Chapter Four - Part One
By Darrell Walker
Darrell Walker's Homepage

"Sir Aerinn."

Aerinn turned to the servant who had run up to him in the hall. "What is it?"

"The Lady Cassandra requests your company, my lord."

Aerinn sighed. He'd been avoiding Cassandra for the past couple of days. She'd seemed rather upset about the core incident and even more displeased at his lack of answers. He had decided out of sight, out of mind would be his best tactic. Now she wanted to see him. "Thank you," Aerinn dismissed the servant, who left to perform other duties. He wandered the Resonant's halls, his brain turning in circles.

Leaving the freehold hadn't turned out to be as simple an affair as Aerinn had hoped. It seemed they were still going to hold him to their stupid year-and-a-day. Aerinn had tried to explain to them that the human mind was undoubtedly quicker than it had been 600 years ago. His reasonable suggestion that they consider renovating the out-dated system had been met with sputtering outrage. Cassandra had driven him from her presence, her face hot with indignation.

After that Aerinn hadn’t dared bring up the subject of leaving. He continued to learn the history of House Fiona, which Aerinn found ironic because Fiona was a Seelie House. He also continued training with Marcus and was learning hand-to-hand combat from a fellow named Ren. Next week he would begin his riding lessons. He enjoyed learning swordplay and etiquette; it was the nights he dreaded. He could never be sure what night she would call and what night she would not. But the call always came, eventually. And Aerinn was forced to lay in the arms of a woman he found mouth-wateringly beautiful, and whom he loved and despised with all his heart. It was a complex relationship, Aerinn knew that. But that didn't make dealing with it any easier.

"Cassandra?" Aerinn called through the door. He knocked again."Come in. It's open." At her words the door slid open with a soft hiss. Aerinn stepped inside her suite, the subtle smell of myrrh filling the air, and beneath that, her smell. Aerinn breathed deeply despite himself and felt tension ease from his joints. Cassandra breezed into the room even before the door had finished sealing. She was dressed in a long gown of dark green, her hair piled high on her head in delicate ringlets and curls. Aerinn's eyes traveled the length of her body. He wanted to slap himself, but he couldn't help it. She was beautiful.

"Oh Aerinn, you brought that thing again?" Cassandra gestured at the sword contemptuously.

Aerinn shrugged. "It helps me remember who and what I am."

Cassandra laughed. "I doubt that you should need such a reminder within a freehold powerful as this one. Beware Bedlam, Aerinn."

Aerinn flinched at the echo of the Dragon's words. Had she heard?

Cassandra took his arm and steered him towards the kitchen. "I've had the servants bring up some Italian, Aerinn." She smiled at him beautifully.

"Thanks, Cassandra. You shouldn't have done that," Aerinn mumbled. Why was she being so nice to him?

"And," Cassandra continued, waggling her finger at him for interrupting, "I have a couple bottles of wine chilled."

Aerinn didn't talk much through the meal. He'd been under a great deal of stress lately, and his appetite had suffered for it. But the food the servants had prepared was more than perfect, and he found himself making a bit of a pig of himself. Cassandra seemed to find the whole thing amusing, though Aerinn wasn't sure if she was laughing at his wolfish appetite or his flushes of embarrassment.

She chatted on pleasantly in the way of sidhe women, while he shoveled manicotti into his mouth. The wine was excellent--a white that Aerinn was pretty sure was a Chardonnay. He thought about asking Cassandra but decided he'd enjoy his silence while he could. Cassandra seldom tolerated one-sided conversations for long.

Aerinn was finishing off his fourth piece of rhubarb pie before he finally worked up the nerve to speak what was on his mind. "Cassandra, there's something I've been wanting to ask you."

Cassandra looked at him, suddenly all seriousness. "What is it, Aerinn?"

Aerinn took a deep breath. "I've been having dreams. About a woman. They started a few months before my chrysalis. She seems very familiar to me, and I think I may have sworn Oath to her in the past."

"Is this a sidhe woman?"

"No, she's human, but I'm sure she's real. And the dreams, they all seem to be telling me to find her." Aerinn swallowed, tried to sound convincing, "So what I'm asking is your blessing to embark on a Quest to search for her."

Cassandra smiled tightly. "You know the rules, Aerinn. You must complete your training, and then you must pass the Rite of Fior. Nobility must be earned; it is not just given away. Since you've seemingly proved yourself more than adequately in the past, the Fior is little more than a formality. But it still must be observed. Besides, you may learn more of this woman from your Saining ritual."

Aerinn sighed. He'd known his chances were slim, but he'd hoped....

