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~Big Book of Fairyland, “TrueLove”
When I wokethe next morning, the worry crashed in on me with my first waking thought. Darling confirmed that Rogue had never returned—and added some sarcastic thoughts about not caring if he ever did.
“Don’t say that, it’s bad luck.”
Starling hadn’t turned up yet. The morning light still slanted low and dim, and nobody stirred outside that I could see. My fretfulness had awakened me early. Early enough that Darling had curled up and gone back to sleep. Or pretended to, in his huffiness. Not at all sleepy now, I found my velvet dressing robe and shrugged into its warmth.
I rarely missed coffee, but now I wished for a latte, which amusingly popped up in a Starbucks cup, so ingrained was that image in my mind. The sweet creaminess came very close to my memory of the pumpkin spice flavors, and seemed appropriate for the cooler air, the apple orchards waiting for harvest. Cupping it in my hands, I tried to mentally trace the source of my unease.
Rogue hadn’t been there the past few mornings when I awakened, so this should be no different. Still, after what had passed between us last night…
My face heated, partly in embarrassment over my unusually wanton behavior and the rest in pleasure. Bringing the powerful and cagey Lord Rogue to excruciating climax with my mouth and hands had been a rush like no other. I wasn’t young enough to still confuse the emotions of such intimacy with love, but I’d thought we’d found a new understanding, a deeper connection.
I wasn’t the first woman, by any stretch, to wake up alone after giving herself to a man, thinking to find a new beginning only to find that sex had meant the end. Besides which, I knew full well Rogue didn’t have everything he wanted from me. He might think I had given him the third thing as well.
He might be right.
I sighed for that uncomfortable truth and fingered the green silk ribbons still attached to the bedposts. I had vague memories of untying him. Of cuddling after. I had a nostalgic feeling of lying next to him, my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent and touch, not wanting any more than that.
And then what?
I frowned at the incongruous paper cup, drained it and wished it away again. Had I fallen asleep then? Why didn’t I remember? Maybe I’d passed out from too much brandy—a daunting thought—but I hadn’t felt drunk. Just a little…wilder than usual.
Acting on impulse, I untied the ribbons from the bedposts, carefully coiling them into neat spools. I made a little pouch, like the ones for the dragon artifacts, and stored them inside. There had been a kind of magic between us last night, and the ribbons could carry part of that still. Or I was being all romantic and sentimental. Oh well, Starling didn’t need to see what we’d been up to anyway.
Going to the big armchairs by the windows, I curled up in one and settled my thoughts. Once upon a time, I could never have done this, being the kind of person who really sucked at meditation. Now that silent space my trainers had forced me to create waited for me. I had only to reach into it to find it again. The place where I barely existed to myself. Where I stepped out of my own being.
As I had with Blackbird, I traced the patterns of my own brain. This time, I knew where the various cortical and subcortical areas should be. Every person’s brain is different, shaped by our experiences, but the structure is generally consistent. I wound my way through my own memories—quite the starburst of emotion around the events of last night. Oh, and connecting to the turbulence of the day’s activities. All my terror and doubt, transforming, turning into new avenues of thought.
Something to consider.
I dug deeper, knowing what I was looking for, but trying to set that thought aside, to keep objective. The diligent scientist built in objectivity as much as possible, because there was an insidious tendency to find what you hoped you would. Whether it came from ignoring contradictory evidence or massaging data outliers to fit the trend—if you were invested in a particular outcome, it was more likely to come about. Add the untamed variability of magic to that equation and it became that much worse.
Aha.And there it was. Black and oily and slick—a dark ribbon attached to my memories of last night, and I could no more sink my claws of understanding into it than I had been able to with Blackbird. Or than I would have been able to with Rogue, for surely he had one too, if I’d looked instead of being distracted with his enticing offer. There was also no knowing how long it had been there. I’d never known to look before. Possibly Marquise and Scourge put it there. Or Lady Healer.
Somehow, I doubted that, however.
I left it alone for now. Casting about, I looked for the cat, that other self growing like a mushroom in the dark of my subconscious, but found no trace. I didn’t really think I would. Seeing into my own unknowable mind would be useful—and probably unprecedented. Slowly, I let myself rise up from my deep brain, a diver being careful of getting the bends.
But I couldn’t shake that greasy foreboding, that sense that I’d taken another step into a morass from which I could never escape.
I opened my eyes to the cheery light of midday and blinked, further unsettled by the contrast and the passage of time.
With uncanny prescience, Starling came in. “All done then?”
“Ah. Yes.”
She cocked her head at me, looking a bit weary. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. How was the dancing?”
“Titania, I’m tired!” She flopped into the chair opposite. “What a fun night, but I’m glad we have today to rest before we head to the Port of Blue Mermaids.”
“To catch a sailing ship?”
“Of course! Lord Rogue didn’t tell you?”
“No.” I frowned, searching my memory. We had talked about sailing somewhere, right? “Maybe so.”
