‘Traitor to what?’ demanded Peri, her crossbow still trained on the Empress. ‘Every one of your followers has human blood in them somewhere, whether they want to admit it or not. It might be a few generations back, but it’s still there. It’s the Oakenfolk who are the purest faeries in existence, because they all hatched out of magical eggs that you created. And for the first sixteen years of my life, I was one of them.’
She shifted her stance on the ledge, the moonlight shining white on her hair and glittering in her black eyes in a way that made her look more fey than ever. ‘I chose to become human out of love for my husband Paul, but I never forgot what it was like to be a faery.’
My husband Paul. He was missing too, Rhosmari noticed with a prick of anxiety. Had something happened to him? It didn’t seem like Paul to send his newly healed wife to drive Timothy and a carful of faeries to Wales alone.
‘You, on the other hand,’ Peri said to the Empress, ‘were born human – but you’ve spent nearly your whole life trying to deny it. So who’s the real traitor to their race here, Jasmine of the Oak?’
A hiss went up from the Empress’s followers, and some of them began edging away. But Jasmine cast them a warning look, and they all stiffened back to attention. ‘Say what you will,’ she said. ‘And perhaps some of my more simple-minded subjects will believe it. But no one has fought harder or sacrificed more for the sake of my people – my true faery people – than I have.’
She walked towards Valerian and the rebels, her army moving in tandem with her strides. ‘If at times I have seemed harsh with them, it has only been for their greater good. It is for their sake, not my own, that I am here tonight. And if I command them to fight by my side until every one of us has fallen, it is only because I believe that death would be a greater kindness than the degradation you offer—’
‘The only degradation here,’ said Queen Valerian, the gentleness in her tone cutting across Jasmine’s rising voice, ‘is the yoke of bondage you have put upon your followers, and wish to put upon us and the Children of Rhys as well. But as Rhosmari and Timothy have just proved, there is a way that all of us can escape your influence forever, a solution simpler and more powerful than any Stone. To keep you from stealing our true names and using them to control us, we have only to find one person – be it faery or human – that we trust, and give our names to them instead.’
Exclamations burst from the faeries on both sides: shocked, angry, disbelieving. Veronica looked murderous, and Bluebell nauseated. But at the back of the crowd where Byrne lay bleeding in his twin brother’s arms, his fingers lifted feebly to grasp Corbin’s collar, and the two of them began whispering to each other.
Jasmine’s face contorted with rage. ‘Kill the half-breed,’ she snapped at her soldiers. ‘Kill them all!’
Swords rasped from their scabbards, and arrows went on the string; birds zoomed away across the beach, darting so low and fast that nothing could stop them. Veronica drew her dagger, and Martin his knife—
‘Stop.’
The command reverberated among the rocks and filled the air around them, ominous as thunder. Every faery froze and every head turned, as Lady Celyn stepped away from the edge of the water and strode over the sand towards them.
But Rhosmari’s mother had not come alone. The other Elders flashed into visibility beside her, and then Lord Gwylan and Lady Arianllys, and in tens and twenties and finally hundreds the Children of Rhys revealed themselves, a great unbroken line of them stretching from one side of the beach to the other, outnumbering both armies twice over.
The Children of Rhys had come to join the war.
‘No,’ breathed Rhosmari. Before Linden or Timothy could stop her, she shrank to Oakenfolk size and leaped over the edge of the low cliffs, spreading her wings to break her fall. She landed on the shingle, caught her balance, and changed back to her usual size again, running across the sand towards her mother.
‘Empress!’ called out Lady Celyn. ‘As you can see, you and your followers are outnumbered. I offer you one last chance to surrender.’
Jasmine stood still as the Lady Elder approached, the sea wind lifting her blonde curls and making her look like a tragic heroine in some ancient tale. Then she spat, coldly and accurately, into the sand at Celyn’s feet.
‘Stay back,’ warned Rob, stepping to block Rhosmari as she pushed her way to the front of the rebel lines. ‘You will not help your people by exposing yourself to danger.’
