Guests
I set down my baskets by the berry bushes. Now don't go too far, I tell the children.
It's been a couple of months since I healed Dulcamara. I haven't heard anything from her, or any other representative of the Court of Termites. I haven't even seen any other Gentry, and despite myself, I've relaxed a little. Maybe Dulcamara did keep her promise, in spirit as well as form. Maybe we're still safe. And meantime, whether we're safe or not, we still need to eat.
Dogwood shakes his head earnestly. "We won't."
Philomel giggles. "We'll be fine!" She takes up a basket. "Come on, Dogwood. Bet you I can pick more than you!"
"You won't!" He grabs a basket, and, running to the bushes, they both begin picking frantically. I smile in affection and exasperation. Does it always have to be a competition with Philomel? She's so like her aunt sometimes…
I shake my head a little, making the snail shells braided into my hair clank (Philomel's developed a passion for playing with my hair). Why am I thinking of Jude again? She and Vivienne have been preying on my mind lately. Maybe Dulcamara stirred up memories. Or maybe it's because Philomel reminds me so much of Jude lately; not just in her attitude, but because she looks so much like her. Of course, in reality she looks like me; maybe not in her coloring, but our facial structures are very similar. And, since Jude and I are identical, I see my sister in my daughter's face, more clearly all the time. It makes me miss Jude, and Vivienne, and Oriana. I wonder what they would think of my children if they knew…?
Sighing, I push away those thoughts. There's no point to them. I begin picking berries.
It's a lovely morning. The sun is slanting through breaks in the clouds, and the shadows are all gold-edged. The clearing where the berries grow is full of bright, chasing light. No one else is there; we have the bushes to ourselves, all heavy with fruit. I finish filling up a basket and set it aside for another. We'll have to come back for more later.
Philomel and Dogwood are eating as many berries as they pick, mouths stained red. Come on, I scold. Fill up the baskets!
Philomel suddenly stops chewing. "What's that?" she asks, head coming up.
What? I ask as a shadow suddenly crosses the sky. Not the shadow of a cloud, but of a great flying beast.
I react immediately. Dropping my basket, I yank both my children under the bushes. Quiet! I sign.
They don't need the warning. Children of the wild, they know to huddle close and be silent, in the cavity beneath the bush. I sit tensely, feeling them tremble against me. Or Dogwood trembles; Philomel falls still, and I sense a shiver of magic. The shadows draw closer around us, as she weaves an illusion, a protective camouflage. Good girl. I stroke her hair. She snuggles closer.
There's an impact—actually, there's four. They land softly, deliberately, without menace.
"Where'd they go?" says a voice.
That voice. Shock washes over me in an icy wave. My whole body jerks and Dogwood looks up inquiringly. I shake my head at him, and he falls still.
"I think they went under those berry bushes," says another voice.
I cannot believe my ears. I cannot believe this, as four sets of feet thump softly to the earth from their saddles.
"Hello?" calls the second voice. "We don't mean any harm, I swear. Please come out."
"Honestly, Jude," says a third, male voice, one that's even more astonishing in its way. "After the entrance we've made, what makes you think they'll believe you?"
"Shut up, Cardan," Jude says in a lower tone. She raises her voice again. "Please come out. We're just here looking for our sister."
Like one in a dream, I crawl out from under the bushes, Dogwood and Philomel clinging uncertainly, into the light of day.
At first the light dazzles me, so all I see are four shadowy figures. Then the dazzle fades, and they resolve: three women and one man. One of the women is dressed as a knight, a sword at her side. The man wears elegant traveling clothes. One of the other women wears a plain traveling gown. The last woman has pink hair. Two humans, two faeries.
It's my sisters. It's Vivienne and Jude, with Heather and Cardan. After all these years, my sisters are before me.
For a moment, we stand in silence: me and my children, staring at the elegant strangers before us. Then, slowly, Vivienne steps forward. Her hands rise, her eyes fill with tears. "Taryn?" She whispers in a choked voice. "Taryn?"
Vivienne. My lips form the syllables, and my own tears sting my eyes.
"Taryn!" And Vivienne and Jude are both on me, both embracing me, stroking my hair, kissing my cheeks, crying out. Jude sobs in my ear, and I feel her tremble against me: Jude, who never even winced, let alone cried. Now she shakes with the same emotion that rushes through me, and her cheeks are wet with tears.
"Taryn…Taryn," she chokes. "Is it really you?"
All I can do is embrace her back, heart full to bursting. Crying, Vivienne hugs me tight, just as Jude does. Vivienne. Jude. My sisters, in my arms again.
At last my sisters step back. Tears wet all our faces as we beam into each other's eyes. I still can't believe this.
Blinking back more tears, I look over my sister's shoulders, where my children stand, staring with huge eyes and open mouths. They've never seen anything like this before. They've never thought to see anything like this happen to their mother.
Beyond them, Heather is smiling at the scene. She looks completely bizarre here, with her pink hair and human clothes, even as she holds the horses' reins with an assured and practiced hand. Even stranger is Cardan, standing nearby in traveling clothes. Cardan? I cannot fathom what Prince Cardan Greenbriar, of all people, could possibly be doing here. Did he accompany my sisters? Prince Cardan?
"Taryn," says Vivienne. She speaks in a choked voice, eyes still shining with tears. "Say something, Taryn."
For the first time, pain slashes through my joy: the old, old pain. I look at the ground.
"What?" Jude's voice is sharp, a burst of aching familiarity. "What is it?"
Philomel speaks for me. "She can't talk."
"What do you mean, can't?" Jude turns to frown down at her. "Who are you?"
"I'm Philomel," she says, tossing her white hair back defiantly and hugging Lulu to her side. "And that's my Mommy."
"And mine," Dogwood puts in, stepping up, hands curled into fists.
"Your what?" Jude's expression is priceless as she turns to gape at me, flabbergasted. "Taryn…?"
I nod, smiling, and step over to stand by the children. Introduce yourselves, kids.
They do so, still eyeing these strangers doubtfully. Jude and Vivienne are still completely poleaxed as they gape at my kids, but Heather grins at them cheerfully. "Hi kids, nice to meet you! I'm Heather," she says. "I'm your Auntie Vivienne's girlfriend."
"And you can call me Connor," Cardan says smoothly. "I'm a friend of the family."
I turn to give him a hard look. Not only is he using a false name, but that's not how I remember Prince Cardan. He has the grace to squirm a little, shamefaced, and looks appealingly at Jude.
She visibly pulls herself together. "It's true, more or less," she says to me. I raise both eyebrows skeptically, and she shrugs. "Things changed, after you disappeared. A lot of things, including that." She turns to my children, sweeping them a correct, courtly bow. They both stare. "Pleasure to meet you, Philomel, Dogwood. I'm your mother's sister. Your Aunt Jude."
