Veil of Shadows by Jennifer Armintrout Page A

concept of honor to her? If she had not learned it from her mother or her father—two of the most loyal beings he had ever known—perhaps she was destined to never know it. “I cannot abandon you.”

    But it was not just his promise to her mother. In their flight from the Elven hall, he.d hated Cerridwen, and had seriously considered leaving her for dead. It had been only his promise to Ayla that had stopped him. But in the time that had passed since then, in the time since he.d made yet another promise to Ayla that her child would not be harmed, he.d learned something about his charge.

    She could not survive on her own.

    It might have been the way she.d been raised; in the Fae tradition, the Royal Heir was never truly expected to inherit the throne. Mabb had gained hers only when her mother had stepped down. That Queene was still out in the world somewhere, but she.d merely tired of ruling her

    subjects. She.d prepared Mabb for the job, though. No one had prepared Garret. What kind of a King could he have been? Ayla, a complete outsider, had learned what she needed to know about life at Court in such a short time, but she had come armed with the cool, logical head of an assassin. That she had not prepared her daughter to come into her title was not a surprise; she.d left behind what should have been the more dangerous life.

    If Queene Ayla would have been able to see ahead, to know that her rule would be so short, she might have instructed her Heir in the ways of the Court. Not the manners, for as surly as Cerridwen could be, and the poor choices she could make, she knew the graces of the Court and could also make herself a pleasing addition to a gathering. But she did not understand the games, the intrigues, that one needed to be aware of to maneuver at Court. Not knowing, one could not rule, not successfully. And success was measured by how long one could reign before someone stuck a knife in one.s back.

    The truth was, as he had marched through the crowd on deck, he had not seen Cerridwen standing there, but Mabb lying on her bier, limbs twisted to withered branches by death. When Cerridwen.s face had replaced hers, he had known what he was called to do, not simply because of a geis made to a dead Queene.

    “I cannot abandon you,” he repeated, forcing the image of Mabb.s cold face from his mind,
    “because if I did, you would not survive long.”

    He was not certain how she would accept this explanation. He expected anger, and a heated denial. Instead, she looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, and said in a near whisper,
    “Then you should abandon me.”

    It was some mortal trait, surely, to wish for one.s own death. He could not think of hearing an immortal creature long for the end of their life. In fact, they feared such an unnatural event. He recoiled without meaning to, and she looked down again, as if his disgust were another weight added to her burden.

    “You should not say that.” He tried to sound comforting, but she had frightened him too much, and it came out stilted and insincere.

    “I should not say it, because it makes you uncomfortable, or because it is true?” A bitter, mocking laugh came from her, as if coming from another body altogether. “I have destroyed them, Cedric. My parents, my fellow Fae. I am nothing, was nothing. If I had not been Garret.s daughter, I would not be the Queene now. I would be some worthless half-breed dying on the Strip, or in the Darkworld tunnels. But I am not Garret.s daughter. I am more mortal than Fae, and somehow, by being both of those things, I am less than either. You should let Bauchan.s Queene kill me. I can bring only despair to those I touch.”

    He raised his hand to stop her. “Cease your self-pity!” he barked, jerking his head toward the curtain, hoping she understood his sudden change in mood.

    Her head lifted, eyes going even wider as she looked at the curtain. She saw the silhouette of someone standing, listening, on the