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  Chapter Twelve

  Ceidrin awoke to find a wooden cane propped up against his bed, another mug of tea–piping hot–on the table beside his bed, and even a change of clothes folded neatly at the end of his bed. He drank the tea first; if only to steel himself for disappointment if his knee would not hold, then threw back the covers and slowly stood up.

  He had to grab the cane to keep from falling, but he managed to stay on his feet. His knee ached–his whole body ached–but it was a manageable pain.

  And one he would learn to live with, if he lived through this.

  Perhaps he had erred in keeping Nidrea's secret for so long. At the time, he'd seen no harm in it; her sister was Queen and would be queen for many years to come, and Oriellen and Meinren had not yet begun their plotting to take the throne. No one had ever asked him if he'd seen her in his travels, and he had not volunteered the information.

  He sat down on the bed and laid the cane across his lap. It had a silver band around the top, and when he twisted it, he unsheathed the sword hidden inside–a thin, rapier-like blade that shone in the dim light.

  "I thought that might come in handy," Sennet said from the doorway. She held a tray in her hands, with more tea and some sort of sandwiches, which she set on the end of Ceidrin's bed.

  Ceidrin smiled. "Yes, if I can manage to unsheath it and stand at the same time." He put the sword away and stood up, finding his balance easier now than before. "You–um–you're determined to help me? Despite the fact that they might try to kill you, too?"

  "I'm determined to help you so you can get Gene back and survive this," Sennet said. "Healers aren't very easy to kill. But we're very good at uncovering secrets."

  "I can tell you where Nidrea lived a century ago," Ceidrin said, and took one of the sandwiches. "But if you go there and do not find her–"

  "Where are you going?" Sennet asked, a trifle sharply. As if she had guessed a bit of what he planned to do.

  "Back to Faerie," Ceidrin said, and stared down at the sandwich in his hand. "The only person I am certain that I can trust is my Aunt Mahariah, and someone else needs to know what happened, just in case I fail."

  "And your cousins won't expect you to go back to the castle and tell on them?" Sennet asked.

  Of course they would. But what else could he do? Sit here and wait until the succession was announced, then slink away like a beaten dog? "I could–" He stopped, then, as a terrible thought swam to the forefront of his mind. "I have no way to free Gene, save for one that I can think of," he whispered.

  "What is it?" Sennet asked when he didn't continue.

  Ceidrin closed his eyes. "If I went to them–my cousins–and gave them the information I'm about to give you–"

  "And if they decide you'd be better off in their dungeons?" Sennet asked. "What then?"

  "I don't think they would kill me," Ceidrin said, but he knew he didn't believe his own words. They had killed Elinor's mother, after all, and maybe even Elinor. And they had almost killed Lucien. "And I have to believe they haven't killed Gene. Because if he is dead --" his voice rose, "I would murder both of them and damn the consequences."

  "I know you would," Sennet said softly.

  "I have to try," Ceidrin whispered. "I can't just leave him there and let them have the crown. Not anymore."

  "I have a better idea," a voice said from the hallway. Lucien limped into view a moment later, and leaned against the door, spent and weary. Privately, Ceidrin thought he looked no better than he had before, but at least he was conscious and mobile now.

  "You should be asleep," Sennet said, but her voice held no heat.

  "I heard you talking," Lucien said. "And I rather wanted to know what happened. You saved my life?"

  "Ceidrin saved your life," Sennet said. "I healed you."

  "Then, thank you, Cousin." For a moment, he seemed at loss for words. "I...I owe you my life."

  "I have no desires for the crown," Ceidrin said. "And I could not leave you to die."

  "Ah, yes. The crown. But surely–"

  "They raised the question of your whereabouts, and the succession was postponed for thirty days," Ceidrin said. "Elinor is also missing. And I was supposed to search out any possibility of Nidrea having an heir–"

  "Nidrea?" Lucien stared at him in shock. "But–" He smiled, then, and shook his head. "I would have seen Elinor as Queen before Nidrea's name was mentioned."

