"Well, of course not. You're a ward of the Crown. I am, as a matter of law, your guardian and master. That is a matter beyond my control, and I wouldn't change it even if I could. But even though the choice is mine to make, I offer it to you. I require you to choose what I'm going to offer you of your own free will."
"Why?" she said, raising her voice. "What is this? What is it you want of me?"
Everess smiled again. "I want you to save the world, my dear. How useful would that make you?"
Sela left the conversation with Everess feeling as though she knew less than she had going in. When she returned to her room, she discovered a pair of servants packing her things into new suitcases. Or, rather, one new suitcase, as there was nothing to put in the other. Four dresses, a hat, a book of poems, a hand mirror. Underthings. Not much else. That was all she owned in the world. Without a word, one of the servants closed and latched the one used suitcase and carried it out of the room. The other motioned her to follow him.
Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Everess stood by his carriage, an elaborate thing, fit for a nobleman of his stature. He was waving her forward.
This was Everess in a nutshell. He spoke to you of choices, of caring. But while he was offering you choices, your bags were being packed in the other room.
The carriage ride was bumpy and unpleasant. The new dress that Everess had purchased for her was stiff, and it scratched at her neck and wrists, though she had to admit she adored the glamoured pattern of poppies that gently waved across the skirt in a nonexistent breeze. The shoes were another matter. Detestable, evil things that pressed her toes together and bit at her heels. In Copperine House she'd worn slippers every day, and had forgotten that such evils as dress shoes existed. She'd once had hard calluses on her feet from wearing even more fashionable shoes than these, but that was in the past.
After nearly a full day's travel, the Mechesyl Road began to widen into a highway with several lanes of traffic on either side. Most were leaving the city. Peddlers with donkeys loaded with pots and pans, cheeses, sausages, intricately woven charms, potions, boots, belts, tiny birds, mice, wooden toys. All returning from the Grand Bazaar just outside the gates of the City Emerald. Soldiers on horseback riding in formation-the blue-gray coats of the Seelie Army, the deep red of the Royal Guard-carefully and nonchalantly keeping out of each other's way. A few pretty carriages such as the one in which she rode, off to nearby villas, mostly closed with curtains drawn, pulled by matched teams of white mares (these, explained Everess, were currently all the rage, taking care to point out his own pair). Men on horseback, groups of rough-looking men wearing swords and knives. Farmers with their carts carrying the day's leftover produce.
Then came the City Emerald. The carriage turned the corner at the crest of the hill and began to descend, and the city came into view, the sinking sun exploding from the surface of a wide lake and bathing the Great Seelie Keep in light. The keep was at the direct center of the city, built atop a hill that it was said Regina Titania raised from the ground with a wave of her wrist. Surrounding the keep were Titania's pleasure gardens, acre upon acre of real estate accessible only to the queen and her eunuch gardeners. From there the city radiated out in all directions. Spires of temples and cathedrals reaching to the sky, their windows flashing with sunlight as the carriage began to move downhill. Towers made of glass spirals that defied gravity, whose purpose was unknown to any save the queen herself. Buildings of every shape and size and age, some erected thousands of years in the past, some brand-new.
The City Emerald was ever changing, of every age, seemingly eternal. Sela had read about it many times, but had never seen it.
Surrounding the city like a projection of the Seelie Keep was the wall, a thing of deep and perplexing magic. It appeared to be no more than twenty feet tall, but by all accounts it was impossible to reach the top of it. Anyone was invited to climb it if they so wished, but no matter how much time they spent ascending it, the battlements remained forever out of reach. Or so Sela had been told. No place in all of Faerie was more steeped in legend and myth than the City Emerald, and the truth about it, whatever it was, was so deeply buried that it was impossible to sort out from the stories. Sela imagined that Regina Titania kept it that way on purpose. Who would be foolish enough to assault such a place? It was moot, because no foreign power had ever been allowed the opportunity.
The carriage continued down the hill, and over the course of an hour, the City Emerald continued to grow larger and larger in Sela's sight. Just when she thought it could not appear any grander, the carriage would pass through a stand of trees and it would emerge again in her vision, seeming twice as large as before. She had never seen a thing so enormous, but then, she had seen so little of the world. Only Lord Tanen's estate and Copperine House, and neither, apparently, was representative of the Seelie Kingdom at large.
Finally they reached the North Gate and were waved through without comment by the guards stationed there. The gate was not high, but it was very wide and allowed multiple lanes of traffic to pass side by side. For a moment there was darkness as they passed beneath the wall, and Sela felt a brief chill that was not merely a drop in temperature. Then they were through, and the City Emerald lay sprawled out before her.
The most recent buildings lined the streets nearest the gate. These streets were filled with shops and inns and stables. A sweet, almost pleasant smell drifted into the carriage-beer, sawdust, manure. A whiff of roasting pork found its way to her nose and she felt her salivary glands contract, realizing that she hadn't eaten since leaving Copperine House. Everess's nose twitched at the smell, and he adjusted the blinds on his side, lighting a scented candle in a sconce next to the window.