"And I'm your Aunt Vivienne." Vivi curtsies. "Also your mother's sister."
Philomel stares between them. "Are you mortal?" she asks at last.
"I am," Jude says. "Vivienne's not."
Philomel turns her intense purple stare on Vivi. "Why not?"
"Eh?" Vivi blinks. Behind Philomel, Heather and Cardan are both stifling laughter.
"Mommy's mortal," Philomel informs her. "So how come you're not?"
Philomel! Don't be rude! Even so, I have to smile at my daughter's grasp of biology. Vivienne's my half-sister. We had the same mother, but my father was a human, while hers is a faerie.
"Ohhh." Philomel nods enlightenment. Already she's seeming more relaxed. "Half and half. Like me!" She laughs.
Yes, I say, hiding a pang. Like you.
Jude watches my signing in increasing bemusement. "Taryn…can you really not talk at all?"
I shake my head, avoiding her eye. Cardan is watching me with an odd little frown.
"Why not?" Jude demands. "What happened?"
"She's never talked," Dogwood pipes up defiantly, and ducks behind me again as everyone turns to stare at him.
I signal to Philomel to translate. "She says," Philomel says as I sign, "that we'll discuss everything back at the house." She blinks up at me. "Are we really taking them back to the house?"
I nod, and take up two of the baskets. Get the baskets. We'll take the treeway. I gesture at our guests to follow me and start to head off, both children sticking close and casting glances back at our visitors.
Behind me, I hear Vivienne dismiss the ragwort steeds, turning them back into stalks of grass, and they all start tromping after me. It still seems utterly unreal, as though I'll look back and discover that they've disappeared. My family. Here. I can't believe it.
Dogwood yanks my shirt. "Mommy?"
Yes? I hang the baskets awkwardly off my arms so I can sign.
"Aunt Jude…she's your identical twin? Like Alder and Elder?"
That's right.
"So…" I can just see the logic working through his mind. "Her voice…"
What about it?
"Is that what you used to sound like? Before?"
"Yeah," Philomel says, peering up at me. "Is that what your voice sounded like?"
A stinging tide of tears blurs the scene. I look away, blinking furiously. Why am I so upset? Their question is perfectly reasonable. Of course they have no idea what my voice used to sound like. They've never heard it. I've never spoken to them aloud. I've never sung them lullabies, or taught them the songs and ballads of my own childhood. When they were learning to talk, I never sounded through words with them. I've never muttered angrily under my breath at yet another interruption or sleepless night. I've never screamed their names in rage or fear or frustration. I've never bitten back swearwords in front of them. I've never raised my voice in a scolding or lecture. I've never murmured soothingly over small wounds or nightmares. I've never laughed aloud in delight at their antics, nor exclaimed over their accomplishments. I've never made playful noises during games, nor hummed them to sleep at night. I've never done any of these things that a mother should do, and I never will.
"Taryn?" Vivienne catches up, looking worriedly into my face. "Are you all right?"
Wiping away moisture, I nod and speed up, heading for the nearest ladder.
"Why are you calling her Taryn?" Philomel asks Vivi.
"That's her name." I can feel Vivi's gaze on me. "Or…it was."
"Her name's Albia now," Philomel says proudly. "Everyone calls her that. 'Cept me and Dogwood, of course. We call her Mommy."
I can sense Vivienne burning to ask her more questions. Just slightly, I shake my head, eyes widening. She opens and closes her mouth, and visibly chooses a different topic. "I'm sure she's a very good mommy to you," she says kindly.
"We think so," Philomel says complacently, swinging Lulu at her side. "Right, Dogwood?"
Dogwood wraps a little clawed hand around mine. "Right."
I nearly melt at this. I give Dogwood a return squeeze and both children a smile as we reach the ladder.
"What is this?" Heather asks as we ascend. Her accent, so sharp and unfamiliar, is like a minor shock to my ears. "A treehouse?"
"It's a treeway." Philomel certainly seems to be enjoying her self-appointed role of tour guide, grinning back at Heather over her shoulder as she climbs. "The goblins make them. They're safer than walking on the ground, right, Mommy?" She adds this as I turn to help her onto the platform at the canopy.
I nod, and wait until the whole party is assembled before leading them along the aerial highway of vines, leaves and branches.
I'm glad that etiquette requires us all to march single-file along one side of the treeway (as Philomel self-importantly tells the strangers, getting them organized into line). It stops my guests asking more questions, though I can practically feel their confusion buzzing like a swarm of bees. My head's still whirling: how did they find me? And why now, after all this time? What's Cardan doing with my sisters? What's Heather doing with them? What did Jude mean by things changing? Changing how? And—my blood runs cold to think this—did they tell Madoc before they left? Or, even worse…Balekin? After all, Cardan's here…
Behind me, I can sense my family is burning with similar questions; but, luckily, Philomel rises quite unconsciously to the occasion. She bounces along, chattering all about the treeways, the reasons why they're so much safer, how the goblins make them, the goblin tribe itself, how much she enjoys visiting the village, her friends there, how Dogwood himself is half goblin…
"Ah…was your father a goblin, Dogwood?" Jude asks carefully.
I can feel my guests' eyes all boring into me. I nudge Dogwood, who's been clinging silently to my side.
"Yes," he says softly, glancing over his shoulder at them. "That's what my first mother said, Mommy says."
Cardan speaks now, from behind Jude. "Your first mother?"
"Dogwood's adopted!" Philomel says cheerfully. "After his first mother died. Mommy's my first mother, though."
"And who," Cardan asks softly, "was your father, Philomel?"
I'm sure they all catch me stiffening, even Heather. Even Dogwood looks up at me, concerned. Only Philomel is oblivious. "A Court faerie. He stole Mommy from Ironside but then sealed her voice and threw her out while she was pregnant with me," she adds matter-of-factly.
"I see," says Cardan, still softly, and I wonder in panic exactly what he sees. "How unfortunate."
I'm careful not to turn around to view my family's reaction to this little story, but I can feel their eyes boring into me even harder.
There's the sound of tramping feet, and the treeway vibrates under our feet. A band of goblins, all wielding baskets, moves toward us, clearly on their way to the berry patch. They wave at me cheerfully, only to stop dead, gaping at my guests. "Albia!" exclaims Ashwood, looking over the elegant visitors with astonishment. "Who are these?"
"They're Mommy's family!" cries Philomel happily. "These are my Aunts Jude, Vivienne and Heather, and Uncle Connor!"
"Really?" Ashwood and the others all gawp. "You never told us you had family, Albia!"
