Cage of Thorn (The Blackthorn Cycle Book 2) Page 3

  “Eventually, we learned the error of our ways, and accepted responsibility for our hubris, our failing. We taught ourselves to be less secluded, to find others who could round out our society—and invigorate our blood. We began to seek other peoples, and attempted to draw their various forms of magic into the Seelie bloodline, with the hope that we could hybridize—and in that way, save some part of our legacy. For you know, there are Earth-given powers among all people, whether they know it or not.”

  “Humans,” Una said, struggling to understand. “You… you bred with humans. Intentionally.”

  “Yes. We had little choice but to try it. Although we attempted to breed new generations with a variety of other peoples, your kind is most like ours… in the ways that matter most to Nature, at least. The children who were part Seelie and part human survived and thrived, while others did not. We sent the part-human children back to the other realm—to your realm—where they could grow and live in peace. There, they unconsciously tended the secret they carried within their blood, and—so we hope—nurtured that secret back to its original vigor.”

  “But those children…” Children like me, Una thought uncomfortably… “Those children aren’t really human. Not entirely. And yet you set them loose in the human realm?” Little wonder Una had never felt as if she belonged anywhere in her world, no matter where she tried to make her home.

  “No,” Dax agreed sorrowfully. “They were neither fully human, nor fully Sidhe. They are… something else. One might view our actions as cruel, but we were desperate. Without strong and decisive action, we would surely have perished. We would have been gone already.

  “In fact, our power—our magic—might truly be gone already, or degraded enough that we have no real hope of reviving it. You see, is all we can do now to protect ourselves, to maintain this last, small stronghold—our palace. Once, our territory spanned the whole of this realm. But now we have only this place, the Court itself. We maintain ourselves here with great desperation. When we do pass into your realm, there is always a great need, for it taxes our powers and threatens the strength of our defenses. This palace, this one remaining stronghold, is all we can maintain… all we are capable of holding, now.”

  Though her knees trembled and her thoughts felt frozen and slow, Una fought off her haze just long enough to challenge the Seelie prince. She drew herself up to her full height and glared up at him where he sat on his throne. “Why should I care about your power, your territory? Why should I try to help you? You’ve been trying to lure me in, like an animal to a trap. You’ve given me no choice in the matter; you would have abducted me sooner or later, if I hadn’t called on you out of sheer anger and annoyance.”

  Prince Dax’s face was very still, very grave. He sat motionless on the vine throne for a long, tense while, staring out into space beyond Una, gazing down the length of the hall and into a far-away distance. At length, he said quietly, “You must give us your aid, Una Teig, because the Seelie Court is under attack. Have you ever heard of the Unseelie?”

  Una swallowed hard, nodding. She had heard of the Unseelie somewhere—she was certain of that—though she couldn’t recall exactly where she’d heard of them, nor precisely what she’d been told. Her head seemed stuffed with giant wads of cotton. There was no thinking her way through that block, no getting around it.

  All she knew was that the mere mention of the Unseelie made her feel anxious. No, more than anxious—in fear of her life.

  I never feared any of these fairy folk before, Una told herself, when I was in my own proper realm.

  Why did she fear them now? Perhaps it was something about the Otherworld itself that sent fear creeping slowly through her veins. Perhaps here in the land of the Shining Ones, the name Unseelie was truly one to conjure with.

  “The Unseelie,” Dax said, locking eyes with Una, staring her down relentlessly, “seek power for their own ends. They have never been satisfied with controlling our realm—the Otherworld, as humankind calls it. They do not seek to own the Otherworld alone. Their ambition knows no limits, no checks… except for us, we of the Seelie Court.

  “Throughout history, the Seelie have held the Unseelie in their place. But we can no longer hope to do so, unless we manage to renew our power. We have grown too weak. It is a boon to us that the Unseelie are, by nature, too self-centered to organize their forces into an army. They virtually always act alone, for they are not capable of sharing power with anyone else. That has allowed us to keep them at bay, for the most part, even while our power drains away. But our diminishing strength will not hold. And if the Unseelie do organize—if they unite under a chosen leader—then it’s not only the Otherworld that will fall into their control. The human realm will be theirs, too, Una—theirs to use however they please.”

