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Selene couldn't sit still and paced the front room of her grandmother’s hut restlessly. Cassandra had been in Elwenhal with Aereth for days. Both were lying in a deep sleep in separate beds. Neserie had instructed Selene and Gweneth to take turns feeding Cassandra a mixture of honey and milk while she did the same for Aereth. Both still had a swallow response, because they were not truly in the realm of the fae, but rather sleeping as they passed through. The mixture was supposed to sustain them until Zelda came to Eldaris or until Cassandra found some way to return with the child, which Neserie didn’t think she would.
And if Selene was honest with herself, she didn’t believe Cassandra would return either. She and Gweneth had sent a letter by raven to Zelda, but the gods only knew if it had reached her. Aereth was slipping away into Elwenhal. They were running out of time.
“Stop pacing and sit down, for the sake of the gods,” complained Neserie, who was mixing a potion over the firepit for a client. She tossed in a seagull’s orange severed leg, and the cauldron expelled a floom of purple vapor, lining her grumpy, wrinkled face in shadows from under.
Selene stopped pacing and sat down. Obeying her grandmother was subconscious and automatic, since she had been conditioned to do so since she was a very small child with the slapping of a broom if she did not obey. Even now, as a big, strong knight capable of punching through stone, she remembered the broom coming down and mindlessly obeyed. In that moment, she was glad that Gweneth was in the other room with Cassandra and could not see her trauma on full display.
Sitting on a grass mat beside the fire, legs crossed, Selene felt like a little girl again as she watched her grandmother dramatically stirring the cauldron with a great ladle. She had always thought Neserie a true witch, so stereotypical was she, with her warty chin and her patched dress and her black, evil eyes.
That morning, Neserie’s long gray hair had been plaited in two braids that trailed down her front and over her sagging breasts. Selene knew that, in her youth, her grandmother had been quite beautiful, and elven men had come from all over Vallinwir for her hand. But Neserie, like most sorceresses of old, did not care much for knights and never allowed one to pledge himself to her service nor did she take a man to her bed. Selene had always half-suspected her mother had been created with some potion or spell.
Looking at the stern woman now, Selene wondered what her life would have been like had she stayed in Eldaris and perhaps become a fish-netter.
“What . . . the devil are you . . . staring at, girl?” panted Neserie irritably, rocking forward and back as she stirred the cauldron. She was glossy with sweat from the heat of the fire and her efforts combined, and she paused to mop her brow with her apron.
“Why did thou send me to Falcon Isle?” Selene blurted. It was a question she’d been longing to ask all her life, since she was a little child too frightened to do so. “Was it because I’m too human?” Selene guessed unhappily.
Neserie continued mopping her brow with her apron, her face twisted in disdain as she stared bitterly at Selene. “No,” she said, surprising Selene. “Though that was a part of it. So much of my strong elven blood was in you, yet you were born with the face of the filthy human who stole your mother from me.” She paused to stare at Selene with great dislike.
“I am not my father,” said Selene coldly.
“Oh, but you are,” said Neserie unhappily. “Look at you! The same hair, the same eyes, the same blundering submission! And you became a knight because you wanted to—just like him! Before you even knew your father had been a knight, you were ranting on about it.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But it’s not the reason I left you there.”
“Then why?” asked Selene in the same cold voice.
Neserie’s eyes narrowed and she took an angry breath that flared her nostrils. “Because you were common,” she said through her yellow teeth. “Nothing remotely extraordinary about you. Cast spells weaker than farts, couldn’t mix a potion worth a damn. Even your swordplay as you bounced around my yard was mediocre, but I knew the Falcon Knights would take you because they were low in numbers and desperate for recruits.”
Selene sat stung and trying not to show it. She kept her face smooth and impassive as her grandmother went on.
“It’s not your fault,” Neserie said, taking up the ladle and stirring again, and her voice was not unkind. “Your mother was common as well, and she passed it to you.” She paused, frowning in frustration. “I just don’t understand it! I created her to be the most powerful sorceress in Vallinwir, to be the star of my legacy!” She bitterly shook her head. “But the girl had no magickal talent whatsoever! All she cared about was fishing! Fishing!” She bitterly shook her head another time and went back to stirring the cauldron.
“So,” said Selene slowly, “you took me to Falcon Isle because tis what I wanted, and not because you despiseth me or despiseth children or humans?”
