by Mike Shevdon
"I know. That's why the Seventh Court rebelled."
"The Feyre has become more and more specialised as certain traits only manifest themselves inside a single court. It has made us fragile."
"You don't appear fragile to me."
"I don't mean fragile as individuals. I mean as a race. We have lost the ability to reproduce because parts of our make-up have become unstable. "
"But breeding with humans fixes that?"
"We took a calculated risk. We have known for a long time that the union between Feyre and Human was fertile and had the potential to restore the fertility lost to us. Humans spread like moss on a damp tree. If we could acquire some of their fecundity then we would be restored. That was a prize worth the taking. Human blood has the missing pieces, as far as we are concerned. You are a demonstration of that. You already have a daughter and there's another child on the way. "
"Blackbird told you?"
"We already knew. The prospect of a birth is important news amongst the courts of the Feyre. "
"Then you asked me here to congratulate me?"
The answer was not a warm one. "The nature of the babe is uncertain."
"You mean it could turn out like me, wraithkin, rather than like Blackbird."
"It's more complicated than that. When we mixed our bloodlines with humanity, the capacity to have children was not the only thing altered. It was the risk we took when we allowed it. "
"What else changed?"
"The Feyre are defined by physical form. Fey'ree are small and delicate like Yonna here," she gestured to the pale, slim figure with the green eyes, "whereas ogres like Barthia are much larger and stronger." She gestured to the huge woman, who accepted the compliment with a nod.
I looked back at Yonna. I could see now the resemblance from when Blackbird had transformed herself in the room above the inn, when we were in Shropshire. The pale skin and the way the eyes were elongated. "I am Fey'ree," she'd told me. "A creature of Fire and Air." Kimlesh continued. "Humans, though, do not inherit the full form of the Feyre. They can acquire aspects of it, of course, and some are more Fey than others, but none are quite like us. "
"Is that a problem?"
"It makes it much harder to determine what gifts they have inherited, especially as human blood adds its own twist, bringing forth gifts that were formerly dormant. "
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that your Fey forebear could have come from any court, not just that of Altair, our missing brother. Your human blood threw the dice and you are the result. Just because you are wraithkin and Blackbird is Fey'ree does not mean your child will be one or the other. Human heredity has thrown us back into the hands of fortune. Your daughter, Alexandra, could take after any of us. As could your unborn son. "
"My son? It's a boy?"
"Did Kareesh not tell you? Yes, if Blackbird survives to deliver him, you will have a son. Be warned, though, birth among the Feyre is a hazardous business. Blackbird must be careful. "
"I'll look after her."
"You?" It was the first time the feral man in the red shirt had spoken. "You're not leaving this room."
Thirty
Teoth broke the silence that followed that remark.
"Unfortunately, Krane is right. We cannot allow you to leave."
"I'm sorry? Why not?"
"Blood price alone demands your heart," said Krane. "We talked about this, Krane," said Yonna. "Fenlock initiated the attack. Even Carris agrees. She cannot claim blood price."
"It doesn't matter," said Krane. "He knows about the ceremony. He knows about the barrier and the arrangements we made. He cannot be allowed to leave this room with that knowledge. He could bring the whole thing down around our ears and there would be nothing we could do to prevent it. Are you prepared to set him free with that knowledge?"
"He has a point," said the deep booming voice of the ogre. "Our position would be significantly undermined."
"What about Blackbird?" I asked. "She knows as much as I do. What will you do? Wait until the babe is born and then kill her too?"
"Her position is different," said Yonna. "She is bound to the Court of Fire and Air. We have taken her word that she will tell no one else. It's her life if she breaks that oath and she knows it."
"Then do the same with me. Will you not accept my oath?"
None of them would meet my eyes. Even Krane looked away.
Barthia broke the silence that followed. "There is only one court that could have you, and that seat is vacant."
"Because I'm wraithkin."
"Even so," she said.
Claire Radisson looked up to the gallery of Court Four to see if she could see Ben Highsmith. At that distance and in this light her eyesight wasn't good enough to distinguish faces, even with her contact lenses. She smiled anyway, hoping he could see her and not realise how nervous she was. She and Jerry had conducted the Quit Rents Ceremony many times before, but it had never had the significance it had today.
When Ben Highsmith had appeared on Sunday, his clothes soaked through with river water, he had caused quite a stir. Security had refused to let him in and he had been threatened with arrest. It was only when he'd asked for her by name and they had promised to bring her to see him that he'd calmed down enough to allow himself to be led to a side room away from the busy entrance.
She'd found him standing in the security office, a grim smile on his face and the towel she had lent Niall in his gnarled hands. The knives had been wrapped in it. He'd told her what had happened and insisted the ceremony must go ahead.
