Jorsin felt the trickle of blood down his cheek from the three deep cuts. He paid them no notice, all his attention upon the Queen in front of him.
"How could you? How could you leave her out there, you incompetent fool? She is a child. I ordered you to fetch her, to bring her back. Yet here you stand before me, empty handed. Not only that, but you have riled up the Little Folk. You know our laws. You know our ways. That which even the youngest fae-child knows. Yet you chose to violate them. Why?"
Jorsin stared ahead, stony-faced, choosing his words. The truth was, he didn't know why. He had known the wrongness of it. Of course he understood the ancient laws which had long governed the fae, the laws of the earth, air, fire and water. The treaty of the land and sea, of mountain and wind. He had known that to interrupt the Dance of Renewal was a crime of the highest order. Yet he had done it anyway. He hadn't had a choice. The blood-oath had driven him forward. So carelessly invoked by the Queen, it had forced him into the midst of the faeries. To bring the princess back home. And yet, she hadn't been there. That was more shocking to him than his violation. Never before had the blood-oath failed him so. Where he had thought to see the princess, he had only seen her. That fae-girl. Insignificant, like so many others. He had seen her before and never remarked upon her. He didn't even know her name. And yet, his thoughts dwelled upon her. Like a spell upon his mind.
The silence stretched longer than he intended. He hurried to fill it and answer his Queen's question.
"I cannot say exactly, your majesty, but there are forces at work here. I do not think the princess's disappearance is a mere coincidence. There have been other disappearances in recent days. Dogs, cats and other domestic creatures. Two weeks ago, a child was found drowned in a well. There were marks upon her body, marks of a beast. And now the princess disappears. It is not yet Midsummer, the height of Mala's power, but the Little Folk begin the Dance of Renewal now."
The Queen frowned at him, his blood dripping from her limp hand onto the stone floor of the throne room.
"What are you saying?"
Jorsin straightened his back and looked her in the eye, refusing to flinch at the pain in his cheek as he spoke.
"I am saying that something is happening. Something beyond our control, and the Little Folk know it too."
The Queen nodded thoughtfully. Jorsin could tell that her fury hadn't abated, but it was contained for now. Controlled, as she puzzled over his words.
"It matters little, Blackthorn. Whether there are other forces at work or not, I need my daughter back here, safe and unharmed. If others are scheming to capture her, then you must thwart them." She looked Jorsin dead in the eye, her gaze steely. "My daughters mean more to me than anything else. You will bring her back, or die in the attempt." She frowned as something else occurred to her, "Oh and try to avoid violating and more sacred ceremonies, Blackthorn. I have problems enough without adding a faerie curse to the pyre."
Through the song, she had sensed it. Nearby. Endless. Powerful. So very powerful. More power than she had felt since Him. The power to shake the foundations of a world. Power such as she had never had. Not since the before time. Power that she needed.
And the power had gone. Frustration. Anger. Hunger.
All lost. The gate would never open. Not for her. Always hungry. Never satiated. The plan would fail. Her purpose unsatisfied. She needed to be strong.
Reaching through the void. Searching. Searching…
Venom drips from her teeth. She feels … something else … another. There is another…
Time to spin another web…
"Once, there was a land, a wild land, with no people, only the plants and animals, the sun, the sea, the wind and the open sky."
"What sort of animals were there?"
Mora smiled at her sister. "All sorts. The animals of the forest, like the stag, the wolf and the bear, the animals of the sea, like the fish, the choral and the great sea snake and the animals of the desert, such as the lion, the sphinx and the dragon."
"Were there bunnies?"
Mora smiled patiently. "Yes, there were bunnies, and all the creatures."
"What about the Little People? Were they there too?" Mab stared at Mora, with her guileless blue eyes, her thumb poised before her mouth.
Mora shook her perfect silver head. "No, they came later, along with us."
"Where were we? Why were there no people?"
"Well, to begin with, there were no people and no stars and no moon. Each night, when the sun went to bed, there was only black."
"Why was there no moon? How could you see at night if there was no moon and no stars?"
Mora stroked her sister's golden curls, and kissed her. "I'll get to that bit, if you don't keep interrupting."
Mab stuck out her tongue. Mora gasped, pretending to be offended. "If you don't want a story, then I suppose I'll have to put you to bed."
Mab scowled at her, crossing her little arms. "No. I want a story." She settled back into Mora's lap. "So long as there isn't any kissing in this story."
