Dockalfar Read online

  The brows swept upwards to the temples, which led one’s gaze to the tips of the ears that protruded from the waves of hair. Tall and pointed. Graceful they were, and the final evidence that this was not a human thing.

  The man…the being, walked right up and stood before Alex, staring down at him with a quizzical expression on his beautiful face. Alex stared back, owl-eyed, hardly noticing the people behind the one who inspected him. Zakknr had gone down on one knee, his fingers still wrapped around Alex’s hands. With a jerk he pulled Alex down beside him. His knee caps protested the rough treatment with a sharp jolt of pain. He clenched his teeth, refusing to look away from what was very obviously the Master Zakknr had been talking about the whole of the journey. The Master that had sent his minions to kidnap Alex and Victoria from their perfectly sane world.

  “Master,” Zakknr’s head was bowed. “The human.”

  “So I see.” The voice was smooth and cultured. The kind of voice that seduced by the mere quality of its tone. “Rather bruised and battered,” he commented, leisurely walking a circle about them, stopping in front of Alex again. The Master reached out and grazed his cheek with one white knuckle. Alex flinched away. There was a slight drawing of fine brows. The sky blue eyes turned to Zakknr. “I’m disappointed. I expected better care taken.”

  “His own fault, trying to escape. Lost the goblins to gnomes in the Alkeri’na. Had to keep him on a tight leash.”

  “Really? And where is my Ciagenii?”

  The ogre’s eyes flickered. “Don’t know, Master.”

  “He’s after the woman they kidnapped with me,” Alex ground out, feeling very dirty and graceless next to the golden master. And very angry to be talked about as if he were a disobedient dog.

  “Woman?”

  “She was with him,” Zakknr blurted out, his rumbling voice verging on whiny. “Thought she be a good way of keeping him in line. Lost her.”

  One white hand went to the narrow, square chin. A finger tapped the full lips. “I’m displeased, Zakknr,” he finally stated and the ogre cringed. “Leave me!”

  Even as the ogre was scrambling away, the master flicked one hand and the bonds about Alex’s wrists fell away in shards, as if they had aged a thousand years. He stared at his hands in shock, started even more as the master put hands on his filthy self and helped him to his feet.

  “You’re trembling,” the master observed. He was, helplessly, as numb hands dangled at his sides and the Master and the group of those that followed him moved about Alex. “I assure you, there is nothing to be afraid of. We are not savages here.”

  Alex swallowed and stared at the array of perfect faces. “I’m not afraid.” His voice came out cracked and strained. And it lied. “I just want to know why I’m here. What do you want?”

  “You’re tired,” the master said, patting his shoulder, laying an arm across it and leading into the keep. The others followed, gliding along like swans. Alex wanted to pull away. The touch was poisonous and luxurious at the same time.

  His vision was softening about the edges.

  They were silent, other than the master. Only speaking in rustles of silken cloth or the jingle of jewels. The women wore flowing gowns that revealed more than they hid, the men, tunics and robes of the same material. They led him through twisted halls, their hands on his back, on his arms. Soft, feather touches that suggested rather than forced. The sting of blood returning to his hands hurt. They passed others of the beautiful people who stopped what they were about and stared at the entourage. The master took his arm from Alex and put him in the hands of a woman with alabaster skin and a fall of white gold hair.

  “Leanan will take care of you. When you’re rested, you and I will talk.”

  Alex stared at him helplessly. The woman urged him through a portal.

  “But who are you?”

  The master paused and turned. “I am Azeral.”

  They were High Sidhe, the woman, Leanan said when he asked. He was in a room with her alone. A large airy room with a ceiling like a cathedral, and a great round pool of water in its center.

  Shuttered windows closed to the night lined one wall. Open, during the day they would have let in a wealth of sun light. He stood, just inside the doorway, staring blankly at the room. Sheer silks trailed from the ceiling, curtaining off a corner where pillows and swirls of cloth made up a luxurious pallet. The Sidhe woman moved around him, pulling him into the room. She stood of a height with him.

