, racking my brain to remember what else Dean had told me about his past.
“Hell if I know,” Dean said. “He went MIA fighting the Crimson Guard, ’bout a year before you and I crossed paths.” He sighed, and I could tell from his twitchy gait and fingers that he wanted a cigarette. “Truth is, Aoife, I never really felt like I was part of the family. I was a wayward kid and I wasn’t at home much. But it beat the pants off stayingin Windhaven and marching in lockstep like my good little Erlkin relatives.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “About Kurt.”
“It’s all right,” Dean said. “Like I told you, we were never close. Not like you and Conrad.”
“Conrad and I haven’t been that close for a
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