"At any rate," Cassandra continued, rising from the table and coming over to stand beside his chair, "I certainly am not going to let you leave, so you can find a woman to replace me." Her fingers wound through his hair, caressing his scalp possessively. "Come to bed, Aerinn, it's late."

Aerinn followed her to the bedroom, the glamour behind her words removing any thoughts of refusal from his mind. Moments later he joined her, wrapping himself around her warm body. He breathed in her heady scent, trailing his lips down the side of her throat. As her hot kisses traveled his body, and the passion rose to burn all else away, the face of the woman of his dream flashed into Aerinn's mind. She seemed to be watching, and Aerinn felt as if a knife were entering his heart as the lone tear trickled down her face.

"My pet Prince," Cassandra whispered into his ear, her voice raspy from passion, "why would you ever wish to leave?"

Aerinn moaned in his sleep, rolled over--the sheets twining around him, entangling him.

Fire swept through Gary, a pyrotechnic shockwave of destruction. Buildings blasted to dust, pedestrians vaporized into clouds of steam. Horrible screams and cries rent the air as dozens of horrid avian reptiles circled over the doomed city. Aerinn fought on a hill covered with the bodies of the dead. Fae, he saw, all of them.

Knights on all sides of him were cut down by sidhe in dark armor. Their enemies fought fiercely, with the passion of those who live for the kill. Each scream was a personal triumph. Aerinn heard a blood-curdling scream cut through the clamor of battle, and worse yet, the tortured soul was screaming his name. Aerinn whipped his head about, frantically searching for the owner of the horrible cry. Finally he saw her at the top of the hill.

"Selene," he moaned. Indeed it was her, held captive by an arrogantly beautiful sidhe. He held an iron dagger to her delicate throat. "No!" Aerinn screamed, running up the slope as fast as he could. But it was too late. The sidhe smiled savagely at Aerinn as he slowly drew the cold iron edge against Selene's throat. Selene's eyes bulged as her life-blood geysered from her throat. Aerinn's stomach contorted in horror. He watched the life fade from her eyes as her body dropped to the ground.

"You're next, Aerinn," the sidhe threatened, his voice sounding strangely metallic.

"You son of a bitch!" Aerinn seethed and charged the sidhe. The air around him suddenly seemed like gelatin, he couldn't move. He was being swept away from the sidhe, the murderer. In desperation Aerinn tried to make out the symbol of the sidhe's House on his breast plate, but he was too far away.

Aerinn thrashed awake. He shivered. His body was covered in sweat, and Cassandra had commandeered the few blankets he hadn't thrown off. He got out of bed and stumbled to the wash stand, splashed cool water on his face. His reflection in the mirror looked haggard, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He had to get out of here.

Three days passed.

Cassandra tossed and turned in her sleep. Because she was alone, no one heard the soft moans of terror escaping her parted lips.

"My dear," the sidhe duke murmured, "why do you tremble so?" Cassandra tried to pull away from the man's touch, but her body was paralyzed with fear. The man smiled, a cold smile that never reached his eyes. "You have nothing to fear from me, my dear. I would never hurt a hair on your pretty little head." His hand reached out, stroked her cheek. His touch was as cool as the grave, seeming even more cold for it should have been warm. "Malaggar, please." Cassandra's voice quavered. Her voice never quavered, except when she was in the presence of this man. Her eyes stared about wildly, looking for escape. She was in a dimly-lit room with no obvious exits. A fire burned in the mammoth stone fireplace, logs crackling like the breaking of bones. Women lounged about the room on silken pillows. They were beautiful, every one. They were works of art, oiled skin gleaming in the firelight. They wore clothing that was barely decent, enticing the imagination, teasing the mind with what little wasn't revealed. As Malaggar's eyes crawled over her body, Cassandra started to feel nauseous. Surely he wouldn't do that to one of the sidhe.... She looked closer at the women, and breathed a sigh of relief. They were all human.

"Come now, Cassandra. You've never been one to beg." Malaggar smiled. "Besides, we don't have time for that now. We have business to discuss."

Cassandra felt her cheeks heat at his innuendo. How dare he? "What business is that--your Grace?" Inwardly Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief. She'd almost forgotten his strict adherence to titles, at least in reference to himself.

"I am visiting you at your residence. I shall arrive in a fortnight. I trust you will have a suitable reception for me."

Cassandra struggled to push words through her tightening throat. "Of course, your Grace. No expense will be spared."

Malaggar smiled lasciviously. "Good." He traced a finger along her jaw. "I expect your hospitality will be as enjoyable as it always has been in the past."

