Richelle Mead - Shadow Heir

A bizarre thought came over me, one that made my heart stop for a moment. All this time, I’d assumed Dorian just found me entertaining in his usual perverse way, that he’d liked my attentions and the prestige of being connected to my children. But I’d figured any romantic attachment had died after the Iron Crown. Now ... now I knew I was wrong.

“Dorian ... are you most upset because ...” The words came out awkwardly as I found the courage to speak them. “Are you upset just because you won’t see me? Because ... you’ll miss me?” It was a pathetic way to phrase it, but we both knew what I meant.

He glanced back at me over his shoulder, a smile on his face but sadness in his eyes. “Eugenie, do you know what I love about you?” I waited expectedly since Dorian used that rhetorical question in nearly every conversation we had, and his answer was always different. His smile grew, as did the sadness. “I love that that is the absolute last conclusion you came to.”

He departed, shutting the door firmly behind him and leaving me feeling like an idiot.

While it was true that nothing could ever fully match the Otherworld’s convoluted system of travel, Roland came pretty close with the arrangements he made to get me to his mystery safe location. I left the Otherworld through a gate that opened up in Tucson, knowing that I’d likely be observed. A trip there—though clearly unsafe—didn’t raise too much suspicion, if only because my enemies would probably expect me to visit friends and family back there. It was a risk we deemed worthy, in order to cover our larger scheme.

But once I set foot in the human world, the craziness of Roland’s plan fell into place. He’d set it up so that my journey used practically every mode of travel imaginable—car, train, airplane, and even bus. Sometimes it would only be a short distance on one of those means of transportation. Sometimes I wouldn’t even go in the right direction and would simply zigzag to my next waypoint. Varied means of technology made it difficult for gentry to follow me, and the complex system of reservations and directions made it difficult for humans—like Kiyo—to track me. Roland only stayed with me while I was in Tucson, for fear that he might be used as a way to locate me. He also hoped that by returning home and behaving normally, it might create the illusion that I was staying with him. That meant some Otherworldly creature would undoubtedly come calling, but Roland assured me he could handle it and that they’d leave him alone once the truth was discovered.

So, I did my traveling alone, which I didn’t mind so much. There were so many connections to make and so many directions to follow that I had little chance to think about all the problems I’d left behind. Near the end of my second day of travel, I arrived in Memphis. It wasn’t my final destination—but was close. Roland wanted me to stay there overnight and for most of the next day. It was a test to see if I’d been followed. If I had been, it seemed likely someone would make a move quickly. If I hadn’t, then I could freely continue on to the last stop. Roland had given me the number of a shaman who lived in Memphis to call if I needed help, just in case things went bad. Aside from that, I had nothing else to do but wait out the day in a hotel room and hope we’d shaken any supernatural followers.

After so much time in the Otherworld, I’d hoped the return to modern life would distract me. Cable TV and deep-fried food were certainly things I’d been without for a while. Their novelty was short-lived, however. As I lay on my hotel bed, I just kept thinking about that last conversation with Dorian. Since seeking his protection during my pregnancy, I’d regarded him with nothing but suspicion and wariness. I’d been convinced of ulterior motives and had been certain the only reason he had aligned himself with me now was to further his own plots. The realization that he still had feelings for me—and that I had been oblivious to them—was startling. And troubling, though I couldn’t exactly articulate why. I hadn’t really allowed myself to think about him in a romantic way in ages, and now ... despite my best efforts ... I was.

Self-torment aside, my day in Memphis proved remarkably uneventful—which was all part of the plan. It was as close as I was going to get to confirmation that I hadn’t been followed. Around dinnertime of the third day, I boarded a small commuter plane and braced myself for the last stop on this madcap journey: Huntsville, Alabama. I confess, when Roland had told me that’s where his safe house was, I hadn’t been excited. My stereotypes of Alabama were even worse than my Ohio ones. Roland had been quick to set me straight before I’d left Tucson.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Eugenie,” he’d told me. “But you’re kind of a snob.”

“I am not,” I’d argued. “I’m open-minded about a lot of things. And places.”

He’d scoffed. “Right. You’re like most people from the Western U.S., convinced that anywhere else is beneath your notice.”

“That’s not true at all! It’s just ... I’m just used to certain things. I mean, Tucson’s a lot bigger than Huntsville. I’m just used to that larger-city feel, you know?”

“Right,” he’d said, eyeing me skeptically. “Which is why you’ve been living in a medieval castle with no electricity or indoor plumbing.”

It was a fair point, and I’d made no further argument.

Some of my lingering doubts softened as the plane made its descent into Huntsville and I caught sight of a park filled with cherry trees that glowed like gold in the sunset. It was kind of amazing that I could even identify them. We were still fairly high, and unlike the Rowan Land’s perpetually pink cherry trees, these had lost their blossoms and were in full leaf. Yet, somehow, I instantly knew the trees for what they were, and I found them comforting. This wasn’t the Rowan Land—and certainly not the Thorn Land—but that little reminder of home made me feel less alone. I could get through this. Everything was going to be okay.

I was met at the airport by Candace Reed, the local shaman with whom Roland had set things up. He must have given her my description because she lit up when she saw me and hurried forward to hug me as though we’d known each other for ages. She was about ten years older than me, with dark skin and hair and long-lashed eyes that sparkled with mirth. She wore faded jeans with a red-checked blouse and radiated an air of motherly protection.

“Look at you,” she exclaimed, promptly putting her hand over my stomach. I’d noticed this seemed to be acceptable behavior for most people—gentry and human alike—and it normally weirded me out that pregnancy apparently smashed all personal boundaries. Somehow, I wasn’t bothered by Candace doing it. “How far along are you, sweetheart?” Before I could even answer, she took my small suitcase from me. “Lord, give me that! We can’t have you hauling things around in your state.”

The suitcase barely weighed anything and was simply a few essentials my mom had thrown together for me. Something told me that arguing what I was capable of in my “state” with Candace would be a losing battle.

“I told Charles to have your room ready by the time we got home, so he better have listened to me,” she continued as we headed toward her car. “You know how men are. He’d be off daydreaming all the time if he didn’t have me to keep him in line. Let’s hope he didn’t burn dinner either. I started it and told him exactly what to do, but knowing him, he probably got distracted. Could be a baseball game on TV or a woodpecker out back. Probably nothing but a pile of ash in the oven now. It’s pot roast. Do you eat that? You should, you know. Protein’s good for you and the baby. So are the potatoes.”