Moonshine

by Robin Trent

  "Actually, Dr. Barrett, Helen will be leaving tomorrow to go back home. I think it would be better if you came after her mother left. Helen will be a..." Nikolai searched for the right word. "A distraction."

  "I completely understand. No, not an issue. I will come by your house the day after tomorrow then."

  "Then, it is settled. Thank you, Dr. Barrett," Nikolai said as he rose to leave.

  "Not at all. We'll get this sorted out. Now you go home and get some rest," the doctor said in a fatherly tone. He hated to see any man so distraught about his family. He hoped there was a simple solution. If Nikolai was like this now, how would he be if his wife had to be committed?

  Nikolai walked into Dr. Barrett's office. Rhys had no interest in following. He probably just needed to check with the doctor after coming back from his trip. Humans being so fragile. It seemed they were always getting sick. Rhys looked around to see if there was anything to keep him occupied. Nothing of general interest was immediately obvious until he spied a minister. Rhys particularly hated the Christian Religion. A minister might be fun to pick on. He watched the minister as he dodged from bush to bush and hiding place to hiding place, finding this particular method of travel amusing.

  A singularly large woman was walking down the middle of the street, calling after the minister. She was also aware of the minister dodging from place to place and was trying to get his attention. But that was not the most interesting thing Rhys was observing. A young, royal, thin-faced Sidhe was whispering in the woman's ear. Rhys hung back and watched.

  Rhys knew the young Sidhe and moved out from the shade of the elm tree and made his presence known. Merritt laughed, "Rhys." He moved away from the human woman and came to stand beside his fellow fae. "So good to see you."

  "Hello, Merritt. I see you're misbehaving as usual." Rhys indicated the woman Merritt had been following with his chin.

  "Oh that." Merritt grinned. "Yeah, I've been amusing myself. It gets so boring around here sometimes."

  "Amusing yourself by causing trouble," Rhys grumbled.

  "Oh, its nothing. That woman is so easily suggestible, I was able to convince her that another woman is a witch." Merritt chuckled at his cleverness.

  "Which woman?" Rhys asked.

  "That woman, you know, the big one," Merritt said.

  "No, which woman is accused of being a witch?" Rhys frowned.

  "Oh, someone called Elizabeth Merkova. Why do you look so concerned?"

  "Do you know that they burned my wife as a witch?" Rhys was seething, and Merritt blanched. "Do you know that the whispering technique you are using is what I used to destroy the village that burned her? And you are inciting another false accusation?" Rhys flexed his fists, and Merritt backed up.

  "Rhys," Merritt swallowed, "I didn't think."

  "No. You didn't. The damage is done, but if you have any respect for me at all, you will stop what you are doing for amusement at once," Rhys said through gritted teeth.

  "I'm sorry, Rhys. I'll make it up to you." Merritt looked like a kid properly chastised. "And I'll stop. Right now. No problem."

  "See that you do," Rhys replied rather gruffly and walked away from Merritt. He needed to put some distance between him and the kid before he knocked his block off.

  Rhys stood apart from everyone. He was letting his anger get the better of him again, and he knew he needed to calm down. Merritt was on the other side of the street, staring at Rhys with curiosity. Rhys looked back at him until a cart passed between them that caught both of their attention. It was the hunting party from the forest last night. They were finally back, tired, and bedraggled. On their cart were the bodies of two slain wolves. One was black, the other gray. They looked to be a pair, male and female. Wolves mated for life. That would explain why one went back for the other in-spite of the danger the men presented. It had cost them both their lives.

  Rhys felt the anger rise in his throat. Men, still killing innocent animals, still the worst beasts on the planet. The wolves weren't doing anything, just being wolves. They hadn't attacked any humans. No, they were following Maeve around, and they were under her spell, and they waited for her too close to the Merkova house.

  Merritt crossed the road after the cart had passed between them. "Those were my mother's wolves."

  "I know, but it is less the human's fault than it is Maeve's," Rhys said.

  "Maeve? What does my mother have to do with this?" Merritt's brow furrowed.

