Kive’s eyes darted toward the sky. “Master is everywhere…” He flinched back as Aluem took another step.
“I’ve not seen anyone else,” said Nathaera. “At least, not since…well, this morning.”
Gwyn glanced at her and found her eyes red-rimmed. Her lips turned up in a tremulous smile.
“You were with companions until then?” He glanced at Kive, afraid to guess what had happened to them.
She nodded, eyes welling with tears. “I came with a party of knights in pursuit of Swan Castle. It was all Windsur’s idea. He, he wanted to prove himself heroic, I suppose. Or maybe he was just a fool.” She shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I only came to send him back home. I thought he’d turn about at the first sign of danger, if I came along. But…he didn’t.”
Gwyn’s brow lifted. “Windsur ren Cloven of Crowwell?”
“Yes,” said Nathaera as she lifted a handkerchief to swipe at her eye. “He’s my betrothed — or, well, he was.”
Gwyn’s brow shot higher. “Betrothed?” She was such a wisp of a girl he’d assumed she was no older than twelve. But by the Crow King’s law, a girl could only be promised to a man when she turned fifteen. Verbal arrangements might be made before that day, but one simply didn’t speak of it until she came of age.
Nathaera eyed Gwyn with a knowing smile. “You thought I was younger than I am, didn’t you? It’s all right, I’m not offended. Everyone assumes I’m twelve or thirteen, but I promise you I’ve lived for sixteen entire springs. Windsur and I became betrothed last Autumn. It was our parents’ wishes.” Another tear slid down her cheek. “I can’t say I loved him — those feelings can take time, you know. But I never would’ve wished our betrothal to end like this…”
Gwyn found his eyes resting on Kive. “How did he die?”
“S-swallowed,” answered Nathaera with a shudder.
Gwyn’s eyes widened. “He was eaten?” He shrank back from the Ilidreth, who had hunkered down against the unicorn’s steady stare.
“Uh-uh. By the trees.”
Gwyn glanced at the girl. “The trees?”
Nathaera nodded. “The roots…just sprang up all of the sudden and dragged poor Windsur down into the earth. It was terrible. His screams lasted for several moments.” She shivered and squeezed her eyes closed. “I’ll never forget the sight of it. The sounds of his screams. Never.”
Gwyn sheathed his blade, rounded Aluem, and knelt before the maiden. He rested a hand on her arm. “I’m very sorry for your loss. You’ve been through an awful ordeal. But I won’t let anything happen to you now, while I have strength.”
Her blue-green eyes opened, bright with tears. A faint smile touched her lips. “Thank you, Gwynter ren Terare. Despite everything that’s happened, I do feel safer now that you’re here.” Her eyes slid to the unicorn and Ilidreth. “You and your, eh, companion.”
Gwyn stood. “I’m a little pressed for time, so we must keep moving, if you don’t mind riding a unicorn.”
‘I can carry you both well enough,’ said Aluem.
Gwyn nodded and offered his hand to Nathaera. She took it and let him hoist her to her feet. She stood an entire foot shorter than him.
“Did all your party meet the same end?” Gwyn asked as he led the girl to Aluem’s side. From the corner of his eye, he watched Kive slinking nearby, but not inching any closer to the unicorn.
“Some of them did,” Nathaera said. “But others were eaten by the creature you call Kive.”
Gwyn’s step faltered. “He ate them?”
Nathaera gravely nodded. “That’s why I was trying so hard to make him realize I’m a girl, not a rat. He seems to think people are rats, and he eats them. It’s…the most dreadful thing I’ve ever seen…Not that I watched…”
Aluem caught Gwyn’s eye. ‘What befalls a twisted Ilidreth in the end. Therefore, Celin wished for you to kill Kive upon your meeting.’
“If I may ask,” said Nathaera, “what are you doing all the way out here? And with such a magnificent acquaintance?”
Gwyn pried his eyes from Aluem’s to meet the girl’s gaze. “I’m seeking Swan Castle.”
She grimaced. “Not to prove yourself heroic, I hope.”
“No, nothing so grand as that. I seek a healing balm for my dying brother. It’s the only hope he has to survive.”
