Ivy looked away. “Béfind…my mother was right when she said I don’t belong here.”
“Is that what she said? Did she also tell you why she waited so long to claim you from this terrible human existence?”
Ivy turned on Béfind. “No,” she said. “She didn’t.”
“That is a simple question to answer,” Béfind said. “I but recently learned that my child was made a changeling in the mortal world.”
“And what of the woman who raised you, Ivy?” Donal asked. “Does she count for nothing?”
Confusion passed over the girl’s face. “No! She was my…” She shivered and edged out of Béfind’s reach.
“If she had lived, would you have turned your back on her now?”
Ivy pressed her palms to her eyes. “But she isn’t alive. No one wants me—”
“Cordelia wants you.”
“She wants me to be like her.”
“And what does Béfind want? She makes many promises, but she is also capable of great deception. Who is your father, Ivy? Does he, too, wait for you in Tir-na-Nog?”
Ivy stared at Béfind. “Where is my father?”
Fury boiled in Béfind’s chest. “He was mortal, and thus of no consequence.”
“You are half-mortal, Ivy, like me,” Donal said. “And that means you do have a choice.” He crouched before her. “Béfind claims to want you. Is it a mother’s love that impels her to save you from a mortal’s fate?”
Ivy’s lips trembled. “I…”
“Few Fane feel love such as humans understand it. Those who do are banished from Tir-na-Nog, as my father was exiled when I was a child.”
“Exiled for betraying his duty to his people!” Béfind cried.
“Because he refused to surrender me up to the life he had chosen to leave behind. The Fane as a race are fading, and they will do anything to acquire offspring. That is why Béfind would do anything to win you, Ivy…because you are a precious object she can’t afford to lose again.”
“Now he lies!” Béfind flung a hand toward Donal, and he staggered, buffeted by the merest breath of her power. “Look at him…a creature who belongs in no world, among no people. Whom will you believe—a man who rejects both his human and Fane blood, one who has failed miserably in his own attempts at human emotion, or the one who gave you birth?”
Ivy took a step toward Donal, tears glistening in her eyes. “I…I don’t know…”
“Perhaps you have no reason to trust me,” Donal said, catching his breath. “I have failed in many things. But there are other voices.” He raised his hand, and the spotted dog ran to him. “Sir Reginald is incapable of deception. He came with you because he wanted to protect you, because he knew you would face a terrible choice. The animals in the menagerie would tell you that there are many kinds of cages. Cordelia, who loves you, knows that no happiness is gained without struggle.”
“But I’m so tired,” Ivy whispered. “So tired of struggling.”
“And you need never struggle again,” Béfind said. “All you need will be yours….”
“And what of those here who need you?” Donal asked Ivy. “I brought you to Edgecott because I thought that you could benefit from what Cordelia had to offer. But she needs you as well. Edgecott needs your spirit…yes, the very things that make you different. You have so much to learn, Ivy, and so much to teach—”
“She owes nothing to humanity,” Béfind said. “She has the right to choose!”
“Once you step through that Gate,” Donal said, ignoring Béfind, “you will surrender any chance of determining your own fate. Do you think Béfind would take so much trouble only to let you go?”
“Enough!” Béfind said. “Your arrogance knows no bounds, halfling. For Ivy’s sake, I shall not punish you as you deserve. Instead, I offer you a challenge. Pass through the Gate with us. I will hold it open, and if either or both of you then choose to leave Tir-na-Nog, I will not prevent it.”
“A trick,” Donal said.
“You have no other choice,” Béfind said, “for I will surely not abandon my daughter until she has seen what I offer, and you know that I can vanquish you whenever I choose.”
Ivy stepped between them. “I don’t want to go alone, Donal. Please, come with me.”
Donal lowered his head. The little dog slunk whining between his feet.
“Very well,” he said.
Béfind concealed her triumph. She faced the Gate and passed her hand from left to right. The air eddied and swirled like water in a pool. Birdsong and lilting Fane melodies spilled into the circle of standing stones, painting the dull mortal world with a tinge of brilliance.
