"The day we met, you invited me to ask questions."
"I remember, my Lady."
"May I ask a few more?"
Something in her tone warned these would not be simple questions. With a stiff grunt he got to his feet, and they moved the mulch bucket to the next bush. "Some of your questions I may not be able to answer, my Lady. There are oaths I have taken. But ask and we shall see."
"What does Drew hide behind the—"
"Ah!" Culdun sat back on his heels, shaking his head with a sad chuckle. "What shape? What form? What monstrous abominations do cloak and glove hide?"
Quietly, evenly, Angelique countered, "I need to know, Culdun."
"You have heard the story. Is that not enough?" His answer was evasive and they both knew it. She had heard but a fragment of a story, nothing more.
Angelique looked at him steadily. "If it must be, yes." She sighed and stabbed the trowel into the dirt. Leaning into the work, she continued, "It seems I am a fool, Culdun. Every time my Liege presents another bitter piece of history, I fall to pieces. When we are simply together, I am quite comfortable. But when confronted with that rage —" Angelique broke off with a baffled shake of her head.
"It is often easy to deny one's fears until confronted, my Lady. Your presence here has caused my Liege to again confront the pain of familial betrayal and the hope that your presence has engendered. It is not surprising that you would feel the power of that anger and that hope. And be frightened by it." His voice was quiet.
"It is cowardice," she retorted heatedly. "I should have been stronger. But Drew's tale was so full of bitterness and hatred, I was overwhelmed. I didn't realize until later just how much I'd succumbed to Drew's own horrors. I felt as if the fearful darkness of all that hatred was rising up to swallow me whole."
"And now, my Lady?"
"Now?" Her lips twisted. "Now I am angry."
Culdun's face showed his surprise.
"Not at Drew," she added quickly. "Never at Drew." After a moment she continued, "How old was this stepsister, Culdun?"
"Nineteen, my Lady."
"And who became the Count's heir?"
"The son born to the stepsister, my Lady."
"Tell me," Angelique growled, "has no one ever thought nineteen is a bit old for even unmarried girls to be quite so innocent?"
"Meaning?"
"I question the witch-woman's ambitions. Have a spouse plant enough suspicions and even the most loving parent can fail in the moment of crisis. I can imagine the bespelled words of a witch might only make the situation worse."
"I have often wondered if my Liege was not the more innocent of the lot."
"It seems plain that the Count's second wife wanted to ensure that her offspring would find favor over Drew. If that were the end, she might have used any means at her disposal to guarantee it."
"That would be a logical conclusion to draw, given the circumstances," Culdun agreed.
"And yet Drew not only doesn't see that possibility, but insists on shouldering all the blame as well!"
"It has always been so, as long as I have known my Liege."
Both fell into silent contemplation as they moved on to the next shrub. Then Angelique pressed, "Has there ever been an attempt to break the curse, Culdun?"
"There has, my Lady."
"Tell me."
"There have been several young women. All have come here of their own free will, though none seemed too interested in my Liege or living here. They all departed after a time. Most commonly, a young man would be found wandering near the gates and brought in as Aloysius was, to stay for the night. His fancy would be taken with the mistress, hers with him, and my Liege would arrange for a dowry and the lady's departure. The only exception I recall involved a young lass who had been traveling with her brothers. Highwaymen struck the lads down, but her horse was swifter than the brigands'. She and her poor beast stumbled through our gates nearly spent. It was lucky for her that there was a new moon that night."
"A new moon?"
He looked at her. "You've noticed that the moon does not follow her normal course here, haven't you?"
Angelique shook her head. "I've had no cause to be outdoors after dark until last night."
"Ah, so then you don't know." He paused as if gathering his thoughts. After a moment he continued, "This place has its own cycles. Although you grow a day older when the sun rises, then sets, time moves differently here than it does in the outside world. Most nights there is no moon at all in our skies and the two worlds are not in phase. It was part of the witch's curse. But, though it is unpredictable, for whatever reason on some nights the worlds become one for a few short hours, and then the cobblestone road from the gate to the palace is open."
