By the Light of the Moon

by Blake, Laila

  She did not have much in the way of ordinary clothes. Most of her dresses were simple wool and she likely wouldn’t stick out in a village, but they weren’t travelling gear. Still, she took them to her bed and folded them. Next, she found gloves and a hat, undergarments and a second pair of shoes. She had little in the way of money — she never really needed it — but what she had, she took with her. It felt like theft now that she knew they weren’t really related. But then after long hesitation, she swept most of her jewelry into a leather purse, too; presents and trinkets left by suitors or given to her by her father.

  The family heirlooms remained untouched; Lord Rochmond’s mother’s necklace with her picture carved in ivory into the amulet, the Rochmond crest signet ring, a pair of earrings once worn by an ancestor, the thin, filigree tiara her father had made her wear when receiving formal guests. With its branches and leaves, it represented their crest and their house. Not hers anymore, Moira reminded herself, as her fingers traced the tiny golden leaves.

  She hadn’t realized that there had been a sense of pride in being a Rochmond. Most of her life, she knew she had been ungrateful and wished herself far away and free of the responsibilities and the life it brought with it. Standing here now, however, knowing she had never, not for a single day, truly been her father’s daughter, made her throat feel thick and painful.

  He hadn’t been a bad father. Of course, he’d had his own responsibilities and the fief to consider, but she knew that he had loved her. Strange as she was and little as he had understood her, she knew he had loved her. Now, she would leave without a word, like a thief in the night and she would never see him again. She swallowed hard and quickly tore a piece of paper out of her letterbox and scribbled a quick few words before she hid it with the remaining family jewels.

  She didn’t know if it was an action Brock would try to forbid and she chose not to ask for permission just in case. Still, her hands shook and her face was flushed and hot. Quickly, she tried to turn her attention back to packing but she felt confused and a little helpless as she picked up her lyre. It went on the pile of things to take with her even though she fully expected Owain to talk her out of it.

  Finally, she stood by the window and watched the snow, the small area where the light of her room illuminated a few flakes in the darkness. It was beautiful and sad.

  Suddenly, the door opened again. Moira turned around, somehow she had known it wasn’t Owain, but she couldn’t yet tell how it happened. Her mother stood there, looking radiant and strange. Her mother.

  “Owain … went to find me a pack,” she explained, feeling a little foolish in her wool dress. She had tried to wear the warmest undergarments she could find but she knew that they would have to buy new traveling clothes soon. Her mother didn’t seem to notice however, as her glance swept over the small heap of things her daughter had put together.

  “We have to leave while it’s still snowing,” she reminded Moira quietly. “Makes it harder to follow. You’ll come with me, Owain will have to find his own way out.”

  “But … ” Moira started until her mother interrupted.

  “He is strong, fast and silent; he won’t have any trouble. Don’t worry.”

  Moira didn’t like it, but she didn’t comment. Just cast another glance around the room. When her eyes landed on her hairbrush, she picked that up as well, placing it on her dresses.

  “I could put it in a braid for you … ” Maeve said quietly. Moira looked up at her and swallowed hard. Finally, she shook her head when she realized that her whole body started to freeze at the idea of the stranger touching her hair.

  “It’s all right, thank you, I … can do it.” She tried to smile but quickly looked away. She would also never see Bess again and that hit her almost as hard as her father; maybe a little more so. Bess had always been the closest thing she had to a friend, the closest thing she had to a sibling. And now she was leaving her behind.

  Swallowing again, her fingers found her arms but while her mother watched her, Moira could stop her fingernails from connecting with her skin. Instead, she moved to the little table where Bess kept her hair accessories and quickly tied her hair into the tight bun she liked to sleep in. Her face was still red when she returned her eyes to the beautiful Fae in her room and didn’t quite know what to say.

  “So … you spoke to … um … Iris?” she finally asked.

  Nodding, Maeve took a deep breath. She didn’t look happy and Moira wanted very much to disappear then and there. It was her fault; somehow, somewhere, it all felt like her fault.

  “Why … ” but she couldn’t form the question. Instead, she turned away and looked out at the window again. It was still snowing; that, at least, was something to calm her.

  “She is tired of hiding,” Maeve answered anyway. Moira couldn’t hear her move but she was beginning to get used to the idea that only humans made a lot of noise with everything they did.

  “She has nowhere else to go, and … I suppose I wasn’t always a good mother to her either. She thinks she might be safer here, with only one man to look out for.”

  Moira turned around again. She wanted to say something comforting but her mouth wouldn’t open. Nor could her mind phrase anything that might be helpful at all. She tried to phrase the word “mother” in her mind over and over again as though that would make her less of a stranger, but it didn’t work. It made it worse when the word felt so utterly wrong and disconnected to the person standing in front of her. Moira thought she wanted to get to know her, or thought that was what she was supposed to want; but for the moment, Maeve was a stranger who had come to her rescue.

  “Why did you and … why did you want me to marry Fairester?” Moira asked then. It wasn’t supportive or helpful and she wished Owain would come back so that they could start packing — and so that the low level feeling of dread that someone might catch him or stick him back into his cell would dissipate.

