When it comes to exploring the sea of love, I prefer buoys.
-Andrew G. Dehel
The entrance to the queen's palace was under a bridge in an abandoned county park in the northeast corner of the city. Dane had never been invited to her palace before, and so Ivy led the way as if Dane and Rory weren't even behind her. He was starting to realize that Ivy wasn't just cold for show. She really was just a maudlin, mean person. He couldn't understand a person who could be so one-dimensional. And he definitely didn't feel good about releasing someone as breakable as Rory into her care.
As it were, Rory was clinging to his arm as they stepped over large shards of broken glass, abandoned tires, and jagged planks of wood. He helped her over anything that could have tripped her, ignoring Ivy's annoyed glances.
The smell of fae was almost totally drowned out by the stench of sewage and run-off from the road, but Dane's nose still twitched at the faint scent. The trio ducked under hanging moss that smelled dank and aged. The opening led them into a tunnel with minimal light, and Rory huddled closer to him. He relished the feeling of her hands around his forearm as she tried to navigate through the dim tunnel. He kept the muscles there flexed for her benefit, ignoring the ache that came from it.
Ivy led the way as if she'd been there countless times before, and he couldn't rightly say for certain that she hadn't. Her bright hair bobbed in and out of sight as she darted ahead and back again to wave them forward. Eventually, Dane noticed the exasperation on her face.
"Well if you stayed with us, you wouldn't be so frustrated," he remarked when he swatted a browning vine out of their way. "It's much warmer over here." He waggled his eyebrows down at Rory, making her giggle.
"For your information, I was scouting for pixie pick-pockets," she huffed back. She clamped her hands to her hips and waited for them to catch up. "They live in these tunnels—the poor ones." She gestured to the nooks of concave dirt carved expertly into the walls around them. "Pixies are notorious for their blending skills."
Rory craned her neck to see into the crack as she said, "But we don't have anything worth stealing."
"I could think of a few things," he insinuated as he lifted her up and over a pipe emerging from the ground, making sure to keep her tight against him. She held onto him, leaning absently into his side as they continued on. He encouraged this and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, smothering her in a warmth that she unknowingly returned back tenfold.
Ivy smirked. "You have been invited into the queen's court. When people are invited to see the queen of the fairies, it's not because they're beggars or homeless. This is prime thievery grounds, this is."
All dark omens and bad intentions with that girl. Dane did, however, begin to peer harder at the immaculately carved out tunnel walls. Something like glitter trailed along the dirt there. But it looked thick to the touch, like someone had sneezed out a crafts party and smeared it around. The thought alone made him shudder and he pulled Rory closer to his side. Concerned, she looked up at him.
Almost instinctively, he grazed the tip of his nose against her left temple. He was just used to communicating with touches more than with words. Rory seemed to accept that as an answer and returned her gaze front.
When Dane did the same, he realized that they neared the end of the hallway. The light there was pale blue, as if dawn had crept up on them.
Ivy, of course, muttered out something full of sarcasm and motioned them forward. Rory hesitated and gave a swift tug to Dane's arm. She had his attention. To be honest, it was harder to find a time when she didn't have his attention.
"I don't like this," she said. Her voice didn't even echo in the cavernous space. He moved his hand up and down her arm as if she'd complained about a chill.
"Nothing is going to happen. The queen is on our side, remember?" Not much of a reassurance, but what was he supposed to say when she was looking at him like that? His hand slid down the length of her arm until it was firmly grasping her shaking hand. "I'm not letting go of you, okay? You'll be all right."
He delicately rested his forehead against hers. Her skin was so hot that he could only stand it for a second or two. When he pulled away, she looked ashamed. Her eyes were cast downwards. Even her shoulders slumped. He wondered how much effort it took for her to keep her hand cool for him. Was she always concentrating on not hurting him? Undecided about how to go about having the harshest crush he'd ever had on a girl who was also the biggest responsibility he'd ever had, Dane reluctantly dropped her hand. Fleetingly, an expression of relief consumed her face, and Dane had never felt so low.
A few paces and the two walked into the queen's throne room. It could have been a ballroom with thrones in it, but the large, hollow room didn't seem like it had held any festivals lately. The queen sat against the furthest wall in the largest of three thrones. The empty chair to her left was the abdicated throne of her latest advisor. Dane had heard rumors that he hadn't stepped down, that he had been secretly executed. The empty seat looked more like an ornate warning.
The throne on her right sagged under the sad weight of an elderly fairy. His skin was a few inches lower than where it should have sat, and his hair was only tufts of gray grass. He snored awfully loud, and every few breaths, a trembling whistle sounded from his torn nostril.
The fairy king. The first and current, the king of all new-world fae was over two thousand years old. He'd declared himself king of both North and South America when it was discovered that no fae-kin had settled there yet. No one had ever challenged him. But Dane never would have guessed that he was so decrepit. That didn't seem to bother his wife, however, as she eyed them and stroked his hand while he slept.
Forest nymphs circled Queen Cayleigh, fretted over all of her imaginary flaws. Dane bowed deeply at the waist; Rory mimicked the greeting. It was no surprise that Ivy made herself as still as possible.
