two

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” said Rhosmari, passing a hand over her rain-beaded hair. “But I needed to talk to you and Lord Gwylan right away.”

“My dear, there is no need to apologize,” said Lady Arianllys, stepping back from the doorway to let Rhosmari in. Her dark hair tangled about her shoulders and her eyes were shadowed with weariness, yet her expression held only concern. “I know you would not have come unless it was urgent.” She drew her dressing gown closer and called back over her shoulder, “Gwylan?”

The door to the adjoining room creaked open, and Garan’s father stepped out. He had a close-trimmed beard and his hair was more wheat than flax, but otherwise he resembled his son so closely that the two of them might have been twins. “What is it?” he asked.

She had never seen Lord Gwylan look so bleak, not even when Garan left. Something must have gone badly wrong for him today–but there was no time to ask about it now. “I have something important to tell you,” Rhosmari said, and went on to explain why she had come.

“I know my mother means well,” she finished, “but I cannot sit by and see this happen to our people–and if there is any chance at all that you can prevent it—”

“Be at peace, Rhosmari,” Lady Arianllys told her. “We understand your fears, and indeed share them. And yet . . .” She glanced at her husband. “I fear there is little we can do.”

“But how can that be?” Rhosmari asked. “My mother’s scheme has not been approved yet. Surely Lord Gwylan could talk to the other Elders, and—”

“It is too late for that.” Gwylan’s voice was heavy. “As of today, I am no longer part of the Twelve.”

The breath stopped in Rhosmari’s throat. She could manage only one hoarse word: “Why?”

“Because,” he replied, “in their eyes and the eyes of the people, I am no longer fit to rule. Or as your mother put it, how can I be trusted to govern the Green Isles if I could not govern my own son?”

Rhosmari took a shaky step backward and sank into a chair. Lord Gwylan had long been the most moderate voice on the Council, and the only Elder she knew with the courage to stand up to Lady Celyn. No wonder her mother had looked so satisfied at supper. No wonder she had been confident that her plan would be approved . . .

“But we do not blame your mother,” said Lady Arianllys. “For she only did what she believed was right and best for our people. And though the Elders’ decision was painful, it was not unexpected: as soon as Garan left the Gwerdonnau Llion, Gwylan and I knew this day would come.”

“But it’s so unfair,” Rhosmari said. “You didn’t help him. He didn’t tell you anything . . . did he?”

“He hardly needed to,” said Gwylan. “I read it in his face, the moment we Elders told Linden and Timothy we could not give them the magical help they sought. I looked down from the dais and saw my son standing there, and I knew that he was determined to take the Stone and free the faeries enslaved by the Empress, just as Rhys used it to free our people from tyranny a thousand years ago.”

Rhosmari drew in her breath. “Then you agree with him? You think he was right to take the Stone?”

“That does not matter now,” said Arianllys. “The Stone is gone, and the Children of Rhys are terrified. Something must be done to restore our people’s confidence. But if your mother’s plan is not the answer, then what is?”

“I don’t know,” said Rhosmari. “I thought . . . if I came to you . . .” She looked up pleadingly at the Lady Scholar. “You haven’t foreseen any of this? You don’t know if my mother will succeed, or if we will get back the Stone, or . . . any of it?”

Arianllys was quiet a moment. Then she said, “I have not seen anything that will help you. My visions come rarely, and they are seldom clear or certain.”

Rhosmari dropped her head into her hands. If Lord Gwylan could not stop her mother from carrying out her plan, and the greatest scholar and prophetess in the Green Isles had no wisdom to offer, then what hope was there?

Then a thought came to her, and she straightened up again. Perhaps all was not quite lost. After all, even if Lady Celyn did succeed in convincing the Elders, she would have to present their decision before the assembly and win the approval of the other Children of Rhys as well. And then the Elders would have to choose which faeries would serve in the army, and appoint commanders over them, and supply them all with weapons and provisions before sending them out on their journey. It might be a week, or even two, before all was ready.

So there was still time to find an alternative, a way of recovering the Stone without conflict or violence. It might not even be that difficult. Despite the rash things Garan had done, Rhosmari could not believe he was a traitor: he had only meant to help the faeries on the mainland, not to harm the Children of Rhys. Perhaps, if someone from the Green Isles were to go to him and tell him what the loss of the Stone had done to their people, he might realize his mistake and give it back.

But who could make such a journey? When Garan fled, he had taken all of his closest comrades with him; Rhosmari was the only one left outside his family who knew him well. His parents had already suffered enough on his account, and their wisdom and moderation were needed here. No one else knew the details of her mother’s plan.

