Captured
"Mommy? Mommy!"
I groan soundlessly, swimming up out a deep, deep sleep. It's been a very long, awkward day. Jude communicated my wishes to the others, but they were all so polite and circumspect—even Cardan—tiptoeing around the elephant in the room so very delicately, that I eventually took the kids off to the village again, where I sat and drank with Heartwood, watching the kids play. It felt good just to sit and be quiet a while; but I still felt bad, both for abandoning my family and for avoiding the issue.
I looked for Birch. I really wanted to see him. But he wasn't there.
So I was very glad, when we got home, to go to bed and get some sleep. But now Philomel is crouching over me, face set and frantic in the dim glow of her hair. "Mommy, wake up! Something's happening."
I sit up, Dogwood stirring at my side, and light the lamp. What is it?
"I don't know." Philomel shakes her head. I've never seen her so agitated, small body shaking with alarm, clutching Lulu. "But hear the roses."
I fall still, listening. I can hear the roses now all right: their whispering is getting louder, and I can hear their agitated shifting and stirring. Run. Run. They are coming…
They are coming.
And then terror seizes me, dread worse than any I've known since the night of ball. Grabbing both my children, I swing my legs out of bed, snatching my knife and salt. Kneeling, I nudge Jude awake.
"Wha…?" She sits up, blinking sleepily.
"Hurry!" whispers Philomel, still holding Lulu. "We have to leave!" Beside Jude, Cardan is waking up as well, and beyond, Vivi and Heather are stirring.
I'm already getting my kids' cloaks on, and wrapping my own around my shoulders, pulling my pants on under my nightshirt. I signal frantically, my whole being itching to be gone. "We have to get out," Dogwood translates urgently. "We have to get to the village."
"What for?" moans Heather, rubbing her face sleepily. "What's happening?"
Cardan falls still. "Oh, no."
"What?" Jude looks at him.
"Can't you hear that?" He leaps to his feet, pulling his pants and jacket on. "Someone's coming."
"Let's go!" Philomel hisses. "Let's go now!"
My guests stare for only a second, wide-eyed, before grabbing weapons, yanking on clothes and shoving their feet into shoes. Silently, they stream after us to the ladder.
I usher my kids up the ladder. Children of the wild, they know to climb quickly and quietly, and wait on the platform for the rest of us to appear. Outside, the night is very dark; there's no moon tonight. Frantically, I look around for the approaching threat, but see nothing. Everything is still—too still. The forest seems to be holding its breath in fear.
Vivi hauls herself out onto the platform, the last of us, and we immediately stream away, along the treeway toward the village. The village: I hold onto that thought. If we can just make it to the village, we will be safe. I keep telling myself that, to keep myself focused, as I pull my kids along, one clinging to each hand, and my family slips silently after us. If we can just get to the village—
"My lord! The treetops!"
And suddenly there's no point in stealth. I start to run, dragging Dogwood and Philomel after me, hair flying behind me, the feet of my family pounding the treeway as we flee and below us there are more shouts and cries, the sounds of running feet.
A figure drops out of the canopy to land before us, sword out. I skid to a halt, pushing my children behind me, as more figures appear, all hidden in the canopy, all with arrows trained on us, all sporting the same crest: a crescent moon with a drop of blood.
Madoc's symbol.
My knife is in my hand, my fist cocked back full of salt, but the knight stays just out of range and more and more are swarming out of the canopy. We're completely surrounded. Even if I take down one, the others will shoot us. I don't believe those arrows are really lethal weapons—they're more likely spells of sleep or constraint, shaped in the form of arrows—but all the archers have extremely steady hands and keen eyes, fixed on us unblinking. If any of us tries anything, we'll all be knocked unconscious or wrapped in vines faster than we can blink.
Philomel draws breath, hair glowing as she begins a spell. "Don't, Melly," Jude whispers urgently. She has her sword out, but she makes no move to fight. She too can see we're outnumbered.
Yes, I sign. Don't. There's too many of them.
"Who are they?" she demands, tears in her eyes.
"We are knights in the service of General Madoc, young lady." The knight bows before us. I recognize him now, through my haze: it's Foxfire, the head of Madoc's knights. How very not nice to see a familiar face… "Lady Taryn," he addresses me with respect. "I must ask you to accompany me to the ground, where your father awaits." He looks over my head at everyone else. "All of you. Hand over your weapons."
Reluctantly, I hand him my knife and salt as his cohorts close in, confiscating Jude's sword, and daggers from Vivi, Cardan and Heather. The lead knight opens my bag and hisses sharply as he sees the poisonous mixture, eyes widening. He rebuttons it and puts it away with a gingery care that would be funny if this weren't so horrifying.
"Be warned, Foxfire." Cardan steps forward from being frisked, and somehow it doesn't matter that he's just woken up with bedhead, half-dressed, and been captured in a tree. He is a Prince of Faerie. Majesty radiates off him, from his disdainful gaze to his catlike tread. "If you harm any of us, you're guilty of action against a Greenbriar prince and those under his protection."
At my side, the children gasp, staring at him. "He's a prince?" Philomel whispers incredulously. I nudge her into silence.
"With all due respect, Prince Cardan," Foxfire says, bowing, "your father, King Eldred, has commanded us to bring you back to Court by any means necessary, along with anyone accompanying you. So I am perfectly free to use force to bring you along." He pulls a rolled rope ladder out of nowhere and, hooking it to the treeway rail, sends it uncoiling to the ground. "If you will all descend…?" He steps back courteously.
"Really, I'm amazed my father cares so much," Cardan drawls as he lounges, insolently slow, to the ladder. He pauses before it. "I don't suppose he passed along any messages for me?"
