by Rene Sears
"I'm sorry," I said. "Is there a way out of it?" I was curious about the terms of Rowan's transformation but I didn't want to offend him or pry if he didn't want to tell me.
"There's always a way out, Morgan." But whether he would have told me or not then, the sun fell behind the tree line, and in that instant, the man was gone and the falcon was there. He called once, then flew to the truck and perched on the cab, waiting for me.
*
Strangehold was comfortingly familiar in its weirdness. It was funny how crossing a narrow bridge over an abyss to a tree fortress in the source of magic could feel like a homecoming—but some of that was due to who was waiting on the other end.
I told Hawthorn and the twins almost everything—that there had been a man who tried to attack Faerie and failed, that the human sickness was over. That we could go home. I left out how Matthew had died, and what we had found at his house. I didn't mention Rowan's suspicion that there was a new Queen's Blade. And that the queen had used the new Blade against a human, breaking one of the terms of the treaty. I'd have to tell Jake. Hawthorn's eyes darted to Rowan, but if he wanted to tell her what I was omitting, he could do it later. I didn't really want to talk about it. Not when I had other things to focus on.
Rowan and Hawthorn tactfully excused themselves, and I was alone with my nieces. Iliesa watched them leave, while Igraine stared directly at me.
"We don't want to leave," she blurted as soon as the door was closed. "Hawthorn said we could stay as long as we liked, but she said you would want to take us overhill. We want to stay here."
"The dragons are nice," Igraine added.
"The dragons?" I hesitated. There were no dragons on earth or in Faerie. Could they exist in Strangehold? I needed to ask Hawthorn.
"There's no such thing as dragons," Iliesa said testily. "We want to stay here." She sat down next to Igraine and took her hand. We were in one of Strangehold's sitting rooms. Hawthorn had brought us tea and petit fours that I hadn't had the appetite to touch. I poured myself a cup of tea now, to give myself a moment to think. I hadn't expected this reaction, though maybe I should have. Leaving Faerie had been frightening, and they were safe here. Why wouldn't they want to stay?
"There are a couple of reasons why we can't." A huge one was that at home I had contacts and magical resources to look for Gwen, but I didn't want to bring that up immediately. "Your education is important—both your magical education and your mundane education. You should learn how to use the human half of your magic—in the human world, not just here at Strangehold. You can go to school, and make friends your own age."
"We won't be there long enough to make friends," Igraine snapped. "Our parents will come take us home before we have time for that."
I took a sip of tea. "I hope so. But your mother asked me to take care of you even before she was—" I searched for a word. "—detained. Faerie isn't safe for your family right now. Even if they're both home right now, they asked me to take care of you for now, and the best way I can do that is by taking you home. To my home."
Iliesa turned her head away, but not before I saw the sheen to her eyes. "But what if we hate it there?"
"If you give it a chance and still hate it, we'll figure something else. Overhill is a big place, bigger than underhill. If you don't like my particular piece of it, we can go somewhere else."
Igraine shot me a look, but she didn't seem as hostile. "We really could go somewhere else?"
"I want you to be happy," I said. "We won't stay away from Strangehold forever. We can visit Hawthorn whenever you want." A pang shot through my heart for Marcus. I swallowed that grief; the girls had enough of their own.
"Do you think they might be home right now?" Iliesa probably didn't believe it any more than I did, but her eyes begged me to lie to her.
"I don't know," I said instead. "I hope so. We'll do whatever we can to find out, and if they're not, we'll do whatever we can to find them."
"How much can you do?" Igraine's tone was scornful, but I thought she wanted reassurance as much as her sister did.
I called energy from Strangehold into me and sent it into the oak tree tattooed on my chest. I was prepared to have to wrestle it to use it, but it was as gentle as a comforting hand. My eyes itched with wanting to close and I ached all over; not just physically, but emotionally. I wanted to let myself fall apart, but they needed me to show them that I could help. The pair of tiny acorns emblazoned on my skin pulsed with life, and I sent energy along the threads that bound me to the girls. They both looked at me, eyebrows raised.
"Your mother asked me to promise to protect you and I did. I never marked her as I did you, but it doesn't mean I don't have ways of finding her, and I know people who will help. I promise you I will do everything I can to find her." I let the magic drain out of the link to them.
They looked at each other, and without speaking seemed to have a conversation. I hoped they would eventually trust me enough to let me in. "We'll go with you," Iliesa said. My shoulders unknotted and I smiled tentatively at them.
"We'll go in the morning," I began, already calculating what I'd need to do to get them settled.
A noise at the door made us all turn. Rowan and Hawthorn stood, framed perfectly by the doorframe. Rowan had cleared his throat. "They feygates are open once more," Hawthorn announced. Her eyes sparkled. "I gave young Jakub some advice about the best approach to take with the queen," she added modestly. "His message must have been well received."
Rowan met my eyes, and I found it hard to hold his gaze. I had seen him kill, and I still wasn't sure how I felt about that. "I'm returning to Faerie," he said.
"Oh," I said. "You have to do what you need to, of course."
He turned to the girls, who met his eyes with no hesitation. Lucky girls. "If what happened to your parents is known, I will find out, and I'll tell you."
