"I will take the hand," she said, "of the one who will give the very land to me, and no less." At this, her many suitors flushed and scoffed, rolling their eyes. But one man did not. His name was Auberon, and he was a son of the great god, Aba. Aba had many sons and all were forbidden to interfere in the affairs of mortals, but Auberon was smitten with Titania from his first glance. He vowed upon hearing her proclamation that he would present the Faerie land itself to her as a wedding gift.

Auberon went to his father's great palace in the sky; far, far above the land and he knelt, saying, "Great father, all things and all lands are yours, and many are your strengths. I wish but one small land in all the many worlds at your feet. Give it to me and I will ask nothing further for all my days."

Aba, the wise one, looked his son in the eye and a great sadness filled him. "You are my son," he said, "and for that I will always love you, but what you ask, I cannot give."

Auberon stood his ground. "I know, father, that you think me immature and unworthy, but whatever you ask in return, I will give you."

Aba did not turn. "My son, if I give you what you ask, a mighty kingdom will fall, and another will spring up in its place that will cease to know me. They will toil for a thousand years times a thousand under the rule of a usurper, and her rule will be hard, indeed."

Auberon said, "I will bear their wrath."

"Your love is that strong?" said Aba.

"It is, my lord."

"Then take the land, but know that you will be a plague to my people and they will curse your name through the centuries, and you will be known as their Adversary, even though they forget the name of him who fathered you."

"So be it," said Auberon.

"And so it is," said Aba, and his face became dark.

Auberon returned to the land from the castle of his father and found that he could now hear the voice of each sparrow, that in his fingers rippled the tides and winds, and that his feet were rooted deep within the earth. These things he laid at the feet of the fair Titania and she accepted him, saying, "All this time I have waited for the one who would bring the land and lay it at my feet, and now I find the son of Aba has done this thing. I will marry you."

They were married in the Seelie Grove under the full moon, and when the vows were spoken and the wreath tied, Titania took the power of the land and wrested it from her husband, saying, "Auberon, you were unwise to grant me such power, for now your father's people will curse your name and call you Adversary. And you will be my slave down through the ages, for I will not suffer fools gladly." And when she spoke, Auberon was struck blind and dumb, and a veil fell over his eyes. Titania then caused the Great Seelie Keep to be erected, ordering the stones themselves to bend to her will, and she led Auberon to the throne room, which is like a cavern, and placed him upon the first throne and herself upon the other.

When Aba's people heard the news, some of them said, "Aba is our father and would not lead us astray. Let us stay within this land and toil for the Arcadia our father has promised us if we remain." And they stayed.

But some of the others said, "Look, over there to the north, there is a land that does not bow to the will of the Usurper and the Adversary. Let us go there and make for ourselves a home." And they left. And when they reached their new home, they passed out of the Stone Queen's influence and were free of her. But when Aba saw what they had done, he became angry and said, "Look how little faith my people have in me! I will lay a curse upon those that have gone, that the ground will not remain still beneath their feet, and they will not be able to raise up stones to shelter themselves."

And Aba looked at those who remained to suffer under the Stone Queen, and he said, "These are my people, and I am pleased by them. For them I will increase their Gifts, and they shall use those Gifts to glorify me, even though they are prisoners in their own land. And one day they will rise up as a people and the Stone Queen shall be cast out, and that will be my reward to them."

Everything that Aba had promised came to pass. Those who remained, they forgot the name of Aba, though their Gifts were made strong by him, and those who went away were given many hardships, and nothing they built would stand.

And then it was that those two peoples, the Fae of the Seelie Queen Titania and the Fae who called themselves Unseelie, went to war, and there could never be an agreement between them. Mighty magicks were wrought and cast from each land until the air between them split and shifting places sprung from the rift, and this also was the will of Aba. And those lands that contained the shifting places became known as the Contested Lands, for neither side would release claim to them ...

Vircest-Ana Aba-e, Book II ("Rauad Faehar"), Canto 1.

the city of mab.

Along a ridge overlooking a purple mountain range, the floating city of Mab prepared to cut stakes and sail. Far to the south, the Seelie lands were in the grip of Midwinter, but here in the highlands the eternal desert heat baked the earth to a cracked brown, the harsh wind kicking up swirls of dust and bending the scattered trees to brush the ground. Throughout the city, the shouts of water bearers and hunters returned from their labors filled the market tents and the stalls along the outer rim.

From the rigging high above the poised tents of the royal spire, the city's crew called out the ancient magic language of motion amid the steady flapping of the sheets. The sails, multicolored and embroidered with the bright crests of the Unseelie families, unfurled from their masts and climbed the spars, crewmen heaving against the lines of thick brown rope. The wind caught the sails and filled them; they strained against the weight of the city beneath with an anxious groan. Finally, the crewmaster hoisted the pennant of Queen Mab, and from the rigging they called down below to cut the stakes. With a mighty roar, a thousand knives fell to the sound of the chorus "Forever Mab!" and the Queen's city left her earthly moorings and embraced the dusty currents, beginning her slow journey south. On the ground, the nomadic creatures of the desert scattered, leaving the remains of their campfires to be swallowed by the dust.