He's playing for time, I realize: trying to give us a chance to find a way out of this. But I don't see one: the knights are all chivvying us forward like cattle. And below us, lights are appearing as more of them gather around the ladder.
"Not to my knowledge, Your Highness," Foxfire says patiently. "Please go down."
Cardan's eyes spark. "What, on you?" Behind me, I hear Jude snort with repressed laughter.
Foxfire gives Cardan a very flat, unamused stare.
Cardan sighs. "So much for a little levity to lighten a grim situation. All right. Down I go." He gives Foxfire an ironic bow and, slowly and grandly, climbs onto the ladder and begins swinging himself down, hand over hand. Reluctantly, I usher the children after him.
Foxfire and the other knights let the kids pass without comment or surprise, which alarms me: how do they know about my children? How long has Madoc been watching us? I climb down the ladder after them, and immediately take their hands again, shuffling closer to Cardan, who is now lounging ostentatiously against a tree trunk, arms folded, smiling urbanely at Madoc's knights.
Dogwood stares around, eyes huge. "Mommy," he whispers, "who are these people?"
"And why didn't you tell us Uncle Connor was a prince?" Philomel demands accusingly.
These are knights from the High Court, I say, and Cardan didn't want anyone to know— I break off as the knights step aside and a tall, bulky figure strides toward us.
It's Madoc. I knew he would be here, but it's still a horrible shock to actually see him. Madoc. Here. In my forest. Staring up at his craggy face, those awful teeth, I have a dreadful flashback to the very first time I ever saw him, my mother's blood dripping from his hands. I shrink away, trying to push my kids back behind me, as he advances.
He stops about five paces away. His catlike eyes don't move from me, but it's Cardan he addresses first. "Your Highness," he says, his voice sending a stab of memory through me, and he bows to Cardan. "It's good to see you alive and well."
"Oh," says Cardan, picking off a bit of lint and flicking it away, "I've no doubt you've been watching us all for quite some time." He gives a sigh of elaborate boredom. "Let's get this over with, shall we? Taryn's right here. Why don't you embrace her, slap her across the face, and demand explanations? I'm sure you're desperate to do all three." He puts his hands behind his back, looking up toward the dark canopy. "Don't mind me."
A smile tugs Madoc's lips. "Glib as ever, Your Highness."
"I try, General. I try."
Behind me, the rope ladder swings as first Vivienne, then Heather and finally Jude descend to the ground. Vivi stiffens, glaring at Madoc, who ignores her completely. Heather, meanwhile, stares quizzically. "Is that your father?" she asks Vivienne in a low voice.
"Yes." It's forced out between her teeth.
"The one who…?"
"Yes."
"Ah." Heather is suddenly very still, and very hard to read.
Madoc pays no mind to the whispered conversation, though he must have heard it, as well as noted Jude stepping protectively closer. His gaze has traveled back to me, and now his eyes burn into me, as though he would devour my very soul. Philomel and Dogwood both shrink back behind me, shivering like a pair of rabbit kits, as he approaches.
"Taryn?" I'm amazed at the softness in his voice, the emotion. "Taryn?"
I clutch my children's wrists, pulling them close.
His huge hands descend, claws like knives, onto my shoulders, ignoring my flinch. He squeezes my shoulders, feeling my bones, my physicality, as if he has to reassure himself that I'm real, that I'm actually standing before him. In his eyes is an expression so intense, so painful, that I can't identify it. It's all I can to do stand straight and stare back at him. I will not struggle. I will not back away.
"Taryn…what happened to you? Where have you BEEN?" His voice rises in a sudden shout, cracking across the nighttime woods.
Not even Cardan dares break the ringing silence that falls. Madoc draws in a deep, shuddering breath, lets it out again. His grip on my shoulders doesn't slacken, but, somewhat to my surprise, he doesn't demand any further explanation. Instead, his eyes play over Philomel and Dogwood. "These are your children?" His voice is surprisingly gentle.
I nod. I expect him to demand their names, or to know who their fathers were, but he doesn't. Instead, his eyes pass over Dogwood to rest on Philomel. A strange little smile plays across his face.
"Leave her alone!" To my horror, Philomel suddenly jumps forward, knocking Madoc's hands off me and placing herself before me. "You leave my Mommy alone!" she shouts, little fists clenched with rage, Lulu dangling from her grip, glaring with all her might at Madoc, hair glowing like a star. "Who do you think you are?"
A murmur, half amused and half terrified, runs through the surrounding knights at my daughter's pint-sized ferocity, mirroring my own pride and terror. Jude steps forward. "Quiet, Philomel. Madoc, she's just a child—"
"Philomel?" he interrupts. He cocks his head at her inquiringly. "Is that your name?"
"Yes," she says defiantly. "Who are you?"
"I am your grandfather," he says, pitching his voice loudly and clearly around the grove. "My name is Madoc, and I am a General of the High Court of Faerie, where you and your family will be accompanying me."
It's like he's hit me and the children a shattering blow. I feel like the ground's giving way beneath my feet. I shake my head, mouthing no, no. I can't go back there. I can't take the children there. I can't. I can't.
"Oh, no we won't!" screams Philomel, and, hair glowing, ignites her fire.
Madoc leaps back at the sudden blast of silver flame, and his men all recoil. But he is not a High Court General for nothing, and the flames part harmlessly, diverted by the magical shield he's instantly erected. He shouts something, a name, and a knight leaps forward, a female elf, and suddenly the flames are gone, sucked into darkness.
Philomel gapes. She's never once encountered a faerie of Madoc's caliber—never once met a faerie who approached her in power—let alone seen one of her spells so thoroughly demolished. "What—what…?"