Neserie snorted. “I despise humans and I despise children, as you very well know! But . . . You are still my grandchild. You were my responsibility, and so was your happiness.” She went back to stirring without another word.
Selene was very happy, for she knew Neserie had just come the closest she ever would to saying that she loved Selene. But Selene knew better than to show any emotion in the presence of her grandmother, who blanched at tears and touch, so she arranged her face into a cold mask and stared at the fire.
Just then, Gweneth came in, the jingle of her armor proceeding her, and sat on a grass mat beside Selene. “That our supper?” she teased, nodding at the cauldron. “I could go for some toad’s eyes or whatever rubbish it is.”
Neserie cackled, looking at Gweneth fondly. “You drink this half-concocted mess, and you’ll turn into a duck, girl. And don’t blame me!”
“‘Twould be an improvement!” said Gweneth, opening her arms.
Gweneth and Neserie laughed, and Selene stared at them, caught somewhere between amazement and bitter jealousy. Gweneth and Neserie had been joking, laughing, and carrying on for days! Neserie seemed to like Gweneth more than she’d ever liked anyone, even Selene, her own grandchild! But Gweneth was a human, the very thing Neserie hated most!
Selene told herself it was because the two of them were so mean. Gweneth loved making jokes at the expense of others, even herself, and Neserie loved listening to her jokes, especially if they were aimed at Selene. Watching them now, Selene comforted herself with the fact that her grandmother had recently admitted to caring about her.
“Perhaps we both should drink it, Selene,” said Gweneth, elbowing Selene. “Your grandmother seems fonder of ducks than we.”
Selene wasn’t feeling very quick-witted or jovial and did not readily have an answer. Thankfully, something happened that distracted everyone.
There was a sudden whooshing sound, not unlike the sound the ancient elven portals made when they were active, and Selene saw the air divided by a shimmering circle of light.
“You dare intrude here!” screeched Neserie, taking up her broom.
Selene and Gweneth scrambled to their feet and drew their blades. A shadow was coming through the light, a shadow in the shape of a knight! The knight was not wearing a helm. They could see the long black hair and the elven ears, the hint of a face. It was a woman.
Selene and Gweneth stood ready to fight as the knight stepped down into the room. The portal closed behind her and disappeared, causing everyone’s hair – which had been beating about their faces – to fall limp.
Then the knight drew herself up and looked at them with her calm violet eyes. She was a small elven woman, clad in very ancient silver armor that had been engraved with delicate leaves and flowers. Her sword was an enchanted blade that glowed with blue light, but it was sheathed on her back, and her expression was serene: she did not wish to fight.
Seeing this, Selene and Gweneth lowered their blades, but to their shock – and to the shock of the strange knight – Neserie lunged forward and began beating the elven knight about her head with the broom.
“You dare – burst – in – here,” Neserie shouted between whacks, “—and muddy my floor!”
And indeed, the elven knight had tracked mud across the wooden floorboards and all over the nearby throw rug, so that it was soiled.
The elven knight cringed from the blows. Then huffily, as if she’d had enough, she extended her hand and cast a light-shield, off which the broom harmlessly bounced, bits of straw flying.
Neserie stopped whacking and snorted, indignant that her righteous blows had been hindered.
“Grandmother, let us hear what this stranger doth have to say,” Selene begged, and to her surprise, Neserie bitterly tossed the broom aside and went back to stirring her cauldron.
The stranger dissolved her light-shield by closing her open hand in a fist, and she straightened up, glancing around with hesitation. “Are there any more violent old women about? With forks, perhaps? I do not mind brooms so much, but sharper things might harm me.”
Gweneth laughed, sheathing her sword on her back. “Who are you, stranger?”
Selene did not sheath her blade. “And why have you come?” she asked calmly.
“I am Arryn, a Knight of the Wolf,” the stranger answered just as calmly, “and I have come with the news that fair Zelda is on her way to Eldaris, though she does not know you are here. She believes you at Ellondhold still. One of you should remain at the port and wait for her and Knight Calain to arrive.”
“Calain?” said Selene sharply and exchanged a look with Gweneth.
“Are you one of Cilia’s minions? What trick is this?” said Gweneth with a laugh.
“If it were a trick,” answered Arryn, “’twere a poor one.” With that, she turned away, extending her hand to open another portal. They watched as she passed through, and as the portal was shrinking from sight behind her, Neserie shouted after Arryn, “You knock next time! Or I’ll use a fork!”