S
he tried to not look back as she rowed. She didn’t know if she would have the courage to keep going if she saw Taisin and Con on the beach behind her. So she lifted and lowered the oar, watching the icy water fall in clear droplets from the blade, and soon the fortress loomed large ahead of her.
When the bottom of the boat scraped onto the icy beach, she jumped out, her boots splashing into the shallow water as she dragged the boat onto the shore. There was no dock on this side, only the fortress. It was like an iceberg—if an iceberg could form in such a way that towers erupted from it. All around the island the ocean was a deep azure blue, and the colors here were so bright and crisp that Kaede had to squint. There was a causeway leading from the shore into the fortress, and at the end of it she could see doors. The island seemed deserted; the snowy ground was scrubbed clean by the wind. There was no sign of activity, human or fay. She moved toward the causeway, her feet scarring the snow for the first time.
The doors to the fortress were made of some kind of white stone, and in the center of each was a round silver ring hanging from a gleaming hinge. Kaede reached out and wrapped her fingers around one of the rings—it was as thick as her own wrist—and when she lifted it, the door swung open. Inside, sunlight spilled through windows set high in walls so tall that Kaede could barely make out the ceiling far above. The hall she stood in was bare of ornamentation but for a pattern inlaid in the floor. Giant diamonds of glass marked out an impressive star. Opposite the doors, a flight of stairs that seemed to be built of blocks of ice curved up out of sight. There was no other exit from the hall, so Kaede crossed the cold floor and began to climb the stairs. With each step she felt the dagger nestled hard against her leg, nudging the muscles of her calf, reminding her of her purpose.
The stairs ended in a long chamber lined with uncurtained windows. Everywhere she looked, the fortress had the faint blue tinge of ice; even the sunlight seemed less golden than white. She stepped into a slanting square of light coming through one of the windows, and though she felt its warmth on her face, it had no effect on the ice all around her. She went to look out the window and saw the sloping shoulder of the fortress, dusted with snow. Far below was the beach, and there was the boat she had rowed, a dark mark against the white. There was certainly no chance she had arrived unnoticed. Where was Elowen?
She heard a faint sound behind her—like the flapping of delicate wings—but when she spun around, her heartbeat quickening, there was nothing there, only a faint shadow disappearing through a doorway she had not noticed before. She forced herself to walk toward it, even though every nerve in her body was telling her to run away from this place. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
The corridor she entered curved upward. At first the walls were square with the floor, but as she continued on, they began to curve, too, until the corridor was more like a tunnel carved out of the interior of a mountain. There were still windows in the thick walls, but now they were irregularly cut in the ceiling or at floor level. Tunnels branched off to the sides; some of them slanted down; others had steps carved into them leading up. Once she passed a huge archway, and the sight beyond it caused her to stop and look again. There was a crystal cradle there, and a rocking chair, and on the floor a smear of what looked like blood. It was a nursery. She was drawn inside almost against her will, her curiosity vying against the desire to flee. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she approached the cradle, but it was empty, and the blood was long dried.
Somewhat relieved—for the memory of the Ento creature had reared up fresh in her mind—she went back out into the corridor, and the shadow fluttered in the distance again. She followed it with renewed determination, but she only ever saw the shadow out of the corner of her eye. The tunnel was so interminable that she was unprepared when it abruptly ended in a vast chamber as large as a cavern. Far above, icicles hung from the rough ceiling. Round windows scattered high in the walls revealed the blue sky, and sunlight streamed in over a sight that caused Kaede to catch her breath. The cavernous room was filled with golden cages, round and square and rectangular, some stacked on top of each other, others standing alone. Inside the cages were the fay she had seen in Mona’s book. Some of them looked at her, and their eyes were pinpoints of light: gold and silver and emerald green. The ones closest to her crept to the bars of their cages, and a few extended their arms, reaching for her. One, an excited creature with wings, began to throw itself against the bars, creating a ringing noise. That sound attracted the attention of its neighbors, and a whisper began to spread throughout the chamber, a moving wave of voices that Kaede realized, with a sinking feeling, she had heard before. These were the sounds that Taisin had made at night in her dreams: the eerie, half-senseless murmurings of beings trapped behind bars.