"And the poachers come?"
"No, my Lady. They need the moon to see by. They come on those nights that are rarer still, the nights when our worlds are so much in phase that a round, full moon rises in our sky. We never know when these nights will occur but we must be ever ready. Always remember: if you are ever out after dark and see a moon rising, best come in quickly. Those are the nights that bring poachers with their traps and their guns. And they always stir the forest animals into panic. Those nights are not safe, my Lady. Not for any of us."
"And yet my Liege rode out alone."
"Not alone, Mistress. With magic as powerful as any mortal could ever behold. My Liege is the only one who could dare to ride out as our protector."
A wry, little smile curled her lips as Angelique sat back, staring at the trowel in her hands. "There could not be much monster in one who would risk life to defend us all."
"That is true, Mistress," he answered. "But you should know, my Liege is cursed beyond the edges of death. Pain or crippling are still heavy risks, but until my Liege is wed, there will be no possibility of peace in death."
"No possibility at all? Like you, Culdun?"
Culdun responded with a deep, rumbling chuckle. "You'd like me to be immortal, my Lady?"
"Not-quite-mortal is different?"
"Very. My folk know the lure of the faery lands well enough. We can dance back and forth through that thin veil all our lives until, one day, the wine is too sweet and the music too pretty.
And then we — just stay. But I do admit, it is a time of our own choosing, and we are a long-lived folk in the meanwhile."
"So Drew couldn't choose death even after hundreds of years? Even if desired?"
He nodded sadly. "The curse took that choice away."
"Yet if Drew were to marry, that would change?"
"Something would change, though exactly what is not clear. The palace exists because of the curse, but it is not dependent on it any longer. Over the ages, my Liege has acquired much power in the magickal arts, far more magick than the witch-woman might ever have expected. But would breaking of the curse mean all this would disappear? Or if the curse were broken, and my Liege wished to leave, would this place then cease to exist?" Culdun only shrugged.
"What would become of your folk, then?"
"Ah, what of us?" Culdun mused. "We have talked of it. We agree. We would never wish this timeless prison on our friend for even a second longer than must be. It would be no hardship for us to simply cross into the faery mists. Life here has been good to us. Then again, " Culdun nodded at his own thoughts, "the sort of woman who would wed our friend may not be the sort who would want to return to her family's home. We Old Ones have an acceptance for differences that I've noticed your Continent doesn't always practice."
Angelique could only agree with a solemn nod. She couldn't imagine the protective, gentle Drew among those such as Aloysius and her brothers.
"But enough of this melancholy talk." Culdun brushed his hands against the material of his trousers. "Last night, the poachers were driven back once more and today is a new day. Let us remember the beauty of the rose's bloom and not dwell upon the thorns."
When Culdun brought word later that Angelique would be dining alone once mo
re, a soft curse hissed just under her breath.
"Culdun, might I trouble you to return a reply?"
"Most certainly, my Lady?"
Culdun waited patiently while Angelique composed a response. They shared a smile as she said, "Please tell my Liege that unless my Liege is ill, I expect my betrothed to pay me the common courtesy of dining with me. Every evening."
"Yes, my Lady." He turned to go.
"And Culdun," she added.
Inclining his head, he acknowledged, "Yes, my Lady?"
"If, by chance, my Liege does feel ill, I will present myself as a bedside attendant and companion."
He got as far as the door this time before she called again.
"And—"
They both bit back laughter now.
"And," Angelique continued. "I'm going riding. There is no need for you to bring me an answer as I will be quite unavailable until dinner."
"I will relay your message, Mistress," Culdun replied, still smiling. And with that, he slipped through the doorway and was gone.
"It's nearly dark, Culdun. She's never been this late, you say?"
"Never, my Liege."