Mora gave a silvery laugh and tickled Mab in response. "I promise there is no kissing in this story."
"Good." Mab lay back against Mora's chest.
Mora continued stroking Mab's hair and closed her eyes.
"Once, there was a land, wild and unspoiled – "
"What does unspoiled mean?"
"Spoiled is like bad meat. Or when someone keeps interrupting a story."
"Oh. Sorry."
" – and in that land, there were only animals, but no people, the Sun, but no moon or stars. All of the elements were wild too. In some places, the wind was too strong, or the sun too harsh or the land frozen in ice and nothing grew."
"What are elements?"
Mora rolled her eyes and briefly considered if it would be un-queenly to gag her sister. "The four elements govern the world, earth, air, wind and fire."
"Oh." Mab looked puzzled and then raised her hand. liquid flowed from her open palm, forming a swirling ball of water, that threatened to become a torrent. "A bit like magic then?"
Mora closed her sister's fist, covering it with her own and letting the cool serenity from within herself flow over her sister's palm, smothering the magic with a cool breeze. It really would be un-queenly to let her sister flood the castle. "Yes, just like magic. But let me get to that part."
She closed her eyes again, resting her chin lightly on Mab's head. "Like the land, the elements were wild, running as they would. Sometimes, green places, full of life, animals, trees and water, would burn and be replaced by desert. Other times, the whole land would be gripped in an age of ice for years and years, killing off all but the hardiest of animals and the strongest of plants. The whole land was caught in endless ages of life and death, with life always having to start again. It was harsh and terrible." Mora felt Mab settling down, her thumb once again in her mouth and her eyes closed. Mora could tell she was still awake, though, her pointed ears twitching with every word.
"Then, one night, whilst the land was caught in a deep and terrible winter, came the first fae Queen."
"Like mother?" murmered Mab.
"Yes, like mother. But this was the first Queen. She was strong and powerful, and rich in magic. She was looking for a land to settle her people in and call her own. And when she arrived, she saw how harsh the land was, and how terrible the winter that went on forever. And she said to herself, 'This won't do. How can my people live in a land that is always winter?' So the Queen pushed aside the clouds and let the sun shine upon the land once more. Soon, the ice began to melt, and the plants began to grow once more. However, when the sun went to bed, and the night fell, the land grew dark and fearful. So said the Queen to herself, 'My people cannot live in a land where each night they are afraid.' So the Queen had an idea. She picked up some stones and breathed her magic into them. She then threw them into the sky, and their light shone down upon the land, becoming the stars. So, though the night was cold, and the darkness scary, the stars might shine their light and guide their way.
"The first of the Queen's people to arrive were the Little Folk, the faeries, pixies and aelfkyn. They arrived under the light of the stars and loved them at once. By starlight, they danced and celebrated their new home. As the sun rose, the Little Folk grew weary and crept into the hollows of the trees, the rocks and the rivers and lakes, and waited for the stars to return.
"The Queen knew that her people would not last long in this land against the harsh beasts and terrible monsters that lurked there. So she called forth the fiercest of the creatures of the land, the doughty dryad, the most powerful of the mountain monsters, the cunning dragon, the swiftest of the creatures of the wind, the bold eagle and the wisest of the sea creatures, the great sea snake. When the four lords of the land beheld the power and strength of the mighty Queen, they bowed before her and asked what boon she would have of them. From the four of them, she extracted oaths, that none of the land, sea, mountain or air, would harm her followers, lest they suffer her wrath. In return, her people would respect and nourish the land and offer safe haven to all creatures who would abide in her treaty.
"And so it was, that the Little Folk and the land and creatures lived in harmony. All were content, until the second group of the Queen's followers arrived, the fae."
Mora's voice paused, as she tried to remember the story that her mother had told her, back when she was Mab's age. It had never been her favourite. She had preferred the tales of romance and true love, but Maeve had always spoilt those. She always snorted whenever Mora had talked about feelings or true love, saying she would bite any male who tried to touch her, flashing that sharp grin of hers. Maeve always wanted stories where the prince was turned into a frog or eaten. Or everyone died. She supposed that Mab was a bit like Maeve in that way. She too seemed to get bored with romance, preferring Mora's stories of magic and adventure.
The sound of heavy breathing interrupted Mora's thoughts. Mab was fast asleep, her arms and legs sprawled over Mora's lap. She slowly slid her sister gently into her bed and laid the covers over her, brushing her hair away from her face. Mora smiled fondly, as Mab instinctively tucked her thumb back into her mouth. Mora quietly closed her sisters door behind her and made her way towards her own chambers, the detail of guards that her mother had assigned to protect her, following Maeve's disappearance, falling in around her.
