The Immortal Circus: Final Act (Cirque des Immortels) Read Online Free PDF

in my throat.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask. I pause inside the door, not willing to step out into the sunlight. Even though I know it offers no protection, the idea of having a door to slam in the Summer King's face is a mild comfort.
    “And to think, this is the girl who cowered in my kingdom.” Oberon's voice is milk and honey, every comforting memory laced into a single pitch. Yet as I stare at him, at his teak skin and curling beard and brown pinstripe suit, all I can think of is the fervor in his eyes when he slit Kingston's throat.
    “Don't make me ask again, Oberon,” I say.
    His hazel eyes are serious; they are the only parts of him that seem solid. The rest—from his bare feet to the antlers curling from his hair—is translucent. I can see the trailers and the tent through his wavering form.
    “I am not truly here,” he says, spreading his arms as though it should be obvious. “This is merely a shade. But we need to talk, you and I. You have been ignoring my summons.”
    Oh yes, his summons: notes left on browning leaves or messages of flowers sprouting in the grass outside my trailer. All of them begging me back to his kingdom like some lovesick stalker. All of them save for the last. That note was written in what looked like blood, on a piece of birch bark no bigger than my hand.
    Don't make me do this, it read.
    I never bothered to inquire further. I burned it like the rest.
    “I can't leave the troupe,” I say. “Or haven't you heard? Mab gave me her role.”
    He eyes me up and down, and I get the distinct impression he's undressing me in his mind—not like there's much to undress; Mab's wardrobe doesn't leave anything to the imagination. Apparently, in my past life, I had been Oberon's lover. And weapon. And captive. The thought of it still makes me a little nauseated.
    “So I see,” he muses. His eyes don't leave my chest. “The resemblance is striking.”
    “What do you want?” I ask again. This brings his gaze up.
    He sighs, as though what he's about to say truly troubles him.
    “I'm afraid I can no longer sit idly by,” he says. He watches the grass at his feet, which slowly twines up around his ankles. “Now that Mab has returned to her kingdom, it is clear that she is unwilling to give up the demon Kassia. A truce is no longer an option.”
    “You attacked us first,” I say.
    “That was my son,” he replies. “ I never had a thirst for blood.”
    His lip twitches when he says it. The bastard knows precisely which buttons to push.
    “If you're just here to say you're declaring war, you can fuck off. We already know.”
    “Oh no, Vivienne,” he says, his eyes darting up to mine. Was he really just looking down my corset again? “War was declared long ago. This is a declaration of intent. Mab's actions have forced me to resort to less…appetizing measures. I must fight fire with fire, as it were.”
    “Get on with it. I have a show to run.”
    I've yet to meet a faerie that could get to the point.
    “You hold the demon and the key to the Dream Trade,” he says. “But now that Mab is out of the picture, you are, in essence, vulnerable. Unless you hand over Kassia, I will be forced to consider this company a spoil of war, one I shall take without hesitation. You swore yourself to me, don't you remember?”
    I grin.
    “I'm mortal: an oath means nothing. Besides, we both know you can't attack. You're weak. As you said, Mab controls the Dream and the demon.” And me. “What could you possibly have to match that?”
    “Is that your choice, then? Side with Mab and defy the Summer King?”
    I say nothing. It's not a choice I'm able to make; it's already been made for me, and he knows it.
    He sighs heavily. The grass at his feet wilts.
    “Then I'm afraid you will have to suffer along with your queen. I would have been merciful, Vivienne. My children, however, will not. They will make sure you burn with the rest of your troupe.”
    Then, in a flurry of dead