by Sarah Hoyt
“Just as Her Grace could not survive in Fairyland, not without noticing the exceptional coldness of elves, and would have been changed beyond repair had she stayed in there longer, my mother had experienced the warmth of humans and it had changed her, so she no longer responded like a real elf.
“And she could not live in Fairyland, not fully. Instead, she would escape to the world of men. Which is how she met with Arden Ainsling, Duke of Darkwater. And she returned to Fairyland expecting me.”
“And meanwhile, Darkwater found me, was enchanted by my resemblance to his vanished elf love, and started courting me,” the Dowager said.
Gabriel hesitated, looking as if he would apologize, then inclined his head. “Only I fit in even worse than my poor Mama. I was more human, you see. There is… there is sport the elves engage in. They will capture some child out of doors on a dark night, or some lost creature, and they will torture it. When I was three or so, I tried to rescue a puppy that was being tortured for the amusement of the court. My mother and I were flung from Fairyland as unworthy.” He was silent a long while. “When my father found me, we were living in a tenement and Mama…” A long, deep breath. “I begged to supplement our income. It wasn’t until I had lived in this house for two years that they tried to reclaim me, and only because they couldn’t allow me to live as a commoner among humans. They didn’t want to keep me.” He looked up, and a sudden fierce light burned in his eyes, such as Seraphim had never seen. “They didn’t want me for me, or because they cared for me, or even because they honored me, or my lineage. They’d probably have killed me once they’d got me back to Fairyland. But they didn’t want me to live among humans and perhaps come to value my human heritage over my elven one.” Another pause. “I don’t know why they took Michael or what for, but I swear to you, all of you, that I will do my utmost to bring him back, and – if I can – to bring Fairyland down with it.”
The Fear Of Dark
Nell looked at Gabriel as he proclaimed his willingness to take down Fairyland if that was what it took to bring his youngest half-brother back. For a moment, for a brief breath, she caught a look in Seraphim Ainsling, Duke of Darkwater’s face, as he looked at his half-elven sibling, nominally his valet. She didn’t know what that look was. It might be surprise or awe or fear.
Nell knew, however, with absolute certainty, in that moment, that Seraphim hadn’t known the details of Gabriel’s ancestry. He might have known Gabriel was half-elf but not that he was what could be termed a prince of Fairyland, or why he’d left Fairyland. And he definitely hadn’t known how strongly Gabriel felt about elves and the king of Fairyland.
It was just a moment, and then Seraphim looked away, his eyes half-lidded, hiding his expression, and his face went back to the impassive, reserved look she’d seen on it before.
Training, she thought, as though it were a novel idea. The man had been trained to hide his feelings. He’d been trained to behave impeccably in public. He’d been brought up to fulfill his role, and his role required that he follow a protocol in public and show nothing of his inner thoughts or feelings and, particularly, show no doubt, no fear, and no pain.
Having realized that, she could detect things in his expression: pain mostly, and tiredness. Though he looked alert and aware, she realized there were fine lines at the corners of his mouth, as if from holding his features unnaturally serene against suffering. And his shoulders were held too square and straight, as if he were afraid they’d sag under tiredness. And his hands held the head of the walking stick far too tightly.
She looked at him until she caught him giving her a long side glance, and then she looked at her feet. She hadn’t yet decided what to tell him. What could she let the Darkwaters know about her origins, her work, and her involvement with Antoine, let alone her involvement with Sydell? What and how much did they need to know? And how much would endanger them? She didn’t know enough to know what she could tell and to whom before they became targets for the secret service.
Now that Antoine was dead – something that didn’t seem quite real, yet – she didn’t even know how much of what she thought had happened since she’d landed in Avalon was true, and how much had been a lie perpetrated on her. The idea that Antoine would try to kill Darkwater made no sense. Certainly not when Antoine was supposed to be in a dungeon, his life dependent on her good behavior.
Once more, she caught the Duke of Darkwater’s glance on her, and she looked down at her feet. The Darkwaters talked around her. It seemed as though they had little more thought than she did on how to rescue someone from the clutches of elves, and on this she had very little to hide from them. She’d had some idea that elves were real here, and their magic here, as opposed to being – as on Earth – mere legends and rumors. But she knew nothing else. She’d heard of treaties between the two realms, but had never sought to inform herself of the details. Her assignments had been among humans.
It seemed as though the conversation was winding down when Gabriel said, “I will speak to my mother.” From the way he set his jaw after saying it, it was obvious that this was neither an easy nor a safe task, but no one said anything to dissuade him. The Dowager Duchess said in the tone of someone who relieves her mind, more than of someone who says something that needs saying, “We must get Michael back as soon as may be.”
And Gabriel said, automatically, as though he’d been asked whether he intended to wear clothes outside, “Yes, Your Grace, of course.”
Then Darkwater’s voice rose, composed, forceful, “Miss Felix?”