  "Ahren mentioned it first," Ceidrin said. "Well, Sennet mentioned it first. But they've murdered Elinor's mother, and perhaps even Elinor–"

  "She was alive," Lucien said. "And I don't think they caught her." His face darkened. "I wasn't in any–condition–to warn her when she arrived and found her mother dead."

  "What were you doing there?" Ceidrin asked.

  "I–I wanted to speak with Elinor before the gathering. To warn her," Lucien said, but something rang false in his tone of voice. As if he'd intended to do something more as well, like ask her not to come. "But I found the house in ruins, and her mother dead. I was attacked–"

  "By the hounds Ceidrin mentioned?" Sennet asked.

  "Yes." Lucien rubbed his arms. "Are they–infectious?"

  "I don't think so," Ceidrin said. "I think whoever they belong to made them that way. They aren't werewolves."

  "But they shift shape, don't they?" Lucien asked. "I–I remember seeing something–"

  "They shot at us with iron," Ceidrin said, and told him the rest of it as well, just to see his reaction. His voice caught a little when he spoke about Gene, but he managed to keep calm enough until the end. He said nothing about Nidrea's son, or his promise to her, since Lucien had seemed so surprised to hear her name.

  "That's why I said I had a better idea," Lucien said. "I understand you want your–your lover back. But they won't give him to you until the succession is assured."

  Ceidrin knew he spoke the truth, but he still didn't want to hear it. He closed his eyes, as if to block out Lucien's words. "Then what do you suggest?" he asked, his voice harsh. "You don't even know what information I intended to give them!"

  "Give them my death," Lucien said softly.

  Ceidrin stared at him. "What?"

  "You aren't the only one they've–harmed in this," Lucien said. "If they believe I am dead–if everyone believes I am dead, even if only for a little while--"

  "What does that gain you?" Sennet asked.

  "It gives me leave to be invisible, in a way," Lucien said, and that thread of something ran through his voice again. "I have my own score to settle with our cousins."

  "If I tell them you are dead, they'll want proof," Ceidrin said, wondering what sort of score Lucien had to settle. "And I have no proof to give."

  "And that other information you intended to tell them?" Lucien asked. "I have to assume it had something to do with Nidrea--do you have proof for that as well?"

  "No. But I expected they would truthspell me on it," Ceidrin said, and nearly shuddered at the thought. "And I can tell them that with the utmost certainty of truth."

  "You must truly love this human of yours," Lucien said softly. "To submit yourself to something like that--"

  "I do," Ceidrin said.

  "What did you intend to tell them?" Now there was only curiosity in Lucien's voice; nothing more.

  "That I met Nidrea--by accident--a century ago, and that she introduced me to her son," Ceidrin said. "And that she invited me to her home, and swore me to silence. And I have held onto that silence since that day."

  "Nidrea--" A bottomless sorrow had opened up in Lucien's gaze. "Nidrea is dead. I didn't know of her son."

  "You sound as if you have personal knowledge of her death," Sennet said when Ceidrin did not speak.

  Lucien held onto the doorway as if it were the only thing holding him upright. And perhaps it was; his skin was now tinged with grey. "It is my fault she is dead," he whispered. "Isabel sent me with a message for her sister some time ago. I
t took me a long time to find her, and I did not consider that someone would follow me."

  "How long ago?" Ceidrin asked.

  "Fifty years, perhaps," Lucien said.

  "Fifty years ago, a half-breed wouldn't have even been considered for the throne," Ceidrin said for Sennet's benefit. "Times have changed."

  "Especially since one of the contenders is a half-vampire," Lucien said. "If Nidrea's son still lives, then he would be king. There would be no question."

  "I'm not going to pretend to understand the complexities of elvish law, but who truly has the closest chance if Nidrea's son is dead?" Sennet asked.

  Ceidrin and Lucien exchanged a glance.

