Dark Swan Comic 1-4 by Richelle Mead
This new development, that I was a threat because I wanted to conquer the Otherworld, was almost more ludicrous than the prophecy. “Why the hell would I want to rule in this world? Haven’t they noticed I’m human? Or at least half? I don’t have any claim on gentry real estate. And I don’t want any.”
“The shining ones view things differently than humans. Humans always feel the need to point out any drop of foreign blood in a person. As far as we care, you have our blood, and that suffices. You may have a human mother, but for all other intents and purposes, most of us now regard you as one of our own.”
I thought about how common “outsider” labels were back in my own world: African American, Asian American, etc. She was right. People usually called attention to “foreign” blood.
“Yeah, but all that aside, I’ve made a career out of hunting them down. Doesn’t that bother anybody or seem weird for a potential queen?”
“Some, yes,” she conceded. The slightly distasteful look on her face informed me she was among them. “And they won’t get over that anytime soon. But really—for everyone else—well, as I said, most consider you one of us now, and killing wantonly isn’t that out of line for a powerful leader. Nothing that Tirigan or Aeson or Dorian hasn’t done.”
I exhaled loudly. “This doesn’t make me feel better. I suddenly feel like I have more enemies than before.”
“I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, Dorian’s enemies may seek you out because of your connection to him, but that very connection will compel him to protect you by whatever means he can. Conniving or not, he’s a powerful ally.”
I remembered the nixies. “Yeah. He is.”
Another uncomfortable silence descended, and we sat there watching each other. Regardless of how wussy I thought her condition was, she did look pretty exhausted. I hadn’t really decided if she was an enemy or not. Honestly, I’d received more things to worry about than any sort of answers from this visit.
“Well,” I said stupidly, “thanks for the…help. I guess I should go.”
She nodded and gave me a faint, tired smile. “You’re welcome here anytime.”
“Thanks.”
I stood up and moved to the door. My hand was on the knob when she called my name.
“Eugenie…”
I turned. A pained look crossed her face, one that had nothing to do with her physical discomfort.
“He loves you,” she said haltingly. “You should…you should forgive him. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I held her gaze for several painful moments and then walked out without another word. I didn’t want to think about Kiyo.
And then, as irony would have it, I ran into him when I was about halfway out of the keep. The universe was harsh sometimes. Whatever feelings her words had kindled in me dried up at the thought of him coming to visit her. The look on his face implied I was the last person he’d expected to see there.
I forcibly kept my expression cold, trying hard not to show how much I was drinking in his appearance and presence. He was as stunning as ever with that tanned skin and silky black hair curling slightly behind his ears. I wanted to run my hands through it. The heavy coat he wore couldn’t hide that graceful, athletic body.
“Eugenie,” he said softly, “what are you doing here?”
“I had to chat with Maiwenn. You know, girl talk.” I hoped my tone conveyed that I did not want to elaborate on our conversation. He picked up on the hint.
“Well. It’s good to see you. You look…good. How have things…I mean, have you been okay?”
I shrugged. “The usual. Propositions. Attempts on my life. You know how it goes.”
“I worry about you.”
“I’m fine. I can take care of myself. Besides, I do have some help.”
Those dark, caring eyes narrowed slightly. “I suppose you mean Dorian.”
“He saved me from a pretty nasty attack the other day and,” I added, feeling mean, “he’s going to help me go get Jasmine.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“Which part? Getting her or relying on Dorian?”
“Both.”
“Well, you knew I was going to go for her one of these days. Better sooner than later.” I started to walk past him, and he caught my arm. Even through the coat, his touch sent shock waves through my body.
He leaned close to me. “I want to come with you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You need all the help you can get.”
“No.” I broke his hold.
He moved and blocked my way again. I could feel some of that animal intensity radiating off of him. “Last time you didn’t want gentry help because it hurt your pride. You’re doing the same thing with me for the same reasons, and there’s no point. Forget how much you hate me, and worry about what’s best for the girl. I’m going with you.”
He had a point about what was in Jasmine’s best interests, but his attitude bothered me. “What, you think you can make something happen by just telling me it will? You’re not going, so get over it.”
“There’s nothing to get over. If you’re in danger, I protect you. I’ll be there.”
“Well, I guess you’re going to have to go stake out Aeson’s 24/7, because I’m sure as hell not letting you in on the secret planning meetings.”
Some of his feral demeanor dropped, and suddenly he was relaxed, collected Kiyo again. “There are secret meetings? What are you guys now, the Superfriends?”
I rolled my eyes and walked past him, back to the crossroads and the warmer weather of Arizona. That ache in my chest, the one I’d had since Beltane, burned steadily the entire time. I hated what had happened to us, but I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to forgive Kiyo.
I tried to get my mind on something else as I drove home, like planning the logistics of the next Jasmine rescue. Or, considering her resistance, maybe it would be more like a smash ’n’ grab. Regardless, I was eager to get it over with. Damn Dorian’s clause about my magic. And his stupid nobility about sex.
I was almost home when I drove past a Barnes & Noble. An idea leapt into my brain, a strange one admittedly, but one that couldn’t hurt.
