Titania stroked her lower lip. “This almost becomes intriguing.” She looked down at Cordelia. “And how is it that you have dared to enter the realm of the Fane, Mortal?”
“I have come to fetch Donal Fleming and the girl whom this lady stole away with lies and deceit. It is time for them to return home.”
“But Ivy is home,” Béfind said. “Or did you not know that your halfling made a bargain with me…that she should enter the Blessed Land and choose her own future?”
“It’s true, Cordelia,” Donal said, keeping his back to her. “Béfind had the means to force Ivy through the Gate, but she agreed to let Ivy make her own choice…if I agreed to accompany them.”
“A trick,” Tod said, hovering anxiously at Ivy’s shoulder. “A trap set for my lord. Do not—”
“Silence,” Titania said. “We have laid no trap for our kin. You may see for yourself.” She beckoned to Ivy. “Come forward, child.”
Ivy walked slowly toward them, Tod beside her. The veneer of playful flirtatiousness she had worn only moments before had gone, replaced by the hesitant bewilderment of a child. “Cordelia,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “Donal, I…”
Béfind stepped in front of her. “We have tolerated enough mortal interference,” she said. “My Queen, banish these creatures and their cursed Iron, and let us see them no more.”
Cordelia met Titania’s gaze. “Did I not just hear that a bargain had been made…or can it be that the people of Tir-na-Nog do not hold to their agreements?”
Titania’s nostrils flared. “We hold to them, Mortal.” She turned to Ivy. “Speak, child. You have seen the glories of the Blessed Land. You have witnessed the horrors of the human world. Which do you choose?”
Ivy glanced back at the assembled Fane. They called to her in their lilting, beautiful voices, a cluster of soulless, flawless living jewels.
Cordelia stood by Donal’s side. “Come home, Ivy,” she begged. “I know that I have made mistakes. I have tried to mold you into something you can never be.” Her voice broke. “You were right when you said that I saw you as my sister. I wished a second chance to save her by saving you. But my error does not lessen your value to all of us. You are needed, my dear. Needed and wanted.”
“What if I can never be like you?”
“You will be yourself, loved for yourself alone.”
“Aye,” Tod said, defying Titania’s command. “As I love you, my lady.” He knelt before her and bowed his head. “I will go where you go, and serve you all my days.”
Tears ran down Ivy’s cheeks. “Tod, my dearest friend.”
“Love,” Béfind spat. “Shall I tell you of the curse that made this creature what he is today?” With scornful relish she spoke of the magic that had transformed a lord of the High Fane into a lowly hob, and how only one of Queen Titania’s power might break it.
“Tod,” Donal said, his voice thick with sorrow. “You never told me….”
Tod bowed his head. “I had accepted my punishment,” he said, “until Ivy….” He met her gaze. “I do not deserve your regard, my lady, but I know now that love is the greatest mortal gift. You will not find it here. You will grow cold and hard as these fine lords and ladies. There will be no going back.”
Béfind raised her hands to strike Tod down, but Donal caught her arm and held tight. “Tod is right,” he said. “Go home.”
One of the Fane began to laugh, a silken sound of scorn and amusement. The others joined in, filling the air with cruel music. A lord dressed in shades of ruby and amethyst negligently lifted a finger, and Tod shot up into the air. A fine lady bent her wrist, and Tod flew to her like a child’s plaything flung by careless hands, bounced from one Fane to the next.
“Stop it!” Ivy cried. She charged the nearest Fane lady, seizing handfuls of trailing silken sleeves. “Let him go!”
Tod tumbled to the ground, groaning softly. Ivy knelt and gathered his small body into her arms.
“Take me home, Cordelia,” she said, her voice hoarse with weeping. “Take us home.”
Cordelia closed her eyes in gratitude, fear and awe supplanted by untrammeled joy. She set down the poker and held out her hands, one to Ivy and one to Donal.
Donal did not take it. He released Béfind and backed away, stopping beside Queen Titania.
“I cannot go with you,” he said in a whisper.
“What? But it is over. Donal—”
“You must return without me,” he said, raising his voice. “It was never my intention to come to Tir-na-Nog. But now that I am here…” He stared up into the silver trees. “I realize that I belong among the Fane.”
