Wander The Night, page 11
There’s another silence before Oberon sighs. “While I should hope he thought to choose carefully, it doesn’t help us for her to be unaware of Mab’s plans.”
It hits me with sharp realization. They’re talking about Isobel. Is she here? And where have they put her if they did bring her into Faerie?
Oberon continues. “What of Titania’s spright?”
That pulls my attention back. Surely, they haven’t assumed…
“Moth claims to know nothing as well,” the female voice answers.
Staying silent isn’t my strong suit. I have questions, and something clearly went down while I was unconscious. I pull the door open and step into the room.
Three startled faces whip toward me.
“Somebody want to fill me in on what I’ve missed?” I ask. If there’s a bite to my tone, I can hardly be bothered to care.
“Robin,” Oberon says, like he’s still processing my presence. Then he seems to come back to himself and adds, “You shouldn’t be up.”
“But I am,” I say.
Darcen’s eyebrows rise a little at my tone, and the girl—a green-skinned guard who usually avoids me—glances toward the door as though she’s planning an escape route.
“So what happened?”
Oberon and Darcen exchange a glance. Darcen gives the slightest shake of his head as if he’s warning against something.
I refuse to be kept in the dark. “Tell me what happened.”
Oberon sighs. “This is hardly the best time to discuss such matters. You’re still—”
“There is no best time,” I interject. “And I’m hardly going to keel over from a conversation.”
A look comes over Oberon’s face, as though he’s planning his next move in a high-stakes chess game. As if high-stakes chess isn’t just daily court life. Then the look shifts, and I can tell I have the win this time. If we had been alone, just the two of us, he might have pressed the matter. With others present, he still has to play the role of king.
As though I didn’t just wake up in the king’s private quarters.
“Very well,” he concedes. “Sit then.”
He gestures to a chair to the side of his desk, and I take the less-than-subtle hint. He sits in the chair behind the desk and steeples his fingers, elbows resting atop a short stack of reports.
“By the time we arrived on the scene, Kavi had already been taken. The half-blood girl was still present, and the only remaining Grey soldiers were dead.” He doesn’t mention my role in any of this. “We brought the half-blood back for questioning. She told us a vague story of her background, said she owed you a favor.”
He arches an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation. Under normal circumstances, I would crack a joke about his word choices and how this all sounds rather like a police TV drama. As it is, I’m preemptively angry based on where I think this is going.
“She did,” I say. “She agreed to take in Kavi to make even. Her faery mother didn’t want her. She was traded for a human child before she was old enough to crawl.” I shrug. “She was neither fey enough nor human enough to blend in. Her parents found out what she was and didn’t like it. Thought she was a demon probably. They mistreated her and tossed her out when she was a teen. I helped her find her way.”
Oberon picks up on something in my tone. “How did you help her?” he asks.
“I fixed the problem.”
He stares at me for a moment before he decides to abandon the trail. I hope he’s distracted enough that he will forget to confront me about this later, but I somehow doubt it.
“The girl mentioned that her faery parentage was Grey,” he continues. “Is this true?”
“It is.” I mentally attempt to connect the dots of his interrogation, whether he’s questioning me or Isobel. “She has no affiliation with either of the courts, save for me.” And I’m not certain she’s fond of me either, I think to myself. “She certainly has no loyalty for the court that threw her away.”
Oberon crosses his arms on top of the desk and leans forward. “And can you prove that?”
My face heats. “Can you?” I spread my hands in the air. “Where is this even heading? Where is she?”
His expression softens. “We’re keeping an eye on her until we can figure some things out.”
“So you’ve imprisoned her,” I clarify. “For being in the wrong place, wrong time. For helping me when I asked her.”
“Hopefully, this is only a temporary necessity—”
“Oh, until she’s executed?” He opens his mouth, but I cut him off again. “What about Moth? I heard you talking about her too.”
Oberon sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he casts a glance toward Darcen and the guard. I’d forgotten they were still here.
“We’re in the process of questioning her as well,” he says.
I leap to my feet, outraged, ignoring the dizziness that swims behind my eyes. “So you’ve locked her up too? For doing what, exactly?”
Oberon stands also, though he, at least, seems less indignant and more prepared to catch me if I fall. “She’s the only other person who would’ve known where Kavi was. She’s a servant of Titania’s. Is it so far a stretch to assume she could have sold us out? That either of them could have?”
I refuse to admit that he could have a point. And he could have a point if either Moth or Isobel were that kind of person. But I don’t believe it of them.
“Let me talk to them,” I say, bracing my hands on the desktop. “I can convince you they’re innocent.”
Oberon shakes his head. “No.” I start to protest, and he silences me with a raised finger. “My word stands.”
I bite down on my argument. “Fine.” I’ll just go later then, when he’s not aware. Forgiveness and permission and whatnot. “What about Kavi then?”
“I’ll talk to you further about the situation after you’ve rested more.”
He did not just shut me down like that.
“Yeah,” I say, crossing my arms. “All due respect, that’s not happening. You honestly think I’m going to take a nap right now?”
“I’m afraid I honestly do. I’ve let you get too worked up as it is,” Oberon says and waves a hand. “Goodnight, Robin.”