She looked up at him. She remembered the charade the two brothers had played for the benefit of Darkwater’s mother, and now she wondered if the Dowager Duchess had yet realized there was more to the two of them than they’d been letting on? Or if she’d known it all along? Or if she had just now noticed that Seraphim’s wastrel ways, his dissolute living were, at most, a mask upon his real activities? Or perhaps not, Nell thought. Seraphim wouldn’t be the first man to be both heroic and a libertine. The two were so far from being opposed character traits that it wouldn’t even be that unusual. She must remember that when dealing with the two brothers, no matter how much she admired their courage and mutual loyalty. Until she could find a way to make it back to her native world, she must play by Britannia rules, and by Britannia rules her reputation was both valuable and easily lost, so she must keep undeserving males at bay. “Your Grace?” she said, a trace of reserve in her look.
Darkwater’s glance slid sideways at the Dowager Duchess. So either she didn’t know of the two brothers’ full adventures or, Darkwater thought, she didn’t know and wished to protect her. She watched as he frowned slightly, then shook his head as though to himself. “There is absolutely no reason for me to ask you questions tonight," he said, "though I will have to ask you much. I beg you to hold yourself at our disposal. It’s been a very long… few hours for me, since I woke up, and I don’t believe I can stay awake and speak with any semblance of rationality for much longer. I would enjoin you not to teleport anywhere. We would prefer not to fish you out of the trout pond again.” He glanced at his sister. “Caroline, if you would take Miss Felix to the blue room, on your floor, and arrange for it to be made up for her use. Miss Felix, I shall see you at breakfast.”
Nell understood it as what it was: dismissal. She didn’t try to argue it. She knew enough of this world to know that Dukes weren’t argued with. She guessed even that she was being got rid of so they could speak privately, which was probably the point, too, of having Caroline leave with her. As the youngest female, she would be protected by her older brothers, though Nell guessed that not much escaped Miss Ainsling’s shrewd eyes.
The girl opened her mouth and said, “But Michael–” and must have read something in Darkwater’s look, because she stopped her protest and said, “Yes, Seraphim,” and bobbed a curtsey, then waited while Nell did likewise.
Nell followed her down a series of broad passageways and down two grand staircases, before Miss Ainsl
ing opened her mouth to say, “I despise my older brother. My older brothers I should say, since it’s no use their pretending Gabriel isn’t one, as his story made perfectly clear.”
“Despise?” Nell said.
“Oh, yes. They are so stuffy and full of their own consequence. And the way they try to keep me from doing anything, simply because I’m a girl and young, is not to be borne. Do you have any brothers, Miss Felix?”
“No,” Nell said, and then sighed. “That is, I don’t know. I was adopted, you see.” And then she thought in terms this world would understand. “I was a foundling, I mean. Abandoned. I don’t know my true parentage.”
Caroline Ainsling sighed. “Oh, that’s lucky.”
Nell must have made some sound – some gasp – in reply. She wasn’t aware of it, but Caroline Ainsling laughed, a brief burble. “I mean, you must understand, that growing up as the Duke of Darkwater’s daughter, and then sister, I was forever being judged by what they did and how they behaved. I understand Papa was terribly shocking, and Seraphim is in a good way to being so. And then when Papa… that is, after Papa died, everyone looked at us with pity and wonder, and you know, we were the center of attention, and we could not shed it. I often wished to just go somewhere and hide, but of course, there was nowhere where I wasn’t known. Michael is lucky because he can hide out with his machines, as it were, and abstract himself from the real world, but I….” She shrugged. “I shouldn’t be speaking of these things. I am conscious of my good fortune in having a family and a position in society. And I should worry only about recovering Michael, safe and sound. I am a wretch. But so I’ve always been.” And she sighed again, though there was a theatrical element to her chagrin.
But wretch or not, despite her young age, Caroline Ainsling was competent at mustering the staff to make the room assigned Nell very comfortable indeed. It wasn’t – of course – by any means a room such as she’d have had on Earth. There was no bathroom attached. The water-closet – Caroline said, blushing slightly as she pointed – was down the hallway. There was a basin and a ewer of water from which it could be filled, the ewer perpetually renewed, Caroline said, with warm water. And the bed was made with clean, freshly aired sheets, and the bedspread was velvet and soft.
Nell suspected that, were it seen by daylight and not soft mage light, the room would look shabby. She remembered stories of Darkwater financial difficulties, and she remembered shabby fabric and worn furniture. But by mage light this room looked luxurious.
When all was ready and the servants retreated, Caroline said, “And Seraphim will want to talk to you, of course, which is a great bore. But I’ll have the maid wake you with tea in time to get you down for breakfast in the morning.” And then, as though realizing for the first time that Nell remained in her wet clothes and was wrapped in a blanket. “What fools men are. No one gave you time to change.” A self-conscious smile. “But then, neither have I.” She gestured towards the closet. “There is a night dress and robe in there which should fit you. And there are many dresses from which you can choose, come morning. Mama used to keep many in different sizes in all the rooms assigned to ladies. I understand when Papa was alive, we had many house parties, and ladies would slip into the pond or tear their flounces or… there you have it. One of them should fit you. If not, ring the bell and tell the maid what you need and it shall be found. A maid will be sent to dress your hair for breakfast.”
