Silver's Bane

“We took the Caul,” Vinaver answered wearily, her eyes closed, her cheek flat against her pillow. “Finuviel and I, and we gave it to a mortal.”

“But why?” Delphinea rocked back on her heels in horror.

“It’s as you guessed, child. The Silver Caul is poisoning Faerie. I couldn’t tell you the truth in the palace. How was I to know you’d not go running to Timias the moment I’d left your room? We took the Caul, Finuviel and I, and he gave it to a mortal to hold in surety of the bargain.”

“What bargain?” Delphinea drew back, staring down at Vinaver in horror.

“We needed a silver dagger. Where else to get it but from the mortals?”

“You mean to kill the Queen?”

“No.” Vinaver shut her eyes once more. “I could never kill my sister.” She opened her eyes. “But, she’s not really—she’s not really my sister.” Delphinea cocked her head and sank down once more onto a low stool that Leonine had drawn up to the bed, as Vinaver continued. “Alemandine isn’t really anything at all—she’s neither sidhe nor mortal. She’s a—a residue of all the energy that was left over when the Caul was created. The male and female energy mingling in my mother’s womb was enough to create her out of ungrounded magic, magic from her union with Timias and the mortal. They didn’t consider what would happen—they didn’t understand the energies they were working with. No one ever really does, you know. If I learned nothing else from the Hag, I learned that.” She broke off and with a shaking hand pushed back a loose lock of Delphinea’s hair. “There was nothing to say that Alemandine should not be Queen. After all, she was born first. And whatever else Alemandine is, she is a part of me. So no, the intention was never to kill the Queen. Timias is the one meant to die. Timias must die, Timias will die when the Caul is destroyed. For as long as the Caul endures, so will Timias. He will never choose to go into the West. He’ll never have to.”

Delphinea glanced over her shoulder. Dougal stood in the doorway still, his arms crossed over his chest. “Philomemnon said Alemandine would die when the Caul was destroyed. Is that true?”

“I doubt she has much longer to live as it is, though yes, that is a consequence. But what would you have us do? There is no way to save both the Queen and Faerie—and to save the Queen is to ensure that we all die. What choice was there really?”

“So you made a bargain with a mortal—for the dagger. And what was your part?”

“In exchange for the dagger we promised the host—”

“The host in the Forest.”

“We knew the mortal world was in chaos. A mad king sits on the throne, the people chafe beneath the rule of his foreign Queen. The events of the Shadowlands echo Faerie and those in Faerie, Shadow. It was in our best interests to resolve the strife there—”

“Why, that’s exactly what Timias said to the Council,” Delphinea blurted. “That day in the Council—the day he came back—”

“Whatever I say of him, he’s not a fool. He understands better than anyone how tightly the worlds are bound.” Vinaver plucked restlessly at the linen pillow. “But now—” She raised her head and looked directly at Petri. “Now—”

But before she could finish, the door opened and Ethoniel hesitated on the threshold, with a flushed face, breathing hard. From somewhere far below, Delphinea heard distant shouts. They all turned and looked at him, and Vinaver moved her head weakly on the pillow, beckoning Ethoniel with a feeble wave. “What news, Captain?”

At once, Ethoniel crossed the room and went down on one knee beside the bed. “I bring both good and bad news, my lady,” he hesitated. “We found no sign of Prince Finuviel, no sign at all. We found nothing of his—neither armor, nor standard, nor horse—and all of us combed the sad remains as carefully as we could. But there is a company of knights, at least ten thirteens or more, marching on the Forest House. They are coming to arrest both you and the Lady Delphinea—” here, he turned to look at Delphinea over his shoulder “—yes, my lady, you, too, on charges of high treason and the theft of the Silver Caul. They are more than a hundred against my one squad, my lady. What would you have me do?”

Even Delphinea understood his dilemma. He likely was outranked by whoever led the guards. To defy to open the gates was treason. To disobey Finuviel’s orders to defend his mother offended honor.

For a long moment no one spoke. Then Petri hissed from the door and he scrabbled forward, his eyes cast low, his tail tucked under in perfect obeisance. In a series of quick gestures, accompanied by a few stifled hisses, he motioned, I can help you find him, great lady.

Vinaver’s eyes narrowed and she looked down at the cringing gremlin, and then up at Delphinea. “The removal of the Caul from the moonstone must’ve made it possible for him to leave.”

Petri’s eyes were huge, and he looked up at Delphinea with flared nostrils. I can help you find him, lady. I know the way through Shadow. I can find him. And the Caul.

“Petri says he can help me find Finuviel.” Delphinea clasped his hand in both of hers. The thought that she should be the one to look for Finuviel jolted her into the realization of exactly how dire the situation was.

At once Dougal shifted on his feet, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I don’t like that idea. There’s a saying, never a trust a trixie.”

“What about the knights, my lady? They’ve orders to burn the Forest House if we don’t open the gates.” Ethoniel broke in, desperation clear.

