Contents

1. Copyright

2. Dedication

3. Author Note

4. Part One - Rare, Prized, and Feared

1. 1

2. 2

3. 3

4. 4

5. 5

6. 6

7. 7

5. Part Two - A Woman Grown

1. 1

2. 2

3. 3

4. 4

5. 5

6. 6

7. 7

8. 8

6. About the Author

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2020 L.A. Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission of the copyright owner except for use of quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-9990140-4-9

www.lasmithwriter.com

Published by CarpetPage Press

For all the readers who always want more…

Author Note

This is a bundle of two short stories featuring characters from the world of The Traveller’s Path, a historical fantasy series set in seventh-century England. You don’t need to have read the books to understand the stories, but these stories will give some rich background information about the two characters featured.

But just in case you are new to The Traveller’s Path…

The Fey are an ancient race who live hidden alongside humans. They are the true source of all the folklore and legends surrounding faeries in our human world, and while some of those folklores and stories are true, others are not quite reflective of the reality of the world of the Fey. They are the descendants of the Nephilim, the offspring of the human/angel pairings described in the Old Testament, and as such, share some of the Gifts of the angels, such as Healing, Speaking (into others’ minds), Glamour (disguising their form), and others, including (rarely) Travelling through time. They live among the humans but also have their own, secret society, in which they are divided up into two Courts, Seelie and Unseelie. They also have their own Rule to govern them, which at times can supersede any human entanglements. The Fey mature into their Gifts in young adulthood. Occasionally, a Fey child can be born to human parents who are ignorant of their child’s special heritage. In these cases the Fey will take the youngster and replace him/her with a human child, so as to rescue the Fey youngling from becoming a wilding, a Fey who is unaware of their heritage and their power, and who can consequently do great damage to both Fey and human alike.

These two short stories are both prequels to the events in Wilding: Book One of The Traveller’s Path. In Rare, Prized, and Feared, we discover what happened to the Unseelie harper, Godric, during a previous Crossing to the seventh century. This event still haunts him when he encounters Thomas., the main character of Wilding, and is hinted at obliquely in both Wilding and Bound. It takes place approximately ten years before the events in Wilding. In A Woman Grown, we find out exactly why Nona, the Fey Healer from Gwynedd, was in Bebbanburg awaiting her betrothed from Dál Riata at the beginning of Wilding, and takes place about a year before Wilding begins.

Many thanks to Sarah Smith, who created the beautiful raven illustration, and to Luke Smith, who helped with cover design and book formatting.

I love sharing this world with you! I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I enjoyed creating them for you.

L.A. Smith, November 2020

PART ONE

Rare, Prized, and Feared

1

KINGDOM OF MERCIA, 622 AD

GODRIC STUMBLED THROUGH the last couple verses of the song, but he didn’t think anyone noticed. They were all too drunk to notice. Hell, he was almost too drunk to notice.

He finished up the last chord with a flourish. The people who were still listening cheered lustily and begged for another song. But he put the lyre in its bag and slung it over his back and began to make his way to the door, collecting coins from his audience as he went. Time to blow this popsicle stand.

A man frowned at him, and for a moment he thought he had spoken out loud. But the guy was aiming the frown at a person behind him, and Godric kept going, sweat popping out on his forehead. One second of forgetfulness could end up in a bad scene. Behaving circumspectly was drilled into every Traveller from the time their Gift was discovered. He knew better. He shouldn’t drink so much next time.

The thegn’s hall was crowded, for the people of Lichfield were celebrating the goddess Hretha, who seemed to be some fierce warrior-type chick, for all Godric could tell. All he cared about was that the festival brought people together who wanted nothing more but to drink and be entertained, and to shower coins upon the entertainer. Worked for him.

But he needed to get some fresh air. The miasma of smells in the hall, from sweat to food to smoke to dirty dogs, made his already queasy stomach worse. He shook off an older woman who grabbed his arm, gazing up at him with bleary fascination, and veered towards the large double doors.

But a glimpse of a family that sat close to the door stopped him in his tracks. A woman, and man, and a baby. The unmistakable tingle that rushed over him like a mild electric shock told Godric that the baby, like him, was Fey. And the lack of that tingle as his gaze swept over the adults told him equally that they were not.

The mother turned, instinct warning her of his interest in her child, and he ducked his head and hurried through the door, closing it behind him and leaning against it, trying to collect his thoughts.

He was drunk, after all. Maybe he’d imagined it? He blew out a breath, and pushed himself away from the door, staggering a little before getting himself upright. Whoopsie. Sleep it off. Check it out in the morning.

Godric woke with a splitting headache and a vague memory of something he was supposed to do, but the pain made it hard to think. He rolled over, the straw rustling under him, a horse in the stalls below the loft where he slept whickering softly to its companion. He sat up with a groan, his head pounding, and peered at the shadows around him. Dawn was approaching. He shut his eyes again, sighing as the sweet rush of Fey power filled him as the sun rose.

He opened his eyes as it faded, feeling a little better. He had definitely overdone it last night. He got up with another muted groan and busied himself getting ready to leave. The festival was over and he would have to seek coin elsewhere.

Which suited him fine. He had been in this time for almost two months, long enough to get his feet under him, and he wanted to explore. See the sights before he Crossed back home at the fall solstice. The circuit of back-water towns he had been travelling through had fallen stale. Time for greener pastures. Maybe head back to Tamworth, the centre of the Unseelie Court as well as the seat of power of the human Mercian King. Have some fun, pick up some more of the coin surely available from the rich people there.

The old-fashioned strictures of the Court of this time had jarred him at first, but the awed manner in which they treated him, a Traveller, was much the same as the Court back home in 1970. Travellers are rare, prized, and feared. His Teacher’s voice drifted through his mind. That old Fey was a drag, but he was right about that. Ever since his Gift had been revealed at the Knowing ten years before he had been set on a pedestal by the other Fey.

You could be King, think of it! Godric stuffed down the memory of his mother’s eager voice and brilliant blue eyes. That was a pedestal he had no desire to reach, no matter his parents’ obsession. One of the best parts about being in the seventh century was the escape from their constant harping on it.

He pulled up his cloak. He had been lying on it last night, and as he brushed off the straw a quick flash of memory of long brown hair and muted sighs brought a grin to his face. The lovely Lefled was the only thing he’d miss about this place.

He climbed down the ladder and stepped outside, wincing as the morning light stabbed into his eyes. He had a sudden desire to crawl back into the dark of the loft, but gritted his teeth and forced himself to move. He needed to get going in case Lefled’s father came looking for him.

But he had only taken a few steps when a baby’s cry froze him in spot and the vague memory that had been chasing around his brain coalesced into clarity.

The human couple with the Fey baby. Right. He followed the sound, curious to see if his memory was not merely a drunken fantasy. Of course there was no saying that this baby’s cries belonged to that baby. But he had a hunch. As he rounded the corner of the barn and saw the young woman, her baby bundled at her back as she carried a bucket of water down the path, he stopped short. His Fey-sense tingled at the sight of the baby. Bingo.

But not for the mother. He hadn’t been wrong.

Foreboding filled him. He hesitated a moment as she walked further away, and then with a mental sigh forced himself into motion, staying in the shadows and stepping lightly as only a Fey could. Perhaps the human man with her last night was not the child’s father. He should at least try to find out for sure.

He followed her to a small dwelling where a man sat under the overhanging eaves, whittling at a piece of wood. A human man, Godric confirmed, the same one from last night. But maybe her brother, or uncle?

The man looked up at the woman with a smile as she drew near, putting down his knife and the wood. He stood, taking her hand and kissing her, lifting the baby from her after she unwound the cloth keeping it bound to her back.

The baby chortled and squealed as the man nuzzled at it, and the woman laughed at them both.

Godric’s heart sank. Both human. And with no Fey to guide it, the child would grow up to be a wilding. Dread filled him, and for a moment he hesitated. But then he squared his shoulders and slipped away from the dwelling, heading out of town.

Not my problem.

Godric had gone about a mile when he stopped, heaving a sigh. As much as he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought of the baby growing up with a human family. A Fey baby, who would become a wilding, if he…she?…wasn’t rescued.

He blew out a breath, thinking it through. Technically, he should go to the Unseelie Court and let the king know. They would deal with it. But how long would it be before they finally got around to finding the child?

Screw it. He turned on his heel and started walking back. He would find out if the family actually lived in Lichfield or had been visiting for the festival. If they didn’t live there, he would find out where they lived. Then the king would at least know where to look.

He couldn’t help but grin, the sudden leap of excitement chasing away his queasy stomach. It squelched out the voice that told him he should leave it alone. That voice sounded like his fussy teacher.

He’d seen the golden arm bands and bracelets the warriors and thegns wore, gifts from their king. What would the Unseelie king give him as a reward for rescuing a Fey child from a fate worse than death?

Whatever it was, it would be a pretty cool souvenir.

It didn’t take long for Godric to determine that the family did, in fact, live in the village. The baby was a boy, whom they called Aldred. He watched for a couple of days, hiding from the humans, working out a plan. He felt wild, and free, Fey in a way he hadn’t felt since he Crossed. He was on a mission for his people, and the thought of the accolades he would get drowned the niggling fears that surfaced at the thought of the plan he had put together.

A little scouting of the area brought him to exactly what he needed in a holding a couple hours away. Almost like it was meant to be.

Two nights later he put the plan into motion.

2

GODRIC POSITIONED HIMSELF under the window of a rude shelter, hidden in shadows that clung to the holding he had scouted out. It was past midnight. Inside the house a family slept: a mother, father, and two children. One child was a toddler, but the other a baby boy. He thought the babe was the same age as the Fey child, although what he knew about babies wouldn’t fill up a thimble. It didn’t really matter, anyway. As long as it was close enough in age he was sure the humans wouldn’t notice. They were stupid that way.

The night was warm, a gusty wind rattling the thatch on the roof. An owl hooted. He saw it, sitting on the roof of another house, great yellow eyes searching the ground for any sign of mice. Suddenly it lifted off, swooping down on silent wings and snatching a struggling body into the air. The great wings flapped twice and then it settled back on the roof. It bent its large head down, the wicked beak tearing at the prey in its claws.

He settled his lyre close to him, taking a deep breath. A momentary qualm seized him. He would take this child tonight, to exchange for the Fey baby. He let out a breath, dismissing the pang of sympathy for the mother who would wake to find the baby gone. They had another child, and would likely have more, knowing how easily fertile humans were.

Not so among the Fey. There were many who could not have children. Many who would welcome a babe into their arms. A baby who would otherwise grow up unaware of who he was, what he was. Disaster for the baby, his human family, and the Fey of this time.

And so he would do what the Fey had always done. Take the Fey baby and exchange it with a human child. This child. He would take the place of the Fey baby in the other couple’s bed, with none the wiser.

Except this family, who would lose a child and have no replacement for it.

No matter. What I do, I do for the Blood.

The thought eased his fears and he closed his eyes, opening himself to the sweet rush of Fey power. He dropped his fingers to the strings, plucking them softly. The song drifted out from under the window, winding its way into the hushed and quiet room where the family slept.

Dreams visited them; of beautiful things, gold and silver and rubies, sparkling jewels that made them gasp with delight. They saw themselves sitting on thrones, wearing fine linen, embroidered with silk that shimmered when they moved.

The husband looked on his wife, seeing her young and beautiful as he first had seen her, her brown eyes shining with admiration for him.

The wife saw her husband: strong, with an air of grace surrounding him, looking at her with desire and love. Music flowed around them, caressing them, the words merely a soft drone amongst the notes.

Sleep and dream, and sleep again

This the night you find your love

This the night you lose it

Sleep and dream, and sleep again

This the night is yours

They slept, a smile on their faces, lost in the lovely dreams. They never stirred as Godric entered their house, singing softly under his breath. He gathered the baby from his mother’s arms and slipped out again, the song trailing behind him like a shimmering ribbon in the dark velvet night.

Godric moved as quickly as he could. The child slept against his chest comfortably, snugged up in a sling under his cloak. So far, so good. Having it bleat and betray his presence could make things more complicated than it needed to be.

Despite his worries, he was filled with a tingling excitement. In his time he would never be tasked with this most delicate and important of missions. Even though the other Fey gave him respect, in their eyes he would not be mature enough for this job.

At least not in his father’s eyes, and he had the ear of the Court.

But here, now? Who would question him? He was a Traveller, after all. He grinned at the thought of the Unseelie King, of his surprise and gratitude when Godric brought him the Fey child, rescued from a horrible fate.

He remembered the gold band that circled the king’s arm, and wondered if perhaps he could ask for it as a reward. He tamped down his eagerness. Better let him offer it instead.

Dreams of gold and jewels filled his head, just like the ones he had used to Charm the humans, making the miles pass quickly as he hurried back to Lichfield where the Fey child slumbered along with his parents. He had to get there before dawn, before the village stirred.

Soon he saw the outline of the village’s wall and quickly found the place that he had scoped out earlier, where he could slip over the wall easily. Before he knew it he was once again standing under a window, getting his lyre out from the bag on his back.

The movements roused the babe he held and it squirmed against him, but he patted it hurriedly and it soon subsided, sleepy and warm in its cocoon.

Godric settled the lyre against him, holding it awkwardly against the bulk of the baby. He hesitated for a moment. The instrument would be loud, right beside the child. Would it wake up?

He clenched his jaw and bent his head to the strings. The wind would bring what it would. He let out a breath, concentrating, and for the second time that night, a Charming song crept through the night and wove tightly into the dreams of sleeping humans.

Once again it was a relatively simple matter to enter the house, leave the sleeping baby he carried and take the other one. He had a start though, when he picked up the Fey baby and it opened its eyes, regarding him solemnly.

“Shh…shhh…” He sang quickly under his breath. The Charm he had already woven shimmered heavier on the parents and the human baby he’d left snuggled close to the mother, but the Fey child merely fixed him with his wide-eyed gaze, as solemn and unblinking as the owl he had seen earlier.

With a muttered curse he cradled the baby to his chest and fled the house, straining to hear any noises from behind him, any sound of the parents waking or the wailing of the human baby he had left behind.

But there was nothing, other than a couple of dogs who barked once as he passed, and those he shushed with a look.

Soon he was safely out of the village. He stopped on the crude road, a cart track, that led away from it. All was quiet. He peered at the baby and saw he was awake, but content, it seemed, cooing at him softly. He took a moment to wrap the babe in the sling and settle it close to his chest, hoping he would fall asleep as the human baby had done.

Once the child was arranged properly, he set off, walking quickly. The Fey King lived near Tamworth, the seat of the Mercian king. a couple of hours down the road. He planned to get there by dawn.

3

“HE IS GONE, I told you, Traveller. To visit his brother on the coast. ’Twill be a fortnight or more, before he returns.” The other Fey cocked his head. “Stay here until he comes. We would welcome your tales and songs.”

