me, I am tired.”
“Of course.” Bauchan bowed, like a Human fop. “If that will be all, then, I can have your companions settled, as well.”
He would not give them a moment alone to confer. Already, he suspected some plot, saw that the guards were not truly the nobility he had dressed them up as.
One of the guards puffed up his chest and clutched the satchel he’d carried tighter. “I do not wish to seem ungrateful,” he began, in tones that sounded comically similar to Bauchan’s, “but it does not appear as though our—we courtiers—our possessions will be safe among the rabble.”
Cedric spared a glance toward Cerridwen. She stared, mouth agape, at the guard, broken out of her sullen reverie for a moment. It was almost enough to make Cedric laugh.
“You could leave your things with us, then,” he offered, quickly stifling the amusement that he was certain had shown on his face. “We seem to have a most isolated spot, and of course you can trust the Royal Heir.”
The guard played it hesitant; time at Court had afforded him an uncanny ability to imitate the behavior of his “betters.” Finally, with a heavy sigh, he handed over the satchel. “From the looks of things, I would advise you all to do the same,” he said with a courtly flourish as he stepped aside. The others entrusted “their” belongings to Cedric a bit too easily, but Bauchan would not argue. It would not have been Court manners.
“What a generous offer,” the Ambassador said with a smile as sickeningly sweet as spun sugar. “You are truly fit for your role as Royal Consort.”
“Let us hope it should never come to that,” Cedric said with a humble bow.
Bauchan, the rage practically radiating from him, returned the gesture and quickly ushered the guards away.
When Cedric turned to Cerridwen, she had already lain down, the blanket pulled sullenly over her face.
Two
The hold of the ship was cold, and dark, and noisy. Though the lights had been put out an hour before—or so Cerridwen was guessing; time passed so slowly with nothing to occupy it—the rustling and whispering of hundreds of Faery bodies echoed off the steel walls.
Though Bauchan had an underling drop off more blankets, enough to build a respectable nest for themselves on the hard floor, Cerridwen still shivered. The temperature of the sea seeped through the ship’s metal body, up through the layers of blankets that Cedric had arranged for her.
She searched through the darkness, her eyes grateful for the reprieve from the harsh lights of the past few days, to find him. He sat with his back against the huge cargo container that blocked their corner from view, his legs stretched across the slight opening that made an entrance to their makeshift dwelling. He did not sleep, but stared into the darkness, no expression on his face.
She turned her head back to the wall of the ship, examined the crude drips in the white paint that covered every rivet and seam. This place smelled like Humans. Human bodies, Human goods, Human chemicals. It was almost too much to bear, even for one with Human blood in her veins.
She thought of her mother, whom Cedric spoke of as though she could have lived. Had Ayla felt so uncomfortable around mortals? Obviously not, as she had kept one at her side for all those years of Cerridwen’s life.
As if to remind her, the wings at Cerridwen’s back stirred of their own accord. She shifted restlessly on her pallet. Her mother had kept Cerridwen’s parentage a secret, even from her, for most of Cerridwen’s life. When Cerridwen had discovered the truth—that she was not the daughter of the late King Garret, that instead her father was a strange mortal creature from the Darkworld—it had been too late to confront her mother about it. And where was Queene Ayla now? She had believed that the Veil had begun to mend, that the dead moved on to a Summerland kept hidden from the Faeries who had once inhabited the Astral in life. If that were so, where was her guiding hand now? Could she not spare her daughter a sign, something to explain why she had kept such a secret for all of those years? Did she not realize, wherever she had gone, what the revelations of the past days had done to her?
“Are you well, Cerridwen?”
Concern, but from the wrong source. She squeezed her eyes shut against the angry tears that welled there. Cedric had thought it so comical, to keep up the charade of their betrothal. Well, it was a farce, and had been since the moment her mother had sprung it upon both unwilling parties. But he’d also had great fun in pretending that they would bow to this False Queene Danae once they stepped on the shore.
“I am fine,” she said through clenched teeth. Let him leave her alone, then, if he wanted a ball of clay to mold to his liking. She was not so stupid that she would endanger herself, or him. She knew what was at stake. A pretender was about to absorb her mother’s Court, would likely force Cerridwen into some position of servitude to suit her ego. Let her. There was nothing left for her now. Her mother was dead, her father was a mere Darkling, and she had no claim to the crown. No desire for it, either.
“Why did you not introduce me as Queene?” She did not whisper; whispers attracted attention. It was something she learned long ago, a part of daily life in the Palace.
Cedric crossed one leg over the other, shifted as though he could possibly get more comfortable in the position he was in. “I did not, because we do not need to declare our intention for you to rule in Danae’s stead. You will not be safe if we do.”
“You do not trust me to say the right thing, or act the way you wish me to act. You do not trust me to make the right decisions.” Not unfairly, she reminded herself quietly. She had betrayed her mother, and that betrayal had ultimately caused her death. But if Cedric judged her as she judged herself, he would see that she was a selfish creature, and that she would not harm her own interests.
The thought gave her little comfort.
“It is not a matter of trust.” He moved toward her now, settled himself on the pallet beside her, but he did not look her in the eye. “If it were, that would mean that I thought you capable of avoiding the traps certain others might set for you, but you are not.”
“Certain others?” She scoffed. “Bauchan, you mean. You think he is too clever, that I cannot see beyond what he really is?”
“I think that he has much more practice at deceit than you, and is a master of it. Besides, it’s not just a matter of seeing his deceit, but knowing how to react to it, and how to prevent it, too.” The disgust in Cedric’s voice was as chill as the air around them.
Cerridwen burrowed deeper beneath her blankets. “If you had simply told him that I am Queene now, perhaps he would not think to trick me.”
Now, Cedric looked at her, his eyes blazing with anger. “If you believe that, you are far more naive than I could have ever imagined.”
“I would not be so naive if the people around me did not treat me as though I were a child, incapable of understanding!” She lowered her voice. “You do not wish for him to know I plan to be Queene, because you believe that will make me a sweeter plum for Queene Danae. Is that right?”
“It is.” Cedric rolled to his side, propped his head on his hand. “If this Danae gains the support of the Court members that Bauchan brings her from the Underground, we will be on our own. And it looks as though there is enough desperation here for exactly that to happen. We do not know