"Saxifrage, I think you'd better stay close." Madoc's eyes gleam wolfishly as he looks at my daughter. "This child needs a Mirror during our journey home."
Philomel rallies at this. "We're not going anywhere with you! You can't make us!"
"Yes I can," he says calmly. "I am your grandfather, your mother's father, and you will obey me as the head of your house." His gaze encompasses the rest of us, huddled at the foot of the tree. "All of you."
"But this is our home!" Philomel's face is streaked with tears, and Dogwood trembles even more violently against me.
"No," says Madoc calmly. "Your mother ran away from her home. I am now taking you back, as I have a right to do."
Jude, meanwhile, is pursuing a different line of thought. "How did you track us all this way, Madoc? We were careful about not leaving traces."
"Not careful enough." A new voice rings through the clearing.
I know that voice. It's been in my nightmares for seven years.
I can't move. I can't even feel the ground beneath my feet. All I can do is stand and stare, gripping my children, as a new figure enters the clearing, moving soundlessly and gracefully through the woods.
No. No. Please no.
Prince Balekin Greenbriar smiles at me, a long, creeping grin. He's here. After all these years, my nightmare has come to life.
"How do you hunt a woman who can't be hunted?" he asks, and his voice sends shards of glass through me. "How do you track a woman who can't be tracked?" His grin widens even further. "The answer's easy: you track her sisters. Hello, Taryn. It's good to see you again."
"You—!" Vivienne steps forward, snarling, and Heather and Jude pull her back.
"Vivi, don't!" Jude warns even as she glares at Balekin without enough murderous force to drop him dead on the spot.
I can't move. Behind me, Dogwood is frozen, and even Philomel is silent, sensing my fear, the danger of this man. Philomel. No. He mustn't see Philomel. He mustn't see her!
I push her behind me, pulling my cloak over her face. Philomel lets out a muffled yelp, and Madoc glances back at me, sharply. A frown grows on his face as he takes in my fixed stare, my terrified stance, my stark white face, how I hide my daughter away. How I tremble before Balekin.
"Oh!" says Cardan suddenly, in a tone of great enlightenment, and everyone looks at him. "So that's what was going on. You two let us escape on purpose, didn't you? Knowing we'd lead you to Taryn. I thought it all seemed too easy. Clever." He cocks his head at his older brother. "A bit too clever for you, Balekin. I assume it was Madoc's idea?"
Balekin turns to glare at him, taking his eyes off me. "Still as rude as ever, little brother. You'd think you'd have learned to hold your tongue by now."
"Yes," says Cardan with utter serenity. You'd think he was in Oriana's parlor, bantering over tea, instead of ringed around with hostile soldiers in a wild woodland clearing in the middle of the night. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"
"Mommy?" whispers Dogwood. "Mommy, who is that man?"
"Mmmph—Mommy, lemme out!" Philomel writhes under my cloak. I struggle to keep her still, but she twists out from under my hands and into the lamplight. She blinks up at Balekin. "Who…?"
The world is crumbling around me. All I can do is stand and watch, helplessly, while Balekin takes in my daughter.
Slowly, his eyes begin to glow. A slow, horrible smile grows on his face as he drinks her in, greedy, triumphant. His gaze devours her. He knows. He knows. Somehow, he knows.
"Philomel, get back!" Vivi and Jude move, grabbing Philomel and jerking her back into our protective circle. I gather her to myself, clutching both her and Dogwood. "Mommy, what's happening?" Philomel asks, bewildered. "Who is that man?"
"That's Prince Balekin," Jude says grimly. "And you stay far away from him—you and your brother both."
Dogwood looks around apprehensively. "Do we have a choice? He's making us go."
"Inaccurate, young man." Madoc has somehow interposed himself between us and Balekin, his tall bulk blocking him out. Clutching the children, I edge us closer to him. He may be kidnapping me for the second time, along with my children, but a choice between Madoc and Balekin is no choice at all. "I'm making you go. You'll all be returning to my stronghold."
"What?" I flinch at the sound of Balekin's voice, sharp and annoyed. "With you?"
"Of course," says Madoc serenely. "They're my family. And it was my soldiers who captured them. They're all my prisoners."
"I helped you! And Cardan is my brother."
"And my foster son," Madoc says smoothly. "Who you expelled from your house. Again, captured by my soldiers, by order of the High King. An order Eldred gave to me, not you. Prince Cardan belongs to me, along with my daughters and grandchildren." He pauses. "It was most generous of you to devote so much time and energy to helping me find them—but what possible claim could you have on them?"
Balekin's silent. I imagine he's grinding his teeth, trying to figure out a way of getting his hands on me and Philomel without admitting she's his daughter—for that would inevitably bring the truth spilling out. His daughter. Nausea grips me. He knows she's his daughter.
Madoc turns to us. "We brought horses for you—we're camped over the mountains. You'll all be accompanying me." His eyes bore into me. "And when we get back, we're going to talk."
"Oh, goody," mumbles Vivienne.
I gulp and nod. The prospect's horrible—but nowhere near as bad as Balekin getting me and Philomel into his custody.
"Taryn." Madoc's standing before me now. He has something in his hand: a wand of several woods, bound together. Madoc's eyes glow with some spell, and the wand comes down, striking me lightly. Two more flicks, and both my children are struck. We all flinch as the magic spikes in us.
Jude watches in great alarm. "Madoc," she says, "what did you just do?"
"Bound Taryn and my grandchildren to me," he says calmly. "Magical leashes, if you will. Stay close to me, all three of you," he orders me and the children. "This spell won't let you get far."
"What!" Philomel scratches at her arms, as though she could scrape the spell off. "Take it off!"
"Not until we get back to Court," he says. "Your mother's already escaped once. I'm not taking the risk of a second attempt. Now come along."