The baby squirmed against Godric’s chest, and he pulled his harper’s cloak closer to him, striving to look unconcerned. “I can’t. I have some news for the king—for his ears only,” he added, seeing the sudden rapacious interest in the older Fey’s light green eyes. The baby squirmed again, and he stood up. “I’ll go meet with him there.”

He left quickly, fled would be the better word. The baby had been quiet all night, but once dawn broke he had become increasingly less happy with his confined quarters. And Godric was pretty sure the sour smell he detected wasn’t just from him alone.

Once out of the village, he ducked off the main road and bolted into a thick stand of trees nearby. The baby murmured and squawked. As he flung back the cloak he was greeted by two bright blue eyes squinting against the sudden light. The baby’s face screwed up tight and he began to howl.

“Shh, shh, come on, kid, be quiet…” Godric bounced the baby against him, gritting his teeth. The cloths wrapped between the baby’s legs were distinctly damp.

Now what? The child was wet, and likely hungry. This was not part of the plan. He had hoped to be rid of the babe and on his way by now, admiring the treasure the king would surely have given him.

The baby’s cries subsided into angry whimpers as he shoved his fist into his mouth and sucked on it, his face screwing up in concentration, erupting in a frustrated cry when his efforts were unrewarded.

Godric wrapped the baby tightly to him again, singing softly, and the child subsided, squawking occasionally as Godric began to walk. After a few moments blissful silence reigned.

Godric let out a shaky breath as he got back to the path. It was only a temporary reprieve. He had to do something, and soon.

Godric strode through the woods, his way lit by moonlight, his emotions careening between despair and excitement. He stopped and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. He would give just about anything for a beer, but even that small comfort was denied him out here in the middle of nowhere in this godforsaken time.

He had screwed up royally, he could admit it to himself. He should have told the king about the child and left well enough alone. He opened his eyes, clenching his jaw. But he could still fix it, if he was careful.

The solution had presented itself to him that afternoon. Despite dribbling water into the baby’s mouth, the infant had got increasingly fractious. He had passed a village along the way, and desperate, had managed to steal some milk. He had enough of the Gift of Glamour to make the humans think he was one of their own and not raise alarm at a stranger.

The child’s cries had finally subsided, but he only had enough milk for a couple of feedings. He would need more. On the way out of the village he had seen a young woman drawing water from a well and the solution had presented itself as soon as he saw the baby strapped to her back.

As he greeted her recognition had flared in her eyes, quickly masked. A Sensitive. Couldn’t be better. His harper’s cloak eased the way between them, and a subtle Speaking into her mind had sealed the deal.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was better than the alternative. He could still pull off a win, if he was careful.

As he skirted the sleeping village he passed by a small brook, the moonlight sparkling off its tumbling waters. He stopped and studied it, a sudden instinct ringing a bell. With his heart in his mouth he followed the urge and crossed the water. A few paces beyond a curve in the brook he saw a stand of coppiced ash

Recognition washed over him. A Crossing. Goosebumps lifted on his arms. The mysterious luck of the Fey had given him a sign. His plan didn’t seem so far-fetched now. It had to be a sign that his plan was going to work.

But a wayward thought thrust itself forward. Just go. Cross home. No one would ever know. He rejected the idea almost as soon as it formed. Abandoning the Fey baby was not an option. But it was good to know there was a Crossing close by. Always good to have an escape route, just in case.

He let out a breath, his confidence returning as he turned his back on the Crossing. The clearing he had selected was close by, and it took a mere fifteen minutes to reach it. He glanced at the moon. Almost time.

The Fey child slept, sated by the last of the milk. He bundled him securely to keep him warm and put him down carefully on the soft moss under a tree. He pulled out the pipe that he carried in the pocket sewn into his cloak and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and settling his mind. He knew what to do. Sort of. A Charming was one thing, but this would be different. He had to Bind the woman to him, a deeper Charm that was not so easily broken.

That she was a Sensitive would make it easier. If he believed in God he would have prayed, but he didn’t, so he repeated the Fourfold Vow under his breath instead, the shimmering intensifying of Fey power as he spoke the words giving him courage.

There. Relief filled him at the first faint rustle of movement in the trees, and he grinned. Why had he even doubted? He lifted the flute.

The first few low notes filled the glade; a small invitation. As if on cue the woman stepped from the trees, a dreamy smile on her face.

Come. He Spoke to her in the music as much as he did into her mind, the invitation throbbing through the moonlit glade. But the fierce grin that stretched Godric’s mouth fled as he saw she carried her child.

Christ. He gaped at her, shocked into silence for a moment, cursing himself for an idiot. Should have thought of that.

He straightened up, his mouth setting in a firm line, trying to ignore the spiralling feeling of doom that blossomed. Deal with it. The kid will have to come, too. Whatever.

The woman stopped, the smile slipping from her face. The Charm that had brought her to this place was fading. If he didn’t act soon, she would wake up completely.

Godric stepped away from the trees, drawing on his power to ease the pounding of his heart. He hummed softly, and she turned to him, delight filling her face.

She was young, and not particularly pretty. But that didn’t matter. She would do.

“Ah, Lady, you come.” He stepped towards her, knowing the moonlight and his Fey power made him shimmer in her eyes. “This is a night of wonder, and I your guide.”

Her breath caught as he stopped in front of her, lifting a hand to her cheek, and her eyes closed as he cupped her face lightly. Her child slept, bundled to her in a sling much like the one he had fashioned for the Fey babe. It looked to be older than the Fey baby, closer to a year perhaps.

“Give me the babe,” he murmured, softly. “Never fear, all is well.”

Her eyes sprang open, but the alarm in them faded quickly and she deftly unbound the sling, handing him the surprisingly heavy bundle of the sleeping child. He lay the baby down carefully beside the other one, thankful that neither stirred.

He hummed again, his power infusing the melody, and the woman sighed, her eyes fluttering. He caught her as her knees gave out. and laid her down on the grass beside the baby. His gut clenched as he regarded her. Now would be the tricky part.

He had never done a Binding before. Technically, they were frowned upon. The Seelies forbid them in their Court. But the Unseelies saw them as necessary, at times, for the good of the Fey. Only the Speakers could do it, for it meant linking another to you mentally, so that they would obey you implicitly. His Teacher had shown him the way, but he had only been half-listening that day. He grimaced. Get on with it.

He knelt beside her, closing his eyes and opening himself fully to his Fey power. He began the Binding, creating a golden thread that that trailed behind him as he went deeper and deeper into her mind. He had expected some resistance, but her mind was as quiet and docile beneath his entrance as the child that slept next to her.

It was almost easy, except for the last, when he felt a brief struggle from her, a sudden alarm, but it was not enough against his power.

He fumbled for a second, even so, suddenly unsure, but then he saw her, huddled in the dark, her hands over her head. He strode to her and her head snapped up, her eyes widening as she lifted her arms in supplication.

He grabbed her wrist. Now. Bright power enveloped them both and the thread wreathed her wrists in a twisting rope, one end meeting the other in an almost audible click that he felt as well as heard. Then all went black.

4

“CHRIST!” HE GROANED, opening his eyes, the last few moments crashing into him. The babe, the exchange, the woman—

She lay beside him, silent as a stone, but her baby cried, red-faced and frantic. He peered at the woman. Agyfen. That was her name. His head spun and blackness filled him. He scrabbled away from her as she awoke, gasping.

Sharp fear filled him as he saw himself, glimmering faintly. Nay! Good Christ what is this? It was her thoughts, her mind that filled his, and he shook his head desperately, trying to clear it. But it wasn’t only her thoughts that filled him. It was like he was in her body, feeling the cold grass, the strange immobility of her limbs.

She/he struggled upright, clutching the babe to her/him, pulling the knife at her waist out. “Get away, foul demon, for you will not have my child,” she gasped, but the words came out of his mouth, too.

Nausea swirled in his gut, and as if on cue, they both turned and heaved into the grass, choking and spitting.

Good Christ deliver me. Her thought. His thought.

Panicked, Godric drew on his power, but it was flickering, hardly there. He had used a lot in the Binding. It would take some time to replenish. He shut his eyes, and immediately felt better. Not seeing the woman helped him to focus. He concentrated, ignoring the fear and confusion of the woman’s mind. The sensations slowly receded.

The bright thread of the Binding stretched out into the darkness, disappearing into black. He realized he was holding it, and with a start, dropped it. Immediately the sensation of Agyfen’s mind within his own was muted further, and the sense of being in her body disappeared.

He opened his eyes. The woman sat with the knife in her hand held loosely as she stared at him with vacant eyes. The baby wailed beside her, seemingly forgotten, the sound piercing enough to wake the dead.

Enough to wake the Fey baby, at any rate. His cries added to the noise.

He rubbed his head as a booming headache began to assert itself. He gestured to Agyfen’s baby. “Shut him up.”

He felt her eager obedience as she turned to her baby, cooing and shushing him.

The feeling brought dizziness again, and Godric battled it back, cursing under his breath as he picked up the Fey child, whose little face was screwed up and furious as he screamed, the noise piercing his skull.

The other baby’s cries suddenly stopped. He turned to see that Agyfen had opened her tunic and was nursing her baby, who made soft gulping sounds as he drank.

“Don’t give him all. He’ll be sharing from now on.”

Agyfen looked up, the absent look in her eyes replaced by eager obedience. “Yes, my lord.”

Godric turned away from her, suddenly ashamed, juggling the Fey baby to quiet it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tentatively testing the bond that tied him to the woman. He could feel her there, if he concentrated, but only if he paid attention to her.

He let out a breath and opened his eyes. It was manageable. He could do this. He sat down and leaned against the tree. He felt sick and weak, and without the ready energy of his Fey power he had little strength to draw from.

But they had to get moving. Once the woman was finished feeding the two children they would be on their way. The less time he spent tied to this woman, the better. For his sake, and hers.

He squelched the guilt that pierced him. I had to do it. It won’t be for long.

“Keep them quiet,” he said to Agyfen. “I’ll be back soon. You have food enough, and ale. Do not leave here.”

The woman nodded, her face slack and empty. They had been travelling for five days, keeping to the woods, only moving at night. He felt her exhaustion. Hell, he shared it himself. For the millionth time he cursed his recklessness. He should have just left the dammed baby alone.

His lips thinned. He couldn’t let negative thoughts defeat him. The Unseelie King, Sidrac, a Mercian warrior in his own right, respected strength and confidence. In order for Godric to pull this off and come out with a win he couldn’t doubt himself.

And he very much planned for a win. He hadn’t gone through all this to fail now.

The woman settled down with her back against a tree, wrapping her cloak around herself and the children. Her own child whined for a moment, and she released him, watching him as he crawled around, examining leaves and twigs.

Godric watched for a moment, and then turned his back on them and walked away. He hadn’t gone far when he felt momentary panic from the woman. I will be back. Stay there. He Spoke into her mind, and he felt her fear subside.

An urge seized him to go back. It was the first time since he had Bound her that he hadn’t been in sight of her. He forced himself to continue and the feeling faded.

The small sensation of her mind nestled in his also faded. He stopped, closing his eyes and breathing deep. There. He saw the rope, a faint line stretching back into darkness. He opened his eyes and let out a shaky breath. She was still there. The holding was not far. He would be back soon.

He began humming a tune as he walked, matching it to the rhythm of his pace. Anything to distract him from the feeling of doom, the fear that this would all end badly.

5

“WHAT ARE YOU saying, Traveller? A Fey child, here?” Sidrac, the Unseelie king, looked only mildly interested in Godric’s news. He concentrated instead on the stew he ate, tearing off bread to scoop it up.

Godric had found him at his brother’s dwelling, in a small holding near the coast. The King had been somewhat surprised to see him, but not concerned. After all, Godric was a Traveller. The other Fey expected that he would not behave like the rest. Travellers were known to be odd. Rare, feared, and prized. This time his Teacher’s voice brought comfort. Even the king would treat him carefully.

Hopefully. Yet they had not invited him to sit and eat, which perhaps was not a good sign.

The king’s brother, Eadmaer, answered him before Godric could. “Nay, brother. He says he has brought you a Fey child.”

Sidrac looked up, surprised. “What? From where?”

Godric forced himself to look unconcerned. He ignored his rumbling stomach. “From Lichfield. I was playing for coin there and saw a human couple. With a Fey child. I have brought him to you, to be given to the Fey.”

Eadmaer’s wife’s eyes flared open in shock, and she gaped at him for a moment, then looked to her husband.

The king’s eyes widened and he put down the spoon, his attention fully engaged at last. “You have brought him--” His hand fisted on the table. “Sit down, Traveller. I would hear this tale.”

Godric sat, ignoring the cold sweat pooling under his arms. He quickly summarized the details, hoping the king wouldn’t press him too hard. But the faint hope that his news would be greeted with gratitude quickly dissipated under Sidrac’s steely gaze.

“I would understand this,” the king said. “You found a Fey babe and you took him from his human parents, exchanging him for a human babe from a nearby holding. You thought to bring him to me, but as you had not asked me of the wisdom of this plan, you had no way to know that I was not home, but instead a week’s travel away. So you did not go to the local Unseelies for help, no. You Bound a human woman to yourself to act as wet-nurse and dragged her here with you.” His jaw muscle clenched. “By all the gods, Traveller, are you mad?”

“My lord king—”

“Nay, do not speak!” Sidrac pushed himself away from the table and paced the small dwelling. Eadmaer, who had been listening in open-mouth fascination, regarded him with narrowed eyes for a moment, and then took a long drink of ale, placing the mug back down with a thump. “Leave us,” he muttered to his wife, who nodded and hurriedly exited the house, the door closing with a thump behind her.

The king stopped pacing and glared down at Godric, his hands fisted on his hips. “Is this how it is done in your time? Tell me.”

Godric swallowed. “My lord king, I realize I was hasty. I know I should have come to you first. I walked away from Lichfield thinking to do just that. But I could not. You don’t understand. In my time, the Fey are few. We have been hunted by the humans until we are almost gone. The thought of that babe being left in their clutches was too much for me. I didn’t know if they were just visiting there, or if they lived there. I couldn’t risk that they might leave while I was going to report to you, and then lose track of them. The babe would grow up a wilding—” To his surprise, his voice choked off as despair seized him. He had been playing the role of the devoted Fey, but suddenly he realized it was more than just play-acting. “I’m sorry, my lord king. But I couldn’t let that happen.”

But Sidrac didn’t seem moved by his speech. He leaned down on his hands on the table, looking Godric in the eye, fury barely contained in his gaze. “Noble words. But do you have any idea of the damage you may have wrought?”

Godric remained silent. Best to let him rant and get it over with.

But Sidrac pressed him. “Tell me, Traveller, what do you think might happen now?”

Godric cleared his throat. “I hope, my lord, that the child could be given to a Fey couple.”

“And so he shall be,” Sidrac retorted. “Of course. Indeed, there are a few whom I could name who would welcome him. But that is not the point.” He breathed deeply once, and pushed himself back from the table and turned to his brother. “We will go see this child.”