Drew's slim-fingered hand rubbed at aching muscles in shoulder and neck. The tall, cloaked figure stared indecisively out of the study's window. Twilight was settling its thin, bluish veil across the garden below, and the splashing fountain of nymphs and seahorses was slowly fading into murky gray shadow. "I should have given her a talisman sooner. Then we would know if she were simply tucked away somewhere awaiting for me to appear for dinner."
"It is possible. She was quite determined not to give you a chance to argue."
"What makes you so certain she's not on the grounds, then?"
"She bathes at the same hour every night. It is a ritual she enjoys, or so my nieces say. Since it's well beyond that hour now, my Liege, I felt that I should tell you."
Drew turned from the window. "I dare say at Aloysius' she never had time for even such small pleasures." There was a wry smile in that voice. "Thank you for looking out for her, Culdun." Then, "We'd best send someone into the village to ask for word of her. Perhaps some of the children saw her riding out in the forest. Or else some of the farmers might have seen her."
He nodded. "I'll send someone right away." Halfway to the door he paused and added, "It may be nothing, my Liege."
Drew nodded faintly. "You're probably right. Let's wait until dinner before we really panic, shall we?"
Culdun was taken aback at the gentleness of Drew's humor. He could not remember the last time Drew had laughed without bitterness.
"Still, send someone now to the village."
"Of course, my Liege."
Angelique felt dizzy. The world around her was misty with twilight yet swirled like a waltz. Someone pushed another cup of wine into her hand with a merry giggle, and Angelique smiled, thinking she ought to have refused. But the music was playing again, and the harp and pipes were so lively. More laughter filled her ears and her companions, maids and youths seemingly as young as she, were urging her to down the cup so she might join the dance again.
The pale-leafed trees at the clearing's edge shimmered in the misty, blue-white air. The center fire leaped high, and the lithe figures gaily jumped the flames, moving in and out of the fire's glow as they danced. From one set of hands to another Angelique was passed, spinning and gasping.
Coldness crept in as full darkness descended, and Angelique thought she must be leaving soon. But the sparkling dark eyes of yet another pair of dancers bewitched her, and she gave in to the temptation of another round. Laughing, her dark hair flying, she took their hands. Their skin was cold as death in her grasp.
Angelique struggled to shake the cobwebs from her head. So tired. Sleep beckoned, aided by the soft pillow of a maiden's lap. Cool fingers stroked her sweaty brow, and Angelique smiled. A slender man, with bright dark eyes in a narrow, fine-boned face, sank down beside her with a cup.
The wine was chilled and sweet. It slid down her throat like crisp, cold water, and Angelique thanked him with a smile. She fought sleep, tingling all over with the icy touch of evening's air against her flushed skin. Her clothes felt heavy — binding — and her hand pulled listlessly at the lacings on her vest.
The maiden upon whose lap she reclined smiled tenderly, and Angelique felt the woman's fingers leave off their light stroking of her brow to loosen the knot that held the vest together. A hand took her own, and Angelique glanced again to the youth beside her. He smiled, leaning closer. He's going to kiss me, Angelique thought, feeling nothing but a faint sense of surprise, and then understood that this was only to be expected.
As Angelique stared at the youth, a hand settled on his shoulder. Startled, he halted. Then that sparkling joy returned to his eyes as he recognized the newcomer. There was something familiar about the stranger, Angelique thought. But she couldn't quite place what it was.
Then suddenly she knew. She recognized the tapered lines of that hand. Only usually it was sheathed in black. But not this time. Angelique moaned as she felt the touch of that hand to her skin for the first time.
"Angelique!" The voice was sharp. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt heavy as a stone in her mouth. She groaned instead and struggled to focus her eyes.
"Angelique!"
"Don't be angry—" she mumbled faintly, barely able to force her eyes to stay open. Everything was a swimming blur. "I wouldn't have been late for dinner."
"I'm not angry." The words were soothing now and Angelique relaxed. Drew's arms slid beneath her, lifting her from the cool grass. She made a soft sound, snuggling against Drew's solid warmth, and lifting her arms so she could slip them around Drew's neck.
