Veil Of Shadows. Jennifer Armintrout
“They have been aboard the ship, but we are well concealed, should they raid. A few of the earlier refugees from your Court have not made it, or so we hear, because Enforcers were out on patrol.”
Cerridwen made it to the end of the walkway, and eagerly accepted the arm that Bauchan offered her. Too eagerly, Cedric judged. It was out of fear, he knew, but he wished she would not provide any further fuel for whatever twisted schemes the Ambassador no doubt entertained in his fevered brain.
Once Cedric joined them on the ship, Bauchan relinquished his hold on Cerridwen’s elbow, and smiled at her warmly. “There, no need to fear. Our hosts aboard this vessel care very much about their cargo. They do not undertake a mission from my Queene lightly.”
Cerridwen did not answer him.
“The Royal Heir is very tired,” Cedric said, pulling her close to his side. “Are you not, my…flower?”
She looked up sharply, confusion and anger on her features. Then, as if in defeat, she nodded. “I am. Very tired. Ambassador Bauchan, if you would please show us to our quarters for sleeping—”
“Quarters.” He laughed. “Oh, I wish I could offer you such luxury. We are all bunked in the lowest hold. Though I am certain some arrangement can be made for your privacy and comfort, given your station. I do hope you do not come to us with high expectations for this voyage. It is a meager freight ship, after all.”
“I am sure that she wishes for nothing more than a flat place to lie and a blanket to keep warm.” Cedric chuckled as heartily as he could manage and plucked at the coarse material that covered her shoulders. “And we have half of that already.”
She jerked away and pulled her blanket tighter, as if it were armor. He’d made her angry, that much was obvious, but he did not have the energy, nor the inclination, to soothe her now. Nor was this the proper place, as soothing her would only bring to light a weakness of character in her.
Bauchan led them through a round door a Human would have to stoop to pass, and bade them watch their steps. “These Human vessels are built so strangely. The stairs are steep, and there are constantly barriers underfoot.”
“Give me an old wooden craft any day,” Cedric agreed as they followed him down the narrow ladder, just glad that he wasn’t returning to the depressing concrete surroundings of the Underground.
The lower hold was vast and open, brightly lit, and cluttered here and there with huge steel containers anchored to the ship with heavy straps that bolted to the floor. It was by no means crowded with cargo, but it was crowded with Faeries. Many of them, Cedric recognized from Court, but by their faces only. They no longer looked as fine and self-important as they had when Queene Mabb or Ayla ruled. They wore rugged traveling clothes and crouched protectively over bundles, saying little to anyone but the three or four Faeries who might share the small spaces they had staked out as their own.
He had not seen Faeries behaving so distressingly since he’d stayed on with the Winter Court, long before the Veil had torn. The summertime had always been a time of celebration and plenty, and he’d continued to travel with Mabb’s trooping parade long after the fires of Samhain had extinguished. But with the turning of the year had come a stark, depressing change over most of that Court. They’d become greedy, distrustful hoarders.
As if sensing his thoughts, Bauchan nodded, but he did not comment on the scene. “I know exactly where you will be comfortable,” he declared, striding across the metal floor, his footsteps ringing out as he went. “Back here, this little corner is perfect.”
The space was small, barely long enough to lie down in, but it was protected from prying eyes—and prying ears, hopefully—by two of the large cargo containers and the side of the ship. The guards would have to find another place to rest, ideally not too far from them, but at least it would offer some hope of keeping the Royal Heir safe and away from the betrayers of the Court.
“Here?” Cerridwen sniffed the air and made a face. “It is so dark back here. And close. I do not like close spaces.”
“You skulked about sewage tunnels with your Elf,” Cedric said quietly, near her ear so that only she would hear. “You can deign to sleep here.”
“I will bring you some extra blankets,” Bauchan went on, as though she had never argued. “The crew has been exceedingly generous with their things. They are…sympathetic to our plight.”
“Our plight.” Cedric could not help but scoff at the words. Then, he waved an apologetic hand. “Forgive me, I am tired.”
“Of course.” Bauchan bowed, like a Human fop. “If that will be all, then, I can have your companions settled, as well.”
He would not give them a moment alone to confer. Already, he suspected some plot, saw that the guards were not truly the nobility he had dressed them up as.
One of the guards puffed up his chest and clutched the satchel he’d carried tighter. “I do not wish to seem ungrateful,” he began, in tones that sounded comically similar to Bauchan’s, “but it does not appear as though our—we courtiers—our possessions will be safe among the rabble.”
Cedric spared a glance toward Cerridwen. She stared, mouth agape, at the guard, broken out of her sullen reverie for a moment. It was almost enough to make Cedric laugh.
“You could leave your things with us, then,” he offered, quickly stifling the amusement that he was certain had shown on his face. “We seem to have a most isolated spot, and of course you can trust the Royal Heir.”
The guard played it hesitant; time at Court had afforded him an uncanny ability to imitate the behavior of his “betters.” Finally, with a heavy sigh, he handed over the satchel. “From the looks of things, I would advise you all to do the same,” he said with a courtly flourish as he stepped aside. The others entrusted “their” belongings to Cedric a bit too easily, but Bauchan would not argue. It would not have been Court manners.
“What a generous offer,” the Ambassador said with a smile as sickeningly sweet as spun sugar. “You are truly fit for your role as Royal Consort.”
“Let us hope it should never come to that,” Cedric said with a humble bow.
Bauchan, the rage practically radiating from him, returned the gesture and quickly ushered the guards away.
When Cedric turned to Cerridwen, she had already lain down, the blanket pulled sullenly over her face.
Two
The hold of the ship was cold, and dark, and noisy. Though the lights had been put out an hour before—or so Cerridwen was guessing; time passed so slowly with nothing to occupy it—the rustling and whispering of hundreds of Faery bodies echoed off the steel walls.
Though Bauchan had an underling drop off more blankets, enough to build a respectable nest for themselves on the hard floor, Cerridwen still shivered. The temperature of the sea seeped through the ship’s metal body, up through the layers of blankets that Cedric had arranged for her.
She searched through the darkness, her eyes grateful for the reprieve from the harsh lights of the past few days, to find him. He sat with his back against the huge cargo container that blocked their corner from view, his legs stretched across the slight opening that made an entrance to their makeshift dwelling. He did not sleep, but stared into the darkness, no expression on his face.
She turned her head back to the wall of the ship, examined the crude drips in the white paint that covered every rivet and seam. This place smelled like Humans. Human bodies, Human goods, Human chemicals. It was almost too much to bear, even for one with Human blood in her veins.
She thought of her mother, whom Cedric spoke of as though she could have lived. Had Ayla felt so uncomfortable around mortals? Obviously not, as she had kept one at her side for all those years of Cerridwen’s life.
As if to remind her, the wings at Cerridwen’s back stirred of their own accord. She shifted restlessly on her pallet. Her mother had