Ivy gazed into the shifting light and started forward. Donal gave the dog a final caress. A Fane and two halflings stepped into the Gate, and the human realm vanished.
THE COLORS WERE a thousand times richer than Donal remembered, the smells sweeter, the very air so crystalline that the distant mountains seemed only an hour’s walk away. Intricately carved glass towers captured the sunlight and cast it out again in a flashing prism. Brooks like blue silk sashes tumbled through the lush green grass. Across the perfectly groomed meadow, embroidered with flowers, handsome Fane lords strolled with glorious ladies, golden-horned deer grazed unafraid, and birds with tails like rainbow-hued fans glided between trees whose foliage glittered like spun silver.
He paused to calm himself and remember why he had come. The open Gate flickered at his back, framing the muted, somber tones of earth. Ivy stood a few paces away, lips parted, her eyes taking in the countless marvels surrounding them.
“Welcome to Tir-na-Nog,” Béfind said. She reached out to stroke Ivy’s raven hair, sifting it through her fingers. “Welcome home.”
As she spoke, Ivy’s simple traveling dress melted into a drapery woven of minuscule precious stones and fibers so light that they rippled with the gentlest breeze. Ivy lifted her arms and spun about, laughing. The Fane across the meadow turned their faces, curious, and floated toward her, their slippered feet barely touching the ground.
Home. Donal trembled and clasped his hands together, struggling with his fear. It was irrational, he knew. Irrational and childish to fear what had no power to hold him.
But he was afraid, and not only for Ivy. He took a deep breath and opened himself to this world, this paradise, defying his all-too-human emotions. He watched as Ivy wriggled her bare feet in a sparkling beck and giggled as scarlet fish nibbled at her toes. Her delight was unaffected. No one had forced it upon her. And still the Gate lay open.
The Fane lords and ladies drew near, their faces wreathed in smiles. They knew Béfind, and they recognized Ivy as one of their own. Their beauty was a joy to behold. They gathered close, raising musical voices in greeting, offering slender hands, showering this impressionable girl with praise she could not help but soak up as a flower absorbs the sunlight.
And then they came to Donal. He had not expected to be noticed, but the Fane gazed upon him with those same smiles and words of welcome, calling him by name: Donal. Donal, our brother, our kin. They drew him among them and surrounded him with warmth and soft touches, demanding nothing.
Gossamer threads of yearning wove about Donal’s heart. Birds descended from the trees to perch on his shoulders, whispering of peace and plenty. Foxes and rabbits gamboled at his feet, and sleek-coated horses, whose backs had never known a saddle, nuzzled his hands. Not one would ever endure the lash of a whip or the shattering impact of a bullet. None would ever share with Donal their pain at the viciousness of men, or bear the sorrows of captivity.
The murmuring of the Fane grew louder, interrupting Donal’s dazed thoughts. The crowd parted, and a blinding figure appeared in their midst, her gown constantly changing color to match the hues of grass and flowers, leaves and sky.
“Titania,” the Fane cried. “Titania.” And Donal knew he was in the presence of the terrible creature he barely remembered from childhood, the queen who had forever cursed his father with the shackles
of mortality.
She alighted on the earth, accepting the accolades of her subjects, and looked into Donal’s face with a smile.
“So,” she said, “you have returned at last.”
Donal held his ground, refusing to be awed by her radiance or influenced by the instinctive mistrust that rose in his heart. “Queen Titania,” he said, bowing.
“And you have come in good company,” she said, gracefully indicating Ivy, who laughed as she accepted a plump, exotic fruit from the hands of a pale and handsome young lord. “It is indeed a day for celebration in the Blessed Land when two of our own are restored to us.”
“I thank you for your welcome, my lady,” Donal said, “but we have come only in agreement with the Lady Béfind, and our visit may not be a long one.”