Cordelia stared at him without comprehension. “But you…you belong here no more than Ivy does. Every word Tod spoke to her was true.”
“True for her,” he said. “True for one who requires love to live. But I am not like Ivy.”
“I don’t understand.” She moved toward him, sickened to the core of her soul. “I do not blame you for being angry at my refusal to believe your stories. I was a fool, Donal, I freely admit it. I was a fool about a great many things.”
He shrugged. “You are human.”
“And you are half human!”
“My humanity has been my cage. I have no desire to live at the mercy of primitive mortal emotions for the rest of my life.”
Cordelia stilled her trembling. “And what sent you here to help Ivy, Donal? What drove you to save her in the first place? What of the animals you have served with your compassion and your healing gifts? Do they mean nothing?”
“They will do as well without me.”
But I will not, Cordelia cried silently. She clenched her fists. “I ask nothing of you, Donal. I expect nothing, only that you grant yourself the same understanding you did Ivy. You need not stay in England…the whole world awaits you.”
“I have a whole world here,” he said. “In Tir-na-Nog I can serve some purpose and escape mortal suffering. What more could I ask?”
All at once Cordelia felt something she couldn’t name, a certainty that welled up in her like a dry spring come to life. She knew without question that Donal was lying, and that he did it to protect her and Ivy and all those he loved.
“No,” she said. “I don’t believe you, my dear…you were never very adept at prevarication.”
His head jerked up, and a flash of emotion crossed his face. “Leave this place,” he said. “Leave now, Cordelia Hardcastle, and be glad you pay no terrible price for your freedom.”
“But I do pay a price,” she said. “You are the price. You, the man we love. The man I love.”
He turned sharply away. “You speak to no purpose, for I cannot love.”
“Even if I believed that, it changes nothing. I will not let you throw your life away.” She signaled to Ivy. “Go through the Gate now, and wait for us.”
Ivy obeyed, taking Tod with her. Drawing up her skirts, Cordelia raced back for the poker and snatched it up, holding it before her like a sword. “Your Majesty,” she said to Titania, “you will kindly release Donal from whatever bond you have placed upon him.”
“Cordelia,” Donal whispered. “Go, I beg you.”
“I shall not.” She wielded the poker in a wide circle, sweeping it from side to side. Titania, Béfind and the other Fane fell back with shouts of rage and fear. Righteous anger bubbled up in Cordelia’s heart, anger such as she had not allowed herself to feel in years, a wildness and ferocity that gave her the strength and speed of ten Othellos. She advanced on the Fane like a tigress defending her young, and they retreated in astonishment.
“Now, Donal!” she cried.
Still he didn’t move, staring at her as if he had just witnessed something beyond his imagination. With a snarl of impatience Cordelia seized his arm, flung him about and ran for the Gate.
DONAL’S FEET TOUCHED solid earth, and almost at once the seductive spell of Tir-na-Nog began to leave him. He blinked, aware of Cordelia’s hold on his arm, and slowly returned
to himself. He saw Ivy sitting on one of the fallen menhirs, Tod and Sir Reginald nestled against her, and a man with a horse a little farther away…a man Donal recognized with disbelief as Sir Geoffrey Amesbury.
For a moment all Donal felt was a profound relief and the overwhelming desire to take Cordelia in his arms and kiss her to within an inch of her life. But then he remembered, and exaltation crumbled into despair.
“I must go back,” he said.
Cordelia lifted her hands to his shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Nonsense. We are safe now, and—”
“Safe?” He shook his head, laughing at his own stupidity. “You shall never be safe again if I betray my bargain.”
“To remain in Tir-na-Nog in Ivy’s place?” she asked, her face unyielding.
“It was necessary,” he said, pulling away. “Ivy would be destroyed—”
“And you will not?” Cordelia jabbed the end of the poker into the ground, grinding it deep into the soil. “I saw what would become of you, Donal, and I shall not permit it.”
“You are one woman, Cordelia, no matter how brave. They have millennia of magic behind them.”
“Believe me when I say that if any of them attempts to steal either you or Ivy, I shall kill her.” She smiled. “I see by your expression that you do not believe me. Do you think me incapable of such violence, my dear, such mad and reckless behavior? But you did not know me when I was young.”