Vinaver moved her head restlessly on the pillow. “We have to find Finuviel. We’re running out of time. The Caul must be unMade before Mid-Winter.”

“I suppose I’m the one that’s seen him last,” said Dougal. “With Cadwyr. That night at my forge.”

Beside Delphinea, Petri tugged on her hand. I can help you, lady. Please, lady, I can help you find the Caul. I can find the mortal Duke. I can find the Caul. I brought you here. He stepped in front of Vinaver and groveled before her. Please, great lady. You know how we, too, are bound to the Caul. It calls to me from Shadow, even now.

“Let me go find him,” Dougal said suddenly.

Vinaver replied with an arch look, “That’s not exactly our bargain, is it, Master Smith?”

“Do you want your son and the Caul found or not? I’m the last who saw him, I know who he was with. Who else do you have who knows Brynhyvar the way I do?”

I know it better than any mortal—I know the Underneath and the In-between. I can take her through the Mother-Wood. Petri quivered, his hands knotted tightly together. “Forgive me, gentle folk, if my unkind voice offends,” he said in his high-pitched strangled shriek. “But I remember—I can lead—let me—let me—”

“Be quiet,” interrupted Vinaver. “Be still, khouri-kan.”

“Delphinea can’t go,” broke in Ethoniel. “They’re here to take her as well.”

“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?”

Vinaver smiled then, but her face was sad. “Child, don’t you understand? You are the next Queen of Faerie. That is, if Faerie survives at all.”

There was the faintest smell of rot in the air. Like the warm tap of a random spring raindrop, the odor drifted, now here, now there, never so much that one was ever quite sure what one smelled. But it was enough to make one pause, turn one’s head, wrinkle one’s nose and sniff again. It had first been detected after Samhain, and it was becoming noticeable enough that a fashion for wearing perfumed lace face masks was spreading rapidly throughout the ladies of the Court.

And it was noticeable enough that Timias had been forced to listen, a prisoner in his chambers, to Her Majesty’s Master of the House, Lord Rimbaud, and her Chatelaine, Lady Evardine, while they lamented the situation for nearly a full turn of the glass, before a summons from Alemandine’s Consort, Hudibras, interrupted their torrent of complaint. Now Timias tightened his grip on his oak staff, and pressed his mouth into a thin line as he hurried through the palace of the Faerie Queen as quickly as his aged legs would allow. A small puff of stink through the lemon-scented air was enough to make him furrow his already wrinkled brow as he scurried through the arching marble corridors, hung with tapestries and mosaics so intricately and perfectly executed, some were known to move. He passed the image of a stag brought down by a huntsman’s bow, the great antlered head lifted in eternal agony, and something made Timias pause, transfixed, before it. The crimson blood flowing from the stag’s side shone with a curious rippling gleam, as if the blood that flowed from the wound was real.

Timias stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. As another trace of putrid odor filled his nostrils, he reached out and touched the gleaming rivulet. For a moment his finger registered the cold pressure of the stone as wetness and he started back, peering closely at his finger, half expecting to see a smear of blood. But his fingertip was clear, without a hint of moisture. Of course there wasn’t any blood, he told himself, there was no blood. How could there be blood? It was only a picture. There was no blood. It was but a trick of his overwrought senses, a consequence of his agonized mind. He had enough to occupy a dozen councilors. His discovery with Delphinea of the missing Caul led to the disclosure of the plot against the Queen, and allowed him to once again assert his position and authority as the oldest of all the Council. The stupid girl had not waited long enough to allow him to thank her properly before she’d run off. The first thing he’d done had been to order the arrests of every one of the Queen’s councilors in residence at the Court. This meant that, while the immediate threat was contained until he could determine who was to be trusted, he alone remained to steer Alemandine through the task of holding her realm together both under the strain engendered by her pregnancy and the inevitable attack by the Goblin King. But the calamity of the missing Caul, coupled with the revelation of Vinaver’s treachery, made what would have been a heavy burden especially weighty. A lesser sidhe, one without so many years and experience as his, would surely not be equal to the task. He touched the wall again, just to make sure. “No blood,” he whispered aloud. “No blood.” He realized he was still muttering as he stalked through the halls to Alemandine’s chambers.

There was certainly enough to mutter about. Vinaver, that foul abomination, had seized the opportunity afforded by his absence in the Shadowlands to hatch some horrific plot against her sister, Alemandine, the details of which he did not yet understand. It was her cronies on the Council he’d had arrested, all of them—all of them save Vinaver herself, who’d prudently retired to her Forest House. Well, he’d not let that stop him. The very hour he’d discovered Lady Delphinea gone missing, he’d sent a company of the Queen’s Guard out to drag both her and Vinaver back to the palace. He’d find out what had happened to the missing Caul and then turn his attention to the defense of Faerie. The calculated way in which Vinaver had so coldly plotted against her sister when the pregnant Queen was at her most vulnerable intrigued him and made him admire her in a way he refused to contemplate.

