Aris slide to the floor on his stomach and left us without a word. I knelt beside him, mind whirling as I wondered how to treat magical injuries. His skin was flushed, but there was no outward sign of a wound. I lay my hand against his back and jerked it away, scalded by the heat.
A fever that high would kill a man.
“God’s breath,” I murmured. Was there even a way to care for…whatever this was? Aris made a noise of agreement and turned to lie on his side, curled in a ball.
As carefully as possible, I sat next to him and pulled his head into my lap, brushing the sweat-soaked hair off his brow.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It seemed like a pitifully small offering after my inability to stop Lia from hurting him.
“It wasn’t your fault. She would have done it, anyway.”
“Why? What are you being punished for?”
He didn’t answer for so long that I thought he must have fallen asleep, but he finally said in a raspy voice, “Not doing my job, I suppose.”
Should I keep him talking or let him sleep? How did one treat magical internal burns?
“What was your job?”
“I was a spy. I gathered information for the general so she could strategize.”
“Who did you spy on?”
“The other courts, mostly.”
“There are others?”
“Several. But I spent most of my time in Queen Titania’s court. She is the only true threat to Obyrron.”
I rolled my eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am deadly serious, my lady.”
“Obyrron and Titania? From A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”
“Where do you think Shakespeare learned their names?”
“Are they married, too?”
“Of course. But they hate each other.”
“How long have they been estranged?”
“Since the Great War.”
My jaw dropped open. That was thousands of years. “Are they so old?”
“They are immortal, Gwen.”
It was difficult enough to grasp the idea of infinity as a concept, but knowing I met someone that long-lived was impossible to come to terms with. “What happened between them?”
“Queen Titania is a traitor. Don’t they explain that in your stories and histories?”
A traitor? It clicked into place. “She was the one who taught mortals magic so they could defend themselves against the fae!”
He yawned. “Among other things.”
“Will you be alright? I don’t know what to do for you.”
“There is nothing to be done. I will heal. It is only pain. But”—he wriggled a bit, curling into my lap—“this is nice.” Then he yawned again.
I left off the questions and watched as his breathing depended, becoming steady and rhythmic, and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered closed to rest against his cheek. His skin was still so hot that just pillowing his head on my lap made me sweat.
And Lia had done this to him with a cruel smile on her face.
Reconciling the general of the fae armies to the girl I had known was even harder than meeting an immortal. I simply could not accept that the cold, malicious woman was the smiling, teasing girl I grew up with. But she had flinched. I hung on to that, no matter how insufficient a comfort it was.
Aris warned me not to believe anything I saw, and all of my research confirmed his warning. But if I could not believe what I saw, how might I solve the mystery of this place and get myself and my sister out of it?
Absently brushing my fingers against Aris’s forehead, I let my mind work.
The man I knew as Aristotle had been a spy for my sister, snooping on the court of Queen Titania, who supported mortals in the Great War.
Ophelia was the general in charge of invading mortal lands, so seeing her standing in the door Cassandra tried to open finally made sense; she had been waiting to cross with a dozen fae soldiers at her back. That could only mean she knew the door would open. I didn’t want to think about how she knew, or whether she had a hand in planning it.
But how did Lia earn such a position when the other contenders must have been hundreds if not thousands of years older and more experienced? She was either as clever and ruthless as she appeared to be, or more powerful than the others who could have held the title.
True, her life as a human made her uniquely qualified to plot our downfall. But would she? I lay back on the moss and let my thoughts come together as they would, drawing lines between bits of information until they began to form a recognizable structure.
How long I lay in a daze with Aris’s head on my lap I cannot say, but it felt like only moments before the wood creaked and the door appeared in the wall. Aris shuddered, sucked in a pained breath, and groaned as he sat up.
I brushed the hair out of his face. “Your color looks a bit better.”
“Huzzah for me.”
I would have responded to his sarcasm, but three otherworldly creatures entered our cell and stopped my breath. Nymphs had been described, painted, sculpted, and rendered in various forms of art all over the world, but none of it did them justice. And despite never having seen one myself, I knew what they were.
Their large, round eyes were entirely black, the bridge of their noses was flat and almost blended into their cheekbones, and their greenish skin shifted to silver in the light. Each of them moved with the grace of swaying trees, and their gauzy garments appeared to be woven of spiderwebs. They had the otherworldly appeal of dark ponds and mossy banks when one has been too long in the sun.
One carried an armful of fabric, the other a tray with combs and several bits of jewelry, and the third what I assumed to be soaps and bath oils. The last had thick hair the color of autumn leaves swept back and decorated with beads and cuffs of gold. With infinite grace, the nymph bent to press fingers into the moss in the center of the floor.
The wood peeled back, much like our cell door, revealing a clear pool. Tendrils of steam curled into the air, and my skin broke out in goosebumps at the mere thought of sinking into the hot water.
“Manannán Mac Lir has called for you, lady. We are here to assist with your bath.”
Manannán Mac Lir? The Irish god of the Otherworld and the sea? My hands went cold and my throat tightened in surprise. A veritable god was escorting me to a dance? Coherent thought tried to flee, but I managed to choke out, “I do not need assistance, but I appreciate the offer.”
