making her skirt flare the way she knew he liked. His gaze devoured her hungrily from under dandruff-caked eyebrows. “I have no dowry to bring you in return, and so must bid adieu.”
This time, he let her go with only a snort. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction as she tiptapped through the Hall’s great swinging doors, plunging into the labyrinthine warren of the MacDonnell holdings. From here it was easy—uphill, always up. Turning sometimes left and sometimes right, following the small tingling against her throat—the chantment on the golden chain, a Realmaker’s pathfinding, leading her to safety.
For a moment she contemplated what it might be like had she no Realmaking skill, and the prospect left her sweating. If she wasn’t quite unique—there were a handful of others in Seelie who could craft chantment that didn’t fade, none among the Free, and only one in Unwinter—at least she was valuable for scarcity. Her voice was held in caution for its destructive power, but she might have been traded to Unwinter long ago but for the Realmaking.
Or even paid as Tiend, the flint knife stabbing down and a small corner of the sideways realms forever Summer afterward. The borders grew slowly, if at all, and sometimes the Queen grew hungry for more.
Thank Stone and Throne Sean had avoided that fate. And yet, there was the changeling still in the mortal world to consider, too.
What’s to say she won’t Tiend Sean anyway, and his changeling as well? If he is alive in there…
Could he be? Closed in amber, struggling to breathe? Who knew?
You need to know. You have to be sure.
“Pretty bird.” It was Figurh, trundling along in her wake. “Not that way, stormsong. You mean to leave us by the front gates. You mustn’t, you mustn’t.”
I didn’t think they would find me so quickly. “Why not?” She did not slacken her pace, so he had to scuttle, his short legs pumping. His lazy eye rolled, its crystalline iris a point of light in the gloom. Here there was no fire, and precious few torches—they could see much better in the dark.
It was how they grubbed out gold and… other things.
“There are those waiting for you.”
“Suitors? For such a spinster as myself? Oh, Figurh MacDonnell’s cousin, if only it were true.” Her heart leapt into her throat, traitor that it was.
Just like the rest of her. Figurh might be half deaf from the ringing of anvils, but she could not be sure there were not other ears in the dark.
“No, little bird.” He caught up as she slowed, her pulse smoothing out as well. “Dark ales, miss, of Unwinter vintage. You’d best leave another way.”
She added up her options; none that seemed very appetizing. This had been a calculated risk from the start; perhaps Gallow had not drawn off the hounds as well as he could have.
Maybe he had decided not to. She had, after all, left him a-Tangle.
“I have safe passage to the front gates.” Nowhere else. If I step off the path, I am forfeit. “You have my thanks, but I must leave the way I promised to.”
“I could…” He coughed, slightly, and under the soot on his cheeks, perhaps he was reddening. “A safer way. I could show you, Ragged.”
For what price? It wearied her, to constantly weigh the payment for passage. Did regular mortals feel this, too? Strange how she’d once thought life among the sidhe would be different. It took so much effort simply to navigate, let alone gain ground.
“You are kinder than I deserve.” The lie did not stick in her throat; perhaps it wasn’t quite a falsehood. “I have no wish to be forfeit today, though, even to your gallant clansman.”
“Mayhap he’s the one who told them of your presence here, little bird.”
And mayhap you are, dwarf. Her mouth drew against itself, but she smoothed her expression. “Why would Unwinter care where I go, or what I do? Unless they’ve a message to send to Summer’s ear.” The thought that maybe the message would be her own rag of a body, pierced and drained, was not comforting at all, and Figurh’s next words did nothing to dispel the chill.
“You may be a message from Summer yourself. I’ll take you another way, Robin Ragged, and only ask a kiss and a kind word in return.”
“Such a knight you are.” She did not bother to slow further. The necklace warmed slightly, and at the next tangled branching of tunnels she chose the third path from the left. From