by L. M. Hawke
Away from her own kin, distant relations though they were. Una had felt like a lone wolf, a total outsider, for nearly her whole life. After craving belonging for so many years, now the only family she had wanted to force her to remain among them. The bitterness of that irony nearly made her gag.
Una went along docilely enough as the troop of Seelie men led her back to her room. What else could she do? It was ridiculous to even contemplate fighting them. Not only were these Seelie men larger and stronger than Una, but they had magic on their side, too—even if it was weak by Sidhe reckoning.
One of the men pushed Una’s chamber door open, and the one who held her arm gave her a subtle push to send her over the threshold. Una turned to face them with her head held high, summoning all the outraged dignity she could muster.
“I want to see the prince,” she said. “I demand to be taken back to the throne room—or to wherever Dax is right now.”
The man who’d caught her gave Una a cool smile. “Do not fear, Una Teig. The prince will see you soon enough. But until then, you will remain where you are.”
With that, the troop of Seelie closed the door in Una’s face.
She sucked in a breath to shout through the thick, carved door. Anything would have done—an insult or a curse, a demand that she be heard. But the click of a key in the lock cut her short, and the shout withered and died in Una’s throat.
She was locked in her chamber, and there she would stay, until she could convince the Seelie to free her.
6
A wind stirred the leaves of the ancient apple and plum trees in the far corner of the cottage garden. Kathleen stopped raking up the weeds Angus had pulled out of the vegetable beds; she leaned on her rake, listening, watching the flutter and sway of the branches. A few leaves released themselves from the boughs and tumbled through the air. The wind carried them over the garden’s stone wall and away, out into the pastures and hills around Kylebeg, where green was beginning to yield to brown as autumn drew ever nearer.
Kathleen sighed. It had been nearly four months since Una had donned her crown of blackthorn twigs and vanished into the Otherworld, in pursuit of Ailill and the Shining One who had taken him away. Kathleen still clung to a fragile hope that Una would somehow return—hopefully with Ailill at her side. But with each passing day, her hope grew smaller and thinner. Soon, she knew, she would have to give it up entirely.
Whenever time allowed, Kathleen joined Angus at the old stone cottage. Although Nessa and Una Teig were both gone now, Angus still felt a connection to the property, and took full responsibility for keeping it in top form. No one could pay him to act as the cottage’s caretaker, yet still he put in the work as dutifully as if his livelihood depended on it. Kathleen suspected that Angus, too, hoped Una would find some way to cross back over from the Otherworld, and would take up her rightful place one more as the mistress of that humble domain.
Kathleen worked alongside Angus as often as she could, but the time she spent at the cottage was thoughtful and usually silent. In silence, she devoted herself to the work of maintaining the garden and the house, as somber as a cloistered nun. The labor was like a prayer to her, a dedication. With her sweat and her aching muscles, Kathleen set her intention for Una to find her way home. She could only hope that intention—that raw hope—would somehow be enough to guide her friend back across the veil.
Angus came down the path, pushing a wheelbarrow full of mulch. He, too, watched the first few dead leaves of autumn tumble away. Then he sighed and said, “Season’s soon to change, it looks.”
Kathleen nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. Who could say how much time had gone by in the Otherworld? Who knew whether Una was even conscious of the urgency, of her mission to find Ailill and her need to return home again? So few people had ever gone into that place and come home again.
“Going to try another spell tonight?” Angus asked casually.
“I guess I ought,” Kathleen said.
She had tried every small act of magic she knew, at least once a week since Una had disappeared. Kathleen had never been more than a very casual sort of witch. She knew that some magic existed in the human realm, though it was small and weak compared to Sidhe powers. Kathleen, however, had never been a skilled practitioner, despite her Pagan beliefs and her dedication to craft and ceremony. Other magic practitioners had managed to initiate contact with the Otherworld on their own terms, but written record of their spells and observations were few and far between. Kathleen had little to study, little to read. Even if she could hit upon the right sort of spell to locate Una and give her useful aid, Kathleen was as good as certain that her witchery wasn’t strong enough to pull it off.