Elizabeth had expressed her concerns. The grey tinge underlying Jerry's complexion worried Claire too, but Blackbird's message had been clear. The best protection for Jerry, his family, and everyone else was the restoration of the knife and the performance of the Ceremony of the Quit Rents.
Whatever Blackbird had said to Elizabeth in the hospital must have been enough because she acceded, though she could see her sitting in the front row, the set of her shoulders a testament to the enforced leave Jerry would be taking as soon as his duties were completed. Behind Elizabeth, the two figures dressed in red grandeur stood with chains of office hung about their necks. These were the candidates for the Sheriff of the City of London and for Middlesex. They were being presented to the Queen's Remembrancer, in his role as representative of the monarch, for approval. Since the City of London had picked the wrong side in the conflict between Simon de Montfort and Henry III, they had been required by the reigning monarch to present their sheriffs for ratification. They would have been brought up the river from the Square Mile and then walked through the Inns of Court in procession with all the pageantry this group of wealthy middle-aged men could muster.
"And can you confirm for me," the Queen's Remembrancer called out in tones that carried up to the rafters, "that there was no repetition, when crossing Temple, of the disgraceful scenes of 1756?"
The Comptroller of the City of London, wrapped in his bearskin cloak, shook his head and smiled. "I can assure Your Lordship, these fine men have behaved impeccably and were received with courtesy and respect wherever they walked."
The Comptroller went on to extol the virtues of the two men being put forward. One was an accountant for a big consultancy and the other was a tax auditor, but they each stood and listened in silence to their lives being described in bold terms. They certainly looked the part, even if the most dangerous thing they would be called upon to do was to decide whether to accept another glass of port or move on to the brandy. She wondered idly whether the investiture also had some secret meaning, whether the City had its own reasons for conducting rituals lasting hundreds of years. She thought it much more likely that the office of sheriff had more to do with networking and connections in the world of high finance. She smiled as she realised people probably looked at her and thought she had a boring staid existence. If only they knew.
The Comptroller completed his speech and recommended the two candidates for approval by the c
rown, which the Remembrancer granted. He looked gravely at them for a moment and then told them in a serious tone, that although there was an annual salary of three hundred pounds for each of them, due at the quarter-sessions of Epiphany, Easter, Midsummer and Michaelmas, they would receive not a single penny of it.
There was a ripple of laughter though the assembled audience of family members and colleagues, all turned out in their finery. They all knew these city gentlemen regarded three hundred pounds as small change and that they would probably spend more than that on champagne after the ceremony.
Rolled charters inscribed on vellum, one for each of them, were sealed with wax using the great silver seal of the exchequer, binding the ribbon interleaved into the document and making it official. It was a great honour to be made a sheriff and she wished them well of it. Then was the moment she had been waiting for.
"End it now," said Krane, "before he causes any more trouble. Garvin?" I saw the flash as the blade came up. "Wait," said Kimlesh. "He has earned our gratitude. He and Blackbird restored the barrier when without it all would have been lost. Surely that is enough to save his life?"
"You'd let him walk away, knowing what he knows?" said Krane.
"A boon then," said Kimlesh. "His life is forfeit but we will grant him a boon for his service to the courts. We have much at our disposal. What would you ask of us?" he said to me.
"Are you offering me compensation so you can kill me without feeling guilty?"
"I regret this, truly, but I can see no other way. Come, what would you have from us?"
"I would have three things, then."
"Three? Oh very well. Name them."
"The first is for Blackbird. She needs somewhere safe and secure to live while she is pregnant. Somewhere with trees. "
"It is done," said Kimlesh. "What else?"
"For my daughter, Alex. If she comes into her power then I want her to have a place in the courts, whatever her nature turns out to be."
"If she is wraithkin, then it is not within our power to grant," said the Ogre woman, Barthia.
"Aside from that, then. Will you take her? "
"We will," agreed Barthia.
"That leaves the third," said Kimlesh. "Three is the trick of it. What will you have?"
"And now we come to the rendering of quit rents in respect of two petty sergeantries held directly of the crown, one for the Forge in Tweezers Lane, just south of St Clement Danes ,and the other for the wasteland known as the Moors, in the county of Shropshire, formerly the county of Salop. The quit rent for the former is six horse shoes and sixty-one nails."
"I have them here, my lord," said the Comptroller, indicating the items laid out on the black and white chequered cloth of the Exchequer.
"Will you count them out?"
With exaggerated care, the Comptroller lifted each horse-shoe in turn, the huge size of them making his hands look small. He showed each of them to the assembled court.
"There are six, my lord, and the nails are here. Ten, twenty…" He laid bundles of nails, each tied in a bundle with blue ribbon, on the squares of black and white draped over the bench. "Thirty, forty, fifty, sixty and…" He patted his pockets absently, then more urgently.
There was a tense moment, but then he smiled and produced the final nail, the one Ben had pried from Niall's lacerated fingers and returned to Claire along with the knives. "Sixty-one nails, my lord."
