Courting Darkness (Page 29)

Motioning for the others to remain behind, I silently walked into the living room, afraid to look at my father. Afraid to see that he might be here on business only. It had torn me up to lose his love and support, but he’d forced a choice I couldn’t make in his favor. He’d given me an ultimatum, and I’d responded the only way I could—the only way my conscience would allow.

He was sitting there, his hair a braided mirror of my own, his eyes the same misty lilac color as my own. He glanced up. I couldn’t read his expression. As I approached the sofa where he sat, he stood, holding my gaze.

I nodded. Let him be the first to speak. Let him take the reins so I’d know what I was dealing with.

“Camille . . .” His voice was edgy, unsure.

“Welcome to our home, Ambassador. What can I do for you? Or would you rather speak to Delilah? I know just what you think of me.” My voice took on a raw edge as the words spilled out, unbidden, unplanned.

Father stared at me. First came the challenge—but he’d taught me well, and I said nothing more. Just waited, unwilling to look away or blink. Would he reach out? Would he open his arms to me? Or would he be cold and professional and say what he had to say?

After a moment, he quietly reached inside his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “I bring you a letter from your Aunt Rythwar. She bade me deliver it—in fact, she insisted. I also make one last plea: You have not yet joined Aeval’s Court. Turn away and you will be welcomed back into Tanaquar’s presence again. And . . . into mine.”

So . . . it was the latter. I slowly picked up the letter and stared at it, then set it back down on the table. With a long look at Father, I walked over to the window and stared out at the snow that was piling up.

“Do you know where I spent the last few days?” When he didn’t answer, I shrugged. “No, of course you wouldn’t. And you wouldn’t care.” Turning around, I touched the collar locked around my throat. “You see this? A dragon captured me. He raped me, he beat me senseless. My body is covered with his bruises and the feel of his hands. His collar is locked on until we can kill him. He’s out there, now, looking for me.”

Sephreh let out a little cry, but I ignored it. I continued on, my voice as hard and cold as I could make it.

“But I escaped. I climbed down a snow-covered mountain, terrified and exhausted. My family was searching for me. I kept hope . . . because, you see, they love me. They stand behind me. I kept hope because I know there’s a demonic war brewing and we’re waiting for Shadow Wing’s next move.”

“Please, stop—”

“No! I will have my say and you will listen. This is my house, not yours. I kept up hope because my goddess offered me strength when the darkness threatened to engulf me. When I was bleeding from the beatings. When Hyto held my head down, forcing me to suck his cock. When my father-in-law kicked me across the rock floor like an abused dog . . . I escaped because I knew what I needed to do. Because people who love me were looking for me. Because I was raised to be the daughter of a soldier, to never give up.”

“Camille—” My father let out a strangled cry, his expression stricken. “Please understand . . .”

“Not anymore. No more. I took over for Mother when she died. I kept my sisters going. You put that responsibility on my shoulders, and I willingly accepted it. But I’m no longer your obedient servant.” I shook my head at him. “I don’t exist to you, do I? I’m no longer your daughter. I’m dead to you. Why should I have expected you to give a fuck? Why did I hope you’d care?”

“You don’t understand! My duty to the Court and Crown—”

“You chose the Court and Crown over your family. I hope that Tanaquar keeps you warm in the winter, that she doesn’t toss you out if you lose your usefulness to her. Because you’ve made it clear you no longer need us.”

“Camille—” My father’s voice cracked. He looked both angry and yet heartbroken.

Picking up my aunt’s letter, I headed for the foyer. “Thank you for this . . . but I’ve got a lot to do before my initiation into Aeval’s Court. I’ve got a dragon I’m thirsting for vengeance against. And I’m a priestess of the Moon Mother . . . and my Lady comes before anyone and anything. She was there for me. You weren’t. Tanaquar wasn’t. Go home, Sephreh. Unless you want to be my father again, on my terms, go home.”

As I left the room, I could hear him whisper behind me. “Camille, my little girl . . .” But he didn’t try to stop me.