  Maeve looked back at her for a long moment before she turned to inspect her room, the expensive draperies and the soft bed. All the little reminders of wealth, a small mirror encrusted with jewels, a painting framed in gold leaf. It was so human, so very, very human.

  “There was a little of the blood in his family,” she said finally, turning back to her daughter. “Not much, and as we suspect certainly not enough in him but … we thought you might be safer there, should you ever show it in any way.” Her voice petered out and she ran her hands through her red hair, even redder than Moira’s own.

  “I was trying to protect you. I never thought you would show it so strongly. I still don’t know how it was possible. It isn’t supposed to be without going through the entirety of the rituals.” She exhaled again, looking up at her daughter, her frame, and her exhausted-looking eyes. There was something Fae about her, but the sickly look, the ghostly pallor; all of it was so human, almost more so than Iris had ever been.

  “Brock said … I would have to go back for them, that it would hurt … ” Moira tried, not sure what to believe or who to trust. But asking questions seemed to be her only way to find out anything at all.

  “They do,” Maeve answered calmly. “Iris went through them, and she wasn’t the same afterwards. She’d sparkled once, not the glow, of course, but … there was life and joy in her when she was a baby. Afterwards … ” Maeve shook her head and shrugged. Her tongue sneaked out and wetted her lips in a very human gesture she wasn’t even aware of anymore after so many years Lakeside.

  “So you stopped them when they wanted to do it to me?” Moira continued and her mother nodded.

  “I tried. I didn’t get there in time. They’d taken you when I tried to bring you Lakeside, away from all of it. I got you back, but I couldn’t take you along. You were so little, and afraid and we had to hide all the time. And all the while, I didn’t know if they had broken you like they had Iris; I was afraid to find o
ut, I think.” Maeve looked down at the floor and rubbed her feet on the ground. “I thought it would be safer here, it’s … not hard to deceive humans. Rochmond took you, I thought here at least you’d have education and … and you wouldn’t have to be some drunk farmer’s wife by the age of fourteen. I tried. I promise … ”

  Moira swallowed. She breathed in deeply through her nose. A shiver went through her body and she wanted to sit down, wanted to curl herself into bed and be alone. It was too much to think about all at once, so many thoughts and feelings. She sniffed then and opened her mouth just as a first tear rolled down her cheek.

  “I … ” she started but then flinched when the door opened again and Owain came in, looking harried but giving them both a little smile.

  “We have to hurry; there’s a change of guards at four. We should be out before then, because they’ll check the cells.” He walked over to Moira, aware that he had walked in on an emotional moment. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair.

  “Here, I found you a pack. I also went down to the armory and got us overnight bags. They are for soldiers but we’ll be fine, something to sleep in if we have to hide in the wild.” He nuzzled her head a moment longer and then his eyes fell on her lyre. A sad smile washed over his face but he didn’t say anything.

  “Let me take the heavy things into my pack. There’s some room in there left.”

  Exhaling again, Moira smiled up at Owain, when the tension melted away from her body at his touch and the gentle sound of his voice. Even if they weren’t forced to leave, she knew the decision would have been an easy one; to stay with the one person who made her feel normal, who made her feel human and good.

  “I’m going to take Moira with me on the horse,” Maeve explained for Owain’s benefit. “I can make her look like Iris for a few minutes, I still have enough power; it won’t arouse suspicion. We’d been sent here to retrieve something and we have, a very simple story. As for you … ”

  “I can find my own way out,” Owain assured her. Moira noticed that his voice sounded different when he was talking to the woman who was her mother. The trust and the warmth wasn’t there. It wasn’t fair, she knew but it made her feel good that that special tone was hers alone.

  “You can go through the kitchens,” Moira told him with a crooked smile. “I used to go through there.”

  “And get us some food for the way,” he smiled back with a nod. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise. I’ll meet you at the edge of the forest. We shouldn’t be seen in the village, none of us.”

  Nodding, Moira continued to pack clothes and other items into her pack. She wrapped the lyre into its leather case and it only just fit when she let its neck show, sticking out at the top. It didn’t seem to matter. Not then.

  “Do you have a warm coat?” Owain asked, looking down at her in a dress he knew wouldn’t be warm enough for a human and Moira nodded with a wry smile, indicating a beautiful fur-lined one hanging by the door. She knew it made her look too fine, but for the moment, she knew she needed it outside.

  “Are we ready?” Maeve asked, nervously looking out at the window. Throwing his pack onto his back, Owain nodded.

  “Keep her safe,” he said quietly and even Moira could hear the hint of warning in his voice. Maeve did too. She nodded with a wry smile and placed her hand on Moira’s face. It glowed and the next moment, Owain jumped a little, staring.

  Moira looked down at her aged hands and took a deep breath herself. When she looked up again, her mother was gone and in her place stood a strapping soldier wearing Fairester’s colors. Owain smiled wryly, as though seeing an old acquaintance, and then turned back to Moira.

  He cupped her shoulders in his hands and breathed her in deeply before he let his lips descend on hers.