"We're going back overhill tomorrow." I glanced at the twins, who nodded.
"I'll find you," he said.
"And you are welcome here whenever you like," Hawthorn said brightly. "Rose and I would both think it splendid to see you again." She cocked her head to one side. "Rose has a thought—if you like, we could build a door from overhill somewhat closer to you to make visiting easier."
The girls lit up, and I leaned forward, liking the thought, with a few ideas of where we might put the door. By the time I looked to Rowan, he was gone.
*
Three weeks later, the twins were settled in my second bedroom and a week into a so-far positive experience overhill. We'd spent a little time in a crash course in modern technology, but for people who'd never seen a cell phone before, they figured out the internet and video games pretty quickly. Then again, they were eleven. I requested the paperwork to get them enrolled in the local school, and downloaded reams of syllabi to figure out what they should already know by the time they got there to see what gaps in their education we'd need to fill in before they started.
They had worked with me to make a door to Strangehold in the old stone bridge over the creek behind my house. Hawthorn and Rose had activated it the week before, and we had visited Strangehold. Only yesterday, Hawthorn had come to visit for the first time and the girls had shown her their room, the cats that visited from the woods, the network of wards I had been putting up ever since we came home. If the fae lady felt as incongruous as she looked taking tea out of a Wonder Woman mug, she didn't show it. Both girls had been interested in what I could show them of human magic. If Igraine was occasionally snappy and Iliesa occasionally mopey, I figured they deserved to be.
And I wasn't any different, really; I was just older and better at keeping snappy and mopey to myself.
Sometimes after they were asleep I would sit in my kitchen and think about everyone I'd lost in the last few weeks—Eliza, Marcus, and Helen were only the ones I was closest to. And then there was Gwen, whose loss I refused to accept. I was still finding out that casters I'd known were gone when I'd try to get in touch with them,
or mention them to someone else. In the end, the death toll for the Savannah flu had numbered in the hundreds: enough to send the whole US into a panic and shut down flights to other countries, enough to generate a Wikipedia article. But less than a month later, the news had mostly moved on and the general populace could let it go. But for the magical populace, it was a devastating blow. I didn't know exactly how many casters there were in the US, but hundreds was a chunk of us. We'd had our own little apocalypse, and no one else had noticed.
The world went on.
It was enough to make me want to start drinking and not stop, but I didn't. I might have if I'd been by myself, but there were the twins. I still hadn't found out anything about their parents. None of my spells had yielded anything useful yet. The eight ball kept coming up "reply hazy, ask again later." I kept asking, but every time I had to ask again, my hope dimmed a little.
It was almost dawn, and I was outside, tracing the leylines that surrounded my house. I wondered if I would ever lose the elevated heart rate, mouth-drying fear that filled me as I checked the flow of energy. I did it morning and night, and before the girls' daily lesson in magic. The silver tracery of magic flowed peacefully under a gibbous moon fading as the rising sun pinked the horizon. There was nothing there; it was fine. But still, I looked for anything anomalous, another attack from someone like Matthew.
An owl called from somewhere in the woods on its way home from the hunt. I rolled my shoulders and rubbed my eyes. I hadn't had enough sleep, but that was par for the course. I hadn't been able to stay asleep for more than a few hours at a time since we came home. When I did sleep, dreams catapulted me into an itchy wakefulness, pulse speeding, mouth dry.
The first rays of the sun slipped over the treetops, edging the dark pine with gold. I turned back toward the house, thinking only of the coffee waiting there.
The silver network of magic rippled gently. I called energy to my freshly touched up chain tattoo, but I didn't expect to use it. I knew what this was; the door to Strangehold. I'd find out what Hawthorn wanted; I hoped it was only a social call, and not some other emergency.
But when I got to the bridge, Hawthorn wasn't there. Rowan was.
He looked like something out of the stories my parents had loved so much, standing beneath the trees, red-brown hair turned golden by the rising run. He was dressed for Faerie, not for overhill, and he didn't look quite real.
"Am I welcome?" He sounded unsure.
"Of course." But even as I said it, I was remembering the strike of his blade, his unnatural grace.
His uncertain smile turned a little sad, as though he could see what I was thinking. "I have news, though not as much as I'd like."
"Gwen?" He shook his head and I swallowed my disappointment. "Walk with me. We can get some coffee until the girls get up. I know they'll be happy to see you."
"There's no news of your sister, but Elm is back at court. He sent a few things for your nieces." He tugged at a satchel slung over his shoulder. "He asks that they stay a little longer with you, if you are amenable."
"Of course. They can stay as long as they need to. Is he—is he all right?"
"Well enough." Gravel crunched under our feet as we walked. The house came into view between the trees. "The queen may do as she wishes to the ambassador from your sorcerers, but Lord Elm is another matter. His family is old and powerful, and he is not the least of their scions."
I digested the idea; but then again, I had already seen that there was more to my brother-in-law than I had thought when we were underhill. "And what about his daughters?"
