by Ken Altabef
All he wanted was to be assured that his poor dear Charlotte was safe and unharmed. He rushed toward her, arms flung wide for an embrace.
The young woman shrank back. “Sir?”
“Charlotte?”
“She does not yet know you, sir,” said Horace Wilde in a low stage voice.
George turned to the dance floor, but already suspected what he might find. The Green Man… the woman… was gone. And Schroeder too, no doubt. Well, at least he still had Eric Grayson.
Mister Wilde said, “Perhaps we should adjourn to a more private venue to continue this reunion.”
George took a deep breath. “Quite.”
Chapter 60
Eric stood with Theodora in the shadow of the great ash tree. The sward sloped downward and away from the huge tree, descending into the dale of Barrow Downes. Eric and his brother had climbed this tree a few times as boys, never knowing there was a civilization of faeries living beneath. Hiding. Thinking about it now, he realized the faeries must have known they were there. The grandchildren of Griffin Grayson. They could easily have killed two young boys if they’d wanted. They didn’t. Not just then. Of course, in the end they had killed his brother Hake all the same.
Though it was a clear morning, a thin rime of early snow covered the ground. Only a few last patches of green peeked surreptitiously out at them. It was going to be a rough winter.
Eric picked at a crust of loose bark. This was the tree, he’d been told, that housed the spirit of Moon Dancer. Her final resting place. If he burned it down the faeries would never forgive him. Still, he considered the possibility.
Theodora placed her hand over his own. “So how does it feel to be a free man again?”
“Well enough.”
Theodora chuckled softly. “I can just imagine the look on his face when they told him it was you rescued his princess.”
“It was a series of looks, actually, each more comical than the last. Eric Grayson a hero! The King took some convincing on that point. And the others too. Lord Bute never quite accepted it.”
“Well, it was all worth it in the end. We got what we wanted, darling. That’s what counts. We won!”
She gave the ash tree a little pat. “Moon Dancer would be overjoyed. She’s still in there somewhere, I know it. She must be very happy.”
Theodora beamed and Eric realized he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. How beautiful she presented herself to be, that is. The new scar on her cheek had been disguised by the glamour. This was not her real face. He had seen her faery appearance many times and had found that face appealing as well. He had loved her for ten years under a delusion that she was merely a human woman and then for another ten at ease with the reality of her faery nature. In both those circumstances his love had been real, he was certain of it. But he had reached a new and unpleasant understanding now, with all their secrets exposed and some of them still raw and bleeding. He had been just a tool.
“A place of our own,” Theodora mused. “And how we’ll build it up. We’ll fill this sward with such wonders!” She turned round, imagining the future of their nascent commonwealth in the north. “The City of Everlasting Change. It will be wonderful! The King was generous indeed.”
“It was a bit trickier than all that,” Eric explained. “A lot of people had to be sworn to silence. There’s nothing quite like a Royal cover up. I can only imagine the concessions his ambassadors were forced to offer the Prussians in exchange for their silence on the matter.”
“I’m certain he’ll get over it,” Theodora said.
“Yes. They always do.” Eric had to admit the look on Lord Bute’s face had been somewhat amusing when George had restored Eric’s title and granted the faeries their sovereignty. He thought he understood the reasoning behind it. King George had granted their request not so much out of favor for their cause, nor even a profound sense of gratitude. He did it out of fear. To say the least, the King had been shocked by the events the faeries had caused, the ease with which they’d infiltrated his palace and even the royal bedroom. He had been abused and humiliated and had no good defense against another faery attack except to put himself in league with the faeries of the Summer Court. He could not trust them. He wanted to keep them right where he could see them, and to keep an eye on them, he insisted a squadron of redcoats be stationed within the borders of their new settlement. Minor details.
Theodora snuggled up beside him. “I’m chilled,” she said. “Come down. There’s a warm bed waiting for us.”