Which meant that there was only one person who could do it.

No.

Please, no. Not me.

She had longed to visit the mainland, but not like this. Not alone and unprepared, with nothing to protect her from the evils of which her mother had so often warned. Even if Rhosmari could find the courage to expose herself to such danger, it might take her days or weeks to accomplish her mission. And all the while she would be running against time, afraid that her mother’s army might overtake her at any moment.

Yet what else could she do?

I do not desire evil, Garan had said to her once, but it seems to me that to stand idle while evil is being done is no virtue either. Rhosmari had not understood at the time, but now she did. She had to do this, no matter what the risk to herself, because to allow her people to go to war would be a great evil.

And because one young faery, travelling alone, might escape the Empress’s notice where a troop of armed warriors could not . . .

Rhosmari closed her eyes, gathering courage. Then she stood up and said, “I will go. I will find Garan, wherever he is, and ask him to give us back the Stone.”

Lady Arianllys caught her breath, and Lord Gwylan looked more grim than ever. Rhosmari tensed, afraid they would try to stop her–but then Arianllys moved forward, wrapping her arms about Rhosmari and holding her close.

“May Rhys and the Great Gardener watch over you,” she said, “and bring you safely to your destination. And when you have found Garan . . . give him our love.”

•••

Rhosmari dug through the chest at the foot of her bed, pushing past old shoes, half-finished journals and her medals from the Rhysian Games until she found her pack. She would need to dress warmly, for once she left the magical climate of the Green Isles there would be nothing to protect her from the harsh mainland weather. Yet there were no winter clothes in her wardrobe, so she could only bring her grandmother’s cloak and a few extra pairs of stockings, and hope for the best.

She had none of the coins and papers that humans used for currency, but she had a pearl necklace that her father had given her. Surely it would fetch a decent price, if she could find someone willing to buy it. Lady Arianllys had supplied her with a map that showed the nearby towns on the mainland, and a small packet of food to see her through the first day of her journey. Apart from a comb and toothbrush Rhosmari could think of little else that she might need, for if all went well it should only take her a day or two to reach her destination.

And she knew, now, what that destination would be. According to Gwylan and Arianllys, Garan had gone to the Oakenwyld, where Linden and her forty or so sister faeries lived. Rhosmari remembered Linden saying that the Oak was close to the town of Aynsbridge, and that their human friends Paul and Peri McCormick–Timothy’s guardians–lived behind the great tree in a house called Oakhaven. Surely, with that much information, the place should be easy to find.

Rhosmari closed up the pack and cinched it tight, all the while reminding herself not to think about what she was doing. It did not matter that she was leaving behind her home, her family, and the only life she had ever known. It was not important what Fioled and the other scholars would think when she did not appear at the House of Learning tomorrow, or whether Rhosmari’s mother would guess what she had done. She dared not consider the perils that awaited her, or all the things that could go wrong. She must simply go, now, before it was too late.

Yet her feet seemed to have put down roots into the floor, and her chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe. Rhosmari gripped the bedpost as her knees buckled. Had she lost her wits, to believe that she could get away with this? Or even that it was necessary?

But I can’t turn back now, she told herself. No matter what happens, I have to try.

Besides, Lord Gwylan and Lady Arianllys were waiting for her. They had warned Rhosmari that it was too windy for her to fly across the strait, and that the waves were too treacherous for her to take a boat. Nor could she Leap, because magic could not transport her anywhere that she had not set foot before. But if she met them at a certain place when she had finished packing, they would show her a safe way to the mainland.

Rhosmari swung the pack up off the bed and hugged it in front of her, like a protective shield. She was ready now. Any moment—

“Rhosmari?”

The voice was her mother’s, husky with sleep. The latch of her door began to lift, and with a stab of panic Rhosmari Leaped, throwing her mind across miles of land and water and then hurling her body after it.

She landed on the beach at Ynys y Porth, smallest and southernmost of all the Green Isles. The ocean breeze blew gently and the night air was mild, but as Rhosmari hurried to meet Gwylan and Arianllys, even her hooded cloak could not stop her shivering.

“My mother knows I’m gone,” she panted. “She’ll start looking for me any minute–and if she finds out you’ve helped me escape—”

But Lord Gwylan shook his head. “She will not be quick to assume you have run away,” he said. “She will only think that you have gone for a walk because you could not sleep.”

“But—”

“The path to the mainland is not far,” said Arianllys soothingly. “You will be gone before Lady Celyn knows it. Let me show you.” She led them across the tide-damp sand. At the far end of the beach was a staircase, its steps so worn as to be almost invisible. They climbed to the top of the promontory, then descended on the other side into a pebbly cove Rhosmari had never seen before.

