Anne Kelleher - Silver's Bane

“But I’m the one who discovered the Caul was missing,” Delphinea exclaimed. “But for me—”

“But for you, the plan might have proceeded apace, without anyone at Court ever knowing,” Vinaver cut her off with a savagery belied by her appearance.

“Then let me go,” said Delphinea, looking down at Petri, who squeezed her hand and bowed gravely.

“I should be the one to go,” insisted Dougal.

“You cannot go, Master Dougal. You’ve a bargain to fulfill. Don’t you?”

Dougal shut his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest. “What exactly are you thinking, Vinaver? Surely this child isn’t—”

“I am not a child,” said Delphinea. “I may appear young in mortal years, but I have known far more seasons than you, Master Smith. I can find him. I know I can. Petri will help.” She squeezed his shoulder and Petri bowed.

“There you are, Master Dougal. Delphinea has certain advantages—”

“She may have certain advantages from your point of view, but—”

“My lady Vinaver, master mortal, with all due respect, you’ve no time to continue to debate this,” interrupted Ethoniel. “I need an answer, my lady. What shall I do?”

“Open the gates, Captain. I’m in no condition to travel. They may see for themselves if they wish. And no one can make me leave until I am satisfied my son does not lie among that host. Is that acceptable? Does it satisfy both the bonds of honor and command? All I ask is a delay—long enough for Delphinea to cross into Shadow—Leonine, fetch my cloak of shadows.”

As the attendant left the room, Ethoniel hesitated. “There’s nothing more I’d like to do, my lady. But they’ll expect to see the two—”

“Then give them me as well,” said Dougal.

Ethoniel covered his mouth and coughed, then smiled as one might at a well-trained hound. “Unfortunately, master mortal, you and the lady Delphinea bear only the slightest resemblance to each other. Unless you’ve not noticed.”

“Put a cloak on me and let me pretend to be Vinaver. They expect Vinaver to be tall—they don’t know she lost the wings. She’s a tiny thing now—let her lie on her bed and pretend to be the sidhe-leen. What do you say, Captain? Demand they search the field for Finuviel. And unless you’ve a better idea as to how to rig some on that maid there—” He jerked his head as Leonine stepped into the room, carrying a thick, dark cloak. “I’m about as tall as Vinaver’s wings were. Unless you’ve not noticed.”

I shall lead you, lady. Petri smiled up at her and stroked Delphinea’s hand. He rubbed his cheek against the back of it as Dougal frowned.

“Is there no one else to take her?” asked Dougal. “I don’t like the thought of that at all.”

“Why not?” asked Delphinea. “Petri’s been my friend.”

But Vinaver was looking up at Dougal with weary acknowledgment. “You’re right, Master Dougal, there are reasons not to trust the khouri, or trixie, as you call him. But the khouri’s correct. He is bound to the Caul. And Shadow is his native element. So long as the Caul lasts, his power is largely bound to it. I believe him when he says he can find it.”

“And what if Finuviel and the Caul aren’t in the same place?”

But cries echoing up the great stair forestalled Vinaver’s answer.

“Captain Ethoniel, you must come!”

“Are we to open the gates, Captain?”

“Captain, come now!”

The voices were closer now, accompanied by the patter of booted feet on the polished stair.

“Open the gates, Captain. But hold them in the courtyard,” said Vinaver. “Come, child, let Leonine put the cloak on you.”

Before Delphinea could agree, the other woman settled the dark cloak over her shoulders. It was a color between dark purple and black, the color of the indigo night sky, and it was soft and thick and silky all at once. “What stuff is this cloak made of?” she asked as she spread it wide. It fell in rich dark ripples, as if it absorbed the light, rather than reflected it.

“Faerie silk, and the shadows of Shadow,” said Vinaver. “There are only two, and how they came to be, I don’t have time to tell you. Finuviel had one. Now you have the other.”

“What does it do?” asked Delphinea, turning this way and that. It had a damp feeling to it that was not completely pleasant.

“It will make you invisible in the eyes of mortals, if you draw it over yourself completely.” Vinaver took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “We’ve not much time, so listen carefully, Delphinea, and I will tell you what I can. Mortals are highly susceptible and suggestible but you must not underestimate the effect they shall have upon you. A fresh mortal intoxicates like nothing else—”

“What in the name of Herne do you mean by a fresh mortal?” asked Dougal. “And do you mind not referring to my people as if we were a race of animals that happen to walk and talk?”

But Vinaver ignored the interruption. “Like nothing you can even imagine. For some it’s the way they smell, or taste, for others, the way they look. Whatever it is, and however it strikes you, beware of it. Keep your wits about you, for mortals are perverse, and when you expect them to do one thing, they will do the opposite. Don’t try to understand it, but seek to use it, if needs must. Keep close to the trixie, and don’t let him from your sight. Keep him tethered to you if you sleep. Water is one sure way back to Faerie, the other is through the trees of a deep forest. For the trees of Faerie and Shadow are linked. Some even say they are the same.” She shut her eyes and took another audible breath. “Listen as you pass below them. Listen and see if you hear them talking.” Her eyes fluttered open. “They will help you. I have no doubt.”

“Why are you so sure?” asked Delphinea. “Is it only the way I look? There are visions that come to me in my sleep—”

“What do you see?”

“I see Finuviel. I hear his name.”

Vinaver reached out once more and touched Delphinea’s cheek with a shaking hand. “I understand why you’ve come. Bring my son and the Caul back to Faerie. You were meant to find them. I’m sure of it.” She closed her eyes.

Delphinea hesitated, wondering if Vinaver truly knew, or if she only wanted to know, and she wondered how much Vinaver really did know, and how much she actually did. But before she could speak, Dougal stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I’ve a word of advice. Don’t go directly to Cadwyr of Allovale. Go instead to his uncle Donnor, the Duke of Gar. He’s the only one with any influence over Cadwyr. Donnor’s an honorable man, whereas Cadwyr’s like a blade too well oiled. He shines pretty, but he turns too easily in your hand. Find the Duke of Gar, and tell him—” He paused, then shrugged. “I suppose under the circumstances it doesn’t much matter what anyone thinks. Tell Donnor that Dougal of Killcairn sent you, and if possible, ask him to get word to my daughter—my girl, Nessa—back in Killcairn. Tell her I’m alive. All right?”

As Delphinea nodded, Leonine stuck her head around the door. “I think, my lady, that you must leave now, if you’re to leave at all. The company from the palace is within the courtyard, and the commander is demanding to be let in.”

“Go, child,” said Vinaver. “And, khouri-kan, remember that I know the secret of your unMaking. Betray me, and I might forget it.”

Petri hissed and bowed and rubbed his hands, and Leonine led Delphinea toward to the door. As she stepped out into the hall, she turned back to Vinaver. “My lady?”

Vinaver’s pain-dulled eyes flickered muddy green in the gloom. “Yes, child?”

“Talking to the trees—understanding the trees—isn’t that a gift reserved for the Queen of the sidhe?”