Lord of the Beasts

by Susan Krinard

  Tod swallowed his consternation. Until this moment he had never suspected that other Fane, even of the most humble breed, still lingered in the south, let alone that he would find them here at Edgecott. It troubled him greatly that he had failed to sense their presence before.

  The sprites obviously found his surprise a source of great amusement. “Tod!” the leader piped. “Tod the hob!”

  Tod glared at her. “That is the name.”

  The sprites giggled. Tod remembered why he had always preferred to avoid their kind. Such creatures never appeared unless they wanted something of the one they harried.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded, resisting the urge to swat them across the wood.

  The sprites performed a delicate aerial ballet, twining about each other with grace and precision that even Tod could not help but admire. The leader came to a halt a dozen inches from Tod’s face.

  “You must come,” she said. “Come to Béfind.”

  Tod stiffened in astonishment. “Béfind?”

  “Béfind! Béfind!” the sprite scolded. “She awaits! Come!”

  “In Tir-na-Nog?”

  “Here, here!”

  Tod shook his head to clear the buzzing between his ears. He knew the name Béfind…no one who had ever lived in Tir-na-Nog did not. She was one of the highest of High Fane, cousin to Queen Titania herself…and she would have few reasons to visit the world of men.

  Yet she was here, and he did not for a moment consider ignoring her summons. He was only a hob, and he knew his place. But as he followed the sprites through the wood and over hill and meadow, he wondered what possible purpose such a high lady could have in demanding his presence.

  The sprites led him to a lake and skimmed like darting insects across the water, aiming for a small, open building with a triangular roof supported by fluted columns. Under the roof, reclining in a thickly cushioned chair, was a lady whose silver gown matched her hair and cool, piercing eyes. The sprites gathered in a circle around the chair and assumed the shape of lovely young women, their dresses every shade of green and yellow.

  Tod alighted on the marble floor and bowed, his hair falling across his face. “My lady Béfind,” he whispered. “Tod is at your service.”

  “Rise and look upon me, little hob.”

  Tod lifted his head and met the lady’s gaze. She was beautiful, as of course she must be; the smile that curved her lips was faintly mocking and did not reach her eyes.

  “No doubt you wonder why I have come to earth, and why I have summoned you,” she said, her musical voice soft and beguiling.

  Tod bowed again. “It must be that my lady has business with my master,” he said.

  Béfind leaned forward, catching Tod’s eye. “I have never met the son of Hern. How often has he come to visit his kin in Tir-na-Nog?”

  “Not since…since he was a child, my lady.”

  “Since his father was banished from the Land of the Young.”

  Tod swallowed, suddenly uneasy. “Aye, my lady.”

  Béfind leaned back again, tapping one silver nail against her lip. “Do you find it incredible that my ‘business’ on earth might be with you?” She laughed at his silence. “Let me lay your curiosity to rest. It is neither you nor your master who brings me here, but you may be of great service to me, little hob. I believe we have a mutual interest.”

  Tod avoided her gaze and the power that coursed behind it. “I do not understand, my lady.”

  She signaled to one of her sprites, who produced a goblet of wine. “How many Fane walk the soil of the place humans call Edgecott?” she asked.

  For a long moment Tod did not understand her, and then, with a start, he began to see a possibility he had previously failed to consider. His pulse quickened.

  “There are three, my lady,” he said slowly.

  “You, Donal son of Hern, and…” She sipped her wine. “I believe they call her ‘Ivy.’”

  “Aye.”

  “A child taken from the streets of the Iron City by your master,” she said, “and brought here to be educated in the ways of human society by the woman Cordelia Hardcastle.”

  “My lady is well informed.”

  “I have excellent agents,” she said, waving her hand at the sprites. “They are very good listeners. And they have been watching Donal since he left the north. As they have also been watching you.” She sighed. “Do not be so downcast, little hob. It is not entirely your fault that you failed to detect my servants. You have lived in the mortal world for more than a thousand human years. Even the sharpest Fane senses must suffer from constant exposure to such an abyss of Iron and death.”

