Shadowfever
Page 150“You would owe me. Like you owe my Gray Woman.”
Was there anything he didn’t know? Deals with devils … Barrons would have said, if he hadn’t been frozen. “Deal.”
He winked. “I’d planned to, anyway.”
“Ooh! Then why did you—”
“Pretty girl and all. Asking. Gotta love that. Stuff of heroes. Don’t get the role often.”
He was gone. He reappeared near the slab, staring at V’lane through crystal walls.
I was horrified to realize V’lane was more than halfway through the Sinsar Dubh.
But it was going to be okay. The king was going to stop him, crush him like a bug. V’lane would take one look at who’d come after him and sift out with his tail tucked, whimpering with fear. The king would reseal the cavern, and all would be well. No one would have any spells of unmaking. Barrons would continue to be unkillable. That was a constant, eternal rock beneath my feet that I needed.
“—fore. Where on earth do you think he came from?” My mother finished her sentence. She frowned. “And where did he go?”
Time resumed and everyone in the cavern began moving again.
V’lane’s head dropped down and his eyes slid open.
His reaction wasn’t at all what I expected.
“Ah,” said the Unseelie King. “Cruce.”
52
Cruce? V’lane was Cruce?
I glanced around the cavern. Everyone looked as stupefied as I felt, staring between V’lane and the dreamy-eyed guy.
When I’d stood at Darroc’s side, watching the Seelie and Unseelie armies face off in a snowy Dublin street, I’d been awed by the mythic proportions of the event.
Now, according to the dreamy-eyed guy who was really the Unseelie King, the Seelie who’d been masquerading as V’lane for hundreds of thousands of years was really the legendary Cruce, aka War—the final and most perfect Unseelie ever sung into existence.
And he was facing off with his maker.
Cruce was staring down the Unseelie King.
It was the stuff of million-year-old legends. I looked from one to the other. You could have heard a pin drop in the cavern.
I glanced at Barrons, who had both brows raised in an expression of complete shock. For a change, there was something he hadn’t known, either. Then his eyes narrowed on the dreamy-eyed guy.
“He’s the king? That frail old geezer?”
“French woman? It’s the Morgan Freeman lookalike from the bar on the seventh level at Chester’s,” Christian said.
“No,” Dageus said, “ ’tis the ex-groundskeeper from Edinburgh castle who took on a bussing job at Ryodan’s pub when the walls fell.”
And I saw a young, dreamy-eyed college guy. He winked at me again. We all saw something different when we looked at him.
I stared back at V’lane … er, Cruce.
How had I not known? How had I been so completely duped? It had never been a Seelie Prince facing an Unseelie Prince that night in the snowy Dublin street but two Unseelie Princes. If War’s brother had recognized him, he’d never given it away.
V’lane was Cruce.
V’lane was War.
I’d walked hand in hand with him on a beach. I’d kissed him. More times than I could count. I’d had his name in my tongue. I’d trembled with orgasm after orgasm in his arms. He’d given me Ashford back. Had he taken it to begin with?
War. Of course. He’d turned my world on itself. He’d set armies against each other and sat back watching the chaos he’d created. He’d even gotten out in it and fought with us. No doubt laughing inside, enjoying the added chaos, being in the thick of the fight, watching his handiwork up close and personal.
Was he behind it all? Had he been nudging Darroc for millennia, priming him to defy the queen? And when Darroc was made mortal, had Cruce whispered in a few Unseelie ears, maybe planted key information, and helped him bring down the walls from far behind the scenes? Had he been watching, waiting for the day he might get close enough to the Sinsar Dubh to steal the king’s knowledge and kill the current queen and take her magic?
Did Fae really possess such patience?
He’d turned the Seelie and Unseelie courts against each other, using our world as their battlefield.
We were all pawns on his chessboard.
I had no doubt he was after the ultimate power. The nerve of him, the arrogance—he was the one who’d told me it could be done and how! He was the one who’d recounted the legend to begin with. Unable to resist bragging? When I’d asked him about Cruce, he’d gotten irritated, saying: One day you will wish to talk of me. He’d been jealous of himself, angry that he couldn’t reveal his true majesty. He’d said, Cruce was the most beautiful of all, although the world will never know it—a waste of perfection to never have laid eyes upon one such as he. How it must have chafed him to have to hide his true face for so long.
I’d tanned in a silk chaise, lying next to him. I’d dipped my toes in the surf, holding hands with War. I’d admired an Unseelie Prince’s naked body. Wondered what it would be like to have sex with him. I’d conspired with the enemy and never even guessed it. All the while he’d been touching and adjusting things, nudging us this way and that.
And it had worked.
He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted. Here he was: standing over the king’s Book, absorbing the deadly knowledge, with the unconscious queen lying at his feet so he could kill her and take the True Magic of their race, too. He’d put her on ice in the Unseelie prison to keep her under control and alive until he was certain he was the most powerful male among them all. The king had given up his dark knowledge. Once Cruce had it, would he really be stronger than the king?
I watched the spells scribed in the Sinsar Dubh slide off the page, move up his fingers into his hands, arms, shoulders, and vanish beneath his skin. He was almost done. Why wasn’t the king stopping him?
“Begun. Can’t be stopped. Think I’d leave part of the Book in two places when they couldn’t even guard one?” the king said.