The queen appeared alert and thriving, with her hair carefully pulled back into twin red plaits. Her skin, tight as always, were rouged at the cheeks. Her pursed lips were painted a burnt orange that made her look less pallid.
Those lips parted in a sharp smile as she greeted them. "Welcome." Her gaze ended up on Rory. "I am so pleased you came." Even such a simple sentence couldn't sound sincere from her. Dane fought the urge to grab Rory's hand, even when the queen shifted her attention to Ivy. "I was worried you wouldn't get my invitation."
"You send a blood-bag to my door with the words, 'Bring the phoenix to me', and I take note," Ivy hissed, looking much more uninterested than her tone insinuated.
Dane scrambled to change the subject to anything that wouldn't end in a fight. "You said you had important knowledge about Rory's heritage."
It took a few painful moments for the queen to redirect her stare to Dane. When she did, her eyes were a milky blue-gray. Dane couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing, so he pressed on. "Please, Yer Highness. Anything you can tell us could help us protect Rory." He'd never had to call the queen anything but her name before. He dared a step forward.
Cayleigh turned her nose up at him as if she'd asked them all there to taunt them with haughty silence. This time when she opened her mouth, her voice was solemn. "Have you ever cried, child?"
Rory was quiet beside him.
"I thought as much. I heard you were a content child. Besides, we believe it's not in your nature to cry. We also believe that just one of your tears could grant immortality. Or reverse it. Death or life." The queen's talons tapped against each other excitedly. Dane swallowed back his disgust at her obvious malice. Had she changed so much in such a short time? Who was this manipulative fairy in front of him?
"That's nothing but speculation," Ivy piped, crossing her arms. "You've got to give us something to go on. An address for the cult who took her in the first place would be nice."
"No one was speaking to you," Cayleigh snapped. "I did not bring you here to let you prod me for what you want to hear." She slouched uncharacteristically against the back of her throne as if to signify her boredom. She sighed. "None of you are any fun, you know. Just like Nikolai and how he drones about the intricacies of the phoenix heritage."
"My heritage?" Rory asked, taking a step forward. Dane's stomach curled. Did she really know so little about herself? So far, he'd gotten the impression that she knew everything about all of the other Underdwellers. Certainly more than he did.
Cayleigh nodded and resettled against the back of her throne. "We're primed to move so quickly for our Surfacing because you very well might be the last phoenix ever. Your mother exhibited almost no sign of your abilities until the end of her life. The Council wanted to work with her because she was so very close to human. Nikolai, the mad scientist vampire himself, thinks that the phoenix gene is recessive, and that when she became pregnant with you, she passed it on to you."
Dane saw Rory look over at him out of his peripheral vision, but he couldn't make himself meet her gaze. He was more concerned with Cayleigh. He knew her. And he knew she wasn't one to share information unless it benefited her.
"The Council has heavy cause to believe that phoenixes are creatures of emotion." Her hands lifted to rest on the arms of the exquisite chair she sat in. Nymphs of all sorts began tending to the queen's talons—polishing, sharpening, clipping. Dane glanced down at his own hands and tried to imagine claws there.
"Impossible. I've never met an Underdweller so level-headed." Both Rory and Dane looked over at Ivy, shocked at her supportive outburst. "It's not a compliment," she justified. The tiny vampire crossed her arms defiantly.
But the queen insisted. "She heats when her emotions are more intense. Does she not?" Dane glanced at Rory who had her head down, and then back at the queen. "She'll burn when it gets too much for her. It was the same with her mother."
Dane felt like he was floating. She was so unbearably hot all of the time because she liked him! It took all of his strength not to pull her into his arms right then and crush her there, never mind the heat, never mind the queen. Finally, they could get somewhere. If she'd let him, that was.
Without warning, Dane crashed, tumbled from his epiphany. Something wasn't right. "How do you know that? That it was the same way with her mother?" he asked.
One could always tell when the fairy queen was about to deliver bad news. It was like she fed off of negativity. Her pupils enlarged and darkened until they were like black vortexes on her face. A grin that swallowed her chin broke out across her mouth. It shoved her cheekbones up unnaturally. It freaked him out.
"Because," she tittered, "the girl's father died during her conception." Dane heard Rory's unabashed gasp, signaling that this was new information, but he couldn't look away from the queen's delighted expression. "Burned to death, poor thing." There was no pity in her voice. "You see, phoenix can't have relationships. And they certainly can't have relations." Dane turned his head to see Rory. Both of her hands covered the lower half of her face. Her eyes, though, were dry. "I suspect one kiss from her would send a man to the hospital, if not to his grave."
Dane began to stride to Rory's side, his arms outstretched. Cayleigh had to be making it all up. Rory had to know that. But Rory stumbled backward and barked out a harsh 'don't'.
"This gives us nothing to help protect her! You brought us here to flaunt your cruelty," Ivy shouted, surprising Dane with the volume and power of her voice.