I passed Delilah in the hall. “He’s in there. If you have anything to say to him, do so. I’m going to grab a few clothes before we head back out to the barrow. I’m done with him.”

She took one look at my expression and her face fell. “I gotcha. Oh, say, I need my litter box out there.”

“Oh delightful. Just make sure you keep it clean or Smoky’s going to have a fit.” I grinned at her then, grateful for the chance to laugh at something.

What Delilah said to our father, I didn’t know—I didn’t want to know, actually. Instead, I sat on my bed and opened the letter from Aunt Rythwar.

Dear Camille:

Your father finally told me what happened between the two of you—or at least, his version. I can readily believe yours differs. I want you to listen to me, and listen good: When your father brought your mother back from Earthside, it took most of the family years to accept the alliance. But I saw in Maria a beauty, and a kindness that so many of our own people do not have. And for that alone, I loved her.

You and your sisters grew up strong. You had to, in order to withstand the slings and arrows headed your way. And you’ve become admirable women, strong and doing always what you feel is right. Despite your father’s interference. I love your father, he is my brother, but sometimes I want to shake him one. He’s a fool, too beholden to the duty he feels he owes the Crown. It makes him look past the wrongs committed in the name of the Court and Crown, and only the strongest of sins can make him move out of his rut.

I know he has disowned you. This was not easy on him, but he’s a fool for believing that Tanaquar will be any better than Lethesanar was.

What I’m trying to tell you is this: You have me. You can always come to me if you need help, or a place to stay, or a home. You, Delilah, even Menolly—I do not fear her vampyr nature. You are my nieces and I love you all. I miss you and send you my love. Please give Shamas a hug from me, too. I’m the only mother he has now.

Aunt Rythwar

I folded the page and slipped it into my purse, then went about throwing a few more pieces of clothing in a bag. At the last moment, I stopped, opening my jewelry box. There lay all three of my wedding rings. I usually didn’t wear them for fear of losing them, but right now, the only thing I could think of was how much I wanted them on my fingers. I slid them on—two on the left hand, the third on the right.

“Are you ready?” Delilah popped her head in. I nodded, threw my backpack over my shoulder, and followed her down the stairs, wondering if Father was gone but unwilling to ask.

“He left,” she said quietly, reading my thoughts. Or most likely, she just knew me well enough. A glance out the window showed that dusk was almost here. Though I longed for the safety of Smoky’s barrow, I motioned her into the kitchen and put my bag on the table.

“Let’s have a bite to eat before we head back out. We’ll wait for Menolly. Having her with us will make me feel safer, too.”

Iris rushed over to me, threw her arms around me, and hugged me tight. “I’m so grateful you’re safe. I’m so glad you came back to us.”

As we eased into chairs at the table, she put a tray of sandwiches in front of us. “Eat up. I’ll heat up some soup, too—it won’t take but a moment.”

Hungry, and sore as hell—today had taxed my bruises—I bit into a roast beef sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. The bustier was rubbing against my back, and I glanced over my shoulder. “While we’re waiting, can you put something on my back to help me stop hurting? Sharah did earlier, but it’s worn off.”

As I undid the hooks and eyes on the front of the bustier, Delilah moved around behind me to help take it off. I winced as it peeled away from the wounds crossing my back. It helped with my ribs, but the lashes were a pain in the ass to deal with. Delilah let out a choked sound as Iris came back with a bottle of salve, and then I turned to find both of them in tears.

Just then, the secret door behind the bookshelf opened—our biggest running joke now in the household, since most everybody had figured out where the door to Menolly’s lair was—and there stood Menolly. She started to say something, then fell silent. Striding over, she shoved Delilah out of the way and made me stand.

“What he did to you . . .” Her voice was soft, but I’d long learned that a soft-spoken Menolly was a dangerous Menolly. After a moment I sat back down and she knelt beside me, taking my hand. “Did he . . . or do I have to ask?”