  Great soft eyes, every bit as blue as Azeral’s smiled at him, urging him to follow her. He took a step, unsteady.

  “What is this place?” he ventured, whispering, fearing she would decline to answer, as everyone seemed to do with him here. She tilted her head and studied him. Her beauty was so alien.

  “My father’s keep,” she replied. “The Unseelie Court. I don’t believe anyone’s ever given it a proper name, Alex.”

  He blinked at her. “How did you know my name.”

  She smiled at him. Her teeth were white and sharp. “It’s what you are. If one looks, it so easy to see a person’s true self. Come.”

  He did not understand. He did not move. She moved towards him, her slender hands going to the band of his filthy pajamas. Shocked, he stepped back.

  She stood staring at him.

  “Yes, you are filthy,” she stated.

  “Please cooperate.” She made to move towards him again and he prepared to avoid her. She frowned and suddenly his mind went blank. He ceased to be for what seemed only a handful of heartbeats, and when he came back to himself he was wet and naked and blessedly clean. She was pulling him up from the pool, the water of which was just a tad cloudy now.

  There were wet spots on her gown. Her eyes were serious and appraising. He wanted to die, to shrink from her in embarrassment, but his body was not his own at the moment. It followed her whims explicitly. She led him to the array of cushions and pressed him down. It was a wonderfully soft, plush bed. She knelt at the edge of it, watching him as he slowly forced his sluggish hand to grasp an edge of silk coverlet and pull it over his nudity.

  “Pretty,” she murmured. “Almost pretty.” She did not touch him now, but his body recalled the ghost of her hands on him during the bath when his mind had been elsewhere. He blushed and willed her away with her alien eyes and upturned lips.

  “Sleep,” she suggested. “I’ll come for you later.” She rose gracefully from her knees, lithe, rounded flesh just hidden beneath layers of filmy veils. “Sleep,” she repeated.

  He did.

  He woke to voices. Soft female voices that chattered nonsense. He blinked and rubbed grit from his eyes. His hand smelled faintly of lavender, his skin felt particularly soft this morning. The bed was wickedly comfortable. He was nestled in a ocean of pillows, silken covers wrapped about him. He felt immaculate and refreshed. A tent of gathered silks and crêpes surrounded his bed. The female voices came from without. There were shapes moving in the room beyond.

  He remembered where he was and sat up. The curtains were swept aside from without and Leanan peered in at him.

  She was dressed in veils of blue today, her hair done up in elaborate coils. Her gracefully pointed ears boasted an array of dangling ear rings. She was breathtaking. Behind her a troop of small, dark females. Their faces were plain and unattractive next to her. He thought they might have been bendithy, from the furtiveness of their movements. They held an assortment of garments over their arms.

  They watched Leanan avidly for her order.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, beckoning him forth. Warily he edged out of the cocoon, silk cover wrapped about his waist. “Would you like to see a bit of the keep?”

  He nodded carefully. She put her hands on her hips and scrutinized him.

  Blonde hair, blue eyes. Not unlike her own coloring, save his skin was bronzed from months in the pacific under a tropical sun.

  “The blue, I think,” she decided, and one of the bendithy women scurried forward offering garments
of fine cloth.

  She took them and held them out to Alex, smiling. “Do you require assistance?”

  He reddened and almost snatched them from her hands, looked around desperately for somewhere private to dress, and finally had to retreat to the dubious shelter of his bed of cushions.

  The shirt was full sleeved and laced up the front, snowfall white, and lighter than the finest of silks. The vest that went over it was brocaded blue, with elaborate falls of material ruffling down the front.

  Blue pants that fit rather too well, and soft blue boots. He ran a hand through the tangle of his hair and cast about for something else to take up time and prevent him from having to go back out and stand under Leanan’s scrutiny. He rubbed fingers over his jaw and realized that he was smooth shaven. She must have accomplished that also last night, when she had sent his mind into oblivion. It terrified him, that control she flaunted so easily. He had accepted that physically he was outnumbered and overpowered. To be so easily manipulated mentally left him no escape. No options but what they gave him. And even those they were keeping to themselves.