He moves away, and almost immediately the children and I are jerked after him on invisible cords, stumbling over the ground; he hasn't given us much leash length. Philomel gasps and Dogwood sobs. Tears of rage and humiliation sting my eyes. How much worse can this get?
Madoc drags us across the clearing and into Balekin's line of sight. His gaze feels like slime, scum on my skin; my flesh crawls. I push the children to my other side, trying to hide them, but he sees them anyway. "Who's that goblin boy?" Balekin's voice is sharp, his gaze fixed on Dogwood. Hastily, I jerk him closer.
"No one, Balekin," Cardan says quickly. He's being escorted just behind us, with my sisters and Heather. "His name's Dogwood. Taryn adopted him after his mother was killed by a manticore."
"A manticore?" Balekin doesn't quite look away from my children, but he does tense up in sudden interest.
Great, I think, a bit hysterically. Maybe the manticore will come leaping out to kill Balekin and Madoc and we can all escape in the ensuing chaos. My throat burns, and I wish more than ever that I had my voice back. I'd use it to call in the manticore's debt right now, and set her on Balekin.
Then, as if my wish had conjured it, there's a sudden ruckus off to the side. I tense, but it's not the manticore. It's two of Madoc's knights, bundling a small, furry, struggling form between them.
Oh, no. It's Birch. My mouth goes dry. What's he doing here?
"Now who is this?" Madoc asks. He stalks over, towing me and the children behind.
"Caught him on the ground, my lord," says one of the knights. "Spying."
Birch tugs at the knight holding his arm, fruitlessly. "Let me go! Who are you? What are you doing with Albia and her family?"
"Answer my question," Madoc returns evenly.
Birch hesitates, looking up at him. He stops struggling, going still. "I remember you," he says slowly.
I blink and stare, and Madoc seems confused too. "Do you?" He cocks his head. "I don't recall ever seeing you before."
"You didn't," Birch says, still in that strange, quiet tone. "See me. And it was long ago."
Madoc shrugs. "Be that as it may, what is your name, goblin? And do you know my daughter and grandchildren?"
"Birch," Birch says. "I am Birch of the Red Branch tribe. I'm a friend of Albia's." He cranes over. "Albia! What's happening?"
"They're kidnapping us!" shouts Philomel, a ragged edge of hysteria in her voice.
"What?" Birch blinks.
Helplessly, I shake my head, and I take the risk of dropping my kids' hands to sign at him. It's my father, Madoc. He's captured us!
"Madoc? General Madoc? Your father—?" Birch gapes up at Madoc. "And kidnapping you?"
He caught us, and he's making us go back to Court with him. My hands shake with urgency. What are you doing here, Birch?
He gives a hesitant glance around and begins signing in the torchlight. I had a strange dream. I woke up thinking you were in danger. I came to make sure you were all right. He looks both miserable and rueful. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner.
Madoc watches us, narrow-eyed. "Can you speak my daughter's sign language?"
Birch breaks off to look up at him. "Of course I can," he says warily. "She taught it to me herself."
"Oh, really? How long have you known her?"
"Seven years," he says, warier than ever. "Ever since she arrived here in the valley."
Madoc smiles and turns away. "Tie him up," he orders his knights. "He'll be coming with us."
"What?" says Birch blankly as the ropes go on.
"What!" snarls Balekin, incensed. "What do you want with a goblin?"
"Yes, let him go," says Jude. "He's got nothing to do with this."
"On the contrary," says Madoc evenly. "I do believe Taryn could use an interpreter at Court. And I could use an account of the last seven years of my daughter's life from someone who can't lie."
For a moment, it looks like Birch will struggle. He might even get away, the ropes yielding to his wild goblin strength. But then his eyes fasten on me, and slide down to Dogwood. He bows his head, and lets himself be led forward, meek and unresisting.
"Back to camp." Madoc strides along, brisk and energetic, yanking me and the children after him. Happiness and satisfaction radiate off him, and why not? Everything has gone his way. He seems to revel in the glares of frustration and impotent fury that my family, Birch and even Balekin are all leveling at him. "My grandchildren and their mother can ride with me."
I eye him sidelong. He seems very keen on claiming my offspring as his kin, constantly referring to them as his grandchildren. Why? An awful suspicion wells up. I push it down before I have to face it.
Madoc's hands go around my waist, and he lifts me up onto his own charger. He hoists Dogwood and Philomel up before me, and mounts behind us, arms going around us, bulk high and hot behind me. Around us, my sisters, Cardan and Heather are all forced onto horses and bound to their saddles with glimmering spell cords. Birch is hoisted up behind a knight. None us, not even Cardan, is going to escape.
Behind us, there's a crackling noise.
Philomel, Dogwood and I all look back just in time to see the rose bushes go up in flames. Balekin stands over the conflagration, a snarling smile on his face, sparks still flying form his fingers.
"No! The roses! No!" Philomel struggles to leap off the horse, but there's no escape. Her hair glows, and Madoc jerks in surprise as she fights his spell, pitting her strength against his. "No! DON'T!"
And then I have to close my eyes against the sudden glare of her hair as an enormous gust of wind cracks through the trees. Knights and soldiers yell and duck as branches come ripping down, and Balekin staggers back as the fist of air strikes him a blow. But he is strong—stronger even than Madoc—and he withstands the wind, teeth gritted, but still on his feet, glaring at me and my daughter with an expression caught between rage and wild avarice.
The Mirror knight trots up to us, reaching out to touch Philomel lightly on the shoulder. Philomel's spell is sucked away, the wind dying immediately. My daughter lets out a sobbing scream and hits at the knight. I pull her back, keeping a desperate eye on Balekin, who now straightens up, eyes gleaming as he stares at Philomel with hungry greed.