Nell started suspecting the Darkwater house was far more formal than she was prepared to endure. Then she thought that, perforce, it must be. After all the man was a duke.
A moment later Caroline was gone, saying, “I shall have hot chocolate brought to you. You must be very uncomfortable in those soaked clothes. Do you need a maid to help you undress?”
Nell assured the girl she didn’t and, as soon as Caroline was gone, undressed herself quickly and laid out her clothes by the fire to dry. They were, of course, ruined, but she could wear them to return to London, she supposed.
She had just dressed in a nightgown and dressing gown, both of which smelled faintly of mothball, when there was a scratching at the door. The hot chocolate, Nell thought, and called out, “Come in.”
The door opened, but what came in had never been a maid. She saw him first in the mirror, very pale, his eyes half-lidded, a lingering smile on his pale lips. She turned around and said, “Antoine!”
Bump In The Night
“You should be asleep,” Gabriel said. And Seraphim knew that it was true.
He sat on the bed that had been freshly made and changed. The smell of burnt feathers and the broth used to quench the fire was gone from the air.
And Gabriel, with bright efficiency, closed curtains and did other things. He probably thinks I can’t see his magical work, Seraphim thought. That I don’t see him erasing the greasy feel of dark magic in the air, effacing any residual bad smell and making the entire room feel safe and secure.
It should be safe and secure, too. Gabriel knew his arcana, and at any rate he’d as much power as Seraphim, if of a different bend. He could not secure the entire house, but surely, now that he was aware of danger, he could secure this room.
But something still nagged at Seraphim, a sense of something gone very wrong, something unwinding, something… something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Making a stab at his feeling of uneasiness, he told Gabriel, “I’m not sure I can sleep with Michael gone.” And realized he was being uncharacteristically open. It was not normal of him to talk about his missing brother. To think about it, surely, and to mind his disappearance, of course, and to be restless in his longing to find Michael and save him. But not to talk about it. Seraphim had learned long before he became head of the family that too many people depended on him – as opposed to his volatile father – to allow him to show weakness or excessive concern. He managed to discipline his face and say, “I beg your pardon, Gabriel. I must be more tired than I realized.”
Gabriel nodded. “What is amazing is that you’re not dead,” he said. “As for Michael, we’ll find him,” Gabriel looked, in turn, very tired. “There are certain things I can do. And my mother might know something I can use as leverage to discover what has become of Michael, but most of all…” He pressed his lips closed. “There is such a thing as single combat, and if it’s needed I will challenge my uncle.” He closed his mouth again, his eyes flashing menace, and Seraphim was shocked to hear his own mouth pronounce, “Would you want it, Penny? The throne of Fairyland?”
Gabriel’s chuckle surprised them both. At least, it surprised Seraphim, and it was followed by such a startled expression on Gabriel’s face that it would have been funny under other circumstances. He smiled, after the surprise, and shook his head. “You were not attending,” he said. “There is this thing you mor– That people who have never visited Fairyland or never lived there, and who have no elven blood in their veins, think, this idea that all Fairyland is enchantment and beauty and effortless magic. You know that fairy kind does not work the land, and does not make machines, and none of the contrivances of everyday life for a human, and you assume that it must be beautiful in the land of fairies, where no one ever need work, where nothing ever need decay, where no one ever grows old.
“To me it seemed like a cruel joke from the beginning, to hear it talked of as the isles of the blessed or the summer land. It is beautiful, perhaps, as a naked sword can be beautiful in the sunlight, but it is….” He hesitated. He stood by the window where he had just drawn the windows closed, and now he turned to face Seraphim, and Seraphim noted how harsh Gabriel’s eyes looked, and how glittering, like the eyes of a man suffering from a fever. “I can’t describe it, but if you can imagine a very sweet poison, or a very beautiful torturer’s chamber, you’ll be closer to understanding Fairyland than most who never experienced it. King? I’d rather live forever among humans, cast off. I’d rather be a beggar in London than a king in Fairyland.”
He shook his head and took a deep breath, and Seraphim got the imp
ression that he was disciplining his expression and his emotions to the realm of what was acceptable. “Rest, Seraphim. Tomorrow will be time enough to worry and to try to find Michael. And that will be hard enough if you’re well. With you ill and weak, it is hopeless. And I know you know your duty to family and house too well to allow yourself the uncertainty and despair that will render you useless to them. Someone is trying to kill you – and possibly me. Fairyland is somehow enmeshed in these plans, and I forebear to guess on which side, though I doubt it’s mine. And Michael is missing. I thought, at first, that all of this, including getting you trapped in the Betweener was just a side-result of our activities in other worlds. I thought someone, perhaps the Others that we’ve detected in those worlds, had tried to eliminate us and stop our bothersome rescues. But now I think it’s much more than that – something so big that the borders of it seem to reach everywhere, and the tangle at its heart seems too huge and convoluted to make sense. Still there is sense in it, and we will find it.”