It was a bleak prospect, and it became ever more disheartening as time slipped by. Yet what could she do? Give up all hope for her friend? She had to cling to some thread of hope, even if it was a hair-thin strand.
Angus lifted the handles of his wheelbarrow again and resumed trudging along the path. “Well, come on, then,” he said with forced cheer. “Before you get down to your spell-casting, I could use some help spreading this mulch on the lower flower beds.”
Kathleen followed him despondently. She had to keep trying—she knew that. But what good was trying, when she knew already that she would fail?
Brace up, she told herself. Can’t allow yourself to think that way. Not when there’s work yet to be done.
Kathleen slung her rake over one shoulder and followed Angus through the garden. She listened to his tuneless whistling and tried not to notice the flower heads drooping and drying around her, the leaves curling at their edges and paling to yellow or brown. Autumn was nearly here. Time was marching on. If she didn’t soon find a way to get through to Una, perhaps she never would…
Kathleen concentrated on the mulch, raking it around the feet of the plants, bedding them down for the cold season to come. When she’d finished and Angus left to retrieve another load of mulch, Kathleen turned her attention to the last pale, thready strands of weeds that grew around the garden’s pond. She had always liked that pond. It was perfectly round, encircled by bright white gravel. It didn’t have the look of a natural body of water, like the rainwater tarns up in the hills or the small, marshy pools that form in low pockets of pasture. It looked entirely, almost aggressively, man-made; it was a startling counterpoint to the rest of the garden’s character, which was free-flowing and natural, thickly planted and teeming with life. The white stone buffer that ringed the pond, and the geometric perfection of its shape, should have made the pond feel too sterile and alien to fit comfortably in this place. Yet Kathleen loved it all the same. There was something inherently soothing about a body of water—something that comforted the soul and slowed a racing mind.
She paused in pulling up the weeds, and squatted on her heels at the pond’s edge. She gazed down into that smooth expanse of water, looking at her own face reflected up at her. It was impossible to ignore how tired and worn-out she looked. Her eyes were dull and puffy, her mouth turned down in the frown that was fast becoming habitual. Her skin had taken on a sallow look, no doubt from all her sleepless nights and—
Kathleen!
The voice seemed to come up at her from the water’s depth. Kathleen lurched backward, toppling onto her bottom; bits of white gravel bit through her jeans.
Just my imagination, she told herself. She gathered her dignity and righted herself, then crept back to the pond’s edge once more. Just my imagination. Just sleeplessness, and worry, and—
As she peeked over the pond’s edge again, the voice returned. It was unmistakably Una’s, rising in volume and frustration as she called Kathleen’s name. Again and again Una called, and the sound of it wavered and bubbled and rippled as if Kathleen heard it from the bottom of a swimming pool—as if Una’s voice was coming from somewhere far below the water.
“Una?” she said hesitantly.
She stared hard into the water, searching frantically for some sign of Una’s p
resence. But there was nothing except her own reflection, and the patches of light and shadow that seeped through the browning treetops overhead.
Kathleen called a little louder. “Una! Can you hear me?”
She scanned the pond’s surface, then stared a challenge into her own eyes. Hope isn’t gone yet, she told herself. Una is there, somewhere… trying to find me.
As if the Otherworld itself wanted to punctuate Kathleen’s renewed optimism, a vision flashed quickly across the surface of the water—only for a moment, only while she made eye contact with her own reflection. Although it was brief, it imprinted itself in Kathleen’s mind—her mind and her heart.
She saw Una. It was unmistakably Una, with her pale skin, high cheekbones, and long, dark hair. She was rising quickly from her knees, agitated by some emotion that may have been fear. She wore a long, flowing blue dress and a definite expression of surprise and distress. A man stepped into the scene—a Seelie, based on his stature and feline features, on the elegant points of his ears. He took Una firmly by the upper arm.