He turned his back on Godric and walked outside, leaving Godric no choice but to follow, Eadmaer in his wake.

As they walked back the way he had come, the wind whipped his tunic against his legs. The sun shone brightly, sparkling off the waves that crashed on the shore on their left. Although Sidrac didn’t seem to mind, Godric was glad he had not taken his cloak off. Even at the height of summer, the ocean breeze felt cold.

Sunlight also flashed off of Sidrac’s armband, making the gold shimmer. Godric averted his eyes from it. There was little hope he was going to be rewarded for his deed now. But maybe the parents who will receive a babe will be more grateful…

He cheered himself with that thought. Better that then dwelling on what had gone wrong.

Godric held up his hand, stopping the king and his brother. “Let me go alone, first. She might be scared of you.”

Sidrac nodded. “Very well.”

Godric stepped into the glade where he had left Agyfen. She spotted him at once, and her relief at seeing him only magnified his at seeing her. She began to cry. “Oh my lord, my lord, you have come, thank all the gods….” The babe was still wrapped snugly around her. The toddler slept, one thumb firmly planted in his mouth.

He strode towards her and hauled her to her feet, for she had collapsed face down at his feet, weeping. “That’s enough. Pull yourself together.” He stuffed down the panic that leaked into him from her. “I’ve brought someone who will help us. He is a great and wise king. He wishes to see you, and the babe.”

“A king?” She wiped her face, trembling.

“Yes.” He turned and waved at the trees where he had left Sidrac and his brother. They emerged, crossing the meadow to where he stood with the woman.

Agyfen bowed her head, smoothing her skirt and plucking ineffectually at some burrs that were lodged in the fabric. “My lord king,” she said, her voice small and shaky.

“He wishes to see the babe,” Godric said.

She hurriedly reached inside the sling and brought the baby out, who blinked in the bright sunlight and began to squirm and fuss.

The king frowned and peered at the babe. “Ah,” he said. He glanced at Godric. “It is as you say.”

Godric squelched his irritation. Did the king really think he could have been mistaken? He might be an idiot, but not that big a one.

The king touched the child on his downy head. “A fine child,” he murmured, then looked back at Godric. He shook his head, anger filling his face. “There is ill to come of this.” He looked as if he would say more, but heaved a breath instead.

“Sidrac, we must—” Eadmaer’s words were cut off by his brother holding an arm up.

“Not now, brother.” The king looked hard at his brother and then turned to Godric. “We will meet for a Gathering a week hence. Bring them.”

He turned and strode off. Eadmaer gave Godric a sour look before they melted into the trees again.

Godric let out the breath he had been holding. Could have been worse.

6

A WEEK LATER Godric and Agyfen stepped into a glade where the Southern Unseelie Fey Gathered. He was surprised to see at least fifty of them there. He had hoped for a smaller Gathering, but apparently the combination of a beautiful summer’s night and an unexpected Gathering had been too much for the inquisitive Unseelies to resist. He nodded at those he recognized, his stomach roiling. The woman beside him shrank against him, and he pushed her aside. “Stop it,” he muttered to her. “I can’t walk with you clinging to me like that.”

He felt her panic as she blanched and bowed her head. Guilt touched him, swept away by anger fuelled by his own fear. But he had to swallow it down as Eadmaer spotted him, gesturing for him to come forward and be presented to the king.

Sidrac got up on a large boulder that thrust out of the ground in the middle of the clearing, the music fading away as the musicians saw that their king was ready to speak.

Godric came to a halt in front of the king, his heart pounding. He strove to look confident. If he played the frightened child he would be treated as one, and that could not end well.

A half-moon shone in the unclouded night sky above. The moonlight and firelight gave enough light to see the king’s expression, which was decidedly unfriendly as his gaze swept over Godric, and then back at the Gathered Fey. “The Traveller Godric has brought us one of our own, lost to the humans. A Fey child will be restored to us this night, one of the Blood redeemed from the fate of being a wilding. And so we thank him.”

Godric blinked, surprised at the praise, relief washing through him. It’s gonna be alright, he thought, jubilation filling him as he turned and grinned at the crowd.

But his grin faded as he saw less than appreciative expressions on some faces. Others stood with their arms folded across their chests, their expressions downright hostile.

The king spoke again. “Cerdic and Ailred, receive your child.” He motioned to a young Fey couple who stood at the front. They clasped hands and approached Godric, matching giddy grins on their faces.

The king nodded at him, and Godric took the sleeping babe from Agyfen’s grasp and handed him to the Fey woman who gasped and dissolved in tears, her husband clutching her to his side as he bent his head over the babe, examining him closely.

He looked up at the king, his eyes sparkling with tears as well. “Thank you, my lord king, for this great boon. We are indebted to you.”

The king nodded at the man and they turned and joined the crowd, others crowding around them and embracing them, joy evident on all their faces.

Godric noted that not a word of thanks had been directed his way by the couple, and another alarm twinged through him. Something was wrong.

The impression solidified as the king’s gaze turned back to him. “Now then, Traveller, we will speak.”

He seemed to be waiting for some kind of reply, so Godric swallowed and nodded. “Of course, my lord king.”

Silence fell again as the king regarded him, his arms crossed on his chest. Finally he spoke. “I would have you tell the tale of how you came to us this night with a human Bound and a Fey babe. It will be most instructive for my Court.” He smiled a wintry smile. “Leave nothing out of what you told me. I would have my Court hear it all.” He stepped down from the rock and gestured at it. “Take your place, scop.”

It was the last thing that Godric wanted to do, but he had no choice. He stepped up on the rock and faced the Gathered Fey. He ignored his roiling stomach and took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

The king’s command could hardly be disobeyed, seeing as he had already told the king everything before, but he would be damned if he would make himself look like the fool the king obviously thought he was. He looked at the young couple, the babe clutched to the woman’s chest possessively, and his resolve strengthened. The kid would have been a wilding without me.

So he spun the tale, leaning heavy on the discovery of the babe and the effectiveness of his Charms upon the humans, only lightly touching on the Binding as a clever necessity to save the life of the babe. He resisted the urge to end on a flourish. Best to play it safe.

So he merely nodded at the couple and ended with, “And so the winds have saved one of the Blood, bringing him safely to our Court.”

Silence fell, broken by Sidrac’s snort. But there was no humour in his eyes. “A fine tale you tell, indeed, Traveller. But there are parts missing. Now you will hear the rest.” He gestured to a couple who stood nearby, a young woman and an older man. “Beadohild, tell us all what you told me yesterday.”

The woman nodded at the king and the two of them went forward. Godric relinquished the rock to them, his stomach churning. A sense of impending doom seized him.

“There were an upset in Lichfield two weeks past, so there were,” she began. “My father’s cousin’s wife, screaming’ that her babe would not awaken. That he were different, and all. That he were a changeling.” She darted a fierce look at Godric, and continued. “I saw the child. ’Twas true. He could not be awakened, no matter how they poked and pulled at it. And I saw the cause. ’Twere a Charm the child lay sleeping under. But we couldna get close to him to undo it. Aedwen went to the priest, who said his prayers, but still the babe wouldn’t awake. He counselled patience, but Aedwen were newly a Christian, and in her fear fell back on the old ways. She left the babe out in the woods, to be claimed back by the fairies, hopin’ they would bring her own back. In the mornin’ the child were dead.” She wiped at the tears that had spilled over onto her cheeks. “The humans are right riled. They look to give blame.”

Shock washed over Godric, the events of that night returning to him in a rush. He had sang the Charm with the babe asleep in his arms, and again in the house, trying to sing the Fey child to sleep. It hadn’t worked on the Fey child. But it must have been too much for the human baby, sending him even deeper asleep than he realized.

But he had hardly had time to digest the tale when the older man began to speak. His eyes blazed with anger as he glanced at Godric and then addressed the crowd. “I had told you all in the last Gathering of my cousin, the Sensitive, and their babe. We had agreed that to take the child was an unneeded risk as I was close enough to keep watch and guide him as he grew. But now—” He clenched his fists. “My daughter has told you. Fear haunts the holding. Evil spirits, demons, are blamed by some. Adwen still blames the fairies.” He fairly spat the word out, his fists clenching as he turned towards Godric, his eyes blazing. “Tell me, Traveller, how am I to comfort my cousin? How am I to undo this harm you have done? How will I stop them when they come for us in the night?”

Godric gaped at him, cold sweat running down his back. He swung to the king. “My lord,” he stammered. “I did not know—”

“SILENCE.” The king held up a hand as he barked the word, his eyes glittering like diamonds. “This tale is not ended. You will hear it all.”

Another couple stepped up. They looked middle-aged, the man’s face worn and tired, the woman’s fearful. She spoke up. “I know the woman whose babe the Traveller took as a replacement for the Fey child. She be a good woman. She is fair crazed with grief. Tales have come to us of the changeling babe. She fears the fairies took her child, too. We were friends, but the night before the king’s Call she came to our home, her and her husband. The eyes of the humans turn to the Fey when sorrow comes. We all know that. Their eyes turn toward us.”

They stepped down, the woman’s eyes glittering with tears. The king nodded at another, a young man who took their place.

He, too, shot a fierce look at Godric before speaking. “The wife of the thegn Tirweald and his child have gone missing from a holding nearby my own. Vanished in the night. Rumours had reached us from about a babe disappearing, and now this. The thegn is searching high and low, struck by grief and rage. His suspicions have fallen upon the Seelie Fey Cutha, the miller. Even now Cutha is being questioned about it. I fear for his life if the woman is not returned.”

Silence fell as the man stepped down. The king took his place, looking down at Godric. “Now you have heard the true tale of your folly, Traveller. Tell me then, since you know so well how to fix problems you stumble across, without any advice from anyone, what shall we do with all this?”

Godric fell to his knees, shock and fear causing him to tremble. “My lord king,” he managed. “I did not mean for any of this—I only thought—”

“You thought of nothing but your own gain.” The king’s power swelled, snapping against Godric in a fierce storm as he stepped down from the rock and hauled Godric to his feet.

Fear from Agyfen flashed through him as she screeched, huddling at his feet and sobbing. But he had no time to spare for her distress as the king pulled him close so that his face was mere inches from away. “Fool! I cannot suspect that the Fey from your time are so reckless to behave as you have, so I only imagine that they have sent you away from there to rid themselves of you!” He thrust Godric away from him, his chest heaving as he struggled to control himself.

Godric staggered and tripped over the woman and landed in a heap, fear sapping all his strength as he cowered beside the woman in front of the king. “I’m sorry, my lord king. I only wanted to help.”

The vicious kick in his side shocked him, coming as it had from nowhere it seemed, but as he curled in on himself and the pain that blazed from a rib that surely was broken he saw Eadmaer standing over him, his face distorted in a snarl. “Help? You idiot—”

Sidrac pulled at his brother’s arm. “Nay, brother. Step aside.”

Eadmaer’s eyes blazed in anger, but he stepped away, his jaw clenched.

The king hauled Godric to his feet, flicking an impatient look at Agyfen, who continued to wail at his feet. “Shut her up,” he hissed.

The pain from his side and the flaring panic that seized him made it hard to concentrate but Godric gathered himself and Spoke to the woman. Hush. That’s enough.

The woman flinched and subsided into low sobs.

The king thrust him aside and stepped up on the rock. “My people, we must consider together how to deal with these threats we face. We will speak later. First, this Traveller will be dealt with.”

Godric’s mouth went dry, but before he could speak the king continued, his eyes spearing into Godric’s.

“This is what you will do, Traveller. You cannot undo all the harm you have wrought, but one. You will take this woman back her holding and unBind her. And then you will Cross back from whence you came. Eadmaer and Brunstan will accompany you to ensure your obedience.” He paused, the fire snapping loudly in the sudden silence, the sparks drifting up to the black sky above. “You are banished from this Court. If you return, I swear my blade will drink your blood. Rule or no, Traveller or no. Do you understand?”

Godric clutched at his aching side and nodded, hardly able to believe his luck.

“Speak it, Traveller. Vow your obedience.”

“I swear it, my lord king, under the Earth, the Sky, the Sun and the Moon. I will not return to your Court, on pain of death.” He felt the curious effect of the Vow, the sudden hush, the almost audible click inside of him. It didn’t matter. He was going to live. He would swear to anything for that.

The king’s face was hard as granite. “Go now, before I change my mind.”

Godric stumbled out of the Gathering on shaky legs, the sobbing woman trailing behind.

7

THEY APPROACHED AGYFEN’S village after midnight. They did not want to risk meeting any of the thegn’s men who might be looking for his wife. They skirted the village and reached the same glade where Godric had Bound the woman. He figured it would be best to keep all the circumstances the same as they were when he Bound her.

But as they entered the glade, Godric’s stomach clenched. Truth be told, a burgeoning reluctance had seized him as he got close to the spot. Only the grim presence of Eadmaer and the other Fey kept him moving.

You can do it. It’ll be fine. Get rid of her and go home.

Versions of this litany had been running through his mind over the days they had travelled, but he had been finding it increasingly hard to believe it as the miles passed. Now it seemed laughable.

It didn’t help that Agyfen had picked up on his fear and was dragging her feet, as reluctant to approach the glade as he was. Eadmaer was practically hauling her along as she whimpered and moaned.

Finally they broke through the trees and stepped into the clearing. Eadmaer dumped Agyfen at his feet. “Do it now, Traveller, and quickly. I weary of this.”

A shudder rippled through Godric. “My lord, give me a minute, I must—”

“Now.” Eadmaer’s voice was cold.

Brunstan lifted his bow and notched an arrow, training it on Godric.

“Wait, wait…give us some space. I need to concentrate….” Godric held up his hands in supplication.

Eadmaer eyed him, his face hard, but finally he gestured to the other Fey and they stepped back to the edge of the trees, a couple yards away. Brunstan kept his arrow notched and ready, though, Godric noted, squelching the wild impulse that had swept through him to grab Agyfen and run.

He swallowed the thought and squatted beside the woman, who lifted her face to him, her face wet with tears in the thin light from the half-moon. “Nay, my lord, nay, do not send me away, please, I’ll be good, I swear—”

‘Shut up!” He spoke more viciously than he meant to, the stress making his voice harsh.

She whimpered and collapsed at his feet, moaning. Her baby, strapped to her back, began to wail.

“Shh, shh…” Godric patted the baby, fear and nausea swooping through him. If anyone heard…

“Now, Traveller!” Eadmaer’s voice rang through the clearing, throbbing with Fey power.

With a moan, without thought, Godric shut his eyes, releasing his own power, seeking the bright thread that connected him to Agyfen. There. It stretched into the darkness, shimmering with golden fire.

He knew the arrow would be loosed if he did not obey. He was a goner if he didn’t do it. But still he hesitated. The vague instructions from his Teacher years ago weren’t helpful. Be careful with an unBinding. He regretted, now, his impatience with learning the details of Fey lore.