"Did I?" Cayleigh's eyebrows were raised and her mouth formed a daringly perfect 'o' shape. Her talon-clad hand came to rest on her chest in mock offense. "Then why do I have three invitations to my gala in three days' time? For show? You can interrogate the Underdwelling elite to your hearts' content if you truly believe it would aid you in protecting the phoenix."
Dane watched as her sprite servants flitted over to Ivy, carrying three silver envelopes. Ivy snatched the invitations as soon as they were in reach and used them to bat the sprites away. The little beasts hissed at her and hurriedly retreated back to their queen.
Tersely, Rory bowed to the queen and let Ivy snatch her sleeve. Ivy shot Dane a dark look and hurried Rory out of the large room.
The queen lowered her familiar, scrutinizing gaze to him, and he swallowed. They were practically alone in the large hall, if the king's heavy snoring was anything to go by. Cayleigh had summoned him for this. She'd wanted to watch him hurt when she told him that he couldn't have Rory. A low growl thundered in his throat. He had some things to say to her, but not until he was sure Rory and Ivy were gone. He'd catch up to them later, try to explain.
When he couldn't hear the hurried steps of the vampire and his phoenix anymore, he turned his glare back onto the queen. She stood and glided down the steps that descended from her throne. Her steps were silent, but the hem of her cape cooed a soft hush against the glass floor beneath them.
Cayleigh stopped in front of him with an expectant expression. His mouth went dry, and he had to hide the way his body yearned to shift for her.
"Dane McDermitt." Her voice sounded like the first hint of spiced rum, all sharp and smooth at once. "Have you not been shifting lately? I miss our visits."
"That would make one of us," he growled out, stiffening when she came within reach of him. He held his breath to keep out her scent. He couldn't afford to falter. She, however, inhaled deeply; she must have been reacquainting herself with him. He wouldn't have minded if it had been any other fairy. The smell of fae still infatuated him to the point of delirium. But when he thought of how crushed he'd been by the realization that his first tryst couldn't stand who he was most of his life, who he couldn't help being, his anger nearly boiled over.
Her long fingers curled around the side of his neck. He kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the faint pull inside of him to wrap his arms around her waist like old times.
"Don't be this way," she hummed, the tip of her nose trailing up the side of his neck.
"Why are you so cruel?" And how had he never seen it before, he silently added. Cayleigh pouted; a trick that used to be a sure-fire way to get him to cave in to her every whim. Presently, it just made him jerk away from her touch.
She had the audacity to look hurt. He could tell her about hurt. He could tell her how his nose had bled each time he'd refused the shift, refused to go find her. How he'd tracked a fairy that looked nothing like her for forty miles on foot just to get the lingering scent he'd denied himself. He could tell her how he'd drowned himself in any and every woman who'd allow it until Sophie had leveled him out.
It wasn't fair for her to take an interest when he'd moved on. He couldn't hold his breath anymore, and that traitorous smell invaded his nose. He caged another growl behind his lips, but his body convulsed with the craving to shift.
Cayleigh had been the start of a streak of bad relationships, and she had never given him anything more than a few stolen kisses. She'd only wanted someone to adore her unconditionally, to see only the light in her even though she lived in the shadows. Dane hated her for how she'd broken him, ruined him for anyone else. And even in her great throne room, with all of her servants, and her beautiful possessions, her greatest treasure was the pain of others. But he wouldn't let her take Rory from him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of being lonely.
"Is it even true?" he bit out, taking a step away from her. She followed as if they were dancing, never letting him get more than a few inches away. "What you said about Rory?"
Cayleigh's hand crept up his chest and rested atop his heart. "Of course it is. I only told you so that you would be safe, Dane."
"It's been a year," he said. His gaze flickered over to the king, wondering if he was just playing possum. With a wife like Cayleigh, it had to be an enticing prank to pull.
"What's a year to a fairy? I'm two-hundred years old." Her words were covered in frost; she hated the concept of her age even if she didn't look a day over eighteen.
"It was everything to me, Yer Majesty."
Cayleigh waited a long moment before she let out a tired sigh. He knew she wouldn't give up that easily, but Dane was ready. He wouldn't put himself through her mind-games again.
He finally brought himself to look her in the eye. Those large pupils were made for captivating, never to release. But her expectations of him were too high, and he couldn't forget Rory now even if he wanted to. There was too much there to just abandon.
"I won't be leavin' her side," he vowed, his voice lower than he would have liked.
"Aye, wolf. And yet, I remember a time when you said the same of me." She turned her back on him—a harsh and final dismissal. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Her wings stretched out, clear as new windows and fragile as tissue paper. She never used them to fly, but more to flaunt.
He snorted and felt a smile tug at the left corner of his mouth. "Good to see you haven't changed, Yer Majesty."
Cayleigh settled back into her cold throne, her long fingers cupping the arm rests. Slowly, she pulled in her wings; he could hear them rubbing against each other like rice paper. Instead of looking at him, she let her gaze rest on her husband as if trying to convince herself that she was in love with him.
"Change is beyond us now, Dane." She sounded like she'd just woken up.
He bowed deeply at the waist, and then took off after Ivy and Rory. He could only hope they'd gone back to Ivy's apartment.