“Here is the way you will take,” Lady Arianllys said, touching the cliffside. A crumbling archway rippled into view, mottled with moss and lichen and sealed by a door of carved limestone. Arianllys laid her palm against its surface and the portal grated open, revealing another set of stairs leading downward.

“This is Gruffydd’s Way,” she said, “a tunnel built centuries ago for the use of our human friends. It is so little used nowadays that few of our people even remember its existence. But though it is old and neglected it is still sound, and will take you safely under the ocean all the way to the mainland.”

Dread crawled up Rhosmari’s spine, wrapping cold fingers around her throat. To climb down into absolute blackness, beneath the damp earth and an unfathomable weight of sea, feeling the walls press closer about her with every moment—

“No,” she faltered. “Please. I can’t do this.”

“You must,” said Gwylan. “There is no other way for you to leave the Green Isles without your mother and the other Elders knowing it.”

“Wait,” Arianllys said. “Let me talk to her.” Then she turned to Rhosmari and said, “May I ask you a personal question?”

Rhosmari managed a nod.

“Do you love my son?”

She was taken aback. Love? What did that have to do with anything? Certainly she had liked and respected Garan, and his appearance was not unpleasant–though he did have the poured-milk hair and pallid skin common among the Children of Rhys, both of which Rhosmari was glad to have escaped herself. She had seen no reason not to pledge herself to him, knowing that the alliance would benefit both their houses and likely make one or both of them Elders someday.

And yet, though Garan had always been gracious and kind to Rhosmari, he had never touched her, or shared with her the deeper thoughts of his heart. Nor had Rhosmari told him of her own private longings and fears. There had been no reason to believe that their marriage would be any different from the partnerships of most faeries–a practical arrangement that would produce two or three children and bring them respect within the community, but nothing more.

“Not like that,” she told Arianllys. “I do care for him, but . . .”

“Then it was not for his sake that you chose to undertake this journey. But is there not someone in your thoughts that you would like to see again? A certain young human who lives near the Oakenwyld, perhaps?”

Heat flooded Rhosmari’s cheeks. “No!”

The Lady Scholar smiled gently. “I apologize,” she said. “I was unkind to test you so. Yet on the day when Linden and Timothy came before the Elders . . . Gwylan may have been watching Garan’s face, but I was watching yours.”

“I don’t understand,” said Rhosmari, struggling between embarrassment and confusion. “Why are you asking—”

“Because in order to find the courage you need to travel Gruffydd’s Way,” said Arianllys, “you must fix your thoughts on something greater than your fears. And love gives great strength . . . but so does conviction.” She put a hand on Rhosmari’s shoulder. “If you truly believe that finding Garan and the Stone is the only way to save our people . . .”

“I know. I have to do this. It’s just—” Rhosmari bit her lip, and glanced at the tunnel again.

“There is no need for fear,” Gwylan told her. “No enemy or stranger can open Gruffydd’s Way, only the Children of Rhys and those we deem worthy of our trust. On the mainland side, the entrance will be invisible and impenetrable even to you, unless you approach it at low tide and place your hand where you see this mark.” He pointed to a symbol carved beside the doorway, a circle bisected by a wavering line. “Not even Garan and his companions know this secret, so guard it well. Are you ready?”

Rhosmari nodded.

“Then I wish you success on your journey, Celyn’s daughter.” He touched his fingers to his forehead in respect, and stepped aside.

Lady Arianllys bent and kissed her. “Take good care,” she whispered. “For you are as dear to me as my own child, even though you will never marry my son.”

“Is that a prophecy?” asked Rhosmari with a feeble attempt at humor, but Arianllys did not answer. She only turned toward her husband and buried her face against his chest. Was the Lady Scholar actually crying? But before Rhosmari could ask what was wrong, Gwylan raised his hand in farewell, and the two of them disappeared.

Rhosmari turned to face the cliffside. The tunnel gaped before her, wide as a sea serpent’s throat and no less daunting. Even when she kindled a glow-spell and sent it floating through the archway, she could see little of what lay ahead. Only rough-hewn walls and uneven steps leading down into a blackness like spilled ink, too thick for her magic to penetrate.

She didn’t want to go in there.

But she had to.

Rhosmari closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for courage. Then she hefted her pack, straightened her shoulders, and took her first step into Gruffydd’s Way.