I hadn’t stopped thinking about how much potential I allegedly had with magic. For years, I’d relied on human magic—or rather the human ability to extract magic from the world. I could banish spirits and monsters. I could walk worlds. But this so-called power within me offered so much more, according to both Dorian and Maiwenn—not to mention my own barely remembered longings. I had resisted it at first, but now…now I wanted so badly to advance to higher levels. Dorian and I would meet tomorrow night for another session, and I hated the thought of more inactivity. He’d told me I had a lifetime to catch up on magic, but I didn’t want to wait that long. I wanted to close the gap.
Naturally, the store had no books on real magic. They only carried the silly and trumped-up commercial type stuff. But they did have a science section, and within that, I found a couple shelves on weather and meteorology.
I doubted these books would make me a magical dominatrix overnight, but actually knowing the science behind what I worked with had to help. It was something tangible, something I had more experience with than the weird, esoteric nature of magic itself. Volusian had once commented that as a child of both worlds, I could take the best of each lineage. I was both gentry and human. Magic and technology.
I spent over an hour skimming through books on storms, the atmosphere, and assorted weather phenomena. When the store made its closing announcement, I could hardly believe it. Time had flown by. Scooping up the ones I deemed most useful, I paid and went home.
“Reading is hot,” Tim told me when I walked in the door with my heavy bag.
I ignored him and retreated to my room. Dumping the books on the bed, I picked the most remedial-looking one and sat down at my desk, where the Eiffel Tower still lay unfinished. I hadn’t had time for puzzles lately. With a wistful last look, I swept
Shifting my legs into a comfortable position, I spread out the glossy, full-colored textbook. Flipping through the title pages and introduction, I finally found the meat of the book.
Chapter One: Moisture and the Atmosphere
Chapter Twenty-Four
Whatever snide comments Dorian and Maiwenn might make, Tucson is the best place in the world to live.
Standing at the desert crossroads the following evening, I paused a moment to take in my surroundings before crossing over. Dorian’s kingdom was certainly beautiful, but it just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t home. A soft wind cut through the dry air, ruffling my hair and whispering that spring would yield to summer soon. The breeze carried all the delicious smells of the desert, and I caught the sweet scent of mesquite—not the barbecue kind but the delicate perfume emitted by its fuzzy yellow blooms. Above me, the sun beat down without remorse, warning the weak to get the hell out. The tourist season tended to drop off with the sharp increase in temperatures, but I loved this time of year.
And all around me, in this dry and unforgiving heat, I could feel the unseen water. It was in the saguaros and the cactus wrens and the mesquite trees’ tap roots. There were even tiny bits in the air, despite the ostensible aridness. Everywhere there was life, there was water. Sensing it was second nature to me now. Calling it still remained a challenge.
Closing my eyes, I let my mind reach through the boundaries and send me into the Otherworld. Practice really did make perfect with these transitions; they were effortless now, just like sensing water. My body slipped through, pulled toward the corresponding thin spot near Dorian’s home. Before I could arrive there, however, I reached out toward the Slinky, using my stored essence as a magnet to pull me there instead of the road. Moments later, I appeared on Dorian’s bed.
“Presumptuous,” I muttered, swinging off of it and standing up. I picked up the Slinky and tossed it around, watching its rings arch and fall.
“Is that you, my lady?” I heard a tentative voice call. Seconds later, Nia’s young face peeked in from the other room. “His majesty is in the conservatory. If you’ll follow me?”
Wow. I’d never heard of anyone actually having a conservatory, outside of the game Clue. When Nia led me inside, I found Dorian standing in front of a canvas with a painter’s palette and brush in his hands. Dorian, in the conservatory, with the candlestick, I thought. Er, paintbrush.
He smiled when he saw me. “Lady Markham, you’re just in time. Perhaps you can amuse Rurik. He’s become terribly unreasonable.”
I glanced over to the side of the room where Rurik, the massive warrior with platinum blond hair, sat on a delicate chaise lounge upholstered in lavender velvet. He wore full leather and copper armor, and the entire juxtaposition made me wince.
“I don’t mean to be unreasonable, your majesty.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “But sitting here and not moving—while in armor—isn’t all that easy.”
“Bah, you’re whining. Most unseemly for a man of your station. Why, Lady Markham can stay still for hours—and in far more uncomfortable circumstances too, I might add.”
Rurik glanced at me, both startled and pleasantly intrigued.
“Don’t move! Look back here.”
Rurik’s leer faded as he turned back toward his king. Dorian’s canvas faced away from me, so I had no idea what his masterpiece looked like. I started to walk around and check it out, but he waved me off with the brush.
“No, no. Not until I’m finished.”
Shrugging, I pulled up another lavender chair—the entire room was that color, actually—and slouched into it. Dorian spoke without looking up from his work.
“So what have you done today, my dear? Anything entertaining?”
“Not really. Slept in. Banished a shade. I actually read for most of the day. Kind of lame.”
“What are you reading? I really enjoy that one human’s works…oh, I forget his name. He was very popular for a while. Shakemore?”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Has he written anything new?”