"Do you think we might eat soon?" Sela said, breaking the silence between them that had lasted almost the entire trip.
"What?" Everess said, starting. "Oh, yes. My apologies. I myself never eat more than one meal a day-I find eating to be a singular waste of time and do it as seldom as possible."
Looking at Everess's round belly, Sela imagined that his single meal must be quite something to behold.
"We'll be at my city home shortly, and I'll have the chef prepare a little something for us."
A little something turned out to be a feast the likes of which Sela had never seen: roasted grouse, a ham, a side of beef, with turnips, squash, pumpkin, potatoes, and beets. Bowls of rose petals and chrysanthemums were constantly refilled by servants-Sela stuck mostly to these, having never developed a taste for meat.
Everess's city home was at least the size of Copperine House, and in the middle of the city-on the Boulevard Laurwelana which, Everess had pointed out, was the most exclusive street in the city. All Sela knew was that she felt comfortable here.
The street outside was loud and confusing. Strangers were everywhere. She would have to get used to strangers. She'd known everyone at Copperine House, understood how they fit. Even when new residents or staff arrived, she had a context in which to place them. But here in the city, everyone was new all the time. They came and went. She barely had time to get a sense of one before that one was gone and another came along. It made her head hurt.
"Are you well?" said Everess, pausing over a bite of ham.
"Yes," she said. She touched her forehead and it felt clammy. "I'd like to see my room, please."
The bedroom was papered in dark damask, and the bedclothes were a deep burgundy. Everess had remembered, at least, how she preferred her surroundings. Her clothes had already been unpacked and put away. Her few personal items were on a table by the bed.
She lied down, fully clothed, fingering the Accursed Object on her upper arm, wondering whether they were going to take it off of her. The thought both frightened and excited her.
But mostly frightened.
The Promenade extends from the southern (and always open) drawbridge of the Great Seelie Keep to the Houses of Corpus, where lords and guildsmen argue and maneuver and, from time to time, legisla
te the workings of Seelie government. Though Titania's rule is absolute, the complexities of day-to-day affairs she leaves to those who are affected by them more than she. The Seelie queen presides primarily over matters of state and, to a lesser extent, the management of the social aspect of Seelie life, which is, to the Fae mind, at least as important as the affairs of state, if not more so.
The drawbridge passes over the Grand Moat, which is more impressive for its beauty than for its defensive capabilities, especially considering that the Great Seelie Keep has never in recorded history been the target of an attack.The moat is home to a hundred species of fish and frog, and other creatures that are unseen, but whose song emanates in a hush from the water, a sonorous plea that induces poets to weep.
The Promenade is the home to the many offices of Seelie government.The Foreign Ministry and the Secretariat of State reside in a stately, if dull, pile of stones on the Left Walk, and the Barrack, which houses the high command of the Seelie Army, sits opposite. The fact that these two buildings sit opposing one another is metaphorical fodder for political wags who frequently point out that the government and the army have been known to work at cross purposes more often than not.
The Barrack is a recent structure, a mere hundred years old. For many thousands of years, the army was housed in the Great Seelie Keep itself, but its oftadversarial relationship with the Royal Guard, also (and still) quartered there, resulted in its removal to a safer distance.
Stil-Eret,''The City Emerald;' from Travels at Home and Abroad
ilverdun, having regained his taste for the dress of nobility, if not its pretenses, presented himself at the Barrack the morning after his dinner with Everess, Heron, and Glennet. A surly corporal took his calling card and bade him wait, then directed him to follow, walking at such a pace as to require that Silverdun trot along behind him. The corporal led Silverdun to a small meeting room, ushered him in, and closed the door. Alone, Silverdun sat drumming his fingers upon the table, looking out the window down at the Promenade where Seelie without any seeming cares strolled the wide avenue, laughing and talking in the noonday sun.
The door opened and Mauritane strode in, wearing a uniform that Silverdun had never seen him wear: that of the commander general of the Seelie Army.
"It's good to see you again, old friend," said Mauritane, gripping Silverdun's hand. In the year since they'd last met, Mauritane seemed to have aged five. Despite the few runnels of gray in his long braided hair, however, he looked content, perhaps even pleased. Silverdun couldn't remember ever having seen Mauritane appear content in all the years that he'd known the man.
"Married life and martial supremacy agree with you," said Silverdun. "How is Raieve?"
"Still in Avalon," said Mauritane, his look of contentment faltering. "We don't see each other often, but we make do."
"Still in love, then?"
"Very much." It was odd hearing Mauritane talk about love in the same voice that he used to talk about killing. He had a fairly narrow range of emotions, Silverdun recalled.
"And you?" said Mauritane. "I'm frankly surprised to see you here. The last I heard you'd devoted your life to Aba and were swinging censers at a temple." A hint of mockery?