"Move out!" snaps Madoc, and we do.
Philomel and Dogwood are still crying when we arrive at the encampment. It's over the mountain range, as Madoc said; we had to mount into the air to make it here. I haven't been flying for years, and it was strange to see the dark landscape spread out below; but not nearly interesting enough to distract me from the gloomy realization that not even the goblin tribe is going to be able to help us. We're already too far away, surrounded by too many powerful faeries. Perhaps it's just as well. I shiver, thinking of my friends cut down by Madoc's knights, Balekin's men.
We ride in among the tents of the encampment, and Madoc dismounts, pulling me and the children down after him. Dogwood and Philomel are both terrified and miserable, huddling close to me, eyes wide as they stare around the camp with its tents. Stay close to me, I say. Be brave, both of you.
"I'm tired, Mommy," sniffles Dogwood.
I'm sure we'll get to sleep soon. I look up anxiously. Madoc's waiting courteously for us to orient ourselves and finish our conversation, but he's starting to look impatient. I stretch my aching legs, wincing at the pain: I'm out of shape for riding. Just keep quiet and go along with it for now. And don't try anything else, Philomel, please.
Exhaustedly, they take my hands and shuffle along after me as I follow Madoc to the central tent. Behind us, Cardan, Jude, Vivienne, Heather and Birch are all offloaded from their horses and escorted after us. I guess this is going to be a mass debriefing, as we're all shoved into the tent. I only hope Balekin isn't invited.
Inside, Madoc's tent is luxurious, in an army camp kind of way. The children stare, huge-eyed, at the embroidered hangings and gleaming swords placed handily on the rack. I give the décor a sour look. How lovely to see that my dear old foster father hasn't changed in the smallest detail since last I knew him: still completely obsessed with weapons, not to mention his own power and status.
"Here." Madoc gestures at two benches, covered in furs. "Sit down, all of you. This is going to be a long talk."
"I bet it will be," Cardan says, giving a huge yawn and sitting down. "It's weary work, being kidnapped. Say, Madoc, what do you say to letting us all get some sleep before we start the interrogation?"
"I'm afraid not, Your Highness," Madoc says with strained patience. "Taryn, sit down."
Reluctantly, I sink down on one of the benches, the children beside me. The bench is hard under its furs. The children huddle close.
"You." Madoc motions at Birch, standing unobtrusively back. "Come here."
Reluctantly, he trails forward. "Yes?"
Madoc fixes him with a gimlet stare. "Tell me how Taryn came to your valley. Tell me all about your association with her."
Birch draws himself up, shoulders set. "Albia was brought to the valley by the unicorn." His voice rings clear and steady. "Seven years ago. Thistleweft—a local weaver—hired her as her son Dogwood's nurse." He nods at Dogwood, dozing off beside me. "I met her a few days later, when Thistleweft introduced her to my tribe. She introduced her as Albia, not Taryn." He pauses. "Nine months later, she had Philomel." He nods at Philomel, who is still tense and staring. "Albia lived well and quietly among us, and adopted Dogwood when Thistleweft was killed by the manticore. She took over the cottage too, after Thistleweft's death."
He's leaving quite a lot out. Nervously, I eye Madoc, wondering how much he knows, but his face is unreadable. "I see."
He paces back and forth before us. I sense he's feeling his way through a whirlwind of emotion and questions. "Translate for Taryn, goblin." Birch nods, standing ready.
Madoc paces on. The silence stretches unbearably.
He halts before me at last. "Taryn: why did you leave?" His hands descend on my shoulders again, and I fight not to shrink away. "How did you escape? Why did the unicorn manifest herself to you? What happened to you?"
The question I've been dreading. I just look at him, not even making the attempt.
"Answer me, Taryn." Madoc's voice takes on a dangerous timber.
"There's no use scolding her, sir." We all look up at Heather, speaking for the first time. "She can't talk about it at all. She's under a curse."
Madoc looks at her sharply. "I know you…You're my eldest daughter's paramour, aren't you?"
Levelly, she nods, not looking at all intimidated. "My name is Heather, sir. Vivi's told me about you."
Madoc gives a wry smile. "I'm sure she has." His gaze snaps back to me. "Taryn…Who cursed you?"
Silence. My palms sweat. Everyone's looking at me. Even Birch is, puzzled by the sudden, ominous pause. Even the children stare up at me quizzically.
"Well?" demands Madoc.
"Taryn?" says Vivienne gently. "Can we…should we…?"
I'm balanced on the edge of a precipice. Beside me, the children shiver like rabbits under the swoop of a hawk. I try to think. Madoc must find out eventually—it may as well be now as later. But not like this.
Slowly, I nod. I sign at Birch. "She says," Birch translates, "that you can tell him, but the children must leave."
"No! I don't want to go!" Philomel wails. She clings to me. Dogwood sobs.
I hug them. It will be all right. Just for a minute.
"No!" Philomel clutches me like she'll never let go.
No, Philomel. I'm sorry, but I have to speak to Madoc alone.
"I'll go with them," Heather volunteers suddenly. She looks at Madoc. "Can you lengthen the range of your spell, sir?"
He nods, and takes out the wand again. Both children shrink back as he approaches, but he taps each of them lightly, and they blink as the spell loosens a little. Madoc goes to the side entrance and calls. Two of his knights, including the Mirror, come in, saluting. "They'll escort you out," Madoc says to Heather. "Stay with the children. And no talking to anyone."
"I'll go, too," Cardan says. He stands. "I'll stay with them," he says to me, unusually serious. "I'll make sure they're safe."
