Chapter 7

7

G wendolyn didn't have the mental endurance to think through conversations that rambled so endlessly—like these passages, veering up, down and around, wending through intersecting chambers, with little to distinguish one burrow from another. Often narrow and winding, she was betimes forced to duck or squeeze through tight spots. In other areas, the tunnels widened into larger chambers, with ceilings that disappeared into the shadows above.

Every length of stride brought an ache to her injured knee, and much to Gwendolyn's dismay, the deeper they ventured, the colder it grew, till her teeth chattered, and her curiosity needled her as ruthlessly as the cold.

Who was this lady they must see?

The question hung in the air like the cool, damp mist, working its way beneath her flesh and sinking to the marrow of her bones.

Lamentably, she no longer had her father's cloak, having left it in the Druid village—but of course, she'd not have imagined Málik would force her to begin this journey so unprepared. And, yes, it was true; she had dressed for her eventual departure with Esme, but Gwendolyn had had every intention of returning to her bower one last time, if only to retrieve her father's cloak. She'd left it only for fear of drawing suspicion whilst roaming the village in search of Esme.

She frowned now, because in her mind's eye, she saw Málik again as he'd stood leaning against that tree, a knowing gleam in his pale-blue eyes as he'd inquired as where she was going. For the first time in Gwendolyn's life, she'd lied—or come as close to lying as she'd ever dared. She had claimed to be gathering victuals for their journey—to share with him, implied—and Málik's eyes had pierced her as surely as would his sword. He had known, and this was his judgment?

Or had he intended to lead her to that portal all along?

Never intending to follow?

This never-ending journey wore on her—the endless grey, the fickle piskies always venturing away, the mental acrobatics she was forced to perform only to make sense of this quest…

Cursing softly beneath her breath, she rubbed her arms against the cold, casting a glance at the moody Púca, who, as the cat- sidhe , was now leaping from boulder to boulder, ledge to ledge, every once in a while stopping to wait for Gwendolyn. It had been long hours now since she had last rankled him with her barrage of questions, but still she had more.

Shivering again, she wished all her senses were as dormant as her hunger. Inexplicably, it was as though she were famished for only the sensation of food, not so much to satisfy a growling belly. And nevertheless, she was tempted to pluck out a bite of Hob cake, if only to see if it would provide her the illusion of a warm bowl of stew so she could temper the cold in her breast.

"How much longer?" she asked, growing weary.

Considering his mood, Gwendolyn didn't expect an answer, but he said reassuringly, "Not far."

"How far is not far?" she pressed, trying not to sound as though she were complaining because she wasn't, in truth. It was simply that this journey grew interminable, and the cold was biting.

Looking amused at her expense, the Púca cast her a twinkle-eyed glance over his shoulder, and said, "Only a bit farther than rain must fall… not so far as a piskie flies."

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes, having no inkling of either. This was precisely the sort of conversation they'd had earlier that prompted her to ask too many questions. And if he didn't wish for Gwendolyn to press, he shouldn't answer in riddles.

Alas, she was swiftly coming to realize that extricating information from any Fae creature when he did not wish to convey it was entirely futile.

Even so, she pored over how far rain must fall, and when that produced no conclusive answers, she cast a glance ahead to the swarm of piskies —even now, expending extraordinary energy, only waiting for them to catch up. She suspected they could fly a long way, and yet, the Púca had not worded his answer in a manner that could be easily construed. She tried, but found it pointless.

For example, the destination of a raindrop could not be substantiated when no place on the earth was at the same elevation.

Every word these creatures uttered was meant to confuse. Gwendolyn was certain of it, and she feared that, as little prepared as she was to cross swords with the Fae king, she was even less prepared to bandy words with one of his ilk. She was about to ask again how far they must go, but as the Fates would have it, even the Púca needed rest. They had traveled a little farther, when the Púca led Gwendolyn to a spot atop a ledge, away from the footpath, and directly below a bright stain of moss. By now, she knew the routine. He would take his respite without explanation, dismissing her whilst he made his bed. Howbeit, Gwendolyn couldn't be more pleased with the spot he'd chosen. Here, the velvety growth cast a muted light over the entire ledge, and despite that by now her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, this new light was welcome. Without delay, she made herself a pallet.

"Thank you," she said to the cat- sidhe .