Glamour weaves through the air. Normally, I would’ve fought it, maybe even won. But caught off guard and injured as I am, I find myself sinking straight down into sleep before I can even protest.
Oberon, you dirty cheat.
SCENE 2
When I wake next, it takes me a moment to realize that I am not, in fact, hungover and have, in truth, only been glamoured to sleep. The two feel similar when one wakes up. Once the glamour wears off, it gets better.
Then I remember how I wound up in said sleep, and I’m angry all over again.
I sit up and try to clear the cobwebs from my mind. My side still hurts, but I’m angry enough that I can ignore it. And honestly, I feel rather betrayed too. I’ve always been in Oberon’s inner circle, and closer even than most of the others within it. To be brushed off so flippantly… It stings a bit.
I’m in Oberon’s room again, tucked nicely into bed like I haven’t been forced here against my will. I survey the room. Oberon isn’t here. The door to his workspace is closed now. I guess he wants to make sure I can’t eavesdrop again. I slip from the bed and over to the door. I press an ear against it, listening for voices or movement on the other side. Hearing nothing, I crack the door a sliver and peek through into the next room. Still nothing. I brave the door a little more open, a little more, until I can see the room fully.
It’s empty. Only a few dim fires bob near the ceiling. Oberon is elsewhere.
I realize, stepping through the doorway, that I’m still barefoot. Oh well. No sense wasting time trying to find my shoes when I’ve no idea where to start looking. I don’t have time to spare if I’m going to get down to the prisons without Oberon knowing. I can talk my way past anyone else. Besides, I don’t know how long my energy will last.
With that thought in mind, I button my shirt, cross the room, and open the door to the hallway. I expect a guard of some sort to be posted outside, but no one is present. I don’t celebrate. I may run into someone else yet.
I turn down the hall toward the prisons, walking with purpose and affecting the air of someone who isn’t going to get flayed alive if they get caught. The prisons are in the direction of the kitchens and staff quarters, away from those of the Gentry and royalty, through a door that opens to a staircase. I take the staircase down into a lower section of the Hill, further underground.
The air is cooler here, more earthy and ancient the farther I descend. The pressed dirt of the stairs is cool against my bare feet. Floating fires bob near the ceiling every few feet, illuminating the way but doing little to ease the ominous descent.
At the bottom of the stairs, a room opens up, small and circular before branching into a rather broad hallway to either side. Rows of cells stretch in both directions and along both sides of the hallway, cells carved from the same bare earth as the stairs that led to them. The barred cell doors are cast from a mix of glamoured silver and iron, just enough to keep an occupant from being able to use their glamour. The lock mechanisms are iron-free to allow the guards to open the doors without damage to themselves.
A pair of such guards are posted at the point just before the room branches. They tense slightly, prepared to jump to attention, before they realize who I am and tentatively relax.
“I thought you were out of commission,” the one on the right says bluntly. He sounds a little confused and a lot like he’d love to hear the story.
I shrug. “Can’t keep a good dog down,” I say. “I wanted a word with a couple of people.”
The guard on the left, who has been cutting her eyes at her partner like she can’t believe his audacity, shakes her head and turns to me. “It’s good to see you’re all right. It’s been a strangely docile few days without you wreaking havoc around the court.”
Days? That’s worrying, but I file it away for later.
She continues. “Lord Oberon send you?”
No. He most certainly did not. “Everyone’s trying to get answers about the whole thing. Maybe I can figure some things out.”
She buys the wording and tosses her head toward the hall of cells. “Have yourself a go then. On the left.”
I turn into the hall and follow her directions. I pass a couple of empty cells and then find both Moth and Isobel, housed across from each other. Moth is huddled as far as possible from the bars, knees pulled up to her chest, wings tucked against her sides. Isobel seems unaffected, leaning against the door of her cell. They both look a bit ragged, weary and dirt-smudged as they are. They glance up when I come into view, breaking off the quiet conversation they were having.
I’m suddenly unsure of what to say. I feel responsible for the situation they’re in, and I don’t know how long it will take to convince Oberon of their innocence. Or whether I even can.
Isobel saves me from having to speak. “So you made it after all,” she says. “I’d almost convinced myself you were dead.”
“Bel!” Moth admonishes.
Bel? That’s new, but I don’t comment.
“Still alive, much to everyone’s apparent shock. No need to worry.”
Isobel gives a slight grin, mocking but a hint relieved. It’s a strange expression on her. “You don’t happen to be here to let us out, do you?”
I sigh. “I wish I could say I was.” I lower my voice. “Oberon doesn’t know I’m here. I’m trying to figure all this out so I can get you out.”
“It’s not your fault,” Moth says, perceptive as always. “Both of our positions just weren’t the most forgiving, in light of the situation.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“Good old Faerie,” Isobel scoffs. “Where everything is, ironically, unfair.”
I sit down on the ground between their cells, choosing not to respond to her assessment. “What happened? Oberon won’t fill me in on the whole story.”
“I only know the story secondhand,” Moth says. “But they think I led the Grey Courters to Kavi because I worked for Titania. They think I’m some sort of spy she left behind.”