Titania’s delicate brows drew together. “You would leave us, Donal son of Hern? You, whose blood gives hope for the preservation of your people?”
“My people.” Donal glanced about at the perfect, pleasant faces on every side. “It was ‘my people’ who rejected Hern when he declared his love for a mortal woman…the woman who gave me the blood you find so valuable.”
The Fane raised their voices in protest, but Titania held her temper. “You speak boldly, grandson,” she said, “and not without truth. Yet we do not hold you responsible for the errors of your sire.”
“Even if I have made the same errors?”
Titania brushed her fingertips across Donal’s hair. “You were but an infant when you passed through our country, yet your life has not been unknown to us. You have not been happy in the world of men. Mortal love has not saved you, my child. It brings no peace, only torment.”
Donal stepped back. “My life is not at issue. I came to protect an innocent child who knew nothing of her Fane blood until today. She must freely choose whether or not to abandon the life she has always known.”
Once again he looked for Ivy, surrounded by a coterie of admiring Fane who appeared her own age but were likely centuries, even millennia older than she. It was all deception at its very core, but Ivy had already fallen under Tir-na-Nog’s spell of endless bliss.
In time, she might come to recognize how brittle was the shell of Fane delight, how little happiness she would find among creatures that took every pleasure for granted. But she was very young, and if she were forced to make her decision before she learned the truth…
Donal turned and walked away from Titania and her court, beginning to contemplate the impossible. He knew without question that Ivy would discover only emptiness in this place. She would lose her untapped capacity for love, the spirit that made her uniquely herself…and she would hurt Cordelia terribly, perhaps beyond any hope of mending.
God knew he had done little enough for Cordelia. He had only complicated her life and brought confusion and pain, arrogantly upsetting the fragile balance she had created to deal with her past and her unwelcome passions. Whatever regret she might feel at his leaving would quickly pass if she had Ivy to love and care for.
It was simple, really. Many would benefit if Ivy returned to the mortal realm, but few would suffer if Donal did not. He had no real friends apart from those he had made at Edgecott. He had certainly done little enough to help the animals, whether in the Zoological Gardens, the Yorkshire dales or in Cordelia’s menagerie. And now he had lost the only ability that gave any meaning to his presence on earth.
He had dreamed of traveling to other lands, seeking solitude in forest and plain and mountain. But if it was isolation he craved, he could find it as easily in Tir-na-Nog as any place on earth. The beauty he saw all around him was not limited to this one meadow and grove; it extended for uncharted miles in every direction, unbounded by human measurement, vast wildernesses where even a Fane might lose himself. If Titania expected him to contribute his seed to the High Fane bloodlines, it was a small enough price to pay for freedom.
He circled slowly back toward the watching queen, his steps heavy with sorrow. It is best this way, he told Cordelia’s image in his mind. You will still have purpose and work to bring fullness to your life, and Ivy will be beside you. Only give her time, muirnín—time and a little room to find herself. Give yourself leave to put the past behind you. Live fully, as you were meant to do.
Forgive…
He stopped before Titania, his mouth gone dry. Béfind stood beside the queen, full lips curved in a mocking smile.
“Well, son of Hern,” she said. “You bargained with me, and you have lost. Any fool of a mortal could see that Ivy has found her home.”
“You’ve given her no time to decide anything,” Donal said coldly, “but it doesn’t matter.” He turned to Titania. “I have a proposal, my lady. It was never my intention to remain in Tir-na-Nog, but I shall do so on one condition…that you allow Ivy to return to the mortal realm, there to remain unmolested to the end of her days.”
“No!” Béfind burst out, but Titania silenced her with a flick of her fingers.
“An interesting proposition,” the queen said, her voice as expressionless as her perfect face. “You offer your body for the siring of children?”
“I do, if I am permitted to go my own way when my services are not required.”
“Ivy can bear children of her own,” Béfind said. “You have no need of this—”
“Ivy is but one woman, who may never give birth to living offspring,” Donal said. “One halfling male may provide…many opportunities.”