As expected, he said nothing in response. He found a spot up high where he could peer down at Gwendolyn, then turned himself in a full circle, and, once more, and again and again, until he finally settled, kneading the ground a long moment before tucking both his front paws beneath his chubby little torso.

And that was that.

With no blanket or cloak to cover herself, Gwendolyn removed the sword's harness, then settled it by the cavern wall. She then positioned herself with her back to the wall and used her sack as a make-shift pillow.

Regrettably, with the hob cake growing old and firm, she couldn't help but remember her bride's gift from Locrinus—that polished cedar pillow he'd given her on the night they took their vows. It might have been a lovely gift. Indeed, on the surface, it would appear he'd meant to honor her, but those oils that resisted vermin, were also an irritant to the flesh, especially when the pillow was damp with tears—tears she'd shed because of him. After a fortnight of sleeping on that loathsome thing, Gwendolyn's cheeks had formed a rash.

Don't think of him—or even Málik.

This was not the time to be weak—not when she must remain strong.

With a grunt of displeasure, she settled herself for the evening, but not before plucking one corner of a piece of crumbling Hob cake…

She laid her head back, placing a bite to her lips, entertaining thoughts of revenge.

This one tasted like…

Bloody, unpurged beef and soft, runny spermys, all washed down with an overly sweet gulp of gritty mead.

"How disgusting," she said, tossing the bite away, and that was when she heard the plop…

Curious, Gwendolyn inched closer to the edge of the shelf, peering down only to discover a small, but glorious pond.

The crystalline pool reflected its surroundings like a mirror, and she gasped softly at the sight of it—a place of serene beauty, with the gentle sounds of water lapping against stone, and the occasional splash, splash of fish.

There are creatures in this realm who live entirely without eyes.

And here they are , she thought. Here they are… and they were thriving indeed.

Despite that those fish might not see, their surrounding pond was aglow with their beauteous light, and the algae grew thick and green, thriving as well.

And there was more… tiny, luminous mushrooms grew in clusters about the stones, their soft grey light creating an enchanting border.

Even the water itself emanated a soft blue glow that appeared to come from its very depths, wherein coral-like formations rose, giving shelter to myriad creatures, including… piskies, with their lights flickering beneath the water, frolicking amidst delicate fronds that swayed with the current.

Málik once told her they could be curious and playful, but for Gwendolyn, they most often heralded danger. Here they appeared at home.

Atop the water floated large, frilly pads, with strange but beautiful flowers that produced radiant blooms in vibrant shades of blue, purple, and pink, every petal rimmed by a luminescent edge that made them appear as though they were glowing from within—like the small, bright fish darting through the water, leaving trails of liquid lightning in their wake, their scales shimmering like gems.

The very sight filled Gwendolyn with awe. She had never seen its like—even Porth Pool paled in comparison.

"Lovely!" she said, and it was.

Blinking with wonder, Gwendolyn lay staring into the pond.

So it was. Even within the darkest of places, life flourished. Blinking once more, she sighed with pleasure because this pond reminded her so much of Porth Pool—not as it was now, black and oily, but as it was when she was a young girl on her father's shoulders. Long, long before the Rot…

Long before she'd ever swam there with Bryn.

Over the years, that pool had slowly deteriorated, and it was only now, as she lay here, staring into this pristine water, that she recalled how utterly spectacular it used to be.

New.

Untouched.

Brimming with life.

Full of light and wonder.

And…

"Now I know where you go ," she said, admiring their graceful movements—somehow, equally at ease in the water as they were in the air.

Reaching down, she poked at a small web directly below— soft as silk. Careful not to damage it, she slid her finger across the threads as a wee spider hurried over to investigate. "Hello little one," she said with a grin. "I would share my Hob cake, but I cannot be sure you like that. I did not."

Strange that she expected the spider to talk back in this curious place. But it did not, and meanwhile, the cat- sidhe sat, watching from his perch, with his long whiskers twitching. No matter, Gwendolyn was too tired for conversation anyway, and so she crossed her arms, leaning her chin into the nest she'd made of her arms to stare dreamily into the beautiful pond…

It was a long while before she rolled onto her back to study the speleothem-covered ceiling. Like stars, they were a multitude, and tonight, she felt more at peace than she had in so long. Eventually, she heard purring and peered up to discover the Púca fast asleep, and she smiled then, because, for all his bravado, she had outlasted him. Sleep had yet to claim her, though it was coming.

