Matthew Sturges - Midwinter

The baron's words were cut short by a cry from inside the palace. A moment later, the courier staggered back onto the terrace, a knife's hilt protruding from his belly just beneath the chest plate of his armor.

"You are under attack," the courier groaned. He sank to one knee, clutching his stomach, then fell face forward onto the tiles.

Five men, dressed in thin gray cloaks, raced out of the house with long knives in hand. They overwhelmed the already-surprised guards, subduing all four of them in a matter of seconds.

Kallmer drew his sword and stood. The baron clutched his dinner knife like a dagger. "How dare you!" shouted Kallmer.

One of the cloaked men stepped forward, lowering the hood of his cloak. He was a young man; a wisp of a beard stood out from his chin. "I would not recommend that, Commander," he said. Twelve more men stepped onto the terrace wearing similar cloaks, dragging the bodies of Kallmer's personal guard with them.

"What is the meaning of this?" said the baron, his face purple. He crossed the table to stand behind his wife and daughter, both of whom where shaking with fright.

"I mean you no harm, Baron," said the man. His hair was cut close, no braids, and his eyes were the color of slate. "At least, no more than usual. I am here to liberate Captain Mauritane."

"You'll do no such thing," said Kallmer. He leapt at the man, his sword flashing.

"Ko ve anan," the man said, making a circular gesture with his hands. Kallmer sat down hard on the ground, his face twitching, then slumped sideways, leaning against a table leg.

"Who are you?" said Mauritane. He felt instinctively for his own sword and cursed silently when he remembered it had been taken.

"My name is Eloquet," the man said. "I am a cell leader in the Beleriand Resistance. We've been watching you since you entered Sylvan."

"Why did you come for me?" Mauritane asked.

"You are a hero to my people for slaying the butcher Purane-La. You have suffered much for that sacrifice. Now Aba has brought you to us and it is our duty to aid you."

Mauritane shook his head. "I don't believe in Aba."

Eloquet shrugged. "I do not think He minds."

Suddenly Mauritane understood. "The page in the cellar. She was one of you."

"Our eyes are many," said Eloquet, nodding. "We must go. More troops will come."

"What of my companions?" said Mauritane. He reached for Kallmer's sword, fastening it to his own belt. "And Kallmer. Is he dead?"

"No, the commander's time has not yet come. Your companions have already been freed. Now come quickly."

"Wait," said Mauritane. "We need to take her as well." He pointed at Elice.

"Absolutely not!" said the baron. "You'll take my daughter over my corpse!"

"Will you come willingly?" said Eloquet, pointing his blade at Elice.

The girl nodded, her face unreadable. She stood from the table, dropping her napkin. The Lady Geracy fainted.

"Come back here with my daughter!" shouted the baron, but Eloquet had already whisked her off the terrace.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Baron Geracy," Mauritane said without a hint of sarcasm. "The meal was delicious."

Mab sat in Her throne room, surrounded by butterflies. The tinkling music of chimes, the smoke of glowing braziers, the steady hum of the city flowing through the Unseelie sky.

"Bring me Wennet," she said, to no one in particular. A pair of servants hurried from the room.

One of them returned a moment later. "On his way, Majesty."

Mab leaned back on her throne, consulting a map of the Seelie lands in her head. First she would have Selafae, then Sylvan. From that well-fortified spot, she could take her time, moving slowly southward until the City Emerald lay in her grasp and she set her dogs loose in the Seelie Grove to piss all over Regina Titania's potted plants. She had only to find the man named Mauritane and all else would fall into place.

Wennet, Master of the Chambers of Elements and Motion, stepped quietly into the throne room, squeezing his cloth skullcap tightly in his fists. Beads of sweat stood out from his red forehead.

"What is your status?" said Mab.

"Majesty, we have redoubled our efforts in order to accede to thy orders. We are at full sail and pushing the limits of the load-bearing struts and the plinth courses, according to the Chamber of Structure."

"Ignore Fulgan," said Mab. "He is always complaining about his precious structures. We'll break more than one plank by the time this has ended."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Are you fully staffed? Is your supply of understudies ample?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"Be sure you have enough. This journey will take a toll on them. Don't spare your men, Wenner. Push them until they drop and then replace them. Make heroes."

"Yes, Majesty."

"We are to be on top of Selafae by dawn. You are dismissed."

Wennet backed slowly from the throne room, nearly walking into a column in the process. One of the servants took him by the elbow and guided him out.

Mab waved her fingers in the air and slinked into a glamour that made her appear as she had when she was very young and very beautiful. The butterflies shimmered and changed colors to match her dress. She took one of them on her finger and brushed it against her nose. "Come, darlings," she whispered. "We have an appointment with a gentleman."

At the forward end of the Royal Complex was a small pleasure garden that Mab tended with her own hands, in the few idle moments she allowed herself during the day. Servants, ladies-in-waiting, and members of the Prefecture were strictly forbidden. Only one other held a key to the place, and as she entered the garden he was there, lying in the grass, his head propped on a pillow.

"Good afternoon, Hy Pezho," said Mab.

"Majesty," he said, rising to his knees. "Thy glamour is radiant."

"Do you like it?" she said. "Is it what you might call… attractive?"

"Only if the petals of the rose are but attractive. Only if the flight of the dove is merely pretty."

Mab let out a gay laugh and sat beside him. "You are clever, Hy Pezho. We enjoy cleverness at times."

"Whatever pleases thee," said Pezho, pouring her a glass of wine from a bottle at his knee.

"Do not stand on ceremony here, darling. Save the proper forms of address for out there." She waved her hand toward the towering spires of the Royal Complex.

"I am honored to speak to… you thus." Hy Pezho smiled lazily.

"Come, kiss me," she said.

"First, drink a toast." He touched his glass to hers. "To the Unseelie."

"I will drink to that," she said. She lifted her glass and drank.

Once she had drunk, Hy Pezho stood, tossing his glass on the ground. He began to chant in ancient Thule Fae, his throat growling with the gutturals of the language.

"Whatever are you doing, love?" said Mab, unconcerned.

"I am exacting my revenge," said Hy Pezho, breaking his chant. He spat on the ground and made a sweeping motion with his arms. "A fel-ala!" he cried.

There was a deep croaking sound beneath the floor as thick beams beneath their feet began to move. A whisper grew, rising in pitch and volume, like a fierce wind through a forest of trees. It became a rush, then a howl.

The garden soil split wide in an ugly crack, dirt spilling into the darkness. Beneath the imported earth, the city's lumber cracked and separated, creating a dark chasm that stretched along the length of the garden.

Mab did not move.

"A fel-ala em!" shouted Hy Pezho. He glared at Mab, goading her. She refused to move.

"Will you not even put up a fight?" he called over the noise.

Mab only smiled.

Inky tentacles appeared from the dark rift, spilling out into the verdant space. They were wet and irregular, like black sausages. One of them reached toward Mab and licked across her exposed ankle.