I shake my head, slowly, avoiding everyone's eyes, and trying to hide my own stunned bemusement at hearing Prince Cardan described as "Uncle Connor".
"We've all come for a visit," Vivienne says warmly. "We wanted to make sure she's all right. We haven't seen her in seven years."
I blink a bit at this. Seven years? Has it really been so long?
"Well…understandable, I suppose," another goblin, Maple, says doubtfully. She jiggles her baby on her shoulder. "Where do you hail from?"
"East," Jude says. "One of the Courts." That's leaving quite a bit out, I notice.
"Really?" The goblins all manage to crowd forward in fascination and shrink away in terror in the same movement. "The same Court you were kicked out of, Albia?" Maple asks with keen interest.
"That's right," says Jude, completely unfazed.
"We're taking them back to the house," Philomel says proudly.
"Well, don't let us keep you." Ashwood waves us on, and the goblins all wave goodbye as we pass. Behind us, I hear the excited gossip starting already. I sigh. So much for discretion.
Jude glances over her shoulder. "That's it," she says grimly. "The news will be all over the forest now."
It would have happened anyway, I say, Dogwood translating. Come on. We're almost there.
My guests all hover uncertainly at the top entrance to the house, but follow me and the children down the ladder. The little room is very crowded with everyone; they all stare at the cold fireplace, the shelves, the cooking rock, the bolts of fabric, the books, the bed, as though they've never seen anything like them before.
I've got to pull myself together. Philomel, get the cups, I say, and realize we don't have enough for everyone. And Dogwood, you get the bowls. I use the stool to step up and get the bottle of blackberry wine from the high shelf.
Philomel and Dogwood hand around the cups. We definitely don't have enough: the children and I will have to drink out of bowls, along with Vivienne. Well, of course: I've never had guests before. Maybe I'll ask Birch for more vessels.
My hand almost slips, pouring wine. Birch. How am I going to explain this to him?
The guests all wait until I've poured everyone a drink, watering down the children's wine. Cardan sips, and makes a slightly surprised face. "This is very good."
I eye him over my bowl's rim. I can't say for certain, but I think there's something different about Cardan. I struggle to pin down exactly what. It's not easy: I've barely given Prince Cardan Greenbriar a single fleeting thought in seven years, and even before I left Court I avoided him as much as possible. I'm no expert at reading him, and my memories are fuzzy.
But, as I remember him, Cardan was always very—tense. His shoulders were always stiff, as I recall, his mouth always twisted and cruel. Even when he was laughing at someone, or playing some cruel game and full of malicious glee, he never seemed really happy. Now…he seems much more relaxed. The tension's gone out of his shoulders, and his mouth doesn't look so tight. His eyes don't look so full of sneering wariness now, and he doesn't seem like he's constantly looking for an excuse to be vicious, as he did back in our schooldays. Of course, that may simply be because he's an adult now, instead of a thuggish adolescent. But what's he doing with Jude and Vivienne, not to mention Heather?
I set down my bowl. My head whirls with questions. I begin with the first that pops into my head. How is Oriana? I ask.
Philomel translates, and looks up at me. "Who is Oriana?"
"She's our stepmother," Vivienne explains. "And she's been fine, mostly. Except she's been really worried about you." She looks at me sidelong. "You two were…really close, weren't you?"
I nod, biting my lip. I was so angry with her, for so long, after she threw me at Balekin. I still am, a bit. But the thought of Oriana worrying about me, Oriana in pain, stabs through me. She may not have been the perfect mother, but she truly cared for me.
"She doesn't know we're here." Jude gives Vivienne a strange, hard look. "Vivi moved Ironside after you disappeared, and she would only come back if we promised not to tell Madoc or Oriana she'd returned." She pauses. "Isn't that right, Vivienne?"
Heather looks a bit uncomfortable, and Vivienne stares down at the floor. "That's right."
I look between my glaring sister and my flushing one. There are dangerous currents here. Hastily, I move on to the next question: How did you find me?
Jude answers. "It's kind of an odd story…" She looks around in vain for a chair.
I motion at the bench by the cold fireplace. My guests sit down, awkwardly. I pull up the stool, while Dogwood and Philomel perch on the bed. The children and I wait, expectant.
"About two months ago," Jude begins, "there was a tournament. A lot of knights from different Courts came. I was in the lists, too, as one of Madoc's knights."
I have to interrupt, clapping my hands delightedly. "Congratulations!" Philomel translates. "Did you win lots of fights?" she asks eagerly on her own account.
"Not a lot, no," Jude says, smiling. "But enough. Anyway, after I fought, I was walking in the staging area when this Unseelie knight calls out to me.
"'Lady Healer?' she says, like she's very surprised. I'd taken my helmet off, and she was staring at me, looking amazed."
I think I know who this knight was. Heart sinking, I listen while Jude continues.
"I told her I wasn't any Lady Healer, and she said that was very strange. She was looking really shaken; just kept staring at me."
I leap to my feet and get the notebook. Everyone pauses while my pencil scribbles. It was Dulcamara from the Court of Termites, wasn't it?
"Yes," nods Jude. "I suppose she came this way?"
I nod, sighing.
"Really?" Philomel goggles at me. "You didn't tell us."
It didn't seem important, I say, avoiding her gaze. Let your aunt speak. I gesture for Jude to continue.
"Anyway," she says, eyeing me and Philomel, "I asked her why it was so strange. She gave me this long look, and asked if I had any sisters.
"I said yes, I did: two of them, one living Ironside and one my twin, who I hadn't seen in years. And she got an even stranger look on her face. I asked her what her problem was; I was getting angry by then.
"She just said, 'Two weeks' sky-journey west from here, there is a valley, ringed by mountains, with a large blue lake in the middle. A river cascades over a cliff to pool in this lake before draining away underground. There a tribe of tree goblins lives, in a treetop village. Others live in this valley too. And that's all I can tell you, I'm afraid. My mouth is bound by oath.'"
Of course: I made Dulcamara promise not to tell anyone anything about me or the children—but that didn't include the valley, or the goblins. I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair.
Vivi watches, one eyebrow raised. "I guess she made that oath to you?"
"And found a way around it," Cardan adds, sounding a bit amused.
I nod, and scribble some more. She came to me for healing. I made her promise not to reveal my location or anything about me to anyone, especially not at Court.
"And her an Unseelie knight?" Jude lets out a long, impressed whistle. "That took courage."
"How come you never told us?" Dogwood demands of me indignantly. I spread my hands helplessly.
Cardan, meanwhile, is frowning at the page. "Healing?"
"Mommy's a healer," Philomel says proudly. "She has miraculous hands. Everyone comes to her to heal their wounds, and so their babies will live."
