into that rain-soaked silence. “Dead.” And that one word seemed louder than it actually was.
“How? Why?” Abe asked.
“The how is pretty apparent,” Rhys said. “The why is a mystery.”
I looked away from what hung in the tree, out into the twilight of the gardens. I wasn’t looking away from Aisling, but rather looking for the others. I tried to ignore the tightness of my throat, the speeding of my pulse.
I tried not to finish the thought that had made me turn and search the dimness. Were there other men dead, or dying, in the dimness? Who else was pierced through by some magical tree?
There was nothing to see but the dead branches stretching naked toward the clouds—none of the other trees held a gruesome trophy. The tightness in my chest eased when I was sure that all the trees were empty except this one.
I barely knew Aisling. He had never been my lover, and had only been one of my guards for a day. I was sorry for the loss of him, but there were others among my guards that I cared about more, and they were still missing. I was happy they weren’t decorating the trees, but that left me wondering what else might have become of them. Where were they?
Doyle spoke so close to me that I jumped. “I do not see any of the others in the trees.”
I shook my head. “No, no.” I looked for Frost. He stood close, but not close enough to hold me. I wanted to be comforted by one of them, but it was a child’s wish. A child’s wish for lies in the dark, that the monster isn’t under the bed. I had grown up in a world where the monsters were very real.
“You were holding Galen, and Nicca was with you,” I said. “What happened to them?”
Frost brushed his sodden hair from his face, the silver looking as grey as Mistral’s in the dim light. “Galen was swallowed up by the ground.” His eyes showed pain. “I could not hold on to him. It was as if some great force wrenched him away.”
I was suddenly cold, and the warm rain wasn’t enough to keep it at bay. I said, “When Amatheon did the same thing in my vision, he went willingly.
He just sank into the mud. There was no wrenching force.”
“I can only report what happened, Princess.” His voice had gone sullen. If he thought I’d criticized him, then so be it; I didn’t have time to hold his hand.
“That was vision,” Mistral said. “Sometimes on this side of the veil, it’s not so gentle.”
“What’s not so gentle?” I asked.
“Being consumed by your power,” he said.
I shook my head, wiping impatiently at the rain on my face. I was beginning to be irritated. The miracle of it raining in the dead gardens wasn’t enough to calm the cold fear. “I wish this rain would let up,” I said without thinking.
Angry and afraid, and the rain was something I could be angry at without hurting its feelings.
The rain slackened. It went from a downpour to a light drizzle. My pulse was in my throat again, but not for the same reason. It was a miracle that there was rain here, and I hadn’t meant to make it go away.
Doyle touched my mouth with a callused fingertip. “Hush, Meredith—do not destroy the blessing of this rain.”
I nodded to let him know I understood. He took his finger away, slowly. “I forgot that the sithen listens to everything I say.” I swallowed hard enough that it hurt. “I don’t want the rain to stop.”
We stood there, everyone tense, waiting. Yes, Aisling was dead, and many more missing, but the dead gardens had been the heart of our faerie mound once, and were more important than any one life. They had been the heart of our power. When this place had died, our power had begun to die.
I saw with relief that the warm spring drizzle kept falling. Slowly, we all let out a breath. “Be careful what you say, Princess,” Mistral whispered.
I just nodded.
“Nicca stood up, staring at his hands,” Frost said, as if I’d asked. “He reached out to me, but before I could touch him he
“How? Why?” Abe asked.
“The how is pretty apparent,” Rhys said. “The why is a mystery.”
I looked away from what hung in the tree, out into the twilight of the gardens. I wasn’t looking away from Aisling, but rather looking for the others. I tried to ignore the tightness of my throat, the speeding of my pulse.
I tried not to finish the thought that had made me turn and search the dimness. Were there other men dead, or dying, in the dimness? Who else was pierced through by some magical tree?
There was nothing to see but the dead branches stretching naked toward the clouds—none of the other trees held a gruesome trophy. The tightness in my chest eased when I was sure that all the trees were empty except this one.
I barely knew Aisling. He had never been my lover, and had only been one of my guards for a day. I was sorry for the loss of him, but there were others among my guards that I cared about more, and they were still missing. I was happy they weren’t decorating the trees, but that left me wondering what else might have become of them. Where were they?
Doyle spoke so close to me that I jumped. “I do not see any of the others in the trees.”
I shook my head. “No, no.” I looked for Frost. He stood close, but not close enough to hold me. I wanted to be comforted by one of them, but it was a child’s wish. A child’s wish for lies in the dark, that the monster isn’t under the bed. I had grown up in a world where the monsters were very real.
“You were holding Galen, and Nicca was with you,” I said. “What happened to them?”
Frost brushed his sodden hair from his face, the silver looking as grey as Mistral’s in the dim light. “Galen was swallowed up by the ground.” His eyes showed pain. “I could not hold on to him. It was as if some great force wrenched him away.”
I was suddenly cold, and the warm rain wasn’t enough to keep it at bay. I said, “When Amatheon did the same thing in my vision, he went willingly.
He just sank into the mud. There was no wrenching force.”
“I can only report what happened, Princess.” His voice had gone sullen. If he thought I’d criticized him, then so be it; I didn’t have time to hold his hand.
“That was vision,” Mistral said. “Sometimes on this side of the veil, it’s not so gentle.”
“What’s not so gentle?” I asked.
“Being consumed by your power,” he said.
I shook my head, wiping impatiently at the rain on my face. I was beginning to be irritated. The miracle of it raining in the dead gardens wasn’t enough to calm the cold fear. “I wish this rain would let up,” I said without thinking.
Angry and afraid, and the rain was something I could be angry at without hurting its feelings.
The rain slackened. It went from a downpour to a light drizzle. My pulse was in my throat again, but not for the same reason. It was a miracle that there was rain here, and I hadn’t meant to make it go away.
Doyle touched my mouth with a callused fingertip. “Hush, Meredith—do not destroy the blessing of this rain.”
I nodded to let him know I understood. He took his finger away, slowly. “I forgot that the sithen listens to everything I say.” I swallowed hard enough that it hurt. “I don’t want the rain to stop.”
We stood there, everyone tense, waiting. Yes, Aisling was dead, and many more missing, but the dead gardens had been the heart of our faerie mound once, and were more important than any one life. They had been the heart of our power. When this place had died, our power had begun to die.
I saw with relief that the warm spring drizzle kept falling. Slowly, we all let out a breath. “Be careful what you say, Princess,” Mistral whispered.
I just nodded.
“Nicca stood up, staring at his hands,” Frost said, as if I’d asked. “He reached out to me, but before I could touch him he
Similar Books
