Gossamyr Part 11

"Yes, the mortal war," she murmured, knowing from Veridienne's bestiary that near to a century had ensnared the Other-side in war. How many years formed a century? Had Shinn lived so long?

"Shall we be off? There is nothing of value to be had from the remains of another man's suffering."

"Anon," she called, disinterested in leaving just yet.

Gossamyr approached a burnt wood piling that might have once supported a ceiling beam. Thick as a man's body and charred at an angle on both ends, it stood upright, rooted in the rubble of stone and defeated pride. Faint smoke and coal tinged the air. A damaged shield had been fixed to the beam, literally pinned there with a rusted sword.

The fetch landed on the blade of the weapon, tucking its translucent wings against its streamlined body and eyeing her with wide golden orbs.

"You are not Shinn's conscience," she warned. "I will not be dissuaded. Merely record and be gone with you."

A flicker of wings glinted in the sunlight.

She touched the leather hilt of the sword; it bounced against her palm, setting the fetch to an abbreviated flight-up, then back to settle upon the blade. A fine, heavy sword-had it served a warrior? A tug proved it was fixed into the wood. Fine and well, she had no desire to touch mortal steel.

Gossamyr stepped up and traced her fingertips along the jagged edge of the shield, not touching, but close. The dexter corner had been torn away but did not destroy the faded white lettering mastering the shield. She had learned the mortal language from Veridienne in her youth; it was very similar to her own. Painted across the top were two words written in mortal script. Valor. Truth. An "r" preceded valor; mayhap the end of the first word.

"Valor," she whispered, feeling the need-verily, a compulsion-to trace above the letters.

To the side where the shield had been torn, the stone hearth had been marred with charcoal. Someone had written a word to replace the one that had apparently been ripped off the shield. Vengeance.

Gossamyr pressed her spread palm over the word but did not touch it. She verily felt the anger emanating from that vile word. Glancing up to the crumbled walls that were now crenellated from damage, she sighed. Great suffering had befallen this castle and its inhabitants. Vengeance, indeed.

A glance to the fetch. Did it wink at her?

Drawing in a breath, Gossamyr suddenly struggled with insistent thoughts of worry. Her heart felt heavy. She mourned for... something. Something lost.

A tilt of her head studied the shield, but her eyes unfocused and she merely listened to her heartbeats. So vigorous.

Vengeance, valor, truth.

All were not lost.

Stretching out a finger, she tapped the middle word-no sting from the steel. She would claim valor as her own battle standard.

As for the truth, she had it. 'Twas buried in her name complete- Gossamyr Verity de Wintershinn.

Ah, but she dallied and Ulrich waited. One day, her journey thus far. Paris was close. She felt the loss of strength, of Enchantment, as one might feel a layer of clothing peeled from their back. Time would not prove her boon. Even now Shinn must battle more of the relentless revenants.

She turned and strode out from the ruins. "I must be to it."

Ulrich hustled after her. "You are most urgent, my lady!"

"And you are not? I thought there was a damsel in need of rescue?"

"There is, but timing is not of import."

"What is?" she called as she reined in Fancy and tugged the mule back onto the path.

"Luck. I seek an elusive end."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

"Has it to do with lost souls?"

"I pray the damsel is not lost. But you may help my quest."

Quirking a brow and swinging a look over her shoulder, Gossamyr maintained pace. "How?"

"You are a faery," he called.

"I have only denied that claim."

"Not very effectively, Faery Not."

As she plodded forward, the mule slowing her pace, Gossamyr struggled between confession and keeping her secret. What was the harm? At the least, the truth would defeat that vicious name Faery Not. The man could not think it any more than a silly nickname, but oh, did it cut deep into Gossamyr's soul. A mortal soul? Or half-mortal soul half-fee essence? All her life she had been Faery Not, something lesser, not equal to any other.

"What think you to wed my daughter?"

Desideriel Raine sneered at Gossamyr. "Oh?"

That sneer could not be put from her memory.

'Twas time to accept and move on. Had not a good portion of her desire to come to the Otherside been to learn about that part of herself she did not know?

"Very well," she said, more to herself. Ulrich shuffled to catch her pace. A man she could trust, for he held more than enough trouble in his heart to make any more for her. "If you must know, I have come from Faery."

Ulrich punched the air with a triumphant fist. He skipped around in front of her, the talismans about his neck c.h.i.n.king. "I knew it! You are not the same!"

Grinning at his delight, Gossamyr left the road and trod through tall, cool blades to stop beside a ma.s.sive stone. She squatted before the jagged granite lump and twisted a long ribbon of gra.s.s about her finger, then plucked it, pressing the wide blade upon her upper lip. Planting a foot upon the stone, she then offered, "But I am nearly so mortal as you."

"I don't understand." Ulrich dropped Fancy's reins, leaving the mule to graze. The man seated himself upon the rock, crossing his legs and pressing the heels of his palms behind him. "How can you come from Faery and not be a faery? You look like one."

"Have you ever seen a fee?"

"h.e.l.l yes! I danced, remember?"

Indeed. And something about his Dance seemed familiar to her. She had witnessed but the one...

"As well, I've the sight now, much as I'd rather trade it for a fortnight standing dead center at a crossroads." He entreated the skies with a grand gesture of arms. "How to get Faery from my eyes?"

"I do not know of a way."

"You sparkle-"

"Merely remnants of Faery." Gossamyr slid a finger over her wrist, noting the residual glamour was only visible when she tilted her arm and the sun glanced upon her skin.

