She hears Lord Tanen's carriage before she sees it. She is sitting on the steps of the manor, making a daisy chain, making holes in one stem with a stolen sewing needle and threading the next stem through, flower upon flower. The crones will not approve of this, but she thinks that because it is her birthday they won't punish her for it. She has nearly completed a necklace when she hears hoofbeats echoing through the trees.
Lord Tanen steps out of his carriage, and she can see that someone is with him. He holds out his hand to the stranger and she descends. It is a girl, Sela's age, dressed in a gown of whitest linen. Her hair is gold and put up in shining plaits, her face scrubbed clean. Sela gets up and runs toward the carriage, but halfway there she stops, her breath caught in her chest.
What if this girl has been brought to replace her? What if she is going to be taken away in that carriage and left in the forest? In stories sometimes this happens. A girl is taken away by a cruel parent, usually a stepmother, and left in the forest to die. These children usually end up as princesses, but Sela has been told by the crones that her parents are dead now, and that she is worthless on her own; her only value is what Lord Tanen gives to her.
But her thoughts of being replaced vanish when the girl looks at her and smiles, showing a row of crooked teeth under bright blue eyes.
"Happy birthday, Sela," she says.
"Who are you?" asks Sela, mystified.
"I'm Milla," the girl says.
Sela looks at Lord Tanen, confused.
"This is your birthday present, Sela," says Tanen. "A most special gift for a most important birthday."
Sela still doesn't understand.
"I've brought you a friend, Sela. I've brought you someone to love."
Someone nudged Sela awake. She sat up, startled, not sure where she was for a moment. Sunlight, sky, soft chair. She was still on board Mabs Contempt.
Silverdun leaned into her. "Camellia blossoms," he said.
"Hm?" she mumbled.
"Laurel blossoms. Whatever. There may be trouble," he whispered.
"How long was I asleep?" she whispered.
"About an hour. You drooled a little, by the way."
Irritated, she wiped her chin with the back of her hand.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"A few minutes ago, I saw a message sprite flit past the window toward the main deck."
"And?"
The young husband across from them was giving her a questioning look. She smiled at him and kissed Silverdun on the cheek. She reached out for a thread with the young husband and found it: He was tired and hungry, and a bit suspicious as well. Everything's fine, she pushed into the thread. He seemed to relax.
"There was a bit of a commotion on deck, and then they showed up down here." He nodded toward the front of the cabin, where the Unseelie soldiers they'd seen earlier were walking slowly toward them, examining the passengers.
She looked over at Ironfoot, whose face was buried behind a newspaper.
"Do you think they're after us?" asked Sela.
"Who knows?" said Silverdun. "Either way, we'd just as soon not be noticed."
Sela strained her feelings toward the soldiers, but it was no use. She needed some kind of emotional connection to sense a thread, and the soldiers didn't know she existed. Yet.
They continued down the aisle, engaging each row of passengers in turn. When they came a bit closer, she could hear snippets of conversation.
"... two men and a woman ..."
"... persons of interest ..."
Sela noticed the young husband across from her looking at them, an odd, curious expression on his face.
Silverclun leaned in again. "I'm going to try something. Follow where it goes."
He leaned forward to speak to the young husband.
"Do you have any water?" he asked the husband. "I'm parched."
The young man's eyes widened. "What sort of water?" he asked, his voice quivering a bit.
Silverdun looked the man directly in the eye. "Water from the freshest stream."
What was Silverdun talking about? Whatever it was, the young man seemed to understand, because he nodded and leaned forward himself, putting his hand on Silverdun's shoulder.
"There is water in abundance," he whispered.
Silverdun nodded.
"Where are you coming from?" asked the husband quietly.
"Mag Mell."
The husband smiled.
The soldiers came closer. When they reached Sela, Silverdun, and Ironfoot's row, they stopped, eyeing them with suspicion.
"Would you three be traveling together?" asked one, looking at Silverdun. "Just the three of you?"
"No," said the young husband. "We're all together. Just returning from a holiday in Mag Mell."
"Ah," said the soldier, his eyes brightening. "May we see your passports, then?"
The soldier took each passport in turn. The family, as it happened, had indeed just returned from Mag Mell themselves, according to their passports.
"Is there a problem?" asked Ironfoot, casually.
"We've received word that there might be some persons of interest aboard ship. Two men and a woman traveling together."
The young man's wife blanched. "Goodness, are they dangerous?"
"I don't think so," said the soldier. "Heretics. Aba-lovers."
"Ah," said the husband. "I've found that you can always tell an Arcadian by the glassy-eyed stare of blind obedience." He raised his eyebrows.