"Good number!" called the Queen's Remembrancer in response and cracked his gavel down hard on the bench.
"And the knives? Do they meet the test?"
This was her part and her stomach clenched as she went to retrieve the Dead Knife from its place. She picked it out of the box carefully, reminded of what had happened when Niall had held it. Reassuringly it kept the same dull sheen she had always known. She walked forward and placed the knife, edge up, against the bench.
The Comptroller walked forward, a length of green hazel twig, one year's growth in length, in his hand. They exchanged a nervous smile. There had been the time when a bumptious upstart from the City had usurped the Comptroller's place and decided to test the knives himself. Neither knife had broken the rod, despite strenuous effort on his part. The Remembrancer of the time had been forced to fine the Highsmiths for nonpayment, and they had not been happy.
He held the rod on either side of the knife and pressed down. The rod bent over the edge but it did not break. The Dead Knife had done its job.
She turned back to where the box for the knives was placed and replaced the Dead Knife, retrieving the newly forged Quick Knife in its place. The broad leaf of the blade was dark metal, but the edge shone bright where Ben had sharpened it. She stepped forward again, holding the knife up momentarily for effect, and then placed it edge up on the bench.
Now came the moment of truth. This was the test. If the knife was remade then it would cut through the hazel rod and the barrier would be sealed. If not… She looked around at the ranked faces in the benches craning to see. None of them realised how much would change if the knife failed the test.
The Comptroller stepped forward again with the rod. As he held the rod out, she realised his hand was shaking, very slightly. He couldn't possibly know the significance of this, could he? She looked up into his face and saw uncertainty there, and then he grinned. He pressed the rod down on the knife dramatically and stumbled forward slightly as the knife cleaved through the rod as if it wasn't there. He'd pressed much harder than he needed to and his chin came unexpectedly close to the burnished edge. Claire whipped the knife away, concerned he would be cut. Her concern was not so much for the Comptroller but for the knife. Lord only knew what would happen if they got blood on it.
Regaining his composure, the Comptroller turned and held the two pieces of the rod high for all to see. "The knives have passed the test, my Lord."
"Good service!" intoned the Remembrancer, banging his gavel down again. "That concludes the rendering of the quit rents." He smiled broadly at the assembly. Claire carefully turned and replaced the knife next to its twin in the wooden case. She closed the lid and fixed the catch and then let out a long sigh. There had been no clap of thunder, no peal of bells, but she'd felt the knife in her hand after it had split the hazel rod. The tingle of power that shivered through it was all the confirmation she needed. It was done.
"The third thing." I took a deep breath and released it slowly, then I told them. "I would have you know that if you take my life, here and now, then by the end of the week there will be notices posted all over Covent Garden, Leicester Square and random parts of central London describing the nature and reason for my death. They will detail the nature of the ceremony, the schism with the Seventh Court, the purpose of the two knives, the horseshoes and the sixty-first nail, and the fact that you have had me killed to prevent the knowledge from being discovered." There was silence for a moment. "I beg your pardon?" said Kimlesh. "I think you heard me well enough."
"How?" said Barthia. "How can you achieve this? You'll be dead."
"The Queen's Remembrancer, who is also a High Court Judge, issued a court order this morning. Notices have been lodged with a number of London solicitors and are held in trust pending my disappearance. I don't know all the details, for no single person does, but if I do not present myself before the Queen's Remembrancer before the week is out then they have instructions to assume I am dead and enact the court order. The notices will be posted by agents throughout the city. Special arrangements have been made to make sure Marshdock gets one of the first notices printed. By the end of the week, everyone, Fey and human, will know what you did. "
"This is an outrage!" shouted Krane. "So is killing me to keep a secret."
A sound built slowly. It rumbled and bubbled up around us until it was near deafening. I realised, finally, that the ogre was laughing. By the time she had subsided and we could hear ourselves think, the realisation of what I had done had come home to them all. "This is impossible duress," said Krane. "If we let him go then he
could tell them anyway."
"If we don't let him go then they will certainly find out," said Kimlesh. "He's sending it to Marshdock of all people. You know what that means."
"I say kill him now and clean up the mess as we find it," said Krane.
"You're letting your heart rule your head, Krane," said Teoth. "This has been carefully constructed. I am impressed." He nodded to me and folded his arms, regarding me with new interest.
"I still say we cannot allow him to leave without an oath to seal his lips."
"Then I will give you one," I said. "Which of you will accept it?"
They looked at each other. "We cannot," said Kimlesh. "You don't understand."
"Then you'll just have to take my word for it," I told them.
"We cannot do that either," said Yonna. "It is too sensitive. It would leave you unprotected if someone were to try and pry it from you. There are those who would do so if they knew, and fragments of this may yet slip back from other sources."
