with a chantment or two. He could not, and he had no love for the little ore-snuffling bastards. Every time the lance moved he could still feel their needles in his flesh, and the clan that had given him these hadn’t expected him to survive.
Which meant the bad feeling was emphatically mutual. If his retribution for their betrayal hadn’t sealed the deal, his time as Armormaster certainly had. Summer loved dainty dwarven adornments, but if she felt cheated or desired a particular toy one of the smallfolk didn’t wish to part with, it was the Armormaster who obtained satisfaction.
One way, or another.
Still, he’d got what he went to the dwarves for. Only a Half could survive the Marriage of the Lance. More sidhe, and the iron would burn; more mortal, and the lance would consume its bearer. Jeremiah had the precise proportions to be valuable.
For once.
He forced the lance down, carefully not turning his back to the Tangle’s main cluster. He was about to force the small door and try his luck anyway when the steaming green and hairy vines filling the corridor shifted, shivering, and he scented cold blood and old hatred.
Unseelie. Here. His arms itched, but he denied the lance its freedom. Quick and quiet was called for, and that meant ceding the field instead of fighting.
He yanked open the next door past the one she’d disappeared through. It was narrow and tall, and as he wrenched at it, a puff of frigid air belched through. There was a slamming, and the rasping of tentacles.
He did not spare a glance over his shoulder to see what Unseelie was hunting him or Robin now. Instead, he flung himself through, hoping for the best.
He landed hard on concrete, lunging away from the closing portal behind him. A quick turn, the lance springing free again and taking on solidity between his palms, and he found himself facing an anonymous brick wall. Concrete rippled underneath him, and for a moment the world flexed, space and space-between struggling to find their proper places. Close enough, and you could ride another sidhe’s passage through the Veil, much as a motorcycle could follow a semi down the freeway. Just as easy, and just as dangerous.
He exhaled sharply, ready for pursuit… but the rippling halted between one moment and the next, and he found himself on the outskirts of the city, the interstate rumbling close by, staring at the back end of a minimall. The sun was sinking in a cold spring sky, time as well as space drifting. How many hours had he lost?
Too many. He lowered his arms, the lance sliding into insubstantiality, dissatisfied. Took a deep breath. At least he hadn’t been carrying his backpack; he would have lost it to the Tangle.
He should have been angry. She’d played him neatly, a treacherous bitch of a sidhe.
On the other hand, she expected him to be duplicitous as well. Court-raised, she could doubtless fathom no less. Trust was a trap, rarely gained and even more rarely vindicated.
His attitude probably didn’t help, either.
His attitude never helped. You didn’t grow up in a charitable orphanage and make your living as a street rat or riding the rails by taking a helpful view of things. Strike first, strike hardest, strike fear into your opponents, protect your pride and do before you’re done to, that was all he’d known. It was still easiest, and best.
Daisy hadn’t been put off by it, though. She was so sunny, he hadn’t had to explain himself… or maybe he should have? Maybe she wanted to ask, but couldn’t?
God.
She’s gone, Jeremiah. And you just lost another woman.
He could walk away, except…
I will keep her safe. I do not serve.
A sidhe’s word was his bond, but… did it truly matter this time? He’d given it before a creature who didn’t even understand the meaning of truth. True and false were whatever served a sidhe’s purposes. A lesson so hard to learn, you shouldn’t need more than one teaching. Still, those with the mortal taint often failed to learn it thoroughly enough.
Not to mention the fact that Summer wanted her dead, and he had been Armormaster. So of course Robin thought he would betray her. The bigger question was, had she killed Daisy?
Her own mortal sister?
I was twelve when I was taken.
Had she envied Daisy? A family murder was what he was supposed to think, right? Why else would Summer say it? She wouldn’t lie when the truth would do. Still, she’d only said Daisy