“Lady Vinaver requests you both.” The lady was gowned in a plain russet smock, and her long yellow curls were held back by a simple gold chaplet. “If you will, my lady?” She dropped a small curtsy, then rose, and indicated the open door. “Sir mortal, if you please?”
Dougal made a sound almost like a growl, and again Delphinea had the distinct impression that unlike the mortals she’d heard of, he hated everything about Faerie. But why, when everything she’d seen of Shadow—the dust, the rust, even the clothes he wore—was so coarse, so crude? He needed one hand on the mantel to pull himself up. Delphinea followed Leonine through the door and hesitated, just inside the threshold. Another attendant, this one clothed in the color of autumn wheat, slipped past them, carrying a large willow basket of stained linen.
Vinaver lay on the edge of a great bed, which incorporated a natural hollow within the tree. It was lined with silk velvet that resembled moss, draped with filmy curtains. Her usually vivid color had drained away, leaving her coppery hair dull as the rust that marred the hinges of the Caul Chamber, her narrow cheeks and shriveled lips chalky. For the first time, Delphinea saw the resemblance she bore to Alemandine. And to Timias. Great Herne, he’s her father, too. And didn’t she say he wanted her drowned at birth? She had no memory of her own father—he had gone into the West a long time ago, but her mother never failed to speak of him with anything but bemused anticipation of seeing him again.
“Leonine, bring her closer. Come here, child.” Vinaver’s voice was faint, but still sharp with innate command, and Delphinea was glad to hear Vinaver yet retained something of her determined spirit. But as the attendant gently propelled her across the polished floor, Delphinea’s eyes filled with tears when she saw Vinaver’s face more closely. “Don’t weep for me,” Vinaver said. “There’s not enough time.” Her hand plucked at Delphinea’s sleeve until she slid her warm hand into Vinaver’s cold one. Vinaver tugged weakly and Delphinea leaned over, until her face hung only a scant handspan above the older sidhe’s. It occurred to her that Vinaver appeared only marginally more lifelike than the pale faces of the dead sidhe in the starlight. “I hated those wings. I was a fool to suggest them and a fool to grow them.” She paused, as if gathering her strength, and tugged again once more, until Delphinea’s ear was practically right against her lips. Her breath was like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. “I want you to tell me, quickly, don’t think about it, just tell me—is Finuviel dead—truly dead?”
Not yet. “Not yet.” The words rose automatically to Delphinea’s lips. All she had to do was open her mouth.
“Not yet,” Vinaver breathed. She closed her eyes, then opened them. “He didn’t come, but you did. With a gremlin of all things. Whatever possessed you?” She gripped Delphinea’s hand so tightly, Delphinea was forced to bite back a yelp of pain. “How was it ever possible you were able to bring the gremlin? And why? What on earth made you do it?”
“He saved me, my lady. He led me here. But for Petri, I might have met whatever killed that host, myself. But, m-my lady—” she faltered. Where to even begin? She didn’t understand any of it. She blurted out the first question that occurred to her. “Why do you ask me if your son still lives? I’ve never even met him. And why are you surprised that I should come? You told me yourself that my life’s in danger, and you turned out to be right. Which is why I brought Petri, for he helped me to escape.” Delphinea turned, following the movement of Vinaver’s eyes, to see Petri crouching in the doorway. “Timias intended to sequester them early. It seemed so cruel—so meaningless—”
“Timias has his reasons, child, don’t ever doubt that Timias does anything without a reason.” An ugly look flashed across Vinaver’s face. “This should not be.”
Delphinea collapsed to her knees, so that she was level with Vinaver’s face. “It seems that there are many things that should not be, my lady. Perhaps you’d better tell me what’s going on. Where’s the Caul, and where’s Finuviel, and who’s responsible for that horror in the Forest?”
But Vinaver only closed her eyes and sighed. “So many questions all at once.” She tried to shake her head a little but winced.
“I have more.”
“Tell her the truth, Vinaver.” Dougal spoke from the door. Petri sniffed at his leg like a hound at a scent, and Dougal swatted him away. “Tell her the whole truth.”
“We took the Caul,” Vinaver answered wearily, her eyes closed, her cheek flat against her pillow. “Finuviel and I, and we gave it to a mortal.”
“But why?” Delphinea rocked back on her heels in horror.
“It’s as you guessed, child. The Silver Caul is poisoning Faerie. I couldn’t tell you the truth in the palace. How was I to know you’d not go running to Timias the moment I’d left your room? We took the Caul, Finuviel and I, and he gave it to a mortal to hold in surety of the bargain.”
“What bargain?” Delphinea drew back, staring down at Vinaver in horror.
“We needed a silver dagger. Where else to get it but from the mortals?”
“You mean to kill the Queen?”
“No.” Vinaver shut her eyes once more. “I could never kill my sister.” She opened her eyes. “But, she’s not really—she’s not really my sister.” Delphinea cocked her head and sank down once more onto a low stool that Leonine had drawn up to the bed, as Vinaver continued. “Alemandine isn’t really anything at all—she’s neither sidhe nor mortal. She’s a—a residue of all the energy that was left over when the Caul was created. The male and female energy mingling in my mother’s womb was enough to create her out of ungrounded magic, magic from her union with Timias and the mortal. They didn’t consider what would happen—they didn’t understand the energies they were working with. No one ever really does, you know. If I learned nothing else from the Hag, I learned that.” She broke off and with a shaking hand pushed back a loose lock of Delphinea’s hair. “There was nothing to say that Alemandine should not be Queen. After all, she was born first. And whatever else Alemandine is, she is a part of me. So no, the intention was never to kill the Queen. Timias is the one meant to die. Timias must die, Timias will die when the Caul is destroyed. For as long as the Caul endures, so will Timias. He will never choose to go into the West. He’ll never have to.”
Delphinea glanced over her shoulder. Dougal stood in the doorway still, his arms crossed over his chest. “Philomemnon said Alemandine would die when the Caul was destroyed. Is that true?”
“I doubt she has much longer to live as it is, though yes, that is a consequence. But what would you have us do? There is no way to save both the Queen and Faerie—and to save the Queen is to ensure that we all die. What choice was there really?”
“So you made a bargain with a mortal—for the dagger. And what was your part?”
“In exchange for the dagger we promised the host—”
“The host in the Forest.”
“We knew the mortal world was in chaos. A mad king sits on the throne, the people chafe beneath the rule of his foreign Queen. The events of the Shadowlands echo Faerie and those in Faerie, Shadow. It was in our best interests to resolve the strife there—”
“Why, that’s exactly what Timias said to the Council,” Delphinea blurted. “That day in the Council—the day he came back—”
“Whatever I say of him, he’s not a fool. He understands better than anyone how tightly the worlds are bound.” Vinaver plucked restlessly at the linen pillow. “But now—” She raised her head and looked directly at Petri. “Now—”
But before she could finish, the door opened and Ethoniel hesitated on the threshold, with a flushed face, breathing hard. From somewhere far below, Delphinea heard distant shouts. They all turned and