  He stepped out from behind the veils after a strengthening breath. The bendithy were gone. Only Leanan remained. She nodded her approval of him and took his arm in her own.

  “You’ll break your fast first,” she told him, leading him from the room. “Then we’ll walk about the keep.”

  There was no comment he could make. They walked down a spiraling hall and across a bridge that spanned a cavernous chamber. The height was dizzying. Down another hall and into a round chamber with high open windows.

  Sunlight streamed into the room, casting reflections on the pool of water at its center. Flowers bloomed in the pool, and the shapes of fish could be seen. A low curving table sat against the far wall, cushions scattered around it. Bendithy scurried about it, pitchers and platters in their hands. A half dozen High Sidhe lounged against the cushions. Every single eye cemented on Alex and Leanan as they entered the room. Their hair ranged from silver to russet brown, with some odder shades in between. Their skin was pale as a whole, and their eyes blue or green with the occasional gray. They were as languid as cats, and as watchful. Alex felt the hairs prick at the back of his neck.

  “Morning’s light to you,” Leanan greeted them. Some of them answered likewise, some merely settled back to observe as she and her human ward joined them. She settled him down at the end of the table, placing him between herself and a silver haired male. A bendithy placed a platter of sliced fruit before him, and a goblet of dark liquid. He had no appetite in such company, under such scrutiny.

  Leanan sipped from a goblet of her own and urged him to eat. He picked at a piece of fruit, staring diligently at his plate. The silver-haired male beside him was regarding him too closely for comfort, leaning forward almost inquisitively. If he touched him, he would bolt.

  “Not at all like a bakatu,” his observer finally commented. “Rather more refined.” There was agreement from down the table. “Not terribly bad to look at,” someone else offered opinion. “Pretty mouth.”

  “Will Azarel let us have him, do you think?”

  Alex cast a desperate glance to Leanan. She patted his hand and looked past him.

  “Mind your manners, Deigah. He is a guest of Azeral. Treat him as such.”

  The silver one inclined his head, gray eyes sparkling. In amusement? In contention?

  “Ignore them,” she said to Alex.

  “They’re a spoiled lot and given much to their own pleasures. I think you’re little inclined to eat, so we might as well show you around.”

  He followed her eagerly enough out of that room. They walked the ways of the keep. He was amazed and overwhelmed by the sheer size. Most of it was illogical.

  Stone stood or perched where it had no support. Bridges spanned spaces or spiraled upward with no regard to the laws of physics. There were pools in almost every room, waterfalls and streams that cut through stone, or divided rooms.

  Sidhe roamed the halls like predators, eyes always following Alex. The servants far out numbered them. Bendithy were the most common, but there were an assortment of races. Spriggan, gnomes, the occasional dwarf, although Leanan claimed that dwarves made poor servants.

  Ogres stayed to the outer halls, armed and ominous. Too clumsy and odious for personal servants, he was informed. They made good guards. He asked what they guarded against and she silently smiled at him and went on to point out another facet of the sprawling keep. Her talk concentrated wholly on the keep. When he tried to ask her questions of his own, she either ignored him, or if he became too insistent, made him temporarily forget his train of thought.

  He saw nothing of the lord of this keep. She showed him the mammoth dark chamber, deep within the bowls of the mountain that was Azeral’s throne room, but the lord himself was not in evidence.

  “You’ll see him at feast tonight,” she promised, when he asked. “Only he can tell you what you want to know.”

  He had to be contented with that.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Part Eight

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Warm fingers touched her face.

  Victoria turned into them, brushing her cheek against soft flesh. She murmured Alex’s name and reached out to find him.

  He was not there, only phantom, silken cloth, lighter than crêpe and softer to the feel. There was great pleasure in the texture of the stuff. She drew it towards her, seeking its comforting softness.