  "Truly?" Lucien spoke first, his gaze on Ceidrin. "Succession doesn't normally move from sister to sister, or sister to sister's son. If a king or queen dies without heirs, then–normally–their branch of the family never regains the crown."

  "But this is not a normal situation," Ceidrin said. "Isabel died by deceit."

  "If Nidrea had no heir, if her son is dead, then in all usual circumstances, the crown would fall to the eldest child in the various branches of the family closest to the throne. Not aunts or uncles, but the eldest child."

  "And who is that?" Sennet asked patiently.

  Ceidrin cleared his throat. "That would be me," he said. "But I renounced my standing a long time ago. I have no–"

  "You may not have a choice," Lucien said. "They may try to take it by force, Ceidrin."

  "They already have," Ceidrin whispered. "They've murdered Isabel, almost crippled me, and came very close to killing you. They've killed Elinor's mother, and I'm sure they are chasing Elinor even now. If Nidrea's son still exists, he doesn't have a chance. They don't care about the normal ways of succession."

  "And yet you were willing to give him up to them?" Sennet's voice held no reprimand, but Ceidrin flinched anyway.

  "I was willing to tell you the location and hope you got there first," he said, still staring at Lucien. "In the hope that they would release Gene and let me go on with my life."

  He said this without much hope or belief, because he knew they wouldn't let him go. Not now. And maybe not ever. Was Gene already dead?

  "There is one way you can end this," Lucien said into the silence.

  Yes. Assume the crown. Ceidrin almost laughed, but shook his head instead, still silent.

  "And if Ceidrin dies? Who is closest, then?" Sennet asked.

  "If Nidrea's son is dead and Ceidrin is dead, then the crown would be mine," Lucien said. "After me, then Meinren. Then Elinor."

  "In the normal course of things," Ceidrin whispered. None of his bright ideas had come to fruition at all. He closed his eyes and tried to think. How could he--

  His hands found the lock of Gene's hair. A lock of hair. They had given him something exclusive to Gene; a token, of sorts. Which meant, since he presumably had the rest of his hair in its proper place, that he might–possibly–be able to circumvent their spells and find out–at the very least–if he was still alive. Then he could plan his course of action.

  "Sennet, I need a bowl of water."

  "You've thought of something?" Sennet asked.

  "I thought of a way to see if Gene is alive, at least," Ceidrin said, and used the cane to help him stand. "Or if you have something better in mind than a bowl of water–"

  "I have a television," Sennet said. "And a mirror large enough to open a portal if that's what you want to do."

  Ceidrin hadn't considered opening a portal. But snatching Gene out from under their noses would definitely put them on the defense.

  "Can you get through their spells?" Lucien asked.

  "I don't know," Ceidrin said. "But I can try. There are rules, after all, and we aren't at war. Yet." He tried to keep his voice under control; it might not work, after all, and becoming too excited about it wouldn't help the eventual disappointment. "Let's use the mirror."

  "Then follow me," Sennet said, and led the way down the hall.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Despite his words, he fell asleep anyway, curled up on the loveseat beside the fireplace. When he awoke, the silence in the house felt different--more empty, if there could be such a thing. When he slid off the loveseat, he walked on four feet instead of two.

  Sunlight no longer streamed through the cracks in the boards covering the windows. Instead, the night outside was clear and cloudless, illuminated by the almost full moon--his time for freedom had passed.

  He was a wolf again.

  With only a twinge from his back leg, he padded through the house, but the only sign he found of Elinor was a folded quilt in the other room, and two skillets full of steaming food on the kitchen floor. The jerky and the rest of what she had found were in easy reach; he wouldn't starve to death for a while, at least, but he wasn't hungry yet.

  The car was gone, too, and so was the money he'd dropped. But she'd left a note on the front door, stuck to it by magic, written in a neat, precise hand.

  I left at dusk. I'll bring back food, and then be on my way. I know you said to stop apologizing, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.

