Child Of Darkness. Jennifer Armintrout

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      As she opened her mouth to speak, panic hit her full in the chest. How could she do this? Only a handful of years separated her from the babe who’d snuggled at her side, the gangling, near-mortal child who had nestled clumsily in her mother’s lap after a scrape. If she could have, she would have kept her daughter from growing at all.

      Kept her from growing into the alien creature who had seemed to replace that sweet child overnight.

      The anger at her daughter’s ill-timed “disappearance” flared to new life and fixed her resolve.

      “Friends,” she began, her throat constricting as though to prevent her from speaking the words she was sure to regret. “My daughter, high-spirited as she is, seems to have slipped away from the festivities. That is unfortunate, as she is unaware that there is so much more to celebrate on this night. More than the reminder of her joyous birth, more than our gratitude for the continuance of the royal bloodline she descended from. Tonight, we celebrate her betrothal.”

      There was a rumble of approval. Every Faery present would be delighted to hear this news firsthand, and relate it to those who were not fortunate enough to be there for the historic announcement themselves.

      Ayla continued, “As I have said, my daughter has a reputation for high spirits, and that reputation is well earned. She is a creature more Fae than many of us, in many ways. Her mate should be, then, someone who remembers how to be the way we were. Someone who knows how to live with and appreciate the gentle nature that she exhibits, and who will respect her position as heir to a cherished bloodline.” She took a breath, which others almost certainly judged a dramatic pause. Truly, she teetered on the precipice of a moment she could not reverse, words she could not revoke. “That Faery is my chief advisor and close personal friend, Cedric.”

      A mixture of murmurs, gasps and applause rose from the hall, but all of it sounded pleased, and the ball of anxiety in Ayla’s chest unclenched.

      And then she caught sight of Cedric, standing in the crowd, ignoring the congratulations of those who gathered around him, staring in shock and—anger? Was he angry—at his Queene?

      Ayla looked away, too uncomfortable under Cedric’s glare—for that was what it was, an angry, disbelieving glare—and found Malachi. His expression was much the same.

      When she looked away, to Cedric again, her advisor pushed through the crowd, brushed aside all of those Faeries who wanted to congratulate and envy him, on his way to the doors.

      Ayla waved to the leader of her musicians, and they began a lively dancing tune on their bells, harps, and whistles. The commotion around Cedric’s departure wouldn’t be forgotten, but for a moment, the dancing would take the place of the gossip.

      Ayla looked for Malachi. But he, too, had disappeared from the gathering.

      

      He stalked through the tunnels almost without seeing, so blinding was his anger. How could she have done this? Without consulting him, without warning him, at least?

      He would not take this. For twenty years now, he’d stood by her side and played the faithful servant. When her regard had faded to expectation and every day she took him a bit more for granted, he had ignored it. When she had begun to question his advice, then blame him publicly for decisions whose consequences could have firmly been laid at her feet, he’d stayed silent. And after all he’d done. Without him, she would have been executed, or rotted away for the rest of her immortal life in King Garret’s dungeons. This was how she repaid him.

      No more. She would regret this callous disregard she’d dealt him.

      He’d already passed through the Strip, into the tunnels of the Darkworld, more familiar and welcoming now to him than the place he called home. Perhaps it was because the menace here was on display, not hidden beneath layers of pretty trinkets and vapid treasures. Here, he could slay those who harmed him and not be fooled by his own sense of loyalty.

      In the darkness ahead, a figure moved. Small, almost shrinking from the shadows, its voice called out in a ragged whisper. “Cedric?”

      “It is,” he called back, in the mortal tongue he had learned but not fully mastered. He often wondered if he sounded foolish or stupid to the Humans, the way the Queene’s Consort sounded to his ears when he attempted to speak the Fae language. But his self-consciousness was forgotten when the figure broke into a run, and he braced himself for the slight weight of her body colliding with his, her arms twining in his hair.

      Dika. An ugly, mortal-sounding word for such a creature. Soft, and somehow clean when all around her was sordid and filthy. Cedric buried his hands in the coiling fall of her dark hair, pressed his lips to hers, finding her mouth hot and eager under his, as it always was when they had been apart.

      “I worried you would not come,” she gasped against him, her hands clutching to fists in the fabric of his shirt. “That you no longer wanted me.”

      He would have laughed at her if he hadn’t known that such an action would anger her. She, like many of the Humans he had met through her, did not enjoy being laughed at. But how could she have thought he would abandon her? The only thing that pushed him, mechanical, through his days and nights was the prospect of being with her.

      “That is absurd. I would never wish to be parted from you.” He inhaled the perfumed scent of her hair, wanting to hold the fragrance in his mind so that he would remember it in the smoke and spice of the Lightworld. He was never able to.

      “I am glad to hear it,” she whispered, still clinging to him. “Because we have confirmation from our Upworld contacts. We are leaving.”

      He stepped back, though all he wanted was to pull her closer. “When?”

      “Soon.” She reached up to touch his face, smoothed her hand over his antennae, which he knew glowed with his anxiety. “I want you to come with us.”

      They had discussed this before. He did not wish to do so again, and especially not now, when they had been apart for so long.

      But later, as they lay together, awake but not speaking, in the tangle of rough bedding in the secret room that was for them only, for their meetings, the unavoidable notion of her leaving the Underground could not be ignored. The thought nagged at him, like pain from a wound seen but not yet felt.

      And yet, it was something of a relief, too. If she left the Underground, there would be no longing for her after the Queene’s ridiculous proclamation was carried out. No wondering if she still felt for him, as he surely would, always, for her. And most importantly, no need to lie to seek her out. That was something he could never do, no matter how repulsive the thought of the marriage would be. Though his race might view the mortal concept of fidelity as antiquated and quaint, Cedric had lived long enough to know that lies, of any kind, destroyed one’s self faster and more efficiently than a blade ever could. Though murdered, Mabb had brought on her own end through constant duplicity. Her brother, her murderer, Garret, had gone in much the same way. Cedric would not repeat their missteps.

      “You could come with us, you know,” Dika said quietly, her breath teasing the skin of his chest where her head lay. “I know you’ve said that you don’t want to. But you could pass for Human, and my people will protect you. We protect our own.”

      “I will give it thought.” He wanted to believe that were true. That he could go with her, escape what life had become all those hundreds of years ago when the Veil first tore in half. But he could СКАЧАТЬ