by E. D. Walker
“The magician?”
“Still climbing the cavern wall like a squirrel.” He grinned. A feral, chilling smile. “What a fine specimen he is. Well worth a drowning.”
“Take me to my son.” She kept her voice flat, forcing herself not to look back at Llewellyn’s plight.
The kelpie heaved out a deep sigh, then clasped her wrist and towed her to a small side door out of the cavern. “This way.”
***
The tunnel he led her through was steep and narrow. Torches lit the path, held aloft by long-fingered hands set into the wall. She hoped the sconces were ivory and not flesh, but she did not dare look too closely. Whenever the kelpie heard footsteps, he would pull her against him and she would force herself to melt into his body, to laugh and smile and let him touch her in order to fool the guards.
She’d been dropping pearls behind herself at regular intervals too—not exactly what she’d planned for the baubles. Still, an effective means of finding her way back to the surface if the kelpie should abandon her. She just hoped some eagle-eyed guard didn’t find her trail of treasure and strand her down here with no guide back.
“Here.” The kelpie caught her arm in a painful grip and pulled her into the shadows. They stood before a set of bright white doors with gold emblems of fairies and flowers gleaming in the torchlight. “You go forward alone,” he said. “I dare not enter my queen’s chamber uninvited.”
“Afraid?”
He bared his teeth at her and gave her a small shove toward the door. The kelpie stayed behind, hidden in shadows. She stepped forward alone, praying the kelpie had not led her astray. The door swung open at the brush of her fingers. She stepped inside.
Immediately, two fairy maidens were on her, hissing, teeth and claws flashing. “Who dares—”
She fumbled out one of the spell bottles Llewellyn had given her back at the castle, but she couldn’t decide which fairy to throw it at. “Blight it.” The bottle slipped from her fingers before she could aim and shattered in between the two fairy women.
One of the maidens collapsed at once, falling in a heap on the floor, her rich blue gown spread like a blanket beneath her. The other, a red-furred fox-woman, kept coming for Beatrice. Sharp claws sank into her shoulder and Beatrice swallowed a cry. She braced her arms, holding the fox-woman away as her teeth snapped in her face. And then the fox-woman’s eyes rolled back, and she fell limp against Beatrice. The two of them tumbled together in a tangle of limbs on the floor.
“Hell.” Beatrice grunted and shoved the fox-woman off her. She had one vial left now. Good to know they were powerful, though. Still… Please don’t let there be more guards.
She pushed to her feet with an unvoiced cry of pain and touched her stinging shoulder. The shoulder of the gown was tattered and torn. A deep puncture oozed blood through her fingers. She shook her head, fighting dizziness, and walked forward one step, two. She was so close. I will not stop now.
The queen’s suite of apartments was sumptuous with delicate wooden furniture and rich velvet hangings of deep golds and reds. Small bulbs glowed all about the room, shedding a faint yellow light almost like the limning of the horizon at dawn. A large golden harp fashioned to look like a maiden occupied one corner of the room, its strings strumming even though there was no musician there. A small, neatly tended garden of flowers sprawled in another corner. They filled the room with faint music and a sweet floral smell.
Beatrice passed out of one chamber and stopped short as she entered the next. The queen lay on a large four-poster bed hung with filmy white curtains. She looked slim and breakable beneath the covers, her hair fanned out like a pool of liquid gold around her.
Beatrice watched the queen’s chest move with sleep, and pinned her own hands to her skirts to keep herself from smothering the wretched fairy with one of her overstuffed pillows. Instead, Beatrice reached under her skirts to undo the chain of iron. She wrapped it once around her arm, the links quietly rattling together. Where is my son? Why isn’t he here? How much time dared she take to look? How long would Llewellyn’s sleep spell last on the two ladies-in-waiting?
A small cry sounded from another room in the suite, and Beatrice’s body prickled with pins and needles. She hurried out of the queen’s chamber, following the sound of her son’s cries.
