Valiant

Page 26

Luis stood up, gazing out the windows at the glittering city. "I'll just have to think of something. I'll make some kind of bargain. I've protected my brother so far; I'll keep protecting him." He looked at Ravus. "Will you tell anyone?"
"You have my silence," Ravus said.
"I'll try to make sure I deserve it." Luis shook his head as he walked through the plastic curtain.
Val watched him go. "What do you think will happen to Dave?" she asked, her voice low.
"I don't know," Ravus said equally quietly. "But I confess that I care much more about what will happen to Luis." He turned to her. "Or you. You know, you look terrible."
She smiled, but her smile faded a moment later. "I am terrible."
"I know that I have behaved badly toward you." He looked to one side, at the planks of the floor and his own dried blood, and Val thought how strange it was that sometimes he seemed ages and ages older than she, but at other times, he didn't seem any older at all. "What Mabry told me hurt more than I expected. It was easy for me to believe that your kisses were false."
"You didn't think I really liked you?" Val asked, surprised. "Do you think I really like you now?"
He turned toward her, uncertainty in his face. "You did go to quite a lot of effort to be having this conversation, but… I don't want to read too much of what I hope into that."
Val stretched out beside him, resting her head in the crook of his arm. "What do you hope?"
He pulled her close, hands careful not to touch her wounds as they wrapped around her. "I hope that you feel for me as I do for you," he said, his voice like a sigh against her throat.
"And how is that?" she asked, her lips so close to his jaw that she could taste the salt of his skin when she moved them.
"You carried my heart in your hands tonight," he said. "But I have felt as if you carried it long before that."
She smiled and let her eyes drift closed. They lay there together, under the bridge, city lights burning outside the windows like a sky full of falling stars, as they slid off into sleep.
A note arrived in the beak of a black bird with wings that glistened purple and blue, as though it were made of pooling oil. It danced on Val's widow-sill, tapping at the glass with its feet, eyes shining like bits of wet onyx in the fading light.
"That's pretty weird," Ruth said. She got up from where she was stretched out on her stomach, library books scattered around her. They had been working on a report they were calling "The Role of Postpartum Depression in Infanticide" for health class extra credit, considering how badly they'd flunked the flour-baby project.
It had been weird to walk through the halls again after being gone for almost a month, the soft fabric of her T-shirt brushing against the scabbed-over cuts along her back, the clean smell of shampoo and detergent in her nose, the promise of pizza and chocolate milk lunches. When Tom passed her, she had barely even noticed him. She'd been too busy rushing around, kissing ass, getting makeup work, and promising never to miss another day of school ever again.
Val went to the window and pushed it open. The bird dropped its scrolled paper onto the rug and flew off, cawing. "Ravus has been sending me notes."
"Noootes?" Ruth asked, her voice threatening to assume the most obscene thing unless she was given details.
Val rolled her eyes. "About Dave—he's supposed to get out of the hospital next week. And Luis moved into Mabry's old place. He says that even though it's a dump, it's a dump on the Upper West Side."
"Any word on Lolli?"
Val shook her head. "Nothing. No one's seen her."
"Is that all he's writing about?"
Val kicked some loose papers in Ruth's direction. "And that he misses me."
Ruth rolled onto her back, snickering gleefully. "Well, what does this one say? Come on, read it out loud."
"Fine, fine, I'm working on it." Val unrolled the paper. "It says, 'Please meet me tonight at the swing set behind your school. I have something to give you.'"
"How does he know that there's a swing set at school?" Ruth sat up, clearly puzzled.
Val shrugged. "Maybe the crow told him."
"What do you think he's going to give you?" Ruth asked. "A little hot troll action?"
"You are so disgusting. So, so, so vile." Val shrieked, throwing more papers at her, scattering their work completely. Then, she grinned. "Well, no matter what it is, I'm not introducing him to my mom."
It was Ruth's turn to shriek in horror.
That night, on her way out the door, she passed her mom, sitting in front of the television, where a woman's lip was being injected with collagen.
For a moment, the sight of the needle made Val's muscles clench, her nose scent for the familiar burning sugar smell, and her veins twist like worms in her arms, but it was accompanied by a visceral disgust just as strong as the craving.
"I'm going for a walk," she said. "I'll be back later."
Val's mother turned, her face full of panic.
"It's just a walk," Val said, but that didn't settle the unasked and unanswered questions that lay between them. Her mother seemed to want to pretend the last month hadn't happened. She referred to it only vaguely, saying, "When you were away," or "When you weren't here." Behind those words seemed to be vast, black oceans of fear, and Val didn't know how to navigate them.
"Don't be too late," her mother said faintly.
The first snow had fallen, encasing the branches in sleeves of ice and turning the sky bright as day. Val picked her way to the school playground as flurries started up again.
Ravus was there, a black shape sitting on a swing that was too small for him, hunching forward to avoid the chains. He wore a glamour that made his teeth less prominent, his skin less green, but mostly he just looked like himself in a long, black coat, gloved hands holding a gleaming sword across his lap.
Val walked closer, sticking her hands in her pockets, finding herself suddenly shy. "Hey."
"I thought you should have one of your own," Ravus said.
Val reached out and ran a finger down the dull metal. It was thin, the crossguard in the shape of braided ivy and the hilt unwrapped by leather or cloth.
"It's beautiful," Val said.
"It's iron," he said. "Crafted by human hands. No faerie will ever be able to use it against you. Not even me."
Val took the blade and sat in the swing beside his, letting her feet drag through the snow, making it into muddy slush. "That's some present."
He smiled, seemingly pleased.
"I hope you'll keep teaching me how to use it."
His smile widened. "Of course I will. You have only to tell me when."
"I was looking at NYU—Ruth likes their film department and they have a fencing team. I know that's a different thing than the kind of fighting you've been teaching me, but I don't know, I was thinking it might not be completely different. And there's always lacrosse."
"You would come to New York?"
"Sure." Val looked back at her slushy feet. "I have some school to finish. I got all your messages." She could feel that her cheeks were hot and blamed the cold. "I was wondering if there was a way to send something back to you."
"Do you mind birds?"
"No. The crow you sent was beautiful, although I don't think he liked me."
"I will have my next messenger await your response."
Just a short time ago, she might have been that messenger. "Have you heard anything about Mabry? What is everyone saying?"
"Rumors from the Courts hold that Mabry was some kind of double agent, but each Court denies her. The exiles in the city know she was the poisoner—the Bright Court appears to be claiming that she was killing at the behest of the Night Court—but so far she has not been linked with Dave. Regrettably, I fear time will reveal his involvement."
"And then?"
"We Folk are a fickle, capricious people. Whim will decide his fate, not some mortal idea of justice."
"So are you going to return to the Bright Court? I mean, now that you know the truth about Tamson there's no reason to stay exiled."
Ravus shook his head. "There is nothing for me there. Silarial counts deaths too lightly." He reached out a gloved hand and stilled her swing. "I would remain nearer you for what time there is."
"Gone in one faerie sigh," she quoted.
Leather-clad fingers brushed over her short hair, rested on her cheek. "I can hold my breath."