  --Elinor

  He remembered what he had said to her, and wondered if that had been the weariness talking, or if he truly wished to die. After all this time, it seemed stupid to give up, despite the fact that he had no true hope that he would ever be free of his curse.

  Edward turned away from her note and padded back into the kitchen. The food still sat within easy reach. It hadn't vanished. Feeling slightly ashamed of himself for thinking it would, he returned to the parlor and lay down in front of the fireplace.

  Only then did he remember the dog, and realize that a presence had been watching him from the shadows since he awoke.

  He raised his head and found her almost at once, watching him, her eyes wary.

  But she had seen him shift shape before–so why the wariness now? Edward stared at her for a moment. Could they communicate? He'd never really tried.

  Can you hear me?

  The dog's head snapped back as if he had struck her. She growled, her fur bristling, then shook her head, as if to cast out his influence from her mind.

  My name is Edward, Edward said silently. I mean you no harm.

  The dog bared her teeth, then, as if reminding herself that he hadn't harmed her yet, pushed back. It was a formless push–a question more than anything, but he didn't understand it.

  Not yet, at least. With practice, who knows?

  What is your name? Edward asked.

  The dog puzzled over this for a moment, and then gave him a picture of a flower. It took Edward a moment to identify it; he had no use for flowers as a wolf, and even less use for them in human form.

  Rose?

  She wagged her tail and wiggled all over. More pictures ensued–a bombardment that Edward raced to understand. He saw a man–tall and dark and kindly who had given her treats and taken her for walks in the forest–and then, a prune-faced woman who had locked Rose in a little room before two other men had taken her away.

  Is your master looking for you? Perhaps Edward could ask Elinor to find the man, and return Rose to her rightful home.

  Sorrow. A picture of raindrops on a window. Her closest approximation to tears, Edward supposed. She didn't seem to have any trouble understanding his questions at all, which was strange. All the other dogs at the animal shelter had been mindless–or, if not mindless, then frightened and scared.

  Is he dead? Edward asked.

  Rose whined, confused. And perhaps–just perhaps dogs didn't have a word for death.

  How did you escape the cage? Edward asked.

  She sent another picture of her master sitting in what looked to be a library with shelves of books Edward would have liked to read. He was showing her something–a trick that wasn't a trick; human magic that a dog should not have been able to perform. She'd tried it in the room the woman had locked her in, but t
he trick only worked on mundane locks, not magical ones.

  Her master had been a wizard, of course. Did the pets of wizards somehow absorb some of their humans' talents?

  Edward's sole interaction with a wizard had been Arthur Caswell, the man who'd moved in next door some sixty years ago. But he'd been dead for twenty years, and his ghost had not seemed to want to stay behind.

  You can stay here, Edward told Rose, who watched him carefully. If you want to.

  Sunshine. A cat to chase. A clear pool of water. Bones. Rose grinned and wagged her tail.

  Evidently, that meant yes.

  Edward closed his eyes and concentrated, then, on that which made him human. It was easier to do this when the moon was almost full; he'd never tried to shift shape during the new moon and he doubted it would work. But now, now, he shifted between wolf to mostly human, and staggered to his feet a moment later.

  "Elinor is bringing back some food," he said to Rose, who approached him for the first time, her head down low. Submissive. Was he her master now? "Do you need to go out?"

  She wagged her tail again and beat him to the door.

  Edward remembered to slip into his only coat and jam a hat on his head before venturing out into the cold. Even then, he stood and shivered as she finished her business, staring out at the snow-covered darkness. When Elinor left--

  He didn't want to think about what would happen when Elinor left. She could just as easily never return.

  He stood still and let the power of his wards soak into his body; tested the line of them for any sign of sabotage. He felt–something–a flicker, quickly gone–to the east, but he could not find it again, and he found no sign that his wards had been breached.

  That was where Arthur's house had once stood, just beyond the expanse of his land. Edward frowned. Could a ghost be summoned by a single yearning? Or was it something else entirely; even Elinor?