The soldier chuckled. "You may be right, sir."
He nodded to the group. "Sorry to have bothered you."
His eyes rested on Sela for a moment, and the thinnest of threads leapt into place. He thought her pretty, nothing more. But it was enough. Believe me, she nudged.
"I saw two women and a man on the platform before we came on board," she said. "They looked very suspicious. I remember them because they were about to hand over their tickets, but then all of a sudden changed their minds and headed back to the terminal. Isn't that odd?"
The soldier nodded. "Indeed! You've got a keen eye, ma'am."
He turned to his fellows. "Looks like they slipped away before getting on board," he said quietly. "I'll send the sprite back and tell them to stop wasting our time." The soldiers shared a quiet laugh and retreated toward the front of the cabin.
Once they were gone, Silverdun took the hand of the young husband. "Thank you," he said.
"I'm your brother," said the young man. "There is nothing to thank me for."
Sela gave Silverdun a questioning look. "I'll explain later," he whispered.
Alpaurle: Let us speak, then, of the good man. How do we determine which is the good man?
The High Priest: That is easy. He is the one who thinks and acts virtuously, and avoids sin.
Alpaurle: And how do we know which thoughts and actions are virtuous, and which are sinful?
The High Priest: Is the distinction not obvious?
Alpaurle: It is not obvious to me, but then, very little is. Perhaps you can explain it to me?
-Alpaurle, from Conversations with the High Priest of Ulet, Conversation VI, edited by Feven IV of the City Emerald
he rest of the trip passed without incident. They all slept through most Df the day.
Sela's dreams were fleeting and strange, incorporating the dream imagery of those sleeping around her. She saw Silverdun lying in a field of wheat, kissing a woman in white. The woman had long golden hair, and wore a band around her arm, an Accursed Object. Sela felt warm, drew in closer, felt the wheat tickling her ankles. Silverdun bent down to kiss the woman's neck and Sela saw her face; it wasn't Sela. She was younger, her features sharp and her eyes bright with pleasure. She looked at Sela and laughed with joy, bent her head back, arched her back, pressed against her lover. The dream faded and was replaced in turn by others, but its sensations lingered.
She came awake with a start. "Just in time," said Silverdun. "I think you'll want to see this." He pointed out the win
dow.
At first Sela couldn't understand was she was seeing. A thousand stars spread out beneath Mab s Contempt, a night sky inverted. Then her eyes adjusted and she saw that they were not stars, but the lights of a city. A city unlike any she had ever seen before.
Preyia spread out below them, huge, an island rising up from a black sea. It was difficult to gauge distances, but it seemed almost as big as the walled portion of the City Emerald. It rose in seven massive tiers, each smaller than the one below it, in pleasantly irregular curves.
Massive sails rose from each tier, glowing in red and blue and gold witchlight. Ships large and small came and went from it, like moths circling slowly around a lamp. The entire scene was softly bathed in moonlight.
It was impossibly large, but as Mab's Contempt continued to approach it grew even larger, until it blocked out the sky and it almost seemed as though they were approaching solid ground.
A few minutes passed and then there was a soft shudder as the transport ship docked with Preyia.
Around her, weary travelers rose, collecting their belongings.
The young husband across from them stood and stretched. "Come out with us, brother. Let us be seen leaving the ship together."
Silverdun smiled. "That's kind of you. Thanks."
They came out on deck, and the lights and sounds of Preyia exploded in Sela's senses. Music, shouting, the buzz of conversation. Great lights on rotating bases searched the sky. Avenues radiated out from the docks, bathed in multicolored witchlight.
"Welcome to Preyia," said the young wife, taking Sela's arm.
Cooking smells assaulted Sela as they stepped onto the dock, roasting meats and cooking onions and exotic spices. Her stomach growled.
Once they were away from the crowd, the group stopped. The children were cranky; two of them were crying and whining to go home. Silverdun and the young husband took each other's arms.
"I cannot thank you enough," said Silverdun. "That was a lucky thing, us ending up opposite one another."
"For shame!" said the young man. "Luck had nothing to do with it."
"Of course, you're right."
"We must do what we can. And live to serve Aba another day."
"Aba be praised," said the wife.
"I think we're safe now," said Silverdun. "Go in peace."
"You as well," said the husband. He scooped up one of the children, and the family disappeared into the night.
"All right," said Ironfoot. "What was that all about?"
"Arcadians," said Silverdun.
"So I gathered," said Ironfoot. "Why did they go out of their way to help us?
"Because I asked them to."
"All that business with the water," said Sela.
"Yes. It's a code. It's the Arcadians' way of asking for help in unfriendly circumstances."
