Anne Kelleher - Silver's Edge

“Last night, two visitors came late to the forge. They spoke a while to my father, then left. But he was up half the night hammering away at something, and the last we saw him, he was carrying whatever it was toward the lake.”

“And what has this to do with the goblin or the Caul?”

“One of the visitors was a sidhe, for in the firelight, I saw his eyes—they gleamed the way all of theirs do.”

And mine don’t? he wanted to ask.

She jerked her head slightly toward the door, and continued. “I saw how his skin shone. I understood why some call them the Shining Ones.”

Them? he nearly shouted. It offended him to his very core that she excluded him from the people he thought of as his own. But this new piece of information was as tantalizing as a little puzzle piece, one of those that could fit nearly anywhere. It teased his brain, tempting him to gnaw at it like a hound over a bone. With effort he dismissed it. He rose to his feet, resolving to think on it while he rode. “We must both be off.”

But her next words made him reel. “Was it your father who was mortal?” she whispered.

He fumbled for the gloves he usually wore tucked inside his belt, and when they weren’t there, he flexed his hands, wondering what she would say if he told her the truth. “My father—” He paused. Her father was the center of her world. His was nothing more than the name of a minor character in a holiday masque. Nothing he could say now would make sense to her, and to say more would only delay them from their purpose. “My father is of no concern to anyone anymore.” She looked at him as if he’d slapped her, but he was too unsettled to feel anything like remorse. There was part of him that whispered how easy it would be to follow her over the border, to peek, as it were, into his father’s world. She could even show him a smithy. But another part of him hoped the blacksmith’s body would be found with little further ado as quickly as possible, and suddenly he wanted to be away from this dark-eyed mortal who saw so much. This was the part that would prevent him from following her into the Shadowlands. He tugged his doublet into place, and scooped a hunk of cheese out of the pot with the crusty heel of the bread. It was warm and tangy and rich in a way he instinctively knew nothing of Shadow could match. He chewed and swallowed and gestured to the door. “Come with me, maiden. We must get you across the border ere the shadows lengthen over Faerie. It’s at dusk the goblins hunt.”

Timias was not terribly surprised when a face materialized in his mirror just as he had finished adjusting the drape of fresh sandalwood-scented robes more comfortably around his shoulders. He was, however, quite horrified to see the wrinkled features of a house-gremlin coalesce within the glass. The small figure stepped out of the glass and bowed. Silently it proffered a wax-sealed parchment.

Out of habit, Timias took it, broke the seal and scanned it. Amazingly, it was from the Lady Delphinea, but the fact that a gremlin had stepped through the mirror appalled him. Such magic was only the purview of the sidhe. The idea that a gremlin had unlimited access to the network of mirrors throughout the entire Palace made his blood cold, and he wondered who would have thought to teach one such a thing. He would have to speak to Delphinea at once.

He looked at the gremlin, brow raised. “Who told you to come through the mirror?”

The gremlin bowed, its impassive face not changing. The gremlins had long ago been forbidden to speak, since their voices were so harshly discordant. Instead they communicated with the sidhe by means of gestures, involving both hands and tail. With eyes downcast, the gremlin answered: The Lady Delphinea bid me come to you through the mirror, great lord. Her matter is of great urgency.

“I understand that,” replied Timias, deeply disturbed. “But who taught you such a thing? Who allowed you admittance?”

The Lady Delphinea, great lord. One day when the Queen was in great distress. It’s been said I saved her life.

Timias raised one eyebrow as he felt a deep foreboding. Delphinea’s understanding of the gremlins and their nature was obviously deplorably lacking, but what truly troubled him was the fact that this rank newcomer to Court, this young girl who scarcely looked as if she belonged away from her mother, not only knew the mirror magic but understood it well enough to teach it to a gremlin. He would have to speak to her about it. But there was no help for it now. The damage was already done. This one knew the mirror magic. Soon they all would, if they didn’t already. Steps would have to be taken to protect the Queen. “Would the lady receive me now?”

She bid me tell you she will come to you at your convenience, great lord.

There was nothing wrong with the gremlin’s attitude. He spoke with sufficient humility, not a hint of aggression or bad temper. But it galled Timias nonetheless to think that Delphinea may have unwittingly exposed the Queen to attack. He said nothing to the gremlin, of course. “Fetch your mistress, then.” He gathered his robes and turned away, unable to watch it step back through the glass.

He fumed until a gentle cough behind him made him turn in time to see Delphinea step out of the frame in a rustle of heavy satin skirts. Her gown was the color of midnight skies, and tiny diamonds twinkled in the dark folds like stars. She had not been at Court long enough to have been infected by the fashion for growing wings, and indeed, the old-fashioned style of her gown precluded them, for a great lacy ruff rose from the back of the gown, framing her wide-eyed face and graceful neck in a style he had not seen since Gloriana first established the Court of Faerie. He wondered if the gown itself was meant to serve as a message of some sort, for Delphinea looked as if she’d stepped out of one of the tapestried panels which depicted the beginning of Gloriana’s glorious reign. And he wondered why Eponea had not come herself. But as lovely as the girl was, he could not control his annoyance. “My dear Lady Delphinea, you are a delight to look upon but I did not expect the pleasure of your company quite so soon. And, while it may be rude of me to be so direct with you, my lady, whatever possessed you to teach that detestable creature the mirror magic?”

She paused in the very act of settling her skirts and raised her startling eyes to his. She met his gaze with a directness that bordered on insolence, and he felt a twinge of discomfort. What was it about this young girl-sidhe that was at once so compelling and so unsettling? Her words shocked him even more. “Petri is not at all detestable, my lord. He is a good and faithful servant to me, and his quick action saved the Queen much distress.”

“I see.” He measured her up and down and decided that her honesty was not so much born of courage as an utter lack of artifice. She would speak her mind, until she learned the value of holding her tongue, a lesson she would learn soon enough at the cutting hands of the Court. And then it occurred to him that she resembled someone—someone not immediately obvious. He frowned, trying to remember what her mother looked like.

The frown intimidated her and he saw that his assessment was correct. She was not so much insolent as she was innocent. Her mother had not taught her to lie at all. “Forgive me, Lord Timias, it was not my intention to intrude on you.” She stumbled over her words as she turned to look over her shoulder, into the mirror’s polished surface. So she’d been at Court long enough to know she could’ve been followed.

He softened his gaze and extended his hand. “It’s no intrusion, my lady. But you must understand a gremlin is the last thing I expected to see stepping out of my mirror.” He frowned a little. “Is everything all right?”