by Robin Trent
He froze in his tracks as his eyes landed on Rebecca, sitting upright in bed and staring at him. Titwell didn't say anything, he only stared back at the housekeeper while clutching the journal tightly to his chest. She was not going to wrest it from him; he would refuse to give it up.
Rebecca's eyes moved from his face to the journal and back to his face again. Her shoulders slumped, and she softly whispered, "I meant no harm. I was only curious. I thought the mistress shouldn't be reading it anyway, 'cause I thought it was upsetting her."
Titwell didn't speak; he only nodded his head.
"No matter. I won't tell," Rebecca said.
And with that, Titwell side-stepped into the Otherworld and out of Rebecca's sight.
He almost immediately side-stepped right back into the human realm, thinking he was in the attic. He had miscalculated only a small distance and ended up re-materializing in the nursery. Titwell's eyes met with those of the changeling's, and a toothy grin of sharp teeth spread across its face. Melkree's eyes went straight to the journal, and Titwell made for the door. He was seriously considering destroying the journal at that moment, as he was certain he would no longer be able to keep it in the house.
In the blink of an eye, the changeling was on Titwell's back before he even reached the door. As they struggled, Melkree pounded on the back of Titwell's neck, attempting to knock him out. Titwell bucked, trying to dislodge the changeling, and Melkree redoubled his efforts by wrapping his arms around Titwell's neck and squeezing. The changeling was remarkably strong for its size and it squeezed even harder. Titwell started to gasp for air. He twisted and turned and dropped the journal, instead opting for grabbing the changeling's hands and trying to separate them. He did not succeed and Titwell passed out, crumpling on the floor beside the journal.
Melkree gleefully grabbed the journal, running over to the window, growing in size as he went. Lifting the sash, the changeling peered outside into the night. The moonlight illuminated a figure standing on the ground below. The changeling tossed the journal out the window, and it landed in the dirt beside the Groz. Melkree laughed and shut the window.
The September full moon showed bright and clear. It was time for the Seelie queen to release her reign and for the Unseelie queen to pick up her mantle. Maeve's rule would last until early spring when she would once again turn the reigns of power back to Oonagh. It was time for the natural world to begin it's slow dance of death and decay leading into the deep sleep of the winter months.
The Seelie queen approached the meeting place, her gown flowing behind her and in her wake flowers still spouted from the earth wherever her feet touched. Her robes were the color of yellow wheat and green barley as she stood barefoot under the forest trees, which still bore her color green and only a tinge of fall color here and there.
Maeve was already standing at the meeting spot, waiting patiently for Oonagh. Maeve's robes were more somber, the colors of dark brown soil, shot through with the reds and yellows of fall. She too stood barefoot and directly faced Oonagh. Both queens had their contingents on either side. The guards from their royal courts lined up, there to protect their queens as the mantle passed from one to the other. It was at this time that the queens were the most vulnerable for it weakened them, the exchange of energy that marked the changing of the seasonal tides and the changing of their reign.
Rhys Bryhana's dark countenance hovered at the back of the crowd. He had a good seat, perched on a rock giving him the elevation to see over everyone. He watched Oonagh approach Maeve. Oonagh would be incredibly weak after the exchange of the royal mantle. If Rhys wanted to kill her, now would be the time. He fingered the blade he always wore at his hip. Rhys could throw the dagger expertly, and it would find its mark time and again as if it were an extension of his arm. There was no question in his mind that he could kill her right now if he wanted too, except, of course, for the queen's guard. Rhys knew most of them and had no real desire to get into a fight.
No matter how many times he witnessed it, the changing rule of the queens always fascinated him. It was like a religious mystery, a ceremony bordering on spirituality. The cynical side of Rhys pondered everyone's fate. Were they all sheep, pawns in some bigger game they didn't realize? Or were they all fools, allowing the queens to rule over their lives without question? Or was that the same thing? Rhys watched the ceremony keeping himself under control. There would be time to kill Oonagh later.
