‘Like what?’ said I.
She grinned suddenly. ‘Ever heard of a faerie stock?’
‘You mean the doll type things some of the fae used to leave in the place of stolen human children?’
‘That’s it, though they’re a lot more realistic than a typical doll. Significantly, they do a terrific job of looking like a recently expired person.’
‘So,’ said Jay. ‘These aren’t preservation spells, because this man was never alive?’
‘I’m thinking so. Which doesn’t mean the real king is still alive; he’s just as likely to be taking up ground-space as a skeleton somewhere. This is some kind of… shrine to his memory.’
‘So it probably included the lyre,’ said Jay.
‘If the King’s pipes are here, it would’ve made sense to put the lyre here too,’ Mother allowed.
‘Did the king have any children?’ said I. ‘Surely the role of monarch would go to one of them when he died. They could’ve taken the lyre.’
‘But not the pipes,’ said Jay.
‘You’re really harping on that point.’
‘Because it’s a detail that makes no sense. I don’t think the thief hypothesis is working too well.’
My dreams of being involved in a daring heist story evaporated. Jay was right.
‘Unless,’ said Mother, ‘whoever took the lyre had a specific use for that one instrument only.’
‘Such as?’ Jay said. ‘I can’t recall that anyone’s ever said what the thing does, except get passed around at parties.’
‘That may prove a crucial question,’ said Mother.
‘Mum, how about you do your magick-tracing trick so we can get out of here,’ I said. ‘His Majesty here is giving me the creeps.’ Perhaps because (real corpse or not) he looked like he’d died about twelve seconds ago. Just lain down on his personal bier and… died.
‘Right.’ Mother wandered off, her steps describing a wide circle around his dead-but-not-decaying majesty’s bier.
On a whim, I picked up my pipes and played Addie’s song.
She appeared so promptly, she cannot have been far away. Up she trotted, unusually lively, shaking her head and whinnying loudly.
‘Ves,’ said Jay. ‘Look. That song’s—’
‘Done something? I see it.’ A pearly light shimmered around the dead king, or his effigy, and I half expected him to wake up.
He did not. Addie, though, went wild. She trotted around the bier, stamping her hooves, and nudging the body with her nose so hard she almost threw the king onto the floor.
Then she picked up her silvery feet and charged away down the hill, mane and tail flying in the winds that blew up out of nowhere.
Jay and I watched this display in wide-eyed silence.
‘Follow that unicorn,’ said I, and began to run.
‘Follow—?’ said Jay. ‘Can you keep up with a unicorn at full gallop, because I—’
The rest of his sentence was lost to the winds, as I ran full tilt away from him in the direction Adeline had gone. Down and down the hill we went, my feet thudding in the grass, fey winds tossing my hair. There was music in that wind, faint strains but half-heard, but they lent me speed and energy and I could almost have danced my way down the hill.
Adeline still left me far behind, but I ran on, breath turning short as I neared the bottom of the hill and the edge of the dense, dark forest that surrounded it.
Ahead of me, Adeline plunged heedlessly into the trees, her bright, moon-pale coat swallowed up instantly in shadow.
I paused for a moment on the edge of that forest, attempting without success to peer into the gloom.
‘Seriously?’ panted Jay, drawing up beside me. ‘We’re going to follow a unicorn into the dark depths of a faerie forest? Did you learn nothing from your bedtime stories as a child?’
‘I learned that adventure lies beyond the borders of the familiar.’
‘We’re way beyond the borders of the familiar already. Does it have to be a dark forest, Ves?’
‘I’m trusting Addie.’
‘She’s literally a magickal faerie creature.’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ I grinned, with a shade of my mother’s wolfish smile about it. ‘So am I. Where’s Mum?’
‘Here,’ growled my mother. ‘Don’t be a fool, Cordelia.’
‘Whyever not? It’s been working well for me for the past thirty-one years.’
Mother was limping. The pelting run down the hill hadn’t been good for her. ‘Why don’t you stay here?’ I added. ‘I’ll be right back.’
