Chapter 8

8

R esisting the call to wake, Gwendolyn squeezed her eyes shut against the persistent sound of dribbling water. Under normal circumstances, it might have been a perfectly soothing sound, but she was not so muddle-headed as to believe she was lazing beside a glistening stream under a bright yellow sun… with Málik.

Alas, no matter how her dreams might have endeavored to deceive her, she could not forget where she lay her head, nor the last moments she'd spent in the mortal realm. Here, in this dreary place, the air was as cold as a well digger's arse , and she would gladly have huddled beneath her father's cloak—if she only had it.

Instead, she lay shivering, half-awake, yearning for things she ought not think about…

Trust no one, Málik had demanded.

Remember! he'd said.

And then he'd betrayed her with his kiss.

Gwendolyn mumbled an oath beneath her breath, and with a huff, rolled over, facing the cavern wall, drawing up her knees.

This was the best she could do to ward away the chill.

All night long, her dreams had been far too vivid—mostly of him, and none too coherent, with the two of them cavorting in places she had never even visited. Was it only days ago she'd lain so contentedly in his arms?

Yes.

It was.

Blood and bloody bones.

His name was a sigh that slid from her lips. But then a new sound joined the morning cacophony—a lively plip , plip, plip from the pond below… louder every time it presented itself. At first, Gwendolyn tried to ignore it, burying her sleep-crumpled face into the crook of her arm to hide from this world, but just when it seemed she would succeed, there came a rude, loud buzz about her head.

Piskies.

"Go away," she begged. "Please!"

They would not.

Naturally.

Why should any of these rude little creatures endeavor to make her life easier?

She gave another huff, and one flew up her nose. Gwendolyn sneezed, cursing them to Ifreann . Swatting them away, she covered her face, even more determined to ignore them, but they giggled, returning louder and more persistent than before. Worse than midge flies!

Was the entire Fae realm conspiring against her?

Gwendolyn had come to terms with this ordeal, but the entire experience now left her wearied and reluctant to face another day.

There was so much to do, and she hadn't the first notion of how to begin.

All of yesterday's self-assurances now fell by the wayside because it was one thing to march along through these endless burrows, seeking a mysterious lady, but eventually the march must end, and it was the end she feared…

The Fae king.

What if, after all, she was stuck here?—as Lir suggested, never to see the light of day! What if the Púca and these piskies were never meant to be helpful? What if instead they were meant to waylay her? What if Gwendolyn were destined to wander these burrows evermore, never actually finding this City of Light?

Wake! screamed the piskies , their demand a wail of voices, and her own little deamhan joined this chorus, demanding she stop feeling sorry for herself. Gwendolyn had no choice but to comply.

Removing the shielding arm from her eyes, she said, "Curse you and curse you!" But to whom the expletive was directed was uncertain. In her present mood, it could be anyone—Málik and Esme included. But also this damnable Púca, whose moods were as volatile as her own.

Satisfied with having roused her, the piskies flew away, convening near the cavern ceiling where they remained, their flickering forms coming as close to resembling a morning sun as this cold, grey world could provide.

More than anything, Gwendolyn missed the gentle way Demelza used to rouse her—and even Ely's annoying habit of bounding into her room unbidden.

How simple life was then.

But… she had a task to fulfill. And the sooner she arose, the sooner she could locate this mysterious lady, and the sooner she could return to her true purpose—her own lands and her people. Resigned to her wakeful state, she sat and stretched.

It was impossible to say what the hour could be, as there was no variance from one moment to the next. But fortunately, she could now see well enough to make out things that weren't so apparent before—the spider webs stretching across the speleothem as well as the patchwork stains along the granite walls, in brilliant shades of orange, white, and pink. Yawning, she patted the tips of her fingers across her lips, then reached down absentmindedly to press those same fingers along the small of her back, anticipating a pang that never materialized…

Her brows lifted in surprise.

Gone?

Healed?

Her injuries were quite real—the bruise on her bottom and the pang in her knee. But though she was tired, her bruises no longer ached. Somehow, despite that she had slept once again on a cold bed of stone, without a blanket or even a pillow, she felt… good.

Only to be sure, Gwendolyn tested her knee, stretching the injured leg, and she knit her brows when the knee did not ache.

Forsooth, it was as though an entire year of torment had melted from her bones—as though her rest in this Faerie realm had healed her body, if not her heart. And suddenly, recalling the visage in the pool last night, she crawled over to the edge of the berm, peering down into the crystalline water. But the reflection gazing back was her own, precisely as she had always known it to be.

She frowned.

How strange.

Deciding last night's vision must have been a trick of the light, or mayhap a dream wrought from this Faerie realm and her frustration, she rose, preparing to leave.