The crib lay in a small antechamber, a cheerful room decorated with murals of rabbits and foxes and other woodland creatures. Beatrice rushed in and smiled at her son where he lay in the richly carved crib. Her heart ached, ready to burst with joy. She reached to swoop him into her arms—
And the illusion shattered, the image of her son splitting apart into starbursts of light. The air puffed out of her lungs like she’d been punched, and Beatrice folded up, falling hard to the ground as the hope sustaining her was ripped away. “No.”
“You didn’t think I would make it that easy for you, did you, my dear?” It was the fairy queen, her voice a low purr behind Beatrice.
Chapter Eleven
The fairy queen stroked her hand over Beatrice’s hair, her rich voice practically vibrating in triumph. “Be assured, Baroness, I have hidden my son somewhere no foolish mortal could ever find him.”
Beatrice’s throat thickened with emotion, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks, leaving her face chilled and clammy.
“What sort of fool plan was this anyway?” the queen trilled in her bright, high voice. “What did you think to do?”
“I didn’t think. I’ll do anything to get my son back.” Beatrice eased carefully back onto her heels. She clenched her hands, the metal links of the belt digging into her flesh.
“He is my son now. My beautiful boy, and you will never find him, never—”
With a harsh cry, Beatrice leapt to her feet and threw the looped chain over the queen’s head. The queen screamed in shock and pain, trying to shove away, but Beatrice yanked the chain ruthlessly tight and pulled the slight fairy woman toward her in a mockery of an embrace. The smell of burning hair and flesh tickled Beatrice’s nostrils as the queen keened in pain, the iron burning wherever it touched the fairy’s bare skin.
Beatrice drew the small knife from her boot and held it to the queen’s throat. The fairy woman swallowed once but immediately stopped her struggles. Her black eyes narrowed, whirling with red light as she glared at Beatrice.
Beatrice let out a high, light laugh of triumph, feeling wild, feeling fierce. She grabbed the queen’s arm and hauled her close, keeping the knife in one hand and the tail of the shackle in the other. Still grinning, Beatrice tugged the queen with her into the main part of the suite.
The two fairy handmaidens stirred in the other room. The fox made to leap for her, but Beatrice pressed her puny blade tighter to the queen’s throat and simply smiled. “I wouldn’t.”
The maiden subsided with a hiss and sat back on her heels, ready to pounce but brought to heel for the moment.
“Open the door,” Beatrice said.
After a pause, the handmaiden rose and pulled the door open. Beatrice made her way out, keeping the queen’s body between herself and the fairies.
“What did you—” The kelpie leapt from the shadows, then stopped short when he saw his queen. His face darkened with rage. “Mortal, you dare—”
Beatrice fished the last spell bottle out and flipped it at his face. It spun end over end, then shattered against his forehead. He dropped with a satisfying crash to the floor.
Beatrice tugged on the queen’s chain. “Take me to my son. Now.”
The queen winced and glared at her. Her face shivered with pain. “Please. The chain.” The air puffed out of her on a thready note of pain, and smoke rose from her skin.
Beatrice hesitated, then fumbled and tugged until the chain did not touch any of the bare skin at her wrists or neck. The fairy fidgeted uncomfortably, but did not seem to be in actual pain where the chain touched the queen’s clothes.
Beatrice had only to lift the tail of the chain, and the queen hurried forward t
o keep pace with her. “Take me to my baby.”
“I can’t. I sent him away. He wouldn’t stop crying, so I sent him to my winter lodgings with an attendant.”
Beatrice fought a rush of despair as her mind furiously whirled. “Fine. Fine.” She shoved the queen ahead of her down the corridor and followed the trail of pearls back to the cavern of revels.
As they approached the cavern, all seemed too quiet. Then a man’s hoarse screams reached Beatrice’s ears. A chill shivered down her spine to hear the sound. Llewellyn. She rushed forward, towing the queen behind her, and stumbled up into the revels.
Once Beatrice’s eyes adjusted to the brighter light of the cavern, a gasp of horror broke from her. The fairies circled the magician now. His arms and chest were cut, his face red with forming bruises. The large troll feinted toward him with a knife. Panting, Llewellyn flung his arms out as if throwing a net away, but his hands were empty. A dry crack split the air, and the troll stopped short as if he’d slammed into a wall.
