Let's not go there, shall we? "He probably counted on the natural cussedness of kids to do it for him," Eric pointed out. "Your mom was a classic hippie, you said—and how many hippie kids turned around and grew up to be yuppies? I think he figured it was pretty well in the bag that you'd run off to be as unlike your mom as possible. All he had to do was leave you with her long enough for you to get tired of living life á la commune, and as soon as you got a chance, you'd bolt for business school." He cocked his head to one side. "I mean, look at me—my parents wanted a little James Galway of their very own, and first shot I got, I bolted and turned into a busker."
That turned the trick; she smiled, albeit weakly. "You're probably right," she said, and left it at that.
At just that moment, the 'steeds came out of the forest altogether, and paused.
Probably so we get a chance to take in the full effect and are awestruck, Eric thought cynically. He looked down the hill they were on anyway, and so did Ria.
"My god," she said, not at all in the tone the Sidhe were probably hoping for. "It looks like a matte painting."
"I don't think that's the effect they had in mind, but you're right," he said, because the twilight vista stretching out in front of them did look like a special effect. Everything was too—too big, too much, too perfect.
The path stretched down the hill and across perfect fields, just irregular enough to be charming, divided one from another by old-fashioned English hedgerows. Some were full of peacefully grazing sheep, some of red cattle as graceful as deer, some of crops. No one tended them, of course; they were dealt with by magic, and looked as if they'd come out of the dreams of a Pre-Raphaelite landscape artist. Overhead the pale-violet "sky" was studded with "stars" that didn't move. The road led through the fields to a distant castle, but not like anything ever actually built in the mortal world. If Disney'd had an unlimited budget and could have revoked some of the laws of physics, he might have constructed something of the sort; a confection of tall thin gleaming turrets that should have collapsed under their own weight, of porcelain battlements and ivory crenellations, with shining walls encrusted with carvings; balconies, waterspouts, bridges leading from tower to alabaster tower; gold-embroidered awnings to shade against a nonexistent sun. The whole was surrounded by gardens that even at this distance looked lush. There was even a drawbridge over a moat upon which white swans glided—purely for effect, of course, since not even a military genius could defend a castle that looked like this one.
"Elven Classic," Eric pointed out. "Possibly modeled on the ideas of some of the changeling kids they took Underhill to protect them."
Ria smiled again, this time with real warmth. "Now that is something I can get behind," she said fervently.
"Remind me to connect you up with Keighvin Silverhair," Eric replied, and smiled himself. Elfhame Fairgrove in Savannah had what you might call an "active outreach" program for troubled youth.
Having given them enough time to be suitably impressed, the black 'steed now led the way down the hill towards the castle, Lady Day hurrying a little to catch up. As they drew closer, the road widened, and soon they weren't the only creatures heading for what was clearly going to be a bigger deal than Eric had imagined.
Not everyone on the road was elven, either, though they all had to be Seleighe, or they wouldn't be here. Some of them were downright odd-looking; creatures right out of a Brian Froud illustration. There was a group just ahead of them, with long, spindly arms and legs all gnarled like branches and hair seemingly made of twigs. There was another behind, armored knights riding black horses with flame-red eyes.
They caught up with a band of human-seeming folk who wore fur capes, and whose hems were soaking wet although the road was dry; they left little bits of seaweed behind them at every other step. Selkies, Eric guessed.
A band of fat little ponies overtook and passed them. The beasts wore neither saddle nor bridle, and carried creatures with elven features, but as small as children and with—yes—gauzy butterfly and dragonfly wings attached to their shoulders. If this is Elfhame Classic, I guess those guys must be Sidhe Lite.
"This is going to be some party," Ria murmured, as the last group passed them.
"I had no idea," Eric responded, more than a bit dumbfounded. "I really didn't."
"Hmm," was all she said, but she gave him a sidelong glance that he couldn't read.