He had to break this Bond. But how? He envisioned himself taking the thread in his hands and wrenching it apart, but panic flared through him at the thought. He remembered how it felt when he first Bound her, the vision of him holding the thread, the deepened connection that faded when he let it go. Pulling it apart when he held it would be like wrenching off one of his own legs.

Another thought struck. He envisioned himself standing by the thread, holding a sword. His instincts screamed at him in alarm. This was not the right way to do it, either. But he had no more time nor courage left. If he didn’t act now he never would. With a harsh yell he swung the sword down on the thread with all his might.

The snap of its severing threw him onto his back. For a moment he heard Agyfen’s fading wail, disappearing as the thread receded into darkness, whipping like a snake. He caught a glimpse of her, far off, her hands raised towards him, and then her presence was snuffed out.

Godric opened his eyes and managed to get onto his elbows as he retched and heaved, his head spinning as the woman and baby wailed in unison, their cries splitting the night. They cleaved his skull, falling into a black hole that had opened in his mind. There. She’s there.

But she wasn’t, and he had to bite back the howl that rose to his throat. The black hole, the searing loss was all, a force so huge there was no room for anything else. I have to get her back.

“It’s done. Release your power.” Eadmaer’s voice broke through his thoughts, harsh in his ear as the other Fey hauled him to his feet.

Get her back…the need was all-consuming. Godric fought against Eadmaer’s restraining hands, and the king’s brother cursed as he struggled to hold him.

“Get her out of here, now!” Eadmaer’s voice rang in his ear as he yelled at Brunstan.

Panic surged through Godric. “NO!” The word burst out of him and he scored a blow, triumph surging through him as he leapt away.

But Eadmaer tackled against him from behind, bringing him down with a crash. The other Fey flipped him over, straddling him and pinning him down, and struck him in the face hard, twice.

The blows shocked Godric back into himself, and suddenly he realized what he was doing, what had happened. Realized, too, that his power still surged through him and he let it go with a gasp. His vision cleared. Eadmaer’s face above him was distorted in a snarl, his fist cocked and ready to hit him again. “Ok, enough, let me go, let me go…”

Eadmaer lowered his fist, but he did not move. “I think not, Traveller. Not until Brunstan is further away.”

Suddenly Godric heard Agyfen, a loud screech that filtered through the trees. He couldn’t help himself, he bucked and heaved against Eadmaer again. But it was futile, and soon he subsided, panting from the effort.

It was a full fifteen minutes more before Eadmaer finally got off, and even then he kept a firm grip on his arm as he hauled him to his feet. “By all the gods, Traveller, have you not done that before?”

Godric trembled violently, the delayed shock making him woozy, the thrumming need to go get Agyfen back almost unbearable. He could only shake his head in reply.

“If I had but realized…” Eadmaer ground his teeth together. “Worse and worse.” He shut his eyes briefly, and Godric felt a warm glow of Fey power throb through the other Fey. He opened his eyes. “I have told Brunstan to Charm her to sleep for now. She will be damaged by this, I fear. But we will see what we can do to restore her.”

Godric tried to suppress a sob, but it was no good, and he dissolved in tears, his gut heaving. He collapsed on the ground, unable to stop the wrenching cries that tore through him.

Eadmaer cursed and squatted beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Godric felt a slight tingle of power ripple through him. The sorrow that tore at him receded slightly. He heaved a breath and swiped at his face as he struggled to control himself.

Eadmaer’s face held some reluctant sympathy. “My cousin once Bound a human. It was difficult for him, too, when he broke the Bond. He recovered in a few days. Of course he broke the Bond properly. I cannot say what this foolishness will cost you.”

Godric heaved another breath. “I didn’t want—I mean, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was just trying to help.”

Eadmaer’s lips thinned, and he grunted as he got to his feet, hauling Godric upright along with him. “Take us to the Crossing you spoke of. It is best you go now.” He released him. “Lead the way.”

The last thing he wanted to do was to step into a Crossing and face that wrenching void. Maybe he could persuade Eadmaer to let him wait until dawn, so he could use the rising power to aid him.

He would be stronger then, too. He could probably take Eadmaer by surprise, use his power and tie him up, or something. Then he could at least check on Agyfen, make sure she was okay before he went home.

The sudden spurt of excitement at the thought appalled him, told him what a very bad idea that was. The king’s brother was right. He had to leave, now or he would not be able to resist the urge to find Agyfen. Bind her again to fill the hole in his mind.

Despair seized him. If he was torn apart by the Crossing, it was only what he deserved.

NEW YORK STATE, 1970

The swirling, wrenching sensation receded, and Godric slowly came back to himself. He was lying face down. He was alive. Those were the only two clear thoughts in his mind.

The rest was a jumble. Strange pictures spun like confetti in the wind through his aching skull. Faces, looking up at him, laughing. His fingers plucking the strings of a….guitar? A sound floated through his mind—his voice, singing in words that sounded odd. German? Another picture drifted by. Himself, kneeling, as he pledged to—

Sidrac. Eadmaer. The baby. Agyfen—suddenly it was all back, the pictures fitting together into a cohesive memory. Nausea swamped him and he hastily pushed himself to all fours as he retched.

He collapsed, panting, and opened his eyes. Stars pierced the black sky above, silence lay like a blanket over him. He should back at the Crossing spot where he had begun this whole nightmare.

Of course since nothing else had gone right, he wouldn’t be surprised to find himself in Japan.

He groaned and closed his eyes. He knew that was impossible. A Traveller always came back to the spot where he or she Crossed, even if they didn’t leave from the same one that they arrived at after they Crossed. This was his second Crossing. Both from this same spot in Harriman State Park, upstate from New York City. Surely he had come back there, just like last time. Best not to panic unless he needed to.

He slowly took stock. He felt drained and ill, much as he had the last time he returned. What was new this time was the black aching hole in his head where Agyfen had once been. Along with the crushing sense of failure and regret that swamped him.

Grief rose within him in a dark tide and he hastily turned his mind away from the woman and all that had gone wrong. Hopefully the effects of the Binding would fade in a few days. But the spiking panic that perhaps it wouldn’t drove him to his feet, wincing at the tender spot in his ribs where Eadmaer had kicked him. Lying there only caused dark thoughts to gather in his mind like shadows.

He looked around. Dark trees stood sentinel, swaying slightly in a stiff breeze that gusted against him. Relief filled him as recognition came. It was indeed the same spot from which he had Crossed.

Now all that remained was the hike back to the road. He could probably hitch a ride back to the City and his apartment. But he rejected that thought. His mother would have set spies around his apartment who would run to her the moment he appeared. He needed a couple days before she swooped down on him, wanting to know how it went. Better to go to Betty, his on-and-off girlfriend.

Familiar irritation seized him. He was twenty-nine. Old enough that his mother shouldn’t be checking on him every time he moved. Especially since he had no intention of explaining to her how badly he had screwed up to her, or worse, to his father. Neither of them were Travellers. They had no idea of the difficulties he had faced.

He took off his cloak and stored it in his bag. His clothes were odd enough but with a cloak people would really notice him. He heaved the bag on his shoulder and started to walk.

I gotta get outta here. Not for the first time the thought of leaving New York and the stifling obligations of his family crossed his mind. He even had planned where he would go. California. Sun. Women. Freedom.

A far-off thin wail pierced the night, dousing his excitement like water on a fire. Godric froze. A baby? Had Agyfen and her child somehow Crossed with him? Fear spun him around and he listened intently, but the sound quickly faded into the whisper of the trees in the wind. He stood for a moment, his heart pounding, a massive headache forming behind his eyes with every beat.

Don’t be ridiculous. Not possible. He took a deep breath and started off again, ignoring the exhaustion that seized him. He should rest a couple of days to shake off the effects of the Crossing and allow his Fey power to replenish. It was warm enough, and he still had his flint in his bag. But the thought of being alone with his thoughts and regrets spurred him on. He needed the company of others. The busy buzz of New York City. Betty would surely be a tonic for what ailed him. But even the thought of the wild redhead Unseelie couldn’t quite dampen the fear that stalked his steps.

Give it a couple days, he kept telling himself as he walked. A couple days and I’ll feel better.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something more than mere time would be needed to fix the hole that Agyfen left behind. That more would be needed to deal with the burgeoning sense of failure that dogged his steps.

California. The idea seized him again. Sun, surf. Fun.

But his excitement over the thought didn’t silence the intermittent ghostly wail that lingered in the wind, nor did it mask the vision that kept intruding into his mind.

A picture of Agyfen kneeling, arms stretched towards him.

PART TWO

A Woman Grown

1

GWYNEDD, April 20, AD 642

The rain fell in a weak drizzle, making the horses slip on the slick trail. It helped to keep Nona alert, jarring her out of the fatigue that threatened to lull her into a dull doze. The chill in the air helped, too. It was late April, but here in the mountains it still felt more like winter than spring.

It had been a long night and an even longer morning, what with the difficult birth she had attended and the nervous mother to cope with in the aftermath. She looked forward to her bed and a good night’s sleep. It didn’t help that she felt slightly nauseous. Either from staying up most of the night, or the lingering effects of her Quickening, she couldn’t say. Likely both.

But her fatigue and queasiness couldn’t dampen her satisfaction at the successful completion of her task. Nor the satisfaction of being entrusted with it. She was nearly eighteen, and a woman grown. Betrothed and Quickened; an adult at last.

But not entirely free, as a man would be. Arthen, one of her father’s fighting men, accompanied on this journey. As a Fey she had more freedoms than human women, but that didn’t extend to a journey by herself, such as a young man of her age would be allowed. Neither a Fey nor a human woman would have that much freedom. And if she were a young man she would be given training in war, unlike the needlework her aunties saddled her with. She scowled at the thought. She couldn’t help longing to be able to do what she wanted, and when. And even these small freedoms she had would be restricted once she was married…

She stifled a sigh, wishing she could be more excited about her betrothal. In one thing, at least, men and women were equals. Both were required to marry as benefited their tud. The fact that she and Cynric did not much like each other mattered little. The match was a good one for her kindred, and his. A way to strengthen the ties between their families and with Penda, the Mercian king, who was Cynric’s overlord. And between two important Seelie families.

She sighed again, setting those thoughts aside. She would do her duty when the time came. But for today she would dwell on the successful Healing and enjoy this journey away from her home, however damp and gloomy it may be.

She wanted to stay another day at the new mother’s tref but Arthen insisted on leaving. The weather mattered not to him. As a Ward, he could lessen the rain if it became too difficult to travel. He was as eager to get home as she was to extend her stay away.

Bronwyn also accompanied her, huddled under her cloak as she rode her mare. The damp air made her hair lie limply against her face. She kept swiping at it, and at her nose, which had begun to run.

She looks feverish, Nona thought, her gaze sharpening on her maidservant, who suddenly sneezed twice. “Are you ill, Bronwyn?”

Bronwyn pulled her cloak closer as she glanced at Nona. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes red-rimmed. “’Naught but a cold,” she said.

“We will be home by dusk,” Nona said. “I will make a draught—”

“Hold, Lady.” Arthen interrupted her, hauling his horse to a stop and wheeling it around.

Nona’s gelding shied at the sudden movement. “Ah, Maun, steady!” She pulled on the reins to settle the horse and turned him around as well to see what had alerted Arthen.

A man rode pell-mell towards them, bent over his horse’s neck and urging it on. He came from the west, from the direction of the holding they had left just after midday.

Nona frowned, a spike of worry piercing her. Had something happened to the babe, or the mother, and they needed her back?

But as the man drew closer it became evident that this was no one she recognized from Cradoc’s tref. And that he was Fey. His long dark hair was tied back with a leather strip, exposing a thin, narrow face and long nose. His face was all sharp, hard angles, his light hazel eyes filled with worry as he hauled his horse to a halt.

“Good day, Master,” Arthen said. “Is something amiss?”

The man’s jaw bunched. “Yes, I am in need of aid, my lord.” He glanced at Bronwyn, clearly reluctant to say more in front of a human.

“Have no fear,” Nona said. “My maidservant is a Sensitive, and knows the way of the Fey.”

Bronwyn looked at Nona. “I will go on ahead so that you may speak freely.”

Nona threw her a grateful glance. Bronwyn was used to the strangeness of their life. Her mother Ceri, another Sensitive, had been a maidservant to Nona’s mother. When Nona’s mother died of the wasting sickness when Nona was small, Ceri looked after Nona as a mother would. The two girls had grown up as sisters, with Bronwyn a few years younger. When Ceri herself died two years past, Bronwyn had taken her mother’s position as maidservant to Nona.

“We are long parted,” the newcomer said once Bronwyn was out of earshot. After their murmured reply he looked at Nona. “I have been to the tref of Cradoc, looking for a Healer, and he said one left this morning, heading east on this road. Are you she, who saw to his daughter?”

“Yes,” she answered. Perhaps I will not go home this day after all. Her fatigue washed away at the thought. “What is your need?”

Before he could answer, Arthen spoke. “I would have your name and from whence you hail, Fey.”

The man clenched his jaw. “I am Cynfran ap Nefydd, of Powys.”

Nona sucked in a breath. The name was familiar to her. “You are Unseelie, brother to Tegyn?”

“Yes.” A humourless smile flashed over his face. “Cradoc said that you are Seelie. Strange that your Court knows our names.”

“Your brother seeks the Unseelie throne. It would be stranger still if we had not heard of you.” Arthen’s gaze raked over the newcomer. “You look well enough. Why do you seek a Healer?”

The Unseelie’s face tightened. “I have given you my name. I will ask for yours before I speak.”

Nona eyed him, uneasy. The Unseelie Court was in upheaval as they prepared for the Summer Gathering, when they would name their new king. An upheaval caused in no small part by Tegyn ap Nefydd’s challenge of their king’s son for the throne.

Nona gathered herself. She had never had much contact with the Unseelie Court. But this man sought a Healer, and she needed to find out why. And he was right, common courtesy required that they name themselves in response to his trust in giving them his name. “I am Nona ferch Albanwyr of Arfon. A Healer, as Cradoc has said. I travel with Arthen, one of my father’s trusted warriors, and Bronwyn, my maidservant.”

“Albanwyr of Arfon?“ Surprise flashed over the Unseelie’s face, quickly masked. HIs gaze fixed on her. “A Healer holds no Court when a Fey is in need. You must come with me.”

“The daughter of Albanwyr of Arfon will not be commanded by you, Unseelie.” Arthen’s eyes were as cold as his voice.

Cynfran’s jaw tightened. “I do not command. I ask the Healer for her service.”

“She will—”

“Hold!” Nona took a breath, seeking calm. “Give me leave to speak.”

Arthen clamped his lips together, clearly irritated, but nodded.

She bit back a sigh. She might think herself an adult, but her father and his men did not. Then I must prove myself one. She faced the Unseelie. “You have not told us why you seek a Healer.”

Cynfran’s jaw clenched. “My brother lies gravely wounded nearby. I would not deter you from your journey except that I fear for his life if he is not helped soon.”