•••

Shadows swarmed around Rhosmari, dragging at her feet and tangling in her hair. Every step into deeper darkness was an agonizing effort of will. Her glow-spell hovered beside her, but its scant radiance brought no comfort. At any moment she might faint, and the light would sputter and go out.

She did not belong here, trapped between water and rock. She was a child of open skies and soft pastures, but this tunnel had transformed her into a blind, crawling earthworm. Her hand gripped the stair rail until the rough stone scored her palm, but even pain could not distract her from the bone-numbing cold.

What madness had made her believe that she could do this? She had not even reached the bottom of the stair, and her legs shook as though she had been running.

Perhaps it was not too late to turn back. She could Leap home again, shove her pack into the back of the wardrobe with her bow and quiver, and forget that tonight had ever happened . . .

No. Only a fool and a coward would think such a thing, and she was neither. She was the daughter of Lady Celyn, and her people were counting on her. She would get through this tunnel somehow, even if it took her all night—

Rhosmari!

Her stomach lurched as that familiar voice spoke into her mind, faint but unmistakable. Faeries of the same blood, or who had mutually agreed to the arrangement, could speak mind to mind across short distances–and now Lady Celyn was Calling her. If Rhosmari did not answer, it would be obvious that something was wrong . . . but if she did, her mother would know immediately where to find her. What was she going to do?

Then she realized the answer. Outside the tunnel, on the beach of Ynys y Porth, two great stones called the Sentinels marked the boundary between the Green Isles and the mortal realm. There were no Sentinels here, at least not as far as she could see, but still the border could not be far away. And once Rhosmari crossed that magical line, it would be difficult for Lady Celyn to stop her.

Answer me! The Call pierced her mind like an icy needle. Rhosmari pressed a hand to her ear, but she could not shut it out. How long would it be before Lady Celyn picked up one of Rhosmari’s belongings and cast a tracking spell? Urgency gripped her, and she began to hurry down the steps as quickly as she could go.

At the foot of the stair her glow-spell beamed straight ahead, revealing curving walls that stretched out far into the distance. It was even colder here, but the tunnel widened with every step, and the tightness in Rhosmari’s chest began to ease.

Where are you, daughter? Speak to me at once!

This time the Call was so clear, so penetrating, that Lady Celyn had to be nearby. Rhosmari broke into a run, racing down the tunnel as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. The pain in her head was intense, but she forced herself to ignore it. Where was the boundary? It had to be close, and yet—

There! She could not see it, but she sensed it: a glimmering skin of magic stretched across the tunnel some fifty paces ahead. Rhosmari was panting now and her sides had begun to cramp, but she kept running. Just forty paces left . . . now thirty . . . twenty . . .

A wave of heat rippled up Rhosmari’s back. The air knotted around her, jerking her to a stop in mid-stride. She struggled, but the invisible net would not break. There was no escape–her mother was coming—

She was here.

“Fool of a girl!” snapped Lady Celyn. Loosed from its customary braids and wrappings, her hair haloed her face like a storm cloud. “How dare you run off to see the human world, when I expressly forbade you to go?”

The accusation was so unexpected it made Rhosmari gasp. “That’s not what I was doing!”

“Indeed?” said her mother. “Then why are you here?”

Rhosmari lifted her chin, determined not to show her fear. “I am going to the mainland, to find Garan and get back the Stone.”

For an instant Lady Celyn looked startled. Then her eyes narrowed again. “So,” she said. “You have so little respect for your Elders, or your people—”

“That’s not true! I only wanted to help!”

“I am not interested in your motives,” said her mother coldly. “Whether you are arrogant or merely naive makes no difference. Either way, this folly ends now, and you are coming home with me.”

“Why?” Frustration seethed inside her. “Why send an army after Garan, when a single faery might be enough? If you only wait a few more days, and give me the chance—”

“Enough!” Lady Celyn slashed her hand through the air. “I have told you that the mainland is no place for you. Are you truly so incapable of seeing reason?”

Rhosmari wrestled against the net of spells again. There were gaps in the mesh big enough for her to thrust her hand through, but what good would that do her? Unless . . .

“I see you are determined,” said her mother. “So be it.” She drew herself up, tall and pitiless as a goddess. “You will come back to the house as my prisoner, and I will weave such spells as will keep you there, until you swear by your true name that you will never try to leave the Green Isles again.”

Horror gripped Rhosmari. “You wouldn’t.”

“I will do whatever I think necessary to protect you from yourself,” Celyn retorted. “Your grandfather–my father–was killed by the humans on the mainland, and I will not allow my only daughter to share his fate. Will not, do you understand?”

