[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
In a blur too fast for her eyes to track, Fiach trapped her in his arms and spun them
around the room. His lips dropped to hers. He pierced her mouth with his tongue, tasting
the fire simmering below the surface. She burned; the heat consumed his thoughts until
the aphrodisiac in his system roared to life. He struggled to stop from tearing the clothes
from her body and claiming her in front of the entire Faerie court.
*
Cilia laughed exuberantly as Fiach twirled her around the gilded hall. She couldn t
decide if she was still dreaming or if she was awake. The creatures around her seemed so
alien, too beautiful and perfect to be real. Even their voices were as silk caressing her
senses.
The loveliest, the most inhuman wore a long gown of spun silver with diamonds
woven into the fabric. Her white hair hung in perfect ringlets down to her waist and a fine
filigree crown in the same color nestled in her curls. Her face was flawless and smooth.
Her large silver-blue eyes tilted up at an exotic angle, and her too-red lips were full and
lush. Most disarming was the fact that Fiach called her, Mother.
As if reading the question in her eyes, Fiach leaned in and whispered, Later, into
her ear. She nodded and let him tuck her tightly against him.
The Lady addressed her. This must all seem so sudden to you, but I assure you we
have waited long years for this time to come. The Noce is our most sacred of bindings.
Do not enter into it lightly. She cast a worried glance at Fiach. You will both be tested
in preparation for your vows. They are dangerous interrogations with potentially lethal
consequences.
He frowned. His mother s warning unsettled his warm assurance from only moments
before. Cilia clutched his arm and reaffirmed her answer. I wish to be bound to your
son. I agree to any test you deem necessary.
Mother. The single word was both a sharp warning and a desperate plea. She
doesn t understand the power of her words. I ask for lenience on her behalf.
The smooth lines of the Lady s face remained impassive; she kept her reaction to his
words hidden. I cannot grant you what you ask. From the moment she agreed to the
Noce, she is bound to her words, however carelessly offered or naively spoken.
Cilia paled, too late realizing her mistake. She had agreed to endure any test the Lady
required. Fiach was livid. After the stories of his childhood antics in Faerie, she should
have realized the value of knowing when to keep her mouth shut.
The Lady addressed her court. Keep the silence and stay to the light until the trial
has passed. I will remain in my rooms until its completion. Then she turned to Fiach. I
would have a word with my son.
*
Rois, please keep watch over Cilia until we return, the Lady instructed.
A beautiful Sidhe woman stepped from the sea of sameness. She smiled as a human
did, a trick that few of the court had mastered. Her expression looked peculiar but honest,
with her full red lips lifted and her light silver eyes warmed.
She grasped Cilia s hand and led her to the courtyard beyond the great hall. He knew
where Rois was taking her and regretted he would miss the blossoming wonder on her
face as she saw the Butterfly Tree for the first time.
The trunk was smooth and rounded; its substance was almost translucent. The tree s
long limbs reached high into the over-bright Faerie sky. A faint pulse of shifting colors in
its base created a kaleidoscope that flashed through the iridescent body. Its sweetly
perfumed bark shined with thick syrupy nectar; butterflies blanketed its arms.
Cilia would look with her human sensibilities and see the wonder and magnificence
that made the Lady lavish the tree with her attentions. She would see, instead of leaves,
thousands of butterflies, in every color and pattern imaginable, cover the transparent
limbs. Their tiny, straw-like tongues would dart out to suction the sticky nourishment
from its silky skin. What she wouldn t see was the drunken abandon that spurred the
fragile insects to glut. Overfilled with a substance they should never have tasted, a slow
poison disintegrated their dainty bodies and allowed the tree to absorb their minuscule
essence.
Although the tree looked grounded, it was animated. It moved to where it best felt
the light, to where its delicate perfume could best lure more unsuspecting victims. It fed
from its decorations; the ground was merely a convenient anchor to hold steady the
burden of its pantry stretched across its limbs. This was Faerie, and nothing was as it
seemed.
The Lady guided Fiach to a small alcove, a Whispering Corner. Anything spoken in
whispers remained confined to the space, but a raised voice would release any secrets the
speaker had imparted. They were a valuable resource, an oasis for allies to meet and foes
to plot. Ventriloquism was a necessary skill set if you chose to activate a Corner. Just
because your voice couldn t be heard didn t mean your lips couldn t be read.
They stepped into the small space, and each took a chair facing the other. The air
around them thickened and pulsed, which made his ears pop. The spell was active; their
privacy guaranteed. He sat back and waited to see what had necessitated this meeting. He
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]