"Yes, Majesty."

"We are to be on top of Selafae by dawn. You are dismissed."

Wennet backed slowly from the throne room, nearly walking into a column in the process. One of the servants took him by the elbow and guided him out.

Mab waved her fingers in the air and slinked into a glamour that made her appear as she had when she was very young and very beautiful. The butterflies shimmered and changed colors to match her dress. She took one of them on her finger and brushed it against her nose. "Come, darlings," she whispered. "We have an appointment with a gentleman."

At the forward end of the Royal Complex was a small pleasure garden that Mab tended with her own hands, in the few idle moments she allowed herself during the day. Servants, ladies-in-waiting, and members of the Prefecture were strictly forbidden. Only one other held a key to the place, and as she entered the garden he was there, lying in the grass, his head propped on a pillow.

"Good afternoon, Hy Pezho," said Mab.

"Majesty," he said, rising to his knees. "Thy glamour is radiant."

"Do you like it?" she said. "Is it what you might call ... attractive?"

"Only if the petals of the rose are but attractive. Only if the flight of the dove is merely pretty."

Mab let out a gay laugh and sat beside him. "You are clever, Hy Pezho. We enjoy cleverness at times."

"Whatever pleases thee," said Pezho, pouring her a glass of wine from a bottle at his knee.

"Do not stand on ceremony here, darling. Save the proper forms of address for out there." She waved her hand toward the towering spires of the Royal Complex.

"I am honored to speak to ... you thus." Hy Pezho smiled lazily.

"Come, kiss me," she said.

"First, drink a toast." He touched his glass to hers. "To the Unseelie."

"I will drink to that," she said. She lifted her glass and drank.

Once she had drunk, Hy Pezho stood, tossing his glass on the ground. He began to chant in ancient Thule Fae, his throat growling with the gutturals of the language.

"Whatever are you doing, love?" said Mab, unconcerned.

"I am exacting my revenge," said Hy Pezho, breaking his chant. He spat on the ground and made a sweeping motion with his arms. "A fel-ala!" he cried.

There was a deep croaking sound beneath the floor as thick beams beneath their feet began to move. A whisper grew, rising in pitch and volume, like a fierce wind through a forest of trees. It became a rush, then a howl.

The garden soil split wide in an ugly crack, dirt spilling into the darkness. Beneath the imported earth, the city's lumber cracked and separated, creating a dark chasm that stretched along the length of the garden.

Mab did not move.

"A fel-ala em!" shouted Hy Pezho. He glared at Mab, goading her. She refused to move.

"Will you not even put up a fight?" he called over the noise.

Mab only smiled.

Inky tentacles appeared from the dark rift, spilling out into the verdant space. They were wet and irregular, like black sausages. One of them reached toward Mab and licked across her exposed ankle.

Something began to hoist itself from the abyss. It was black and misshapen, covered about its body with stiff red hairs that waved in the breeze. A single orifice masticated slowly, revealing uneven lines of sharp teeth.

The tentacles were everywhere, upending planters, splashing in the fishpond, crawling up the rose trellises. Soon the garden was full of them. They surrounded Mab like fingers and tightened against her flesh.

"I assume you have a speech prepared," said Mab. She flattened her long skirt as much as she was able.

Hy Pezho was unnerved by her calm. He stuttered. "I ... I have come as the instrument of my father's vengeance," he said. "You had him murdered in his sleep. I have been waiting for this day for a very long time."

Mab sighed. "It's a shame you didn't know your father as well as I did. Perhaps you would not have bothered. Still, vengeance is an act with which I have a passing familiarity. Proceed."

Hy Pezho stamped his foot. "Must you always be so damnably composed? Can you never show a hint of fear, even as you are moments away from eternal torment in the belly of the fel-ala?"

"No, I would not give you that pleasure, even if it were the case." Mab stood, and the tentacles fell away from her.

"How ... the fel-ala is my personal wraith, my creation!" Hy Pezho called upon it again, but the creature refused to budge. Its glassy eyes moved back and forth between Mab and Hy Pezho.