"What?" Cardan stares at me.
"Miraculous hands…?" Vivienne echoes, equally dumbfounded.
Philomel, quiet, I sign. Let them finish the story first. I gesture for Jude to continue once more.
"Anyway," Jude says, giving me her own puzzled look, "it was so unlikely, but I couldn't help hoping…it seemed like the only answer, even if I couldn't imagine what you were doing in a valley with forest goblins. I went to tell Cardan—"
I interrupt with a sharp gesture. I point between her and Cardan, tilting my head quizzically.
Their reactions are interesting, to say the least. Jude and Cardan both go bright red, while Heather smirks and Vivienne lets out a snort of laughter.
"Go on," she sniggers. "Tell her."
"There's nothing to tell," Jude says in a high, strangled voice, staring up the Tree trunk.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Vivienne singsongs. "They're lovers," she adds to me matter-of-factly. "Have been for years."
"Really, Vivienne," says Cardan in a would-be airy voice, "should you be so indelicate in front of the children?"
"Oh, I'm sure they're aware of the facts of life, aren't you?" Vivienne asks the kids, still chuckling.
Dogwood nods and Philomel says, "Sure. We've seen the goblins—"
Philomel, hush! I say, my face burning, and now everyone's snickering, including Philomel and Dogwood. Great. Now I'm a slovenly mother who lets her kids watch goblins going at it. Marvelous.
But I'm willing to bet my last can of salt that I'm not half as embarrassed as Jude and Cardan. They sit very stiffly, eyes trained upward, carefully not touching each other. Of course: after years of hating and persecuting someone, it must be rather humiliating to give way to a mutual passion while everyone laughs at you and says they saw it coming. But I can't say I'm surprised. In fact, looking back on it, I'd say I was one of the people who foresaw this.
Congratulations! I write, holding up my notebook with a big grin.
"Oh, shut up," Jude mutters. "This was after he'd moved in with us, and his behavior improved remarkably."
I frown, merriment fading. How did that happen?
Cardan's silent a long time, rotating his cup in his hand. "You know I used to live with my brother Balekin," he says at last.
I blink. I did know that, now that I think back, but I honestly never gave the matter a single thought, even when I was still at Court. That's much the same as not knowing—or not caring. Living with Balekin. A shudder runs through me. No wonder Cardan was such a petty bully at school. It doesn't excuse his behavior, not in any way, but I can certainly see how he turned out the way he did.
"Well," Cardan continues, a light, ironic tone in his voice, "after you disappeared, he acted very strange—stranger than usual, that is. Which is saying something. He was out with his hunters all the time looking for you, and nothing else interested him. Nothing. And he was at it for months."
Balekin. Looking for me. For months. The room tips. Vivienne gives me a quick, worried frown.
"Balekin?" Dogwood blinks. "Like Prince Balekin?"
"And did Aunt Jude just call you Cardan?" Philomel blinks at Cardan. "I thought you said your name was Connor."
"No, I said that's what you could call me," he corrects. "My real name is Cardan, but I've been traveling in disguise to avoid any, ah, trouble."
"Are you the prince?" Philomel stares at him round-eyed.
"No, no, of course not!" Jude lies instantly. "Cardan and his brothers were just named after the Greenbriar princes, that's all."
"Really?" Dogwood is utterly astonished, eyes round. "Why? Uncle Birch says that the Greenbriar princes are all a pack of worthless parasites who can't even father children and will lead Faerie into certain disaster—"
Dogwood, that's enough! I sign hastily, watching Cardan anxiously. He's gone a bit green. We don't criticize the royal family in this house. And it's rude to say things like that about someone's namesake.
"Oh. Sorry," he says to Cardan in a chastened voice.
Cardan's still looking rather stiff, but he says, "Apology accepted—if you promise me something."
"What?" Dogwood asks, immediately wary. I half stand, just as anxious.
Cardan gives him an easy, charming grin. "Don't call me Cardan while I'm here, all right? Call me Connor. You too, Philomel. I don't want anyone thinking I'm the prince and causing us all trouble."
I let out a sigh of relief, even as I give Cardan a hard look. He smiles back urbanely.
"Okay," shrugs Dogwood. "I'll call you Connor while you're here."
"Me too," says Philomel. "I promise."
Very good, I say. Now, why don't you both go outside? Not only should we avoid further antagonizing Cardan, but I have no wish for them to hear anything about Balekin. The very thought makes my palms sweat.
"Now?" blinks Dogwood.
"Yeah, I want to hear the rest of the story!" adds Philomel.
Vivienne sees my expression and stands up. "Not sure if your mother wants you to hear it. Come on, I'll take you outside."
"I'll come too," Heather adds, standing up.
The children hesitate, eyeing the strangers doubtfully. "Come on, we'll play a game," says Heather. "Where should we go?" she adds in an aside to me.
I get up to show her the ladder and the platform high above. Vivienne and Heather head over immediately, but the children hang back. "I want to hear," Philomel insists.
I'll tell you later, I promise, I say. Now go with Aunt Vivi.
"'Vivi!'" she laughs, instantly diverted. "Her name's Vivienne!"
"Vivi's my nickname," Vivi says. "Come on, I'll tell you about it outside."
"I call her that all the time," says Heather, ushering her forward.
"Vivi!" giggles Philomel, scampering up the ladder.
I take a deep breath as they disappear, and another. My heart's still racing.
"What was that all about?" Jude asks slowly, frowning at me.
I grimace at her and grab the notebook. I'm sorry about Dogwood, I write to Cardan anxiously. He's just a child.
"That's all right." He grins wryly. "I've had plenty of opportunities, over this journey, to discover just how unpopular my brothers and I really are."
"Big surprise," smirks Jude.
"Oh, do be quiet, Jude," he says serenely. "Anyway, Balekin was acting odd, and I was starting to wonder. I confronted him one night, asking why he was so fixated on you.
"He yelled at me, but I wouldn't shut up. I said I saw him with you, the night of the New Year ball—"
The bottom drops out of my stomach.
"—And asked if he knew anything about your disappearance. He wouldn't answer me. I became insistent.
"Finally, he grabbed me and smacked me a couple of times to shut me up. I thought he was going to beat me again, but instead he dragged me to the front door. 'If you can't keep from my business,' he said, 'then you have no place in my house.' Then he threw me out and locked the door behind me."
A moment's silence elapses. Jude looks unsurprised—she's clearly heard the story before—but I'm shaken. Balekin hit Cardan? And beat him? Again, Cardan said. Balekin beat Cardan repeatedly? Maybe even regularly. And then literally threw him out with nothing.