She kissed the side of his neck, just below the jaw. “Take some rest. You’ve earned it.”
He shrugged her away. “I’m not staying.”
“What?”
“My name and reputation are restored but the rest of it is in shambles. I have a lot of work to do. To rebuild my estates and companies.”
“Leave it, Eric. We’re building here, now. It will be so much better.”
“I’m a farmer and a shipmaster, not a faery. I’m going back. To repair my life!”
“Don’t you mean our life?”
“I don’t know what I mean.””
Theodora let out a tiny whimper. It was a sound he’d never heard her make before. “I see. Go ahead then. Do what you must.” Her voice was sad and low, a tone that betrayed all of her hundred years. “But I have to stay,” she said. “Moonshadow needs me here.”
“I know. You’ve done your job again, gotten exactly what they wanted from me.”
“It’s not like that. No, Eric. It’s not like that at all.”
“You run along,” he said. “I’ve a hard ride back to Durham.”
“It’s not that far,” she said. “And when you come back to visit, I’ll be right here waiting for you. We’ll make it all up, you’ll see.”
Eric truly wished he could believe it.
He walked away, haunted by the image of Theodora standing over the decapitated statue of Aldebaran, the words of his grandfather still ringing in his ears. She’s a killer. A murderer! She is not what you think.
Chapter 61
The Count d’Argent snorted derisively.
He craned his neck to whisper in the Countessa’s ear. “For heaven sakes, that man is just plain awful.”
The raucous crowd at the Menagerie seemed in wholehearted agreement. A fusillade of rude noises were flung down from the galleries and even the ‘persons of quality’, such as the Count and Countessa, sitting in the boxes in front of the pit were loudly complaining. A few stray peanuts whizzed past the Countessa’s well-coiffed head.
On the stage some petty ten-fold comedy was playing out, with Charles Thurston as the lead actor. Thurston, dressed as a soldier pressing his lecherous importunities upon some poor farmgirl, was indeed making a muddle of things. But in his defense, he had to shout his lines above the noisy crowd.
“In another life, that girl might have been me,” the Countessa whispered back. Her comment played both ways. She might have been the girl suffering Thurston’s clumsy affections, or the actress paired with him on the stage.
“Let’s be gone,” said the Count. “The quality of stage craft in this place has certainly deteriorated from the heyday of Horace Wilde.”
Nora agreed. The couple shuffled past the other well-dressed patrons in the front row, muttering apologies as they went. One of the women kicked Nora in the shin as she went by, for no apparent reason. The pair arrived at the aisle, disheveled and rumpled but still in good humor and made a fast break for the exit.
Nora was glad to emerge into Covent Garden. The night air was refreshing but too chill to allow more than a short walk.
“Why not bring Horace Wilde back to the stage?” asked Threadneedle. “Your talent has grown exponentially since his ‘retirement’. And though you can’t claim it, you’re a royal veteran—you’ve already made a performance at the palace! You were so very convincing in your role as King George, I almost believed it myself.”
Nora smiled. “It may have helped a bit that Dresdem
ona can’t tell that I’m half faery. She had no choice but to believe it.”
“Well, certainly a great plan is always a benefit.” He tipped an imaginary hat.
“Oh, don’t give yourself all the credit. Theodora risked her life.”
“She’s a brave woman. As are you.”
The shops were mostly closed but a few vendors were still out on the street, braving the cold for a sale when the after-theatre crowd should emerge. Threadneedle purchased a single pink lily from a shivering young flower girl. He presented it to Nora with a gallant flourish.
“So what do you think?” he asked. “The return of Horace Wilde. I’d love to see it.”
“No. Horace Wilde has taken his final bow. A mysterious disappearance suits him. A perfect capstone to his legendary career.”
“Start over, then. No faery tricks. You’re much wiser now. Not that same little farm girl who came to Spagnelli a year ago. You have real talent.”
“I don’t know. Nora Grayson carries too much baggage.”