It was just like Maeve to create a fuss. She wished her older sister could have tried to fit in, but she never had. She had always been different. When Mora had been Mab's age, she had looked up to Maeve, wanting to go with her, trying to rush after her whenever Maeve ran off on an adventure, but Maeve had always gone her own way. She'd always been lost in her own little world, her own adventure, and never had any time for Mora.
Eventually, Mora had given up waiting for Maeve and had gone her own way. As Maeve and their mother had become increasingly estranged, with each little rebellion and selfish escapade, Mora had come to realise that the responsibility and dignity of the throne would have to fall to her. When Mab had come along, Mora took it upon herself to support her mother in taking care of her little sister. Being the sister and daughter that she wished Maeve had been for her.
As she opened the door to her own chambers, nodding politely to her guards. They nodded back, arranging themselves around the entrance, Once inside, through the open window, she could make out the shadows of two more guards on the balcony. All of this security seemed completely un-necessary. She wasn't like Maeve. It wasn't like she was going to run away as well. She wasn't that selfish.
Mora slowly undressed herself and slipped into her night clothes. As she undid her silver braid, she wondered where Maeve was right now. She and Aelix had been missing for a whole day now. Maeve had run away before, but never overnight. Mora was also a little surprised that Aelix had run away too. She had always seemed much more sensible than that. Mora hoped they were alright. She then told herself not to worry. Jorsin would find them and bring them back; he was big and strong and very brave, like a prince from one of her favourite tales. Mora lay down on her bed and blew out her candle, plunging the chamber into darkness.
As she closed her eyes, Mora felt something brush against her cheek. It felt like the kiss of silk against her skin, light and soft. She opened her eyes again. All she could see was the darkened ceiling above her. She sat up in bed, frowning at the room around her. Empty.
She felt the silken touch again, like fingers of gossamer against her bare neck, caressing her skin. Maeve whipped around, but was confronted only by a blank wall. She considered calling out to the guards, but it seemed a bit silly. It was probably just the wind from the open window messing up her sheets. Mora straightened her covers and flattened her pillow, before settling down once more.
As she closed her eyes a second time, she heard a thud. On the end of the bed. The whole covers moved with the weight of the thing. She heard the clack of something hard nocking together. Nails or teeth.
Mora's eyes flew open and she scrabbled to get up, call out to the guards. Then she felt it. A hand. A hand on her face, skin soft, like gossamer. It pulled her backwards. In front of her, her wide, terrified eyes could see nothing. Just blackness. As she opened her mouth to scream, the blackness rushed in.
Jorsin frowned at the desk and the dark stain in the wood. He had seen much worse things in his service to the Queen, but, for some reason, the sight of the dried blood unsettled him.
"She has always been a strange one, more beast than fae. I've done my best with her. I always have. I've tried to bring her up right and proper, the way the Queen ordered. I've taught her needlework, heraldry, poise and posture, accounting, history and horticulture. None of it sticks. None of it. Not to speak ill of one of royal Blood, but she would rather wallow in mud, like a swine, than learn to be brought up proper, like."
Jorsin turned his frowning gaze to the female. She wasn't elderly. Not truly. But the bitterness about her mouth and the limpness of her pale hair made her seem a crone, the centuries weighing heavily upon her. Her worn hands fidgeted with the ring of keys she had used to open up the princess's suite, her nails cracked and broken.
"Is that why you beat her so hard that she bled?"
The female started at his words, "Beat her? No lord. I would never beat the princess, though she may have deserved it at times." She swallowed, "She was of the Blood, my lord. Like her mother and her fair sisters, though she may not have looked it or seemed it."
Jorsin thought on that a moment. It was true that Maeve had always little resembled her mother or sisters. Even when she had been a young child, younger even than Princess Mab, she had been different. Where her mother had been like the warm summer sun, Maeve was like the dark of winter. As a girl, she had cried little and rarely talked. In the alehouses and taverns, Jorsin had even heard some of the more talkative fools wonder if Princess Maeve had been a changeling from the Little Folk, a curse upon the Bloodline for their hubris. The hubris of that first Queen. Such talk was nonsense, of course, and Jorsin had soon ended such idle chatter, violently if necessary.
