Лорел Гамильтон - A Stroke Of Midnight

I turned my head, and found that my hair, plastered to my back and shoulders, was longer as well. It fell below my shoulders now.

“You have made a mess of the entryway to my throne room, Meredith.”

“My apologies, Aunt Andais, it was not on purpose.” My voice sounded almost normal as I said it. I tried not to look at the ruin of the man she held, but it was both hard not to look at him and impossible to look for long. I looked because still my eyes could not make the proud, tall, arrogant, handsome Gwennin, out of that raw, fleshless figure at her feet. Even knowing who it was did not help my mind see it. She had destroyed him.

Anyone, absolutely anyone, would have confessed to anything to stop such pain. I did not trust her “confession,” but I dared not say that out loud. She was entirely too pleased with herself. After a good, successful torture, she was as happy as I ever saw her. I guess everyone needed a hobby.

“There is now a spring where you had your little threesome,” she said.

I looked down and Rhys moved so I could see that, indeed, the ground was bubbling, and a small seeping spring had come to be. The water was spreading out, finding a channel for a small stream, or perhaps making a pool. It would take time for the water to find its way, and decide what shape it wished the earth to take. Whether it wished to be a deep, still pool, or a stream. Of course, some rocks for the water to dance over would make a happy sound.

I should have known better than to think it. My only excuse was that I was trying to find something else to look at, to think of, than that pitiable wretch that had once been a sidhe lord.

The earth shivered like the flesh of a horse when a fly lands upon it. Rocks began to rise up through the mud, pushing their way along the seeping course of the water.

“It seems the sithen is alive once more,” Andais said, but her voice wasn’t as happy as I thought it should have been. “I think a deep, reflecting pool to complement the pool we already have would be lovely, don’t you, Meredith?”

I didn’t know what to say because a yes would be a lie, and a no would be impolitic.

She gave me narrowed eyes, and said, “Do you disagree, niece?”

“I do not know what to say, Aunt Andais.”

“The truth would be nice,” she said in a voice that made it clear she didn’t really want the truth, she wanted agreement.

“Your words say one thing, but your tone another, which leaves me wondering whether to obey your words, or the anger in them.”

She laughed then, and it seemed a genuine sound. “Oh, Meredith, you have not just gained a few inches of hair, but a more diplomatic tongue.” Then her eyes narrowed again, and she said, “Speak the truth, niece, do you think a reflecting pool is what the spring should become.”

I licked my lips and glanced at Doyle, trying to ask with my eyes what to say.

She yelled, “Do not look at him for an answer. If you are to be queen here, then be queen. Answer me!”

“No, I do not think it should be a pool.”

“Then what should it become, niece of mine?”

Rhys’s arms tightened around me in warning, though I didn’t need it. I could feel her anger, but she was trapping me. If I lied, something deep inside told me, I would be betraying the very magic that had brought the earth and water together. I could not lie, but she did not want the truth, no matter what she said.

She began striding toward us, dragging Gwennin, so that he screamed and moaned and begged and scrambled at the ground with broken hands. “What would you have of this new spring, Meredith. Some happy, bubbling stream?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, that would be good.”

The earth shivered again, and this time it began to fold away to make a path for the water to fill. The ground was shaping banks and a streambed for the water. More rocks began to appear to break up the flow, so that it would bubble and sing.

She stood now beside the still pool and its fountain. With its rock set with permanent chains, waiting for victims. “I want a formal garden on either side of this stream you are making.”

I started to agree, but she held up a bloody hand. “No, Meredith, do not simply agree. Say something else, but make certain that you want it here. Make certain it is the framework you wish your happy, little stream to wander through.”

I looked at Adair and Amatheon. “You helped make it, what say the two of you?”

“Meredith, Meredith,” she said, “you cannot share power and rule.”

“It was not my power alone that brought the earth here, or the spring. It took all three of us to make it. Why should they not help form it?”

To that she had no answer, but merely frowned at me. Even through the blood and gore, I could see her puzzlement.

The two men glanced from one to the other of us. Rhys had gone very still against my body, as if he was afraid to breathe.

“Answer her, oak lord, earth man, answer her,” Andais said.

“A meadow would be nice,” Amatheon said. “A nice flat piece of ground with tall grass, and flowers. Good rich soil that could grow anything you wished.”

Adair nodded. “A nice sunny meadow, yes, that would be good.”

I smiled at them—I could not help myself. “Yes, a nice flower and grass meadow, where the sun can shine down, and the moon caress.”

Small green shoots began to appear in the fresh earth. They did not grow into big plants instantly, but they were there, and the room was suddenly full of that rich green growing smell that is spring. The earth was simply studded with that first blush of green. After everything else it didn’t even surprise me. Then the ceiling vanished and the room suddenly seemed roofed, not with rock, but with a misty, uncertain sky. In that haze was a warm golden ball. There was a sun in this new sky. I had heard rumors, legends, that once we had had suns and moons in the underground, but I had never seen one, or hoped to.

Andais gazed up at the new sun. “You are correct, so it seems. It took all three of you to make this place, and all three of your powers have manifested. But mark me, Meredith. Now that the sithen lives again, it will answer to other magicks besides your own. Be careful what you awaken in others, for not all of it will be to your Seelie taste.”

“I am Unseelie sidhe, Aunt Andais.”

“We shall see, Meredith, we shall see.” She gazed at me, then down at herself. She seemed to have forgotten that she was holding the intestines of a man in one hand. “We need to clean up. We have a king to see, and a new mystery to solve.”

“What mystery would that be, Aunt Andais?” I asked.

“Why would Taranis risk war between our courts over a lie? Why would his men attack my men, over the lie of some Seelie strumpet?”

“I do not know, Aunt Andais,” I said.

“Nor I, but we will know, Meredith. We will know.” She released her hold on Gwennin, and closed the space between us. She was taller than Rhys by at least six inches, and she seemed even taller covered in blood, or maybe just scarier.

“Give your aunt a kiss, Meredith.”

I opened my mouth to ask why, then closed it. She was doing it to be cruel, in part, but everyone I had touched today seemed to have gained from my touch. Perhaps the fact that I did not want to touch her would make it all the sweeter for her.

“Of course, Aunt Andais,” I said, and my voice was almost neutral.

“Does the thought of putting your white flesh against me right now sicken you?”

That was a dangerous question. “You frighten me, auntie, to say anything else would be a lie.”

“Then kiss me, niece, and let me taste your fear on those red, Seelie lips.”

I tightened my grip on Rhys’s arm, like a child holding tight in the night. She bent over us, and I raised my face to her, obedient, afraid not to be.