  A chill raced up Tod’s spine. “My lady,” he said thickly, “my lady has some interest in the girl?”

  Béfind drained her cup and tossed it into the air. It vanished before it struck the ground. “I have come to right a great injustice,” she said. Her lip curled in a scowl, and a flurry of waves rose on the lake. “Perhaps you wonder how a child of the Fane should have come to be abandoned to the mortal realm, and why only now her people have bestirred themselves to find her?” The waves on the lake slapped the shore with increasing violence. “I came to this realm nearly forty earth years ago, seeking a human lover who would give me a halfling child. I was told the babe died at birth, but it was delivered to a human woman to raise as her own. Only now has this treachery been revealed.”

  Tod shrank away from her rage. He had thought little of Ivy’s strange past, but to know she was Béfind’s daughter…He closed his eyes, thanking the gods for their favor.

  “My lady will take her back to Tir-na-Nog,” he said.

  “Yes.” Her anger dissolved like dew beneath the warm summer sun. “And that is where I shall require your assistance.”

  “My lady?”

  She smoothed the skirt of her gown. “You wish to be rid of the girl, do you not?”

  Tod chose his words with great care. “I bear my lady’s daughter no ill will—”

  “You seek to avert my anger by lying, little hob, but it is not necessary. As I said, my servants have been watching you and your master. You fear that Ivy will enchant your master, and that she will come between him and you. Is that not so?”

  Tod sank into a deep crouch. “My lady…”

  “You and the son of Hern have been together for many years. Without him, you are alone in this world.” She bent and lifted his chin with her fingertips. “You wish Ivy gone, and I wish her restored to her rightful heritage. Our desires are complementary. The only thing that prevents us from achieving our aims is the amulet she wears. You have seen it?”

  “Tod knows she wears such an ornament. It is bespelled?”

  “It prevents any Fane from touching her, or even revealing that she herself is of Fane blood.” Béfind’s face darkened. “He shall not win this game. He—” She broke off and smiled at Tod, showing her perfect white teeth. “Surely your master has had some physical contact with my daughter.”

  “Aye, my lady,” Tod said, remembering the embrace he had witnessed at the big house. “Perhaps he is not bound by the amulet’s magic, since his mother is mortal.”

  “Perhaps.” She stroked the locks of silver hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Tell me, little hob. Can your master be trusted with the information I have given you? Would he assist us in restoring my daughter to Tir-na-Nog?”

  Tod’s mouth was so dry he could scarcely speak. “My master does not know that Ivy is Fane.”

  “But if he did know?”

  “He remembers how Queen Titania cursed and exiled his father.”

  “So he still bears a grudge.”

  “Aye. And he believes that my lady’s daughter will find happiness with the Hardcastle.”

  Béfind frowned and stared out across the lake. “He has lived too long in the mortal world. I will not trust him. You shall do this work alone.” Her gaze fixed on Tod. “My daughter has also been poisoned by her upbringing among humans. Though she cannot be told of her
true nature directly, she can be prepared for the time when the power of the amulet is overcome. She must be told of the wonders of Tir-na-Nog and of the Fane, so that she will have no fear of leaving this earth behind. That is your task. You must become her friend, one she trusts implicitly.”

  Tod’s thoughts whirled like catkins in a brook. “How shall I reveal myself, my lady?”

  “That I leave to you. But she is Fane. Her spirit will surely recognize what her mind would deny.”

  “Shall she meet my lady?”

  “In good time. I shall introduce myself in such a way that she will regard me as a true friend and ally.” She bade Tod rise with a flick of her hand. “Go now. Do as I bid, and you shall have your master to yourself once again.”

  In an instant her sprites had taken their original forms, and Béfind rose from her chair in a sweep of silver cloth. Then she and her servants vanished, leaving Tod alone among the columns.