  "She was using them to travel in, for scouting purposes, and she kept getting too close to the humans. If she had stayed further back, been less conspicuous, the humans wouldn't have attacked," Rhys explained.

  "Still defending humans after all these years? I thought you said they killed your wife," Merritt sneered.

  "They did. But not these particular humans." Rhys' attention was drawn away quickly as Nikolai emerged from the doctor's office. He didn't know why he kept chastising Merritt for doing the same thing he had done over and over, and Rhys shrugged his shoulders in irritation.

  Nikolai stepped outside as he was putting on his gloves. He looked for John to bring the carriage round from the side street, and he stepped down the flagstone steps to see where his manservant had disappeared. John was over at the cart where the dead wolves lay. The men were congratulating themselves. John shook the hand of a big, burly, blond fellow and was smiling.

  Nikolai stood and watched, observing the camaraderie. He understood male bonding rituals, but over the death of an animal, somehow, it just seemed wrong to him. On the other hand, the men felt they were protecting their families, so they had achieved something of which they were proud.

  Rhys ignored Merritt going on about humans as he observed Nikolai. He was looking to see something, some form of compassion from the man. Rhys didn't want to be wrong about Nikolai. Nikolai walked over to his manservant and shook the hand of the burly, blond hunter. He then walked to the back of the cart and placed his gloved hand upon the black wolf. He actually patted it, looked at its head, and then did something Rhys did not expect. He closed the wolf's eyes like you would a dead human. It was a small gesture, but it was significant to Rhys. It meant Nikolai wasn't a monster. He was still a man, and he was capable of feeling compassion.

  Rhys had seen enough, and he wanted to talk to Oonagh. He was wasting time now. Rhys told Merritt to stay out of trouble and left. He was tired of men's company, and he wanted the quiet of the woodland.

  28

  Rebecca prepared the breakfast and took it up to Helen's room, as she had requested. The housekeeper wasn’t too surprised to see Helen packing her bags. "Put the tray down and get out," Helen barked. Rebecca did as she was told and left the room with a smile on her face. She was glad to be rid of the old harpy. After breakfast, Helen continued packing. She didn't like being made to feel unwelcome in her own house. It was, as far as she was concerned, the height of rudeness.

  She had come to see her grandchildren and to deliver the message about selling the house. She had done what she had set out to do. Still, Helen felt like she was leaving things undone. Her daughter's mental state was still at issue, but she also knew that staying was out of the question. Nikolai had asked her to pack her bags and leave, and so she shall.

  It didn't matter. They were still going to sell the house. Why kick her out? Did Nikolai think that he could handle Elizabeth in the state she was in? The only person who ever had the strength to manage Elizabeth was her mother. She could make Elizabeth fold and come to heel. Her daughter was headstrong, but she had been reigning Elizabeth in her whole life. Helen packed and then unpacked and then repacked as she had this conversation with herself. She felt truly torn about leaving.

  A soft knock on her door broke her revelry, and Helen left her packing on the bed to answer it. Elizabeth was at the door, hands folded in front of her, rocking back and forth on her heels while staring at the floor. She raised her head to greet her mother when Helen called out her name. Elizabeth didn't have a smile on her fac
e, but she wasn't frowning either. It looked like she was remaining neutral. That meant one of two things. She had come to apologize, or she wanted something. Helen was assuming the latter.

  "Yes? What is it?" she asked.

  "I came to say goodbye. Nikolai told me you were leaving. I was hoping that we could part on good terms, Mother," Elizabeth said.

  Helen didn't say anything; she just crossed the room to go back to packing. She folded several dark items while her daughter talked.

  "I know that things were difficult for you here. I wanted you to know that I wasn't trying to upset you. There are just things you don't understand." Elizabeth had a bit of resignation in her voice, like she had given up.

  Helen clucked her teeth. "I know exactly what you were trying to do. You think I'm a fool, Elizabeth. This house will sell, no matter what you do. You and Nikolai need to find another arrangement."