“Yes,” Titania said. “He speaks truth, Béfind. His seed could fill a hundred empty wombs with life.”
A hundred empty wombs. Donal closed his eyes, sickened. There would be no love in such matings. Never again would he feel a flawed, passionate woman in his arms, or believe for one glorious instant that the curse of his loneliness had at last been lifted.
Cordelia.
“There is one other matter,” he said. “No Fane must ever lift a hand against the woman called Cordelia Hardcastle or any member of her family. And I would request a week’s leave to dispose of other business—”
“Other business?” Béfind repeated, laughing harshly. “Would that be punishment of the mortal Inglesham who made you all but his slave? I have already done you that service, halfling…and disposed of your precious mortal lover at the same time.”
Donal snapped toward her. “What are you saying?”
“Why, your little hob informed me of the viscount’s transgressions, so I gave Inglesham what he believed he wanted—the love and obedience of Cordelia Hardcastle, which I do not think he shall much enjoy once he has it.” She cocked her head. “His work should be completed by now….”
Donal spun on his heel and raced back for the Gate, scattering startled Fane left and right. He had no sooner reached the square of shimmering light than he nearly collided with a small, swiftly moving shape.
“Tod!” He caught the hob by his shoulders and lifted him high. “Where is Cordelia?”
“Here, Donal.”
She stepped through the Gate and stood, legs braced apart like some ancient Celtic warrior-princess, an iron poker in one hand. Her startled, awestruck face was the most beautiful thing Donal had ever seen.
“I understand you might require some assistance,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
DONAL GAZED AT CORDELIA in astonishment while she absorbed the incredible scene before her, certain at last that everything he had told her was true.
There was an Otherworld beyond human knowledge or imagination, a place where even the earth seemed made of velvet and the air sparkled with motes of gold. There were such creatures as Fane, Fairies, Fair Folk. They stood before her now, gorgeous faces distorted in expressions of affront at her intrusion. Among them stood the woman she had known as Countess Pavlenkova, and another whose radiant gown set her apart from the rest; they stared at Cordelia as if they might strike her down with a word.
Tod escaped Donal’s hold and darted back and forth, seeking the one they had come to find. “Ivy!�
� he cried.
“Tod?”
Ivy stepped out from a crowd of richly-dressed young men and women, her slender body draped in a gown woven of gemstones and starlight. “Cordelia?”
“Mortal!” one of the young men hissed. Others took up the chorus, repeating the word as if it were the bitterest of curses. “Mortal!”
Donal turned to face them, planting himself between Cordelia and the speakers. “Are you all right?” he said over his shoulder. “Did Inglesham…did he—”
“Inglesham has been dealt with,” she said, tightening her grip on the poker.
“I knew nothing of Béfind’s plot against you. If I had—”
“I know, my friend. But now we have matters of greater import before us.”
She caught the edge of his smile and knew that he was proud…proud of her, that she could stand here so calmly when most women would be swooning in their tracks. She had no intention of disappointing him.
Before he could speak again, the woman in the radiant gown came forward, floating several inches above the ground.
“Titania,” Donal said. “Queen of Tir-na-Nog.”
Cordelia swallowed her amazement and offered a shallow curtsey. “Your Majesty.”
Titania glared at her from cat-green eyes, flinching from the sight of the poker in Cordelia’s hand. “Mortal insolence,” she hissed, “bringing Cold Iron into the Blessed Land.” She turned her icy gaze on Donal. “Who is this creature, grandson?”
Countess Pavlenkova—Béfind—came up beside her, almost snarling with rage. “This is the interfering female for whom Donal holds such great esteem.”
“Indeed? Then it appears your plans for her were not successful.”
“They were not, Your Majesty,” Cordelia said, meeting Béfind’s stare.
“And this hob,” Titania said. “Is it not the one that belonged to him who was my son?”
“It is, my Queen,” Béfind said.
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