‘But that’s my mother,’ she said. ‘I have to talk to her. I have to explain—’
‘Seems to me she’s got a pretty good grasp of the situation already,’ said Thorn. ‘If I were you, I’d leave her to it.’
‘You will not fight,’ the Empress was saying contemptuously to Lady Celyn. ‘You cannot touch me or my followers without breaking your most sacred oath. Do you think that by merely standing here, you can frighten me into submission? You may talk of last chances and peace treaties until the end of time, but I will never submit.’
‘You underestimate us,’ said Lady Celyn. ‘Yes, we have sworn not to shed blood. But that does not make us weak.’ And with that she nodded at her fellow Elders, and they all raised their hands.
Magic blazed from their palms and arced towards the Empress. But before the light could touch her, Jasmine leaped back and flung up a magical shield to protect herself. The Elders’ power rippled over and around her, but it could not penetrate that barrier – and as the struggle intensified, the Empress’s army began to stagger.
Intent on their spell-casting, the Elders did not notice. All the other faeries on the beach seemed equally unaware, or perhaps did not realise the seriousness of the threat. But Rhosmari remembered how she had felt when the Empress was drawing on her power, and she sensed that what was happening right now was much, much worse. Jasmine had said that she would rather see her people die than let them be ruled by anyone else – and obviously, she had meant it.
Rhosmari glanced around, panic rising. What could she do? Martin had just sunk to his knees, and even Veronica was swaying now. Soon all their strength would be gone, and their hearts would stop beating.
And yet…would that be such a bad thing? Martin might have saved Timothy’s life, but Rhosmari could never forget how he had betrayed her. And she already knew how cruel Veronica could be. Knowing the Empress was evil, they had still chosen to side with her – and now it seemed only just that they should pay the price.
But if she let Martin and Veronica die, then at least two hundred other faeries, many of whom had not wanted to serve the Empress any more than Rhosmari did, would die with them…
‘Stop!’ she shouted at the Elders. ‘She’s killing them! Stop your spell!’
But they could not hear her. The light from their hands blazed white-hot now, pouring over Jasmine’s shield in a sizzling rush, and all the other faeries were staring at the spectacle as though mesmerised. At the edge of the beach, the last of the Empress’s soldiers toppled, and lay still. If Rhosmari did not act now, it would be too late – but she could think of only one way to stop Jasmine, and it would cost her dearly.
Helpless rage filled her, the same hatred that had burned in her after Garan’s death. This was all the Empress’s fault. She was the deceiver, the enslaver, the murderer. She was the one who deserved to be cut off from her people – why should Rhosmari have to pay the price? Blinking back angry tears, she grabbed the bow out of Thorn’s hands, nocked the iron-tipped arrow to the string, and sighted along it. Then, with a shuddering breath, she let it fly.
She was shooting into the wind, on a beach at night, with a bow she had not even tested. If her aim had wandered even a hand’s breadth, no one could have blamed her for the outcome. But the arrow struck true, piercing through the Empress’s magical defences and burying itself deep in her right shoulder.
Jasmine screamed as the protective spell around her shattered. She collapsed to the sand – and the Elders’ spell engulfed her in a dazzling wave of power.
Light exploded across the beach, and Rhosmari and the other faeries covered their eyes. When at last their dazzled vision cleared, the Empress was staggering across the sand towards them, the arrow still jutting from her shoulder. Her youthful glamour had vanished, her grey-streaked hair hung in tangles, and the sagging skin around her mouth and eyes made her look as old as Sarah.
‘You think you have beaten me,’ she rasped. ‘You know nothing of what I can do.’
The other faeries recoiled, but Rob sheathed his sword and walked to meet the Empress. ‘It’s over,’ he said quietly, catching her as she stumbled. ‘Come, and I will heal you.’
Until that moment, Corbin Blackwing had been scarcely noticeable at the back of the Empress’s army, as he kneeled upon the sand with his injured brother cradled in his arms. But it must have dawned on him that Jasmine’s defeat would be his own as well, for now he lowered Byrne to the sand, rose – and changed into his raven form. Before anyone could stop him, he had taken flight.