  Una’s heart raced so hard she could hear the thunder of it in her ears. “What does that mean for us—for humans?”

  “I don’t know, precisely,” Dax said off-handedly. “The Seelie never could read the future, even at the height of our power. But I can give you some small notion of the consequences. Do you recall your companion Ailill?”

  Una shook her head slowly, side to side. She was not denying Dax’s question. She was trying desperately to clear the fog from her brain, as vigorously as she could manage.

  Ailill… Ailill.

  Yes, she did remember him. The mere sound of his name rang along Una’s every nerve with forceful significance. And yet… she did not recall him. Not at all. How could that be? How could she both know him and not know him? And why did her head feel so heavy, so sleepy?

  “I… I think I remember,” she stammered.

  “I told you that we lost Ailill—do you remember?”

  Bracken, standing beside Una, gazed at her face for a moment, assessing Una’s furrowed brow and half-open mouth. “She does not remember,” Bracken said, sounding inexplicably satisfied.

  But Una did remember. Sort of. She knew, at least, that the memory of Ailill was important—crucial. If only she could fully unearth that memory. Why was her brain stuffed full of cotton?

  “When I told you we lost Ailill,” Dax said, “it was the truth. He was with me, under my control. But before I could return with him to the palace—from the crossroads to here; such a short distance!—he was taken from me. You see, Ailill has been under the sway of one of the Unseelie for some time now, and she could sense his presence the moment I brought him into the Otherworld.”

  “Who?” Una asked thickly. She wasn’t even sure anymore why she was asking, why she ought to care.

  “The Unseelie’s name is Etain,” Dax said. “She has lived for many hundreds of years, by a human’s accounting of time, and has always held herself close to the human world. She must stay close to humans, for it is humans who feed her, who keep her alive.”

  Una’s heart pounded even harder. She felt sick enough that she feared she might vomit all over the Seelie Court’s pretty, green floor. “What do you mean?” she said, wrestling with the fog in her mind, reaching through it to grasp at anything that made sense. “Tell me plainly, Prince—tell me what you mean.”

  “Etain is a Leanan Sidhe… or as your kind more commonly calls them, a vampire. Leanan are dark muses, which haunt the most sensitive and creative spirits of the human world. They feed not only on blood, as you might expect—but also on emotion, on creation, on art.”

  A white-hot jolt of understanding reached through Una’s haze and struck her dead in the heart. Suddenly, in a brief but painful flash, she recalled everything about Ailill—his face, his body, his kiss; the compelling intensity of his music; and most of all, the wretched, haunted look that so often hung over him. Implausible as it was, still Prince Dax’s explanation made so much sense that Una knew she would be a fool to doubt him.

  “Leanan use their power over their victims to hold them in thrall,” Dax said. “Etain is even now draining energy from Ailill—his blood, I presume, as well as all that is good and powerful and feeling within him.
For it was no one other than Etain who swept in and took Ailill from me as I fought to bring him here, to the protected stronghold of the Seelie Court. She is well known to me… well known to all of us. Etain works harder than any of her Unseelie kin to overthrow the Seelie Court. She hungers for the ultimate power; she has grown ravenous for it. I do not know how much longer we may have until Etain is strong enough to strike us down.”

  Ailill, Una thought, her heart squeezing with anguish. What have I done to you? And how can I free you again?

  “Why should I help you?” Una spat fiercely, rallying against the clouding force that threatened to blot out the last of her consciousness and will. “You’ve endangered Ailill, and me, too. Why should I do anything at all to help you? You’re just as selfish as Etain, that vampire you all fear!”

  “Because you are our cousin,” Dax said simply. “Because you carry the royal Seelie blood.”

  “To hell with your blood, and your blasted Court!”

