Chapter 9

9

" H ere?"

Gwendolyn's tone failed to mask her dismay.

After the scenery they'd only just encountered, she'd dared to hope they were attending a great house, and its lady was perhaps someone who could influence the Fae king—a new ally in her bid for the sword.

Instead, this place was a smaller network of tunnels, illuminated only by patches of moss and crystals. The walls, draped with intricate webs, created a maze-like environs that utterly confused her. The air was cool and damp, filled with the scent of earth, but also with decay. As it was in the fogous , the only sounds to reach her ears were the occasional drip, drip of water from stalactites and the soft rustling of their own movements as they navigated their way into the heart of the lady's domain.

In parts of the tunnels, ancient runes and symbols were carved into the marbled stone and those markings glowed faintly, with the remnants of a long-forgotten magic—pulsing gently, as though whispering their secrets to those who could understand the language. Unfortunately, Gwendolyn could not.

The Púca said nothing. Familiar with the location, he barreled ahead, leaving Gwendolyn to follow as he led the way into the dimly lit grotto, the interior of which reminded Gwendolyn of a LONG-forgotten wheal .

All along the corridor, she smelt salt, corrosion, and primordial earth—a very odd place, to be sure, with mammoth webs stretching from floor to ceiling and so densely spun that it was impossible to avoid brushing up against the viscous threads. The Púca vanished around the bend, and Gwendolyn, shouldering her way through, grimaced at the feel of the sticky silk clinging to her cheeks and her hair. But it wasn't long before another peculiarity caught and held her gaze…

As the light brightened toward the interior, she couldn't tear her gaze from the cavern walls. As her father's daughter and heir, Gwendolyn had visited their wheals more times than she could count, or even recall. She knew copper when she spied it. Riddled with light-blue and green veins, there was so much ore here that it would have put a gleam in her father's eyes. Azurite and cuprite shone throughout, sparkling, brighter and brighter the closer she drew to the inner chamber, until at last, all the webs fell away, and Gwendolyn stood in the center of…

A breathtaking cavern, rich in ore, formed of multi-colored crystals—the innumerable stones shining so brightly that the glimmer stabbed at her eyes. Stunned, her gaze lifted to where a pinprick of light permeated the high ceiling—a rupture of sunshine, that, so far away as it must be, cascaded down over the rich basalt, so it appeared a waterfall made of golden light. And by that light, Gwendolyn could see not only more copper ore, azurite and cuprite, but silver, gold, and diamond stone. It was like no place she had ever been.

And then her gaze fell again, following the largest gold vein… to… a towering pile of bleached bones, and she gulped.

Fae or human?

Whatever the case, there were many, and those bones created a stark and eerie contrast to the beauty of the lair. Bleached white by centuries of exposure beneath the beam of sunlight that spilled into the grotto, they lay together, with their surfaces cracked and weathered. But there, amidst the skeletal remains, also lay pieces of gold and silver that caught the light, their luster undimmed by time. And scattered throughout were gems, their brilliant colors stark against the pale, fractured bones.

"What is this place?" Gwendolyn asked.

"My home," said a silken voice.

Startled, Gwendolyn spun about, gasping at the sight of a woman—if she could be called a woman! Gwendolyn took a step backward, and tried desperately not to give offense, but she lifted both brows, casting a nervous glance at the Púca before turning again to regard the spider woman.

She had appeared from nowhere, and now, she scurried into the light, brandishing a length of cloth in one hand, with a needle and thread in the other. These, she set aside, before turning to address Gwendolyn.

"I was not always this way," she said in her singsong tone, and Gwendolyn felt contrite for any insult given.

And still… she was a spider.

But also a woman.