  He made his way back to Edgecott, his stomach churning with excitement and dread. It would seem as if the problem of Ivy had been solved, or would be soon enough. Yet Tod knew it would not be an easy task to conceal his dislike and befriend the girl. And he was troubled by the fact that Donal must remain ignorant of Béfind’s plans. Though Tod himself had begun to think of how he might drive Ivy away, he had not considered the consequences of such a betrayal.

  For betrayal it was, no matter how he turned it about in his head. He had not yet given Béfind his word to act as her agent. He could still back away, even if it meant risking Béfind’s wrath.

  Spinning with frustration, Tod went in search of his master. He must decide, and quickly. Even though he could not speak of Béfind’s scheme, his heart would tell him what he must do.

  “IVY, MY DEAR,” Cordelia said, “where is Dr. Fleming?”

  The girl looked at Cordelia with a blank expression, preoccupied with her own dreamy thoughts. Cordelia shook her head with mild exasperation, went past Ivy to the door and looked outside. There was no sign of the errant veterinarian.

  Ordinarily she would not have considered his lack of sociability to be anything but an inconvenience. She admitted to some annoyance that he seemed so eager to escape again when he had been left alone all day, but she had only herself to blame. If she had not allowed herself to look forward to his admittedly challenging company, she would have no cause for disappointment. Nor would she have interpreted his moments of keen attentiveness—or the sparkle in his green eyes—to be anything more than grudging courtesy.

  Tonight, however, it was not her foolish and groundless expectations that made her so desirous of his presence. Tonight—as the good doctor had undoubtedly forgotten—Sir Geoffrey was coming down to dine with his daughter and her guests. For such an occasion, everything must be perfect.

  She changed into a plain dress and boots, tied on her bonnet and walked briskly to the cottage. Donal wasn’t there. Nor was he at the stables, where the grooms spoke of his visit and his remarkable handling of the stallion Boreas. The story left Cordelia a little breathless, as if she had witnessed the spectacle herself, and she went on to the menagerie in a state of distraction that had nothing to do with the hazards of the coming meal.

  The animals were very quiet as she drew near the enclosures, and she felt a pang of guilt for not visiting them more frequently since her return from Yorkshire. Then she found Donal sitting on the bench across from Othello’s cage, and every sensible thought went flying out of her head.

  Donal looked up, his expression cast in brooding lines, and it seemed to Cordelia that the black pupils of his eyes nearly swallowed up the green as he met her gaze.

  He got quickly to his feet. “Cordelia,” he said, something very like guilt crossing his face. “Have I missed dinner?”

  “I take it that you forgot about Sir Geoffrey?”

  Donal flushed. “Dash it all, I—” He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon.”

  His obvious chagrin disarmed what remained of her pique. “No harm has been done,” she said, “but you have only an hour to dress.”

  Donal touched his mangled cravat, apparently aware that it was beyond saving. “I’m sorry you came so far to find me. I fear I won’t be very good company tonight.”

  “Oh? Has it something to do with the events at the stables this afternoon?”

  He glanced at her in surprise. “No. No, not at all.”

  A long silence followed, and Cordelia searched for a polite way of shaking him into a more satisfying response. “Will you tell me what troubles you?” she said at last.

  He walked away from her and stopped before Othello’s cage. “You asked me to examine your animals,” he said. “I have done so.”

  She went to stand behind Donal, peering into the shadows of the panther’s shelter. Lambent yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. “What have you learned, Doctor?”

  He moved to the apes’ enclosure. “These animals are not ill,” he said. “Not in the way you might expect. They fail to prosper because they have been stolen from their native habitats and forced to live in unnatural confinement.”

  Cordelia stopped halfway between the cages, parsing his speech for the censure it must contain. “That is your diagnosis?” she demanded. “That all these animals suffer merely from the fact of their captivity?”