He was glad enough to see, when they reached the castle proper, that there were young (at least he thought they were young) guards stationed at the gates to direct the crowds. One of them recognized Eric (or maybe Ria's steed) immediately and herded them off as expertly as any celebrity handler. Before you could say "VIP suite" he and Ria were being ushered into the castle and a lavishly appointed reception room, where a tall, crowned elven man and woman were chatting with selected guests. At his side, Eric spotted Kory with relief—then Beth with the opposite emotion. Bethie was not exactly on the membership list of the Ria Llewellyn Fan Club, to say the least, and while she knew he was bringing Ria, he'd wanted a chance to warn her so she could get her game face on before the two of them met. . . .
But it was too late now. Eric and Ria were being ushered politely but efficiently up to their hosts by a pair of majordomo types. Eric had just enough time to catch a glimpse of Beth's incredulous expression before he went into a full court bow, while Ria dropped into an exquisite High Elven curtsey, her skirts spreading around her in a perfect pool of star-spangled midnight.
Oh, I am going to be in such trouble. . . .
Prince Adroviel gestured for them to rise. "My lady Arresael, I present to you Sieur Eric, Knight and Bard of Elfhame Misthold, and his lady, Mistress Arianrhod, daughter of Perenor the Destroyer."
Eric froze in the act of straightening up. Of course everyone in the room had heard Adroviel's words—the prince had pitched his voice to carry. He glanced at Ria from the corner of his eye. Her face was impassive, but he could almost feel the shock radiating from her like cold off ice.
"All who share our blood are doubly welcome here," Arresael said to Ria. She was tall and slender, with cat-green eyes and silver hair: Elfhame Classic. On her head she wore a diadem that on first glance looked like exotic flowers—and on second glance, revealed itself to be crafted of enamel, moonstones, and wrought gold. "And we have heard much of your valiant aid to our kindred of Sun-Descending." She leaned forward to kiss Ria on the cheek; a formal salute of welcome.
Eric relaxed, realizing what the Sidhe Prince had done. Adroviel had made it perfectly clear that he knew exactly who Ria was and welcomed her nonetheless. There'd be no trouble now, even if anyone would consider making trouble at a Naming.
"Thank you, my lady. You are as gracious as you are beautiful," Ria answered. She turned to Beth. "Thank you for allowing me to share this special day. I am honored."
Beth looked as if she'd swallowed a live mouse. "Thank you for coming. I never did get a chance to thank you for saving our . . . bacon . . . back there in L.A."
Ria opened her mouth to reply, but just then a chime sounded.
"That's our cue," Beth said. "See you later." The look she gave Eric promised him she'd make sure of it.
And she hasn't even seen the bunny yet.
Another elven courtier appeared at their side. "If you would accompany me . . . ?" he said.
Eric held out his arm to Ria, who placed her fingertips delicately upon his sleeve. They followed the courtier through the door he indicated. A small tingle of magic as they crossed the threshold warned them that wherever they were going, it wasn't physically connected to the chamber they were leaving.
Eric blinked, looking around. If you'd taken Chartres Cathedral and crossed it with the Roman Coliseum, it might look something like this. There was a semicircle of tiered seats rising into the distance, most of them already full. A gilded rail separated them from a row of more elaborate seats, and to either side of the dais were private boxes like the ones in an opera house. Banners hung from the ce
iling, their bright silks swaying slightly in the air, and the sounds of music and conversation filled the hall with a susurrus of white noise. They'd come out on the floor below the tiers, and just ahead was a dais large enough to hold a full orchestra, covered in flawless scarlet velvet that was probably deep enough to hide in. It held two thrones, plus a number of lesser chairs.
Their guide ushered them to one of the boxes and opened the low door. "Does this meet with your approval, my lord?"
"Uh . . . fine," Eric said. No matter how many etiquette lessons Dharniel had dinned into him, he just didn't "get" courtly. It always made him nervous.
"Thank you," Ria said graciously, preceding Eric into the box. It contained two chairs only barely less ornate than the ones on the dais, and was obviously a place of honor.
Eric followed her in. The courtier closed the door behind them and turned away to guide others to their places.
"Well," Ria said.