"A bit of advice," said Mab, closing the distance between them. She stood before him as though she were about to kiss his lips. "When you seek to lure your enemy down a dark alley, it's best to inquire who owns the buildings on either side."

With a wordless command, she set the fel-ala upon Hy Pezho. She watched as the tentacles embraced him, digging their tiny, sharp spines into his flesh and drawing out the blood and the animating spirit within.

"Bacamar!" called Hy Pezho, with the last of his breath. "Save me!"

Bacamar floated down and alighted on Mab's shoulder.

"I have but one thing to say to you," hissed Bacamar.

"Please," gasped Hy Pezho. "I cannot ... the pain." The color leached from his face and hands, turning them a dull gray.

Bacamar whispered, "It is never wise to keep a lady waiting."

They watched until he was dragged beneath the ground, through the chasm and into the nameless place where the wraiths make their home. Mab spoke a few words of Motion and the garden floor healed itself, coming together into a rough seam.

"Boys," said Mab.

beneath sylvan.

Mauritane was reunited with Raieve, Satterly, and Silverdun at the rear gate of Geracy's palace, but the renewal of their acquaintance was a brief one.

"Get in," said Eloquet, pointing at a covered delivery wagon parked at an angle in the alley. Mauritane helped Elice into the rear of the vehicle and the others followed him, including several of Eloquet's men. The remainder faded into the lush greenery that surrounded all of the homes at the valley's rim. Eloquet ordered one of his followers into the driver's seat, then hopped in the back himself. The wagon began to move with a lurch.

"There are Seelie Army posts everywhere," said Eloquet. "We can only assume that the Queen has prepared another offensive against us."

Mauritane shook his head. "Unless Her Majesty's opinion has changed on the subject, I doubt it. During my tenure as Captain of the Guard, she avoided the issue entirely."

Eloquet nodded. "She does not wish to anger those among the nobility who support our cause."

Mauritane shrugged. "In my experience, the Queen does not care whom she angers."

"He's right, Mauritane." It was Silverdun who had spoken. Mauritane looked at him, wondering when he had last heard the man speak. The cart jolted unsteadily with its heavy burden of Fae.

"He's right," Silverdun repeated. "Sympathy for the Arcadians and those in the Western Valley has grown steadily over the years as they find more and more converts among the highborn. My mother was one of them."

"And you believe Her Majesty bows before their influence?"

Silverdun shrugged. "I believe She wishes to avoid a conflict, that is all."

"Through all this, I remain a servant of my Queen, Silverdun." Mauritane scowled. "It does us no good to speculate. Large enough numbers of the nobility, especially in this region, despise the Arcadians. And, as Kallmer implied, they have a great deal of leeway at such a distance from the capital."

Raieve, pressed tight against the baron's daughter, brushed a strand of the girl's golden hair from her mouth and said, "Pardon me for interrupting, but what's going on here? And who is she?" She nodded in Elice's direction.

"They are of the Beleriand rebels," said Mauritane, indicating the men squeezed into the cart. "Apparently, the Seelie Army is preparing another offensive against them."

Raieve nodded. "And why have they rescued us from Geracy?"

"While I was Captain of the Queen's Guard I made no secret of my distaste for these offensives. Even to the point of slaying a man I should perhaps not have slain."

"The butcher Purane-La?" barked Eloquet. "If ever a man deserved to die it was he. He burned the town of Stilbel to the ground. He ... he trapped the townspeople in their homes and laughed as they were consumed. They say it was you, Mauritane, who gave the order and that he was only following you, but we know that it is not true."

Mauritane's face fell. "The Aeropagus determined otherwise."

"But you did not give the order!" shouted Eloquet.

"No," said Mauritane. "I did not."

"But if you did not give the order," said Raieve, "who did?"

"You've met him," said Mauritane. "He was the man I tried to kill that evening at Crete Sulace."

"Purane-Es."

Mauritane nodded. "The very same. It was he who sent the order, forging my name on the documents. He was one of my personal lieutenants. PuraneLa was his elder brother. Whether Purane-Es was out to ruin me or only his brother, I do not know. He got both for the price of one."