  “Yes.”

  She drew in a deep breath, continuing on until she could see Heloise and Abelard perched in their bare-branched tree. They looked as they always did…far too quiet for such lively creatures, their yellowish-brown coats dull in spite of the care with which they groomed each other.

  “My dear doctor,” she said, clipping each word as she spoke it, “your analysis may be quite accurate, but it is of little use to me since I can hardly release these animals to run wild about the countryside.”

  He turned to her, and there was a gentleness in his face she had hardly expected. “Theodora told me how you saved them from fates far worse than imprisonment,” he said. “I was not suggesting that you had done anything of which to be ashamed.”

  “I shall have to thank Theodora for defending me, since I must assume that you questioned her about the circumstances of my acquisitions.”

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I did ask her,” he admitted. “It would have been difficult for me to accept if you had purchased healthy animals, or had them captured.”

  Cordelia ignored the tears burning behind her eyelids. “I am sorry that you think so ill of me—”

  “I don’t.” He took a step toward her, raised his hands and let them fall again. “Cordelia, I…think very well of you.”

  She pressed her palm to the bars of the cage, working to control the emotions that weakened her knees so shamefully. “I have done what any decent person would do.”

  “You’re wrong.” He joined her, placing his hand close to hers. “Very few would take such trouble with mere animals. The horses in the stables, and the dogs…they think very well of you, too.”

  “You have this on excellent authority, I take it.”

  “The best.”

  Cordelia felt the warmth of his body and caught the faint scent of straw and horseflesh on his skin. She was acutely aware of the way the evening breeze played in his disheveled hair, and how the untidiness of his clothing only called more attention to the taut leanness of the frame beneath. What in God’s name was wrong with her?

  “If you recognize that my animals are better off now than when I found them,” she said, “you must concede that I have their welfare constantly in mind. I know what is best for them, and—”

  “Your animals,” he interrupted. “Do you truly see them that way, Cordelia? Do you believe that you own them?”

  “If I did not own them, they would have no protection. It is my duty to do everything within my power to help them adjust to their new lives here, in England.”

  “Some creatures will die rather than accept existence in a cage. What if they cannot adjust?”

  “All they require i
s kindness, and they will accept the necessity of adaptation.”

  “Would you reason with them, Cordelia?” he asked softly, holding her gaze. “Do you expect them to think as men do?”

  “Of course not. But all creatures on Earth are subject to certain principles. The laws of Nature are rational—one can see that in the perfect construction of a flower and the symmetry of a butterfly. Order will always prevail.”

  “You do not acknowledge chaos as an inescapable influence on all living things?”

  “If there is chaos, it is not the natural state of life. When given the opportunity, Nature will seek balance and tranquillity.” She risked a glance at Donal’s face. His expression was flatly disbelieving. Suddenly it seemed vital that she make him understand. “The world is not as we would make it, Donal. Even the animals recognize this truth, and will alter themselves to thrive within it.”

  He cocked his head, green eyes intent on hers. “A certain malleability is beneficial to survival,” he said. “But that seems contradictory to your theory of a natural order, does it not?”

  “I said that all things seek order,” she said, “that all life falls into a pattern that human eyes and minds can discern and encourage. If the world were as it should be, there would be no need for such constant struggle. But when we accept our places in the pattern, we find true peace.”

  “You speak of Heaven, not Earth.”

  “You are cynical, Donal. Have you never sought the happiness that comes with surrender?”

  He turned his head, staring blankly into the cage. “Surrender to what? What is my place?”

  The profound sorrow in his question struck at Cordelia’s heart like a cry of pain. She reached out to touch his arm. “You would know it,” she said, “if you would open your heart to the society of men in which you belong.”

  “Which society?” he asked, facing her again. “Should I attempt to join the sphere of the landed gentry that you inhabit? Or perhaps I should set my aim higher, and climb to Lord Inglesham’s exalted circle?”