I nod, grateful beyond measure. Even Balekin isn't going to try and snatch Philomel if his brother's there with her.
"Very well," says Madoc. "But, like I said, no talking to anyone."
"Yes, sir." Heather nods. "Come on, kids, we'll find somewhere quiet…"
It takes some doing to extract the kids from my arms—partly because I don't really want to let them go myself. But at last Heather and Cardan escort them away, streaming-eyed and staring back at me, two of Madoc's knights in attendance. I feel a pang as the tent flap falls shut behind them, a wrench like a physical loss. I hope so much they'll be safe. I also hope Balekin is on the far side of the camp.
Madoc watches them go. "That mortal of yours is quite collected, isn't she?" he says to Vivi. "Excellent self-control. I salute your good taste."
Vivienne glares. "You leave her alone."
Madoc shrugs, dismissing Heather, and turns back to me. "Now: what is it that you have to tell me?"
The tense silence falls again. Everyone looks at me. Slowly I nod at Jude, my heart sinking.
Jude clears her throat, takes a deep breath. "On the night of the New Year's ball, Madoc, seven years ago, Balekin…got Taryn on her own. He silenced her voice when she tried to scream. And he…he forced himself on her." The horrible words fall into the shattering quiet. "Then he cursed her," she goes on, hastily, as if to get it over with, "never to let anyone, by word or deed, know anything about what happened. She's under those two curses still."
Absolute, utter silence. Madoc is like a statue of oak, face utterly expressionless. Birch, on the other hand, gapes at me, eyes wide pools of horror.
"Albia?" he whispers. "Albia, is that true? That man…he…?"
I can't nod. But tears come to my eyes.
"No. No, no." He shakes his head, violently, as though that will erase what happened. He makes as if to touch me; then pulls back. "Albia…"
"What happened then?" Madoc demands, voice clipped.
"The unicorn manifested," says Vivienne now. "In response to Taryn's pain. She spirited Taryn away to the valley. Then…she had Philomel."
"Balekin's child?" Madoc asks, still in that hard, clipped tone.
"Yes," Jude says shortly.
Madoc stands rigid. "If she is under a curse not to tell anyone," he says at last, "how did you find out?"
"Taryn embroidered the whole story into a tapestry," Jude explains. "I found the tapestry where she'd hidden it."
Silence falls again. I can't look at Madoc. I can't look at Birch. I don't know which is worse, Birch's open horror or Madoc's ominous stillness. I stare at the rug, in hideous limbo.
Madoc takes a deep, shuddering breath. Very slowly and carefully, he turns away, to pour himself a glass of wine from a nearby stand. The gurgle of the wine is loud in the silent tent.
Then, sudden as a lightning strike, he throws the glass down and dashes the jug to the floor in a single, savage movement. We all flinch back, and no one dares move as, in a series of abrupt, shattering motions, Madoc wrecks all the glasses and breaks apart the stand. Splinters and glass shards go flying.
When the stand is destroyed, Madoc stands over the wreckage, fists still clenched. He takes another deep, deep breath. "I suspected this," he says at last, tonelessly. He lets out a small, unhappy chuckle. "Quite something else, though, to have your suspicions confirmed…"
"What?" Vivienne stares at him, gaping. "You…you knew? And all this while you were working with Balekin—!"
"I did not know." Madoc is getting himself under control now, the tension leaving his frame. Or, rather, coiling up inside him, ready to be unleashed at a more opportune moment. "I suspected. And surely even you, Vivienne, would not expect me to accuse a Prince of Faerie of such a crime without firm evidence."
Vivienne's gasping for breath. "My God, Madoc," she whispers, "did you ever care for Taryn at all?"
"Did I care for her?" Madoc wheels around, hands lashing out; he only just pulls himself back from striking Vivienne. "Did I care for her?" Madoc repeats, voice raw with emotion. "You are young and thoughtless, Vivienne, and you have no idea what I've been through these last seven years! You have no idea what it is to work with a creature you suspect of such a crime against your child. Acting his friend. Never letting him know that you suspect. You have no idea what it is to lie awake, wondering where your daughter is and what she suffered!" He lowers his voice. "But I do. I did. I used Balekin to find Taryn because he was the best tool to hand: Faerie's finest hunter, with the power and resources of a prince. But if you had any notion how many times I came close to killing him…" His hands fist again, clenching tight as drums. "You cannot know. You are not a parent."
Another silence falls. I catch my breath, staring at Madoc, at the open pain on his face. Vivienne may not be a parent, but I am. And I think I know—I can feel—what Madoc went through these last seven years. How he suffered, and what he was willing to do, on my behalf.
"And did you think it was easy for us?" We all turn to Jude. Her gaze is steady and direct on Madoc, her voice quiet. "When Taryn was missing and we had no idea what had happened to her?"
Madoc's fists loosen. He takes another deep breath. "No," he says, voice calming again. "No, I never thought it was easy for you." He turns to Birch. "You left some things out of your narrative, goblin," he says dryly. "The bit about Taryn's miraculous healing power, for example."
"What—?" Birch blinks. "How did you—?"
"He's been spying on us, Birch," spits Vivi. "Am I right, Madoc?"
"Ever since you left the islands," Madoc confirms. "Just quick little peeks, without sound, so you did not sense my spell. I saw Taryn living in that Tree. I saw her healing those wild fey with her hands alone. And I saw her children. That's when my suspicions truly took root," he adds to me. "Philomel has Balekin's mother's eyes."
I stare at him, feeling sick. Philomel has my rapist's mother's eyes. How disgusting. And Madoc saw it, which is even worse, and knew.
"You were spying?" Birch's forehead is wrinkled in thought. "Then surely you saw that Albia was in good health? That she was happy?"