  “I’ll be right with you.”

  “I know. Be safe.”

  “And you.” Leaning his forehead against hers, he made himself smile, kissed her nose and pushed himself away. He would have to trust them and just keep himself safe for the moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Much like Maeve had predicted, it was easy to get past the guards. They offered a hint of friendly banter, wished them all a good journey back to the capital and a healthy stomach on the ship. Moira, not quite trusting the disguise, didn’t say anything. She made herself look tired and offered a little smile and a wave when they crossed the drawbridge on Maeve’s stolen horse.

  She only realized she was shaking when Maeve leaned back against her and commented on it.

  “It’s all right, we’re safe now. We’re out. We locked your door, and they won’t come looking for you for hours.”

  Moira nodded, exhaling her warm breath into the freezing air. She had always loved snow, but her heart couldn’t quite appreciate it that day, with no idea where they would spend the next night or how her life would be. Owain would be there. That was all she knew, and it made her smile, made her shaking body calm a little.

  “Days probably,” Moira admitted a little embarrassed. “I … I sometimes lock … used to lock myself in my room for a long time. Father … Lord Rochmond, made them break the door in once or twice to try and console me or … to check if I was still alive. I don’t know. It could be a while, maybe.”

  Maeve nodded but didn’t comment and Moira felt the wind harsher on her flushed and heated cheeks.

  “I … sometimes I wondered about you. What your life was like, if you had other children. If I looked like you or … whether you were like me, a little bit, I don’t know. Never thought you were … ”

  “Fae?” Maeve asked with a smile, speaking loud enough to sound over the muffled hoof beats on the snow. She was concentrating on getting them down the slippery serpentines of the rock and even Moira jumped a little now and again when the horse’s hoofs slipped a few feet.

  “Yes, Fae.” Moira affirmed more quietly and shrugged. “Iris doesn’t like me very much, does she?”

  “Iris … ” Maeve started and then stopped, navigating another dangerous slope before she continued. “Iris has a hard time liking anyone,” she said sadly and Moira didn’t know what to say. Maybe they were a lot more alike than she thought, maybe in forty years, it would be her who was old and bitter and alone. In that moment she ached for Owain more than she ever had, even in those endless days after he’d left her bed.

  “I know I didn’t save you from all of it,” Maeve finally continued when they were on even ground and the horse was having an easier timing finding its way along the dark path, snow swirling all around them. “But … When I see you with Owain, I feel happy.”

  For a long moment neither of them said a word but Moira felt it too, deep inside of her, that glowing warmth and she almost turned around to look for him in the darkness.

  “He is … he is good,” she finally said, feeling a little sheepish. “Brock said … is it true that Fae … that they dislike what he is?”

  Maeve exhaled a throaty almost chuckle. She made a clicking sound with her tongue and gently led the horse onto the path that led to the forest, away from Lake Coru and the village.

  “You have to understand that we live a long time. Some say forever. It becomes meaningless at some stage. For you, the wars are something you hear about in stories. Something that happened generations ago. For us, we were there. Most of us, anyway. It’s harder to forgive for us.”

  “For you, too?”

  “Not in the same way,” Maeve said and her voice sounded ancient then. When Moira closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was on this horse behind her mother and a tiny glimmer of warmth started to glow in an empty, cold, and hurting place.

  “Not all of us wanted to go to war with humans. Not all of us wanted to create a race of soldiers to fight our wars. I don’t think we should keep the blood ourselves and I definitely don’t think that someone like Owain
is to be blame for what his ancestors did. But then … you heard Brock. I’m an anarchist.”

  Maeve chuckled without much humor in her voice but there was a sense of pride and hurt. Moira wondered what her life had been like, always on the run, having two daughters but nobody to be with all the time, nobody who shared her life.

  “You said … the rest of you … of the Fae, they wouldn’t be happy about what Brock is doing?” Moira asked finally, quite unable still to express her feelings toward the stranger who was her mother in any other way than to continue to talk to her.

  “Well,” she answered, seemingly content to be answering questions. “Surely, there are those who think he has the right ideas about Lakeside. But there are enough of us who disagree. Some just want to keep the peace, others disagree more openly.”

  Moira had a vague feeling where they were going despite the dark. Maeve was glowing a little; at first it had been disconcerting but now there was something comforting about the light and the warmth in it. Still, she could sense the forest was getting closer.

  “But Fae are very different from humans. Most of us don’t fight amongst each other. Brock would never have attacked me, nor I him. We talk and negotiate however long it takes, but we don’t fight. We don’t hurt or kill one another. Decisions, if made at all, take a long time. Too long, for some of us.”

  “What would happen to you if they caught you?” Moira asked, confused for a moment.

  “I would be given a chance to bow to the laws that govern our lives and bring you in myself. Failing to do so, I would be put under arrest and I wouldn’t fight it. I would stay under arrest until they talked and coerced me into agreeing. It’s a consequence of the magical connection. It is hard to stand up against a larger number of us when you are alone. Everything inside of you seeks that … perfection, that unity, the harmony.”