“Cordelia…”
She might have said more, but the Fane had no intention of allowing such leisurely conversation. The Gate hummed, the square of light trembled between the menhirs, and Béfind plunged through, her face a mask of rage. She strode directly for Ivy.
Donal knew he had to stop the Fane before Cordelia risked her own life, but it was clear that Béfind would not listen to reason. She had no interest in Donal’s bargain; she wanted what was hers, at any cost.
With a whispered prayer, Donal wheeled, snatched Cordelia’s poker from the earth and opened his mind to the beasts. He sent a call far and wide, to every creature large and small that might serve to distract Béfind from her purpose.
He knew in an instant that the animals would not answer him. Paralyzed with fear, he spoke to Sir Reginald. The dog ignored him. He listened for the horses’ thoughts, but all he heard was silence.
Cordelia was already halfway to Ivy’s side when Donal caught up to her. They were both too late. Béfind was reaching for Ivy when Tod surged up between them, defiance in every line of his little body.
Béfind struck. A bolt of power shot from her hands, piercing Tod in the chest like a spear of light. Ivy screamed. Sir Geoffrey, who had remained utterly still since Béfind’s appearance, ran toward the Fane like a man possessed.
“Béfind!” he cried.
She froze. Cordelia halted her headlong rush, and Donal watched in amazement as Fane lady and mortal man stared at each other with devastating recognition.
“Béfind,” Sir Geoffrey repeated, his voice cracking on the word. “You do remember me, even though I have changed and you have not. You do remember.”
“Geoffrey?” She ignored her victim and weeping daughter, bewilderment in her glacial blue eyes. “Why are you here?”
“To see you.” He fumbled inside his coat and brought out a silver bracelet of intricate design. “I have waited all my life for your return, but you never came.”
She thrust out her hand to ward him away. “You have no part in this, Geoffrey. Leave the girl to me.”
“Not yet, Béfind.” He displayed the bracelet on an open palm. “Do you not remember when you gave me this token of your affection? Do you not recall the promises you made to me on the day you left, the vow that you would grant me any gift within your power to give? Today you will fulfill that vow.” He stepped forward, took her hand and clasped the bracelet around her wrist. “What I ask you must do.”
“You forgot to whom you speak, Mortal,” she said. “I am—”
“I know who you are. You are the woman I loved.”
Suddenly she smiled. “And you would have that love again, my bold Geoffrey? You would come live with me in Tir-na-Nog?” She stroked his cheek. “You would have such happiness as no mortal can imagine, leannán. Only speak the word, and I shall grant it.”
He trembled, his gaze sweeping past Ivy and Tod, coming at last to rest on Cordelia. “No,” he said. “I ask that you go from this place and never trouble Ivy or my kin as long as the sun rises in Tir-na-Nog.”
Her mouth twisting in fury, Béfind wrenched the bracelet from her arm and threw it at his chest. “Foolish Man,” she spat. “You have lost your final chance. Now all of you shall—”
“I think not, Béfind.”
Donal and Cordelia turned toward the new voice. A man had emerged from the Gate…a Fane tall and stately, his eyes glittering with amusement. Béfind seemed to shrink in on herself.
“Idath,” she whispered.
“The game is over, Béfind,” he said, “and you have lost.”
Ivy stared at the Fane lord. “You,” she stammered. “You are the man who gave me my pendant when I was little. The man I thought was my father.”
Idath inclined his head. “I remember. But I am not your father, child.”
“Who…who is he?”
Idath looked at Béfind. “Will you not tell her, a mhuirnín?”
The Fane woman grimaced in such a way that even her beautiful face turned ugly. “You hated him,” she said. “You hated that I bore his child, and that is why you kept Ivy from me. You—”
“Hated Sir Geoffrey?” Idath said. “Not at all. You’d become too arrogant, Béfind. It amused me to teach you a lesson.”
Ivy shivered, her gaze darting to Sir Geoffrey. “He is my father?”
Sir Geoffrey looked just as stunned as she. Cordelia’s expression was caught between joy and disbelief. “How can that be? Ivy is seventeen. I would have known if my father…if he had—”
“Forty years passed in your world since Béfind became this man’s lover,” Idath said.