  "You still think that is what is going on here, that all of this has been about this stupid house?" Elizabeth whispered, surprise in her voice.

  "I know you are conniving. You have been ever since you were a little girl," Helen said with too much force as she shoved more clothes in her suitcase. "Always have to be the center of attention. Always making things up."

  "I wouldn't have tried so hard to get your attention if you had ever cared for me, Mother. Why is it so hard to believe me? I've been telling you the same thing for years now." A tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

  "Oh, so it's my fault, is it? You've never taken responsibility, Elizabeth." Helen put her hands on her hips and stared down her daughter.

  "You'll never understand, will you?” Elizabeth’s voice hitched as she spoke. “You're too hard, too self-centered to have empathy for another person, aren't you?" Elizabeth stared at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. All her life Elizabeth had tried to be the daughter her mother wanted. She had suffered miserably when she had failed, and she had never really received the love she wanted. But it wasn't Elizabeth's fault. She could see that now. "You're just incapable of loving your own children. It's not a failing, actually. It's just. Not. There. You care more about what society thinks than you do about us."

  Elizabeth felt pity for her mother, and it was pity in Elizabeth's eyes that Helen saw. Her jaw trembled. She didn't want anyone's pity. "So now you know what I think and how I feel, do you? You're such an expert on me?"

  "You're my mother. I've had to live my entire life on the receiving end of your tender ministrations." Elizabeth failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "I only know what I have experienced. If I had experienced something different from you, maybe I would see you differently. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you, Mother." Pain tore through Elizabeth's chest as she broke the cord tying her to her mother's approval. "I just think it's time for me to be my own person, and I need to be free of your recriminations." Elizabeth turned to leave and then stopped at the door to look over her shoulder. "It never was about the house, you know."

  Helen left that very morning. She was gone, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief as the oppression lifted from the house. It felt as if she could breathe again, even though she hadn't been aware she'd been suffocating. So, they will have to find a new place to live. Being out from under her mother's thumb, not having to live according to her mother's standards, not worrying about what everybody thought, it would all be worth it. She would rather be a beggar on the street than live with this intolerable suffering anymore. Elizabeth finally, for once in her life, felt free.

  Now she only had one more thing to take care of. She needed to get her child back. Elizabeth was not crazy, and she knew she wasn't. All self-doubt had left, and she was motivated to take action.

  The air elemental blew into the Unseelie Court; the only evidence it existed was the cloud of yellow smoke trailing behind it. It came into the throne room and landed in a silver dish that sat beside Maeve's throne. The queen submerged her jeweled hand into the silver platter, and the air elemental curled itself around her arm. "Ah, my pet. You have finally returned."

  Maeve rose from the throne, and the court stood at attention. She flitted her other hand and said, "You are dismissed." Maeve stepped down from the dais and walked to her private chambers. She moved to the center of the room where her brazier stood, and lit the coals in the center of it. When the coals were hot, she sprinkled herbs on the coals making smoke. "There you are, my pet." The air elemental mingled with the smoke and sighed, enjoying the warmth as it energized her.

  "Now," Maeve grinned, "show me what you've found."

  The air elemental turned and twisted, forming shapes in the air, using the smoke to form the pictures. The elemental made intricate shapes that told a story. First, it made itself into a baby. Then into a crown. Then it shifted form again and changed into a house made out of vines. "Hmmm. So Oonagh has placed the human baby in a house made out of trees?" The elemental nodded its smokey head in agreement. "But where?" This was going to be harder. The elemental changed into a wall of smoke. "A walled city?" The elemental changed again into a doorway. "A walled city with a door?" The elemental shook its head in frustration.

  The elemental moved away from the brazier and floated in between two posts. Then it floated in between two statues, a doorway, two rocks. "Slow down, I can't follow you. You're just always in between two objects, but I don't... Oh." Maeve shook her head. Oonagh. "She's put the child in the In-Between?" The elemental shot straight up in the air for joy and plummeted back down into the smoking brazier. "Do you know where?" The elemental nodded its head. "Fascinating."