"Indeed," Madoc nods. "That was a great relief."
"Then why?"
Madoc cocks his head at him. "Why what?"
"Why did you kidnap her?" Birch sounds genuinely bewildered. "I can tell you love her. If you could see she was safe and free and happy, why not leave her alone? Why drag her back to Court, where she has no desire to go? Why expose her to…to Prince Balekin? Why not just let her alone, in peace?"
Madoc stares at Birch like he's suddenly started speaking Ancient Urdu. Birch stares back, even more puzzled by Madoc's incomprehension and incredulity. But of course: it would never, in a million years, occur to Madoc to leave one of his kin alone just because they're happier without him. Look what he did to my mother. Just as it would never occur to Birch to do something like that to someone he loved. Oh, Birch. For this alone, I could love…
I could love…
Oh.
Vivienne laughs, sardonic and mocking. "He's got you there, Madoc!"
Madoc dismisses Birch with a wave of his clawed hand. "You don't know what you speak of, goblin. Taryn and her children belong with their family, not a pack of strangers out in the wild, who only value her for her healing powers." He turns to me. "I assume those were given to you by the unicorn?"
I nod, and sign. "She says the unicorn blessed her, and her daughter," Birch translates. "And that wasn't the only reason we valued her," he adds, glaring at Madoc. "She was a friend to us all."
I look at him, aching for him to say…what? Something more, something personal. But he stands rigid and glowering at Madoc.
Madoc waves off the distinction. "Be that as it may, she didn't belong among you. She was raised a High Court lady, the daughter of a General of Faerie: she and her children deserve the High Court, not a hollow Tree in the middle of nowhere." His eyes gleam suddenly. "Indeed, we shall discuss what Taryn's children deserve…in detail. But not here. When we're home."
I feel a chill. There's a stir in the tent as we all share the same foreboding. "Oh, no," says Vivienne, voicing all our thoughts. "What are you up to now?"
"Nothing, for the moment." He goes to the side entrance and calls for his knights. "Bring Prince Cardan, the mortal and my grandchildren back."
After what seems a long time, the two knights return, each bearing a sleeping child in their arms. Dogwood and Philomel are limp in slumber, draped against each knight's chest. I give a sigh of love and relief, seeing my children safe and resting—even as I feel a certain guilty relief that Philomel's eyes are closed. Maybe I'll have adjusted to the idea of her eyes before they open again tomorrow. I hope so.
Heather and Cardan trail in after them, both looking shattered. "It was fine," Cardan says as Birch and I both hurry over. "The knights put us in this little storage tent. No one came."
"The kids fell asleep right away," Heather confirms. "They were exhausted."
"Very well," says Madoc. He takes out that wand again and strikes both children lightly. They moan in their sleep as the magic spikes in them again, tying them more firmly to Madoc. "Put them on the cots we prepared," Madoc orders, putting away his wand.
I forestall the knight carrying Philomel and take her myself. She barely stirs as I hoist her in my arms. Dogwood likewise hardly moans as Birch takes him. Heather was right when she said they were exhausted. My heart squeezes with fear and foreboding. What does Madoc have planned for my children? And how can I possibly protect them?
The knights lead us to the side, where, I notice for the first time, there is a screen set up. Behind it are one adult-sized cot and two child-sized ones. So, Madoc was already prepared to snatch my children along with me—probably from the instant he learned of their existence. I feel a leaden pulse of rage beneath my fear and tiredness.
Birch and I lay the children down. Neither stirs; they stay asleep, faces thin and exhausted. Oh, Dogwood. Oh, Philomel. What a mess I've landed you in. Beside me, Birch's breath hitches as he looks at Dogwood.
"Now," says Madoc, and we turn to face him again. There's a new, cold tone in his voice, and he's drawn himself up. He glares like he's furious with us. "Taryn and my grandchildren will stay here with me," he continues in that clipped, icy tone. "The goblin too. The rest of you will be under guard, and I do not want to see any of you talking to anyone, understand? This is not a pleasure trip. You are not here to make friends, or enjoy yourselves. You are a pack of willful, disobedient children, and I am taking you all home." While we're all blinking at this sudden turn, Madoc turns to his knights. "Make sure no one speaks to them," he says sternly, "not even Prince Balekin, or any of his soldiers."
And now I understand. We're not really in trouble—at least, not with Madoc. He's just trying to insulate us from Balekin and his men by implying that we are all in deep disgrace and being isolated as punishment.
Birch, unfamiliar with Madoc or his schemes, looks puzzled. I nudge him. Just go along with it. He's trying to keep us away from Balekin.
At the mention of Balekin, his crest rises and his tail lashes slowly. His face pinches, even as he nods comprehension. I turn away from the rage and horror in his eyes. I can't bear seeing him like that, especially now that I've realized…I give a soundless, unhappy laugh. It's not an entirely unwelcome revelation, but at such a moment…!
Vivienne crosses the tent to stand protectively by Heather. "What about Heather?" she demands.
"She comes with us, of course," Madoc says coolly.
"No." Vivi takes Heather's arm. "Heather needs to go home."
"Vivi—" Heather starts, but Madoc overrides her.
"She needs to do as I say," he says. He gestures at the knights. "You two, leave for now."
They salute and leave. Vivi waits until they're gone before turning on Madoc. "What do you think you're playing at? Heather's got nothing to do with this—she needs to go back—"
"And if she does go back?" Madoc swoops on her, face urgent, voice even more so. "If she returns Ironside, without any protection? How long before Balekin finds her? How long before he squeezes all the information he can out of her? And then kills her or takes her hostage?" His eyes flick to Heather. "I assume you know about what happened to Taryn?"
