"Rude?" Glastyn folded his arms. "I am the epitome of charm."
"You can be both rude and charming, Glastyn dear." The fay stepped closer, revealing snake scale skin covered in a simple white dress. She was short and lithe, her slitted eyes glowing in the dark.
"Melusine?" he guessed. Mester Stoorworm’s other face.
She nodded. "Yes. But don’t worry; we don’t hold the same grudges." She smiled. Tom had expected fangs, but she had perfect, normal teeth. "Stoorworm was the aggressor. You were protecting your family."
She didn’t seem like a threat. But Tom had heard the stories about her. And there was no trusting appearances. "Why are you here?"
"He asks that question a lot.” Glastyn was visibly pleased with himself as he turned to Tom. "We brought Melusine to speak with you.”
"Why?"
"There is much debate in Faerie about you," Melusine said. "You’ve managed to do what no-one has since King Emyr. And even he never sparked such disagreement."
"So I understand." Everything he said would be known by both Melwas and Mab. He had to tread carefully.
As if to illustrate the point, he stumbled over a stone in the dark. Before he could fall, Melusine was beside him, strong fingers wrapped around his arm, sharp nails pricking his skin. He wanted to push her away, but that might be more dangerous than not. So he stopped, waited.
She slipped an arm around him, turned her hold into an embrace. "You know us, do you not?"
"By reputation only.” Her embrace reminded him too much of how Mab had held him outside Cairnakor.
"Then you know of our search?"
"I do." How many mortal men had she taken to husband only to be disappointed? How many men had sworn oaths not to look upon her between Calgraef and Calmae, when she was Mester Stoorworm? Each of those men had succumbed to curiosity, dying by Stoorworm’s hand, and Melusine had remained childless.
"You are a remarkable man, Thomas Rymour," she breathed into his neck. "Perhaps you would have made a fine husband."
Say nothing. Do nothing. She could bite his neck out as soon as kiss it.
"But we understand you are promised to another." She released him and resumed her walk. "And you are to be a father yourself.” Her voice boiled with envy, and Tom couldn't banish the thought that Melusine would take Rose for her own. "Which is why we are here."
The thought froze into a painful dread in the pit of his belly. "I won’t let you take her."
A small smile played around her lips; she knew he couldn’t stop her. "This is the point of no return, you know." But her smile was gentle. Maternal. It made no sense. She gestured to Tom’s pocket, the one holding the coin, and said, "You could give that to our queen and all would be forgiven."
Tom touched the coin, reassured himself with its presence, and shook his head. “Melwas will never forgive me."
"We cannot speak for our king. But we imagine, should Maev bring you back into the fold, he will at the least seek your end in less overt ways."
And would Katharine be safe? Would Rose?
"What of my friends?" he asked.
"Our queen has often spoken of your silver tongue."
So Melusine thought they could be bargained for. He knew all the reasons he shouldn’t. He knew they wouldn’t thank him for it.
But he saw a path where there wasn’t one before.
"What would I have to do?"
The sun had set. The moon, a slender crescent, unburdened by child, rose in the east. A thousand stars glittered overhead, and Tom realised he hadn’t seen a clear sky in months. It was beautiful. He could have lain back and stared at it for hours. He took a deep breath. The cold in his bones had already been chased away; the freezing misery was already a memory, the edge of it softened by spring in Tir.
Melusine smiled. "We have always thought highly of a man who would do anything for his family. And if any of the fay knows about family, it is us." It was harder to see her scales in the dark. It was possible to think of her as a mortal woman. To allow himself to think there was no Faerie motive or agenda behind her words. "You don’t need to share blood to be family. You only need to care for each other, so fiercely that you will do anything to have them be safe."
He would have them all be safe. Katharine and Rose, Emyr and Ambrose, Six and Draig, Jarnstenn and Mennvinn, Gravinn and Dank.