They traded confused glances and Aris sighed. “It would be an insult to deny his minions, Gwen. Besides…you smell.”
“What, and you don’t?”
“I am not attending the festivities with a god.”
I closed my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
“Just get in the bath.”
“But you…they…”
“Since when are you a shrinking violet? Besides”—he raised a mischievous brow despite still being pale with pain, and eyed me from foot to crown—“dozens of times, remember?”
He needed a good kick to the shin. My hands balled into fists remembering how many times I changed in front of that raven, told him secrets, and cried into his feathers. I would have liked to scold him, but the nymphs decided I was taking too long, so they set down their burdens and began helping me out of the faerie gown.
“Turn around,” I ordered Aris over my shoulder.
“You did not seem to mind putting on a show earlier, my lady. Or does your bravery only extend to flustering me when we are alone?”
I narrowed my eyes, and he turned until his back was facing me. But he was right. It was one thing to embarrass him when we were alone, and yet another to be stripped bare. It was the difference between power and vulnerability.
“You are awfully brave while there is company in our cell, bird,” I grumbled at him.
“One must be brave while one can,” he replied.
The nymphs handed me down into the water, and as the heat licked up my calves and thighs, I moaned in involuntary pleasure. It had been years since I’d gone so long without a bath and my muscles responded by going limp as a full-body shiver ran up from the soles of my feet.
“Gwen?” Aris asked.
“Hmm?”
“Please don’t make noises like that.”
I smirked and sank beneath the water.
The nymphs lathered and combed and oiled with a professional efficiency that rivaled that of any Parisian bathhouse. I might have let myself enjoy it if I couldn’t feel Aris’s eyes on me. He turned his back when I asked him to, but I doubted he stayed that way. If he could tease me, he would. I expected that much. But I did not expect how strangely sensual the experience was.
Soap bubbles popping and water lapping at my stomach were the only noises as they scrubbed my hair, massaging my scalp with strokes of long fingers. The oils they rubbed into my skin were fragrant, like honeysuckle and sandalwood, and conjured images of wild gardens ripe in the sunlight. And since the water was only waist-high, the cooler air of the cell gave me goosebumps that made my nipples pebble.
Every time I glanced in his direction, Aris’s eyes were sliding away, as if he were watching me seconds before. I never caught him at it, but I felt his gaze like a brand on my skin.
By the time the nymphs finished, my mouth was dry and my fingers trembling. They handed me out of the pool and began toweling the water from my steaming skin.
“You may use the bathwater, Raven,” one of them said while sliding a gold armband onto my biceps.
“I think I shall wait,” he replied, voice thick.
“That would be unwise, as the general has commanded your presence.”
Aris had a way of obeying that made it seem as if he were conferring a favor rather than fulfilling an obligation. It was a personality quirk I associated with Aristotle. While I knew they were the same person, each time I was forced to confront the fact it had the strange effect of making the man both more familiar and more improbable.
I stood immobile as my hair was combed and styled, watching Aris cross the room with an easy stride despite the tension in his shoulders. His skin had faded to its normal pale hue, and the muscles of his abdomen shifted in a rather distracting manner as he walked.
He gave me a cheeky grin. “You don’t have to turn your back, if you’d rather not, my lady.”
I snorted, then jerked in surprise as his trousers disappeared. My breath whooshed out as if I’d been punched. The damnable man was utter perfection. I refused to feel guilty for looking. After all, I had a duty to do thorough research as the first human to spend time amongst the fae.
It was strictly professional curiosity.
For posterity.
The nymphs did not lavish their hygienic attention on Aris, leaving him to make do on his own. He sank beneath the surface with a similar groan of pleasure that made my cheeks go up in flames.
When he stood and reached to take the cake of soap from where it lay on the moss, I held my breath. Blue-black hair was plastered to his head and neck, dripping onto a lean form so lovingly sculpted the gods must have wept while making him.
He sent me an amused, knowing look from beneath long lashes, and I dragged my eyes away, clenching my fists until the moment passed. Determined to make it through the rest of this farce with my dignity somewhat intact, I trained my eyes on the translucent fabric pooling at my feet and did not move them until the nymphs finished with me.
When they left, I was properly covered in the new fae gown, complete with accompanying jewelry. Of course, whether the words covered and proper truly applied to the scenario depended upon one’s perspective.
Either the sidhe had very a different definition of the words than modern Europeans, or they truly planned to make a spectacle of me, because while the sleeveless dress was pinned at the shoulders with exquisite brooches and did extend from my collarbones to my ankles, it was so sheer that it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. At least, not when seen from the right angles.
A jeweled belt caught the dress into a series of aesthetic gathers and pleats that I tried to arrange for maximum modesty. Judging by Aris’s expression, I was somewhat less than successful.
When taken with the ostentatious jewelry: two beaded anklets, a torque with a ruby-eyed serpent head on one side and curling tail on the other, a hammered armband—all of which were likely solid gold—and a pair of jeweled ivory combs, the entire effect was meant to showcase the body, not to hide it.