Cassandra awoke, barely stifling the scream in her throat. She squeezed shut her eyes, trying to vanish the vision of Malaggar's lecherous grin.

Aerinn sat cross-legged on the floor, his sword naked on his legs. The light of two single candles, one white, one black, gave a golden glow to his pale skin. His eyes were shut with concentration. He was as unaware of the candles as he was of the feeling of the cold chimerical steel against his legs. In his mind's eye a single flame burned, flickering slightly as if in a breeze. Aerinn calmly watched the few stray thoughts as they floated through his mind. Amber. Was she alright? What about his parents? Had they given up looking for him?

Aerinn grunted, began his concentration anew. He'd found it so hard to stay focused lately. Finally, his mind cleared, devoid of thought. He floated within his body....up... Carefully Aerinn began directing a small flow of glamour into the sword on his lap.

Images began to form. They were hazy, like an old movie. People, places, feelings. Aerinn pressed his lips together in frustration, almost losing his concentration. He was in a hall of some kind. There were beautiful tapestries on the wall, but every time he tried to look at one, it became indistinct. Voices floated through the hall, ethereal voices he could not understand....

Aerinn sighed, opened his eyes. It hadn't worked. The Mists were too strong. No matter how hard he tried, he could remember nothing more of his faerie past than his name, his House, and some scattered images. He sighed again, struggled to his feet. He must have been sitting there longer than he had thought. The candles had burned to stubs, and his muscles were cramped from sitting in the same position for so long. He said a word, and the rest of the candles and lamps in the room lit of their own accord. Aerinn held up his blade, watched the candle-light gleam against its surface. Soulguider it was called. Aerinn snorted. A lot of help it was.

Aerinn jumped as the doors to his chambers flew open. Cassandra rushed in, then stopped, a look of shock on her face. Aerinn watched, fascinated, as her face turned scarlet; he'd never seen her blush before. He felt the breeze from the open doors, shivered; and then it was his turn to blush, furiously. He'd forgotten he was naked. Aerinn briefly considered grabbing something to cover himself, but there was nothing handy.

Cassandra turned and hastily shut the doors. Aerinn had given up the thought of covering himself. She'd seen it all before, and he sure as hell wasn't going to scurry. "Didn't anyone ever teach you how to knock?" he demanded as she turned back to face him, then stopped. Tear-tracks ran down her face She'd been crying. Cassandra never cried; at least he'd never seen it. He had been so surprised by her entrance and embarrassment, he hadn't even noticed.

Aerinn cleared the space between them in four long strides, dropping his sword, and took her into his arms. She leaned against him, clutching to him tightly. "Cassandra, what is it?" Aerinn asked, genuine concern in his voice. She didn't answer him, just began sobbing into his shoulder. Aerinn was at a loss. The woman made no sense. She shifted between bullying him and humoring him, beating him and caressing him, insulting him and kissing him. And now this. He felt as if the room was spinning. He needed to sit down. "Maybe we should sit," he offered, and led her to a low couch set against the wall. She sat down gratefully, still holding to him tight.

"You shouldn't drop your sword like that, Aerinn," she mumbled half-heartedly, then began sobbing anew.

Aerinn held her, stroked her back, not knowing what else to do. "What is it, Cassandra? What has happened."

"Cassandra pulled away from him a little, dried her eyes with a delicate hand, and began trying to put some semblance of order to her dark auburn hair. "I had a bad dream," she mumbled, eyes lowered.

"A bad dream? What kind of dream?"

Cassandra sighed. "I don't want to talk about it, Aerinn. It was too horrible." She raised her eyes, held his. "I didn't want to be alone."

"That's completely understandable," Aerinn said soothingly. A dream? She was this upset over a dream? Aerinn looked at her. She was definitely upset, that much was certain. Not even Cassandra was that good of an actor. She was frightened. Aerinn couldn't understand it. He'd seen her brow-beat knights twice his size into humble submission with nothing more than the tone of her voice.

Suddenly, Aerinn's train of thought just stopped. He was suddenly aware of how nice her silk night-gown felt against his skin. He coughed slightly, tried to move away from her, and instantly felt a strong pang of guilt. Cassandra flinched, a hurt look entering her eyes. "Oh honey, I'm sorry..." he wrapped his arms tighter around her, tried to ignore the feel of her warmth, her softness....

"Thank you, Aerinn." She smiled up at him, the tears already drying on her cheeks.

Aerinn brushed the few that were left away, smiled back reassuringly. "That's my job, Cassandra. I'm your pet knight, remember?" Aerinn instantly regretted the words; maybe it would've been alright if he could have kept the bitterness out of his voice.