"Look, I'm sorry about that—"
Ria waved his words away, sinking into her chair. "Never mind. It was good politics, and good theater. Now everyone knows where the Prince stands; they'd look pretty silly starting something after that. I just wish I'd brought my opera glasses."
"It's quite a show, isn't it?" Eric asked, seating himself beside her. They had a good view of the dais, and their position let them watch the guests without gawking.
A few minutes later, the last of the guests found their seats, and the babble of voices died down a little. There was a flourish of horns, and the hall became absolutely silent. A herald strode out onto the dais.
"All honor to Prince Adroviel of Elfhame Melusine and the Princess Arresael!"
Adroviel appeared behind the herald—must be a Portal back there, Eric thought—leading Arresael by the hand. They took their seats—but not on the two thrones. As the herald called out more names, others appeared to take their seats on the dais, but the thrones remained empty.
"Korendil, Knight of Elfhame Sun-Descending, squire of the High Court, Magus Minor and Child of Danu—!"
Kory appeared, looking regal and knightly. He took a few steps away from the Portal and stopped.
"Mistress Bethany Margaret Kentraine, bringer of new life!"
Beth appeared, holding Maeve in her arms. The baby was wearing what—if they were anywhere but here—Eric would have identified as a christening gown. It was white lace, sewn with small sparkling brilliants, and its end brushed the ground. Beth was dressed in red and gold, a gown that would make any Rennie turn pale with envy. She wore a simple gold circlet on her red hair—a symbol of rank, Eric knew that much. The Sidhe were very picky about things like that: they were doing her great honor here today.
When she appeared, the hall went wild with cheers. She must have been told what to expect; she turned toward the audience, smiling, waiting for the cheering to die down. When it did, Kory held out his hand and escorted her to one of the two thrones, seating himself in the other. Today an elven knight and his mortal consort were ranked above princes.
Elves take children very seriously. If Eric had ever doubted it, here was the proof.
The herald stepped back, and Adroviel rose to his feet.
"People of Underhill. We gather here today in this holy place to welcome new life into the land. In the name of our Holy Mother, Danu, whose children we are, let it be so!"
Elves had some kind of religion, Eric knew, but they didn't talk about it much, and in all the time he'd spent Underhill he'd never seen anything remotely resembling church on Sunday, or even one of Bethie's Wiccan Circles. But that he was seeing it now, he had no doubt. The expectant silence was thick enough to cut with a sword.
"She comes among us small and helpless, yet may she grow great with help and love. And to that end, her mother has chosen wise counselors for her, who will guard and guide her as bone of their own, blood of their own, flesh of their own." He gestured, and a tall stately woman, seated in one of the lesser chairs on the dais, rose to her feet.
"The Lady Coinemance, Lady of Elfhame Misthold and of the High Court, Magus Major and Child of Danu."
"I do accept this task, this burden and this joy," Coinemance said. "I vow to teach this child all my arts, to bestow upon her all knowledge of magecraft and sorcery, bone of my own, blood of my own, flesh of my own."
"And I accept your oath for the child's sake. May all your arts turn against you should you fail of your vow."
One by one Adroviel called out names and titles, until four Sidhe stood beside him. Maeve's godparents, and heavy hitters all. As they stood, each accepted guardianship of Maeve, and vowed to teach her their skills of war, of sorcery, of healing, and of Bardcraft.
Then Arresael rose to her feet.
"Now do I call forth a Protector for this child. As it is written in the Great Book, she shall guard this child until she is grown, putting her safety before any other thing, even the defense of her home and her own honor. May she never be asked to take up her sword! Come forth, Lady Montraille!"
Eric had been expecting another Sidhe, but to his surprise, the woman who came to stand beside Arresael was human—or looked so. Unlike the others, she wore full armor save for her helm. Her red hair was cropped short, her face seamed with age and hard living. She regarded the assembly grimly.
"I come," she said in a thick French accent. "And I do swear, in accordance with your ancient ways, that I am a bachelor unwed, with neither kin nor mate nor child." She drew her sword, and held it high for all to see. "From this moment I vow, by this blade and my own heart's blood, that the demoiselle shall be dearer to me than honor or breath, that her safety shall be more to me than the defense of the hame, that I shall turn away from battle or challenge for her sake." The warrior sheathed her sword.
