Moonshine

by Robin Trent

  He didn't know how, but he would find a way. If this continued, the Merkova woman could be a victim of an unruly mob. Pastor Poole could see where this might go. He did not want such a travesty in his parish.

  23

  Rhys stood in the nursery, shrouded in shadow in a dark corner. His eyes were transfixed on the crib. The changeling hadn't heard him come in. Luck would have it Rhys stepped into shadow as soon as he stepped sideways out of the other world and into the nursery. The changeling was giggling to itself and talking to no one in particular. "Do this for me and you shall be free of your debt, she says. But how long? I could be stuck here forever."

  "Not if you play your cards right," Rhys' voice whispered out of the darkness.

  A sharp intake of breath was all the changeling managed for a reply as Rhys moved with stealth and speed to put his hands around the back of the changeling's collar. He picked up the changeling and moved near the window. The changeling struggled, but it was no use.

  "Rhys! Let me go. Queen Oonagh will hear of this," the changeling threatened.

  "Not if you're dead," Rhys stated matter-of-factly.

  "You wouldn't dare," Melkree challenged.

  Rhys' reply was to simply open the window and point out the rocks below in the garden.

  The changeling knew it was beat, but didn't like being threatened so. He folded his arms over his chest and gritted his sharp, pointy teeth.

  "We can make this simple. You tell me what I want to know, and I will let you go unscathed," Rhys said. "Or we can make this difficult and I can kill you. If you lie to me and I find out you lied, I will come back and kill you anyway. I don't care about Queen Oonagh." Rhys showed his feral grin up close and personal to the changeling. The changeling gulped.

  "What. Do. You. Want?" The changeling enunciated each word.

  "You threw a journal out this window to Groz." Rhys watched the changeling carefully for his reaction. "A journal that, as it turns out, is personal to me."

  The changeling squirmed.

  "Where did you get it? And why did you give it to Groz?" Rhys pulled the changeling very close to his mouth and he made sure it felt his hot breath on its neck.

  Melkree quietly swore to himself. "The journal comes from the hob. Titwell, he loaned it to the human female and she almost lost it. I set a trap for him, I did. He tried to sidestep into his room, but I blocked him and knocked him out. Then I stole the journal and threw it out the window. Groz was supposed to take it to Queen Maeve. Thought she might reward me for that one."

  "Queen Maeve? I thought you worked for Oonagh."

  "I works for the highest bidder." The changeling smiled a horrible grin of crooked, decaying teeth.

  "I see. And since the journal never made it to Maeve, no one else knows about it?" Rhys peered into the pinched, coal black eyes of the changeling, hoping he could see the truth there.

  "No one else knows except for me, and Groz, and Titwell, and the nightmare." The changeling ticked the list off his fingers. "Oh, and now you."

  "If you value your mangy little life, you will speak of this to no one. You can finish your work for Oonagh in peace, but the nightmare goes," Rhys stated emphatically.

  "Oh, but he's me only company.” The changeling pouted.

  "Too bad," Rhys said as he plopped the changeling back into the crib.

  Rhys knew better than to assume the changeling would do anything except in his own best interests, but there was nothing else to do right now. He left the nursery and slinked down the hall to Elizabeth's room where he had last seen the nightmare.

  He crept into her bedroom and shut the door. The nightmare was leaning over the human woman like a parasite.

  "Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk." Rhys shook his finger back and forth at the nightmare.

  The nightmare shrank and undulated at the sight of Rhys, contracting in on itself, withdrawing from its target. Elizabeth moaned in her sleep, the bad dreams dissipating. "Rhyssssss," the nightmare hissed.

  "It's time for you to leave, and you will not be coming back. Of that you can be sure," Rhys whispered.

  "You have no sssssssay here." The nightmare sounded like a teakettle with a leak.

  "Yep, well, I do now. I made a promise to rid the house of your presence, and you are to leave now." Rhys lowered his voice. "I would rather you leave quietly, or I can drag you outside by your greasy, smoke-filled ass. Now what's it going to be?"

  "Yoooouuuu will regret thisssssss," Spryth said.

  "Okay, you said what you had to say. Out." Rhys pointed with his finger at the window.