“Same for me,” Isobel agrees. “Only I’ve apparently been offered a place in Mab’s court in exchange for Oberon’s kid.” She rolls her eyes. “I might’ve been born Grey, but I’m very much not homesick for the land that made it clear it never wanted me.”
“Have you given them statements that are straightforward?” I ask. “With wording that has no loopholes?”
“I’ve said it in so many ways,” Moth answers, “and still they don’t believe me.”
“We’ve both tried to tell them they’re looking in the wrong place,” Isobel adds, waving a hand with distaste. “Guilty until proven innocent.” She gives a sardonic smile. “Maybe not even then.”
“I’ve tried vouching for you,” I say, shaking my head. “No one seems to want to listen to reason.”
“Surprise,” Isobel mutters.
I ignore the comment. “I don’t have a lot of time before someone figures out I’m not supposed to be here. Is there anything else either of you can tell me? What happened after the fight?”
Isobel leans her head back against the earthen wall of her cell. “By the time Oberon showed up, everything was pretty much over. The Greys were dead or disappeared, Kavi was gone, and you were bleeding all over the place.”
She gives me a look of accusation, as though I’d planned to get stabbed. Although, for what it’s worth, if I hadn’t been, she might’ve had a chance to escape instead of getting dragged back here to this cell.
Moth shrugs. “Aside from food and some questions concerning the information we don’t have, we’ve been pretty much left alone. It inspires boredom perhaps, but we’ve not been hurt.”
“My pride begs to differ,” Isobel snips.
I nod. “I’ll do what I can to get you both out of here.” I stand and manage not to sway, though I suspect my balance is not the most graceful at the moment. “I need to go before I’m missed.”
My luck has taken somewhat of a downturn lately.
“My lord,” the two guards in the other room chorus as I start toward the entrance.
I freeze. This is not good is all my rather obvious thoughts can supply.
Oberon doesn’t sound happy when he speaks. “I’m looking for a certain puck, if you don’t mind.”
The guards are silent, but I’m reasonably sure they’re both giving up my location. I have two choices: I can shift and try to run for it, or I can make a stand and try to talk sense. As the latter idea seems to be the more stupid of the two, I choose that one.
Oberon rounds the corner, eyes narrowing when he spots me. He tromps toward me, emanating rage so cold that Isobel backs warily away from her cell bars.
“I can explain,” is probably not the best thing I can say and sounds rather incriminating in hindsight. But it’s all I get out before Oberon grabs me roughly by the upper arm and starts dragging me from the room.
“Hey!” I shout, pushing at his hand. “Let me go!”
He jerks me around to face him. “You’re quite incapable of following instruction, as I believe I told you not to come down here,” he growls. “Clearly, you’re in need of supervision.”
And he starts dragging me along again. I fight at first, as we ascend the stairs, but I can feel my energy flagging, and Oberon moves through the Hill at a swift enough pace that it’s a job to keep stride with him. So I spend most of the escort split between trying not to pass out and spitting silent curses in my mind.
I’ve been assuming he was leading me back to his rooms, but we stop in front of mine. A guard is stationed by the door, which he opens to allow us both inside. The door closes behind us, and Oberon shoves me forward.
“What did I tell you?” he asks. “What did I say?”
I stumble but find my balance. “Not a lot!” I spit back at him. “I asked for information, and you didn’t provide it. So I found it on my own.”
“Everything I tell you, every order I give, you always wind up doing the exact opposite. Look where it’s gotten you,” he says, spreading a hand as though the situation lies before him. “Do you realize that you nearly died?”
“So I’m supposed to sit around and just wait for everything to fix itself? Is that it?”
“No,” he says, jabbing a finger in my direction. “You’re supposed to listen and do as you’re told. I’m the king. You obey me. I’ll fix the problem.”
“Maybe you should’ve done that five hundred years ago!”
He goes still and silent for a moment, and I curse myself for honest words.
“Maybe I also should’ve learned to stop letting you meddle in an attempt to be helpful,” he says, and that stings, even if it is deserved.
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m dizzy, and my side hurts, and it’s hard to think. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t be out of bed yet, much less running around the Hill and engaging in shouting matches. So I do what Oberon can’t possibly have a comeback for. I pass out.
SCENE 3
When I come to, I lie still for a moment, keeping my eyes closed. I haven’t decided whether I want to be awake right now, especially if Oberon is going to start yelling at me again. Something must give me away, though, because a gruff voice nearby addresses me.
“You can stop pretending, dear. I know you’re awake.”
Well then. I open my eyes. The room is bright, with floating fires burning in huddles to illuminate the space. I find myself in my own bed for a change. Eira, the head healer of the court, is staring down at me with a mix of fondness and frustration. She has the bed covers pulled down and my shirt open, tending to the stab wound with practiced hands. My shirt is stained with blood that surely came from me, but I haven’t any idea as to when it did. I can only figure I reopened the wound somehow.
“I wasn’t pretending, exactly,” I say, ignoring the roughness in my voice. “Just feeling things out.”
I give her a smile I hope is charming. One of Eira’s goat ears twitches. She’s dealt with me enough not to buy my bullshit.
