of the late King Garret, that instead her father was a strange mortal creature from the Darkworld—it had been too late to confront her mother about it. And where was Queene Ayla now? She had believed that the Veil had begun to mend, that the dead moved on to a Summerland kept hidden from the Faeries who had once inhabited the Astral in life. If that were so, where was her guiding hand now? Could she not spare her daughter a sign, something to explain why she had kept such a secret for all of those years? Did she not realize, wherever she had gone, what the revelations of the past days had done to her?
“Are you well, Cerridwen?”
Concern, but from the wrong source. She squeezed her eyes shut against the angry tears that welled there. Cedric had thought it so comical, to keep up the charade of their betrothal. Well, it was a farce, and had been since the moment her mother had sprung it upon both unwilling parties. But he’d also had great fun in pretending that they would bow to this False Queene Danae once they stepped on the shore.
“I am fine,” she said through clenched teeth. Let him leave her alone, then, if he wanted a ball of clay to mold to his liking. She was not so stupid that she would endanger herself, or him. She knew what was at stake. A pretender was about to absorb her mother’s Court, would likely force Cerridwen into some position of servitude to suit her ego. Let her. There was nothing left for her now. Her mother was dead, her father was a mere Darkling, and she had no claim to the crown. No desire for it, either.
“Why did you not introduce me as Queene?” She did not whisper; whispers attracted attention. It was something she learned long ago, a part of daily life in the Palace.
Cedric crossed one leg over the other, shifted as though he could possibly get more comfortable in the position he was in. “I did not, because we do not need to declare our intention for you to rule in Danae’s stead. You will not be safe if we do.”
“You do not trust me to say the right thing, or act the way you wish me to act. You do not trust me to make the right decisions.” Not unfairly, she reminded herself quietly. She had betrayed her mother, and that betrayal had ultimately caused her death. But if Cedric judged her as she judged herself, he would see that she was a selfish creature, and that she would not harm her own interests.
The thought gave her little comfort.
“It is not a matter of trust.” He moved toward her now, settled himself on the pallet beside her, but he did not look her in the eye. “If it were, that would mean that I thought you capable of avoiding the traps certain others might set for you, but you are not.”
“Certain others?” She scoffed. “Bauchan, you mean. You think he is too clever, that I cannot see beyond what he really is?”
“I think that he has much more practice at deceit than you, and is a master of it. Besides, it’s not just a matter of seeing his deceit, but knowing how to react to it, and how to prevent it, too.” The disgust in Cedric’s voice was as chill as the air around them.
Cerridwen burrowed deeper beneath her blankets. “If you had simply told him that I am Queene now, perhaps he would not think to trick me.”
Now, Cedric looked at her, his eyes blazing with anger. “If you believe that, you are far more naive than I could have ever imagined.”
“I would not be so naive if the people around me did not treat me as though I were a child, incapable of understanding!” She lowered her voice. “You do not wish for him to know I plan to be Queene, because you believe that will make me a sweeter plum for Queene Danae. Is that right?”
“It is.” Cedric rolled to his side, propped his head on his hand. “If this Danae gains the support of the Court members that Bauchan brings her from the Underground, we will be on our own. And it looks as though there is enough desperation here for exactly that to happen. We do not know Danae’s temperament. She might be merciful, and allow you to stay on at her Court as a lesser noble, if you pledge your loyalty to her. Or she might chose to view you as a threat, and have you executed.”
It seemed almost absurd to suggest such a thing. “How could I be seen as a threat? I have nothing. I’ve never actually ruled. I have no real power.”
“And that is even more true if you are not the Queene,” Cedric interrupted. “The only Faery you have known well was your mother, and perhaps your governess. But your mother was part mortal, and born in the Underground. The way most Faeries are—the way they were before the Veil was torn—they behave in ugly ways. These Faeries we travel with now will no doubt turn back to their old ways. Danae is probably very much like one of them. We must be certain that she will cause you no harm if you choose to pursue your throne.”
Cerridwen lay on her back, stared up at the ugly ceiling above them. “You were not born in the Underground. You fought beside Queene Mabb during both wars with the Humans. And you are not vain and petty, as you assume this new Queene will be.”
“I am…glad that you do not find me vain and petty.” He stumbled over the words, as though he knew he must acknowledge them, but had no idea why she’d said them. “But we must not trust that Danae will be the same. She keeps company with Bauchan. That does not recommend her character over much.”
It struck Cerridwen then that Cedric spoke to her now not as though he were scolding her, not as though he believed he knew better, but as though she were of equal intelligence and capable of rational thought. As though she were not a child. So rarely did that happen, the feeling was still a novelty. She was but twenty, while Cedric—and most Faeries—were untold hundreds or thousands of years old.
Unbidden, her mind returned her to the night she’d left the Palace, intending to betray her mother’s plans to the Elves. She’d been so besotted with the Elf she’d met on the Strip, she’d followed him into the Darkworld, had pretended to be fully Human just so he would not be repulsed by her. Now, she understood what Faeries meant when they said someone was elf-struck. Sickening.
But that night, before she’d stupidly taken flight from the safety of the Palace walls, Cedric had made good on his promise to tell her all that was discussed in her mother’s private Council. Of course, he had made that promise only to keep her from causing a further scene in the Throne Room, in front of the entire Court. But he had come to her and told her the dire news—that her mother intended to attack the Elves rather than wait for them to unleash the Waterhorses, horrors of the deep that had been summoned to destroy the Faery Kingdom of the Lightworld—and he’d done so without warning her that she did not wish to hear, or that she would not understand.
A pang of homesickness gripped her stomach and stole the breath from her lungs. How she longed to be back in the Palace, in her chambers, in her own, comfortable bed. To feel Governess’s cool hands on her forehead, soothing her to sleep after a bad dream. To know that her mother slept safely down the hall.
That, she missed more than anything, because she had not appreciated it then. She’d hated her mother, had raged at being treated like a child. And though she enjoyed being spoken to as a capable Faery who was full grown, she would have gladly remained a child-princess forever if she could have her mother back.
Only when Cedric asked quietly, “Are you crying?” did Cerridwen realize that she was. She wiped her eyes and shook her head, rolled to face away from him.
This was not a nightmare that she could wake from to find Governess at her bedside, ready to soothe away her fears. “Cerridwen,” Cedric began, but he said no more. He laid a hand on her arm, patted her uncertainly.
She wanted to shrug it away, to isolate herself once again with her misery, for it had always helped in the past. Now, though, she could not stand the thought of being alone with such grief, though it could not be truly shared.
So, she let him keep his hand there but did not acknowledge him, and she cried herself quietly to sleep.
The ship sailed in the early dawn. Exhausted, Cedric had not noticed the sudden churning of the water beneath them, or the subtle feeling of movement. Perhaps it had even soothed him into deeper sleep. He would not complain. Only rest would