“Start a new character. How about something like this? Dolores Des Fleurs, daughter of a Belgian whaling captain. Her dear mother, an indomitable fan of the arts, tutored her in all the classic plays during her husband’s long absences at sea. But when the grand old dame perished from consumption, our intrepid young Dolores accompanied her father on an ill-fated voyage to the South China Sea. Shipwrecked on a remote island in the Philippines she singlehandedly performed the cream of European drama for the savage native tribes in order to survive until her rescue. And now she comes to the London stage to perform for us!” He broke out laughing amid strident protestations that he was quite serious and such a scheme could indeed prove a marvelous success.
“It sounds appealing,” Nora replied. “But even such a talented orphan would need a wealthy and influential patron to get anywhere at all.”
The Count stopped walking and took her hands. Turning to face her, his face momentarily transformed. “You shall have one. Richard Templeton, patron of the arts. You may even use the lodgings on Pennington Street.”
Nora cringed. “No. I couldn’t. That place holds too many frightful memories.”
“Of course. I’ll find you another place, closer to the Strand.”
“And where will you be?”
“Here and there. I’ve much to do. The City of Everlasting Change…”
She gripped his hands tighter. “And that’s it then? Nothing else between us?”
Templeton cast a guilty look at the street. “Faeries aren’t ones for marriage.”
“I know. Just for wild flings and rampant sex.”
“Neither of which describes our relationship. I don’t think that’s your way.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
Nora pulled him close. “What about Dolores Des Fleurs? She might be wilder than you think.”
He leaned down and they kissed. Nora held nothing back, allowing her passion free reign. Right out on the street! It was positively scandalous.
Chapter 62
“How is she?” asked Theodora.
James smiled hopefully. “She’s resting now.”
Moonshadow lay on the cot in the healing room, swaddled in a blanket of ferns and dandelions. Her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted as she breathed easily. A look of peaceful rapture lay on her face.
Theodora squeezed her son’s hand. “You’ve done well. You’ve really got a talent for healing. Did you tell her the news?”
“That’s for you and Father to do.” James glanced at the open doorway, as if expecting his father to be there.
“He went back to Durham,” Theodora explained. “A lot of things to do. Setting things right again.”
“Right.”
She wondered if things could ever be right between them again. Eric had been badly changed by his experiences; she saw it all in the haggard look in his eyes. And who wouldn’t be changed? Her husband had been branded a criminal, arrested and thrown in the Tower, and stabbed within an inch of his life. Not to mention the revelations about what he’d done to that young girl. More than anyone could be expected to endure.
He just needs some time to heal, she thought. He’ll be back. I must wait. What else is there to do? Monogamy. What had old Varney called it? The ‘great experiment’. When it was good it was really good, she supposed, really, really good. But when it went bad… one had to factor in the cost of a broken heart. In general, faeries healed quickly enough, but a faery heart? That was a different matter. She had a lot of thinking to do too.
Theodora leaned down and kissed her sister on the cheek. That not seeming quite enough, she threw her arms around the sleeping faery and hugged her tenderly. A spark passed between them. Moonshadow’s eyes opened.
“Ohh,” she said, perhaps having awakened to the pain again.
“Just rest,” Theodora said. “You’ll be all right.”
Moonshadow nodded her head.
Why hold back? Theodora mused. Her news would surely lift her sister’s spirits and that was good for the healing too. “And I’ve good news. The King has seen our side of things. We’ve been granted a fiefdom, right here at Barrow Downes. A place of our own.”
Moonshadow perked up. “I’m very grateful. We’ll have to make plans. I want to do this right. Clear some space for the city… or better yet, leave the trees to grow between the houses like old friends…”
“We’ll have time for all of that. Plenty of time. Just rest now.”
“So many decisions to make.” Moonshadow winced again and Theodora worried she might have troubled her too much now. “Here?” she said weakly. “we’re to do it here? At Barrow Downes.”