Magic. Llewellyn was gasping, though, and half hunched over in pain. A fairy barreled into him from the side, catching both his wrists. The troll rolled to his feet and advanced on Llewellyn with his fists clenched.
Beatrice put her knife to the queen’s neck, leaving the smallest of cuts against the green-tinted skin. The queen bled a dark orange-brown, like tree sap. “Tell them to stop.”
The queen’s gaze darted sideways, but she still yelled “Stop!” loud enough to echo through the whole chamber.
The troll paused, looking around. Then he and everyone else in the room gasped at the sight of their queen held captive at a mortal’s knifepoint. The fey folk were all smart enough to make no moves. Llewellyn was the only one moving as he limped to Beatrice, holding his ribs. One side of his face was covered in bruises, his right eye busily swelling shut. “Your son?”
Beatrice felt that rush of despair again, like water pressing on an overfull dam, but she pushed it back. “She’s not keeping him here.” She pitched her voice high. “I have captured your queen, and I will keep her until my son is returned to me. For every day that I am without my child I will cut off part of your queen, so that she may know the pain of losing a part of herself just as I have known it.”
“Ruthless,” Llewellyn muttered.
“I want them to have a sense of urgency.” The two of them edged toward the entrance. The fairy mob inched forward too, following their progress but not yet moving to attack. The queen hissed in outrage as Beatrice tugged her forward like a disobedient hound, but the fairy was still held fast in the circle of iron rings and could do nothing to fight back.
Beatrice let Llewellyn out of the cavern entrance first, then walked out facing backward herself, still keeping the queen’s body between herself and the fairy host in the cavern.
As they emerged into the meadow, the sky shone a pale gray. Llewellyn staggered as they walked and held his head. Beatrice could not help him. She was too busy half-dragging, half-carrying her furious fairy prisoner back to where they’d left Mary with the changeling.
At their approach, the midwife’s eyes widened. Her mouth fell open when she saw who was with them. “You’re mad, lass. Stark raving mad.”
Beatrice passed the knife and the chain to the midwife. “Be careful with this one.”
Mary gazed in horrified fascination between Beatrice and the seething queen, but accepted the queen’s leash without protest.
Llewellyn, with a choked-off groan, took charge of the kelpie’s bridle. At Beatrice’s inquiring look, he shrugged and slung the mess of leather straps over his shoulder. “We might need it.”
Beatrice, meanwhile, bent to scoop the changeling into her arms. She glanced back at the fairy queen, but the woman had her chin haughtily raised, not deigning to notice any of them let alone the baby. Beatrice winced as the changeling brushed the fox bite on her shoulder. The baby was still warm and soft, though, slow with sleep as she snuggled him close. She sighed into his hair. “Let’s get back to the castle.”
***
They met Stephen’s attack squad on the road to the castle. A force of fifty of so altogether, with men-at-arms on horse as well as some archers and even a few eager lads from the village with cudgels. The queen’s eyes widened to see this barbaric force heading straight for her home. Fortunately, Llewellyn managed to get Stephen’s attention before the whole mess of soldiers had stampeded them. The shocked look on Stephen’s face when he saw Beatrice, when he saw the fairy queen, was almost enough to give Beatrice a fit of giggles, but she was still too weary and heart-sore to be properly amused.
She let Stephen and his men take charge of her captive as the whole force rearranged themselves to turn back the way they had come. Meanwhile, she and the wounded Llewellyn were treated for their injuries and given horses. Llewellyn helped her mount and passed the changeling to her before he took horse himself. Mary was offered a horse but refused it; Beatrice supposed she was still too shaken after her ride with the kelpie to climb into a saddle again so soon. The midwife walked beside Beatrice’s horse, only occasionally staring behind them and muttering, “Damned madwoman.”
Beatrice just shook her head and clung grimly to her saddle and the changeling in her arms. “This will work, Mary. It will.” It has to.
