Anne Kelleher - Silver's Bane

Delphinea paused, uncertain how to address him. Meeting a mortal was one of the many recent events her mother had failed to foresee. But the way he looked at her, as if she were a skittish filly, calmed her for some reason she did not understand, and for a moment, at least, she felt comforted. The Samhain sun had risen on a world utterly different from the one on which it had set, and in this upside-down, topsy-turvy world, time suddenly had new meaning. Was it only yesterday that Delphinea had awakened in her bed within the palace of the Faerie Queen? So much had happened—the complete control of the Queen Timias had been able to achieve, and subsequent arrest of all the Queen’s Council, her own escape with Petri, their flight into the ancient Forest and the Wild Hunt that had nearly overrun them, even Petri’s madness, was yet nothing compared to the discovery of the decimated host and the sight of Vinaver’s collapse. Nothing and no one were quite what they appeared; no one and nothing were what she had been prepared to expect. Was it possible this mortal was involved in the whole confused plot? She wasn’t at all sure how to answer the question. “My name is Delphinea,” she said at last. “Will the Lady Vinaver be all right?”

He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest carefully. “Don’t know yet. No one’s come out of there—” he bent his head forward to indicate the closed bower door, then jerked it backward, toward the outer door “—and no one’s come through there since the guard went out to see what’s what.”

She cocked her head, considering. He didn’t sound quite the way she’d imagined a moon-mazed mortal would, and his weary, battered appearance certainly didn’t fit the flowery descriptions of them, either. “May I—may I be so curious as to inquire exactly how it happens that you have come to be here, Sir Dougal?”

At that his smile reached his eyes. “Pretty speech, sidhe-leen. I’m no one’s sir. In my world, I’m a blacksmith. And in this one, too, more’s the pity.” He broke off and the smile was gone. Far from being enchanted, he seemed quite vexed.

“You don’t seem very happy to be here.”

He laughed so hard his shoulders shook, and a whiplash of pain made him clutch his arm. “And that surprises you, does it?” What amazed her more was that he could laugh in spite of everything. But maybe, being mortal, he didn’t really understand what was happening. He sagged, sighed and shook his head. “You’re right, though. There’re many, many places I would much rather be. But that doesn’t answer your question, does it?” He indicated his arm with another jerk of his head. “Met up with a goblin. Woke up on this side of the border. She found me, brought me here. Here I am.”

“The Lady Vinaver healed you?”

“For a price, of course she did.” His mouth turned down in a bitter twist and for a moment, she thought he might say something more. But he only drew a long, careful breath and let it out slowly. Finally he looked at her. “What sort of sidhe are you, anyway?”

There was a long silence while Delphinea, completely taken aback, cast about for some sort of appropriate response. Surely he wasn’t inquiring about her ancestry? He seemed to imply there was something different about her, and she raised her chin, determined not to let a mortal get the best of her, when he leaned forward and caught her gaze with a twinkle. “But the world’s full of surprises, isn’t it? So now you tell me—what’s a small sidhe-leen like you doing traveling alone on Samhain of all nights? We heard the Wild Hunt ride past—I heard the noise that—that—thing made—”

“Petri is not a thing. He’s a gremlin.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

“What would you call him?”

“Hmm.” Dougal cocked his head and cradled his injured arm across his chest, as if it pained him. “Looks more like what the old stories say a trixie looks like. Brownie’s another name in some parts and my gram called them sprites. Never saw one myself. Some say they all got themselves banished from the mortal world long ago for their mischief. I say it’s a damn convenient explanation for why no one ever sees them. But whatever it is, why do you keep it naked?”

“Naked?” Delphinea blinked. She flicked her eyes over to Petri. He wore the same court livery he always wore. It was, as always, perfectly clean, although somewhat rumpled. She would have said more, but the inner door opened, and Leonine, one of Vinaver’s attendants, beckoned.

“Lady Vinaver requests you both.” The lady was gowned in a plain russet smock, and her long yellow curls were held back by a simple gold chaplet. “If you will, my lady?” She dropped a small curtsy, then rose, and indicated the open door. “Sir mortal, if you please?”

Dougal made a sound almost like a growl, and again Delphinea had the distinct impression that unlike the mortals she’d heard of, he hated everything about Faerie. But why, when everything she’d seen of Shadow—the dust, the rust, even the clothes he wore—was so coarse, so crude? He needed one hand on the mantel to pull himself up. Delphinea followed Leonine through the door and hesitated, just inside the threshold. Another attendant, this one clothed in the color of autumn wheat, slipped past them, carrying a large willow basket of stained linen.

Vinaver lay on the edge of a great bed, which incorporated a natural hollow within the tree. It was lined with silk velvet that resembled moss, draped with filmy curtains. Her usually vivid color had drained away, leaving her coppery hair dull as the rust that marred the hinges of the Caul Chamber, her narrow cheeks and shriveled lips chalky. For the first time, Delphinea saw the resemblance she bore to Alemandine. And to Timias. Great Herne, he’s her father, too. And didn’t she say he wanted her drowned at birth? She had no memory of her own father—he had gone into the West a long time ago, but her mother never failed to speak of him with anything but bemused anticipation of seeing him again.

“Leonine, bring her closer. Come here, child.” Vinaver’s voice was faint, but still sharp with innate command, and Delphinea was glad to hear Vinaver yet retained something of her determined spirit. But as the attendant gently propelled her across the polished floor, Delphinea’s eyes filled with tears when she saw Vinaver’s face more closely. “Don’t weep for me,” Vinaver said. “There’s not enough time.” Her hand plucked at Delphinea’s sleeve until she slid her warm hand into Vinaver’s cold one. Vinaver tugged weakly and Delphinea leaned over, until her face hung only a scant handspan above the older sidhe’s. It occurred to her that Vinaver appeared only marginally more lifelike than the pale faces of the dead sidhe in the starlight. “I hated those wings. I was a fool to suggest them and a fool to grow them.” She paused, as if gathering her strength, and tugged again once more, until Delphinea’s ear was practically right against her lips. Her breath was like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. “I want you to tell me, quickly, don’t think about it, just tell me—is Finuviel dead—truly dead?”

Not yet. “Not yet.” The words rose automatically to Delphinea’s lips. All she had to do was open her mouth.

“Not yet,” Vinaver breathed. She closed her eyes, then opened them. “He didn’t come, but you did. With a gremlin of all things. Whatever possessed you?” She gripped Delphinea’s hand so tightly, Delphinea was forced to bite back a yelp of pain. “How was it ever possible you were able to bring the gremlin? And why? What on earth made you do it?”

“He saved me, my lady. He led me here. But for Petri, I might have met whatever killed that host, myself. But, m-my lady—” she faltered. Where to even begin? She didn’t understand any of it. She blurted out the first question that occurred to her. “Why do you ask me if your son still lives? I’ve never even met him. And why are you surprised that I should come? You told me yourself that my life’s in danger, and you turned out to be right. Which is why I brought Petri, for he helped me to escape.” Delphinea turned, following the movement of Vinaver’s eyes, to see Petri crouching in the doorway. “Timias intended to sequester them early. It seemed so cruel—so meaningless—”