Nathaera considered Gwyn and a smile brushed her pale lips. “Grandness is nothing to nobility of heart, Gwynter of Vinwen. Small wonder your companion is a unicorn.”
“Why have I never seen you at parties?”
Nathaera’s question brought Gwyn’s thoughts up short. “Beg pardon?”
“Do the residents of Vinwen Manor never come to court? Surely your parents enjoy socializing, yet your family is never in attendance.”
Gwyn frowned, eyes studying Aluem’s twined horn as the company trotted along the watery pathway toward Swan Castle. He could hear the soft clop of Aluem’s hooves and the faint rustle of Kive following close behind, just off the Crystal Way, hidden in the trees. He could feel Nathaera’s warm hands on his arms from her place behind him. Otherwise all was still and faraway.
“My father died last year, and my mother has been in mourning. My elder brother is a lieutenant in the Crow King’s army, and now he’s taken ill. I’m afraid House Terare has been long absent at court.”
“I’m very sorry,” Nathaera said. “I didn’t mean to provoke such pain. I merely wondered why I’ve not seen you before. I think I remember your parents from the Winter Festival two years ago. They were a handsome pair. But I would’ve thought I’d remember you too. Of course, I was too young to mingle yet, but my father hosted the event and I watched from the stairs above.”
Gwyn smiled. “I wasn’t in attendance.”
“Were you ill?”
“No. I’m not yet of age.”
Silence replied. After several heartbeats he heard Nathaera take a deep breath.
“How old are you?”
His smile widened. “Fourteen.”
“Fourteen! Impossible. You must be seventeen at the least.”
He laughed. “No, my lady, but my height confuses most people, just as yours does.”
Nathaera’s fingers tightened against Gwyn’s arm and she leaned forward to crane her head. She stared at him for several long seconds. “Impossible. It’s not just your height. You don’t look fourteen. You don’t act fourteen. You’re not at all like a little boy.”
“I don’t consider myself to be a little boy. Though perhaps I am reckless.”
“So is my betrothed and he’s twenty-two. Was.” She leaned back and loosened her grip. “Well. I suppose that explains everything.”
Gwyn lifted his brow. “What does?”
“It’s really very simple. You stole my height and kept it for yourself, you greedy little beast. Afallon above, some things are simply not fair!” Her tone danced with mirth and Gwyn couldn’t help but laugh again.
“Forgive me, my lady. If I had it to do over again, I would return a few of your stolen inches.”
“Just a few, mind,” she said cheerily. “I wouldn’t want you to look fully as young as you are. Fourteen.”
“If it helps, I’m halfway to fifteen.”
“Well, it’s some relief. Just please don’t grow anymore between now and then. You won’t fit into any houses, and then you’ll never be formally introduced at court.”
“I would be fine with that, truth be told.”
She craned her head to eye him again. “Why? Shy of strangers?”
“A little. Besides, I’m the firstborn of a second wife. My place isn’t at court. It’s in Vinwen’s fields in times of peace and on the battlefield in times of war.”
“But you must enter society sometime if you wish to raise a family.”
“Likely my mother will make a suitable match for me, and I will be content.”
Nathaera sighed. “It’s remarkable just how unsuitable such matches turn out to be. But then, not eve
ry case is like my own. I’m not implying that Windsur is a bad match. Just a dunderhead sometimes.” Her hands flinched. “Not that I would speak ill of the dead! Ah, Nathaera, you silly girl. I’m sorry, Lord Gwyn. Sometimes I say too much.”
Gwyn shook his head. “I’m not offended, and I’ll make no judgments.”
“You really shouldn’t give me such allowances. I’m far too free with my thoughts, and farther still with my words. Father says a little more of the former would do me better credit. He’s right, of course.”
“I don’t mind.” Gwyn felt more at ease now, in company with the young woman riding behind him. She gave him another reason to make it back home, even should he fail in his quest.
But I mustn’t fail.
Chapter 9
Night smothered the world in a breathless, deafening silence. Nathaera slept nearby, half her face buried in Aluem’s flank, eyes swollen but dry now. When she’d first retired, Gwyn listened to her quiet sobs, unsure how to comfort her. Eventually she’d drifted off to sleep.