Nevertheless, after the birth of her sisters, Maeve had been quietly left to fade into the background. More and more the Queen had side-lined her eldest daughter in favour of her younger sister, Mora. Mora, who so resembled the Queen in appearance and, with her sweetness that won the hearts of all who met her, was so clearly destined to be the perfect princess.
In recent years, the Queen had so rarely sent for her eldest daughter, that Jorsin, as the Queen's blood-sworn and staunch bodyguard, had rarely thought about the girl. Only when the princess had threatened to bring the Queen's reputation into disrepute had she even deigned to speak to the girl. For the most part, she had been kept out of sight, with few attendants, in this quiet, half-forgotten part of the castle, far enough from the Queen's chambers that their paths would not cross each other.
Jorsin had never worked out what had turned the Queen so against her eldest child, the only explanation he could think of being the foolish rumour of her birth.
"So who's blood is it then?" he asked the crone. It didn't matter the Queen's feelings towards her daughter, or about any rumours. He had been ordered to find Maeve and he would. That started with finding out how she had slipped past him last night. He hadn't seen her in the castle grounds, which meant that there was still a chance that she was in the castle.
The crone swallowed again. Jorsin got the feeling that she was moderately embarrassed. "That's no one's, my lord. No one's. She's no one important."
Jorsin's frown deepened. It was probably nothing. In a castle, accidents between servants happened often. A bit of blood being spilled accidentally was not uncommon. However, for it to have been left like that and not cleaned up… Around the edges of the stain, Jorsin could see a darker brown. Older blood. Whatever injury had happened here had occurred many times before, deliberately.
"Don't play games with me, wench. What poor wretch do you steal away here and beat so bad that they bleed?"
The crone flinched and cringed away from him, "She's no one, my lord. Just a girl. A servant. I don't do it idly, my lord. It is fair and just punishment."
Jorsin could only stare at the desk. The wood was pitted and gouged. Whatever punishment had been served here would have left a mark beyond a simple beating. This was torture. The cruelty of such an act happening repeatedly in this castle, right under his very nose, set his blood boiling.
"Tell me, lady," Jorsin spat the word, like an insult. "What injury, what crime, could a child commit that she deserved to be beaten half to death?" He stared into the crone's flinching eyes, letting her feel the force of his anger. "I have seen torture chambers cleaner than chamber."
The crone cringed again, wringing her hands, "You do not understand, my lord. She was a wicked girl. A deceiver. A temptress," she stuttered, "a … a … slattern."
"A slattern?" Jorsin repeated quietly.
The crone made a strangled noise, tears in her fearful eyes. "Yes, my lord. She… she gets in your head. Such black thoughts. Such wicked ideas. She puts them there. They aren't mine. I know it." The crone's hatred seemed to overcome her fear of Jorsin. She spat on the floor. "Such blasphemous and lustful thoughts, lord." She looked Jorsin in the eye for the first time in their whole exchange. He could see the absolute loathing there, smouldering like coals. "Such filth as her was no fit companion for the princess. Such a whore would never be a lady."
Jorsin felt sick. It was all he could do to keep himself from running the crone through there and then. How could such a creature have been left in a position of authority in the castle? How could she have been left alone, with a princess of the realm? Then it struck him, like cold water. The girl by the lake. He had known her. He had seen her before, with the princess. Her companion, a girl of little significance and no real bloodline, unlike those of the other two princesses. Because no noble family would want their daughters to be companions to a changeling, that vicious rumour depriving the princess of friendship her whole life. He did not know the girl who had eventually become the princess's confidant, only seeing her occasionally in the fringes of court, along with all the other servants and ladies, both great and small.
At the time, he hadn't recognised her, down by the lake. He had been too intent on finding the princess. However, as the confidant of the princess, perhaps Maeve's only friend, she would surely know where the princess had gone.
Another realisation sank in as well. The desk. The fresh blood. The crone's revelation. She must be running away. Why else had she been down by the lake in the early hours of the morning? And what had she been doing at the Dance of Renewal? Why had the faeries not been bothered by her presence? He would have to find the girl and wring the truth from her. He pitied her circumstances, but the blood-oath meant that he must find the princess, whatever the cost.
For now, though, there was still the crone to deal with.
"How long have you been governess for the princess, Lady Senelle?"
The crone seemed taken aback by the sudden change in the conversation.
"I have served the Princess Maeve for seven years, my lord. Before that, I was the ladies maid for the Lady Azshara. I have served the royal household for over seventy years, though, in roles both great and small."