Chapter Twelve
There was some confusion about where they should put the queen once they reached the castle. Was she a noble captive who should be given a fine room and a guard? Or was she a dangerous enemy who needed to be shown to the darkest part of their dungeon?
Llewellyn, looking half-dead and immensely exasperated, finally told them she should be given a room in the ladies’ wing. “She is a visiting ruler and must be accorded the courtesy due to her rank.”
Beatrice bit back a dry laugh at that, but the queen herself tilted her chin and looked pleased as they led her away still wrapped in the iron chain. So perhaps the magician was right.
The changeling was fussy and grumpy, so Beatrice shifted him to her other side and touched Llewellyn’s arm. He winced at the contact, and she realized he was much worse hurt than he’d let himself show.
“We should get you a healer, Magician.”
“I am a healer.”
“Then tend thyself.”
“I must see to the queen. Flatter her, fluff her up.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Fairies are vicious but forgetful. If I can weave this into a charming misadventure for her instead of a violent kidnapping, make it into a fun tale for her court about the eternal silliness of men, then we might yet prevent a war.”
“War?”
Llewellyn slid her a dry look. “What did you think would happen when you kidnapped the queen?” Shaking his head, he wandered off.
Beatrice hadn’t thought, hadn’t cared about consequences. She’d been single-minded, caring only for getting her son back. But now, looking around at the bustle of her castle, at all the people she’d endangered, she wanted to howl with grief. What have I done?
The clank of sword and armor distracted her, drawing her gaze to where Stephen’s men-at-arms had assembled to discuss how best to man the walls in case the fairies attacked.
At least she had temporarily stopped the battle. Yes, they were in deep trouble, but at least she had stopped Stephen from leading all these men into certain slaughter. They teetered now on the edge of a war, but if she had sat back and let Stephen ride to battle, they would be in one already.
The changeling patted her chest, and she gazed down to see him smiling at her. He giggled when she made a silly face. Then he let out a happy sigh, stuffing one chubby fist into his mouth. She brushed her cheek against the downy fluff of his hair and went inside the castle. There was still something that might be salvaged from this mess. There was still a chance for things to be all right again.
***
Beatrice took the changeling back to her room to get washed and fed. She dressed him in the best of the baby clothes and carried him back downstairs to the room where they
were keeping the queen.
Beatrice scratched at the door and, after a moment, Llewellyn answered. He frowned when he saw her and the changeling but still made a small bow. “Yes, my lady?” His face and hands were bandaged, but he still looked worried and tense, with a knot of concentration between his brows.
“How does she, Magician?”
He let out a low, exasperated sigh. “I had to take the iron chain off before it could hurt her too badly, and I am right now holding a containment spell around this room to confine one of the strongest magical creatures I’ve ever encountered. It takes quite a bit of effort, and I’m already exhausted. But if I let the spell fall, she has the power to do who knows how much damage to this castle and all the people inside it.” When he ran down at last, he scrubbed a hand over his sweat-sheened face, winced at the touch of his black eye, and leaned hard against the door.
Beatrice started to pat his arm, then remembered herself in time. “You should eat something.”
He let out a small puff of a laugh, as she’d hoped he would, and glanced curiously at the baby. The changeling reached for him, making insistent grunting noises. Llewellyn rolled his eyes but lifted the baby out of her arms and proceeded to make silly faces at him until he had the baby squealing with delight.
Beatrice touched the changeling’s hair absently. “He’s just a baby to you, isn’t he? Not an animal or a…monster. Or anything else.”
“Yes, of course.” Llewellyn raised his eyebrows. “Just as he is to you, I think.”
She shook her head but did not hesitate to take the baby back when he reached for her. “Pass the Baby” was becoming the changeling’s favorite game. “I thought…maybe if the queen were to see him. See how happy he is, how good. Maybe she would…” Beatrice swallowed, her throat thickening with some emotion she couldn’t even name, hope and dread tangled altogether into a black morass inside her.
Llewellyn pushed the door open. “We can try.”