“We put family before ourselves, always, without fail, because they are everything," Melusine said, "More than happiness, more than loyalty, more than hope and heart and home.” She was right. There wasn’t anything more important than keeping them safe. "We would wound a man for family. We would kill him. We would maim and blind and butcher, we would slaughter innocents, we would watch all things burnt to ash and bone, just so our family might enjoy a few more moments of peace."
He had wounded. And killed. And maimed and blinded and butchered. To protect his family.
But could he slaughter innocents? Could he watch Tir burn?
Katharine would hate him. Rose would hate him. He would have no family.
"If we do those things, we lose them," he said to Melusine.
"But they live."
"They might wish differently."
"We make difficult choices for family."
"You’re right." He took his hand from his pocket. Did Melusine’s eyes light up? "Glastyn, why did you bring Melusine here?"
"As we said." Glastyn was a shadow in the dark. "To talk."
"I don’t believe you."
"We don’t need you to.”
If this was a Faerie trap, it was an elaborate one. Either of them could have overpowered him and taken the coin, kept Orlannu from his reach forever. Spirited him off to Faerie, never to see Katharine again. Never to see Rose at all.
But he could see firelight ahead. The fay had brought him back to Dank and Gravinn, quicker than if he had walked his own path.
"Thank you for your help," he said to them. "But being part of a family means living up to them. I need to be the man they deserve." He stopped walking, turned to Melusine. Tried to read her expression in the dark. "It would be an easy choice to surrender to the fay. It’s a choice my family doesn’t deserve."
"Do you think you can succeed?" she asked.
"Our chances are slight,” he admitted. “I don’t know if we can find what we’re looking for. And even then, I don’t know if it will be enough. You cannot die. Does that mean you cannot be stopped?"
Melusine made an amused sound. "You think that is our strength? That we cannot die?"
“Isn’t it?"
"He has a point." Glastyn stretched, as if waking from a nap. "Being unending does rather have its advantages."
"And its disadvantages, no?"
"Quite so." Glastyn grinned. "You know us too well, my dear."
"We do." Melusine turned to Tom. "You, on the other hand, know us so well, and yet so little." Melusine pointed towards the fire. "How often do you disagree with each other as to where to go, what to do, who can be trusted, what will succeed?"
"More times than I can count."
"You are many, and that made you weak. Whereas we were many that were one. Even while we held different thoughts, we acted as one. And that made us strong."
She was right. How do you defeat an enemy like the fay if you’re divided?
"This is something that not even the fay understand," she said. "We walk Tir and think ourselves mighty because the mortals cannot see us and cannot hurt us. Not realising that our strength lay in our unity."
And the fay weren’t united anymore. "Now you are at war with each other."
"Good boy." Her teeth shone in the moonlight. "That’s why we can have this conversation. Because we forgot how to pay attention to all of our parts."
Tom tried to process the different pronouns. "So the fay don’t know we are talking?"
"Just as in Tirend," Glastyn said. "We brokered that deal, Tom. But our king and queen did not know that you knew about it."
Glastyn had come to
him in secret? Knowing what had happened to Fenoderee? "You risk a lot."
The fay grinned that charming grin that won so many hearts to his own. "What is life without a little risk?"
"What are you up to, Glastyn?"
"Recruiting Melusine to our cause." He nodded to the other fay.
"How?"
Melusine said, "He gave us the opportunity to offer you the easy choice."
"Why?"
"To see if you will take it."
Tom felt a flare of anger and held it. Calmness of the soul until death. "I’ve made a lot of mistakes on this journey. And a lot of people have been quick to tell me I take the easy path. The truth is there are no easy paths." He looked up at the stars, took a deep breath and let out his anger with a sigh. "Giving you the coin would put me on a dangerous path. So would trying to stop the fay from terrorising Tir. All I can do is imagine the kind of man my family deserves, and do what he would do." He met her eye, and saw she understood.
"That is what we hoped you would say," she said. "Goodbye, Thomas."
"What does that mean?" he asked. "What will you do now?"
The edges of her shadow were already softening. “What little I can," she replied, as she faded away. “When the time comes."
“We need help now.”
