a family.”
The food in Ash’s stomach would not remain still. “I am Ware’s family? And Donnington’s?”
“We … we don’t know, Ash.”
“I look like Donnington.”
“You don’t … you are different. It isn’t as if—”
Ash laughed. “I am my enemy.”
“No. No, Ash. There is so much we have yet to learn. You must give us time.”
Time meant waiting. Time meant this room, this cage. He tried to think of something else.
“What is Ware to you?” he asked.
“He is a friend.”
She had called herself Ash’s “friend.” But it wasn’t the same. He knew it was not.
“He does not believe that Donnington did this to me.”
“Whatever Donnington may have done, Sinjin knew nothing about it. You must remember that.”
Ash looked from the tops of the bars to the point where they sank into the ground. “What is husband?”
“Ash—”
“Tell me.”
“A … a husband is like a father. A husband … lives with his wife.”
“Donnington is your husband and you are Donnington’s wife.”
As Ash had been before, so she was now: mute, voiceless.
Why had she not spoken the truth earlier, when she’d had the chance? She could not be afraid of Ash, or she would never have returned. But she was afraid.
“He kept you like this?” Ash said, his hatred doubling.
“Like.” Her hand swept to the base of her neck, where the heavy cloth covered her flesh. “No, Ash.”
“You escaped,” Ash said. “You found me.”
“I.” Her face was beaded with tiny drops of moisture. “Ash, I am not living with him now, but he did not keep me in a cage.”
“Then why were you his wife?”
“Because … because I didn’t know what he’d done to you.”
There was something hidden in her eyes and voice, but he could not make sense of it. Fury boiled under his skin. “Where is he?”
“Away. I don’t know where. But he will return. That is why, when we leave this place, you must remain hidden.”
“I will not hide.”
“Only for a while. But you cannot stay in this cage for one more hour.”
A promise, like the others she had made—and kept. Yet when she left, Ash could not forget that she had not told him about Donnington. Her husband. His enemy.
He paced along the front of the cage, striking the bars each time he reached the end and turned for another pass. The pain became a part of him, keeping his anger strong. His heartbeat slowed to match the steady rhythm.
And then they came.
Memories. Not like the others, fragmented and seen through the prism of a dream, but solid and bright and real.
He lay in the shadow of great gray stones cupped in a circle of trees, his mind a voiceless sphere spinning inside his head. Two others stood near him: one was Donnington—like Ash, save for the darkness of his hair.
The other was Fane. While the human was not unimpressive, the Fane would draw all eyes to him wherever he appeared. His body was lithe and slender, his features finely drawn, his hair a richer nut-brown than anything that could be conceived on earth. His eyes were silver shaded with green, his clothes woven of light and thread so fine it could hardly be seen. He gazed at Donnington with contempt, everything about him speaking of power and arrogance.
“I kept my part of the bargain,” Donnington was saying. He gestured to the girl lying at his feet. “I brought her, as you asked. Where is my unicorn?”
The Fane slowly turned his head. Cold eyes surveyed Ash where he lay. “There,” he said.
“This man?” Donnington started toward the Fane lord, who moved not a muscle, and then stopped to stare at Ash. “He looks exactly like me!”
Cairbre—for that was the Fane lord’s name—smiled a little. “An odd effect of the transfer. You were the first human he saw when he passed through the Gate, so his body shaped itself in your image.”
Donnington shuddered. “He wasn’t supposed to be human!”
“He was cursed to assume human form in your world, but I expected this to be a temporary condition.”
“You’re saying it isn’t?”
“Oberon is still powerful. He will not be so for long.”
The human scowled. “Can it … can it understand us?”
“It has not yet learned human speech.” The Fane lord stared at the human until Donnington dropped his gaze. “You have said that you kept your part of the bargain, but you have not fully succeeded, either. The girl is resisting my power. I cannot bring her through the Gate.”
“Because you’re nothing but a ghost.”
“It has nothing to do with Oberon’s restrictions on our appearance in your world,” Cairbre said coldly.
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