Then the vision was gone. The rippling echo of Una’s voice faded away in Kathleen’s ears.
“Bloody hell,” Kathleen gasped.
Angus had returned with his wheelbarrow. When he saw Kathleen, frozen with awe beside the pool, his whistling died away. He dropped the wheelbarrow handles; the thing fell onto its props with a metallic clang. Angus hurried to Kathleen’s side and bent over her, offering his hand.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “Did you fall? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Kathleen allowed Angus to pull her to her feet. A slow smile spread across her face as she brushed bits of dirt and white gravel from her bum.
“No,” she said, trying to contain the fresh well of hope, so it wouldn’t burst prematurely from her chest. “Not a ghost—thank goodness, not that. But I might have found a way, Angus… though I can’t be sure yet.”
“A way?”
“Yes. A way to get Una back to our realm.”
Kathleen glanced up at the sky. Sunset was still a few hours away, and full dark was farther still. But the moon was already riding high, a pale, thin crescent against an expanse of azure-blue. The new phase of the moon had just passed; it would wax now, starting tonight. And if there was the smallest drop of effective magic in Kathleen’s hands, she would let whatever power she had wax to its fullest, too.
“Come on,” she said to Angus. “Back to our place now. I need to gather up my things. I’ve got work to do tonight—right here in the garden.”
Tonight, and every night to come, until Kathleen found some way to tear through the veil between worlds and bring her friend home safely.
7
Una slept fitfully that night—if indeed “night” was the word for the bluer twilight that blanketed the sky, for the brighter shining of the stars high above the garden atrium. Mercifully, she did not dream—for in her dreams she might have thought herself home safe again, with Ailill by her side. But although the lack of dreams was a kindness to her, the grief when she woke and recognized the palace chamber wracked her with horrible pain.
She lay still, staring up at the green silken canopy overhead, fighting back tears. What had wakened her? What had stolen the bliss of blackness, the comfort of not knowing, not remembering? Something must have done it, for Una felt sure her tormented mind would have slept on eternally if nothing had demanded her attention.
Then she heard it again: a gentle tapping at the chamber door.
For a moment, Una considered ignoring it. She would let whoever stood outside go on knocking forever; what did it matter to her? She would go back to sleep, slip back into un-knowing, and all would be well…
But Una’s natural curiosity soon prevailed. A nagging thought settled in her head, and would not leave her in peace.
Why, she wondered, would one of these Seelie creatures knock on her door, and not simply enter? She was their prisoner, wasn’t she? What say did she have over who came and went?
“Damn it all, anyway,” she muttered as she slid from her bed.
A wave of dizziness struck her; she clung to one of the bed posts, eyes squeezed tightly shut, until her head stopped swimming. When she opened her eyes again, she looked down at the silky blue gown. She had slept in it, and now it was wrinkled and crumpled.
“I look a proper mess,” Una hissed as she headed for the door. “Not that it matters much, I suppose.”
When she reached the door, her legs felt weak and shaky. She leaned against the door frame and called through the crack, “Who’s there?”
“It is Prince Dax,” came that familiar, melodious voice. “Would you be so kind as to let me in?”
Let you in? The door is locked, Una thought groggily. I couldn’t let you in if I wanted to.
But she tested the long wooden handle, and to her surprise, it turned and clicked. The door opened.
Dax stood on the other side, gazing down at Una from his superior height with the cool, oddly detached demeanor that seemed to be the natural state of most Seelie. He was alone; the troop of guards that had removed Una from the gazing pool were nowhere to be seen.
“Why bother to knock?” Una asked sharply. She felt weak, unwell and hopeless; she was in no mood for courtesy. “Why not just let yourself in? Nothing’s to stop you from doing as you please. I’m a captive here—a prisoner.”
