Anne Bishop: Tangled Webs

Mother Night, Surreal thought. She felt Rainier stiffen beside her. She felt the stillness ripple through the guests as each one recognized the danger. And she watched a feral quality add bite to Jaenelle’s sapphire eyes while Daemon’s gold eyes turned glazed and sleepy.

She’d known, had used that gauge for temper all her life. But because it was a constant part of her life, she’d never thought about it, had never seen it so clearly.

It’s in the eyes. That’s what changes the face from person to predator. That’s the key to the truth about the Blood. The eyes say, “We aren’t like you. We come from the same races. We laugh and love and grieve and cry. We have hopes and dreams and regrets and bitter disappointments. We feel the same things you feel. But we aren’t like you. We are the guardians of the Realms. We are power. We are the Blood. Walk softly when you walk among us.”

No one spoke. No one moved. No one even breathed until the dancers turned and simply disappeared as they walked away.

Then there was a collective sigh—and Surreal had no doubt that every landen in the room now had a gut-level understanding of the Blood.

The ghost had been right. It was the scariest room in the house.

She watched the landens file out, then heard nervous laughter as they walked out the front door.

“They set up refreshment tents,” Rainier said. “Hot cider, ale, wine. A healthy dose of brandy to put some bone back in your legs.”

“My legs are shaking,” Surreal said. “I have lived in the same house as that man, and my legs are shaking.”

“And that surprises you? Only a fool would play with that temper, and you’re no fool. And while that temper is in everything that he is, it’s not all that he is. Or any of us, for that matter. We saw a truth about us as well as him—and her.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath and blew it out in a gusty sigh. “Brandy. Then back to Amdarh for a late supper?”

“Agreed.”

As they crossed the threshold, Surreal looked back.

Daemon leaned against the fireplace mantel, smiling at her with warm amusement. Then the door closed.

«Surreal,» Rainier said.

A small table had been positioned near the door, its top covered by a woven basket full of wood shavings. Sitting in the basket was a skeleton mouse waving bye-bye to the guests.

That explained the nervous laughter. Jaenelle, Marian, and Tersa had provided a last bit of whimsy to soften the frightening truth that danced in that beautiful sitting room.

«Hell’s fire,» Surreal muttered.

Two boys were reaching for the skeleton mouse, and something about their expressions and the way they stood indicated an intention to damage the illusion in some way.

She took a step toward the boys, ready to smack some manners into their nasty little-boy heads.

«Wait,» Rainier said.

The two shadow Scelties suddenly appeared behind the boys and…

“Ow!” the boys cried. They hurried toward a knot of adults. “Those dogs bit us!”

A man—father?—looked at the shadows, who were now wagging their tails. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “Those are illusions. They can’t bite you.”

One of the boys turned toward the shadows, hauled back, and kicked with enough force it would have lifted a real dog off its feet. His foot went right through the shadow.

But Surreal saw a gleam in the dogs’ eyes that made her knees go weak.

As the adults followed the ghostly guide up the stairs for the first part of the tour, the shadow Scelties moved in on the boys, nipping and herding until they had their quarry cornered. And there those boys would stay, missing the tour. Since the landen adults believed the illusions couldn’t touch anyone, the Scelties were free to carry out their own brand of discipline.

Surreal and Rainier looked at the Scelties, then looked at each other and said in unison, “Now, that’s scary.”