Fear pierced her. The claimant to the Unseelie throne. And he wanted her, a Seelie, to help him? She forced herself to think. “I do not have much experience. It would be better for someone else to see to him if indeed his injury is grave. What has happened to him?”

Cynfran’s nostrils flared. “He has been shot by an arrow.” He held up a hand before Arthen could speak. “You need not fear. There is no danger. We sought an outlaw, and when we caught up with him, he fired upon us. He is long gone.”

Nona gathered her thoughts. “Annes the Healer lives close to our tref. We can send her to you once we arrive home. She would be better suited to Heal him.”

Cynfran’s mouth twisted. “You won’t get back to Arfon until dusk. Too dark to travel back. You could not leave again until the morn so it would be midday tomorrow before you arrived. ’Tis too long. My brother cannot wait.” He eyed her. “Experience or no, you are what the winds have brought. You must come. My brother will die without help.”

An icy hand touched her. Up until now she had only been Annes’ assistant as she learned the Healer ways. She had never had to use her skills with one so badly wounded. Her mouth went dry thinking of all that might happen if she failed.

Before she could speak Arthen nudged his horse forward, interposing it between herself and the Unseelie. “My Lady is not beholden to you, Unseelie. She returns from a full night of attendance on a birth. She is but newly Quickened, and needs rest. We will send aid tomorrow, but I will take her back home.“

The stranger’s jaw clenched. “I will not allow that.” His Fey power began to rise, snapping against her, and Arthen began to gather his power as well.

God have mercy. A confrontation between Arthen and this high-ranking Unseelie was the last thing they needed.

There was only one solution. They could not risk conflict between the Courts over this. She looked at Arthen. “Enough. I will go. He is right. I cannot leave an injured man.”

Arthen looked at her, anger sparking in his eyes. “Think you, my lady. He could be telling a tale, or playing an Unseelie trick.”

Cynfran’s eyes flashed. “God’s blood, ’tis no trick! I swear to you that I ask only for her Gift.”

Arthen scowled. “And if your brother dies, what then? What will you ask of our Court in return?”

The Unseelie blew out a breath, exasperated. “I am not playing a game with my brother’s life. He is gravely wounded, as I said. ’Tis true, she may not be able to Heal him. There will be no blame given, nor payment expected if she fails.”

Arthen’s lips thinned. “Then we all go. Myself and the maidservant as well.”

“I’ll not have a Sensitive involved,” Cynfran said, with a cutting glance at Bronwyn. “This is Fey business.”

Nona held up her hand to forestall Arthen’s objection. “Bronwyn is ill. She must go home. And besides, Father expects us back tonight. You must take Bronwyn home and tell him what has happened.”

“Ill?” Arthen swung his horse around and peered through the drizzle at Bronwyn, who sneezed again at that moment, as if on cue. His lips thinned, and he turned back to Nona. “I don’t like this, my lady.”

Nona squared her shoulders, stuffing back her unease. She didn’t like it either. But she was a Healer, and there was one who needed her. “I will be fine. The good Christ will guard me. I will do what I can for his brother. And tomorrow you can bring Annes.”

His jaw clenched, but before he could speak his refusal, she spoke again. “This Unseelie will not harm the daughter of Albanwyr, I am sure. He will see to my safety.” She glanced at Cynfran, seeking his affirmation.

He nodded and looked over at Arthen. ““The Healer will come to no harm. I Vow it, before the Earth, the Sky, the Sun and the Moon.”

She blinked, surprised at the Vow. She hadn’t expected that, especially not from an Unseelie.

Arthen eyed the stranger for a moment and then sighed. “I will hold you to it, Unseelie.” He spoke the words with little grace. “Tell me, then, where I may find you tomorrow.”

While he got directions from the Unseelie, Nona urged her mount to join Bronwyn. “I must go with this man. His brother is injured, and needs help. Arthen will take you home. You must go to your bed at once, and send word to Annes that you are ill. She can make a draught for you. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Bronwyn’s eyes flared wide. “My lady, ’tis not safe! You know not this man. You cannot—” She clamped her mouth shut on her words. She had learnt early that she should not question too deeply the ways of the Fey. “Will you be safe, truly?” Her gaze searched Nona’s.

Nona’s heart warmed at the worry in Bronwyn’s eyes. She was not just her maidservant; she was her closest friend. She squelched the niggle of fear she felt. “As to that, I’m not worried. I will be fine. Don’t worry.”

Before Bronwyn could reply, Arthen joined them. “You do not have to do this one’s bidding, Vow or no.”

Nona smiled faintly. “Ah, but I do. I am a Healer. Neither my Gift nor the good Christ would have me turn away from one in need.”

Arthen’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Then go with God. I will come back tomorrow, never fear.”

“Tell Father not to worry.”

His mouth twisted. “’Twill do no good. He will likely string me up for letting you go.”

“As to that, he will not,” she said firmly. “Tell him I insisted, and you had no choice.”

Arthen nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.

Nona didn’t blame him. Her father was likely to be very angry. But surely he wouldn’t take it out on Arthen, one of his best men.

She stuffed aside the thought that maybe he would, and urged Maun into motion with her heels to join the other Fey. She was a Healer, and she was needed. ’Twas as simple as that.

As soon as she joined him, he gathered his reins and kicked his mount into motion. “Follow,” he threw over his shoulder.

Nona had no choice but to obey. God had granted her desire for more adventure. But any excitement at the thought was overcome by the worry that assailed her at the task ahead.

That a Seelie Healer would be asked to Heal a claimant for the Unseelie throne was more than ludicrous. Dangerous.

But she would do her duty, and let God take care of the rest.

2

ABOUT A QUARTER hour later the Unseelie turned down a path that disappeared into a small copse of trees. They had not gone far when Maun suddenly balked, throwing his head up and squealing.

She hauled on the reins to settle the gelding, but he danced in place, unwilling to advance. “Shh, now,” she muttered, patting his neck distractedly as she scanned the area for the cause of his alarm, but she saw nothing out of order.

She straightened on the saddle and froze as the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. A subtle sense of something wrong touched her like the faint taint of carrion on the wind, marring the settled peace of the woodland.

The other Fey wheeled his horse around and trotted it back to join her. “Settle your beast, quickly. ’Tis not far now.” His own mount danced beneath him, its eyes showing white.

“What is it?” Nona asked, looking around for the source of the odd feeling.

“There is nothing to fear. You sense the outlaw. But he is long gone, now.”

“The outlaw?”

“There is no time for this. Tegyn needs help, now.” Impatience coloured Cynfran’s words. “Use your power and the beast will obey. We must go.”

She had seen her father use his power to settle a horse a time or two, but she had never attempted it herself. But she would not let this Unseelie know that. She closed her eyes, concentrating, allowing her power to rise. The sweet rush and tingle of it distracted her for a moment. She was new to this easy access to power, and it still thrilled her.

But the Unseelie was waiting. She laid a hand on her horse’s neck, opening herself to its agitation, sending her power through him much as she did in a Healing, but less of it.

Much less. It only took a small touch and the gelding’s fear diminished.

The Unseelie gave her no time to savour her accomplishment. “Quickly!” He turned his horse’s head and put his heels to its side.

Nona gathered the reins and followed.

Cynfran pulled his horse to a halt when the path narrowed, dropping off the saddle and gathering the reins in his hands.

Nona followed him as the path opened into a small clearing, leading her horse behind her. As she stepped into the clearing, she froze, the same uncanny sensation she had sensed before returning, but it fled as she spotted the injured man lying at the base of a tree.

She dropped the reins and hurried to him but skidded to a halt as a large dog rose to its feet beside the man, its lips pulled back as a rumbling growl issued from its huge chest.

“She is a friend.” Cynfran spoke to the dog, who at once settled onto its haunches. The menacing growl quieted as it looked at Nona with curiosity.

Cynfran looked back at Nona. “Go on. Geneth will not harm you.”

He was Wolfclan, then. She knew the dog would not harm her but still she edged carefully past her and dropped to her knees beside the man and scanned his form. “God in Heaven,” she breathed. An arrow protruded from the man’s midriff, just under his ribs. Dark blood soaked his tunic. His face was pale, and he had swooned.

Nona let out a breath, fighting back panic. Cynfran had not been lying. Even with her power, his brother would likely die. And then what? She forced aside the question. First, seek information. Don’t rely only on what you see. Don’t rush to Heal else you miss something important. Her aunt Annes had taught her the ways of the Healers, and the memory of her calming voice and manner made her steadier.

She drew in a breath, trying to remember everything her auntie did when faced with a wound. She leaned forward and sniffed, concentrating. The smell of blood filled her nostrils, but not the tell-tale stink of pierced guts. Her fear eased a bit. There might be a chance to save him, after all.

The Unseelie squatted beside her. “Why do you wait? Take the arrow out, and be done with it.”

“It’s not that easy,” she said. Her mind raced through all the possible outcomes; all the ways this could go wrong.

“You are a Healer, no? Then Heal him.” He reached for the arrow. “I will take this out, if you are squeamish.”

She knocked his hand away, anger flaring. “Stop. Do you want to ensure his death? Give me a moment, let me think.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

She took another deep breath. Seek information. “Think you, when did this happen?”

“A few hours past. He was wounded on the path. I dragged him here, away from any who might find him, and went to the tref to find help.”

“Not long then. That is good.” She met his gaze. “We need a fire, quickly, and some bandages. Water, too. Bring my bag from my horse. There are some bandages in there, but we will need more. Longer ones, to wind around him. I’ll make a poultice. All must be ready before the arrow comes out.”

He nodded and sprang up to do her bidding.

She looked the wounded man over again, taking in all the details. His Fey power was strong. That would help. And he was young. She forced herself to ignore the ugly arrow sticking out of him and examine him for any other wounds, but she saw nothing. Thankfully. The arrow was bad enough.

She examined it closer, trying to determine its angle so she could more easily pull it out. It protruded slightly downward, she noted. Good. Away from the heart. And no bloody froth marred the Unseelie’s mouth, meaning the lung was intact. But if the arrow was stuck in a rib bone, it would be difficult to get out. She stopped herself from speculating further. One step at a time.

Cynfran brought her the bag and as he searched for dry wood to light a fire, she rummaged through it, seeking what she needed. Comfrey, plantain, yarrow. She also pulled out the small jar of honey she always carried.

She had no iron to cauterize the wound, so the silk thread and bone needle she carried would have to do.

She worked quickly, mixing and testing the poultice by taste until she was satisfied. She also put together a draught to help the injured man with the pain so it would be ready when he awoke.

Once Cynfran had a fire ready she heated the poultice just enough so that she could spread it easily and then set it aside, along with the bandages and long strips of linen he had made out of his under tunic.

“Now then,” she said, kneeling beside the injured man once more. She glanced up at the Unseelie. “I will need your help.”

Cynfran nodded and kneeled on the other side of his brother.

Nona cut away the injured man’s tunic so that his midriff was exposed, and then took a deep breath. Annes’ voice filled her mind. Your fear will taint the Healing. Seek peace, first. She grasped the arrow in one hand, gently trying to twirl it. It shifted slightly, and she let out a sigh of relief. Not stuck in bone. She swallowed back her fear and pulled her knife out of its holder at her waist, wiping it off on her dress.

She looked at Cynfran. “I will enlarge the wound just a bit, to ease the arrow’s exit. Hold him tightly. If he awakes he must be kept still.”

He nodded and gripped his brothers shoulders.

She gathered herself, murmuring the Healer’s Prayer that Annes had taught her. “O Saviour of the human race; O true Healer of every disease, O heart-pitier and assister of all misery, O fount of true purity and of true knowledge. Your hands be mine, your power aid mine.”

She made a quick, deep cut beside the arrow shaft. Blood welled and poured down the man’s side but she ignored it, quickly dropping the knife and grasping the arrow shaft with one hand and laying the other beside the wound. She closed her eyes and called on her power, gathering it into a bright stream that flowed through her to the man, her fingers tingling as it coursed through her. She directed it down the shaft to the arrowhead, concentrating as she pulled gently on the shaft. There. She felt the sudden loosening of the arrow and pulled it out in one smooth motion, the power aiding its exit through the body. She quickly released her power. She would need more later, and she already felt light-headed.

She threw the arrow away with a grimace and grabbed a cloth, mopping away the blood that flowed. Once she had stitched the wound closed she dipped her hands in the warm water Cynfran had heated, sluicing off the blood. She smeared some of the poultice on a bandage and, with the Unseelie’s help, began to wind the longer strips of linen around his brother to keep the bandage in place.

When all was done and the ends tied off with a knot, she laid her hands on her patient once more. “Your hands be mine, your power aid mine,” she murmured, and once again directed her power into the wound to bathe the torn areas of the body marred by the arrow. As if from far away the faint sense of completion touched her, the knowledge deeper than deep, as Annes put it, that all had gone well.

She released her power with a gasp, seeing stars in front of her eyes. The nausea she felt earlier came back in force. She managed to get up and stagger a few steps away before bending over and retching.

Suddenly Cynfran was there, supporting her. “Rest now, girl. You have done well.” He guided her over to a tree and helped her sit. She leaned against it, grateful for its hard bulk supporting her, and closed her eyes to shut out the sight of her surroundings swooping around her like she was on the deck of a ship.

Her gorge rose and she leaned over and retched again, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. Now that her task was done she felt faint, exhausted to the bone.

Cynfran squatted before her, thrusting a wooden mug at her. “Here. Drink.”

She shook her head weakly but he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around the mug, and wrapped his hand around hers.

“Drink.” He brought the mug up to her mouth. She took a sip, too weary to protest. It was ale, the taste bracing on her tongue. With another sip the dizziness receded.

The Unseelie’s gaze met hers over the mug and he let go. “Better?”

She swallowed another sip. “Yes. Thank you.”

He leaned back on his heels. “My mother is a Healer. She swears that ale restores her better than anything else.” His mouth twisted. “But she has a fondness for ale, ’tis true.”

One corner of Nona’s mouth lifted up in wry amusement. “As to that, my teacher is a bride of Christ, and only has ale on feast days. ’Tis a trick I would not have learned from her.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “But I must rest.”

She didn’t hear the Unseelie’s reply, for she was asleep.

3

SHE WOKE TO the smell of roasting meat and she opened her eyes, her memories flooding back. The injured man, the Unseelie…

She sat up quickly but then had to stop for a moment to allow the swooping feeling to settle. She closed her eyes, willing it to go away, and when she opened them again she saw Cynfran sitting across the fire from her, roasting some meat on a stick.

He looked over as he noticed her movement. “You have slept for some time. Are you well?”

She nodded carefully. Even that small movement gave her a bit of vertigo, but she swallowed. “Better,” she said cautiously.

He held out the stick to her. “Eat. Geneth caught us a hare.” The dog, who lay beside Cynfran, lifted her head and thumped her tail on the ground at the mention of her name.