Without waiting for further arguments, I plunged into the trees, conscious that Addie drew farther away with every minute’s delay.
I’ll never admit it to my mother, or to Jay, but I instantly regretted it. Three steps was all it took; the trees closed in around me, cutting off most of the light, the temperature dropped by at least ten degrees, and even sounds faded to a muffled distance. I felt cut off from the world, and utterly alone.
‘Right,’ I said stoutly, and took another step. ‘This had better be worth it, Adeline.’
12
It wasn’t.
‘Addie?’ I called, playing snatches from her song from time to time in hopes that one or the other sound would penetrate the forest gloaming.
No answer came, and she did not appear. I trudged through tangled thickets of conifer trees, their trunks wound about with ivy so dark green in hue it was almost black. Pools of water hid beneath the carpeting brambles, the one wetting my feet and the other scratching my ankles and legs, and progress was slow. How had Addie managed to disappear so thoroughly with such terrain to hamper her?
Magickal faerie creature. Right.
At last I heard a faint whinny, and another, and I adjusted my steps accordingly.
But it was not Addie that had called. It was another unicorn.
Another two minutes’ trudging brought me to the edge of a shadowy glade. There the trees grew more sparsely, and grass rather than bramble and vine covered the ground. In the centre was a serene pool, its glassy surface darkened.
Around the edges of that pool stood a whole herd of unicorns. I counted at least twelve, including Adeline.
She was making enthusiastic friends with a great, golden-palomino stallion.
Very enthusiastic friends.
‘Oh,’ I said.
I turned away my eyes, and sidled up to the pool, for a glimmer of something had caught my eye.
There, submerged at the bottom of the clear waters, was the most exquisite lyre. Smaller than most, its arched, curving frame looked made from moonlight itself: the moonsilver was aptly named. It appeared unstrung, but what had Mother said about it? Strung with enchanted waters from the king’s own pools.
Was this one of those pools?
Either way, what was it doing here, instead of up on the hilltop with the rest of the lost king’s personal effects?
My feet being soaked anyway, I shrugged and began to wade into the water.
‘Stop.’ My mother’s voice split the clearing like a whiplash, and I stopped on reflex.
‘What—’
‘Remember what happened when you tried to take the pipes off the bier?’ Mother and Jay had made it as far as the glade, but they remained on the edge of it, well away from the unicorn herd and the pool. Both looked disquieted.
‘Yes, but this has nothing of the same appearance. Look at it. All lop-sided as though someone just chucked it in there.’
‘They probably did. And what would encourage a person to hurl a Great Treasure to the bottom of a pool, do you suppose?’
‘Nothing good. Even so—’
‘Never mind even so. Leave it alone.’
I felt a flash of irritation. ‘Mother. You’ve dragged us all the way out here in order to find this damned lyre and the man who once played it. No? Well, we’ve found one of them. There it is, right there! And now you want me to just walk away?’
‘Yes. We’ve found it; excellent. And that
’s enough.’
‘We can’t just leave it here. The Yllanfalen will want it back.’
‘You think they don’t know exactly where it is?’
I frowned. ‘They said it was missing.’
‘Yep. All of them, over and over, using almost the same words. We suspected there was something shady about it, no? Come on, Ves. Fight it off.’
‘Fight what off?’
‘The lyre,’ said Jay. ‘Has a hold of you somehow. If you could see your own face—’
‘What’s wrong with my face?’
‘Nothing,’ said Jay peaceably. ‘But there’s something a little bit wrong with your eyes.’
‘Namely?’
‘They’re the wrong colour.’
‘And they’re what colour now?’
Jay pointed towards the moon-pale lyre glimmering with its silvery glow. ‘That colour.’
So I had moonsilver eyes.
Right.
Only then did I realise that the pipes around my neck were glowing faintly with a similar light.
Mother pointed imperiously at Adeline. ‘Unicorn,’ she said sternly. ‘You’ve led your friend into danger. Now get her out of it.’