I feel a rush of shame. I never once thought about Cardan, living with a monster, when we were children. I never once gave a single thought or spared even the slightest pity for him, even after I learned firsthand what Balekin was truly like. I didn't give a single, solitary damn. Of course, I had no reason to care about Cardan's wellbeing when we were children—and after the assault I had problems of my own. But even so, there were others living with Balekin, too, besides Cardan. If Balekin was so brutal to his own brother, what must he be like to his servants? It doesn't bear thinking of.
If Cardan notices any of my emotions, he doesn't show it. "I was on my own," he says coolly, "and I learned very quickly that no one wants anything to do with a prince on his own, with no place at Court. Not even my so-called friends."
His mouth twists on who knows what memories. It's mean, but I can't resist a pinch of vindictive glee, remembering the Court of Fawning Sycophants. Well, well. So Cardan's "friends" weren't really his friends after all. What a surprise.
"The Court of Grackles fell apart amazingly quickly, with Cardan gone," Jude adds. "Locke's mother took him away from Court altogether. Said he needed to get his head on straight."
"Quite so," says Cardan coolly. "I, meanwhile, was living like a vagabond in my own father's Court, no home, no friends. Then Jude found me."
"He was trying to break into a house and steal some food," she confirms. "He'd vanished a few days earlier—hadn't been to class or anything—and no one would talk about him. So I was curious. I brought him back home and fed him, and he told me the whole story."
I stare, more surprised by this than anything else. Jude hated Cardan. Oh, she was attracted to him—anyone could see that—but I cannot imagine the Jude I knew reaching out to Cardan with the hand of friendship.
Of course, it might not have been friendship exactly. More—possessiveness. The bond between them was just too strong for her to let him suffer—unless it was by her hand.
"She put me to bed in one of the guestrooms," Cardan says. "I asked what would happen if one of the servants found me, and she told me not to ask stupid questions, didn't you, Jude?" He gives her a poke. "And then what happened? I woke up with one of the maids shrieking her head off at the sight of me!"
"And no wonder," says Jude, rolling her eyes in scorn. "The sight of you naked is enough to scare anyone."
"You never seem to mind," he smirks.
"Which proves I am stronger and more courageous than any faerie," she says smoothly, and turns pointedly to me. "Anyhow, Madoc and Oriana got involved. Cardan and I explained what he was doing there, and they said he could stay. But they also said that I was his sponsor in their house, and if he said or did anything in any way hurtful or prejudicial to my interests, they'd throw him out."
"Actually," says Cardan wryly, "everyone said that. All of Madoc's retainers and his servants, right down to the kitchen maids. They each had a different threat. My favorite was Tatterfell's." He straightens, his voice effortlessly taking on Tatterfell's tone. "'I don't care if you are a prince, you nasty boy: keep persecuting Miss Jude and the retribution will make your grandfather's assassination look like a tea party!'"
I let out a silent laugh. Jude rolls her eyes. "Well, what did you expect? You bullying me and Taryn made you about as popular as the plague in our house."
"So I gathered," Cardan sighs. "I had nowhere else to go, and it was fairly clear that I'd better improve my behavior if I wanted to stay. So I did." He casts Jude a sidelong glance. "Actually, Jude behaved remarkably well, too. I thought for sure you were going to torment me and get revenge for the way I treated you."
"You would have thoroughly deserved it if I had," she says coolly. "But it was enough that you were under my power. I'm no petty faerie, to kick someone around just because I can."
Another dig about being better than a faerie. It seems to be a thing between them, because Cardan just grins. "Come on," he says, "you were lonely, too, with Taryn and Vivienne both gone. Admit it."
Vivi left? I write.
Jude's face darkens. "Yes," she says shortly. "Right after you disappeared. She went to go live with Heather on the Ironside. She decided you were dead and there was no point in staying in Faerie." She pauses. "Actually, she and Madoc had a bad fight about that."
They're always fighting, I point out, confused.
"No." She shakes her head. "A bad fight. Very bad. Madoc told Vivienne she had no right to leave when her sister was missing and Vivi should be helping him look for you. And Vivi yelled back that you were dead and it was all his fault, for bringing you to Faerie in the first place. 'You as good as killed Taryn!' she told him. 'Maybe she killed herself or maybe some evil scut of a faerie murdered her, but either way her blood is on your hands, just like our parents'.'"
I can imagine how Madoc reacted to that. I wince a little.
"Just so," Jude says wryly. "If Oriana hadn't intervened, I honestly think they would have killed each other. Vivi left for the Ironside right after that, not even stopping to pack. She wanted me to go, too." Her face hardens. "But I wouldn't. I knew you weren't dead. I tried to tell Vivienne, but she wouldn't listen. She wanted to go. Almost like…like your death was the excuse she'd been waiting for."
Jude's face is clouded with old anger. Clearly she hasn't forgiven Vivi for this. My heart clenches a little with distress. Of all the consequences resulting from my disappearance, I never imagined this: a rift between my sisters, lasting years.
I don't blame her, I write hastily. And it's true, I don't. I figured she'd leave. What happened after you talked to Dulcamara?
Jude takes a long breath. "I never stopped looking for you, Taryn," she says in a low voice. "I never stopped hoping. So when I got Dulcamara's hint, I had to take it. Cardan and I got in contact with Vivienne, and then Heather insisted on coming along."
"Turns out she'd figured out Vivienne was a faerie a long time ago," Cardan confirms. "Smart girl, Heather—for a mortal."
"So Vivi and Heather came back to Faerie secretly, and we all sneaked away from Court in the dead of night," Jude continues, ignoring this magnificently.
My hand trembles a little as I write. Did you tell Madoc?
"No," Jude shakes her head. "He might have forbidden us to try. Or insisted on coming too." She gives me a quick look. "He's been really upset about you, you know. He never stopped looking either. He's been worried sick."
I feel a small tug of guilt—for I haven't missed Madoc even a little, let alone worried about him—but it's swamped under the wave of relief that leaves my limbs weak. They didn't tell Madoc. He doesn't know. Thank the Trees. I let out a sigh, closing my eyes in gratitude.
"I take it from your expression," Cardan says dryly, eyeing me closely, "that this was the right decision?"
I nod fervently. I never want to see him again.
Jude blinks at this, disconcerted, but Cardan nods. "Can't say I blame you." His tone turns dry and bitter again. "Anyway, the General's become a bit too cozy with Balekin. They've been allies of a sort, since you disappeared. We didn't think it was such a good idea for my dear brother to know about our little quest."