Dax bowed his head slightly. Not much, for he was still a prince, and wore his regal air as easily as he wore the flowing garments of his kind. But it was an acknowledgment of Una’s words—of her feelings.
“I regret the necessity of treating you as we have,” he said smoothly. “It is not the way I would have chosen to handle your arrival in our realm, if fate—and the Unseelie—had left me any other option. I do not wish to imprison you, Una. None of us do. We all seek your cooperation, not your enslavement. And none hopes for your freely given aid more than I.”
“You’ve a funny way of showing it,” Una muttered.
“May I come in?” Dax asked again. He was patient, even deferential, standing with his hands clasped at his tied leather belt and making no move toward the threshold until he secured Una’s permission.
Una was somewhat encouraged by his respectful manner. It was at odds with his almost reptilian coldness, yet his behavior spoke more of his intentions than his Otherworldly expression and habits did. She stepped back, gesturing for the prince of the Seelie Court to enter.
Dax swept into the chamber with the same graceful, powerful stride that seemed to be the inheritance of every Seelie person. As he passed her, she caught his smell on the faint stirring of the air currents. It made her heart lurch—fern and woodland and damp earth, just like Ailill’s scent. Una breathed deeply and did her best to fight back the gathering tears.
Dax went to the small table near the window. A pale blue light suffused the garden and pooled inside Una’s room; what passed for morning here in the Otherworld was now unfolding outside. Dax sat in one of the two chairs. The soft morning light caught and framed him, casting a halo of radiance around his body, gleaming in his pale, silvery hair. He watched Una in expectant silence, every bit as much a commander in this humble chair as he was on the Seelie throne. Una sank rather less regally into the chair opposite him.
The moment she sat—so near the food that still looked as fresh and delicious as when it had first been placed there—her stomach rumbled loudly.
Dax raised one eyebrow. “You haven’t eaten.”
Una’s mouth watered, but she refused to look at the food any longer. She lifted her chin to a defiant angle and stared hard at the prince. “Of course I haven’t. The food is drugged. You and Bracken… you’re trying to stupefy me, so I’ll go along placidly with whatever you please.”
He sighed, shaking his head slowly, regretfully. “Nothing in our realm is intentionally set against you, Una. It is simply the nature of the Sidhe world. I wish I could explain to you why our food and drink have this soporific e
ffect on humans, but alas, no one knows the cause of it. I can tell you, however, that you seem to have recovered from the effects of your first meal with remarkable speed and ease.” His eyes sharpened, like a falcon sighting keenly on its prey. “No doubt, that is an indication of the strength of your Seelie blood.”
Una clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to shiver.
“I know the effect of the food is disagreeable to you,” Dax went on, “but I know this, too: if you do not eat and drink, you will sicken and die. There is no magic we possess that can save you from that fate; even many generations ago, at the height of our power, such a feat would have been well beyond our reach. Every living thing must eat, Una. And so must you.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to be a living thing anymore.”
Dax leaned toward her with sudden urgency. The habitually cool expression cracked, and real worry—even panic—showed through. “I cannot allow that.”
“No, of course not,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. She hoped that in this moment, when his poised, arrogant guard was down, he would truly see and understand her plight. “I’m no use to you dead; can’t spawn your magical savior-child if I’m a corpse, now, can I? But once you’ve got that from me, well—”
“You misunderstand me, Una,” Dax interjected, settling again under his mantle of natural power. “No doubt I am to blame for that. It has always been simple for we Seelie to communicate with the human realm, and yet it has never been easy for us to reach the human heart—to see eye to eye, as it were, and to understand one another. I do not wish to protect you merely because of what you represent—because of the hope my people hang on you. I wish to protect you and care for you because I have great respect for you.”
Una barked out a tremendous, bitter laugh. “Hah! Do you think I’m a fool, Prince? You tried to enchant me in order to abduct me, and use me for your own ends. And now that I came to you of my own accord, you keep me locked up like a dangerous animal. Respect? Is this how you show respect in the Otherworld?”