A spectacle, indeed.
I had never been overly modest, though I bowed to the fashionable rules of the day, but this ensemble pushed even my limits. Worse, it left me nowhere to hide any of my weapons.
Aris cleared his throat, then folded his hands behind his back and walked round me in a circle, eyeing me as if I were a statue he was considering purchasing for his entryway. He tugged on a lock of my hair which, down and combed, reached to the small of my back, then dropped it as he completed his perusal.
“You’ll do, I suppose,” he said, then dodged a slap, laughing.
“This coming from the man who is still mostly nude?”
“And here I thought you enjoyed the spectacle of my manly physique. I left the shirt off just for you, and now you want me to cover up? To what lengths must I go to please you?”
I swallowed the response that jumped to mind and said, “You might try keeping your eyes off my breasts, to start.”
He allowed his gaze to linger a moment longer, then held out his arms and changed. The plain black trousers he preferred shimmered and shifted, flowing over his skin like water. His ensemble mirrored mine except that his tunic boasted billowing sleeves and was belted so the embroidered hem reached only to mid-thigh, leaving a distracting amount of muscled leg open to ogling.
The fabric was equally sheer. It caught the light from the mushrooms above us, and let it shimmer over acres of sculpted muscle. He wore a golden torque as well, only his sported a raven’s head.
“Showoff,” I muttered.
“A fellow must dress to match his lady. Can’t be outdone by a mere human, after all. And if I do not glamour myself some clothing, I would be dragged bare-assed before your darling sister.”
Aris must have truly wanted to be punched.
Besides, I never could have competed with the man in terms of sheer physical beauty. Attired in a series of potato sacks he would still be unnaturally attractive. My training and general level of activity kept me healthy and in good shape, but I enjoyed a scone as much as anyone and sported the jiggly bits to prove it.
Being seen next to him was certain to destroy whatever confidence I had, but being seen was not my goal in wearing the dress. I was more likely to learn valuable information if they saw me as biddable and unthreatening—at least I hoped so, or else I was about to show far more of myself than I was comfortable with for no good reason.
“You might enjoy my public exposure, given your lascivious nature,” he continued in a teasing tone, despite the fact that I had not responded, “but I assure you I would not.”
“Aris?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Shut up.”
“I live but to serve you.”
That conjured some interesting thoughts that I did not get to ruminate on because the strange, wood-creaking sound of the appearing door made me bite my tongue. Before it opened, Aris grabbed my wrist—his skin was warm now, not uncomfortably hot—leaned down, and said, “Do not believe anything you see or hear. Do not thank anyone, or accept any gifts. Do not drink the wine or eat the food. And do not get so caught up in the dancing that you cannot stop. Faeries can dance for days and they’re likely to drive you to exhaustion or death if you give them the chance.”
“Despite what you may think,” I said as I wrenched my wrist from his grasp, “I am not a complete nincompoop.”
“I am in earnest, Gwen. And don’t—“
“I know, don’t make any promises.”
One corner of his mouth curled. “I was going to say, don’t kiss anyone. But, yes, that part, too.”
I doubted anyone would try. Even the lowliest faerie was more graceful and beautiful than I, and as I was a prisoner. Who in their right mind would find a dalliance with me desirable?
Two of the hound guards appeared, Harl and one whose name I had not learned. Their paw hands rested on their weapons and their eyes were alert and hard.
Harl said, “The lord Manannán and the lady await you. Raven, you are to wear this.”
He held a gold collar dangling at the end of a length of chain. It was too thin to be of much use containing a faerie, but it was not meant as a means of physical control…it was a symbol of power and subjugation, and Aris knew it.
The muscle in his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. His knuckles turned white and his weight shifted. God’s breath, he was going to punch the guard. Cold sweat ran down my spine. If he attacked Harl, I would have no choice but to support him, and in an ensemble this flimsy, I was guaranteed to get pummeled if not killed outright.
I’d have to be fast.
I shifted my weight as if impatient or nervous, but in truth, I was preparing to lunge or dodge, if necessary. The guard on the right watched Aris, not me, and he was close enough that I could take out his legs if I moved with all possible speed.
If that did not work, my secret cache was close enough that it might do us some good. My back foot shifted, toes digging into the moss for leverage.
Aris let out a slow breath through his nostrils and raised his chin, defiant. His body language said he would not resist, but if the hounds wanted him in a collar, they would have to put it on themselves.
Harl’s eyes shifted warily to Aris’s hands. “Graowh, restrain him.”
Graowh hesitated, then circled at arm’s length until he could press the tip of his sword to Aris’s spine from a safe distance. Only then did Harl raise the collar. It locked around Aris’s throat with a metallic clink, and both guards sighed in relief. But seeing the collar around his throat made my stomach twist in revulsion.
Harl and Graowh retreated to the door and gestured with flicks of their ears. “Come.”
People certainly liked issuing orders here.
I took a deep breath, called upon my mother’s training as the future Duchess of Wainwright, and sailed into the hallway with Aris at my back.