"I'm so cold." She was shivering now. A cold deeper than a midwinter storm stole into her. Her teeth began to chatter, and she pushed against Drew's sheltering heat.
"It's all right. We'll be home soon."
But it wasn't all right. She felt numb and groggy, but below the disorientation, fear was starting to collect in her belly. "Drew—" she began, but the rest of her words were choked by sobs. She felt a momentary sense of being elsewhere, suspended in time and space, alone and unsheltered. She tried to cry out, but before her voice could find expression, she opened her eyes to a familiar scene — her own room.
The lamps were lit and a fire burned in the hearth. Culdun's face swam into view as did those of his two nieces. They fussed around her. In a moment, she was bundled into woolen nightclothes and surrounded by a thick comforter. Culdun guided a brandy glass to her lips. "All of it, Mistress," he urged.
She choked on the fiery amber but didn't protest. Its sting made her feel real.
"Now, put her before the fire," the Old One ordered, and once again Drew's strong arms enfolded her, quilt and all. They settled on the floor at the foot of the grand bed. Angelique leaned into the embrace, burrowing into the bulky eiderdown. After a moment, her teeth stopped chattering and the ache in her chest eased as panic receded. Culdun knelt to peer at her. He gave a satisfied sort of nod and touched a rough knuckle to her cheek. "You gave us quite a scare, my Lady. How did you come to be in that place?"
"Not now, Culdun," came the quiet command from above her head. "There'll be time enough for questions later."
"True," Culdun agreed, and smiled. He touched her cheek again and then was gone, taking his nieces with him.
"Are you warmer?" Drew asked.
"Yes, but please don't leave me." She took hold of the arms that held her. "I couldn't bear to have you leave."
"I won't."
Exhaustion and relief flooded Angelique. Again she found her eyes closing, but this time there was no deathly chill, only the warm glow of the fire and the safe haven of Drew's arms.
"I'm sorry I missed dinner," Angelique mumbled.
"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."
"How could I forget when I'd made it so plain that you were not to be excused?"
She was rewarded with a soft chu
ckle. Then, "Sleep now."
"Are you sure it's safe? Sometimes with frostbite..." she began, but found her thoughts were muddled, and she could not pick up the thread of what she'd been saying once she'd stopped.
"You're safe now."
"I'm still cold."
"You will be for a while. I'll stay with you."
"Protecting me again." She nestled down further into the quilt. "Thank you for coming after me."
A brief tightening, a hug, was the reply.
"Drew?"
"Yes."
"You will be at dinner tomorrow night, won't you?"
"Tomorrow and every night. I promise."
And then Angelique slept.
The whisper of faery music curled around Angelique's dreams. Like foggy little wisps, tendrils of joy and enchantment teased the comers of her awareness, coaxing, luring her back into that fey land of delights.
She could feel Drew's arms about her, but whether or not she dreamed the embrace she could not tell. A feathery kiss brushed her temple. Then she felt her hand lifted and held. She murmured in surprise — Drew's hands were still gloveless!
The taste of the faery wine seemed to linger on her lips, and Angelique chased the sweet taste with the tip of her tongue. A finger rose to touch where her tongue had just been and Angelique shivered at the sensuousness of the touch. She heard the faery music again and for a while, it seemed, she drifted. She could feel Drew's fingers on her skin, tracing the curve of her bottom lip, moving to cup her cheek and then straying back again.
Feeling playful, she nipped and caught the fingertip. It stilled obediently. Holding it lightly between her teeth, she passed the tip of her tongue over the rounded end and was rewarded with a muffled groan and a shiver. She let go and the hand slid to her chin, tilting it up and back.
Angelique struggled to open her eyes, but everything seemed distant and out of focus. She could see a dark tumble of hair framing a face she could not quite discern. Reaching up, Angelique freed her arms from the quilt's embrace and pulled Drew toward her. Her fingers tangled in the curling tangles at the nape of Drew's neck and she delighted in the feel of the silken softness against her skin.
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