Black against the darkness, he made an almost impossible target. But as Corbin flapped past her, Peri swung up her crossbow, and her shot clipped the raven’s outstretched wing. Forced out of bird shape by the touch of iron, the Blackwing tumbled through the air and fell heavily onto the shale.
But even without magic Corbin’s faery strength was formidable, and in an instant he was up and running again. Spells and arrows hurtled after him as the rebels gave chase, but he dodged them easily. He leaped onto the ramp that led away from the beach, sprinting for the car park and the open road beyond—
Then with three powerful thrusts of his hands Paul McCormick came wheeling down the ramp and threw his arms around Corbin’s waist in a flying tackle. They hit the shingle in a flurry of limbs and a wild spinning of wheels, and as Paul drove his fist into Corbin’s jaw, the male faery went limp.
‘That’s for stabbing my wife,’ Paul said coldly, pushing himself up on his hands as Wink ran down the ramp after him and turned the wheelchair upright. He had barely hauled himself back into the chair again when Peri came running across the sand, leaped onto his lap, and kissed him so hard they nearly tipped over. They were still embracing when Broch and Llinos dragged Corbin to his feet and took him away.
Rhosmari did not wait to see what happened next. Her gaze on the Children of Rhys still gathered by the edge of the water, she handed the bow back to Thorn, and walked across the beach to meet her mother.
‘But has the Empress not been punished already?’ Arianllys was asking, as Rhosmari came up to them. ‘Her power is gone, and she will not live long in any case. To leave her as she is now will surely be justice enough.’
‘If any of us has the right to decide her fate, you do,’ replied Lady Celyn. ‘But for the sake of—’ She stopped as Arianllys touched her arm. Then slowly she turned, and her eyes met Rhosmari’s.
‘Mother,’ said Rhosmari, going down on one knee and bowing her head. ‘I have disobeyed you, and I have put our people in great danger, and I have shed blood. I know I am not worthy to return to the Green Isles. But—’
She never got the chance to finish the sentence. Heedless of her fine robes and the other Elders watching, Lady Celyn dropped to the sand and pulled Rhosmari into a tight embrace.
‘My daughter,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my daughter, you have suffered so much, and all because of my pride. Forgive me, as I have already forgiven you.’
Dazed, Rhosmari allowed her mother to lift her back to her feet. Then Lord Gwylan came forward, and gripped her hand warmly.
‘If not for you, Rhosmari, we would never have been prepared for the Empress’s coming,’ said Garan’s father. ‘Mallow gave your message to Timothy, and Timothy told the Oakenfolk, and all your human and faery friends journeyed here together so that Queen Valerian could bring the news to us in time.’
Valerian. Of course. Of all the faeries, she was the one to whom the Elders of the Children of Rhys would be most likely to listen; she had committed no violence and betrayed no one’s trust, and her selfless commitment to her people could not be denied. They had rejected Timothy and Linden’s pleas for help and abandoned Garan and his followers to exile, but not even the strictest laws of the Green Isles could keep them from answering Queen Valerian’s call.
‘I’m so sorry about Garan,’ said Rhosmari, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She understood now what her mother had meant, when she said that Lady Arianllys had the most right to decide the Empress’s fate.
‘We will miss him very much,’ Arianllys replied. ‘But I foresaw that he would die, and that the Stone of Naming would be destroyed, on the day he left the Green Isles. Still, I could not help praying that the vision had been false, and that you might find a way to prevent it…but now I know that it could not have happened any other way.’ She touched Rhosmari’s cheek. ‘I only wish my son had lived to see his dream of freeing all the Empress’s slaves fulfilled.’
Behind them, the Empress’s army sat exhausted on the sand, too weak to fight even if they had wished to. The faeries of the Oak had tossed their weapons into a pile upon the rocks, and were watching them closely. Peri stood tall and straight with her crossbow slung across her back and an arm around each of Linden and Timothy’s shoulders, talking to Queen Valerian.
