The Enchanted Quest Read online

  He said it is magic, thought Tania. They never use that word in Faerie.

  “But it serves us well,” added the lady, “and it ensures that all who come to our door are folk of good intent. Please—we have stables and grooms who will tend your horses—come into our home and thus honor us with your presence.”

  “I hope your defenses are mighty, lady,” Rathina said gravely. “I fear a deadly foe pursues us. We have fallen foul of a brigand by the name of Lord Balor.” Her eyes narrowed. “I trust he is no friend of yours?”

  “Indeed he is not!” said Lord Cillian, exchanging a grim look with his wife. “A worse rogue does not draw breath from Skerry Head to the White Stones of Braw! But you need have no fear of him or his followers: The magic of the lake will not let him pass. In Fendrey Holm you need fear no peril.” He beckoned them forward. “Come. Come.”

  Three of the servants took the reins of their horses and led them away.

  “This is more like it!” Tania heard Connor murmur as they came to the doorway. Beyond it was a wide entrance hall brilliant with candlelight. A floor of ochre and white marble stretched away under a high ceiling of ornate plasterwork spanned by spreading fingers of delicate, tawny brown timber.

  Tania paused on the threshold. She looked closely at Lady Derval. The red hair, the high cheekbones, the green eyes—yes, it was easy to see how this smiling woman could be of the same stock as Queen Titania.

  Tania stepped into the long hallway, and the door swung closed to shut out the night.

  “How came you to fall foul of the brigand Balor?” asked Lady Derval as they paced the hall toward a tall pair of doors that stood closed at the far end.

  “He captured Connor,” Tania said warily. “We managed to free him—but I think they’re still chasing us. How much land does he control around here?”

  “Through fear and slaughter his influence has spread wide,” said the lady. “But still some folk resist his cruel dominion—and await the day when the prophecy will be fulfilled.”

  “Prophecy?”

  “Do you know he holds the Great Salamander in thrall to him by the use of cold iron?” asked the lady. Tania nodded, shuddering as she remembered the sight of that strange lizard beast. “Ah—I see from your eyes that you have encountered the creature. He captured it, so they say, in the land of Hy Brassail, where such behemoths abound. It is said that a day will come when a champion will arise to sever Balor’s iron hand from his arm—and on that day the Great Salamander will reveal a fantastical secret that will shake the skies!”

  They were approaching the tall doors now. Tania could hear a hubbub of voices from beyond. Two liveried servants stepped forward and reached for the crystal door handles.

  “No!” Rathina’s voice was a wild scream. She flung herself forward, her sword springing from her waist-band. “Get back!” She swung the sword in a wide arc, sending the servants jumping back.

  “What is this, madam?” called Lord Cillian, his face filled with alarm. “Why do you draw a blade in this place?” Then he saw the sword and he let out a cry. “By the singing of the Shee—she bears a sword of iron!”

  There were cries of consternation from the servants.

  “Mercy upon us!” wailed Lady Derval. “They are agents of Balor! How can this be?”

  “No, we’re not!” shouted Tania, running toward her terrified sister. “Rathina, what are you doing?” She halted, standing as close as she dared to the scything blade. “What’s wrong?”

  “Treachery and peril!” Rathina shouted, her eyes blazing. “I feel it now! I feel it as fierce as the noonday sun when clouds are blown away! We are betrayed. The evil I sensed did not follow us, sister. It lies ahead! It lurks beyond these doors—and it will be the ruin of us all.”

  The double doors were pushed open from within and the noise of revelry billowed out as a black-clad figure stepped into the doorway.

  Tania’s heart stopped. It seemed that all the air was gone from the room. She stared as the young man smiled and bowed his head, his dark blond hair falling forward over his eyes.

  “So, you’re here at last,” said the man.

  It was Edric.

  Part Three:

  The Dark Arts

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tania stared at Edric. Unable to draw breath. Stunned beyond thought.

  “Captain Chanticleer of Weir!” Rathina spat, spinning to aim the iron sword at Edric. “I should have known it was the stink of Dark Arts that fouled the air!”

  Edric turned to her. “Greetings, my lady Rathina,” he said smoothly. “Wouldst thou kill me? That were scant courtesy from a long-awaited guest. I fear our hosts would take it amiss.”

  Rathina hissed, her expression venomous. “It was you I sensed out on the ocean—the peril that haunted us. You from the start!”

  “I am not your enemy, my lady,” Edric said, his voice firm and clear. “Put down your sword; none here wish you harm.”

  “Yeah, right!” came Connor’s voice. “You chased us all the way from Weir just to say hi, I suppose?”

  Edric’s eyes turned to him. “Still with us, Connor?” he said. “I’d have thought you long gone, your tail between your legs and whimpering for home.”

  Connor’s voice was clipped but steady. “Yup, still here,” he replied lightly, but there was a cold glint in his eyes.

  It took Tania every shred of self-control to find the strength to hold Edric’s eyes and to speak to him. Even then such a void of misery ached inside her that she could hardly bear to look at him.

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice was strained. “How did you avoid getting caught by the Gildensleep?”