  Dax sighed deeply. His brilliant green eyes were very sad as he gazed down from his throne. “Because,” he said slowly, “although our magic may have grown weak over the passing generations, yet still we have ruled the Otherworld wisely and well. Even now, diminished and desperate as we are, the Sidhe are still more powerful than pure-bred humans, Una Teig. And we, the Seelie Court, have chosen to leave your human realm more or less alone. We have maintained a kind of truce that preserves both our realms. But there is no hope that Etain—or any other Unseelie who might finally seize power—will do the same. She will find some way to organize her kin, and will raise an army of Unseelie strong enough to overwhelm humankind and unmake your world. Unless you agree to help us, your cousins and kin.

  “You hold our final hope in your hands.”

  3

  Una was far down a long, quiet corridor, walled in white stone and roofed by a series of peaked arches, before she even realized she had left the Seelie throne room. She blinked, struggling to take in the hall around her, the massive, many-paned windows running down one side, the pale, blue-violet light they admitted, and the seemingly endless runner of some soft, grass-green carpet underfoot, stretching off into the shadowed depths of the hall. Someone was beside her—Bracken. Una halted and looked over her shoulder, but the corridor behind was just like the corridor ahead. There was no sign of the throne room’s exit, no sign of the crowd of Seelie she’d been standing with, just moments before.

  Or had it been moments before?

  “Where…?” Una asked dazedly.

  “You are safe,” Bracken said smoothly. Her voice was melodic, reassuring.

  Something about Bracken gnawed at Una’s mind, but so faintly she almost couldn’t sense it. What had Bracken said back there, in… in that green place? The throne room—yes. There had been a throne there, with Prince Dax sitting on it. And what had Bracken said?

  She said I remembered nothing, Una thought. And she’d sounded glad about it.

  But no; that couldn’t be right. What could possibly be of such import that Una had to remember it? What good was remembrance at all? The only thing she recalled now—the only thing she wanted to think about—was the delicious, honey-sweet drink Bracken had given her. She craved more of it. She considered asking Bracken if she could have some more of the stuff, but the Sidhe woman spoke up first.

  “I am showing you to your quarters, Una. You will be comfortable there—safe and happy.”

  Comfortable… that sounded all right. Una was very tired; she wanted to have a lie down. And then she wanted to have more of that Seelie wine, more of that delicious, melting, golden-barley bread. Yes, that would be good. That would be very good.

  Bracken took Una’s arm gently, urging her forward, and obediently, Una went.

  In time, Bracken stopped outside a wooden door. It was hardly distinguishable from the others—a long line of doors set into the white-stone wall. That row of doorways might have stretched on for miles, as far as Una could tell. But Bracken pushed this door open purposefully, and Una followed her into the chamber.

  The room was the most beautiful and lavish Una had ever seen. The space was dominated by a massive, four-post bed. A high canopy arched over the bed, draped in curtains of glittering green silk—or at least, Una thought it might be silk, based on the way it rippled and flowed when the door’s opening stirred subtle currents in the air. The bed was piled with pillows and soft, colorful blankets that seemed woven of sunlight and gossamer. The chamber’s ceiling was so high that Una couldn’t make it out among the soft, indigo shadows pooling high above her head. Here and there around the chamber, little nooks were built into the walls, featuring a sitting area, shelves bearing stacks of scrolls (some sort of library, Una surmised), and a sunken pool for bathing or relaxing. Set in the far wall was a huge window, just like those out in the corridor, with many leaded panes of glass and a view of a lush, jungle-like garden outside.

  A table stood before the garden window. It was small but lovely, its edges inlaid with several varieties of wood in an intricate, colorful pattern not unlike a Greek key. Two graceful, carved chairs stood beside the table, and resting atop the table was a tray made of pale, luminous, peach-colored stone. The tray held a jeweled goblet and several dishes of food. Una’s stomach rumbled as she looked at the dishes.