She got up slowly and joined him, sitting across from him on a large rock. He handed her some bread and ale along with the meat. She ate for a moment, feeling strength return with every bite. She took a drink of ale, looking over at Tegyn, who lay prone where they had left him, covered by a cloak. “Has he woken?”

Cynfran shook his head. “Nay.”

She got up carefully, moving slowly as to not get dizzy, and knelt beside the injured man. After a brief examination she straightened, looking over at the Unseelie. “He has a slight fever, but that’s to be expected.” Satisfaction filled her. “He’s doing well.”

He nodded. “Aye, it seems so.”

There was nothing else to do for her patient for now, so she rejoined Cynfran by the fire, wrapping her cloak around her for warmth. It was close to dusk, and although the drizzle had ceased the air felt damp and cool. “How did this happen? You said you were following someone…” she broke off, remembering the odd sense that had struck her before.

He grimaced. “Yes.” He eyed her, and spoke again. “Nona ferch Albanwyr. Your cousin is Celyn ap Wynn, he who has abandoned his king and fights now with Oswald of Bernicia?”

Nona bristled. “He had his reasons, Unseelie.” She bit back the other words she wanted to say. She must be careful. Who knew what use he or his Court would make of whatever she told him?

He held up a hand. “Aye. I mean no offence. I was merely making sure that you were who I thought you were.” He let out a breath. “The wind truly has brought you to me. This man whom we sought, the one who almost killed my brother, is the same one who slew your cousin’s family in cold blood. The rogue Saxon who has plagued our lands since.”

Shock pierced her. “God have mercy!”

“It was him you sensed. He leaves a taint on the wind.”

Icy fear touched Nona. “He was here? He could still be nearby?”

Cynfran shrugged slightly. “I think not. We were close behind the whoreson. Too close, it seems, for Tegyn was felled by his arrow. But the sense of him faded, leaving only this faint stink you sense.”

Christ, have mercy. “And if you’re wrong?”

“Never fear, girl.” Cynfran smiled grimly. “Geneth will warn us long before he gets too close to harm us.” The dog’s tail thumped once and Cynfran ruffled her ears affectionately. He looked up at Nona. “Think you, I left her guarding Tegyn when I came to get help. You saw her effectiveness.”

Nona eyed the dog, slightly mollified. She was huge, a silver-furred beast that looked part wolf. A good alarm and defender, indeed. “But why do you hunt him? Has he killed someone dear to you?” She strained to recall any news of the murderous Saxon. Since the death of Celyn’s family others had died across the lands of the Cymry. All slaughtered in an apparent orgy of blood and destruction. But although many had tried none could find him. He appeared as suddenly as lightning and disappeared just as quickly, leaving death and destruction in his wake.

“My reasons are my own.” The Unseelie fell silent, staring at the fire.

Despite his obvious reluctance to speak of it, Nona persevered. “I have heard he is Fey. Unseelie.”

Cynfran’s mouth twisted in a grimace. His eyes met hers, anger hardening his face. “What if I told you the tales at our Gatherings told us he is Seelie?” His words were as cold as his eyes.

“That’s hardly likely,” she said, her own anger roused. “The Unseelie are—” Belatedly she remembered to whom she spoke, and she snapped her mouth shut. “’Tis what I heard.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear at a Gathering, girl,” he said. He shook his head, letting out a breath. “’Tis more likely that the Saxon is a wilding, free of any Court.”

“I have heard that, too.” It was what her father had believed from the beginning, when the sad tale of the murder of Celyn’s family had reached them.

Cynfran’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Whatever he is, he has been corrupted by some dark power.”

Nona suppressed a shiver. “Aye.”

Cynfran rose to his feet, the dog doing the same beside him. “I will collect some more wood for the fire, so that we can keep it burning tonight. And perhaps Geneth will get us another hare.” He looked up at the sun, judging the time. “T’will be dusk, soon. I will be back before it gets dark. I will not go far.” He nodded at her and quickly walked to the trees, disappearing into their shadows with the dog at his heels.

She swallowed. She had no desire to be alone, knowing that the crazed Saxon could be near, but what choice did she have? It’s not like he asked her permission. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, fighting back the fear that seized her. A sudden noise made her eyes fly open, but she realized at once that it was the injured man, stirring on the leaves under the tree. She got up and hurried over to kneel beside him.

His eyes opened, his face creasing in pain.

“Don’t speak,” she said. “All is well. I am Nona, a Healer. Your brother found me on the road and brought me here to Heal you.” She felt his forehead. Still warm, but no worse than before.

“Where…?” His voice was rough. His eyes closed as if the effort had been too much.

“Your brother has gone to fetch some wood for the fire,” she said, answering the question he was most likely asking. “He will be back shortly, never fear.”

He nodded. He lay still, and Nona thought he had swooned again, but suddenly his eyes opened. They were clearer this time, and they sharpened on her. “The Saxon,” he managed. “Is he dead?”

“Nay. Cynfran said that after he shot you with the arrow he disappeared. He did not think it likely he would return.” She projected more confidence than she felt. No use to burden the injured man with worry. “I have a draught for the pain. Do you think you could manage it?”

The Unseelie nodded again.

Nona fetched the mug with the potion she had prepared and knelt beside him once again, assisting him to lift his head and shoulders so she could hold the cup to his lips. He slurped at it, making a face at the taste, but drinking a few swallows. “Good.” She eased him back down. “That will help.”

He nodded wearily, his eyes closing again.

Nona settled back down as well, letting out a breath. Thank the Lord for His mercy. She began to think this Unseelie would survive, after all.

4

NONA SNAPPED AWAKE, suddenly alert. She must have nodded off, but she couldn’t have been asleep for too long. But something had woken her…

She suddenly froze, her blood turning to ice as her neck hairs lifted. The Saxon. She scanned the clearing but the cloudy sky and the deepening twilight made it difficult to see clearly. Nor did she see any sign of Cynfran.

She rose to her feet slowly, her heart pounding as the uncanny sense of the Saxon’s approach intensified. A stink that she could sense but not smell. He must be close. They were in the shadows under the tree, and perhaps would not be seen if they were careful.

“It’s him!!” Tegyn hissed, struggling to raise himself on one elbow, his face distorted in pain. “Lady, you must—”

“Hush!” She looked down at him, urgent. “Lie still.”

Movement on the far end of the clearing snagged her attention. A man stepped out from the shadowed trees. Large, muscled, hair unkempt. Her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps he would not see them…

But her heart seized in fear as he walked straight towards them. She willed herself not to move, not to make a sound, but still he advanced towards them relentlessly. As he got closer she saw he carried a sword.

“Mam duw,” she whispered. We will die here. Her heart hammered so hard she thought she might faint, but she forced herself calm her racing thoughts. She needed a weapon. She frantically scanned the area but saw nothing she could use, not even a felled limb.

Tegyn managed to pull himself to a sitting position against the tree. “Lady, you must flee. He will kill you.”

Nona ignored him. The sun was sinking below the horizon, bringing an upwelling of Fey power. She had no fear that the Saxon would be affected, for now that she saw him she knew their speculations were wrong. He was no Fey.

But I am. The power could help her. If only there was something she could use…her gaze snagged on the fire, and an idea seized into place. It wouldn’t stop him, but maybe slow him down. Another idea struck her, and she looked down at Tegyn. “Your sword—is it with your horse?”

He grimaced, his gaze darting to the steadily approaching man “Yes, but you’ll not get it before he reaches us.”

The horses were tethered to the right of them, about ten metres away. If she could distract him, sprint for the horses…

It was a chaotic plan, certain to fail, especially since the horses were lunging at their tie-lines, whinnying in terror as the unnatural sense of the Saxon affected them.

The man began to curse and yell as he advanced, foul words that rent the air.

“Flee, Lady, now!”

She ignored his desperate plea, focusing instead on the swelling power as the sun approached the horizon. Luckily her rest had restored some of her power. May it be enough.

The sun dipped behind the horizon and she opened herself to the flood of power, adding the little she had, and sprang into motion. One flying step brought her to the fire and she grabbed the stick that she had noticed sticking out of the flames, holding it aloft in a whoosh of sparks and light.

The Saxon turned at her motion, stalking towards her with his sword lifted and his face contorted by a snarl. For a second she saw him clearly in the firelight. He looked massive to her eyes, tall with dark, wild hair, his eyes fierce and blazing.

“Bitch!” He spat out the word as he advanced, both hands on the sword’s hilt as he lifted it, the edge gleaming red from the reflected flames. “I’ll drink your blood, whore, cut you to pieces and—”

She heaved the stick with all her might at him, aided by Fey power, and turned and sprinted to the horses.

A rage-filled scream rent the air behind her and then, the savage snarl of a beast. The sound stopped her in her tracks and she spun around to see the silver form of Geneth leaping towards the Saxon, then twisting in mid-leap as the sword arched towards her.

But not fast enough. The dog gave a heart-rending squeal as the sword bit home and Geneth fell to the ground, unmoving.

An unearthly yell split the air and the Saxon spun around with unnatural speed as Cynfran ran towards him, aflame with Fey power, holding his sword in his hand. But the man didn’t stand and fight. He kicked at the fire, spreading flames and embers in Cynfran’s path, causing him to come to a skidding halt.

Nona grabbed at Tegyn’s horse’s bridle, her touch calming it enough for her to fumble at the sword’s hilt, panting as she pulled it from the scabbard and whirled around with it in both hands, fully expecting to see the Saxon advancing on her.

But instead she saw that the Saxon had turned and fled, his form a dark shadow as he disappeared into the darkness under the trees from whence he had appeared.

Nona panted, her blood roaring in her ears as she tried to gather herself together. God have mercy. Christ have mercy.

Cynfran dropped to his knees beside the dog, keening in an almost wolf-like manner, his face wet with tears.

The sight spurred her into action and she dropped the sword, running to him, her hands frantic on the dog as she fell to her knees. “Let me help,” she said, seeking the extent of the injury. “I might be able to—” She stopped abruptly, realizing it was futile.

The dog was dead. Fear turned to rage in a heartbeat at the destruction the Saxon left behind once again. Not only the dog. Celyn’s family and so many others had suffered at his hands.

Her power rushed through her in a mighty flood as she grabbed Cynfran’s discarded sword and sprang to her feet. He must pay. But a hand clamped around her ankle, stopping her before she take a step. She twisted around with a snarl. “Release me!”

“Stop, girl,” Cynfran said, his voice ragged but firm. His power snapped against her. “It’s done. Quickly, now, let it go.”

For a moment she didn’t understand, and then, suddenly she did. It wasn’t his power that she felt, it was hers, coursing through her, causing the hair on her arms to lift, the sweet rush of it teetering on pain as her fingers and toes prickled.

Appalling realization struck as she let it go, gasping as she staggered and then fell to her knees beside the Unseelie. Her dizziness returned tenfold and she closed her eyes, willing it to go away. She moaned as nausea roiled through her and she sunk down on her elbows, her face to the cool earth.

Every Fey knew they had to be careful when they used their power. Every Fey child had it drilled into them. Especially the newly Quickened, who were sometimes reckless with the use of it. Nona had thought those warnings didn’t apply to her, though. She was level-headed, not scatter-brained and flighty.

Yet she had forgotten all of that in the panic of her first real test. Foolish girl, her auntie had often said, affectionately, but Nona heard those words now in condemnation.

She barely noticed the Unseelie get up, but suddenly he was there again, thrusting a mug of ale under her nose. “Drink.”

She took it with a trembling hand, wiping her mouth and handing it back when she had drained it. Very carefully she pushed herself up so that she was leaning back on her heels. Her gaze fell on the dog again and grief rose, sharp as a knife. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, her throat aching. She let out a sob and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth to stifle more, feeling foolish. What was this animal to her?

But it was not just the dog. It was delayed shock, and the thought of Celyn’s family and the fear his lovely wife Eleri must have felt that assailed her now.

Grief flashed across Cynfran’s face. “She gave her life gladly and saved us both,” he said, looking down and laying a hand gently on the dog’s head for a moment. He looked back at her. “Do not be sorry.” He got up and brought back her cloak, which he draped over her shoulders, crouching in front of her. “You did well. Think you, my brother would surely be dead if you had not acted. You saved him not once, but twice this day.”

Her eyes flared wide. Tegyn. “How is he?” She tried to rise, but he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Sit. He is fine. See for yourself.” He motioned for her to turn.

She swivelled carefully so she could look behind her. Tegyn sat propped up against the tree, his face pale and his eyes closed. “I must see to him.”

But he didn’t release her. He eyed her critically. “You have not the strength. Rest for a moment. You will recover soon.” He took a breath. “But we must leave this place as soon as you are able.”

She straightened up. “Leave?”

“’Tis not safe here. The Saxon might come back. We dare not risk it. Without Tegyn’s sword arm, and with Geneth gone—” His voice cracked and broke, but he heaved in a breath and continued.. “I cannot fight him off alone, that is certain. You saw him. The darkness that powers him is too much for one Fey alone. If he comes back we are all as good as dead.”

“But to travel at night…” Her words trailed off, her already sensitive stomach roiling at the thought of encountering the crazed Saxon again.

“We need not travel all night. Only far enough that he could not catch us before dawn. We are on horseback, he is not.”

“You know that for certain?”

“I have seen no sign of a horse.”

“’Twill be dangerous for your brother. He should keep still for a few days at the very least.”

Cynfran ignored her protest. “We have to go.”

“But Arthen will be coming here tomorrow. If he sees us gone…” Cold pierced her at the thought.

Cynfran grimaced and opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly froze as a low snarling voice drifted to them across the clearing.

“…drink your blood, wealas, tear you to pieces and string you up, bite—” The words drifted off and silence fell again.

Nona met Cynfran’s gaze, the horror she felt reflected in his eyes.

“We must go, and quickly,” the Unseelie said. “I will send a message to your father’s man. To stay here means death for us all. Rest. I will get the horses ready.”

Nona closed her eyes as he sprang up and hurried to their mounts, trying to ignore the fear that seized her. Good Christ, protect us. O rock-like warrior of a hundred hosts, O fair crowned One, victorious, skilled in battle. Fight for us. Murmuring the prayer a few times before the Unseelie joined her again helped to calm her rioting heart.

Cynfran was a dark shadow now that night had truly fallen, but his form glimmered slightly with Fey power. “All is ready. Let us go.”

She nodded and took his proffered hand as an aid for rising. She felt weak as a kitten, and the dizziness plagued her still, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it. If she hoped to survive this night, she had to get moving.

5

THE NIGHT SHROUDED them as they rode. Nona held on grimly to the reins, fighting back nausea and the terrible swooping vertigo that assailed her. Heaven only knew how Tegyn fared. He had swooned again as he tried to mount his horse, so Cynfran had hauled him in front of him on his horse and held on to him as he rode. They tied his mount with a lead rope to Nona’s saddle.

They weren’t able to move quickly, but even despite the difficulties Nona felt better to be away from the clearing. She only prayed that Tegyn would survive the journey. She certainly would be of no use to him for some time. Her own power was drained.