Even now, she could feel the languor settling over her limbs.

Closing her eyes, she hummed a tune, and stopped when she realized it was the song the Púca had been singing to her when she'd first arrived…

A babe was bequeathed by two Fae…

Was Gwendolyn that babe?

Two gifts, and a lie, they say.

Were these Gwendolyn's gifts?

She had been blessed with the ability to judge the virtue of others simply by the way they treated her. She'd also received the gift of a golden mane, only provided it was cut by her own true love. And finally, a prophecy for the future of Pretania.

Which of these was the lie?

She knew it was not the gift of a golden mane, because she'd witnessed that miracle with her own two eyes. So, it must be one of the other two…

One younger, one elder,

One wiser, one skelder,

Then, sniggering, stole away.

Could this be the tale of her crib-side visitation?

Her gaze lifted to the Púca on the shelf, sleeping so peacefully, unaware of the turn of Gwendolyn's thoughts. And yet, even were he not so fast asleep, she would have held her tongue because she already knew the answer without asking the question—truth settled like a knowing in her bones.

Only Demelza had ever recounted that tale to her, but Gwendolyn knew it like she knew her palm. Despite the Queen's decree against speaking of it, Gwendolyn had hounded her maid relentlessly for every retelling, and Demelza, for all her loyalty to her mistress, always relented, speaking in whispers from the darkest corner of Gwendolyn's room. So it was said, the Queen, accompanied by her maid, came to check on the new babe, and froze at the sight of two Fae hovering over Gwendolyn's crib. In Demelza's estimation, both Fae were creatures of astounding beauty, with skin like stardust, and eyes as brilliant as the sun—her words. And yet, both her mother and her maid had trembled in their presence, and thereafter, the Queen had feared the worst—that those Faeries stole her child and left her with a changeling. To this day, Gwendolyn feared this too—that her mother still believed it.

For so long, the never-ending visits from physicians… the constant investigations of her person… and not a few expulsions.

It was one of those expulsions that had so thoroughly vexed her father, and finally, he'd put a stop to them, decreeing once and for all that Gwendolyn was a normal human child.

Gwendolyn flipped onto her side, staring over the ledge at the ambient light below… mulling over her journey…

Now that she'd had more time to think about everything—now that she was calmer and not so furious with Esme and Málik—she understood something she did not before…

The key to Málik's betrayal lay in Esme's warning.

Lir cannot help you, Esme had insisted.

Bryn cannot help you. Málik nor I can help.

Only you can sway my father before he strikes you down. But if you do not, blood will spill, and it will not be his.

Esme had warned her most arduously that if she crossed the Veil with her army of five, the Fae king would view it as a declaration of war.

There is no more you will accomplish if you face him with five than you will if you face him alone, she had said. And Gwendolyn had been too angry with her to explore that thought, but now she understood. Esme meant to protect everyone —not only Gwendolyn, but Lir, Bryn, and Málik as well.

Especiall y Málik .

She was also, no doubt, protecting her Fae rebellion…

And the something else she'd claimed to be keeping from her father.

What it was Gwendolyn couldn't know, but it was evidently important enough that Esme would defy even Málik, so much that she'd nearly revealed his true name.

Málik only beat her to the betrayal.

Unbidden, her thoughts returned to the ramparts where Málik had first revealed his truth, and Gwendolyn blinked away an unexpected tear from her lashes.

"I am the son of the Dark One," he'd said. "The Banished Wyrm. The last true-blood heir to the Tuatha'an throne… and you… you… have been my weakness for a hundred thousand years."

Unbidden, a vision appeared to her of the two of them lying upon a field of sunflowers under a warm, golden sun. And yet, Gwendolyn knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that she had never lain in any such place with Málik in her lifetime. She closed her eyes, trying to forget the pain of Málik's betrayal… trying to get comfortable, yet missing him so desperately.

With a sigh, she rolled onto her belly, then stretched over once more to peer down at the pond, resting her cheek against the rocky edge…

That was where sleep claimed her… whilst thinking of Málik… staring into that beautiful, trickling stream… and… perhaps she was dreaming…

Or it might have been a trick of the light because… after a time, she spied her face transformed in the pool's reflection…

Mayhap this was how others saw her… with her golden hair… pointy ears and… when she parted her lips to smile at the passing of a bright-tailed fish… she glimpsed a perfect set of gleaming porbeagle teeth.