"No," agrees Jude, collecting herself from her surprise. "Anyway, we followed Dulcarma's directions and came out here. It wasn't easy getting here, but Cardan was surprisingly useful—for a faerie prince. And it turned out Heather knows a lot about riding and camping. So we made it, and found you, and…" She shrugs. "Here we all are."
A silence falls, broken only by the children's happy shouts up on the platform. They seem to be playing some new game with Heather and Vivienne, that involves shouting, "Duck, duck, goose."
I swallow. My hand trembles again as I write out the question I'm both desperate and dreading to ask Cardan: What did you see at the ball?
He gives me an odd look. "I saw Balekin escorting you off on your own. You were drunk. And then you disappeared completely, as though you'd vanished into thin air. It seemed, shall we say, rather strange."
"Yes," says Jude. "What happened?"
I can't look at them. I stare down at the beaten earth floor. A strange weakness trembles through my limbs. Everything feels fragile, thin, like it's about to fly apart.
Then, oh mercy, I'm saved. Heather calls down the Tree. "Hey, uh, Taryn—Albia—there's a faerie up here with a dead rabbit who says he knows you. His name's Birch, he says."
Birch! I jump to my feet, heart lightening. This will all be easier with Birch's help.
But when I climb out onto the platform, Birch is standing stiff, holding a freshly killed rabbit and eyeing Vivienne and Heather suspiciously, even as the children hop around him, happy and excited. "Uncle Birch, Uncle Birch!" says Philomel. "These are our Aunts Vivienne, Heather and Jude, and Uncle Connor. They're Mommy's family!"
"They taught us this great new game," Dogwood says happily. "Duck, Duck, Goose. Come on, you have to play!"
"Later, Dogwood," Birch says distractedly, looking over Jude and Cardan as they climb up behind me. He bows without putting down the rabbit or taking his eyes off any of the newcomers. "Hello. You must have traveled far."
There's a note of suspicion in his voice, and something else, something darker and harder to define. I feel a surge of annoyance. It's all right, Birch, really. They're my family: Jude and Vivienne are my sisters, and Heather and Connor are their partners. They've come a long way to see me.
"Indeed," he says stiffly, inclining his head. "I'm Birch of the Red Branch Tribe of forest goblins, and I'm Albia's friend." He says it almost like a threat. "I didn't know Albia had any family."
"It's complicated," Vivienne says. "Can you understand her sign language, Birch?"
"Of course. She taught me." Birch continues to stare unsmiling at my guests. "Where did you all come from?"
"From Court," says Jude, again not specifying which one. "Connor and I are both courtiers, and Heather and Vivienne live Ironside."
"Court?" Birch steps back, now staring at me. "The same Court you came from, Albia?"
Yes, I say, avoiding his eyes. I point at the rabbit. Did you kill that yourself?
He shakes his head. "I sold old Flintbone a set of traps on the condition that every third kill is mine for the first three years. I thought you and the kids could have this one for your dinner." He switches to sign language. You have to tell Heartwood.
For a confused instant I wonder if he's talking about the rabbit, but I quickly realize what he means. Of course: I can't have four strangers to stay without Heartwood's knowledge. I nod.
"What's going on?" demands Jude, starting to get annoyed.
Birch hides a small smirk as he turns to her. "We're going to present you to Chieftainess Heartwood of the Red Branch," he says. "As Albia's family, of course. Heartwood is leader of our tribe and has to know of any newcomers, however welcome." Something in his mild tone makes it clear that this welcome does not come from all quarters. "Why don't we go now?"
"Now?" Heather says, blinking.
"No time like the present." Somehow, Birch has insinuated himself between me and the children and our visitors, blocking my guests off. Dogwood, sensing the sudden tension, slips his hand into mine. I squeeze it, glaring at Birch's back. Why is he doing this? I know he's not fond of strangers or courtiers, but this is my family. Can't he make an effort?
"Let's all go." Birch turns back to me and, hidden by his own body, signs to me discreetly. Albia, are these really your family?
I said so, didn't I? Annoyance makes my fingers jerky. Why are you being like this?
His jaw tightens, crest rising. I'm worried. You never mentioned family before.
There's plenty you don't mention. This is true, but I regret the words the moment they leave my hands.
His red eyes flash hurt, but he lowers his head and crest in acquiescence and begins to lead us along the treeway, back stiff. Philomel scurries up to me. "What was that all about?" she asks in a clearly audible whisper. I can practically feel my sisters' eyebrows rise.
Nothing, I say. Uncle Birch is just worried, that's all. He thought maybe our guests had bad intentions.
"Bad intentions?" Dogwood says loudly. He gives our guests a nervous look over his shoulder. "What's bad intentions?"
"Something we didn't bring with us," Vivienne says loudly. "We're here in peace, to visit our sister, we swear. We mean no harm to any."
I look to see if Birch is reassured by this, but his shoulders don't relax.
The village lounges in its usual midday hush: everyone is either out working or taking siesta in their houses. It's amusing to see my visitors, even Cardan, stare around in wide-eyed wonder at our ordinary little treetop settlement: was I ever such a rube? I fight down an unworthy little smirk as I lead them past the Knot to where Heartwood sits in the sunshine outside her house, smoking and dozing.
"You again, Birch?" she says without opening her eyes. "And Albia and the kids too, I smell. And several others."
"Chieftainess Heartwood." Birch bows correctly. "The Lady Healer has had some unexpected guests. They hail from—"
"A Court, I know," she finishes for him, still half asleep. "That's why I've had them tailed for the last three miles." She waves her pipe lazily and lets out a shrill whistle.
The treetops shiver and shush as the goblin scouts emerge, throwing off their spells of invisibility and camouflage, revealing their arrows and slings. Jude swears and draws her sword, Vivienne and Cardan both prepare spells, and Heather draws out an Ironside knife, looking scared but determined. The children clutch me.
"Oh, please." Heartwood's fully awake now, standing up and waving her hand. "There's no need for that. If my boys had decided you were a threat, they would have eliminated you a mile back, I promise you."
"They may have found that difficult," sneers Cardan, magic wreathing around his fingers.
Heartwood eyes him mildly. "Arrogant little whelp, aren't you?" she says without heat. "But not without some power, it would seem." She sucks at her pipe and lets out a curl of smoke. "Tell me, what brings a Gentry lord to our insignificant little corner of the forest?"
Vivienne steps forward to curtsy low. "Lady Chieftainess, we apologize sincerely if we gave you or your people any cause for alarm. My name is Vivienne, and this is my lover, Heather." Heather nods, looking nervous.
Jude sheathes her sword and steps up. "I am Jude Duarte, Chieftainess, and this is my lover, Connor." "Connor" gives a saturnine bow. "We mean no harm to any, but merely came to visit our sister, whom we have not seen in seven years and have sorely missed."