  The nightmare hissed and blew past Rhys and exited, a cold breeze blowing in its wake. As Rhys turned to go, he heard Elizabeth cry out. She tossed and turned, kicking at the covers, whimpering. "I need the hrnal," she mumbled. "Need... journal.Where's my b-by? I must find her," she whispered in a barely audible voice.

  Rhys actually felt a moment of sympathy, until it dawned on him that she associated finding her baby with the journal. What could the two possibly have in common? The journal, he thought, was his family's tree of descendants. Rhys stared at Elizabeth. He stared at her beautiful golden hair, her fine skin, her small-boned frame and delicate hands. Rhys needed answers, and he knew exactly who he needed to speak to next.

  On the forest floor below, twigs snapped. Strakx looked down to see a pack of wolves. Not just one or two, mind you, but ten. He sat on the tree branch, holding on with one hand to smaller branches that grew from the bigger ones, and counted with the other, pointing at each wolf. What were they doing here? One of the wolves looked up at Strakx, and its eyes glowed green. Queen Maeve. Of course. Everyone knew Maeve used wolves as surrogates. She couldn't come to the house by herself, that would look out of place. But traveling as a wolf with a pack, no one was going to notice she was inhabiting one of the wolf bodies.

  The wolves prowled and paced as they looked at their leader to see what to do next. As Maeve sat down and contemplated the house, the other wolves followed suit and sat or lay down beside her. Strakx sat in the tree and didn't move. He wondered if the wolves would come here on their own without Maeve leading them. But more importantly, what was the queen doing? Did someone alert her to Rhys' presence in the house? Strakx was serving as lookout and spy, and he had no way to warn Rhys. Uh oh.

  Strakx's tail curled up in agitation. Rhys shows up out of the blue and now the queen. Great. Strakx liked life to be simple. He avoided conflict whenever possible. Now, he was right in the thick of it. If he let loose one bird call, Maeve would eat him for dinner. If he didn't warn Rhys, that one would kill him. Strakx felt like abandoning his post and saving himself. It's why he and Rhys were such good companions. They were both selfish and understood that.

  The nightmare made a hasty exit from the house. The queen turned her head and tilted it to the side. Strakx knew who was leaving the house next, and then Rhys was supposed to help Titwell enforce his wards. The queen is going to see that. The phouka palmed his face and covered his eyes; he couldn't watch.

  Rhys side-stepped into the yard, and Titwell came out the back door. They had a brief conversation, and the queen's ears tracked forward. Strakx wasn't sure how much she could hear, but she moved a bit as if restless, indicating she couldn't hear as well as she would have liked. Rhys walked around the house, talking to Titwell and pointing things out the hob may have missed.

  Then Rhys and Titwell worked to strengthen the wards. Bright white-hot energy flared around the house, its beacon showing up for miles. The power traveled from the ground up to cover the very top of the house, and then they focused on making sure the energy connected underneath the house. When done, the house hummed. No one was going to get inside that dwelling again, except Titwell, of course, which he demonstrated as he stepped through the ward and then came back to compliment Rhys on his handiwork.

  When he was satisfied, Rhys took off for the woods and approached the spot where Strakx was hiding up in the tree. Strakx was quietly murmuring, "Don't. Don't come over here.
" Rhys did not hear him. Rhys pulled up short when he spotted the pack of wolves. The queen stood up, bared her teeth, and growled.

  Rhys was quick to recover and went down on one knee, "Your Majesty."

  The queen couldn't speak, but it didn't matter. She moved closer to Rhys, and her growling became more intense as she gnashed her teeth. Rhys looked up straight at Maeve and spoke calmly and authoritatively. "I have been keeping an eye on the residence as you requested. I was assisting Titwell. Hob couldn't make a decent ward if his life depended on it." He sounded as reasonable as possible, feigning ignorance as to why the queen was upset.

  The growling stopped, and the wolf huffed. Then she lunged for his arm and bit it. Rhys held still as he felt the fangs sink into his flesh. He couldn't throw her even though every nerve fiber was insisting that he do it. She was showing her displeasure, and she was warning him. She didn't go for his throat, which meant she thought he was an idiot, but not a betrayer. Rhys waited patiently as the wolf tugged on his arm for good measure sending a burning fire dancing up his limb. The queen released him and stepped back. He remained crouched on the ground as she turned to leave, the other wolves following her. When they were out of sight, Rhys stood up.