"What of there on your neck. It looks a pattern."

And so she would confess all. "My blazon. It is the mark of the fee."

"So all faeries wear similar markings?"

"Yes, but not in the same places on their body. It is a tribal marking. Though some elders are marked overall with the blazon. Glamoursiege blazons the neck and upper chest. My father's chest, shoulders and back are entirely marked. One can determine which tribe the fee hails from merely by locating his blazon. But as you've said, it fades on me?"

He gestured she tilt her chin up and studied. Lost in thought, his lips parted and she noted the bulge of pink tongue pressing through the gape in his teeth. "Yes, it is difficult to see unless-oh! Do not stand in the sunlight, my lady."

"That bright?"

"The cloak will serve if you tug it closed." He reached to pull the cloak close about her neck. His finger brushed under her chin. The two met eyes and held.

Utter awareness crowded out all other sensory litter. Blue, so deep as the sea in which the merfolk swam, she wondered of the eyes so intent upon her. Gossamyr watched the heavy bob of Ulrich's throat as he swallowed. Different, in a manner that enticed. Yet again, mortal touched. And yet again, pleased for it.

"That is bone." She touched her chin, and at the same time Ulrich pulled away. Whatever they two had just shared in the silence of their eyes she wanted it kept silent. "The Disenchantment sets in slowly. Any fee glamour I have gained through shared blood with my father will be shed from me until I appear merely mortal."

"Don't knock mortality until you've tried it."

"I am trying it right now, Ulrich." She sighed and settled upon the rock next to him. "It is different. Yet the same."

"Much remains the same."

"Will you explain to me your need to label things the same and not?"

"If you will tell me how you did come to live in Faery? It makes little sense. Unless you stepped into a toadstool circle and danced the endless dance of joy? Oh, poor thing. Have you lost all your family and friends then? Are they old or dead?"

"I did no such thing. I was born in Faery! But you did visit, yes?"

"Danced twenty years, Faery Not."

"If you do not stop calling me such I promise to push you into the next circle of toadstools we pa.s.s."

"Touchy, touchy. Very well." He held up his hands. "So explain your life, lady Gossamyr. Faery or not?"

"Both. I am half-blooded. My mother was completely mortal, my father a fee. Though birth granted me more mortal attributes than fee. I've no genuine glamour."

"So your blazon is... ?"

"Attribute it to years spent in Faery. Should a mortal spend a length of time there, they would eventually develop the same. As did my mother."

"Interesting. How did your mother come to live in Faery?"

"Shinn-my father-" Had he ever truly loved? Had l.u.s.t been the origin of Veridienne's coming? How to judge the difference between l.u.s.t and love? It forges deep into your heart, fixes there and never relents. Indeed. Love. Devastating. "Veridienne went to live as his wife in Faery."

"I have heard tales of mortals who fall in love with faeries. One cannot leave Faery without first bargaining for their very life."

"That...is not right." Gossamyr had not heard such. "My mother left Faery. The mortal pa.s.sion led her home-here-to the Otherside. There were no bargains made."

"Ah, so that be your mission? You seek your mother?"

Gossamyr twisted her gaze to the man. Seek her mother? No. Well...no. She'd never considered such. Shinn had always told her Veridienne was dead; there was no sense in seeking a trail that would lead to nothing. "No."

"So why are you here? Is not Faery a far better place to be?"

"You say so? When you were so disturbed by the possibility you might be taken back by me?"

He shrugged. "I just thought, for you, one who has always lived there, it would be better. Such as this land, my home, is better for me."

Indeed. And yet Faery had never felt so right on her body as did this Otherside.

Tracing a finger along the carved ribbons on her staff, Gossamyr stared off toward the flock of crows that swooped overhead. Better in Faery? When her return would bring marriage? It disturbed her that Shinn was so eager to see her married. Did he suspect he was not long for this world? Gossamyr's heart double-stepped. "Shinn?" she murmured.

"What is that?"

"Hmm?"

"You were telling me why you are here. Then of a sudden you went all panicky."

"I am...well." But was Shinn? The fee did not suffer maladies. They died in battle or of long life, or...from the mortal pa.s.sion.

"Gossamyr?"

"Hmm? I am...on a mission only I can achieve."

"Why is that?"

Dragging her thoughts from images of her father, limping, gasping for breath-no, not dying-Gossamyr focused on the conversation. "I possess mortal blood. The enemy seeks the Disenchanted. They are of true fee blood-ichor, actually-but have lost most all of their glamour including the ability to return to Faery. She will not see me coming for I will blend easily with those mortals who populate Paris."

"And this enemy-she?-why is she an enemy?"

"The Red Lady's actions threaten to destroy Faery."

"All of Faery?" Ulrich whistled. "A tremendous lot riding on your success."

"Yes." Gossamyr checked herself with a touch to her chest. That answer had been but a whisper. Not so sure of herself?

Vengeance. Valor. Truth. Gossamyr peered back down the path they had traveled. The sadness she had felt lingered as a tangible hollow in her belly. What had she lost in that castle?

"Why do faeries live in Paris?"

So many questions. Yet, Ulrich seemed genuinely interested. And she did take comfort in talking with him. "It is a pa.s.sion for the unknown, the mortal, that attracts them."

"And this red lady is doing what with them?"

"She is a succubus who decimates the male population of Disenchanted fee with her evil killing kiss. I've been sent to stop her."

"Why not your father? Surely he commands troops?"