Лорел Гамильтон - A Kiss Of Shadows

Rhys offered me his arm.

Doyle stepped up to my other side. I thought he would offer his own arm so that I would be wedged between them. Instead, he said, "Go down the hallway and wait for us."

Frost would have argued or even refused, but not Rhys. "You are the captain of the Guard," he said. It was the answer of a good soldier. He walked around the corner and Doyle moved, moving me with him, a hand on my arm, to watch him move far enough away not to overhear us. Then Doyle edged us back, out of sight of Rhys.

His hand tightened on my upper arm. "What else are you carrying?"

"You trust me to just tell you?" I asked.

"If you give me your word, I will take it," he said.

"I left in danger of my life, Doyle. I need to be able to protect myself."

His hand tightened, and he gave a small shake. "It is my job to protect the court, especially the queen."

"And it's my job to protect myself," I said.

He lowered his voice even further. "No, that is my job. The job of all the Guard."

I shook my head. "No, you are the Queen's Guard. The King's Guard protects Cel. There is no Guard for the princess, Doyle. I was raised very aware of that."

"You always had your contingent of bodyguards, as did your father."

"And look how much that helped him," I said.

He grabbed my other arm, drawing me to tiptoe. "I want you to survive, Meredith. Take what she gives you tonight. Do not try to harm her."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

His hands relaxed, and he set me down flat-footed on the stones. "Give me your word that that was your only weapon and I will believe you."

Staring up into his so sincere face, I couldn't do it. I couldn't lie to him, not if I had to give my word about it. I looked at the floor, then back up at his face. "Ferghus's Balls."

He smiled. "I take it that means you have other weapons."

"Yes, but I can't be here unarmed, Doyle. I can't."

"You will have one of us with you at all times tonight—that I can guarantee."

"The queen has been very careful tonight, Doyle. I may not like Frost, but to an extent I trust him. She's made sure every guard I meet is one I either trust or like, but there are twenty-seven queen's guardsmen, another twenty-seven king's guardsmen. I trust maybe half a dozen of them, ten at the outside. The rest of them frighten me, or have in the past actively hurt me. I am not walking around here unarmed."

"You know I can take them from you," he said.

I nodded. "I know."

"Tell me what you have, Meredith. We'll go from there."

I told him everything I was carrying. I half expected him to insist on searching me himself, but he didn't. He took me at my word. It made me glad I hadn't held anything back.

"Understand this, Meredith. I am the queen's bodyguard before I am yours. If you try to harm her, I will take action."

"Am I allowed to defend myself?" I asked.

He thought about that for a moment. "I… I would not have you killed simply because you stayed your hand for fear of me. You are mortal and our queen is not. You are the more fragile of the two." He licked his lips, shook his head. "Let us hope that it does not come down to a choice between the two of you. I do not think that she plans you violence tonight."

"What my dear aunt plans and what comes to pass isn't always the same thing. We all know that."

He shook his head again. "Perhaps." He offered me his arm. "Shall we go?"

I took his arm lightly, and he led me around the corner to the patiently waiting Rhys. Rhys watched us walk toward him, and there was a seriousness to his face that I didn't like. He was thinking about something.

"You'll hurt yourself thinking that hard, Rhys," I said.

He smiled, lowering his eye, but when his gaze came back up it was still serious. "What are you up to, Merry?"

The question startled me. I didn't try to keep the surprise off my face. "My only plan for the evening is to survive and not get hurt. That's all."

His eyes narrowed. "I believe you." But his voice sounded uncertain, as if he really wasn't sure he believed me at all. Then he smiled, and said, "I offered her my arm first, Doyle. You're cutting in on my action."

Doyle started to say something, but I got there first. "I've got two arms, Rhys."

His smile widened to a grin. He offered me his arm, and I took it. As I slid my hand over his sleeve, I realized it was my right—the one the ring was on. But the ring didn't react to Rhys. It lay quiet, just a pretty piece of silver.

Rhys saw it, eyes widening. "That's…"

"Yes, it is," Doyle said, quietly.

"But…" Rhys began.

"Yes," Doyle said.

"What?" I asked.

"All in the queen's good time," Doyle said.

"Mysteries make my head hurt," I said.

Rhys did his best Bogart impression. "Then buy a bottle of aspirin, baby, because the night is young."

I looked at him. "Bogart never said that in a movie."

"No," Rhys said in his normal voice. "I was ad-libbing."

I gave his arm a little squeeze. "I think I missed you."

"I know I missed you. No one else at court knows what the hell film noir means."

"I most certainly do," said Doyle.

We both looked at him.

"It means dark film, correct?"

Rhys and I looked at each other and started to laugh. We walked down the hallway to the echoes of our own laughter. Doyle didn't join in. He kept saying things like, "It means dark film, doesn't it?"

It made the last few yards to my aunt's private chambers almost fun.

ONCE THE DOUBLE DOORS OPENED, THE STONE CHANGED. MY AUNT'S chamber, my queen's chamber, was formed of black stone. A shiny, nearly glasslike stone that looked as if it should shatter at a heavy touch. You could strike it with steel and all you got were colored sparks. It looked like obsidian, but it was infinitely stronger.

Frost stood as close to the door leading into the room as he could, and as far away from the queen. He stood very straight, a shining silver figure in all that blackness, but there was something about the way he held himself that said he was near the door for a reason—a quick getaway, maybe.

The bed was against the far wall, though it was so covered in sheets, blankets, and even furs that it was hard to say whether it was a bed or merely a gigantic pile of covers. There was a man in the bed, a young man. His hair was summer blond, cut long on top and short half way down, a skater's cut. His body was tanned a soft gold from the summer or maybe a tanning bed. One slender arm was flung outward into space, hand limp. He seemed deeply asleep and terribly young. If he was under eighteen, it was illegal in any state, because my aunt was fey and the humans didn't trust us with their children.

The queen rose from the far side of him, emerging slowly from the nest of covers and a spill of black fur that was only a little blacker than the hair that swept back from her pale face. She'd pulled the hair atop her head until it seemed to form a black crown, except for three long curls trailing down her back. The bodice of the dress looked very much like a black vinyl merry widow with two thin lines of sheer black cloth that graced her white shoulders more than covered them. The skirt was full and thick, spilling behind her in a short train; it looked like shiny leather but moved like cloth. Her arms were encased in leather gloves that went the entire length of her arm. Her lips were red, her eye makeup dark and perfect. Her eyes were three different shades of grey, from charcoal, to storm cloud, to a pale winter's sky. The last color was a grey so pale that it looked white. Set in the dark makeup, her eyes were extraordinary.

Once upon a time, the queen had been able to dress herself in spiderwebs, darkness, shadows—bits and pieces of things she governed over would form clothing at her will. But now she was stuck with designer clothes and her own personal tailor. It was just one more sign of how far we'd fallen in power. My uncle, the king of the Seelie Court, could still clothe himself in light and illusion. Some thought it proved the Seelie Court was stronger than the Unseelie Court. Anyone who thought that was careful not to say it in front of Aunt Andais.