On the far side of the cavern was a door, and Kaede knew, as soon as she glimpsed it, that this was her destination. Her stomach heaved, for this meant that she had to walk through the cavern, past all the cages and all those strange creatures with their sad, brilliant eyes. She took a deep breath and stepped into the prison.
As she walked, she saw that some of the cages were empty, and some of the fay looked almost human. Some were very small—barely the size of her hand, tiny humanoid beings with butterfly-like wings in riotous shades of gold and orange. Several were hunched over in their cages, paying no attention to her as she passed. There were some who looked like human women, but had skin the color of moss and lips like bark; they moved with a lissome grace, treading circles in their cages. One of them reached out to her, and her fingers resembled roots twisting up from the ground. There were cages large enough to contain pools built into the floor, and beings with silvery scales instead of skin swam beneath the surface. Some of the imprisoned fay looked like harmless children, and these horrified her the most, for she wondered if any of them had ever been sheltered in that nursery.
By the time she reached the other side of the cavern, the whispering words had ceased. She glanced back, and the fay in her vicinity were watching her with expectant eyes. In one motion, as if pulled by a greater force, they looked behind her, and a shiver ran down her spine. She turned around slowly, half expecting a monster to rise up and consume her—but there was nothing but the door. An ordinary, human-sized door, with an ordinary, human-sized handle. She walked to it, and when she put her hand on the doorknob, a sigh ran through all the creatures in the hall. She squared her shoulders, nervous sweat dampening her skin, and opened the door.
The first thing she saw was a long expanse of shining ice—the floor was like a frozen lake in midwinter—and at the far end was a dais and a throne that looked just like the Fairy Queen’s. But on this throne, Elowen waited. She had golden hair and eyes, high cheekbones, and her mouth was a red slash across white skin. She was clothed from head to toe in white fur, and at her right hand a fairy no more than a foot tall hovered in midair, her wings fluttering like a hummingbird’s. A sprite, Kaede remembered.
“Welcome,” Elowen said. “Please come closer; it is so rare that I have visitors.” She spoke in Kaede’s language with the same accent the Fairy Queen had.
Kaede was moving before she knew what she was doing. The floor was slick and cold; she could feel it seeping through the soles of her boots as she walked toward the throne. She also felt the unexpected, dizzying sensation of someone pushing into her mind. Everything suddenly tipped off-balance; the icy floor and walls and windows spun around her; she fell to her knees.
Her vision went black.
There was a deep, insistent tugging, as though someone were trying to pull the very core of her out through her mouth. She moaned, her fingernails scraping against the ice.
Just as suddenly, the pressure eased, and the blackness exploded into blinding white light. She blinked and blinked; the light became white walls and floor and windows—and a throne.
She was twenty feet away from Elowen, and the dagger was pressing against her calf. Her breath steamed out of her.
“That’s a surprise,” Elowen said. “You’re not the one I expected. Who are you?”
“My name is Kaede,” she said before she could stop herself.
“
Kaede
,” Elowen said, her tongue caressing the sounds as though they were made of the sweetest honey. Kaede felt her entire body quiver, and for a moment she thought she might do anything at all for Elowen—anything. Still on her knees, she gazed up at Elowen, who seemed to glow with a radiant light.
“What brings you to my fortress?” Elowen asked.
“I have come to kill you,” Kaede said, the words pouring out of her, and Elowen laughed.
“Is that so? Wonderful. I hope you will allow me to offer you some refreshment before you undertake your task.” From nowhere, a chair appeared in the middle of the floor, and when Elowen said, “Sit down,” Kaede obeyed her.
A little round table was drawn up nearby, and on that table stood a crystal goblet filled with golden liquid. “Drink,” Elowen said. The word was freighted with such seductiveness that Kaede picked up the goblet without hesitation. She could smell the fragrance wafting up from the wine: honey, peaches, flowers in midsummer, as intoxicating as first love. Kaede’s eyelids fluttered as the scent of it wrapped around her.