“Um, not in, like, four or five centuries.”
“Ah, pity. So what did you read about instead?”
“The weather.”
He paused midstroke. “And what did you learn?”
“Storm-formation stuff. How water molecules build up and condense, how charged particles discharge to form lightning. Oh, and there was something else about high and low pressure, but I’ve got to go back and reread that. Kind of confusing.”
Both men treated me to brief, blank looks, and then Dorian returned to his work. “I see. And do you think this will facilitate your learning?”
“Not sure. But I kind of like knowing what the end result is supposed to be.”
Silence fell as Dorian continued painting. Rurik persisted in looking miserable, occasionally sighing loudly to express his discontent. I’d never entirely forgiven him for the ice elemental thing, so seeing him suffer had its perks. Unfortunately, it grew boring after a while. I crossed my arms and slumped farther into the chair, catching his notice.
“Sire, your lady’s restless. I’m sure you have more interesting things to do with her. We can work on this another time. I don’t mind.”
“Nonsense. I’m almost done.”
The first happy expression I’d seen since arriving showed on Rurik’s face. It vanished when Dorian turned the canvas around to display his work.
We stared.
“Sire, am I…wearing a bow?”
I cocked my head. “It does kind of look that way. But the rest…man, that’s actually pretty good. I didn’t know you could do faces so well.”
Dorian glowed. “Why, thank you. I can paint you too someday if you’d like.”
“It’s a bow,” protested Rurik.
Dorian glanced at the canvas, then back to the warrior. “It matches the chaise. I had to add it; otherwise you would have clashed.”
Back in his bedroom, Dorian went through his usual motions, flinging off his silver-gray cloak and pouring a glass of wine. He drank some type of blush tonight.
“Ready to start?”
I nodded, sitting down in the chair in the middle of the room. As I’d said, I didn’t really think the meteorology books would give me that much of an edge yet, but I felt more empowered after reading them. Like I was starting to take my training into my own hands.
He took another drink of his wine, procured more cords, and approached me. Putting one hand on his hip, he surveyed me carefully, not unlike how he’d scrutinized his canvas.
“That’s a very pretty shirt.” I glanced down. It was a black tank top with a chain of red daisies embroidered near the top. “Hmm. Let’s try this.”
He abandoned the pastel-colored ties he held and replaced them with red and black ones. Placing my arms flat against the chair’s arms, he wrapped each of mine down with black first, making X patterns. The style reminded me of the way a ballerina’s slippers laced up. When that was finished, he went back over each arm with red.
“These are more like ribbons than your usual ones,” I observed. “Or maybe sashes. Do you own, like, every possible form of constraint known to man?”
“Nearly,” he said. “All right. Let’s get started. The water’s over there.”
He indicated a table near the window where my old friend the pitcher sat, but I’d already known it was there. Settling as comfortably as I could in the chair, I stared at the pitcher and immediately let my mind reach out to the water. It flared like a beacon to me. Beyond it, I could sense all the other water in the room too. Me and Dorian, the wine, water vapor. I directed my attention to the pitcher’s water.
I can feel you, now come to me.
But, as many practices had already demonstrated, wanting didn’t make things happen. God, that pissed me off. I honestly didn’t know how Dorian could stand waiting around through all of these sessions. I
No, no. That was a bad attitude. Forget the boredom. Focus on the task at hand.
Hours passed again. If Dorian was still awake—which I doubted—I knew he’d close off the session soon. The knowledge irritated me, but I understood. I was already feeling tired, my eyes bleary. I kept blinking a lot to regain focus and keep them from drying. I think that made me notice what happened next.
“Dorian, look at the pitcher.”
He sat up right away and followed my gaze. A moment later, he walked over and touched the pitcher, brushing his fingers along its side. Water quietly ran down the ceramic surface, pooling on the table’s glass surface. A slow, delighted smile spread over his face.
“You’ve seized it. It’s listening to you. Now make it come farther—all the way out of the jug.”
With tangible progress before me, my excitement grew. I thought hard about what I’d been doing, trying to repeat it. About a minute later, I could see water spilling down the sides of the jug, much faster and in greater amounts. The puddle on the table grew too full, dripping onto the floor.
“I’m ruining your carpet.”
“Never mind the carpet. Bring it farther.” I could hear the anticipation in his voice.
Some logical part of me saw carpet as tough terrain to navigate, and the water’s progress slowed. Soon, I decided, that was only in my head. The carpet had nothing to do with anything. Only my control of the water mattered.
As soon as I made that leap, the water shot over the carpet in a curving rivulet, almost like a snake. It reached my feet, and I could feel it waiting for some further instruction. Only, I didn’t know what to tell it. I simply wanted it to come to me.
I’d barely given form to that thought when the water sprang up before me and hovered in the air. My mouth dropping, I watched it splinter into hundreds of drops. They hung there, suspended like strings of crystal beads. I gaped, fascinated, but had no idea what to do next. My grasp on them slipped away, and the drops disintegrated further into a fine fog. Seconds later, the cloud dispersed altogether, evaporating into the rest of the air. As they faded, so did the tingly, euphoric feeling racing through my blood.