Cassandra disentangled herself from his embrace, put a few inches between them. "You hate me don't you?" she asked softly.

The look on her face cut Aerinn straight to his soul. He hadn't meant it to sound like that. "No, I don't, Cassandra. I don't hate you. I...I don't know how I feel about you, but....I know I don't hate you."

Cassandra smiled sadly, cupped his chin in her hand. "I've treated you badly, haven't I?" she asked, regret strong in her voice.

Aerinn shrugged. "Well, you could be a little nicer...."

"I'm sorry, Aerinn. I just don't handle stress very well. I don't mean to hurt you."

Aerinn looked at her a long moment, tried to sort through his feelings. Finally, he sighed. Fuck it. He'd been fighting this so long, he'd forgotten why he was fighting it in the first place. "You know, Cassandra, there are other ways to alleviate stress without resorting to violence." He almost laughed as her eyebrows raised in elegant surprise.

"And what ways are those, my Prince?"

Aerinn smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her. At first she didn't respond. Then her arm came up around his neck; she pulled herself closer, very close. Aerinn gasped as she returned his kiss. She'd never been like this before. She was...loving. Aerinn pulled away, looking at her with wide eyes. She smiled at him shyly. What the hell was going on?

"Aerinn," she said softly, not meeting his eyes, "I'm going to start treating you better. I promise." Aerinn felt his eyes widen. "And I'm not going to hit you anymore. Ever."

Aerinn smiled. "Good, because I like you much better like this."

She smiled, kissed him lightly. "And I won't whip you, either."

Aerinn managed what he thought was a very good look of disappointment. "I kind of liked the whip, Cassandra."

Cassandra laughed, looking at him with amazement. Aerinn laughed with her. It felt good to laugh with her. "Really?" she asked, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

Aerinn shook his head.

"I didn't think so." Cassandra leaned forward again, and kissed Aerinn soundly, leaning hard against him.

Aerinn didn't mind when her weight became too much and he had to lay back on the couch. He didn't mind at all.

A band of sidhe warriors camped along a Silver Path within the Far Dreaming, the realm of dreams, a reminder of Arcadia--the lost home of the fae. A large bonfire lit their faces and the surrounding trees. Overhead twin planets hung in the sky, glowing with a green luminescence. Not far from the fire, a huge tent of brightly colored green silk sprawled across the Silver Path itself.

The knights around the fire paused in their tale-telling as a woman's screams cut through the still night. Not one looked towards the tent. They knew better. Almost immediately, the knight standing within the ring of his fellows resumed his tale, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the woman's tortured wails.

The story was interrupted again as the flap of the tent was thrown back, and a woman stumbled out, falling to the ground. Malaggar nodded to his knights then resealed the tent, leaving the woman lying on the grass.. "Who's turn is it?" the storyteller asked, not able to keep the fear from his voice.

"Not yours, coward!" one of the older knights said scornfully. He stood, gathered himself, and walked to the woman laying on a heap in front of the tent. He squatted down before her, looked back to his fellows. The few that were watching looked away. He returned his attention to the woman, rolled her over....

Her chest had been ripped open by...something--something very hot by the way the wound was cauterized. A human would have been dead, but this woman was no more human than he was. She looked up to him, her eyes glassy, and a look of regret crossed her face. The Knight looked down into her eyes, and his hardened heart felt a rare emotion--pity. He lay down carefully on top of her.

She groaned with pain as he settled his weight on her. He nuzzled her ear a moment. "I forgive you," he whispered softly, his lips brushing her cool, delicate ear. Suddenly her arms clamped around him with surprising strength, squeezing his rib-cage so he couldn't draw a breath. He cried out as pain lanced through his neck, then moaned softly, pressing his body against hers with his fading strength. Ecstasy coursed through him, and he gave himself wholly to the woman's deadly kiss, his life fading as she drank deeply.

As the darkness took him, he thought he heard her whisper, "If only I could forgive myself..."

The Resonant was silent with the stillness of sleep. Monitors flickered lazily in the dimly-lit hallways. Within the depths of the freehold, the Core throbbed, stolidly sending waves of Glamour coursing through the construct.

Aerinn shifted slightly in his sleep, rubbing up against Cassandra who was curled up next to him. Her eyes opened slightly, her vision thick from sleepiness. She heard him breathing deeply and took his hand in her own, tracing her fingers over his. She looked at his face, relaxed in the flickering candlelight. She watched his eyelids as they twitched, wondering what he was dreaming.