She raised it to her lips, and just as she was about to take a sip, Taisin flooded into her as though a dam had broken. Kaede couldn’t breathe; Taisin was breathing for her. She felt oddly doubled, as if she could see everything twice as clearly. The goblet—the wine—she knew instantly that she must not drink it. With shaking hands, she set it roughly back down on the table. Some of the wine splashed over the rim, spilling onto her hand. She rubbed the sticky liquid onto the edge of her cloak. She could feel Taisin’s heart beating in time with her own, and it made her light-headed. To have Taisin so close to her—inside her—and yet not physically present—it was an extraordinarily strange experience. She looked at her hands; they were her own hands, and yet it was like seeing them for the first time. The palms were torn up from the descent down the glacier wall, the skin scabbed over where the ice had cut her. She felt as though Taisin were sliding her own hands into hers, like gloves—but Kaede was the glove. She was the armor that Taisin had put on, here, to face Elowen.
Elowen looked at Kaede with narrowed eyes, unable to discern exactly what had happened, but certain that something had changed. Earlier, Kaede’s mind had been a closed box; that was not unexpected for an ordinary human, but no ordinary human should be able to resist the wine. The girl should have drunk it and fallen into a delirium; that was what happened when Elowen issued a command: It was obeyed. Who was this girl? Elowen decided to change her strategy.
She said, “I see my mother has sent someone to challenge me.” She twisted the word
mother
in her mouth as if it tasted bitter. She saw the shock on Kaede’s face, and a smile pulled at her lips. “Does that come as a surprise to you? No wonder—my mother was always so ashamed of her own weakness for
humans
. She tried to make sure that no one knew I was her true daughter. Not even, it seems, the human she sent to kill me.” The sprite floated down to alight on the armrest of the throne, and Elowen stroked her yellow hair, making her shiver. “I suppose she thinks it’s some kind of poetic justice: sending a human to do the job. But I think it’s more like cowardice. She didn’t have the nerve to do it herself. What do you think?”
“I—I don’t know,” Kaede said. Taisin was fully within her; Kaede couldn’t discern which of them was speaking.
Elowen pulled a disappointed face. “Oh, come now. I have so few visitors. You must indulge me with a little conversation. Tell me: What did my mother do to convince you to become a murderer?”
Kaede felt Taisin tense with fear inside her, and the fear spread into her own body as she faced Elowen’s catlike golden eyes. Neither of them knew what to say.
Elowen was impatient. “I suppose she told you that I am selfish; that I hunger for power that should never be mine. Did she tell you that? She is wrong, Kaede. She knows nothing of what I want—she has never known. But she can be very convincing, it is true. I believe she has convinced you, even though she did it with lies.”
Taisin rejected Elowen’s words, but Kaede wanted to know: “What lies?”
“Ah,” Elowen said, as though pleased to be asked. “Did she tell you that she raised me with every luxury? That I had everything a girl could wish for? She lied. A thousand baubles are nothing when you are raised to know that you were a mistake—the result of a tragic accident. She told me that my human half meant that I would never be as powerful as an ordinary Xi; that I would be doomed to live a short life and die decades before she would need to name her heir.” Elowen’s face filled with anger. “I was such a disappointment to her. Do you know what it is like to grow up under that shadow? To have your only parent look at you with disgust?”
Even though Kaede recoiled from the golden-eyed woman in front of her, part of her recognized that Elowen’s bitterness disguised a deeper hurt, and Kaede’s sympathy showed on her face.
“You understand,” Elowen said, her voice turning soft and gentle. “How hard it is, to be rejected by one’s own flesh and blood. I see that you have experienced this, too.”
Kaede wanted to object, but she felt Taisin pulling her back. Taisin’s thoughts came through as clearly as if she had spoken them out loud:
She is trying to manipulate you
. Kaede stayed silent, and Elowen went on.
“How could I endure it? I couldn’t. I had to leave. I traveled to your kingdom, though I kept myself cloaked and concealed. I knew that I would never be able to find my father—my mother would never even tell me his name—but I wanted to see what sort of people he came from. I soon learned that my mother, for all her secret weakness for humans, knows nothing about them. She couldn’t see, as I did, that the shortness of your life makes you work so much harder than any Xi. It’s the fear of death that does it, I think. Don’t you agree?”