She nods levelly. "Yes, sir." Her voice is calm, her face unreadable. It occurs to me that Heather would make a far better courtier than my sisters or I ever would. "I was there when we…figured it out."
"Then you understand why you cannot return Ironside," Madoc says. "Balekin would sniff you out in days."
"I appreciate the danger, sir." She's still so cool, so level. "And the reasoning behind your decision."
Madoc straightens, looking at her like she's suddenly done something interesting. "You're very calm," he states, eyes traveling over her. "Just what did Vivienne tell you about me?"
"Enough to know that I should take care around you, sir," she returns. "Your power is formidable, as well as your anger." She clasps her hands before her. "Certainly, I imagine that your protection shouldn't be rejected, especially in these circumstances."
Now even Cardan is staring at her, and Madoc looks reluctantly impressed. "By my sword and teeth," he murmurs, "I should keep you in Faerie permanently."
"Oh, no you won't," snarls Vivienne. Heather lays a soothing hand on her shoulder.
"It's okay, Vivi. Even if I had the choice, I'd choose to stay. There's no way I'm just leaving you here."
"Then it's settled." Madoc nods, and starts heading for the tent flap.
"Madoc?" Jude speaks up suddenly. Her face has gone very pale, and she's clutching her healed hand.
"Yes?" Madoc glances over his shoulder at her.
"Did you…make Taryn…Did you make her—punish that guard who bit my finger off?" I've never heard Jude's voice so high-pitched and strangled, like it's being dragged out of her by force. "Did you really do that?"
"Taryn told you, did she?" Madoc says absently. "Of course I did. It was what he deserved, and Taryn's duty as your sister." He glances at her curiously. "Why are you bringing that up now?"
Jude holds up her hand. "Taryn healed my finger, look." Her voice still sounds strange, and she's staring at Madoc like she's never seen him before.
Madoc spares Jude's hand a brief glance. "That must be a relief."
Jude and I both stare at him despairingly, and then exchange looks. Jude shakes her head slowly, and I sigh. Madoc doesn't understand. He really doesn't understand.
Sparing Jude's finger no further attention, Madoc goes to the flap, calling back the knights (who, I imagine, must feel like dogs on a jerking leash by now). "Escort the prince, my daughters and the mortal to the tent we have prepared for them," he orders. "Set a guard, and make sure they see and speak to no one. We set out at first light."
Which isn't far away at all. I slump with exhaustion, even as I watch my family file out of the tent, wishing I could call them back. Jude and Vivi both look over their shoulders at me, giving me quick smiles. "Don't worry," calls Jude. "We'll see you in the morning."
And then they're gone, leaving me, Birch and my sleeping children alone with Madoc. Birch and I both turn to him apprehensively, standing protectively in front of the children's cots.
I see the gleam of my knife on the table behind Madoc, my poison pouch placed beside it. I tap Birch's shoulder and sign. "She wants her knife and salt back," he tells Madoc.
Madoc tilts his head, considering. "In the morning," he says at last. I see herbs and earth arranged in a spell-circle around my weapons: in a surge of frustration, I realize I won't be able to snatch them secretly, even if I could sneak past Madoc, which I doubt.
"Birch." Madoc speaks now. "Step outside. I need to speak to Taryn alone."
Birch hesitates. "But—"
"Now, goblin."
Birch goes reluctantly to the tent flap, looking back at me. I have to fight the urge to snatch at him, to hold him with me.
The flap falls shut behind him. I'm alone with Madoc.
He approaches me. I can't help it; I shrink from him, backing away. But he takes no notice as his arms go out.
He pulls me against him and holds me in a long, long embrace. His arms, hard and strong as oak branches, are tight around me. I can feel him tremble with a deep emotion that he would never, ever show in front of others.
"Taryn," he whispers. "Taryn."
I'm stiff with surprise. I can count on one hand the number of times he's hugged me in my life. He might lay an approving hand on my shoulder or ruffle my hair affectionately as a child, but an embrace was the rarest gesture for him. He must have truly feared for me, those years I was gone—and he must feel true outrage for me now.
He lets me out of his embrace, but doesn't let me go. He holds me at arm's length, staring into my face. A bloody light has kindled in his eyes. Fury moves beneath his expression like the form of a shark beneath the water.
"Taryn, my daughter," he whispers, a knife in the dark. "I promise you this: Balekin Greenbriar will pay with his life for what he did to you. These hands of mine shall slice his heart from his chest and feed it to you still bloody, and you shall have all his power in recompense for his crime. This I swear."
My mouth is dry. All I can do is stand and stare at him, frozen with terror. I should be glad, I know. Glad for Madoc's protection and his rage on my behalf, glad that Balekin will pay. That Madoc has sworn to make him pay. But all I can feel is an appalled horror, a despairing helplessness. Madoc is dragging me down into the bloody depths with him once more. Binding me to him, and to Balekin, with tethers of darkness and vengeance and murder.
Just like he did when I was a child and he killed my parents before my eyes. Only this time he's bound my children too.
He swoops down and plants a quick, hard kiss on my forehead. There's no affection in the gesture, no comfort: it's fierce with rage, a dark promise for the future. Sealing the covenant between us, whether I want it or not.
Then, finally, he lets me go. Striding the tent flap, he calls for Birch. I don't watch. I stagger behind the screen and sink onto the adult-sized cot, dazed. I hear Madoc's voice, talking to Birch, but I can't make out what they're saying through the ringing in my ears.
A form stands over me. "Albia?" Birch says hesitantly.
I can't help it. I pitch myself forward into his arms. He stands stiff a moment before softening against me. His arms go around me as I cry silently into his chest. We stand and sway together while, beyond the screen, our captor prepares to go to bed and, I have no doubt, plot his next move.