“Do you?” Glastyn was vanishing too. “Not the kind of help Melusine can provide. Not yet." He gave Tom a gallant wave.
"Wait," Tom said, and Glastyn stopped disappearing, his form translucent, like fog. He watched Tom, waiting, and Tom realised he wasn’t sure what to say. "Fenoderee was unmade for helping us."
Glastyn wagged a finger. “You assume we’re helping you.”
And then he was gone. Leaving a question in the air; if Glastyn wasn’t helping them, what else was he doing?
Tom shook his head. It didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was getting back to Katharine. He marched back to the fire, putting Glastyn and Faerie and puzzles out of his mind. But when Tom stood by the fire and said, "I have the coin," Dank replied, "I don’t know if I can do it, Tom."
And Tom almost didn’t have the heart to ask him. So he said, “I need to get back to Katharine,” as a gentle reminder, rather than a demand.
"I know." Dank dropped his gaze. "But I’m worried I’ll lose you in there."
Tom wondered what would happen if he did. Would they fall out of the maelstrom into Tir, or Faerie, or the Between? Or would they be trapped in it forever? "Is there anything we can do to help you?"
Dank shrugged. "I don’t know what I need."
Tom bent his knees and crouched beside Dank. "This would be the fourth time you travelled as the fay do," he said. "You can do it. You have done it. I don’t think you need anything but you."
Neither of them was convinced. Dank might not need anything else, but the second trip had been worse than the first, and the third worse than the second. Perhaps time was like a hot sun baking dry the river that linked Dank to whatever magic the fay used to travel between realms. What if there was no river left? Or, worse, what if there was enough to get them into the maelstrom, and not enough to get out?
But what was the alternative? Trek thousands of miles north by foot? It would be a trip worth making only to dig their friends’ frozen bodies out of the snow.
And Dank knew it too. He nodded, stood.
"Don’t you need time to prepare?" Gravinn asked, failing to hide the fear in her voice.
"I’m not sure I’ll ever be prepared," he said, countering his dour words with a smile that was too broad and failed to touch the fear in his eyes. He placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder. "You can do this," Tom said, and gave Dank a nod.
Dank nodded too. Took Gravinn’s hand. And then he dragged them through the veil.
Agony.
Like someone was shredding him, dragging him through a sea of broken glass, inch by ponderous inch, and scattering the tatters left behind into the wind.
Like someone was placing a hot cinder in every part of his body and mind, in places he didn’t even know he had.
It hurt to think. It hurt to not think.
I can’t I can’t iron nails I can’t I’ll lose them I’ll lose them I’ve killed us all I’ve killed us all.
Those weren’t his thoughts. It was Dank, panicking. A fresh jolt of pain ripped through all of them, like a bolt of lightning that tore through them head to toe and out of every finger and toe, cleansing every thought as it went.
The end the end this is the end this is how it all ends.
No, Dank. You can do this. You can.
Dead dead dead dead dead.
Forming a thought was like putting his hand into flame, like drawing a knife across his flesh, like pushing his entire body against a bed of nails, but he summoned three words and roared into the void: Do it, Dank.
And it was all gone, in a rush, and he felt nothing because the absence of pain felt like the absence of everything. It took time for his senses to adjust. To remember something other than agony. Air. He was gasping. Cold. He was so cold. He lay on his back, snow falling on his face. The sky was a starless black. Sound. Voices. Faces above his. He knew he should recognise them. He wanted to reach for them, ask for their help, but he was scared to move in case the pain returned.
Fight.
Tom dismissed the thought. Caledyr was just a sword. It didn’t know pain. It couldn’t understand what he’d just been through.
Know pain.
The thought was a jolt, a shock. It came with a wave of sadness and bitter regret. He lifted his head, looked for the sword, as if he half-expected it to have become a person. But there it was, resting up against a sled, still a sword.
And he realised he understood the voices, and recognised the faces. He was back. Dank had brought them back.
"I’m fine," he told them. He sat up, blinked, found Emyr’s face, and offered him a smile. "All in one piece." He took a shaky breath. "How’s Katharine?"