  The fingers moved to her mouth and the touch intensified. Hard and smothering, they pressed down. She struggled out of the daze of sleep, starting in alarm at unfamiliar hands on her.

  Hurtful hands that covered her mouth and cut off a cry of protest. She struggled, tearing at the offending hand, her fingers still clutching the wonderful cloth.

  Something sharp pricked her throat. Her eyes widened in the darkness, and her hands froze.

  She could not see. The darkness was complete. She knew not where she was, or with who or what. That confusion of place and situation scared her almost more than the physical threat to her person. She needed to remember.

  She was pulled up, and held firm against a hard body. Her fingers, at her sides, felt the wispy folds of cloth. With the blade still at her throat she was forced forward, her steps guided as if she were a child, or more accurately, a blind woman.

  They made not a sound in the darkness.

  Not a scuff or a whisper of breath. She could hardly breathe at all with the hand covering her mouth. She was pushed against a earthen wall and held there with the hand still over her mouth. The blade moved away. There was the soft sound of earth moving on earth and blue light peeped in. Moonlight. She found herself standing on the sloping side of a round hill, with a star filled sky looming overhead.

  Vaguely, she remembered now.

  Going to the hollow hill with the Sidhe girl, Aloe. Eating the wonderful food, talking with the sage, young/old being who was Father to the sidhe that lived under the hill. She could remember little more.

  Her mind was fuzzy and she wondered idly if she had drunk too much of the sweet wine.

  She was being led down the hill at a brisk pace, her arm in a cruel grip. She could hardly see him in the dark and the scant blue light of the night sky. He blended so very well with his surroundings. But his presence was concrete, and from the grip on her arm and the way he moved, she thought he was annoyed. She blinked slowly, trying to work up indignity. She twisted her arm, trying to free it, then tore at his fingers with her free hand. Her nails bit down into flesh and he suddenly stopped and turned on her, grabbing both arms above the elbows and shaking her like a child. There was a tiny crack in the composure of his oh-so-beautiful face. She cursed at him as her head snapped back and forth. Words she had never used in her life spilled from her lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks in shock and frustration.

  He let her go, shoving her back and she sat down hard. The breath left her. She covered her face with her hands, shivering.
She was losing her mind. Her memories were running through her mind like sand through her fingers. Thoughts were too elusive to hold. Something was wrong. So very wrong. Being shaken by an assassin who had no concept of gallantry or politeness did not help one bit. She wished lightning down upon him.

  She, who had never dreamed harm on another living thing, wished him dead on the spot. The violence in her mind felt good. The violence welcomed something that shyly coiled and unfurled its wings in the center of her being.

  She peered up at the assassin, glaring.

  He was looking over her head, behind them. She wondered if it were pursuit he feared.

  “Did you kill them all?” she sneered. “How many deaths to get me out?”

  He looked down to her, face all in shadows. He pulled her to her feet and into a walk with a less painful grip. She hated his silence. His aloofness. As if she were so inconsequential, that he need not answer her questions.

  “Damn you! Did you kill them all? Answer me!” She was screaming.

  “No,” he said, barely above a whisper, eyes casting her a warning. “There was no need.”

  She drew a breath, stared at his profile. “But you would have –“

  He inclined his head. She held back a scream of outrage.

  It began to rain. First a drizzle, then a heavier downpour. It matched her mood.

  She willed thunder and lightning into the sky. She willed winds to tear past the tall grasses. She willed it all to descend on her captor, whom she could not elude on her own. And the winds did howl, and in the distance thunder did boom. But none of it tormented Dusk. It was more of an inconvenience to her than him. She glared and tried to see the blackness of his soul.

  Not caring how improper it was, or how rude. She wanted to see how coiled and dark he was in comparison to her friends that he insisted on taking her away from.

  She saw nothing. No spark, no light.

  No hint of inner life and power that all the others had. Even the sprites had soul lights. Dusk had nothing. She drew back, as far as she could, with him holding her arm, finding him suddenly abominable. He was incomplete, unfinished.