Outside the city, the sailing tent of Hy Pezho jumped into motion as its moorings grew taut against the city's thrust and began to pull the tent forward. Inside, Hy Pezho barely noticed.

Her name was Moonwind, or so she claimed. Hy Pezho didn't know and didn't care. He removed her clothing with calculated motions, running his fingers over her exquisite skin. She lay back among his pillows, moaning softly, whispering in his ear. His tongue found hers and he lowered himself gently on top of her, tracing the contours of her body with a practiced touch. She helped him out of his tunic and into her, and he groaned with pleasure. In the tent, the perfume of spice incense wafted up from a censer on the low teak table by his pallet. The gauzy drapes wove in and out, drawn by the wind.

The sounds of urgent lovemaking were soon replaced with heavy sighs and Hy Pezho rolled off of Moonwind with a faraway look in his eye.

"What are you thinking?" said Moonwind.

"What am I what?" Hy Pezho was confused. "Oh. What do you care?"

"I was just making conversation." She reached for her robe and shrugged into it, taking an apple from the bowl above the bed. She bit into the apple and the juice ran down her chin.

"I didn't bring you here to make conversation." Hy Pezho turned his back on her and reached for his own clothing.

"It's always fun when it's fun, and then it's always over when it's over, eh?" she laughed. She rolled over onto her stomach. "Here. Have an apple and we'll try again. What do you say?"

"No," said Hy Pezho, distracted. "I've lost the feeling for it."

"You're strange," she said. "I sort of like you."

"Well, don't get too attached." Hy Pezho stood and turned his head toward the door. There was a quiet buzzing sound coming from beyond it. He opened the tent flap, allowing in the afternoon sunlight and, with it, a tiny flying thing that darted into the room and lighted on the fruit bowl. The thing took flight again and buzzed around Moonwind's head, then spotted Hy Pezho and circled him.

"Hy Pezho! Hy Pezho!" the creature whispered.

"I am he," said Hy Pezho. He held out his palm and the message sprite glided into it, tucking its wings behind its back.

"Message for you! Message for you! A message from the far south." The tiny sprite cupped its hands over its mouth and whispered, "It's a secret. Big secret!" It jerked its thumb at Moonwind.

"Don't worry about her," said Hy Pezho. "She's irrelevant."

Moonwind leapt to her feet. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you won't speak if I tell you not to," said Hy Pezho. He jumped on Moonwind, pinning her on the bed. The sprite still remained standing in his palm. He placed the creature gently on his shoulder, where it sat patiently.

"Be still!" he commanded Moonwind, with the tone of the black art in his voice. Moonwind froze, splayed over the pillows.

"Ooh, scary!" said the sprite, shouting in his ear. "Can I give you my message now?"

Hy Pezho placed the sprite on the counter. "Speak," he said.

"Your message is from the one who calls himself the Awakened One. Very poetic! I thought so, anyway."

"Please spare me your comments, sprite."

"Okay!" The sprite stamped its foot. "I am a sprite. I must needs be sprightly."

"Get on with it."

"The Awakened One says, 'I am with them."'

"Anything else?"

"Nothing else."

Hy Pezho clapped his hands together, grinning. "I knew it!" He turned to his wardrobe and examined its contents, searching for his most formal robes.

"Ahem," said the sprite. "I'm sleepy and I need a nice jar to lie down in. And a firefly! And a sprig of parsley! But a jar would do." The sprite looked petulantly up at Hy Pezho.

Moonwind made a muffled sound from the bed, her eyes wide. Hy Pezho sighed and drew a knife from his robes. He waved his fingers at her and she fell splayed onto the bed. Finding herself able to move, she crawled awkwardly backward, away from Hy Pezho.

Hy Pezho strode quickly across the tent's floor and took her roughly by the throat, holding her easily. "Can you read or write?" he asked.

Moonwind shook her head violently back and forth.

"I can tell if you're lying, you know."

"No," she choked. "There's no school for girls like me, you know that. Please!"

"Fine then," he said. "Hold still a moment longer." Hy Pezho pried her mouth open and gently extended her tongue. Her eyes widened, but she remained motionless.

"Sorry," he said. He drew the knife between his fingers and Moonwind's tongue came off in his hand, along with a spray of blood.

"Now go," he said. He yanked her off the pallet and pushed her toward the door. Free to move, she sank to her knees, her hands pressed to her face. She tried to scream and a sick, wet sound came from her mouth.