Seven years. Something must be significant about that. It was around then that the Queen had side-lined her eldest daughter and taken Mora to court instead, her clear chosen successor. Jorsin racked his brains, trying to remember what could have caused that to happen. Nothing came to mind. Seven years. Seven years Senelle had been with the princess. Seven years she had terrorised those two girls.
Jorsin drew his sword. Senelle hissed in surprise and cringed away from him. Jorsin felt only fury as he looked at her.
"Whatever has happened here, whatever role you have played in the disappearance of the princess, you will answer for what you have done."
"I have done nothing! I have only served! I have only ever served the crown and our Queen! I would never have harmed the princess! I only ever tried to protect her! Believe me!" Jorsin turned from her in disgust. He had had enough. He called in the guards in to take her away.
He rubbed his eyes after she was gone. None of this explained how the princess and her companion had escaped a locked room. A room he had in fact been guarding. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have. At the time, the whole thing had seemed a waste of time, more of a punishment for him, than a real duty. He had heard movement during the night, but thought nothing of it. He was one of the foremost warriors in the land and he had been guarding a twelve year old girl. He had paid it no heed.
Jorsin ran his eye over the room. The princess had to have escaped from this chamber. He had given the other rooms a cursory glance. They were surrounded by solid stone. The bedroom windows were too narrow, even for a young girl. He had found no note. No sign or clue as to what the girl had intended. The only thing that had seemed out of place was a curious flower in the princess's room, green, and shaped like a lily flower, though it emitted a slight iridescence.
Jorsin stared down from the window from the central chamber. It was certainly big enough to escape from. However, unless the princess was an unusually gifted climber, she would almost certainly have fallen to her death trying to escape from here. Unlike the rooms in the Queen's tower, the suite did not have a balcony. This tower was part of the original keep of the castle, far older than the more recent palace that the Queen had constructed here in more recent years; though the room showed signs of having been refurbished from when the fortress had been converted into a palace of leisure, with rich decoration and panelling. For all that, the room was still sparsely furnished. There was the stained desk, three chairs and an ornate bookcase. Other than the bookcase, the room seemed as furnished as a prison cell.
Something about the bookcase seemed completely out of place. Whereas the chairs and desk were cheap and simple, the sort of furnishings one would expect in a peasants house, the bookcase was gilded and imposing. It also seemed incomplete. Though the facings were smooth and well polished, the sides were rough and unvarnished. As if it had once been flanked by at least two other bookcases, this being the central one. Or perhaps even part of a library, the rest of the furnishings long since removed. It was clear to Jorsin that the Queen must have made a particular effort to deprive her daughter of any comfort and luxury. None of this made sense to Jorsin. He could understand pushing the girl aside, but why had the Queen gone out of her way to turn her daughter's chambers into little more than a bare prison?
Also, If the furnishings had been removed, why was the bookcase still here? Jorsin ran his hands over the wood. However, when he touched the back of the bookcase, he found only stone. The whole thing was fused into the wall. No, not fused. He could see tell-tale cracks, running around the edge of the bookcase, into the stone behind. He looked up and, in the ceiling, he could see a hinge of stone. The whole thing was a door. But how to open it?
Jorsin's fingers slid along the gilt-work. He felt a slight indent in the chest of a satyr. A key-hole. But where was the key? Any key for the door had likely been lost long ago, when the library had been gutted. If the key had been lost, then how could the princess have got through the door? No, the key had to be here somewhere. The books were all wrong. They were all recent editions. None of them matched the grandure and opulence of the bookshelf. There had to be something else.
Jorsin looked around the room. There was nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing except –
He rolled his eyes at his stupidity. There, on the floor, where Senelle had dropped them, was the ring of keys to the suite. Jorsin picked up the ring and returned to the bookcase. He searched amongst the heavy metal keys, looking for one that might fit the lock.
He pulled out a small silver key. It seemed wrong, amongst the dark iron keys of the key ring, ornate and intricately wrought, like the gilding on the bookcase. Also, in the loop of the key, he saw what looked like mud. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Not mud, clay. In the teeth of the key also. This key had been duplicated at some point.
It wouldn't have been too hard for the princess to sneak into Senelle's room at some point and copy the key, whilst the crone was sleeping. Who had smelted the duplicate for the princess was a question for another time. Jorsin fitted the key into the lock and turned. He heard counter-weights moving in the ceiling and behind the bookcase. Slowly, the whole floor around the bookcase began to move, rotating around and revealing a dark space behind.