  “You have everything you need here,” Bracken said. “You will be well, Una… well and happy. Now rest, please. If you are hungry, eat. If you are thirsty, drink. My brother the prince will come soon to speak with you further, but only after you have rested.”

  With that, Bracken showed herself out, shutting the door softly behind her. The moment the door closed, several orbs, made of what appeared to be frosted glass, began to glow with a gentle purple light. The orbs were placed here and there around the room—one near the library, one near the bath—one in any location that might be convenient or necessary. Little by little, the light intensified, until the chamber was perfectly illuminated. Una stepped up to the nearest orb to examine it. The light inside pulsed faintly, as if it drew its energy from a living source with blood flowing through its unseen veins. Una’s eyes were rather bleary—she was so tired!—but the orb seemed to be floating in the air, suspended by no structure that Una could see. Now and then the light-orb rose and fell gently, bobbing on waves of air.

  Una moved toward the table, but each step she took seemed to chafe her skin. Her jeans and loose shirt felt intolerably tight and restrictive, so she diverted, going instead to a large, carved wardrobe that stood beside the bathing pool. She expected the wardrobe to be empty, but when she pulled the doors open, dozens of light, gauzy garments hung before her. The robes were of every imaginable color, though in muted and subdued tones. Una chose one, a soft sapphire-blue, and held it up for consideration. It certainly looked more comfortable than what she had on now. Quickly, she stripped off her old clothes and pushed them into a small pile beside the wardrobe, then draped the blue garment over her body, experimenting until she discovered the right way to tie its various straps and ends. She sighed in relief when she was dressed. The blue gown was much more comfortable than her strange, unwieldy, human clothing had been. What had she been thinking, wearing that lot?

  Una sat down at her table and surveyed the food. An elegant bowl contained small, red, egg-shaped fruits, somewhat similar to kiwis, but without the fuzz. There was a plate of the same savory scones she had nibbled in the throne room, and a white cone of a soft, pungent-smelling substance, which she assumed was probably cheese. And of course, there was the goblet of honey wine. She could smell it already; it called to her, making her mouth water with anticipation.

  Una lifted the goblet and touched it to her lips… but paused. Why did the pale, earnest face of a human woman flash into her mind? The woman had red hair—red, curly hair like a halo of fire. And she looked fearful, with her brow furrowed and an air of tension tightening the corners of her green eyes. Her mouth moved as she spoke, but Una couldn’t hear her…

  No, this
is all mad. There was no one in the chamber but Una. There couldn’t be any red-haired woman speaking to her, trying to warn her. There simply couldn’t be.

  But the image wouldn’t leave Una alone. Each time she lifted food or drink to her lips, the image interfered—the memory interfered, distant and fractured though it was. And so, despite her hunger, Una sat still at the table, staring out the window into the lush green tangle of the garden, trying to make sense of the urgent, fearful woman in her mind, trying to discern the red-head’s message.

  Now and then, as she wrestled with her confusion and the strange, drifting sensation that had come over her, Una could almost remember a name. It started with a K. Katie? No… Kathy? That was nearly right. The red woman, the K woman, had warned her about something… someone… some place. Not this place, surely. The chamber was as peaceful and beautiful a place as Una had ever hoped to see.

  Yet the longer she thought about the here and the now, the more anxious Una became. There was something important about all this—the woman in her head, the sense of urgency rising in her chest. There was a reason why Una was here. A reason… a reason…

  And with a gasp, she recalled Ailill. Spirited away. Taken to the Otherworld.

  Here, to the Otherworld—this place.

  It was the slimmest of cracks in Una’s thick wall of oblivion, but it was just wide enough to let a bit of resolve in. She had come here to find Ailill—to find him and bring him back to the human realm. Yes, that was the way of it. She must concentrate, must fight the fog that threatened to envelop her again.

  Una’s eyes fell on the goblet of wine. For a moment, her thirst for it burned so hot that she cried out in wordless distress, and reached for the cup… but she halted her hand in midair.

  Back there, in the throne room… I only got foggy and strange in the head after I drank the wine.