The unicorns, indeed, seemed untouched by whatever weird fae magick was going on in that glade. Possibly they were a part of it; certainly they were attracted to it.
Adeline stamped one hoof, and snorted.
‘If my daughter comes a-cropper in this glade,’ said Mother darkly, ‘I shall cut off your tail.’
Adeline’s ears twitched.
‘And you’d deserve it.’
Slowly, with the demeanour of a scolded child, Adeline wended her way around the pool’s edge until she reached me.
Then, with deliberate and tender care, she bit my ear.
‘Ouch,’ I shrieked, as much with surprise as with pain.
But something shattered, and unwound. I felt as though I’d been doused in ice-cold water, suddenly alert. I became abruptly aware of the frigid temperature of the pool I was standing in up to my calves, and backed out of the water so fast I almost fell over.
Hands grabbed me and pulled me farther free: Jay had hold of me.
‘All right,’ he said calmly, once he had pulled me all the way back to the glade’s edge. He gave me a considering once-over. ‘You look nearly normal again.’
‘Nearly?’
He indicated the pipes in my left hand, which were still softly aglow.
‘I’m getting confused,’ I said. ‘Are these the king’s pipes, or was that the set up on the hill?’
‘This isn’t a story,’ said Jay, lips curving with faint amusement. ‘Why can’t the king have more than one set of special magick pipes? Maybe he made them both.’
‘Quite likely,’ said Mother. ‘Cordelia. What I was going to tell you before your mad dash to inevitable doom: those winds that blew up, those were Winds of the Ways. There are strong traces of Waymagick all over the hill and the forest both. Faded, to be sure — at least decades old. But there’s no mistaking it.’
‘So there must be a henge somewhere here?’ I said.
She nodded. ‘It’s my guess that whoever threw the lyre into the pool left by the Winds. But,’ she added, holding up a hand to forestall my response, ‘I don’t think that person was a Waymaster.’
‘What? How can you tell?’
‘Because the place is crawling with faerie magick, too.’
‘Hardly surprising. It’s a faerie glade, Mother.’
‘Yes, but even the fae don’t throw magick around willy-nilly without a purpose.’
‘The Winds aren’t what I’m used to,’ said Jay. ‘They’re more… playful, unstable, erratic. Like they’ve been summoned by an unfocused mind, or—’
‘By lots of minds,’ I supplied.
He nodded. ‘And whoever it is has been mucking about with them, like they’re a toy.’
‘Sounds very fae.’
‘Specifically,’ said Mother, ‘sounds very sprite.’
Of course. The music-seller had said the sprites tend gardens; from Ayllin we knew that they kept the doors, among other things — and they did not often show themselves. Were the glade and the forest awash with them?
‘Did they throw the lyre in the water?’ I speculated.
‘Maybe,’ said Mother. ‘But maybe not. It’s hard to sense under all the fae magick, but someone human’s worked enchantments here in the past.’
‘Your lyre-player?’
She shrugged. ‘No way to know.’
‘Can you catch these Winds?’ I said to Jay.
‘Yes. If we find the henge.’
‘Will you?’
‘If someone gave me good reason to.’ He folded his arms and gave me his sceptical look.
‘I want to find out where they go.’
‘And then do what?’
I shrugged.
‘Don’t you ever get tired of playing Trial and Error?’
‘Nope.’ I smiled.
‘This is the henge,’ said Mother.
Jay looked sharply at her. ‘Are you sure? I don’t see it.’
I realised that when Jay said “see” he meant with his Waymaster senses. It wouldn’t be the first time we had used a buried henge with no visible stones or earthworks.
‘Might be fairer to say it used to be a henge,’ said Mother. ‘But the residue’s still here.’
Jay nodded. ‘We can try it.’ He took a hold of me, and beckoned to Mother.
‘Just a second,’ said she, and stepped into the glade.