“Yes.” Theodora decided not to mention the squad of redcoats they would have to put up with.
“No more secrets then. We’ll be coming out of hiding. Exposing ourselves. That’s not what Moon Dancer wanted.”
“It’s exactly what she wanted. She wanted us out—out into the open fields, under the blue sky, the full moon.”
Moonshadow tried to sit up. “It’s dangerous. I don’t trust the Hanovers.”
“I don’t either but we have to take a chance now. This is our time.”
The young faery set herself back down. “Yes, you are right.”
“And what about the Winter Court faeries?” James asked.
Theodora shook her head. “It’s hard to say. Perhaps they’ll be content to stay in Deepgrave. I doubt Dresdemona has the temerity to approach us now. What do you say about Arabelle?”
James recoiled as if he’d been slapped in the face but his answer came without hesitation. “I still love her.”
“As it should be,” Moonshadow said. “Someone who has done something wrong is still worthy of love.”
“She stabbed you!” Theodora fairly shouted.
Moonshadow glanced down at her chest. “I know.”
“Maybe you’re willing to forgive her, but I’m not,” said Theodora. “She murdered Gryfflet.”
“No, Mother,” said James. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what happened to Gryfflet or where she might be.”
Theodora felt certain her little friend Gryfflet was dead. But she did not know for sure. Only Arabelle could tell them, if it had been Arabelle that was responsible. She vowed to find out.
“We will see Arabelle again,” said Moonshadow. “I’m certain of it. And your feelings, James, may well be tested. Do you think she loves you?”
James chewed his lip. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Meadowlark scratched at the back of his neck. Damn, he thought. He was certain the fur cape he wore must be riddled with lice.
He sat cross-legged in the cave in the midland woods that Black Annis used as a lair. He’d gone native—dressed in stinking furs. The whole place stunk. The odors of rotting skin, blood and death filled his nostrils. Between them a tree stump table held a few playing cards.
Black Annis squinted at the cards she held in her grubby paw
. She was as utterly disgusting as ever, though lately she’d taken to wearing a hideous skull cap made of bloody baby skin. Two little flaps hung down around her ears, each ending in a tiny pink hand.
“Game. Game. You’re not very good at this game,” she said. “Look, you’ve played the wrong suit again.”
Meadowlark knew full well what he’d done. Letting the old witch win at cards was all just a part of his plan.
“Well, it might help,” he said, “if the cards weren’t so damn sticky.”
“Sticky, tricky, little elf.” She slapped down another discard.
Meadowlark wiped his own card on his clothes, leaving a smear of grime and pus on the fur. “Tell me about the Dark Queen’s magic.”
Annis smiled her hideous blue-lipped smile. “Knows all. Will tell. Will tell. Ring the death bell. But first we barter!”
“Yes, mum.”
“Tell me a secret. Something nobody knows. Juicy. Something juicy and ripe!”
“Very well. She’s with child. The Dark Queen is going to have a baby.”
Annis became overly excited. She rocked back and forth like an ape. All the playing cards spilled from her hand, except for the few that were still stuck to her fingers. “A baby! A baby! Tasty indeed, little seed.”
She smacked her lips and giggled. “Tasty baby.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Meadowlark warned. “You’re not eating this one. I think it might be mine.”
The adventure continues in:
EVERBRIGHT: City of Everlasting Change
In this imaginative conclusion to the Lady Changeling trilogy, the faeries of Barrow Downes have achieved their long-sought goal – emancipation from British oppression and a magical capital city of their own at Everbright. But their troubles are only just beginning...
King George maintains a heavy hand over the new faery commonwealth and a military presence within Everbright itself. When Dresdemona and the Winter Court arrive, Moonshadow must face an inevitable challenge for leadership which begs the question – Who should rule? And Theodora’s romantic problems continue. Estranged from her husband, an unexpected suitor enters her life. Will she find love with someone new or simply more heartbreak?