A very… very… big… spider… woman, with a striking face, long black locks, and eyes that were heavily painted with kohl. With her dark beauty, she reminded Gwendolyn of a harem woman from the Black Lands near the River Nile. For all the terror she inspired, she was truly beautiful—a terrifying blend of human and arachnid, embodying all the elegance of a cunning predator. Her torso was alarming to behold, with six woolly legs and two normal, human arms protruding from what appeared to be very human shoulders. Indeed, from the waist up, she had every appearance of a lovely woman, her skin as smooth as porcelain, her eyes large and black, her long hair silky, and dark as midnight. Howbeit… below the waist, her figure transitioned to that of a monstrous black spider. Her abdomen, large and bulbous, was covered in a chitinous exoskeleton that glimmered with the same iridescence as her skin. Six long, slender legs extend from her spider body, jointed and covered in fine hair that would detect the slightest of vibrations. And those legs, capable of swift, silent movement, would allow her to navigate these labyrinthine tunnels and her web with ease. Smiling, she swept forward to embrace the Púca, and Gwendolyn couldn't help herself; her gaze returned to the heaping pile of bones, seeing this lair with entirely fresh eyes… and wondering if they might be the bones of luckless travelers. Else thieves?

Was the gold bait to catch the lady's prey?

Shuddering, Gwendolyn's gaze returned to watch, as thankfully, oblivious to her thoughts, the lady and Púca embraced as old friends. Wee as the bodach might be, he reached up to cast his stubby arms about the lady's human neck, and the spider wrapped four—Gwendolyn counted them, four—of her spindly, hairy lower appendages about his sturdy form, squeezing firmly before awarding him the gentlest kiss atop the pate of his head. Only then did she release him.

"How was your passage?" she inquired.

"Unremarkable," said the Púca. But then, he added, his voice sounding cross, "We encountered those fat-kidney'd scopperloits in the Forbidden Lands."

The lady's voice lilted higher. "Razi and Yavo?"

"Indeed," said the Púca, disgruntled.

" Liver-eaters," said the lady without rancor. "Alas, though stupid they might be, there is genius in those simple minds. And you must know, they approached here as well, but did not have the mettle to come inside." There was a gleam in her eyes as she rubbed her human hands together. "I wish they had!"

Her smile thinned then, and Gwendolyn shivered over the very thought of those two trolls caught in the lady's web. Once more, she took a gander at the pile of bones and sensed that even trolls would be no match for this spider-creature. But to watch these two chitter-chatter—the lady and the Púca—it was as though they had but convened for tea, two friends without a care in the world.

Most certainly, the Púca had no fear of her. He said, "The last we saw of them, they were headed toward the Lake of Fire."

"To meet the ferryman, no doubt." The lady sighed. " Eejits . I am sure he 'll not be pleased if they arrive empty-handed. But their loss is our gain."

He? The choice of word caught Gwendolyn's attention, and she wondered if the lady meant the Fae king, but then remembered that Yavo had spoken of Manannán—and again, wondered what Manannán's part in this might be.

" Sguaba Tuinne was returned by his request."

" You returned it, did you not?"

"Indeed, I did," confessed the Púca. "He found he had need of it."

And so she spoke, and so they spoke of things Gwendolyn had no knowledge, until she herself felt like a hapless fly trapped in a spider's web, simply waiting to see what might happen. With no thought for their audience, the two creatures continued to converse, discussing the return of Manannán's boat, and then again, the trolls, and finally Emrys and the spriggans . Gwendolyn was only half listening when the lady clapped a hand to her lips. "Poor Emrys!" she cried out.

"Don't worry. He lives," said the Púca.

The lady's expression grew sober. "I've never known him to send creatures into the mortal realm."

"Nor I," allowed the Púca. "But there we were. He did what he did, and I witnessed the massacre with my own eyes."

For a long moment, both stood contemplating this, shaking their heads. And the mere retelling of the spriggan attack brought an ache to Gwendolyn's chest and arms. She rubbed absently at her shoulder, remembering how close she'd come to death, when suddenly, the lady drew back, patting the Púca on the head.

"Go now," she said. "Rest your weary bones." And then she spun to face Gwendolyn as the Púca shifted into the cat- sidhe , crouched, and leapt atop a nearby shelf. There he sat, folding his paws beneath him.