  29

  Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting its silver hue upon Elizabeth's face. She slept soundly for the first time in weeks. She was alone in her room, as Nikolai had fallen asleep downstairs in front of the fire, an unfinished brandy on the table beside him. This had become his routine since returning home.

  Rhys stood at the end of Elizabeth's bed, his skin glowing in the moonlight. He had a task to do, one he wasn't all that fond of. Maeve had commanded he end Elizabeth's life, but his heart wasn't into it. On the battlefield, it was different. Men came there to die. But this seemed wrong. Why? That was all he kept asking himself. Why now, why her, why did Maeve even care? This one human life, so fragile, so fleeting, so... Rhys paused in his musing. He stared hard at Elizabeth's face. The hair color was all wrong, probably the eye color too, but the facial shape, the tip of her nose, the full lips, the long eyelashes. Elizabeth looked like a blond version of his dead wife.

  Rhys felt a knife twist in his gut. This realization made what he was about to do impossible. How could he kill a woman that looked so much like Brianna? Red hair braided with silver torques wrapped around them, mud-splattered on a cheek, green eyes that burned with fire as she rode into battle, his fierce warrior, his wife. Memories of Brianna swam over Rhys and caused a lump to rise in his throat.

  A murmur from the bed. Elizabeth stirred in her sleep and flung her arm up onto her pillow. "No one," she whispered. "No help." She was dreaming. "Journal. Where's the journal?" Maybe Maeve wanted her killed cause she knew too much about Elphame? "I want my child." That plaintive plea tore at Rhys' heart. He stepped back into the shadows in case she woke up, then he leaned up against the wall staring at her. He should just be done with it.

  Beside Rhys, the door slowly cracked open. He was staring down at the top of the old hob's grey head. Titwell was unaware of his presence at the moment, and he preferred to keep it that way. Rhys held absolutely still, trying to blend in with the furniture. Titwell tiptoed into the bedroom and went to Elizabeth's side. The hob reached out his hands and sent a wave of calming energy over Elizabeth, and her restlessness abated. He patted her hand and began to tiptoe back to the door when he stopped in his tracks, wide-eyed, staring right at Rhys.

  "How many times a night do you have to do that?" Rhys asked.

  Titwell held his finger up to his lips signaling Rhys to be quiet. He motioned for Rhys to follow him, and the t
wo of them quietly left the bedroom. Rhys followed Titwell down the hall and up the stairs to the attic. Titwell shut the door behind them and walked over to an oil lamp on the table and lit it. Warm yellow light filled the room, and Titwell pointed towards a nice comfy chair for Rhys to sit in while he took his favorite, the rocking chair.

  "So, what brings you back here in the middle of the night, Master Rhys?" Titwell sounded dubious.

  "I am here on a mission for Maeve," Rhys said. He decided telling the truth would be easiest.

  "Oh? And what kind of mission is that?" Titwell frowned.

  "Would you like to tell me about the journal?" Rhys asked.

  Titwell's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he took a deep resounding breath as if excepting his fate. "I knew when that blasted journal got out of my hands it was going to be trouble."

  "So it is your journal?" Rhys asked.

  "Yes, yes, it's mine. I created it. I wanted to keep track of it all." Titwell grabbed his pipe off the desk and lit it. He was trying to steel himself for what he was going to say next. "I knew this day would come, and now it seems I am betwixt and between."

  "Would you stop being so cryptic and just tell me?" Rhys said.

  Titwell gave a start as if he was about to get offended and then stopped himself and began puffing on his pipe, rocking back and forth. "How far back would you like me to go?"

  "I always find the beginning a good place to start," Rhys said.

  Titwell wasn't sure about how much he should tell. It was going to be his head if he involved Oonagh. But how was he supposed to avoid that and still tell Rhys what he wanted to know? He tried to get the queen's help, but she had refused his pleas and left Elizabeth's fate up to the wind. Well then, she gets what's coming to her, doesn't she? Titwell sighed and settled himself in; this was going to be a rough talk.