Heartwood eyes her. "The Unicorn-Blessed has never mentioned sisters before. Indeed, the story in the valley is that she was kidnapped by a nobleman to be his wife, and he then shamefully abandoned her in the forest, after stealing her voice away, and left her to have his child alone."
I can feel my family staring at me. I don't turn around.
"We were all kidnapped," Vivienne says at last. "All three of us sisters, long ago. We haven't seen or heard from—Albia—since she vanished from Court, and have worried for her extremely."
"I can believe that." Heartwood sits back with a sigh, sounding suddenly weary. "I don't normally allow courtiers into my valley, when given the choice. Generally they bring no good with them."
"What about Tar—Albia, then?" Jude demands, as though she just can't help herself. "She came from a Court too, you know."
"I know." Heartwood turns her gaze on my sister, slightly amused. "But Albia came on the back of the unicorn, one of the great ones of Faerie. And Thistleweft, who lived among us for centuries in high regard, stood her guarantor. And Albia has since proved herself invaluable. Half my tribe owe their lives to her. You, on the other hand, have no powerful guarantor, and have not proven your intent of peace."
I will stand their guarantor, I say, stepping forward and curtsying. As Thistleweft did for me. This is my family. I truly believe they mean no harm, and have only come to visit me. At least, I hope that's all they want, though I have a nasty feeling that my sisters at least have other plans.
"I too will stand guarantor," says Birch, to my surprise.
Heartwood pauses a moment more before saying, "Very well." The goblin warriors all back down, lowering their weapons, and my guests all relax, slowly. "Birch and Albia will be the guarantors of your good behavior while in this valley," Heartwood tells my family. "You are their guests, and honored as such. Any violence or hostile behavior will be punished, though, I promise you."
Vivienne curtsies again. "Very well, Chieftainess."
The others, including Cardan, all follow suit. Cardan straightens from his bow. "You'll pardon me, Chieftainess—but exactly how has Mistress Albia proven herself invaluable?"
Heartwood just grins. Leaning back, she brings her hands together in a ringing clap. "Come on out, everyone! It's safe now, more or less."
Instantly the houses all burst open and goblins swarm out. The canopy comes alive with the tribe, putting aside their spells of concealment and camouflage, swinging down to land on the platform. They crowd around, staring and poking at my guests. "This is your family, Albia? Really? You never told us you had family! What are your names? Where do you come from?"
My guests stand tense, faces fixed, as the crowd gathers in. I have to grin at how alarmed they are, and sign. "It's okay, really!" Philomel translates, laughing. "No one means any harm."
"Another mortal!" says Feverfew, poking at Heather. "You can go centuries without a single one, and suddenly they're everywhere!"
"You're full of surprises, Lady Healer," says Bilberry, shaking his head.
"Lady Healer?" Jude raises her voice. "What does that mean?"
Knowing smirks travel around the crowd. "Didn't you know?" says Bilberry. He turns to me, grinning. "Show her, Albia!"
"Yeah, Albia! Show her!" The goblins all chime in. Only Birch, standing back with his arms folded, looks less than enthusiastic.
"Show us what?" Jude asks, bewildered.
Turning to her, I gesture at her left hand, signaling that she raise it. Hesitantly, she does so.
There it is: the missing finger that cost me so much. The wound has long healed, of course, but the digit is still missing. I lay my own callused hands on my sister's, and summon the unicorn's gift.
The white light flashes, and Jude jerks back as the onlookers cheer. I have a flash of insight into the magic: regenerating the bone, muscle twining around it, blood pumping in, the nail growing, skin filming over—
Jude cries out and staggers back, holding her hand before her. Her whole, completely healed hand, not a single digit missing.
The goblins all cheer. Heartwood smiles smugly. "That's our Lady Healer," she says with great satisfaction. "The Unicorn-Blessed."
"The Unicorn-Blessed?" Vivienne sounds dumbfounded.
"That's right," says Philomel proudly. "The unicorn blessed Mommy with healing powers!"
"Miraculous hands…" Heather shakes her head, staring between me and the still-astonished Jude.
"An amazing power," Cardan breathes. He bows to me, a great flowing gesture. "My congratulations, Lady Healer."
Jude is still staring at her hand, mesmerized. Without lowering it, she looks past it toward me. Her eyes are wide and full of warring emotion.
"Taryn…you healed me," she says. "I…What…" She leans in, voice becoming harder, more intent. "This gift can't have come free," she whispers. "What did you pay for it?"
I look away, where Philomel is already off playing with her friends, hair a white silken banner among the stiff quills of the goblin children. Jude will never know what I paid for this gift. No one ever will.
Off to the side, apart from the cheering crowd, I see a still figure. It's Birch, standing with arms folded, away from everyone. He, alone of all the tribe, does not look happy to see me demonstrating my gift to outsiders. He sees me looking and turns away, and I find myself staring at his back, across an unbridgeable gap.
"Uncle Connor?" says Dogwood shyly. It's night now, and we're making dinner back at the cottage.
"Yes?" says Cardan, sitting upright on the bench and eyeing my son sidelong.
Dogwood pauses a moment, gathering his words. "You have a tail."
Cardan looks at his tail, dangling off the bench's edge, its tuft lashing a little in the lamplight. "Ah…yes. Yes, I do."
Across the cooking rock, Vivienne catches my eye, and we both bite down giggles.
"I don't have a tail," Dogwood says sadly. "I'm only half goblin, you see. My ankles don't work right either."
Flipping over pancakes, I have to fight down more giggles. The look on Cardan's face! Still, it's good to see Dogwood interacting as Vivienne and I make supper and the evening settles on the house.
"Your ankles look fine to me," says Cardan, obviously wondering how he ended up in this surreal conversational quagmire.
"Yeah, but they don't rotate!" Philomel says, bouncing up from a game with Jude and Heather. "That's 'cause his mother was a hob, not a goblin. He can't climb so easily or anything."
"Shut up, Melly!" Dogwood flashes his quills at her in warning.
"He can't swing through the branches, either," Philomel sings, "because he doesn't have a tail!"
"Well, I can't swing through the trees either," says Cardan. "My tail's not built for that. In fact, it's fairly useless for everything." He gives it a flick. "It's just there."
"Oh," says Dogwood sympathetically. "Was your mother a hob too?"
"No," says Cardan after a moment. Now everyone but him and the children are fighting down laughter.
I transfer the last of the pancakes to the plate, and start handing it around. The cakes disappear rapidly, along with my berry preserves and more of my wine. I check a sigh. Feeding four extra people is going to burn through my stores. For the first time, I wonder how long my guests plan on staying.
