Child Of Darkness. Jennifer Armintrout

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      She looked away, for although she could not see his, he would be able to read her expression in the dark. And she spied his blade on the ground.

      She stooped to grab it and walked slowly down the tunnel, toward whatever the creature was that continued toward them.

      “Cerri, what are you doing? Come back,” Fenrick called.

      The creature in the shadows halted.

      “Cerridwen?”

      Her heart lurched in her chest at the familiar voice.

      “Cerridwen? The Royal Heir?” The creature stumbled closer, two spots of angry red light forming in the darkness, where his antennae would be. “Is that you?”

      He stumbled close enough to see her, and she looked over her shoulder for Fenrick. He was invisible in the darkness, or maybe he’d left her there. She hoped that he’d left. She did not wish for her game to be given away so soon, just as things were becoming interesting between them.

      Cedric gripped her by her arms and shook her, nearly knocking the knife from her hands. “What are you doing here?” he shouted, his hands crushing painfully. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this area is?”

      Now, she knew that Fenrick had gone. He would not have let someone lay his hands on her this way. She pushed Cedric back. “How dare you!”

      “I should do worse,” he threatened, coming a step closer, looming over her.

      She laughed, tried to make it sound as scathing and bitter as she had heard from Courtiers. “No, I mean how dare you follow me here, like my mother’s obedient dog! How dare you show yourself such disrespect!”

      “Your mother?” he asked, his expression suddenly confused.

      Something mean and vicious blossomed in Cerridwen’s chest. “Yes, my mother. She’s sent soldiers here to find me. Her soldiers, into the Darkworld. And you…you didn’t know?”

      “If I had, be assured I would not have let it happen.” He grabbed her arm again, and pulled her toward the crossing of the tunnels.

      “You didn’t know, and you didn’t know to come look for me,” she accused. It made more sense, now. Why he’d been so surprised to find her. Why he’d been in the tunnels with no guards. “You were here on your own business.”

      “Of a sort,” he admitted sourly. They reached the intersection and he started off in the wrong direction.

      She yanked him the right way, preferring to glare at him rather than argue, and tucked the knife into her belt. “And what business could you possibly have in the Darkworld, oh shining beacon of loyalty?”

      “My own,” he snapped. “This is not the right way.”

      “I was unaware that you were so knowledgeable about the Darkworld.” She pulled free from his grasp. “I will be sure to tell my mother about your expertise.”

      “Your mother already knows.” He followed her; she heard his boots splash through a puddle, and a curse. That made her smile.

      “You could tell your mother about how I found you.” He sounded no less angry, but it seemed as though he tried to mask his wrath. “Or I could tell her about how I found you.”

      “And you would be admitting to your own guilt,” she reminded him, turning a corner. He was not expecting the bend, and she heard a loud exclamation as he collided with the wall.

      “Which is why,” he seethed through his teeth, “I suggest we reach an agreement. I will tell her I found you on the Strip, and you will not contradict me. The consequences of that accidental meeting will be far less than the ones attached to the truth.”

      “She will still wonder why you left the Lightworld,” Cerridwen pointed out, feeling very satisfied to have the advantage.

      But the advantage disappeared as he muttered, “Your mother will be aware of my reasons.”

      It was cryptic. Cerridwen did not like cryptic responses. But ahead loomed the path to the Strip.

      “Do we have an agreement?” he asked her, no urgency in his voice, no pleading.

      She crossed her arms, pretending to consider. But this manipulation failed, as well, for Cedric said nothing, made no further offers.

      “We do,” she said with a sigh. It would have been so sweet to catch her mother’s favorite in a useful web, but he was right. The punishment her mother meted out to her would be far less severe if she’d been caught somewhere else.

      They proceeded to the Lightworld and passed the borders without further speech, but when they approached the Palace, he stopped her.

      “When we enter, go straight to your chambers. Wash all of that off your face, and change into something respectable before you are presented to your mother.” He would not look at her.

      She tilted her chin up, trying to look confident when now all she felt like was a child. “How do I know you will not simply run to her and break our agreement?”

      “I will not. With more reason than you know.” With that, he turned and stalked through the Palace gates.

      

      “We have some reason to suspect that she has left the Lightworld.”

      The words froze Ayla, the way she imagined a prey animal would cower before a beast. She’d long since retired from the party, but it continued, the noise thrumming like the workings of some great machine throughout the Palace. The dull pounding of drums, punctuated by the sharp staccato of voices raised in laughter, served to cover the startled thump of the blood in her veins. “Where is Malachi?”

      “He has organized a few discreet guards into a search formation.” The captain of her guard bowed. “We are keeping this secret, Your Majesty.”

      “As well you should,” she said, amazed to find her voice working under its own power. “You may go, now, Captain. Keep me informed of your progress. And bring her to me the moment you find her.”

      The guard bowed as he left, but she did not acknowledge him. Instead, she waited, seated on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing. Waited for the guilt to come crashing over her, as it always did. The questions that she would torment herself with: How could she have let this happen? Hadn’t she been a good enough mother to Cerridwen? Of course, she had not. She had been too wrapped up in Court politics and her own selfish pursuits! She could not blame Cerridwen, only herself.

      But this time, the guilt did not come. She was angry, angrier than she had ever been with her daughter.

      Perhaps it was because Cerridwen had left the safety of the Lightworld. Perhaps it was fear that drove her anger. She certainly knew, better than most at Court, of what danger there was to fear beyond the boundaries of the Lightworld.

      No, it was anger. An ugly, naked anger not polite enough to wear a mask of fear for her convenience.

      She could not bear to stare at the walls of her room any longer. Beautiful though it might СКАЧАТЬ