  Strakx scrambled down the tree. "Rhys, are you all right?"

  "Yes," Rhys said through gritted teeth.

  "I wanted to warn you, but I couldn't. Maeve would have killed me if I had."

  "I understand." Rhys found himself a fallen tree and sat down.

  "That was a close one. I think you pissed off the queen."

  "Obviously." Rhys ripped open his shirt sleeve, tore off a piece and made a tourniquet for his upper arm.

  "I think you're going to have to go see her and explain what you were doing. You do have an explanation right, Rhys?" The phouka sounded worried.

  "Of course. I'll explain it to the queen. She'll understand... I think."

  Word had reached Helen about the gossip in town. That Young woman was campaigning on the streets, making all manner of accusations against Elizabeth, trying to stir up trouble. Luckily, it seems, most of the people Abigail Young had talked to rolled their eyes and moved away from the woman as quickly as possible. But there were some older citizens, people who still remembered the early days of witchcraft accusations, and they took it a little more seriously.

  Helen was in her room, staring out the window, thinking. Maybe she had set something off in Elizabeth. Perhaps the stress of selling the house so soon after the birth of the children was too much. It was becoming more apparent that her daughter might not be faking her delusions. Especially since their last confrontation, which was utterly unreasonable on Elizabeth's part. For the first time, Helen was afraid of her daughter and had fled the house after their argument.

  Helen felt confident that she did the right thing writing to Nikolai. Her daughter's appearance had changed; dark circles were under her eyes, and her skin was sallow. Her hair needed brushing, and Elizabeth looked like she hadn't slept in days. Helen and Rebecca watched over the children more and more. Elizabeth's attempts to kill her child were disturbing, and no one in the house felt that she could be left alone with her children.

  Helen had heard of women having problems after childbirth. It wasn't that unusual for it to take time for the bond between mother and child to form. But trying to kill your child was another matter altogether. She was beginning to think that maybe Elizabeth did belong in an asylum. There was a possibility that Helen and Arthur would have to put off selling the house to ensure the children had a home. But isn't that what Elizabeth wanted? Wasn't that why she was acting so strange, to keep them from selling the house? Helen didn't know what the truth was anymore.

  Rhys walked through the woods with Strakx by his side, the phouka fussing over him the whole way. Amid all of the phouka's chatter, Rhys was conducting an urgent search. He was looking for yarrow, an herb that would stem the flow of blood from his arm. It was a fern-like plant with heads that were clusters of yellow and white flowers, known to cure wounds. His eyesight had accustomed to the dark a while ago, but some moonlight would have been lovely. He looked and looked, and after about an hour, he found what he sought.

  Rhys bent down to the ground and removed the knife he always carried from his boot. He cut several stems, and while he was in the middle of cutting a leather boot landed right in the middle of the plant. "That wasn't necessary, you know. What did the yarrow ever do to you?" Rhys said as he stood up.

  Before him was the Captain of the Guard of Queen Maeve, along with several others from his company. Raelgar had long gold hair with streaks of red in it that he braided in sections and wrapped with bands of silver in the center. His face was very angular with smooth skin, and his eyes were yellow like a cat's. He stood the same height as Rhys but had a heavier gait because of the armor he wore and the weapons he carried. Except for the knife Rhys was using to cut the plant, he was unarmed.

  Raelgar lifted the corner of his upper lip as if he smelled something unpleasant. "Queen Maeve wants to see you. I've been sent here to fetch you."

  "Sorry you had to put yourself out like that, old boy. I was going to go see her eventually." Rhys sounded as casual as he could.

  Raelgar swiped at Rhys' head, knocking him down. "It's not a choice, traitor. It is the queen's command."

  Rhys put his hand up to his mouth, wiping away the blood blooming there. "You'd think you would be in a better mood, considering."

  "What are you referring to?" Raelgar snarled.

  "Being the queen's plaything must have its benefits." Rhys smiled knowingly.