A sliver of moonlight fell across Aluem and the girl. Gwyn studied each companion in turn, glad of the company. He was so near Swan Castle. So close to his goal. But would he find what he sought? Would it be enough to save Lawen?
He closed his eyes but sleep still wouldn’t come.
A faint rustle sounded on his left, followed by breathing.
His eyes opened. “Kive, is that you?”
“Yes, Rat. I’m here,” came the soft drawl of the Ilidreth.
“Do you intend to eat us?”
“Nice juicy rats. Such bright red eyes.”
Gwyn shifted right. “My eyes are grey.”
Kive paused. “So juicy.”
“You like eating rats?”
“Delicious,” said Kive in caressing tones.
Celin wants me to kill this creature. Gwyn drew a breath. “Why rats? Why does your master want them eaten?”
“Won’t you let me eat you, juicy Rat? Come away from the Shiny.”
Gwyn’s limbs responded to the Ilidreth’s command, as though his connection to his own will had been severed. He started to climb to his feet, but the pull faded, and he sat down again with a shudder. Had the Fallen Ilidreth some power to control his movements? What a terrible talent. Is that why Celin had asked Gwyn to kill him?
“Kive, did you live here before? At Swan Castle? At Shaeswéath?”
The rustling ceased. Kive whispered the foreign word once, twice. The undergrowth stirred. Gwyn laid his hand upon his sword hilt.
“Shiny once.” Kive’s voice hung very near.
“Swan Castle?”
“So shiny and bright, like…like sunshine on water. Now all is dark. All is still as death. Except the rats. Master said I must eat them all. Allll the rats.”
A suspicion dawned in Gwyn’s mind. “Kive, are all the rats tall like me?”
“No, not all. Before, all the rats were tiny, but juicy. Tiny, but furry. Now all the rats are naked.”
“Do you remember a time before you ate rats? When everything was, was shiny?”
“All is darkness now. Dark and soft like silken death. Cold and empty. The moon shrinks. The stars shrivel. All is silence, except when the wind screams. Screams and screams. She screams the last song before the fall of the world.”
“She. The wind?”
“But she never screams on the lake. His lake. Her lake. Their lake. All there is still; all there is soft glow and moon’s last stand.”
“Are you talking about Swan Castle, Kive? Are you talking about Lord Roth and Lady Shalesta and their lake?”
A faint sigh drifted from the shadows. Silence followed. “Let me eat you, Rat. Let me swallow your juicy flesh.”
Again, Gwyn’s limbs answered. He moved toward the voice, its tones inviting, singsong, safe… He crawled into the undergrowth and knelt before Kive.
The Ilidreth smiled gently, red eyes bright against the gloom. “Nice juicy rat. Let me eat you.”
Gwyn raised his arm. Something screamed in his mind to stop, to flee, but his body was seized by a desire to obey. His thoughts ceased like slack water against the roar of a coming tide.
“No! No, Kive, please! Don’t eat him!”
Nathaera’s panic crashed into Gwyn with the force of a tidal wave. His mind and body broke free like taut ropes severing with a snap. He stumbled into a thicket; thorns nipped at his skin. Nathaera knelt beside him and gripped his arm with trembling fingers, eyes wide.
“Are you all right, Gwyn? Did he bite you? Are you eaten?”
Kive scampered closer, eyes wounded, hands flexing. “Just one rat. Just one tonight. That’s all. So juicy.”
“No,” Nathaera snarled. “No rats, you greedy Kive. You’ve had more than your share. You ate my friends. You ate them. I won’t let you eat him too.” With a sob she buried her face against Gwyn’s shoulder.
“Rat is crying,” said Kive, bewilderment in his singsong voice.
“I’m not a rat, I’m a girl,” said Nathaera, muffled but firm.
Gwyn wrapped his arm around her quivering shoulders. “I’m all right. Kive hasn’t eaten me.”
“I saw him do that before. Sir Tarven just knelt down and let…let him...”
Gwyn tightened his grip. “Don’t dwell on it. Banish the memory.”
As the girl’s sobs quieted, Gwyn found the Ilidreth’s gaze. “I’m supposed to kill you, Kive. I probably should. You’re a dreadful, wretched creature, with no conscience. But something holds me back. Maybe it’s only fear. I don’t know. Please leave; don’t follow us, or I will end your life.”