And a little distance away stood what remained of the Children of Rhys in exile, Broch and Llinos and some thirty other young males, carrying themselves with brittle dignity as they faced the families they had left behind and the Elders who had declared them traitors to their own people. But Garan, with his sea-green eyes and ready smile, was not among them, and never would be again.
‘So do I,’ said Rhosmari quietly.
‘This war is ended,’ said Lady Celyn, her gaze sweeping over the faeries gathered upon the beach. Next to her, Jasmine stood between two of the Council Guard in smouldering, impotent silence. ‘The Empress’s power is broken. She will be punished as her crimes deserve, and so will those who willingly aided her in her schemes.’
‘Punished?’ said Martin, his eyes narrowing as he turned a pebble over between his fingers. ‘Do you mean… executed?’
Of course, thought Rhosmari. He had good reason to be afraid of what would happen to him – especially now that he knew that the stern-faced Elder before him was Rhosmari’s mother. A flicker of sympathy went through her, and she was about to reassure him when Lady Celyn spoke:
‘We do not deal in death, even in the name of justice. Nor will we torture, cripple or starve those we keep prisoner. But prisoners they will be, in cells warded and bound with iron, in a place set far apart from all human or faery habitation. And from this there will be no escape.’
Martin nodded slowly. ‘I see,’ he said, and squared his shoulders, as though preparing himself for his fate. He walked over to stand beside the Empress, tossing the stone in his hand – then with a twist of his fingers he transformed the pebble to a silver dagger, and stabbed it into Jasmine’s heart.
The murder was so unexpected, so brutally decisive, that for a moment the faeries around him were too shocked to move. Before anyone could lay hands on him, Martin whirled and brought the knife down a second time. Then he flashed into his bird form, too swift and tiny for anyone to catch, and darted away. By the time Veronica toppled to the sand with Martin’s blade hilt-deep in her throat, he had vanished into the night.
twenty-one
An hour later the beach was quiet and clean as though the conflict had never taken place. The bodies of Jasmine and Veronica had been removed, and what remained of the Empress’s army rounded up by Rob and the rebels under his command. It would take some time to determine which faeries had followed Jasmine by choice, and which had only been slaves – but judging by the general lack of mourning for the Empress, there were far more of the latter than the former.
Rhosmari stood w
ith her mother upon the promontory, gazing out at the ocean waves and the distant, shadowy shapes of the Green Isles. Small lights winked along their shores and flickered among the woods and slopes, as the Children of Rhys returned to their homesteads to reclaim what little remained of the night.
‘I saw Fioled, when the others were leaving,’ she said. ‘I tried to talk to her. But she wouldn’t even look at me.’
Lady Celyn was silent.
‘I can’t ever go back to the Green Isles.’ Rhosmari searched her mother’s face, but without any real hope. ‘Can I.’
Celyn sighed. ‘I would that it were otherwise,’ she said. ‘You shot to wound, not to kill, and you did so in a noble cause. But you did shed blood, and in the eyes of many of our people, that makes you no longer a Child of Rhys.’
‘But not in yours?’
She cupped Rhosmari’s face in one hand, thumb gently stroking along her cheek. ‘You are my daughter,’ she said, ‘and I would sooner disown myself. When I found you in Gruffydd’s Way, and you accused me of being just like the Empress…’
Shame coursed through Rhosmari. ‘I should never have said that. I was wrong.’
‘You were more right than you knew,’ replied her mother. ‘If your words had not pierced my heart and forced me to examine myself, I could have become just like her. For I was born human, Rhosmari, and your grandfather, who died trying to make peace between two humans who were quarrelling, was human as well. And in my desire to protect you from prejudice and violence, I denied you that part of your heritage.’
Rhosmari stared at her mother, too astonished to speak. It seemed an almost inconceivable irony that for weeks she had struggled with mistrust and prejudice against humans, never knowing that she was part human herself…
‘But your grandfather was a noble and compassionate man,’ Lady Celyn told her. ‘Just as your father was. And I believe that both of them would be proud of you.’ She kissed Rhosmari’s brow. ‘As am I.’
Arrow Page 25