However, as there was so little to gather, there wasn't much to do. She picked up her sword and sack, then sat, watching the Púca sleep, waiting for him to wake. He was such a curious little fellow—so many personalities in one. He oft made her smile, even as she longed to tug out his whiskers.

Last night, during what Gwendolyn perceived to be the middle of the night, she'd sensed him draw near to inspect her, and once he was satisfied that she slept, he'd crept back to his perch.

Crotchety though he might be in this form, he was growing on her, and he must have sensed her watching, because he cracked an eyelid, and Gwendolyn smiled.

"Silly girl, sleeping all day, let us be away," he said, and rose, arching his back in a good long stretch, then leaping down to the stream. But there, once more, he had a good long drink, lapping so clamorously that Gwendolyn felt compelled to tease him. "Will you drink the entire pond?"

"If I wish," he replied, pouncing back up and then, and without another word, or a glance behind to make certain Gwendolyn would follow, he jumped down from their hideaway ledge, and ambled down the path.

With a grunt of displeasure—regretting her recent thoughts—Gwendolyn rose and followed. Regardless of the Púca's moods, she sensed answers were near at hand. She must keep the faith that Málik had considered this journey and that Esme, for all her distemper, was on Gwendolyn's side. And really, so much as Málik and Esme had supported her, she could not believe they would knowingly, and willingly, sabotage this quest.

Indeed, without both their help, Gwendolyn might never have overcome the challenges she'd faced already—everything from Málik having saved her from Locrinus' men in the forest after her escape from Loegria, to then helping her win Caradoc's favor, and then aiding in the return of Trevena. Most recently, risking their lives during the spriggan attack. Gods knew. Having considered every scenario, this was not how Gwendolyn had supposed her arrival in the Fae realm would go, but, after all, what point would there be in keeping her alive if they'd meant all along to send her to her death?

It made little sense.

Therefore, Gwendolyn must believe that whatever the reason for them sending her on this quest, alone, it was because it suited the quest. Above all, she needed to believe Málik had forced her to do so only to protect her…

And then it suddenly occurred to her, with some certainty, that he had perhaps done this because he didn't trust himself to stand by her side before Esme's father. If his King should compel him to complete the task he was assigned, he must do it, and Gwendolyn couldn't stop him. So much as he had taught her, Gwendolyn was still very much the student. And, really, how awful would it be… to face Málik at the Fae king's court only to spy regret in his beautiful blue eyes, even as he slid his blade across her throat?

Worse than Locrinus' betrayal!

Indeed, that night Locrinus cut her hair now seemed only a mean prank, and everything else he had afflicted upon her people and her land far worse. So what? He'd cut her hair. Had it not been for that, Gwendolyn would never have learned the truth about her prophecy, and Málik might never have been pressed to repair her hair. And Gwendolyn would not know that… well…

Málik loved her.

He did.

The proof was in the gold that fell into her lap.

Undeniable.

Irrefutable.

Unquestionable!

He didn't need to say those words aloud. Gwendolyn knew it, and the more she thought about the turn of events that had led her to this moment in time, the more certain she grew there was a reason he'd pushed her through the portal.

But why couldn't he have told her she must travel this path alone instead of lying to her at every turn and then shoving her so rudely into this wretched domain?

Why couldn't Esme?

Why couldn't someone?

Gwendolyn could have handled the truth, though she wouldn't have liked it. Still, she trusted Málik so implicitly that if he had told her she must swim to the depths of the sea to fulfill her destiny, she would have spent her final breaths at the bottom of the ocean.

Presently, the landscape changed—no longer so grey or so dull. Indeed, the darker it grew, the more color emerged. Everything glowed, including the spider webs, and all the insects, and the lichen. Quite abruptly, they wandered into a forest unlike any forest Gwendolyn had ever seen, where the trees grew upside down.

But nay, it was the roots of wizened yews that had crept down into the underworld, creating merely the illusion of a forest—as though the trees had two lives, one Above, and one Below. But unlike the boughs of trees Above, what passed for leaves here were thick clusters of glowing moss.

Darkness fell away and light poured down through the arches, revealing beauteous scrollwork, and now and again, bridges spanned the crystalline waters. Beneath those bridges, a never-ending pool glistened like molten silver.

Gwendolyn gasped with wonder at the sight. Even after all she had endured, she could not be so jaded that she could not be in awe of the beauty.

At home, perhaps, and no longer so concerned over Gwendolyn's welfare, the piskies all wandered about, their wee pricks of golden light floating about like stardust amidst the odd, tree-like shapes.

More bridges, more arches, more scrollwork.

Lily-like flowers bloomed with a delicate light, and Gwendolyn surmised they must be getting close to the City of Light. She might have inquired, but the Púca took a sudden detour, returning to a shadowy realm, and before Gwendolyn could ask where they were going, they had arrived at their destination.

"We're here!" he announced.