"Were there ever harsh words between you and Purane-Es?" said Raieve. Now that the subject had finally been broached, she was ready for an explanation, regardless of its poor timing.

"Many," said Mauritane, sighing. He peered out the wagon's flap. "Are we near our destination?" he asked Eloquet.

"A few more minutes," Eloquet said.

"Purane-Es was fervently opposed to my policies regarding the Beleriand rebels and to Arcadianism in general. He often insisted that we ought to bring to bear all of our forces against them and wipe them out entirely."

Eloquet laughed ruefully. "He is, unfortunately, not alone in that sentiment."

"It appears he got his wish, at least partially," said Mauritane. "By causing Stilbel to be destroyed, tensions soared to their highest since the days of the original Gossamer Rebellion. And by putting my name on such dangerous documents, by bringing me to Stilbel just as Purane-La finished his work, knowing how I might respond, Purane-Es guaranteed my tribunal and subsequent replacement by his father. The order, on its own, might have caused nothing more than a scandal. But taking the life of Lord Purane's heir was unforgivable in the eyes of the nobility."

Raieve was shocked. "Surely there were witnesses? Did no one speak in your defense?"

"No one who ranked as high as Purane-Es," said Mauritane.

"So," said Satterly. "What's everyone so upset at the Arcadians for, anyway? After being in this country for two years I still haven't figured it out."

"It is a matter of the Fae Gifts," said Silverdun. "The Arcadians believe that the Gifts are from Aba and should be used in his service alone."

"And that brought all this about?"

"Not by itself," continued Silverdun. "The Western Valley, where Beleriand is located, lies within the mountains to the west of here. Its people are vastly different from the majority of the Fae you have met. They don't use glamours; they are against illusion in all its forms.

"The original Gossamer Rebellion was an abortive attempt by Beleriand to secede from the Seelie Kingdom altogether. In those days, Beleriand was ruled by a baron named Pellings, a truly brutal fellow who was almost universally loathed, both in and out of the Western Valley. Once the baron was removed, the problem subsided for a while, but it was only a matter of time before the trouble started again.

"Now, of course, the Arcadian faith has swept outward and there are many in the nobility who see the Arcadians as a threat to the Seelie way of life." He chuckled. "Whatever that is supposed to mean."

"But that's not enough of a reason to send armed forces into a region. There must be more to it than that," Satterly said.

Eloquet answered him. "It was not enough to decry us in public. Some of the more reactionary lords here in the west, Geracy among them, believed that it was necessary to stem the tide of Arcadianism at its source. They began targeted assassinations ..."

"That has not been proven," interrupted Mauritane.

"Please, Mauritane!" said Eloquet. "You disappoint me. Shall I list the names for you, the causes of death?"

"I speak as an official of the Seelie Court."

"Look around you," said Eloquet. "You are no longer in the Seelie Court. The assassinations took place, and we retaliated."

Mauritane said nothing in response. An uncomfortable silence reigned for a few breaths.

It was Elice, the baron's daughter, who broke the silence. "I hate to be the voice of dissent," she said, uncertainly. "But my father does have a point about the Arcadians. They've done awful things, caused millions in property damage, defacing public glamours and things, and they've hurt people, too."

Eloquet laughed out loud. "What wonders from the mouth of a child!" he said. "Young lady, an agent of your father murdered my wife in front of me, garroted her with a harp string. And you speak of defacing property as though it matters!"

Elice sat up straight. "My father would never do such a thing."

"No, you're right about that," said Eloquet. "He'd hire someone else to do it."

"Would someone please tell me what she's doing here?" said Raieve, looking ready to slap the girl in the face.

Mauritane looked at the girl, for some reason his opinion of her softening. "She is the object of our quest. She is what we have come here for."

"What?" said Silverdun, Satterly, and Raieve, in unison.

The wagon came to a sudden stop.

"There's trouble ahead," said the driver. "Roadblocks."