Rhosmari sank back against the net, stunned by the revelation. She knew what it was to lose a father, and Lady Celyn’s words tore at her heart. To think that humans could be so evil, and cause such pain . . .

And yet what her mother wanted to do to her was evil, too.

“Then you are no different from the Empress,” Rhosmari said shakily, as she pulled herself upright again. “For you want to force me to obey you, instead of allowing me to choose for myself what is right. And though you are my mother and I love you, I will not let you make me your slave.”

And with that she extinguished her glow-spell, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

It only took a moment for Lady Celyn to kindle her own light, but it was enough. In that instant Rhosmari willed herself small and darted free of her mother’s web of spells as it collapsed. With a flurry of her new-grown wings she launched herself into the air, shooting down the tunnel like a loosed arrow–and as she flashed over the boundary to the mortal world, Lady Celyn’s cry of protest cut off as though she had been choked.

Still Rhosmari dared not hesitate. On this side of the border her mother’s powers were weaker, but so were her own. Her wings blurred as she urged them to greater and greater speed. Yet she was flying blind, and if the tunnel were to curve even a little, she would smash into the wall and knock herself senseless–or worse.

But no spell pursued her, nor could she hear Lady Celyn calling. And when at last Rhosmari slowed down and looked back the way she had come, she could not see the smallest spark of light. Unwilling even to set foot into the human world, her mother had gone.

Rhosmari glided to the floor of the tunnel and transformed herself back to her usual size. Her lungs burned and her eyes stung, as though she had been breathing smoke. But she wiped her face on her sleeve, kindled another light, and doggedly continued on.

•••

Now that she had no choice but to go forward, Gruffydd’s Way no longer seemed as terrible to Rhosmari as it had before. The tunnel was high and spacious, its walls so far apart that even the outspread wings of an albatross could not have touched both at the same time. The stones beneath her feet felt solid, and the roof showed no sign of collapsing. Still, every time she glimpsed a shining thread of water or felt the air grow clammy, she quickened her stride just in case.

How many hours had passed since she left the Green Isles? Without sun, moon or tides to tell her, Rhosmari had no idea. All she knew was that she had never walked so far in all her life. She had already broken her journey twice to eat some of the food Lady Arianllys had given her, for all that flying had given her a ferocious appetite. But now her stomach felt empty again.

She had half convinced herself that her mother had trapped her in some cunning illusion, and that she would wander through Gruffydd’s Way forever, when the floor began to slant upward. Only a few steps ahead lay the foot of a staircase, its broad steps rising into darkness. She had reached the mainland at last.

Rhosmari paused, surveying the ascent. This tunnel had been built for humans, not the smaller Children of Rhys; she would likely find the climb easier if she made herself human height. How tall had Timothy stood, when he visited them? Perhaps just a little shorter than that . . .

She knocked a fist against her forehead in frustration. Not Timothy again. Why had Lady Arianllys reminded her? She had done her best to put him out of her mind, especially once she realized that he and Linden were to blame for what Garan had done. And yet when he told how one of the Empress’s servants had tried to steal his musical talent, Rhosmari had shivered like a plucked bowstring . . .

Enough of that, she told herself severely. Collecting her scattered thoughts, she counted stones up the tunnel wall until she reached a measurement that seemed reasonable to her, then grew little by little until she had matched it.

The stairs looked far less daunting now. Gratified, she began to climb.

Up and up Rhosmari went, the walls around her narrowing with every step–but she did not mind that much, not when she knew she would soon be free. The stillness in the tunnel broke into a rumble, then swelled to an echoing roar, but Rhosmari recognized the sound of waves crashing against rock, and welcomed it. Finally the stair twisted back on itself and stopped at a door of carved stone, identical to the one Lady Arianllys had opened for her hours ago. Her glow-spell picked out the outline of a wave-crossed circle; she touched it, and the door rasped open.

Never had the ocean breeze tasted so sweet, though its coldness took her breath away. She saw no moon, but her night vision revealed a great stretch of sand and foam-capped waves, with the shadowy bulk of an island in the distance. Rhosmari stepped out of the tunnel, and when she looked back, the exit to Gruffydd’s Way had vanished. All that lay behind her now was a slanting cliffside, with tufts of grass and gorse springing here and there from the rock.

Her heart fluttered. What if she could not find the door again? But when she looked closer she glimpsed the familiar symbol, delicately etched into the rock. There was still a way home for her, and perhaps–if the Elders chose to be merciful–for Garan and his followers as well.

She tried not to think about the possibility that if she failed to bring back the Stone, the Elders might not let her return to the Green Isles either.