  "You have no right to suggest impropriety of the queen. Not that you would know anything about loyalty, would you? You're only Unseelie because your own queen banished you, and you had nowhere else to go. You should remember our queen's generosity and be a little more grateful." Raelgar spat on Rhys.

  Rhys' countenance darkened. Raelgar mentioned things he should best leave alone. Rather than reply, Rhys wisely kept his own counsel and remained silent. The mention of Oonagh did nothing to improve his mood. He still needed to confront her, and being delayed was not helpful.

  Rhys stood up slowly, holding the yarrow to his arm. "Lead the way," he said as the guard surrounded him, and Raelgar turned to take up the head of the column. They took off marching and walked into and through the barrier separating this world and the next.

  Strakx stood alone in the woods all but forgotten, shoulders slumped and ears laying down his back. Rhys was in trouble again, but the phouka had been quiet and melded into the background. He wished he was braver, bigger, but Rhys had told him he wanted him to remain on lookout. All Strakx could do was continue following Rhys' last orders, and that is what he intended to do.

  Strakx spied something in the tall grass where Rhys had fallen and went to investigate. Lying on the ground was the red journal Rhys had shown him earlier. Strakx looked around to see if he was being watched and seeing no one, picked up the journal and ascended into the trees.

  The elemental sylph slid along the rocks at the top of the throne room. The Seelie queen was not on her throne at this time of year, and the court was empty. Nothing much had taken place since the queens changed power, and the Unseelie queen had come to rule. As was to be expected, the Seelie queen had been resting, recuperating her strength as the aging process reversed. But the spy was still present, trying to glean whatever information it could for Maeve.

  The sylph came to attention as Queen Oonagh entered the throne room, Oswald following close on her heels. "Your Majesty, you need to return to bed. You're supposed to be resting!" Oswald clucked like a mother hen.

  "I have an entire two seasons to rest, Oswald. I need to think.” Oonagh paced about the room. "Maeve is up to something, something I am missing. Wolves have been seen close to the Merkova house."

  "Titwell has it all well in hand, Your Majesty. His reports have been favorable, and the conditions at the house have much improved since Rhys Bryhana helped him enforce the
wards."

  "Rhys Bryhana, bah! That slippery eel can't be trusted. He works for Maeve," Oonagh said.

  "At your discretion, Your Majesty," Oswald gently reminded the queen.

  "Yes, yes, I know. I banished Rhys, but it was necessary. He didn't leave me with much choice." Oonagh was looking all over the place at nothing. She couldn't figure out the puzzle. "Maeve wants something. Do you think she knows about the changeling?"

  "That is a good possibility, Your Majesty. Many at court have been aware of the presence of the human child. None have spoken out against it, but dissent is in the air. You know that many hate humans, even in the Seelie court," Oswald said.

  Oonagh stared at Oswald and had a dawning realization that her simpering servant was not so servile. In fact, he was quite astute. "Do you think the child is protected? Did I protect her enough? Is she safe from Maeve?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty. The child is no longer at court, and as the humans say, out of sight, out of mind. Many will forget in the coming months, and this whole mess will disappear as a rumor," Oswald said.

  The queen visibly relaxed. "Maybe I should go lie down for a bit, Oswald. I am still tired."

  Oswald assisted the queen back to her chambers as they left the throne room.

  The sylph had heard enough and seen enough. It was time to report back to Maeve and get out of here. It breathed a sigh of relief as it departed to open air and clear skies. Even that small amount of confinement had made the sylph feel cut off from its element. Outside, it zipped through the air, making loops and practically sang with joy as it headed back to its mistress.

  It was after midnight when Titwell crept out of the attic and went downstairs looking for something to do. John had done such an excellent job fixing the roof, Titwell wanted to do something nice for him. He had landed on an idea as John was an avid gardener. Titwell often watched him take special care as he weeded and watered the vegetable garden. But John also took care of the rest of the landscaping. He trimmed the hedge and the rose bushes and took care of all the flowers and shrubs on the property. It wasn't just that it was his job, Titwell could tell John loved to work outside and that he had a particular affinity for plants. His tools were well worn, and Titwell thought they could use a proper sharpening and oiling. Especially his shears.