“Yes, he did.” I gazed down at her. “You were my strength. You were my inspiration. I remembered what Dredge did to you and kept thinking, If she could resist that . . . I can resist this. If Menolly could withstand the torture she underwent, I can handle a beating or a kicking. Or being raped.”

Menolly let out a snarl as she traced the lashes on my back and the bruises on my ribs. “He’ll die. Hyto will die. None of us will rest until he’s taken down. You helped me with payback to Dredge. I will be at your side until Hyto goes down.”

Delilah knelt at my other side. “That goes for me. Nothing can withstand our bond. Nothing is stronger than our connection.”

Iris watched us closely, then motioned for them to move. “Let me tend to her wounds. Sharah’s good, but I’ve had far more experience.” As she slowly slathered the bruises with the salve, the pain began to subside again. “The collar . . .”

“Won’t come off till he’s dead,” I said flatly. “Now I understand how Vanzir felt—to an extent. His was voluntarily yoked. Mine wasn’t. But the result is the same. Hyto can find me, Hyto can trace me, Hyto lays claim to me until we get this fucking thing off.”

We gathered our things and headed out of the house to where the guys were waiting. Trillian, Smoky, and Chase were there. I looked at the detective. I’d expected him to go back to the station, but he shook his head.

“I told Yugi that until we take care of Hyto, I’m on leave. Officially, I’m on sick leave.” As we climbed in the cars to head back to the barrow, I realized just how grateful I was for my family and friends. They were everything to me.

The drive back toward Mount Rainier and the Puyallup Valley was fraught with cars swerving on the ice. Highway 167 was insane, but we finally managed to get away from the mishmash of rush-hour traffic—and rush hour was about three hours long around here—and drive through the back roads to the turnoff leading to Smoky’s land.

We were nearly to the barrow when Smoky asked me to turn up the drive instead. Over the past months, he’d created a rough road leading closer to the barrow so we didn’t have to park at the house.

But now we stopped in front of the house where Tom Lane—Tam Lin—used to live when Titania had hung out on the land, bothering Smoky, deep in her cups. Things had changed so much, in a little over a year—so much so it was hard to remember what life had been like before we’d taken on Bad-Ass Luke and first found ourselves thrust into a demonic war.

As we got out, Smoky motioned for just Delilah and me to join him. We headed up the steps, toward the glowing lights that emanated from within the house. Smoky knocked lightly, and within seconds, the door opened.

Estelle Dugan stood there, eyeing us with a half smile. “He’s practicing his swordsmanship today.”

Smoky nodded. “Any better?”

She shook her head. “I’d invite you in, but I’m trying to keep him calm. He fades in and out, but yes, for now he has some semblance of . . . where he is. But I think Georgio is long gone. It’s just St. George left.” She smiled then, fully, looking like a mother glowing over her child.

St. George. Georgio Profeta. We’d first met last year, when he was prowling around our windows. Don Quixote, jousting at windmills. Lancelot, trying to win fair Guinevere. Georgio was every wounded hero who’d found a real live dragon to slay. With his plastic armor and his toy sword, he’d struck at Smoky. And Smoky—being who he was—let the poor man live. Even took him in, set him up with a nurse. No one mentioned it much—Smoky wasn’t one for praise—but we all knew that he felt sorry for the man. That somehow, Georgio had touched his dragon’s heart.

“I want you to be careful. I have guards out in the forests, but I tell you now: My father is on the loose and he’s out for blood. Keep St. George inside. My father doesn’t care for humans.” Smoky stared at Estelle for a moment. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

She shook her head. “No, Lord Smoky. We are well taken care of. I will watch over Georgio. He’s . . . I’m all he’s got, you know. As far as humans go.”

Smoky nodded. “I know. That’s why I check on you every few days. If you should see anyone strange lurking around—especially someone who looks like me—be sure to call the guards the way I told you to. Tell them to come get me immediately. If I send for you, come immediately to the barrow.”

And then we turned and, without another word, descended the stairs. I glanced up at the moon, needing her strength. Needing her comfort. “I need to be outside when we return to the barrow. I need to meditate beneath the Moon Mother.”