They had only gone about a quarter hour down the road when Cynfran suddenly drew his horse to a stop, peering intently at the side of the road. As Nona directed her mount beside his she gasped as she saw what had halted the Unseelie.

A shadowed form hung from a sturdy branch of an oak, terribly still. “God, have mercy!” She crossed herself quickly. “He has killed himself?” She peered at the form, but it was hard to see details. “Is it the Saxon?”

Cynfran glanced at her. “I cannot tell.” He grimaced. “’Tis doubtful. He could not get here this quickly…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head. “But he seems to move on the wind, for all that he is not Fey. Can you have a look? I cannot dismount. And you got a clearer look at him than I did.”

Nona swallowed, her flesh creeping at the thought of approaching the dead body. But she nodded and dismounted carefully, willing herself to calm. She peered at the body as she approached. A slight breeze wafted against her and the corpse slowly began to rotate as if touched by an unseen hand. She halted, her stomach revolting as the breeze brought her the coppery iron scent of blood. Horror froze her in place as she caught a glimpse of the man’s face. It was too much for her unsteady stomach and she leaned over, retching.

“What is it?” Cynfran cursed as he fought against his horse which had suddenly reared, spooked by the same smell of blood that had stopped Nona.

Nona stumbled back to Maun and grabbed his reins before he could take off. She twined her fingers in his mane to keep herself upright, the slight dripping noise of blood falling onto the fallen leaves under the corpse echoing through her mind.

She leaned over and heaved again. Christ, have mercy. Mother of God, pray for us.

“Healer!” Cynfran’s voice was urgent.

“I’m fine,” she managed, although she decidedly was not. She sucked in a breath, trying to calm her heart. “Not the Saxon,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning against the bulk of her horse. “His work, I think. It wasn’t the hanging that killed him.”

“God, have mercy,” Cynfran muttered, under his breath.

“Christ preserve us,” she added, faintly. If only she wasn’t so dizzy she would feel a lot better.

“We must leave this place. Can you ride?”

“In a moment,” she said, fighting back the nausea. “There’s something else.” She looked up at the Cynfran’s shadowed form and drew in another breath. “This man carries a bow.”

She couldn’t see his features, but he drew back as if she had slapped him, and he peered back at the hanging man. “A bow? But that…” he trailed off, his horse shifting uncomfortably underneath him. He turned back to her. “It wasn’t the crazed Saxon who tried to kill my brother.” He spoke the statement in a flat voice.

“Nay.” A memory flashed through her mind of the Saxon advancing towards her, lit by firelight as her torch spun towards him. “He had no bow, I’m sure of it.”

Cynfran let out a breath, peering again at the dead man. His horse huffed and tossed his head again, hooves dancing beneath him. “God’s blood,” he muttered, trying to manage the horse and hold on to his brother at the same time. “I can’t get any closer to see if I recognize him. We’ll go but a little further and stop for the night. I’ll come back in the morning and check.”

“No!” Nona held up a hand. “’Twill do you no good.” She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and forced the words out. “I did not get a good look, but his face…” It was no use. Her stomach rebelled at the memory and she heaved again, sparkles flashing around her eyes as the blood roared in her ears.

She stayed bent over with her hands on her knees for a moment, head hanging down. The rush of blood to her head made the sparkles disappear.

“Settle yourself, girl.” Cynfran’s words were firm, but not unsympathetic. “We must leave this cursed place. Only a little further.”

Nona nodded, too spent to speak, and wearily hauled herself up onto Maun’s back again.

If this was adulthood, she wanted no more of it.

She woke to bright sunshine and a pounding headache. But as she pushed herself upright from she realized the dizziness was gone. A small mercy. She looked around. Tegyn still slept nearby, and Cynfran heated something over a fire in a small iron container, using a crude tripod he had fashioned from some bigger sticks.

He saw her sit up and poured a small amount of liquid from the pot into a mug and brought it to her.

She frowned as she caught a whiff of it and looked up at him, her eyebrows raised.

He shrugged. “I told you, my mother was a Healer. She taught me a few remedies. I used some of the herbs from your bag, and added some feverfew I found nearby. She always used it for headaches.”

“Your power tells you what I suffer from, does it?” She couldn’t help the sour note to her voice.

“Nay. Experience. I’ve overused my power a time or two. Worse than too much ale.” He shrugged. “Drink or not, I do not care.”

She swallowed her pride and took the mug, draining the contents quickly. “How is he?” She motioned to Tegyn.

Cynfran shrugged again, worry shadowing his face as he looked over at him.

Nona forced herself upright, ignoring her pounding head, and went over to the injured man. After a quick examination she leaned back on her heels, glancing up at Cynfran, who had joined her. “He is doing better than I expected.”

Relief filled his face. “Good. Can he travel?”

“Travel? Don’t be foolish. ’Tis only God’s good grace that he survived last night’s journey. He needs rest.”

“I don’t ask what is needed, I ask what is possible.” He scowled at her expression. “We must keep moving. The Saxon still roams. He may yet catch up with us. And last night we discovered it was another who sought my brother’s death. We are not safe here.”

“The one responsible for this is dead,” Nona protested, waving at the injured man.

“Yes. But think you, was he alone?”

A wren began to sing sweetly in the tree above them, the trilling song an odd counterpoint to the thoughts of danger and death that they discussed.

She saw his point, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. “Your brother is not out of danger. He could yet die.”

“And if the Saxon hunts us down, or another assassin, we will all die.”

“There seem many who wish you dead,” she retorted. “To which you can add my father, when Arthen discovers me gone. Or had you forgotten he was coming to join us today?”

His eyes flashed. “I am Vowed to keep you safe. He will understand my actions.” He let out a breath. “We cannot stay here. Surely you see that?”

She bit back the words that rose to her mouth and forced herself to think. “I would see more clearly if you would tell me why you are being hunted.”

He looked at her, his hazel eyes wary, and then got up to go sit at the fire. He motioned at her to join him. “’Tis simple,” he said with a sigh. “You know of Tegyn’s ambition for the throne. Our king’s son sees him as a threat.”

Shock pierced her as she understood his meaning. “But the Rule—”

“The Rule.” Cynfran snorted. “Of course. You Seelies and your precious Rule.”

“’Tis for all the Fey,” she protested. “To kill a Fey is to kill yourself.”

“Of course. Which is why the one hanging under the tree is likely a human.”

A chill washed over her. “He would compel a human to kill another Fey?”

“That is my guess. But I doubt a Charm was involved. Gold will do just as well.” He scowled at her expression. “Don’t be childish. There is a high price of entry into the game of kings, one often paid in blood. That is true for Unseelie or Seelie, human or Fey.” He snorted. “Surely you know that there are Seelie kings who have gained a throne by wading through another’s blood.”

Nona wanted badly to deny the accusation, but she could not. Not when it was rumoured that her own uncle, who sought the Seelie throne five years past, had died in battle from the blow of rival, not at the hands of the Saxons he was fighting. “Then I will go back, wait for Arthen myself.”

He shook his head. “And risk running into the Saxon again? Alone?” He pressed home his point before she could answer. “Besides, as you said, my brother still needs your skills.”

She couldn’t find an argument against him, which made her ire rise. “And where will this journey end?”

His jaw tightened. “Home. ’Tis two days travel, only.”

“Two days?” She sprang up, and immediately regretted it, as her head pounded harder. “And what of Arthen? He travels with Annes, the Healer. They will be at the mercy of the Saxon, too, or do you not care?”

“I have already sent a message to them. While you slept I Called a dog from a nearby holding and directed him to find your father’s man. He carries a message on a rope on his neck. They will be in no danger.”

“You have already—!” She spun on her heel, crossing her arms in front of her, trying to control herself. God, give me strength. She turned back to him. “So you give me no choice.”

“No.”

Anger flared at his agreement. “You cannot—”

“Enough.” Cynfran crossed his arms, his eyes glowing as his power rose, the strength of it sparking against her. “We will leave in an hour.”

Her arguments withered in the face of his obstinacy. There was nothing she could do.

6

TWO DAYS LATER they stopped at the crest of a hill, looking down at a small settlement nestled at its base alongside a swiftly flowing stream. The sun shone brightly, the sky blue behind the bulk of the steeply rising mountains all around.

Normally Nona would have thought it beautiful, but not under the circumstances. She wanted to be anywhere but there. Her only consolation was that soon her father would be coming to bring her home.

Although that was a small consolation. The terse message they had received back, carried by the dog, was little comfort: We are coming. The we could only mean Arthen had consulted with her father and that they would arrive together.

And what exactly would the confrontation look like when her high-ranking Seelie father arrived here at the home of these Unseelies, accusing them of stealing her away? Her mouth went dry at the thought.

Above her a peregrine falcon rode the breeze effortlessly, it’s high chirping call coming to her from far away. Her father’s eyes, for he was Eagleclan, and this bird, Gwir, his bonded companion. Her presence meant he was at most a half days ride away.

Cynfran looked up at the falcon circling overhead. He had spotted the bird earlier and Nona had told him of its significance. There was no point in hiding it, being that he was Animal Clan. Those Fey with that Gift could often sense when an animal was bonded to another Fey. And besides, she didn’t mind that he knew her father was watching.

Considering all the times she had chafed at Albanwyr’s surveillance of her through his birds, he would be well satisfied to know it. Mayhap the only thing he will be satisfied with, she thought with a grimace.

Tegyn looked at her. He was still pale, and their travel had been slowed because of his need for frequent stops to rest. But he was alive, and despite all that had happened Nona could not help but be happy for that. “We will soon be at the tref. You need not fear.”

“No?” She swallowed. It was now or never to speak of what had occupied her mind as they travelled. “Your king sent an assassin on your trail. You have not told me the reasons for why you pursued the Saxon, but I can only assume your quest cannot have been secret, else how did the assassin know where to find you? Which means there is at least one among your kindred here who is not happy with your attempt to wrest the throne away from your king’s heir. One who betrayed you to your rival. They will not be happy with your return.”

Cynfran scowled. “I have Vowed your safety, do not forget.”

“You have Vowed it, but your Court has not. What is your Vow worth if they greet you with a blow, not a kiss?”

Tegyn grimaced. “There are far more here who support my claim than who do not.” He sighed. “Our pursuit of the Saxon was to prove wrong the rumour of his place among the Unseelies and to end the scourge of his foul deeds. More will be disappointed that we failed in our quest than will be sorry to see me return.” His gaze sharpened on hers. “That Selwyn ap Coed gained the Seelie throne was a great boon to the Cymry Unseelie. How much better for the Cymry that both of the Southern Courts are led by one of our own? That we wrest control from the Mercian Fey? Many support me in my bid for the throne. Leofgod’s attempt on my life speaks to his worry that I will succeed.” He spoke with intensity. His personality had been hidden by pain and fatigue on their journey, but now Nona saw the combination of charm and power that marked him. He would make a formidable rival. No wonder Leofgod had taken the chance he did.

She also understood what Tegyn had not said. Capturing the Saxon would have been a perfect opportunity to prove Tegyn’s worthiness to take the throne, a brave deed to win over those who might not be convinced.

Cynfran glanced at his brother, and then back at her. “Tegyn will make a far better king than Leofgod, son of Wulfgar. Most here understand that.” He paused, his eyes intent on hers. “But think you, we must be careful all the same. You must keep our discovery of the assassin to yourself. It could be dangerous to reveal we know of this plot. We will only say it was the Saxon himself who drew the bow, as we first assumed before we found the dead man.”

Nona nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

Tegyn spoke again. “I will not forget that you have saved my life. I owe you a great deal.”

Nona could not help her flush of pleasure at his words, but she remembered her auntie’s admonition of the danger of pride and waved her hand. “All for the glory of God,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Even so, Healer, I thank you.”

“Come, brother, we have dallied long enough,” Cynfran said. He swung his horse around and urged it into motion.

Nona sucked in her breath to settle her nerves. She was not unused to the schemes and plots of both the Fey and human Courts. Her choice to help this Unseelie who sought to usurp Wulfgar’s bid for the throne had been risky. There would have been difficult consequences from success or failure both. It was too early to say which of those her actions would prove to be. Likely they would not know until the Unseelie Gathering and the new king was crowned.

She could not dwell on it. For now, she had only to endure until nightfall, when her father would come. She clenched her jaw. Please God, may he not come in anger.

They had not gone far down the path when Cynfran suddenly pulled his horse to a halt as he squinted at the settlement below. “God’s blood!”

Tegyn frowned as he looked at the jumble of buildings, then suddenly stiffened. He exchanged a dark look with his brother.

‘What is it?” Nona asked, alarmed.

Cynfran glanced at her. “You see the standard, there, by the hall?”

A black flag with a red and white boar embroidered upon it fixed to a pole stood stuck in the ground by the hall, where some horses were tied to a wooden rail.

She glanced at him. “The boar. What of it?”

“’Tis Leofgod. He’s here.”

Nona felt the blood drain from her face. “Here?” She gathered herself. “We must leave, then, before he discovers us.”

Tegyn scowled. “We’ll not hide like outlaws. This is our home.” He kicked his horse’s flanks and trotted it down the road.

“Is he mad?” Nona looked at Cynfran.

But she got no answer. He merely shook his head and rode after his brother.

God, have mercy. She was stepping into the midst of a bloody struggle for the throne. She knew how easily the innocent could suffer when the those in power played their games of conquest, whether it be war or succession.

She looked up at the falcon, wheeling above. Hurry, father.

7

LIKE ALL TREFI, the settlement where Cynfran lived was made up of a large extended family along with their tenant farmers and slaves, ruled over by a high-ranking breyr. Unusually, in this case the high-ranking nobleman here was a Fey. Nefydd of Powys was not only held in high esteem in the Unseelie Court, but was also part of the trusted war band of Eiludd, king of Powys. Usually the Fey preferred not to be so prominent in human affairs.

Also unusual were the number of Fey she noticed as they rode into the settlement, more than were typical. In fact most of the people she saw working in the early summer fields were Fey, as were most who greeted them in the settlement as they rode towards the main hall.

In secret we are born, in secret we must stay. Thus we survive, by the Rule of the Fey. It was the first and most important Rule. Yet these Unseelies seemed to take no notice of it.

But she had little time to ponder it, for as she entered the hall behind Cynfran and Tegyn her attention was captured by the two men who stood conversing at the front of the hall. One was an older man, obviously Cymry in his looks and dress, who she presumed must by the breyr Nefydd. The other, a tall thin blonde man, must be Leofgod. A couple of other Saxons, presumably Leofgod’s men, stood nearby.

Nefydd glanced over at them as they entered and broke off his discussion with the Saxon, hurrying towards them, limping slightly as he did so. He was of average height, with the same lean build as his sons, but there the resemblance ended. A large chin dominated his face, his eyes the same light green as her own. He was bald, his scalp shiny in the sunlight that shone through the open windows of the hall.