Oonagh and Maeve bowed to each other. There was no need for words or pomp since they had been doing this for thousands of years. Oonagh stood proud and strong as she felt the earth pulse beneath her feet. It was through the earth and the forest itself that the exchange of power would take place. Oonagh called forth the power that resided within her, the energy that gave her control over the seasons. She felt it build in the pit of her stomach and her groin area as she focused her attention there on the life-giving powers that her body held. A glowing light began to shine forth, illuminating the lower half of her body as the ball of energy grew. Pressure built as her belly felt full, and her body filled with heat and light, crescendoing to the point of fullness and then release. The light and energy shot from every pore of Oonagh's body to penetrate the earth and the surrounding trees and plants in a wave that reached the farthest recesses of the forest. Oonagh steadied herself and held her body erect, not giving in to the desire to collapse from fatigue.
Maeve smiled as she absorbed the energy, pulling it from every corner of the woodland back into her own body through the soles of her feet. As the glow faded from Oonagh's body, a similar one grew in Maeve's as the energy entered her and transformed to fill her being with the powers of death. Heat and light released from the earth, trees, and plants flowing into Maeve. It was one of the faerie mysteries as to how the same energy transformed from life-giving to death-dealing as it passed from one queen to the other.
Maeve felt energized, and her gloomy countenance disappeared even if it was only for an instant. After all, she couldn't appear too cheery. Maeve snapped her fingers and pointed at Oonagh, directing a livery to deliver her back to her court. "Till spring sister." Maeve bid the other queen farewell as Oonagh and her contingent crossed over the border into the Otherworld.
Now it was her turn to reign. Maeve practically giggled with excitement as she thought of the season to come. Already she could feel a cold snap coming in the air. She walked past her guard, tall scepter in hand, as she followed the path of flowers left by Maeve, claiming their lives and leaving brown grass, dead leaves and flowers in her wake. The crowd was dispersing as Maeve passed by, but Rhys Bryhana stood stock still as if he was contemplating something. Maeve smiled to herself. She signaled Rhys to come and speak to her.
Rhys approached even though he was not in the mood for conversation. He knelt on one knee, head bowed. "My queen."
"Ah, Rhys. Rise. There is no need for such formality today." Rhys was glad to comply.
"I will not keep you. I need to retire myself. However, I do need you to come to court. We need to speak, you and I." Maeve looked pointedly at Rhys so he would not miss her meaning. This was not a request.
"Your Majesty, I can be at court in two days' time." Rhys bowed at the waist with a flourish. "If that so pleases you, my queen."
"It does." Maeve's mouth curled up at the ends once more as she proceeded to walk with her procession back to court. Nothing else needed to be said.
In two days, Rhys did as he promised and arrived at court. The usual blackness of the wet granite and pool were present, but at this time of year, the court had some green in it. Like the queen herself, the signs of fall were only beginning. Tinges of red and orange were on the tips of the leaves, chrysanthemum, asters, and wolfsbane were in bloom as were calendula, zinnia, and phlox. It was one of the more colorful times at the Unseelie Court, and the queen herself looked fresh and renewed. It would not last for long, for she would begin aging shortly. The queen's face lit up when Rhys entered the throne room. She had been anticipatin
g his arrival all day and had dismissed the court so they could meet privately. Finally, she could have some fun.
Rhys bowed as was custom, then stood stonily before her. This was not what she had expected. She was looking forward to some light-hearted banter, and hopefully, that would lead to some sex. No, no, no, this wouldn't do. The queen's gown was scarlet, the waist smocked with black piping in a medieval crisscross pattern with lace at the throat and cuffs. Her hair piled on top of her head grazed her neck, and garnet earrings dangled delicately from her earlobes. She had dressed so enticingly just for Rhys. But he didn't seem to be in the mood.
Maeve came down off the podium and sauntered over to him. She blessed him with her most seductive smile and gently touched his cheek with the back of her hand.