The unicorns had drifted away, and stood in a cluster on the far side of the pool, idly munching grass. At first I thought Mother was heading for them, perhaps Adeline specifically.
But no. Her path led her unerringly to the pool of water I had so lately been hauled out of. And she didn’t hesitate. She waded right in, up to her ankles, her calves, her knees.
‘Mother!’ I called, and ran for her. ‘What are you doing?’
She made it to the centre before I could reach the edge of the water. Quick as a flash, she plunged her healthy hand into the pool and snatched up the lyre.
I was wading in after her by then. ‘Mum, you bloody madwoman, what did you just say to me?’ I grabbed her and began hauling her backwards, hoping she would drop the lyre.
She didn’t. ‘I told you to leave it alone,’ she said, in a voice of grim satisfaction. ‘Didn’t say anything about me.’
‘Isn’t that just the way with parents,’ I growled as we stumbled out of the water. ‘A thousand rules for me, none whatsoever for you. What have you done?’
I looked full into her face, expecting to see that moonsilver shine in her eyes that Jay had described in mine. But it was not there. Her own, hazel eyes stared back at me, just the same as they always were. Not a hint of faerie glamour could I detect.
As far as I could tell, my mother had acted voluntarily.
‘Tell you later.’ She stuffed the lyre under one arm, where its strings of rippling water promptly soaked through her sleeve.
Oh well. She and I both were thoroughly drenched by then anyway.
‘Shall we go?’ She was looking at Jay, who had adopted his Bleak Stare.
‘Why did you do that?’ he said.
‘My daughter is right, we cannot just leave the lyre there.’
‘So why did you stop her from taking it?’
‘Because when it comes to faerie treasures, there’s always a consequence. A woman may weather the effects of one faerie instrument well enough. Not two.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘So you were protecting me. How nice.’
‘Is it so hard to believe?’
‘Yes.’
She scowled. ‘So, are we going?’
Jay’s eyes narrowed, but what more could he say? The damage, whatever it might prove to be, had been done.
‘Just keep the thing away from Ves,’ he said. ‘The second I see her eyes turn all moonish again, we’re throwing it away.’
; Mum clutched at it like he’d have to remove her other hand first.
Jay returned her a stare that said, try me.
13
I might be becoming an old hand at travelling by the Ways, but this was something else.
We were whirled up, up and away into the aether; so far, so ordinary. After that, we were leaves on the wind, and not in a cute way. Ever watched a coppery autumn leaf tossing and turning in the currents, sailing with airy serenity from gust to gust? It looks like the epitome of freedom.
It feels like crap.
As if the Winds themselves weren’t “playful” enough (as Jay had euphemistically put it), invisible hands snatched at my clothes, my limbs, my hair, and sent me tumbling in dizzying spirals. After half a miserable minute of this, I was longing for solid ground beneath my feet and praying, otherwise, to die.
When at last the whirl of winds ceased, and I felt approximately stationary again, the first words to pass my lips were: ‘A pox on all sprites. One of the really bad ones, too.’
‘Smallpox,’ said my mother.
‘Too… small.’
‘The Black Death,’ said Jay.
‘Might do.’
‘Actually,’ came a new and unfamiliar voice, ‘they’re sylphs.’
I opened my eyes.
Considering the starting point and our mode of transport, I’d expected to end up somewhere else improbably beautiful, even if it ended up being another clone of Hansel and Gretel’s forest.
Instead, we’d landed in somebody’s living room. I felt carpet under my hands — reasonably plush, not cheap — and the ceiling I was staring at was white plaster, with fussy ornaments in the corners. A huge bookcase monopolised the far wall, and tucked into the corner was a standard lamp with a kingfisher-blue shade, and a deep, luxurious armchair.
In the armchair sat a man of, maybe, sixty. His hair was grey, his face rather tanned, his eyes extraordinary: a kind of silvery-blue colour. He looked unassuming, in his wine-coloured jumper and dark trousers, with a large book open on his lap. His stare, though, was penetrating.
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