"I accept your oath," Arresael answered gravely. "May your blade and every hand, here and in the World Above, turn against you should you fail of your vow."
The hall was absolutely still.
"Who names this child?" the Prince asked.
"Her parents name her," Kory said. He got to his feet and took Maeve from Beth as she, too, stood, then returned the baby to her. Side by side, they walked to where Adroviel stood.
"Her name is Maeve," Beth said firmly. "Know her name."
"Her name is Maeve," Kory answered. "Know her name."
"Welcome, Maeve," Adroviel said to the baby. "I give her a second name, a Name of power."
Arresael stood back. Maeve's sponsors and protectors clustered around as Adroviel bent down to whisper in the baby's ear. No one but they would know this Name. For a moment a bright glow surrounded them, fading slowly.
The others returned to their places. Kory, Beth (holding the baby), and Adroviel stood alone together in the center of the dais.
"Now let joy reign unconfined!" the Prince said. "Let there be feasting, and music, and dance—all in Maeve's honor. Let us welcome her as she deserves! Let the ceileighe begin!"
Once more the horns sounded. The hall erupted in wild cheering, drowning out the sound. Kory was grinning fit to crack his face—Beth looked a bit more uncertain, but still mightily pleased. They stepped forward to the edge of the dais, and Beth raised Maeve higher in her arms. From Eric's vantage point, he could see the baby yawn and stretch, unimpressed by all the noise, her eyes squinched tightly shut. After a moment, Kory led Beth back to her throne. The shouting diminished, replaced by a hubbub of conversation as people began to leave their seats.
"Pretty impressive," Ria said, leaning toward Eric so he could hear her.
"I'll say," Eric said. Does she wish Perenor had done this for her? Does she miss the chances she should have had—would have had if her father had been anyone else?
There was a discreet knock at the back of the box, and a door opened in the wall. The courtier who had escorted them to their seats was waiting.
"Sieur Eric? Mistress Arianrhod? If you will come this way . . . ?"
* * *
A ceileighe meant music and dancing, as well
as the presentation of gifts to the new arrival. The presentations were less formal than the Naming had been, but that didn't mean everyone wasn't watching. Beth and Kory sat in thrones of honor on a small platform. The gifts were piled high beside them, and as each of the presenters advanced to present his gifts in person (something only a few of them were doing, Eric was relieved to note), a page put his gift into his hand. The gifts were as eclectic as the givers: everything from a golden harp, to a shiny red tricycle, to a tiny but perfect elvensteed with elaborate saddle and bridle.
Eric advanced and was handed the bunny.
"I thought she'd like this," he said, offering it to Beth.
She grinned. "You're one in a million, Banyon. And a good thing, too."
"Aw, c'mon, Bethie," Eric teased. "Every kid should have a few stuffed animals. I've got something else for her, too. I wrote a song for her. I'll play it later."
"Glad you're sticking around. This is going to be some party."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Eric answered. He stepped aside.
Ria was next in line. The page handed her a small drawstring bag. She opened it. There was a gold ring inside. She held it out to Beth.
"This isn't magic, but it does have my private cell-phone number engraved on it. If Maeve ever needs help in the World Above, she can call me from anywhere. I'll come."
"This is a princely gift indeed," Kory said.
"Yeah," Beth said. "Thanks. I mean it."
Ria smiled and stepped aside to make way for the next giver.
"Pretty cool," Eric said. "Makes my bunny look all no-how."
"She'll probably have more use for the bunny," Ria answered. "I can't imagine that kid'll ever need anything I can give her, but I thought it was a nice gesture."
"It was," Eric said simply. "C'mon. Let's go find something to drink. This is going to go on for a while."
The ceileighe filled several huge rooms. Servants passed among the revelers carrying everything from pitchers to wineskins to silver trays covered with champagne glasses. Ria snagged a glass and sipped it. "Cristalle. Very nice. What about you, Eric?"
Spirits White as Lightning Page 11