“God be praised!” he exclaimed, embracing Cynfran in a back-slapping hug. “You have returned!” He glanced at the Saxon, a smile wreathing his face and added in the Saxon tongue, “My sons have returned from their quest!”

Tegyn held out a hand as his father moved to embrace him, too. “Have a care, Father. I have been injured, and your greeting might be too much for me.” He, too, spoke in the Saxon tongue.

Nona dared a glance at Leofgod, and saw the tightening of his face, quickly masked. Her blood went cold. What they speculated must be true. Mam Duw. Mother of God.

“Injured?” Nefydd drew back, and suddenly he noticed her. “And who is this?”

Tegyn remained silent, allowing her the Fey courtesy of giving her own name. She could choose how much or how little to reveal.

“I am Nona ferch Albanwyr, a Healer of Arfon. Cynfran found me along the road soon after his brother was wounded, and I came to his aid. The rest is his tale to tell.” She, too, spoke in the Saxon tongue, grateful that her father had insisted she learn the harsh language. She very much wanted both of them to understand her answer. Quick understanding flashed over both men’s faces. Her father was high-placed among the Seelies, his name well-known among all the Fey.

It was a gamble to reveal this. She would have great value as a hostage. But that was a remote possibility. She didn’t think Nefydd would dare. Especially since his son had Vowed her safety.

“How fortunate for your son, that the winds brought this Healer to him in his time of need,” Leofgod said, before Nefydd could speak. His voice was pleasant, but she saw the hardness in his eyes.

“Yes, indeed, praise God and all the saints.” Nefydd turned to his sons. “Come then. A feast is being prepared to welcome Lord Leofgod. Come wash the dust of the road from your throats and tell us all that has happened.”

Nefydd sat back with a frown on his face as Cynfran finished the tale. “A pity the Saxon escaped.” He looked at Nona. “I am most grateful to you, Lady, for your assistance. It seems I have you to thank you for my son’s life.”

Before she could answer, Leofgod spoke up. “Indeed. My people will be astonished to hear that a Seelie would stoop so low.”

Nona sucked in a breath at the insult, but her retort died in her mouth at the bitter anger she saw in the Saxon’s eyes as he glanced at her over the rim of the silver goblet he held.

“Come, Lord Leofgod. She saved my life, and is an honoured guest here.” Tegyn said. His voice was mild, but there was no mistaking the steely edge in it.

“Of course,” Nefydd interjected. “We are all grateful for this Healer’s actions, is that not so, my lord?”

Nona didn’t miss the tiny inflection on the word all, nor that Leofgod’s smile in no way reached his eyes.

“Of course, Lord Nefydd,” the Mercian murmured. “I merely meant that ’tis rare for a member of one Court to help one of another where there is no hope of gain. ’Tis admirable indeed that the Lady Nona did so.”

It was not much of an apology, but it would do. Nona inclined her head in acknowledgement, trying to look unruffled despite the cold sweat pooling under her armpits.

Nefydd took a long drink and lowered his goblet, his eyes sparkling as he turned to her. “Tell us, then, about your king. We Unseelies here in Powys have a great affection for him, no matter that he leads your Court. He has shown us what is possible.”

Nona nodded, careful to keep her glance away from Leofgod. “Indeed, my lord. He is an inspiration to us all. He leads with great wisdom and courage.” Her father would choke on his ale to hear her describe Selwyn such, but she would never reveal her true feelings about the vain and capricious Seelie King to these Unseelies.

To her relief, Nefydd turned to conversation to other things. He must have felt he had taken enough jabs at the Mercian. Nona was happy to put her head down and eat the food. The less she said, the better.

When they had finished eating, Leofgod turned to her. “I have travelled far to speak to Nefydd and his sons about some matters relating to the Unseelie Court. I’m sure you can understand that I cannot speak freely with you here. Would you give us leave to speak in private?”

Nona felt a flush staining her cheeks. “Of course, my lord.” She got up. “My father will soon be here. I will go outside and await his arrival.”

Truth be told she was glad of the excuse to exit the hall and leave the tense atmosphere. She could only imagine what Leofgod had to say, and pray that the conversation would not erupt into violence.

That disquieting thought led her to the pasture, where she found Maun eating clover contentedly. She was debating whether or not she should re-saddle him, so as to be ready for a quick escape, when she heard someone approach her from behind.

She turned to see one of the men who had been with Leofgod in the hall approaching her. The coldness in his eyes as he stopped dried the words of greeting out of her mouth.

“Leofgod bids me to tell you that your interference has been noted,” he said, his gaze intent. “Tell your king that we do not look lightly on this attempt to sway the Unseelie Court.” His gaze swept over her. “Step carefully, girl. Your part in this has been noted.” Without waiting for her reply he turned on his heel and stalked back to the hall.

Nona swallowed, sucking in a trembling breath to try to calm her rioting heart. Her act of mercy had been misinterpreted as somehow being directed by Selwyn. Which was ridiculous, of course. The Courts did not interfere with each other’s affairs, certainly not with the choosing of a king.

But suddenly a thought struck her, and she leaned against the pasture fence as her knees went weak.

God have mercy.

8

NONA’S AGITATED THOUGHTS compelled her to take a walk around the settlement, trailed occasionally by children who tugged at her skirts, giggling when she turned. She had nearly completed a circuit and was wondering if she should dare enter the hall when the dogs began to bark, signalling new arrivals.

She turned to look down the path that entered the tref and relief washed over her as she saw her father and Arthen approaching, along with two other of her father’s men. The guard standing by the hall went inside to alert Nefydd. As the men of Gwynedd pulled their horses to a halt Nefydd and his sons came out of the hall, followed by Leofgod and his men.

Albanwyr glanced at her, but she had no time to speak before Nefydd spoke.

“Greetings, Albanwyr of Arfon.” The breyr raised his hand in welcome. “You are welcome here indeed. We are long parted.”

Her father nodded, his sharp gaze darting among the gathered Fey. “But never far apart.”

Nefydd smiled widely. “God has indeed blessed us! First Lord Leofgod of Mercia comes to us, and now a representative from the Seelie Court.”

Albanwyr looked at Leofgod. “Greetings, my lord.”

Leofgod inclined his head in acknowledgement, but stayed silent.

Albanwyr looked back at Nefydd. “I come only to take my daughter home, my lord, not under the banner of Selwyn ap Coed.”

“Of course. But surely you will tarry here tonight and rest from your journey? Join us in our feasting?”

Albanwyr’s smile was wintry. “Let’s be honest, my lord. Your desire to entertain me is likely as strong as mine is to be entertained. I will take my daughter and leave, for both our sakes.”

Nefydd looked startled, and then he burst out in a laugh. “Aye, then. So be it. Go on your way, and may God bless you.” He turned to Nona. “Again I thank you, Lady, for my son’s life. You have done us a great boon.”

She nodded her head briefly.

Albanwyr turned to Cynfran. “Arthen tells me you Vowed to keep my daughter safe, and so you have done. I thank you, Unseelie.”

Cynfran flushed, and nodded with little grace.

Leofgod spoke up. “Give my regards to Selwyn when you next see him, Seelie. If I am made king we will have words, I am sure.” He paused, his lips lifting in a cold smile. “Best you keep your daughter close to home, Lord Albanwyr, lest no other misfortune befall her.”

Her father’s jaw bunched, the falcon above suddenly screeching in an alarm call. “You can be sure of it, my lord.”

Nefydd gave an order that Nona’s horse be made ready, and while a slave rushed to do his bidding, Tegyn turned to her. “Once again I thank you, my lady. I will not forget your kindness towards me.”

In the light of Leofgod’s dark scowl, Nona felt the safest answer was a nod.

Soon they had said their farewells and headed up out of the path that led out of the trefi. They had not gone far when Albanwyr turned to her and spoke in a low voice. “We will not speak of this where there may be hidden ears who would hear what we say. Hold your tongue until I give you leave, do you understand?”

“Of course,” Nona said, relief filling her. She was more than happy to put off their conversation off as long as possible.

But her reprieve only lasted but an hour, when night had fallen and they were forced to stop. After building a fire her father set Arthen and the other guards to stand watch. Looking for the Saxon and the Unseelies both, Nona supposed.

Albanwyr sat down across the fire from her. “I am not sure whether I should applaud you or whip you, and that’s God’s own truth,” he said, through his teeth. “God’s blood, girl, what were you thinking to go off like that, and with an Unseelie, no less! Are you mad?”

Nona lifted her chin. She had rehearsed her arguments over the past days so they rolled off her tongue easily, even though they held little strength in the light of all she had surmised. “I am a Healer. A man was in need. I could not turn away.”

“You could not?” Albanwyr scoffed. “An Unseelie? A claimant to their throne? Alone? I would have whipped the hide off of Arthen for allowing it except that I needed him to show me the way.”

She swallowed. “’Twas my decision. I told him to go. If you will punish someone, punish me.”

“Aye, and I will, never fear, daughter!” He sprang to his feet and turned from her, his arms crossing across his chest. He heaved in a breath or two and then turned around. The anger had drained from his face, she was glad to see, but the grief she saw there hit her like a blow. “You are so much like your mother. I cannot bear to lose you too, do you not understand, fy ngeneth?”

Her heart tore at his distress. “I’m sorry, Da, truly. But you have taught me my duty. I cannot ride to war as a son might do. But I will do what I am called to do, even so. A man was injured. And by God’s grace he lives because I was there.” She swallowed. “But perhaps it was an ill-formed decision, even so.”

Her father’s eyes sharpened on hers. “What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

Her stomach churned, but she took in a breath and recounted all that had happened. “I could not fathom why Leofgod could possibly think that I was Selwyn’s pawn in a plot to interfere with the Unseelie succession.” She met his gaze. “Until I realized the most probable explanation was that it was true. Selwyn is in league with Tegyn to help him gain the Unseelie Throne.” Albanwyr’s eyes flickered, and shock propelled her to her feet. “This is no surprise to you?”

He sighed. “Nay.” He waved at her. “Sit down, fy ngeneth.” His mouth twisted. “We Fey walk a narrow path in this world. Up until now you have been sheltered from the true cost of it. Loyalties collide between our Blood and the humans, and between Courts. Those loyalties can be hard to navigate. You know full well that the Saxons have forced the Cymry into our mountains, leaving us with our backs against the sea. The Mercian Fey have come to dominate both Courts. Tegyn said it to you himself: that Selwyn ap Coed gained the Seelie throne was a great boon to the Cymry Fey, Seelie and Unseelie alike. ’Twas only natural that there might be some aid given to another Cymry who sought to lead the Southern Unseelie Court. Carefully. Some counsel, perhaps. Some influence on those who share families between the Courts.” He shrugged slightly. “These things happen every time a throne changes hands. But this time there is more at stake, more layers of loyalty to consider.”

“And I stepped in the midst of it.” She hesitated, and then told the last part of the tale that she had left out. “Leofgod told me to tell our king that his interference had been noted. Somehow he thinks that Selwyn directed me to heal Tegyn. I fear Selwyn will be none too pleased that his aid to Tegyn has been exposed, even if in this case he was innocent.”

A wry grin twisted her father’s mouth. “As to that, it won’t be the first time one of our family has been out of favour with our king.” He waved a hand. “You are a Healer. You did not truly understand the consequences, but you were right to save his life. Never fear, fy ngeneth. I will protect you from Selwyn’s wrath.”

Fy ngeneth. My girl. The loving endearment pierced her. “I am a girl no longer, Da. In but a month I will be married and Cynric will have the care of me.”

A shadow crossed his face and he looked away from her, into the fire.

Nona frowned. “What is it?”

He met her gaze again. “There will be no marriage. Cynric will not come back from fighting with Cadafael. Word came just before we left that he is dead.”

“Dead?” Shock pierced her and then, to her shame, relief. She shook her head, guilt filling her. “May God have mercy on his soul,” she murmured, crossing herself.

Her father grunted and followed her lead. “Aye. Although ’twas not the Christ who welcomed him after he breathed his last, more’s the pity.” He shook his head. “We need not pretend to mourn, fy ngeneth. Neither of us were pleased with the match. But Cadafael forced my hand, as you well know.” He leaned forward, intent. “Think you, this is an opportunity God has given us, and just in time.”

She frowned, trying to digest the news. Cynric, dead. True, she had not liked him much, but she had resigned herself to do her duty. To be suddenly free of it was hard to fathom.

“We have another chance to make a match for you. A name came to mind as we journeyed here, but I dismissed it. But now I see God’s purpose.”

“What do you mean? Who do you speak of?”

“Conaire Mac Alpin, of Dál Riata.”

“Dál Riata,” she said faintly. So far north, amongst the Scotti. She hardly knew what to think. The name meant nothing to her.

Albanwyr’s jaw bunched. “Leofgod will not forget your interference. No matter if he gains the throne or not, he will gain his revenge on those who set themselves against him. He will not move against you openly. But I fear he will strike even so.”

Nona swallowed, meeting her father’s eyes. “He said as much,” she admitted, and quickly recounted what Leofgod’s man had told her.

Anger darkened Albanwyr’s face and his jaw clenched. “As I said. You are not safe in Gwynedd.” He blew out a breath. “When we are back home I will send word to Dál Riata. Cadafael seeks to make alliances with the northern kingdoms to bolster his strength against both Northumbria and Mercia. I can sell the match to him. By God’s grace, at this time next year you will be safely north, out of Leofgod’s reach. And far from Selwyn’s anger at your exposure of his connections to Tegyn ap Nefydd, even if you did so all unwitting.” He frowned. “You must leave as soon as possible. Once the details are arranged, think you, perhaps you should go to Bebbanburg to see Celyn. Wait there over the winter, and in the spring he can escort you to Dál Riata, or your betrothed can come to you there.”

Nona only half-listened. She still had not adjusted to Cynric’s death. To think of another betrothal was beyond her. But when Albanwyr mentioned Celyn she snapped to attention. She had not seen her favourite cousin since he left Gwynedd in the wake of his family’s death. “But he is painted as a betrayer. Surely Cadafael would not want…” her words trailed off. She wasn’t actually sure what the king of Gwynedd would or would not want.

Her father waved a hand. “’Twill be no matter.” His eyes gleamed suddenly in the firelight as he grinned. “We Fey are good at getting our way when the winds blow in our favour. And right now, I sense they are.”

Nona couldn’t help but smile back, his excitement spurring her own, replacing the fears that had assailed her ever since her meeting with the Unseelies.

Her decision to help Cynfran came with many consequences. Time would tell whether they would be good or bad.

But no matter. She was a woman grown, and her decision had been her own. As would the consequences.

Human or Fey, ’twas the way of the world, after all.

L.A Smith lives in a small town in Alberta, Canada. She loves drinking tea, walking her dog, knitting, and writing. Not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily all at once.

You can catch up with her on Facebook at L.A. Smith, on Twitter @las_writer, and on her website at lasmithwriter.com.

More information on Wilding: Book One of The Traveller’s Path, and Bound: Book Two of The Traveller’s Path, can be found at lasmithwriter.com.