He’d already decided that it had been a mistake to allow Finuviel to take over Artimour’s command, and the sooner Artimour was restored to his proper place, and Finuviel recalled, the easier they could all rest. After all, it was only logical to assume that Finuviel was an integral part of Vinaver’s scheme to make herself Queen in her sister’s stead, and so the sooner Artimour resumed command, the better. After all, Artimour would be so pathetically grateful to have his place back, Timias knew he’d be able to trust him. And maybe not just trust him, thought Timias as he considered new and different roles for Artimour to play. He was always something of a misfit around the Court. He couldn’t have been happy about the revocation of his command. He’d owe tremendous loyalty to the person—or group of persons—who restored it.

It was time to recall Artimour, decided Timias, time to assure the dear boy of their continued support and offer apologies for the terrible mistake they’d made in replacing him with Finuviel, the spawn of that foul abomination, Vinaver. If necessary, Artimour could be dispatched to the mortal world with an offer of assistance. And wasn’t that what should’ve been done in the first place? Timias’s head ached. There was simply too much to think about all at once. He came to himself with a little shake and realized he’d been talking to himself the entire length of the corridor.

The two guards standing watch over Alemandine’s private rooms gave him a curious glance but said nothing, as together they opened the great doors that led into the reception room of Alemandine’s suite.

There, Timias found Hudibras, looking distracted, even as he berated two bedraggled ladies-in-waiting huddled in the window seat. They all looked up, their expressions an odd mixture of both relief and fear, as Timias entered. He pinned the ladies with a ferocious stare, and their wings, fragile and pink as rose petals, trembled above their heads. But why were they both wearing crowns of oak and holly leaves? Oak for summer, holly for winter—why both at once? He peered more closely at them, and realized to his relief the illusion was nothing but a trick of the light and that their small veils were held in place, as usual, by the customary ribboned wreaths that all Alemandine’s ladies wore. “What’s going on? Where’s the Queen?” He addressed Hudibras, but it was one of the ladies-in-waiting who answered.

“She will not unlock the door, most exalted lord,” she replied, olive-green eyes huge in her angular face so that she resembled a frightened doe. Honey-colored hair spilled over her shoulders and across her rose-colored gown, partially obscuring her fichu of ivory lace. It matched the lace of her face mask, Timias saw, as another foul whiff momentarily distracted him. This time the seed pearls in her wreath looked like writhing white worms. He started back and she gave him another questioning look, as he realized that that was exactly the effect the pearls were meant to have. It struck him that this was a bizarre conceit for an adornment for one’s hair, but then, he never paid attention to the fashions of the Court. Since Alemandine was crowned Queen, they changed with such dizzying frequency, he could not keep up.

He really had to get control of himself, he thought. He tightened his grip on his staff and the wood felt dry as a petrified bone in his palm. He must not succumb to the pressure. Surely that’s what Vinaver hoped for, and it occurred to him that indeed, the success of the very plot itself might hinge on his ability to single-handedly uphold the Queen through this hour of her greatest need. He would show Vinaver that while he wore an old man’s face, he yet possessed a young man’s vigor.

Hudibras was wringing his hands in a manner most unseemly and his tone was peevish and demanding. “Whatever you have in mind, Timias, you better get to it, for she refuses to come out. You’ve got the entire Council under arrest, Vinaver’s gone flitting off Herne alone knows where, that wild young thing’s gone running off with that gremlin—” Hudibras marched across the room, struck a mannered pose worthy of a masque beside the empty grate, and, to Timias’s astonishment, removed a peacock-plume fan from the scabbard at his belt. With a zeal that the temperature of the room in no way warranted, he snapped it open with an expert flick of his wrist and began to fan himself. “What’s to be done, Timias? What’s to be done?”

What was wrong with the man? wondered Timias. Since when was there a fashion for wearing peacock-plume fans like daggers? Or white worms in one’s hair? Could it be that something was affecting the entire Court? It was as if they were all going mad. But it was that last piece of information that made him pause. A gremlin with Delphinea? How was such a thing even possible? “Why was I not informed?” Timias asked, gaze darting from the overwrought Hudibras to the stricken ladies.

At that, the ladies and Hudibras stared at each other, and then at Timias. “But you were, my lord,” said Hudibras.

“Every hour on the hour since the clock struck thirteen,” said the second lady, and he realized with another start that her gown was nearly an exact duplicate of the first’s, except that the shade was slightly lighter. When had Alemandine begun to insist that her ladies-in-waiting dress alike?

Timias shoved that superfluous question away, and pulled himself upright, wondering if he himself were not suffering from some malady. There’d been no disturbances on his door—he’d heard no knocking all night at all. But then of course there’d been no gremlin to answer it. All the gremlins were sequestered in the Caul Chamber. Their shrieking on Samhain had been enough to sour cream. No wonder Alemandine was feeling so poorly. In her delicate condition, her strength already taxed, she must’ve suffered the gremlins’ annual bout of madness dreadfully. No wonder she didn’t want to come out of her room. She probably wasn’t recovered yet.