“How could I not? We have seen its hand at play throughout the South. We have seen its Fist, and its armies; we are only lacking its Lord. But he will not remain in the Northern Wastes forever. I speak too much,” he added. “It’s the pipe. It makes me careless.”
“How do you know where the Shining Court is?”
His smile was thin. “The armies of the Lord of the Hells walked the hidden path. No; they did more than merely walk it; they broke it and remade it so that it might carry the whole of its army from the cold, icy wastes to the Southern basket unhindered. The Lord of the Hells,” he added, as he began to open his tobacco pouch, “owns his great, cold city, just as certainly as the Winter Queen owns hers. And you, Terafin, could stand among them.”
“Mortal, remember?”
“It was not always a word synonymous with weakness and insignificance.”
And she remembered the Cities of Man and fell silent.
“To answer your one unanswered question, because I am indeed feeling mellow this evening, you deal not with the gods, not demons and not Arianni, but in some fashion, the god-born.”
“But—”
“Not all who were born to gods were conceived in the Between.”
“But the gods can’t—” she fell silent, then.
“You understand. When the gods walked the world, they had children, and the children were born to and of it. Many died. Many of the gods died, Jewel; they were not then what they are now. But the children of the living gods were not mortal, and some had power to rival the gods themselves. Yet when the gods chose to withdraw from this world, their children could not likewise leave—they were of it, and sustained by it.”
Jewel said, “The Oracle.”
Meralonne’s eyes rounded, his lips turning up in a pipeless smile. “Yes. She was first, or so it is said, but there were many. One is here, playing at the edges of lands you inconveniently claimed as your own.”
“Can you—”
“No. Lord Celleriant cannot either; he is an extremely subtle enemy.”
“He is working in concert with the Shining Court.”
Meralonne shrugged. “For now, as it suits him. But the Northern Wastes grant him no measure of power; he derives his power from the dreams of mortals. It is not a wonder to me that he is here, and if I had understood what the plague presaged, I might have understood some part of what the Lord of the Hells intended.”
“How?”
“He should not be here, Jewel. But he is, and had we known—”
“Meralonne, known what?”
“Apologies, Terafin; given your authority over these lands, I assume you understand more than you actually do. That must be remedied. In their attempt to warp and twist the fabric of the hidden ways, the Shining Court damaged the containing walls that divide the two lands, something believed to be impossible. Yet it has happened. Those who were trapped on the hidden path—those with a measure of power—must have made their way through. There are only two nights during which they might otherwise do so: Scarran and Lattan, the longest night and the longest day. But he is here, now. Find him, Terafin.”
“But the demons—”
He shrugged, as if the demons—even though they included the formidable Lord Darranatos—were inconsequential. “You needn’t search for them at the moment. They will find you.”
* * *
Jewel returned to the path at the edge of the garden of contemplation. Avandar was waiting for her. He raised a brow as he saw her companion; Meralonne had not chosen to leave the forest, but the Winter King had. The domicis nodded gravely to the Winter King; the Winter King inclined his antlered head in response.
“Do you intend to enter the manse?” Avandar asked.
The Winter King inclined head again. Jewel raised a brow, but did not demur; unlike most of the animals resident in the manse—the living ones—he broke nothing, made no noise, and didn’t leave scratches or other unpleasant messes. He did attract attention, but attention tonight was going to be minimal, and mostly composed of servants on the night shift and House Guards.
“You don’t consider his presence significant?” the domicis said, as he fell in to Jewel’s right, the left being occupied by a rather large stag.
“Yes.”
“What do you intend?”
“Me? I intend to go straight to sleep. I’m exhausted.”
He raised a brow. “Terafin.”
* * *
Jewel did not return to the West Wing that night.
Instead, squaring shoulders, she mounted the wide, wide stairs that led to the empty and familiar grandeur of The