"Go!" Hy Pezho kicked her in the stomach. She rolled onto her side, then stood, unsteadily, and crawled through the open doorway. He threw the tongue after her.

Hy Pezho turned to the counter along the far wall and washed in the bowl there, pouring warm water from a pitcher over his bloodied hands.

"Come, Bacamar," he said. "We've business in Mab's tent."

A transparent shape uncoiled itself from the bamboo rafters of the tent, its smooth edges glistening in the sunlight. "Did you receive a message while I slept?" the familiar asked drowsily.

"Yes. Your errand was a success."

"I am pleased." Bacamar flowed toward the tent's floor, gently flapping her diaphanous wings.

"Something for you," said Hy Pezho, indicating the sprite.

The sprite looked from Hy Pezho to the familiar on the floor baring her tiny, sharp fangs. "Uh, I was just kidding about the parsley!" it said, backing slowly toward the thick canvas wall. "It was a joke, honest!"

Bacamar advanced, a delicate tongue appearing from her mouth, licking gently over her teeth.

"Can't we reconsider?" the sprite said.

The Royal Complex stood at the center of the city of Mab, its violet hangings and golden tassels setting it apart from the rest of the inner court. Gossamer banners of blue and yellow fluttered in the breeze, hung from struts high above the wooden floor of the court. Hy Pezho's boots made a gratifying sound on the wide floor; the rest of the courtyard was silent save for the quiet titters of the robed ladies-in-waiting who clustered in groups of three and four around the potted palms and the stone fountains. A pair of the Queen's Guard stood at the entrance to the Royal Complex, allowing him access based on his sigil of rank.

Inside the complex, Hy Pezho climbed a wide stair, passing more of the youthful ladies of the Queen's cortege. He stopped to admire them. "Very soon, I will be the one about whom you whisper," he said to himself, catching the eye of one of them, a waif in blue silk who passed over his gaze without notice. Hy Pezho smiled. "Soon."

He approached the clerk's desk in the main antechamber of the palace, ignoring the guards who leaned in as he approached, waiting for him to do or say something questionable.

"I am Hy Pezho. I request an audience with Her Majesty," said Hy Pezho, in his best gentrific manner.

The clerk examined his sigil. "Do you have a grant of petition?" said the clerk, looking up at him from beneath smoked glasses.

"I do." Hy Pezho withdrew the scroll from his cloak and unfolded it on the clerk's desk.

The clerk glanced at it and snorted. "This petition is over thirty years old!"

Hy Pezho leaned in close and hissed, with just a touch of the black art, "I do not see an expiration date."

The clerk stiffened. "Wait there," he said, indicating a low wooden bench.

Hy Pezho waited for an hour, then another, then another. The clerk studiously ignored him. It would be unseemly to do anything but wait, as though waiting were the sole purpose of his existence.

Finally, as the daylight began to fade through the open windows in the gallery above, the clerk called him forward. "You will have five minutes. At the end of your five minutes, a bell will ring and you will leave." The clerk eyed Bacamar, coiled lightly around Hy Pezho's arm, nearly invisible. "Your pet must remain outside."

"Sorry, Bacamar," said Hy Pezho. The familiar undulated upward into the gallery above and wrapped herself around a balustrade, sulking.

A pair of burly guards ushered Hy Pezho into a dim parlor and searched him for weapons, poisons and hexes. The search was embarrassingly thorough. Finally the guards sat him in a chair and placed a loose binding charm on him that made his arms heavy and his legs numb. He waited there for another hour, feeling his nose itch, unable to raise his arm to scratch.

Finally, the curtain on the room's far wall drew back and Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mab, entered the room, her entrance preceded by a stream of butterflies and a gentle drift of incense and rose petals. She was taller than Hy Pezho expected, an ancient woman of impressively regal bearing, dressed in a tightly bodiced gown of pure scarlet, the Unseelie Crown woven perfectly into her silver hair. She seated herself on a cushion, drawing the curtain closed behind her.

"Royal Highness. It is a great honor indeed," said Hy Pezho, bowing his head toward her.

"Your petition is an old one, granted to your father. It is in his memory that I allow it for a son."

"You are most kind, Majesty."

"No, I am curious. I want to know what the son of the Black Artist has done with his life. Have you followed in your father's footsteps?" Her voice was high and nasal, clipped, precise.

"Aye, Majesty. That is why I have come."

"When your Queen asks a yes or no question, son of Pezho, only a 'yes' or a 'no' is required."

"My apologies, Majesty."

"The black arts are most dangerous. They consumed your father. Do they not consume you as well? Elaborate."

"The art may be controlled, Majesty, by one with sufficient will."

"Ah," said Mab. "And I suppose you possess such a will."

"I do, Majesty."

"Have you not heard the expression that love may not be ridden, only grasped by the reins? The same is true for hatred."

"That is the saying, Majesty." Hy Pezho attempted a smile.