Rhys cleared his throat and moved his face to remove her touch. "Milady, I am here, as you requested." Rhys had once been a sexual playmate of the queen for a short time, while he was angry over banishment from Oonagh's court and took it out on her in various ways. Maeve smiled as she remembered. Such passion. Oh, she needed to feel that way again. It would be another year before she felt this alive, and Maeve didn't want to miss out on her opportunity.
"I have business to discuss, but I thought we could indulge in a little pleasure first?" Maeve breathed into Rhys' ear as she spoke.
Rhys stiffened under her touch. His response did not please her. "I am sorry, my queen. As always, if you wish me to perform my duty, I will do so as requested."
His curtness piqued Maeve. "As requested? Duty? I see." Maeve didn't want him to be perfunctory. That would be downright boring and of no use to her. She pouted momentarily, but she was practical. Rhys might be her first choice, but there were always others. Maeve changed course in lightning-quick fashion.
"I need you to keep an eye on that house that Oonagh is so interested in. I am trying to gather information. I'm not asking you to do anything special, or to take matters into your own hands, just keep watch and if anything important comes up, inform me immediately."
"Surely you could get someone else to do a simple spying job. I thought you needed me for something more important," Rhys said.
Maeve leaned forward in her throne, and her voice took on a deadlier tone. "Are you questioning me?"
Rhys knew that look, and he could hear it in her voice. He had pushed things as far as was permissible. He had a habit of defying Maeve. Rhys didn't like collars, and he was no one's dog. However, he understood politics and knew how to act within the spirit of the request. And so he would.
"Your Majesty.” Rhys bowed low at the waist. "My apologies. I am sure there is a valuable reason for your request. I shall fulfill it post-haste."
The queen had a biting reply on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained. She glared at the top of Rhys' head and left him there in his bowed posture. Finally, she grew tired of the whole ordeal and said, "Very well. Rise. You are dismissed."
Rhys walked backward three steps and then turned to leave. Before he was out of the throne room, he heard the queen yell for her guard commander Raelgar. He smiled to himself, as he knew what his opponent was in for.
Rhys was back on the Earth plane in no time, standing on the hill. He scanned the horizon. Strakx had to be somewhere. He wondered where the phouka had gotten. While scanning the forest, Rhys spied a bit of red moving through the brush. Curious, he decided to investigate.
The redcap, Groz, was walking through the woods talking to himself. Rhys couldn't quite make out the conversation, but he didn't care a whole lot about the redcap's thoughts. Sneaking up behind him, Rhys decided to have a bit of fun and yelled, "Ah, hoy there!"
Groz turned quickly, moving his hands from the front of him to the back of him as he rotated. "Rhys. You startled me. Not very nice."
"What do you have there, Groz? Find a nice bobble in somebody's yard? You didn't steal anything from our neighbors to the north, did you?" Rhys teased. He wasn't serious until he noticed the redcap's expression. Groz was shifting his arms to adjust the weight of what he hid behind his back, and he looked worried.
"Hey, what do you have there?" Rhys was more interested now.
"None of your business," Groz said.
"Oh. And where are you off to?" Rhys began to circle the redcap, and Groz moved with him, stumbling a little but keeping his feet.
"Again, none of your business." Groz was trying to put on a brave face.
"Well, you're not very cooperative, Groz." Rhys continued to circle and then stopped. "If you don't show me what you have behind your back, I will hang you upside down from the highest tree and let the carrion crows peck at you until there is nothing left."
Groz stopped turning. He was a redcap, a creature that was known for killing for sport. But Rhys was much bigger, faster, and of higher rank with Queen Maeve. He knew Rhys could carry out what he was threatening.
The two stopped circling at the same time. Groz felt he should fight but knew he was no match. Groz showed his hands and what he was carrying. It was a red leather journal.
“What is that? Are you secretly writing now, Groz? Journaling your innermost thoughts?" Rhys swiped at the book and grabbed it out of Groz's hands. "I didn't know you had it in you."