“And time is different in Tir-na-Nog,” Donal said, almost numb at the revelation. “In the months that Béfind was with child, years would have passed here.”
“And more years before I learned my child was alive,” Béfind said. She extended her hands to Ivy. “Come back with me, my daughter. Remember how these mortals lied….”
Idath laughed. “No mortal can match a Fane at deception.” He turned to Ivy. “Stay here, little halfling. The son of Hern was correct when he said that you are no more than a precious object to the one who bore you.” He held out his hand to Béfind. “Your time here is finished. Come home.”
Béfind seemed to crumple, diminishing into an ordinary woman before their eyes. Idath led her toward the Gate and turned, meeting Cordelia’s gaze. “Yours is a power greater than any we in Tir-na-Nog possess,” he said. “Use it wisely.”
He and Béfind stepped into the Gate. It vanished behind them. Sir Geoffrey stared at the standing stones until the last faint vibrations had faded, turned to gaze at Ivy, and then fell to his knees, his head buried in his hands.
DEATH WAS VERY NEAR. Tod felt its cold hand on his chest, pressing against him, making it difficult to breathe. But he clung to life for Ivy’s sake, and for Donal’s, knowing that there were things he must say before he left the world.
He listened to Sir Geoffrey speak of lost love and broken promises. He felt the Gate between two worlds close forever. And then Donal was beside him, holding Tod’s small hand in his large fingers as Ivy stroked the hair from his eyes.
“How are you, my friend?” Donal asked with infinite tenderness.
“Tod is…very tired, my lord.”
“Save him, Donal,” Ivy begged. “He never harmed anyone. All he ever did was love us.”
“I know.” Donal met Cordelia’s eyes, his own wet with tears. “There is nothing I can do.”
Cordelia touched his hand. “You said you cannot heal people,” she sai
d, “but you must try, my dear. You must.”
He bent his head. “My gifts have left me,” he said. “I can no longer call or hear the animals.”
“That cannot be,” Cordelia said. “Did the Fane—”
“The Fane did nothing,” he said, withdrawing his hand from hers. “It is in my nature, Cordelia. I—” He broke off, no longer capable of speech.
Tod groaned, his guilt so terrible that he wished he were already dead. He tried to rise. “My lord,” he said, choking. “I have betrayed you.”
“Hush,” Donal said. “Don’t trouble yourself—”
“It was because of the curse,” he said. “I knew that Ivy could not love me…like this. I hoped that Queen Titania would lift the curse, and that Béfind would allow Ivy to choose her own fate. I was wrong.”
Donal folded Tod’s hand in his fingers. “If only you had told me,” he said. “I would have helped you. I’ve been a poor master and a far poorer friend….”
“It is no matter,” Tod whispered. “Forgive me.” He trembled, feeling the weight sink deeper into his chest.
“Oh, no,” Ivy said, sobbing. “He did it because of me, Donal. You can’t let him die. Please. I’ll become a proper lady, anything you ask. Only save him!”
“I have no power,” Donal said hoarsely. “Nothing—”
“I refuse to believe it,” Cordelia said. She leaned across Tod, cupping Donal’s face between her hands. “Whatever has weakened your gift, it cannot be gone. I know this, because for the past eleven years I shunned a part of myself I thought I hated—the wild Cordelia who would not accept a cage—a part that seemed to bring only grief and shame. I believed that I must become what Lydia wished to be, that somehow in doing so I might atone for her death. I did not know how greatly I was deceived until you saw through my disguise, when you accused me of hatred for the creatures in my own menagerie. I had become a ‘Lotos-Eater’ of Tennyson’s poem, seeking peace that was not peace at all, only self-deception.”
Donal closed his eyes. “Yet the old Cordelia survived.”
“Yes. I learned that she had a purpose. That she’s part of myself, and I can no longer pretend she is not.” She laid her hand over his. “You have a purpose, and that is why I cannot believe that your abilities have deserted you. Idath said that we mortals have a power greater than any in Tir-na-Nog possess. That power is love, Donal. Your love for Tod. His love for Ivy.”
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