"It doesn’t go well," Emyr said, and the fear in his voice washed all other thoughts away on a torrent of terror.
"What’s happening?" He tried to stand, found his limbs were shaky and numb. "Where is she?"
"Tom?" Katharine’s voice was pained. Weak. Scared.
"I’m here," he called back. "Gravinn, give Mennvinn the herbs you gathered. Emyr, see to Dank."
"They’re not here, Tom." Emyr pulled him to his feet, held him steady. "You’re the only one to come back."
Chapter 20
"Find them," Tom ordered his king. Pushed him aside and stumbled into to the tent. "Tell me what’s happening," he demanded. But he could already see it for himself.
Blood. Too much blood. And Katharine was pale.
"She’s bleeding," Mennvinn said, her voice hard from the effort of keeping any emotion from it. She was holding her fear away from Katharine, like a hot iron that could burn her patient. But the dwarf’s eyes betrayed her.
"Make it stop," he told her.
"I’m not sure I can."
"We need to cut her open." Jarnstenn stood near the tent, building a fire.
"Cut her open?" Tom asked. "Why?"
"To save the child."
"I don’t have the equipment for that," Mennvinn replied. "Or the training."
"Is Rose safe?" Katharine voice was hoarse, her skin pale and clammy, her breathing ragged as if she had run the length of Tir. She reached for him with bloody hands. "Rose is safe, isn’t she?"
The tent was cramped, but Tom found space beside her, took her sticky hands in his. "Mennvinn will look after you."
"Someone boil water and get me some rags. I can’t see what I’m doing."
"Jarnstenn, rags," Tom ordered. "Draig, water. Do it now." To Mennvinn he said, "What’s happening?"
"We need to get this baby out now." Mennvinn wouldn’t look at him.
"Will they live?"
"I need you to keep her calm," she replied. But panic of her own crept into her voice when Katharine grimaced. "Don’t push, Katharine."
"I have to."
"Don’t push."
Katharine tensed, screwed her face against the pain, strained.
"Don’t push!"
"Don’t push, Katharine, don’t push," Tom babbled.
Mennvinn said something in dwarfish and Jarnstenn stopped and stared.
"What did you say?" Tom asked.
"Hurry," was all Mennvinn said and Jarnstenn threw the rags he’d created to Draig and started pulling weapons from one of the sleds.
"What’s happening?" Tom asked.
"We need to get the baby out," Mennvinn replied. She was pale, but Tom had never seen her so determined. "Katharine, I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything for the pain. You’re just going to have to be really brave."
Katharine babbled, "Wait wait wait what are you doing?" and cried out as Mennvinn brandished a small, long knife and cut her without warning. "Tom don’t look, don’t look, hold my hand, hold my hand." But he had to know what Mennvinn was doing, he had to make sure Katharine was safe, "What are you doing?" he asked, but Mennvinn didn’t reply, just asked Draig for rags that she used to mop up the blood, there was so much, iron nails, this was it, this was the end, this was it.
"Jarnstenn, I need them now," Mennvinn waved a bloody hand and cursed in dwarfish. Jarnstenn hurried over with a pair of tongs.
"What are they for?" Katharine asked.
"I need more room.” Mennvinn stood, stepped out of the tent, and took the tongs from Jarnstenn. "Get her outside."
“You escaped from the madhouse of something? She’ll freeze."
"Do it." Her voice was still cold and dead, and if anything it was more terrifying for it.
"Draig, help me," Tom ordered, and the elf stepped into the tent, lifted the blankets Katharine was lying on and helped Tom move her out into the snow.
"Lift your legs," Mennvinn told her. "Tom, hold that one. Draig, hold the other."
"What’s happening?" Tom asked her as he hooked his arm under Katharine’s knee. "Will you give me an iron-cursed answer?"
"I think the afterbirth has torn. The baby will die if we don’t deliver it quickly. So that’s what we’re going to do." Mennvinn looked at Katharine. "Do you hear me? We’re going to deliver your baby. All of us, together."
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