Silverdun shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "That didn't work out quite as planned," he said. "Apparently I'm not cut out for the religious life. Or so everyone seems to believe."
Mauritane chuckled. "I could have told you that," he said. "Though I was always willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." He paused, then said, "When men fight together, they come to know each other in ways that are otherwise impossible. You play at the disaffected rogue, but there's a depth to you that you can't always hide."
Mauritane's judgment, concise and declarative as ever.
"I'll take that as a compliment and move on."
Mauritane finally sat. "It was meant as a compliment," he said.
He patted Silverdun on the shoulder, a gesture that didn't entirely work, but with Mauritane's Gift of Leadership, it was difficult not to be affected by it. "Now, what brings you to see me? Interested in joining the ranks? We're always looking for infantrymen, though I suppose we could bring you on as a chaplain."
A joke! Who was this fellow, so like Mauritane and yet so ... pleasant?
"I assume, then," said Silverdun, "that Lord Everess hasn't told you about his plan to resurrect the Shadows?"
Mauritane's smile vanished. "What are you talking about?"
"Only last night I dined with Everess and a few other dignitaries. There was talk of war and an impassioned speech by Everess on its changing nature. Then Everess tried to recruit me into a merry band of spies, a revival of the Shadows. Very interesting stuff."
"I see." Mauritane tapped a finger on the table in a perfect rhythm. "And what did you say?"
"I told him I'd consider it. But there's a catch, which is that Regina Titania told me on our triumphant return to the City Emerald last year that one day she'd call upon me for a service." Silverdun scratched his nose. "And this appears to be it."
Mauritane said nothing for a long moment, peering out the window. "Did Everess introduce you to anyone ... unusual?
"You mean Paet? The very Shadow himself)"
"Ah. Then this is no game. Everess has finally managed to pull this off."
"You don't seem especially pleased."
"Pleased?" asked Mauritane, his voice rising. "Why would I be pleased that the foreign minister has been granted his own small private army, off chasing figments and possibly precipitating wars?"
"The intent, as I understand it, is to prevent one. Further, he very strongly implied that the Seelie Army is in no position to fight Mab as it stands."
Mauritane scowled, clearly torn. Now this was the Mauritane Silverdun was used to.
"You must understand, Silverdun, that in some regard I agree with Everess's position. He's correct that at present we would be outmatched by the Unseelie. Mab has her own troops, and in addition she's managed to conscript forces from Annwn and a few other tributary states in her `empire."'
"And the Einswrath," said Silverdun.
"Yes, there is that."
"I take it we have no like weapon of our own?"
"No, nothing even remotely like it. But Mab's only used the thing twice. Once on her own people at Gefi, and once on Selafae. So the question of the year is-
"Why hasn't she used it since, or threatened its use?"
"Precisely. We have our theories, of course, but the consensus seems to be that she's merely biding her time until she can plan a full-scale invasion of the Seelie Kingdom, with little chance of failure."
Silverdun actually gasped. "Is this possible?"
"Our best guess is that within a year, given our understanding of her troop movements and placement of her cities, we would be powerless to stop it.
Silverdun knit his brow. "You and Everess seem to be in agreement, then. Something must be done. Mab must be stopped by any means necessary. Why not the Shadows?"
Mauritane snorted. "Everess cares about nothing aside from his own position. To him, re-forming the Shadows is part of a strategy to build power for himself. He'll play upon whatever fear, whatever threat is necessary to pursue it. Don't trust him."
"Oh, I never intended to trust him," said Silverdun. "Among nobility, trust is rarer than a hard day's work."
Mauritane chuckled.
"Then you think I should find a way to wriggle out of this? I admit that I have no more confidence in Everess than you do."
"No!" Mauritane almost shouted. "You must accept. You must be a part of this. If he's received approval from Corpus and the queen's blessing, then it's going to go ahead no matter what I do. My best hope is to have someone on the inside, someone who can keep an eye on Everess and his ilk and do his best to ensure that the needs of the kingdom come before his ambition."
"And to report back to you."
"Yes."
The whole thing was beginning to seem hopelessly tangled.
But Silverdun could see in Mauritane's eyes that war was not a hypothesis. It was a certainty. A war that could not be won.
"Do you think the Shadows can change things?"
"I certainly hope so. If you do the right things. I shudder to think what those things might be." Mauritane looked down at his hands. "And by allowing it to go forward, not fighting it, then I share an equal measure of guilt in whatever those things may be."
"We do what must be done," said Silverdun.
"Then do this thing, Silverdun." Mauritane looked him in the eye. "Make sure that the end justifies the means." This was not a request. This was an order, with the full weight of Mauritane's Gift of Leadership behind it. Ordinarily, Silverdun would have been offended at the hint of manipulation that went into such a thing, but in this case he supposed it was forgivable.
Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow Page 8