  The noise from the banqueting room had lessened, and Tania was aware that many eyes were fixed on them—not least the lord and lady, staring from one to the other in silent consternation.

  “Such questions will be answered to your satisfaction, Tania,” Edric said. “But for now may we not defer to the kindness of our good hosts and join the banquet? We will have ample time to speak together over the course of the evening.”

  “Stop it!” Tania shouted, her whole body contracting in a spasm of hurt and denial. “Stop talking like that!” She could feel her face burning. “Why are you talking to me like that?”

  It was more than she could stand. He had never used that Faerie formality with her before—they had always spoken to one another in normal English. It had been one of the bonds that held them together—the way they could step away from all the stiff procedure and ceremony of Faerie and just be themselves.

  Themselves? And what did that mean?

  Herself: a half-Faerie, half-Mortal split to the heart by the contradictions of her two lives. And Edric? Who was he now? Not the boy she had met in school, that was certain. Evan Thomas was long gone and in his place was this Captain of Weir—who still looked like the person she loved but who stood aloof from her and spoke like a polite stranger.

  A flash of concern came into his face and he stepped toward her, his hands lifting as though to embrace her.

  “Stand back!” growled Rathina, the blade hovering at his breastbone.

  “Don’t be so stupid!” Edric said fiercely. “Do you think I’d hurt her? Ever?”

  His eyes were intent on Tania’s. “I will explain,” he whispered. “Trust me—please.”

  She took a long shuddering breath. “Put the sword away, Rathina,” she said.

  Reluctantly, her eyes glowing like embers, Rathina let the point of the sword droop. “Harm her and you die,” she said to Edric. “There will be no further warning.” She slid the sword into her waistband. “Well, now,” she said, hands on hips. “Who shall untangle the knots of this sinister imbroglio?”

  “I do not understand,” Lord Cillian broke in, stepping forward. “Captain Chanticleer—you led us to believe that these good people were friends of yours. Indeed, those were your very words when you and your companion came here: that you were expecting three great friends to arrive immin
ently from the far northern fiefdoms of Alba!”

  So, Edric has not told them where we really come from. . . .

  Lord Cillian’s forehead contracted in a frown. “And here you are in conflict! Have you played me false, sir?”

  “I have not, my lord,” said Edric. “Hot blood, high hearts, and misunderstood motives are at the root of our discord.”

  Connor turned to the lord. “I thought you said only good people could get across the lake,” he demanded. “If that’s true how did he get here?” He glared at Edric. “What did you do—use some of that Dark Arts stuff to sneak your way through?”

  “Stop it!” snapped Tania, feeling protective of Edric under Connor’s attack. She turned her eyes to him. “Who are you here with, Edric? Lord Cillian mentioned a companion.”

  Edric hesitated and Tania could see the unease in his eyes.

  “Who is it?” she asked again.

  “Hollin,” Edric said, avoiding her gaze. “But he’s under my command, and he won’t be a problem, I promise.”

  Hollin the Healer! The very thought of that man made Tania feel sick to her stomach. The last time she had encountered him he had tried to have her thrown to her death from a high window of Veraglad Palace. Only the intervention of the earl marshall had saved her life, and still Hollin had spat his fury at her: “The half-thing must be destroyed ere it taint us all!”

  Tania was the half-thing that needed destroying. But it wasn’t his hatred that chilled her heart; it was the fact that his loathing and his invective were fueled by a deep terror of her. Hollin truly believed that she was an evil thing that needed to be annihilated.

  And he was here? And Edric was asking her to believe that he had control over the fanatical healer?

  “He will be no problem, forsooth?” cried Rathina. “Nay, not with his head severed from his neck he will not!”

  “No violence, on your mercy!” cried Lord Cillian.

  Then a new voice sounded, and Hollin stepped suddenly into view from the banqueting hall and stood at Edric’s side.

  Tania stared at him. A large man of middle years, tall and broad-shouldered, he was dressed as she remembered: in a plain yellow habit with a rope belt. A thin white circlet banded his tawny hair, a sapphire stone shining in the center of his forehead. But in his green eyes there was none of the madness that she had seen when last she had confronted him.

  “If my death is the only proof of my repentance, then kill me now, my lady,” said the healer, taking a step forward then dropping to one knee, his head bowed. “For know you I come on my lord’s bidding and mean no evil to you nor to your companions.”

  “This is bull!” Connor snapped, looking at Tania. “We can’t trust him—he tried to kill you!”

  Rathina’s hand was on her sword hilt again. “Say the word, sister,” she growled. “One clean sweep and the world will be cleansed of this canker.”

  But as much as Tania feared and mistrusted the man, she was not prepared to have him killed like that.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, lifting her gaze from Hollin and looking at Edric. “Why have you followed us?”

  For a long moment Edric looked into her eyes without speaking, then: “To save you,” he said. “I’m here to save you, Tania.”

  The banqueting hall of Fendrey Holm was ablaze with the light of a thousand candles and vibrant with voices. Musicians set on a low dais in one corner of the room vied to be heard over the hubbub, the measured tones of harpsichord, viol, and lute forming counterpoint to the sweet singing of a trio of boys in white robes.