Jude takes a cautious bite of pancake. "So…did this Thistleweft teach you to cook, Taryn?"
That's right, I sign, Dogwood translating. She took me in when I first came to the valley. After her death, she left me the cottage, and I adopted her son. I lay my hand gently on Dogwood's shoulder.
"That was kind of her." Jude shifts uncomfortably. "But…have you been doing all your own housework?"
I have to smile at her tone of horror: horror that I have no servant to cook and clean for me. Of course! There's no one else to do it. Perhaps now isn't the best time to tell Jude that I was the servant.
Jude looks around at my one-room cottage, and I know she's comparing it with Madoc's luxurious stronghold with its vast array of chambers and army of servants. "You've had to do everything yourself? Not one servant?"
"Honestly, Jude, it's hardly a fate worse than death," says Vivi, voicing my own thoughts.
"Yeah, Vivi and I do our own chores," says Heather mildly. "It's not that difficult, if you have a small house." She shrugs. "Though I admit, we do have labor-saving devices."
"What are labor-saving devices?" Philomel asks in fascination, and Heather begins to describe dishwashers, vacuum cleaners, and other human household technology.
Under the cover of conversation, Jude leans into me. "Taryn, have you really been living here alone all this time?"
I give her a look and gesture at the children.
She makes an impatient noise in her throat. "You know what I mean." In her lap, she keeps running her thumb over her restored finger.
I shrug and nod.
She sits back, staring at me, for a long moment. "Taryn," she whispers, lower and more urgent than ever, "what happened? The night you disappeared?" Beyond her, I can see Cardan surreptitiously looking over.
I sit frozen. The curse will halt any attempt I make to explain. And, if I'm honest, I'm not sure I would explain, even if I could.
Jude's got that look again, that look I remember. It always unnerved me; it reminds me far too much of Madoc in one of his scheming moods. "It's something to do with your voice, isn't it? What happened that night…it took your voice away, didn't it?"
I can't nod, can't do anything. She sighs. "It's okay, Taryn."
Her hand squeezes my shoulder briefly. I wish I could take her reassurance at face value, but I see the glance she exchanges with Cardan. She's not done investigating yet, and neither is he.
"…Sure I can show you some human technology." Now Heather is taking some small metallic object from her pack and showing it to the kids. "I brought this along. It's a digital camera." She shows them the little panels on the sides. "Solar-powered!"
"What does it do?" Dogwood asks, staring in fascination.
"It takes pictures! See, like this…" My children crowd in as Heather shows them the screen, how to aim the camera, and the button to push. They crow in delight as the picture of the fireplace shows up in the screen. "The camera saves the picture, and when I get back to Earth, I'll download the pictures on the Internet."
"What?" Philomel stares blankly.
"I'll remove the pictures from the camera and store them to use later," Heather explains. "I use digital pictures a lot in my art these days."
"Wow," breathes Dogwood, still gazing rapturously at the camera. "Can I take a picture of you, Aunt Heather?"
"Sure! Just push that button like I showed you…" Heather poses while Dogwood, giggling, takes several pictures, followed by Philomel. Then they all gather around to look at Heather's various portraits on the camera screen.
I watch the scene in bemusement, spatula dangling forgotten in my hand. Vivienne shakes her head resignedly. "She's been like this the whole way," she whispers to me. "I've had to stop her from photographing every single faerie we met."
"Hey," Heather protests, "this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you know! And I was kind of surprised faeries even show up in a digital picture."
"Oooh!" Philomel claps her hands in sudden delight. "Can you take our pictures, Aunt Heather?"
"Yeah!" Dogwood's crest stands straight up in sudden excitement. "Take pictures of us!"
Panic surges in me. No! I shake my head vehemently, throwing myself between my children and that camera. Absolutely not! The last thing we need is for pictures of the Lost Heir to be floating around, in either world.
"Oh, come on, Mommy!" wails Philomel. "Why not?"
"Yeah, why not?" cries Dogwood.
I stare at them, literally unable to explain. Behind them, our guests watch, eyes gleaming with curiosity and confusion.
Because I said so, I finally fall back on that old maternal argument. Now stop bothering Aunt Heather and let's have dinner.
They groan, but head obediently over to the cook rock. I turn to glower at Heather until she puts that infernal thing away, confused but compliant. I catch her throwing Vivienne a questioning glance. Vivi shrugs, but looks at me for a long, long moment.
After supper, Jude and Vivienne do the dishes. Surreptitiously, Jude flexes her soapy hands, still staring at her healed finger. I turn away, the sight inspiring an odd mixture of shame and satisfaction.
Heather, meanwhile, unrolls bedrolls on the floor, while Cardan touches each one, inciting spells of softness, safety and warmth. He looks up, eyes gleaming in the light, and suddenly I back away, heart pounding.
I can't help it: I glance at my bed, with its curtain, its covers of woven sunlight and fluffy white pillows. Cardan may be a prince traveling incognito, but he's still a prince. A Greenbriar prince. And I am the mistress of the house where he is staying.
It's his right to sleep in my bed. With me.
"What?" says Philomel, picking up on the sudden tension. "What's the matter?"
Heather looks puzzled too, but Jude and Vivienne have both frozen, eyes wide. They've remembered too. We all look at Cardan, waiting for his next move.
The old Cardan would have given that horrible smile, made some nasty comment, and then gone to bed with me. Oh, he probably wouldn't have actually insisted on sex—whatever else he was, he was never a rapist—but he would have held the threat over my head, and over Jude's, just for the sick pleasure of watching us squirm.
This new Cardan clears his throat. "I've been sleeping in a bedroll for two weeks now, Mistress Albia," he says, voice very clear and formal. "Out in the forest. I'm sure I shall be very comfortable continuing to do so here on your floor."
Relief washes through me, leaving me weak-kneed. I let out a silent, grateful sigh as Cardan turns away, continuing to prepare the bedrolls. Jude and Vivienne both give sighs of relief as well, and continue work. Heather hovers, still frowning in confusion. "What was that all about?"
"Yeah?" echoes Dogwood. "What was that?"
Cardan nudges his shoulder. "Tell you when you're older, kid. Are those some human picture books I spy? Oh, my, Alice in Wonderland? Lead me to them."
I watch in bemusement as he heads over to the bookshelves, the children clustering around him. He exclaims over our book collection with every evidence of interest and delight, turning pages and pointing out pictures to the children. I shake my head: I never thought I would see Cardan in such an idyllic scene, playing with my children.
"Yeah." Jude is at my side, hands still wet, smiling with me. "Turns out Cardan loves books written by mortals. Who knew, right?"
I shrug and throw up my hands, indicating that life is mysterious indeed, and together we laugh, for a moment sisters.