"That's my private property. Give it back!" Groz jumped for the journal as Rhys kept it outreach.
Rhys flipped open the pages and was going to make fun of Groz's scribblings, and then he stopped. Icy water rushed down his spine as he stared at what the journal contained. He had opened the first page. There was his name and Brianna's name and the name of their son. He flipped the page, and there was his son's name, and the name of a woman and a list of children's names.
Rhys looked at Groz, who was staring at the ground and shuffling his feet. "Where did you get this?"
"Don't ask. Some things are better left alone."
"Where did you get this?" Rhys repeated in a low and quiet voice.
"I got it from the Merkova house. The changeling threw it out the window to me," Groz said.
"And what were you going to do with it?"
"I was taking it to Queen Maeve," Groz answered.
"That's not happening, not now," Rhys said. He was in shock, and he started walking toward the Merkova house. He turned and looked back at Groz. "Don't you tell a soul, not even the queen. If you do, I will know, and well, there's the tree." Rhys pointed upward.
As Rhys walked away, Groz breathed a sigh of relief. Even the redcap was not stupid enough to get into a fight with him. What happened now was out of his hands and Groz was happy to be free of it. He decided it was time to lay low as he walked off in the opposite direction.
22
In the morning, Abigail Young was up and dressed before the crack of dawn. She was on a mission of utmost importance. No one else paid attention to what occurred in this town like her, and no one was better equipped to step in when it needed saving. She left the house and poured herself into her carriage for the ride into town. Abigail felt that the good Pastor needed to tell everyone in the parish what he thought and to speak out against the Merkova woman. It was the only way to keep everyone safe.
Fog rested over the ground as the morning sun began to burn it off. Fresh air breezed through the window, ruffling Abigail's hair. She felt a tickling at the nape of her neck, which she attributed to the breeze. Her thoughts took a vicious turn as she stared out the window. Elizabeth Merkova was pretty, and Abigail saw the way men watched her as she strolled through town. That woman could get anyone to do anything for her, with her silky hair and honeyed voice. And why had Erna Cook passed out after being in Elizabeth Merkova's presence? All the odd going's on at the Merkova house and the increase of wolves in the area. Why, it was all too strange, it couldn't be a coincidence. Everything was fine in the parish until the Merkova family had moved into the Barker's cottage.
An invisible Merritt sat and toyed with Abigail's hair. Oh, this was too easy. He had never met a more willing subject to think horrible thoughts about their fellow hu
man beings. But then again, isn't this what Rhys was always going on about, that humans were weak, stupid creatures? He could certainly see why Rhys felt that way if they so easily turned against one another.
The carriage pulled up to the front of the church and Abigail descended to pound on the rectory door. Hesitant footsteps sounded from inside the church. It seemed to take an eternity for the door to open, but eventually, open it did. Inside the church, on this sleepy country morning, candles were lit in prayer, and incense snaked its way up to the rafters. It was peaceful inside and solitary. Pastor Poole didn't like being ousted from his prayers by the red-faced woman who stood on the church's doorstep.
But, being a minister, he had no choice but to be civil. "Good morning, Mrs. Young. How may I help you?"
Without further niceties, Abigail pushed past the pastor as if those words were her specific invite inside. "Pastor Poole, we have things to discuss. Things of importance to the parish that must be addressed immediately."
The beleaguered pastor showed Mrs. Young to the first pew by the door and asked her to please be seated. He had no intention of making things any more comfortable than this. "Please, go on." Words he didn't mean.
"It has come to my attention, and to the attention of others in town, that we have a problem with one of our citizens. Elizabeth Merkova. Something must be done.” Abigail enunciated every syllable of her pronouncement. She felt that what she was saying was obvious.
Pastor Poole decided to play dumb. "I am sorry, Mrs. Young, but I am not sure what you mean." He winced as he spoke, anticipating the next profusion of inculpatory words with the same agitation one might feel if one were expecting to be pummeled.