  Three long tables were set near the tapestry-covered walls, leaving a wide-open space for dancing. Even in her distracted and uneasy state Tania couldn’t help but be amazed at the extravagant display. The tables were decked out with crystal candelabrum, their flittering light glinting down onto the elegant white tableware and onto knives, forks, and spoons of exquisitely carved and decorated crystal, as blue as a summer sky. Down the center of the room there ran an enclosed stream of clear water with banks of stones and moss picked out with reeds and water lilies—and in the water swam shoals of small shining goldfish.

  The food was sumptuous and plentiful, filling the long hall with a multitude of rich aromas, both savory and sweet. Servants in white moved discreetly among the guests, removing empty dishes and replacing them with fresh courses: from oysters and mussels and cray-fish in bowls of crushed ice to roasted chicken and beef on the bone and other steaming meats to creamy yellow bread and platters of salmon and trout and perch. And there were bowls of salad and of flowers, the perfumes of primrose and marigold mixing with the aromas of sage and rosemary and chives.

  For those who had had enough of savory food, there were great flagons filled with strawberries and tureens of baked damsons and plums and gooseberries sprinkled with sugar and nutmeg and cinnamon, served with ewers of fresh white cream.

  People would come and go from the tables, making their way to the center of the room to join in the stately and lively dances. Tania was almost giddy from the whirl of brightly colored dresses and tunics.

  But she felt alone and detached—as though she was watching it all from some cold and secluded place, her nose pressed against the glass. Even having Rathina on her right and Connor to her left did not anchor her, and her mind drifted in a sick haze.

  She’d been given little choice but to join the banquet. What else could she do? Let Rathina loose on Hollin, spill his blood on the tiled floor? And as for Edric—Tania’s emotions were so tangled by this meeting with him that she was beyond thought. She and Connor and Rathina had been led to seats at the table and food had been placed in front of them.

  The Festival of Danu Danann had continued.

  Tania ate virtually nothing—two small mouthfuls and her stomach had contracted like knotted rope. She had one aim in mind—one purpose in enduring all this—and that was to find a way to speak quietly with Lord Cillian or Lady Derval and tell her true reason for being here—and then to ask them for help in getting to Erin. Once she had that information, they would retrieve their horses and ride away from here— from Edric and the healer, from all of this deadly confusion.

  She looked around the huge room. There was Edric seated at the middle table—only occasionally visible to her through the rainbow swirl of dancers— speaking with Hollin and with the lord and lady. Looking so . . . so casual—so natural. Why wasn’t his stomach in knots? Why wasn’t he ill with the pain of lost love the way she was?

  Love never dies in Faerie?

  Big joke!

  “You’re not eating.”

  Tania turned to look at Connor seated at her side. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You will be,” he said. “It’s best to get something in your stomach while you have the chance. You might be glad of it in a few days’ time.”

  She smiled without humor. “Nice impersonation of my mother, Connor.”

  “Which one? Queen Titania or Mary Palmer?”

  She winced at this.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly, his face remorseful. “That was harsh. I take it back, okay?”

  She nodded.

  Demons and angels fought for control in her mind. What would you give to go back a few months and make some different choices? Remember the first time Gabriel Drake appeared to you—in the hospital after the boat crash? Knowing what you know now would you still follow him? Would you still take his hand and let yourself be pulled into Faerie?

  “Tania? Will you dance with me?”

  A hand on her shoulder jolted her out of her thoughts. She twisted in her chair, staring up into Edric’s face, noting that the formality had gone from his speech.

  “You want us to dance?” She didn’t even try to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

  He held out a hand. “Please.” His eyes pleaded even more than his voice. “They’re playing a saraband.”

  They had danced the saraband together on the eve of the Hand-Fasting Ceremony of Cordelia and Bryn.
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br />   In the Royal Palace of Faerie two young lovers twirling deliriously together—twenty million years ago on the other side of the world! Tania thought.

  She could feel Connor’s eyes on her, and at her other side Rathina was watching her attentively over the rim of a crystal goblet.

  “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Tania asked, keeping her voice neutral now. Playing it ice-cold. But she felt light-headed all the same—as if the festivities were getting into her brain.

  “Yes. I’m quite sure.” He drew back her chair and took her hand. She found herself standing and walking to the far end of the table, hand-in-hand with Edric. She glanced at him, tall and handsome at her side.

  “Where’s the necklace I gave you?” he murmured.

  “I . . . lost it. . . .”

  “That’s a shame.”

  She blinked, trying to focus her mind. “I threw it away.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you messing with my mind?” she asked, the candlelight dazzling her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was planning on saying no to dancing with you.”

  “I’m glad you said yes.” He led her to the outer edge of the dance floor, the joyful dancers swinging past them like figures on a magical carousel.

  “I didn’t . . . say . . . yes. . . .” Dreamy now and vague . . .

  His lips came close to her ear. “Don’t overthink it— enjoy,” he said. They were among the dancers, hands clasped, whirling to the triple meter of the music, her eyes on his face and his eyes looking deep into her as though nothing else existed but the dance and the flashing candles and silvery light of his enchanting gaze.

  “Are you happy, Tania?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”