'Fear. That's what drives them. They live such short and fragile lives that they are governed by fear; driven by it.'
Gunfire stuttered in the corridor behind me. 'We do not have time for this, Raffmir.'
He stayed relaxed, ignoring the approaching sounds of conflict. 'They fear not only us, but each other. What if another nation has fey? What if they are secretly coaching their own squads of half-breeds in the arts of intelligence gathering, assassination, insurrection?'
'There are no other fey. Are there?'
Raffmir smiled. 'They don't know, and not knowing drives them. It's the fear of the possible. What if someone else has found a way to control it – indeed, to create super-soldiers to use against them? Enormous strength, stealth, strange powers – it's a dream and a nightmare. That's what made it so easy to manipulate them, their fear and their greed. With a gift of funding and resources, they were easy to subvert. We are not their enemy, after all.'
I glanced towards the corridor, expecting the sound of approaching feet at any moment.
'So in their search for a cure they discovered by accident a way to destroy the half-breeds: a manipulation of genes and viruses, a manufactured disease.'
'The Feyre don't get sick, Raffmir, you know that.'
'This is true. If I drank the serum, even if I used a hypodermic to inject it, there would be no effect on me whatsoever. I am fey and neither of these vials are intended for me.' He smiled. 'In one of the vials, though, is an agent, a viral contagion, cultured to be as infectious as a common cold and passed from human to human. They barely notice it, and the fey are immune to that too – the true fey, that is.'
'I don't understand.'
'The weapon is a contagion aimed at the mongrels. Its effect is the same as if your daughter had participated in the experiment. It releases the magic within so that it consumes the host. Any mongrel that contracts the disease will die quickly and cleanly. Once released, it will spread through the human population as no more than an inconvenience – a day in bed at worst – but it will wipe out any and all of the half-breeds like a virulent plague.'
I shook my head, trying to understand the scope of such a thing. 'A weapon against the half-breeds? Why would you need such a thing?'
'It is their safeguard against a mongrel army being pitched against them – a last line of defence, but it will serve the Seventh Court just as well.'
Then I saw the flaw in his plan. 'You can't use it – if you do then Alex or I might become infected. You have sworn by fey law to harm neither of us. You can't use it without breaking your vow, and you can't give it to anyone else to use, either. If you do, you are in violation of fey law and your life is forfeit, as is your honour.'
'A prize almost worth dying for, were that necessary.'
'Almost?'
'I am giving you notice to quit. You have forty-eight hours to leave this world.'
'What are you talking about?'
'You have the means, Dogstar. We are not as ignorant as you think. You have the Dead Knife from the Quit Rents Ceremony, and with that you can cleave the gaps between the worlds. You can use it to travel across the cosmos as we did, when we were forced into exile. You can go as far away as you want, and take your daughter and that pregnant bitch with you.'
'Leave the world? And go where?'
'I care not. The only place you cannot be is here.'
'But I can't take the Dead Knife. It holds the barrier against the Seventh Court. It's needed here.'
'Oh, come. What use is a barrier when there are no half-breeds to protect? What is the point of all the rituals and the protections when there is no one to defend? Once the half-breeds are gone or dead, the Seventh Court can return to the world and stand alongside their brethren on their own soil. No more exile – what would be the point?'
I suddenly realised what he was saying. I stepped towards him, reaching for the vials. The point of the sword rose level with my chest.
'No violence, Dogstar. If the vial is broken now, you will die along with every other mongrel. You have the chance to be their saviour. It is not so poor a fate. After all, I am only trading my exile for yours. The mongrels leave and the Seventh Court returns. What could be more just? It is a fair exchange.'
Raffmir grinned.
'It was why I needed you here on the solstice, when the walls between the worlds are at their weakest, so that you could be the instrument of their exile and know the bitterness that comes from knowing that you will never be able to return. You will rid us of them, every one.'
He grinned at me, relishing his victory.
'And you will never be able to return.'
TWENTY-FIVE
Raffmir admired the vials in his hand. 'Driven by fear, the power of human ingenuity knows no bounds. Such a shame – it will mean the end of the pact between the Feyre and humanity. This is more than we ever asked for and more than you deserve. I am giving you the chance to rescue as many of the mongrels as you are able and take them somewhere else. It doesn't matter where you take them. Take as many as you please or none at all, only do not return once the virus is in the human population. It will spread and every visit will carry greater risk. You only need to carry the contagion back into exile…' He left that thought unfinished.
'You are breaking your oath, Raffmir. You swore not to harm me or my daughter.'
'On the contrary, my oath remains sound. I am saving you and granting you the opportunity to save as many others as you choose. There's nothing in my oath that says that I must remain in exile, nor that you must remain in this world. If I had released the virus without telling you, then I would be breaking my oath. As it is, I am giving you the chance to be their saviour. Without you, doubtless they will all die.' He shook his head in mock sadness.
There was a dull boom, then another in quick succession. I raised my sword.
Raffmir stood. 'Yes, let's settle it now, blade to blade – only mind that my grip does falter and dash these vials to the floor, and if by some mischance you should best me-' He grinned, acknowledging that we both knew he was the better swordsman. '-then the vials will fall and break and all will be lost.'
He watched me doing the calculation, while the conflict approached behind me.
'I believe the phrase is 'check' and 'mate'.' He grinned. He had me and he knew it.
The battle in the corridors grew ever nearer. Still I hesitated. There must be a way out. Once he left with the vials, there would be no way to stop him. All he would need to do is break the vial on a railway station, or an airport, or a busy supermarket. After that it would be simply a matter of time. There was no way to find all the part-fey humans within forty-eight hours, let alone persuade them to leave our world for an uncertain future, and his smile said that he already knew that.
'Move out of the way, Dogstar. You have your daughter to save and I have business elsewhere. I have kept my promise and brought you to her. It is time for me to…'
He shuddered and faltered. Then he coughed. Mucus leaked from his nose while his eyes bulged in their sockets. Perspiration beaded across his brow and then ran in droplets down his face. Sweat rained from his jawline as he hiccoughed and spewed. He coughed again, a belch of liquid welling up in him, running from his mouth.
Behind him, winding coils like the tentacles of a black anemone extended out behind his head, long delicate fingers slid gently under his chin, cupping it like a lover's caress. Tremors spread through his shoulders, arms, chest and hands.
Slowly Alex rose behind him on the bed, her hair a winding mass of tentacle curls, moving as if washed and tugged by an unseen swell. Her eyes glowed intensely with a blue so deep it was almost purple. Her hands clamped under his chin as she looked down on his head with an expression of feral hatred. He jerked and spasmed, his hands flicked open, and the sword flew out of one hand and the vials flew out of the other.
I dived. I couldn't know which vial had the serum and which the weapon, but I dropped the sword and dived.