“I must eat all the rats,” answered Kive simply. “Master requires it.”
Chapter 10
Kive stalked them over the next two days. Despite Gwyn’s oath to kill Kive if the Ilidreth followed them, he couldn’t bring himself to carry through with his threat.
Only if he comes too near, he told himself each time he heard Kive on their trail.
Now Gwyn forgot about the fallen fae as he and Nathaera stared at the ruinous edifice towering ahead, beyond the portcullis. Even in its decrepitude, it rose proud and graceful, all angles and sweeping arches, white stone sparkling like crystal, wrapped in ivy creeping to the highest turret. A lake spread before the castle and a winding road circled it, bringing unicorn and riders to its wide front gates. The gates hung limp and scarred, blackened in places from some ancient fire long extinguished.
“No!”
The shout brought Gwyn’s head around, hand falling to his sword.
Kive stood upon the Crystal Way, red eyes burning under the sun, his hand stretched out, trembling. “Do not go into Shaeswéath, little rats. Do not. Please leave it be.”
A breeze scattered Kive’s tangled hair, revealing his expression. Against the madness, Gwyn caught a flicker of something deeper. Something shattered but achingly sweet.
“I must go in, Kive.”
Kive moaned and pressed his hands to his face. “Not there. Not there.”
“Poor creature,” murmured Nathaera. “He’s almost childlike.”
Gwyn turned forward, a lump in his throat. “Keep going, Aluem.”
The unicorn strode through the entrance and into the stone courtyard. Kive didn’t follow. Though Aluem and Celin had called this place fallen and twisted, the word that entered Gwyn’s mind now was heartbroken. The air tasted like tears and he thought he heard otherworldly sobs on the whistling wind.
“What a heartrending place,” said Nathaera behind Gwyn. “I feel as though I might start crying.”
The inner walls were carved with swan silhouettes and feathers, runes and symbols. Towering trees filled the courtyard. Grass and wildflowers sprang up from the cracked stones underfoot. A silent fountain brimming with stagnant water stood at the center of the courtyard, reflecting the sky; the statue of a tall figure, an Ilidreth, stood at the fountain’s peak, arms extended in welcome.
Aluem carried his riders across the vast courtyard and into
the palace proper through a portal whose door had been smashed into splinters. Here, cobwebs swathed the vestibule like shrouds for the dead. Broken and crumbling columns and statuary rose, pale and ghostlike. Gwyn felt the sorrow seep deep into his bones. Tears pricked his eyes. Outside, the tragedy was an ancient incident, but within the palace, the memories hung close, as though the very walls had absorbed them. As though the horror, whatever it was, had struck only hours ago, not centuries.
“Where do we go?” asked Gwyn above the echoes of Aluem’s hooves on white flagstones.
‘Up. There is one chamber we must first try,’ answered Aluem.
“Which chamber?” asked Nathaera, evidently able to hear Aluem’s thoughts at the same time Gwyn could, if the unicorn so wished.
‘The Lady’s.’
No one spoke further as Aluem led them to a grand staircase arcing up to a second floor. Another flight of sweeping steps took the company to a third story; and here, Aluem trotted down the corridor. The wailing sobs grew louder as they approached a door at the corridor’s end.
Aluem halted before the ornately carved door. ‘Open it, Gwynter. This is your task.’
Gwyn nodded and dismounted. He reached the door, heart hammering; caught the knob; pushed it open.
A torrent of sunlight blinded him. Gwyn flinched and blinked until he could see, then peered inside. Drawing his shoulders straight, he entered the room. Though the rest of Swan Castle stood covered in dust and cobwebs, this chamber stretched pristine; filled with sunshine, glittering with jewels set in unspoiled vases harboring roses fresh and blooming. The scent of greening spring clung to a wafting breeze. A wide bed stood upon a raised dais, and there — as though she only slept — lay a woman with raven hair, features fair and lovely, gowned in white silk. An intricate silver crown rested on her brow, set with a large gem like a sky of purest blue.
Gwyn’s breath faltered. His knees weakened, and he sank to the floor, head bowed. Awe clutched his chest.
The Complete Duology Page 6