He shrugged, and even that was graceful. "Your Association has sent a protest over the disappearance of your ambassador, but the queen has not produced her. Her majesty's temper remains too frayed where humans are concerned for Elm to wish to risk his daughters. And I have told him what the lady of Strangehold said about them. If the queen should discover it as well...no. Best they stay here." He turned before I could think to look away and those too-green eyes pierced me. "But I didn't come here entirely to discuss your relations. Morgan, are we okay?"
I stumbled. "What do you mean?" That was cowardice. I knew.
He sighed, and his breath fogged the morning air. "When we were in Strangehold and you found out I had been the Queen's Blade, you still looked at me as any other person. But after the lighthouse..." He trailed off.
"It was hard to watch." I could see it still, the arc of the dagger behind my eyes, the spurt of Matthew's blood. Red everywhere. "But what was worse was that I chose to do something, and you took that choice away."
"You are not a killer, Morgan." We were almost at the house, but he stopped before the porch. "I was, for centuries. Why should you stain your hands, when mine are already bloodied?"
"I didn't want to, no, but it was my choice, and you decided your choice mattered more." I searched for words. "I thought we were...partners. But if what you think counts for more than what I do, maybe that isn't so."
"I understand." He looked back over his shoulder, toward the bridge behind us. He shrugged out of the satchel and handed it to me. "In that case, I will leave this with you."
"No, wait! Don't leave." He turned back to me, one eyebrow raised. "Look, just because I'm upset doesn't mean we burn all the bridges and walk away. If we're not okay, we don't get okay by not seeing each other and never talking about it. We're friends now, right?"
He smiled, slowly. "I would like to be."
"Then tell me you understand why it hurt me that you took my choice away, even if we both know it wasn't a choice I wanted to make."
"I do understand, and I'm sorry." He looked right at me, and held a hand up like a boy scout. "I promise I won't place my judgment over your own again."
"Well," I said, uncomfortable. "Unless I'm obviously wrong."
He took my shoulders and bent down to kiss my forehead. His lips were soft on my skin and that close he smelled of rosemary and green things. My face burned, and when he leaned back I could still feel the press of his lips like a brand. "I am Conant. The queen has said I am to be Lord Rowan again now that I am no longer hidden overhill, but I would like you to keep my name."
"Thank you." From what I understood, this was quite an honor. I don't know if it worked the same for changelings as for full fae nobles, but it was said that their names could be used to bespell them. I never would, and it both shook and warmed me that he trusted that I wouldn't. "I'll be careful with it. Conant."
"I knew you would be." He smiled, and I smiled back.
I turned back to the house. "Come inside, and be welcome."
We went up the steps, and into my home, together.
END
I hope you enjoyed Strangehold!
Thank you for reading! If you wish to be notified when a new book or story comes out, please sign up for my mailing list at http://tinyurl.com/renesears. (You will also get a free prequel novella in which Morgan and Matthew get into trouble in Edinburgh when you sign up.) I will never share your email address and you can unsubscribe at any time. There is also more information about the Crossroads of Worlds series and my other writing at http://www.renesears.net.
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Rene
Acknowledgements
Writing a book may be a solitary act, but getting it to the final draft, polished and ready for readers, takes the input of many other eyes.
My deepest thanks to Ben Sears, Stephanie Burgis, Amy Weaver, and Kat Howard for reading early drafts. Their comments helped me sew together plot holes, go deeper with the characters, and scrub infelicities from the pages. Thanks also to Lou Harper, who took my description of Morgan and made a wonderful cover from it.
My family have been incredibly supportive. From a very young age, my parents surrounded me with books, and encouraged my every creative endeavor. And as an adult I am fortunate in my pa
tient children and particularly in my husband, who gives me time and space to write and reads everything I put in his hands. Thank you, Ben; this book wouldn't exist without you.
About the Author
By day, Rene Sears is an editor. By night, (or early in the morning, or on lunch breaks) she writes. She has had short stories published in Cicada, Daily Science Fiction, and Galaxy's Edge magazine.
Rene enjoys travel and the outdoors and has rafted down the Main Salmon River in Idaho four times. She is also paints and embroiders, and enjoys making things, and aspires to one day unite disparate interests by embroidering a book cover.
She lives in Birmingham, Al, with her husband, two children, and a dog that may or may not be part Belgian Shepherd. You can find out more at www.renesears.net and sign up for her newsletter at https://tinyurl.com/renesears
Excerpt from Sorrow's Son
Javier has been on his own since his parents died during the sickness that decimated magic users, following a spell to look for other spellcasters without knowing if any survived. When a caster named Morgan and her nieces, Igraine and Iliesa, take him in, he has to hide the secret of his unusual isolated upbringing, desperate not to alienate the only community he has left.
But Igraine and Iliesa have secrets of their own. The wild hunt comes to the mortal world seeking them. Why the Queen of Faerie wants them, no one knows, but no one wants to hang around and find out. Javier flees with them between worlds, finding a rare talent for communicating with fae creatures—though he's sure his father wouldn’t have approved of his new hellhound.
A mysterious man claiming to be from his mother's estranged family finds Javier, but does he want to claim the family his mother repudiated? He must choose whether to go to his mother's family or help his new friends—but it may be too late to escape the malevolent gaze of the Queen of Faerie.