"Are you an Arcadian?" asked Sela, confused.
"I used to be," said Silverdun.
"He was a monk," said Ironfoot.
"A very bad one," scowled Silverdun. "Anyhow, all of that I learned from my mother. She was an Arcadian at a time when it was dangerous even in the Seelie Lands."
"Why haven't you ever told me this?" asked Sela.
"Some things, I've found, are best left in the past."
"We'd best get going," said Ironfoot, pointing to a clock tower that rose above the docks. "Our rendezvous is in an hour."
"Just a moment," said Sela. "I'd like to look over the edge. May I?"
"Be my guest," said Silverdun.
They walked past the docks, to a railing that stretched out of sight to the north. The docks were on the lowest tier of the city, so there was nothing beneath to obstruct the view.
Sela leaned over the edge of the city and looked down. The ground seemed so very far below. There was a slender sparkling line of silver that she realized was a river. Boulders like pebbles. And the tiny circles were the tops of trees, colored green-gray by the moonlight. There was also a large oval spot, pitch black.
"What's that?" she asked. "A lake?"
Silverdun looked. "It's called the umbra. It's the shadow of the city," he said. "Supposed to be extremely unlucky to walk through it."
For some reason, the thought of a shadow that large made Sela deeply uncomfortable.
"Perhaps we could save the sightseeing for another time?" said Ironfoot. Sela could feel his anxiety.
"Of course," she said. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see."
"It's fine," he said. And he meant it. "But we must be going.
They made their way through the city, up grand stairways, along wide avenues, always upward, from tier to tier. It was a festival night, and the streets were filled with revelers celebrating the beginning of summer. Both spring and autumn were bitterly cold in the Unseelie Lands, and Sela had heard that in some northern cities, there was even snow from time to time at the height of autumn.
They moved slowly through the packed streets, where drummers sat in circles beating the rhythms of the season. The Fae of Preyia danced in time, smiling and laughing, shouting verse after verse of summer song.
"Look at them all," Sela said.
"What about them?" asked Silverdun.
"They're all so happy. So joyous."
"What of it?" asked Ironfoot, who had been whistling along.
"These are the enemy, aren't they? How can that be? They seem so kind."
"Tell them you're a Seelie spy and see how kind they are to you then," said Silverdun, winking at her.
It was at moments like these that Empathy was not a gift at all. A chaotic rapture of threads pulsed around Sela, at the edge of her vision, wanting to draw her in. She wanted to be drawn in. How many of them could she kill, right now, if she chose to, before they could strike her down? How much of the joy could she drown out?
When surrounded by happiness, she thought automatically of pain. Lord Tanen had taught her that. The precipice loomed, always waiting to claim her. If she gave in to the joy, if she let the rapture wash over her, she would be annihilated. At Copperine House, they'd told her that this simply wasn't true, that she'd been taught to believe that in order to fulfill Tanen's cruel desires for her. But she knew that he'd been right all along. If she let herself get lost in the festival, she would never return from it. The thought terrified her to her bones.
As they ascended, the crowds grew smaller, the lights fewer. The higher tiers were reserved for the homes of the wealthy and the palaces of government. When they ascended the final broad swath of steps to the Opal Tier, the second highest, Sela was out of breath, but Ironfoot and Silverdun weren't even breathing hard.
Silverdun consulted a map, as inconspicuously as possible. "It's this way," he said, pointing down a narrow street. This was one of the more dangerous parts of the expedition. If they were stopped by the City Guard, it would be difficult to explain their presence on the Opal Tier, which was populated exclusively by the homes of the wealthy.
A few carriages passed them, but none stopped. Here and there, revelers in bright costume piled out of cabs and carriages, happy and tired after the night's festivities.
They reached their destination without incident. It was a two-story brick home built on a semicircular bluff that extended over the lower tiers of the city to give an unobstructed view of Preyia. These, Silverdun told them, were called Bow Villas, because they occupied the foremost position in the city as it moved forward through the air. Thus it was always above and, more importantly, upwind of, the rest of the city-which, Silverdun said, was reputed to smell vile during the summer months.
The door was opened by a slender woman in an expensive silk dress. Sela would have loved to own such a dress. Starlight, the actress back at Copperine House, had owned one very like it.
"May I help you?" asked the woman.
"We've come to retrieve a package from Hy Diret," said Silverdun. It was the agreed-upon sign.
"Of course," said the woman. "I believe I've got it here somewhere. Do come in." Her response meant that all
was well. If she'd said to come back another time, it would have meant that the mission had been compromised somehow.
Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow Page 28