CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

 

Revisiting people from the past is never fun.

After all, there’s a reason why you left them there in the first place.

—Challadius the Charmer

 

Maeve was glad for the night, the night which might help conceal her from anyone searching for her and the others. That they were searching was not in doubt. If Matt really was taken over by a Feyling—and the more and more she thought of it, the more she believed Priest was right—then the creature would not rest until it had killed all of them, eliminating any danger to its designs.

She knew that the others had been correct—it was dangerous to be out, to risk herself, particularly when she should be standing beside Chall, for if anything should happen while she was gone, she knew that she would never forgive herself. But she told herself that she’d had to go, that she had no choice. It wasn’t as if she could have sent someone else—particularly when she had no idea how dangerous it could be.

But that was only part of it. The truth was that it was something she could do. She could not help Chall, could do nothing to countermand Cutter’s exile, but this, at least, she could do.

And so she walked, hurrying through the city, keeping her cloak tight about her, the hood drawn to help hide her features from anyone who might be watching. It took the better part of an hour to reach the home, and so different did it look from the last time she’d seen it that she thought she’d remembered wrong. After all, many years had passed since she’d been here.

The home was situated in a modest part of the city, not the poor district, but not far from it either. Yet, the last time she had been here, Maeve remembered being surprised at how pleasant it was, at how much the small dwelling felt like a home. There had been a cobbled path leading to the door, and a small garden on either side, well-kept and maintained, certainly far better than her own efforts with a garden had proven. And the house itself, while small, had also been well cared for.

Now, though, she could hardly believe she was looking at the same place. The wonderful gardens had given way to weeds as high as her waist, and vines crept up the side of the house around flaked pieces of mortar. And the decay did not end there. Even the door sat crooked in its frame, hanging askew.

Frowning, Maeve walked down the path, forced to push long shoots of weeds out of the way as she did. Then, standing at the door, she took a deep breath and knocked. The door creaked open a fraction, revealing nothing but darkness from within, and no answer came.

Maeve knocked again, louder this time, and still there was nothing. Hissing with frustration, she knocked a third time, and this time an answer did come, only not from within the house but from her right, on the other side of the garden.

“What’s all that racket at this ungodly hour?”

Maeve turned and saw a gray-haired woman who appeared to be in her sixties eyeing her. One of the woman’s hands clutched a walking stick, and the other waggled a finger at her as she stood at the door of her own home. “What do you think you’re about, woman, waking honest folk up in the dead of night?”

“Sorry,” Maeve said, looking at the hunch-backed woman, “I’m looking for someone.”

“An old friend, that it?” the lady asked.

“Something like that,” Maeve said. “A woman and her husband, Erwin and Ladia, used to live here and—”

“Still do.”

“What’s that?”

“You said ‘used to’” the old woman said. “They still do. Leastways, Ladia does. Erwin, why, he’s been dead goin’ on a year now, maybe more.” She shook her head. “Always thought they were fine people, those two. That was until that harlot daughter of theirs bedded both princes and damned near tore the kingdom apart.” She shrugged. “Always liked the girl, too. Just goes to show what a fool I am and that folks can hide a damned sight more than they show.”

Maeve found herself frowning at that. “I knew Layna—she was a good woman. Erwin and Ladia were good people too.”

“That so?” the woman countered sharply. “Know a lot of good people that are responsible for almost destroyin’ a whole kingdom, do ya?”

Maeve frowned, considering saying something to the woman but decided against it, giving her head an angry shake and turning back to knock on the door.

“Oh, you won’t find her there,” the old woman cackled. “No, ain’t much for sittin’ in the house, is our Ladia. Not much for keepin’ it either, you want to know the truth,” she finished, sniffing and giving a disapproving glance at the overgrown garden.

“Well, where is she then?” Maeve said, doing her best to keep her anger from her tone but, judging by the frown on the old woman’s face, not doing so fine a job of it.

“And just who’s asking?” the woman countered, and Maeve cursed herself inwardly. “Who are you to demand anything of me, showin’ up in the middle of the night and talkin’ to me like you’re some prince on holiday?”

“Not a prince,” Maeve snapped, “but I know one. My name, you old hag, is Lady Maeve the Marvelous, the kingdom’s foremost assassin.”

The old woman paled at that, the hand holding her walking stick trembling so badly that, for a moment, Maeve thought she might fall and good luck finding someone to help her up. In the end, though, the woman managed to keep her feet. “Y-you’re Maeve the Merciless?”

Maeve frowned. She had forgotten that one. “Yes, and if you do not tell me what I want to know, and quickly, I assure you that you will see just how merciless I can be.”

“Th-the cemetery,” the old woman blurted, “just around the corner there.” She waggled her cane in the direction she meant then hurriedly retreated into her house. Maeve listened as the door was slammed shut, the latch thrown in place.

She winced, the feeling of satisfaction she’d felt at scaring the old woman vanishing in a moment. Here she was trying to be subtle, and instead she dropped her name to the first person to antagonize her. Normally she didn’t think she would have let the woman’s cruelty make her act so foolishly, but then with Chall wounded and all that was happening, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Not that that would be much consolation if she got herself or the others killed. And it was far too much to hope the woman would keep quiet. There, she didn’t doubt, was a bit of news that would be passed on just as soon as there was someone to pass it to.

Still, there was no help for it now so she turned and hurried down the walkway in the direction the woman had indicated.

It didn’t take her long to find the cemetery, a small parcel of land which held a few hundred tombstones, no doubt relatives of those who lived nearby—or who at least had once. She stepped into the cemetery and after a few minutes of walking among the graves saw a figure kneeling in the dirt in front of two graves. The figure’s back was to her, but Maeve knew, instantly, who the stooped old woman, dressed in little better than rags and, in that way, resembling her house, must be.

Maeve watched her for a moment, hating to intrude upon her grief—and her grief, at least, was not in question, for she could see it in the way the woman slumped, her head bowed, tears leaking down her face in the moonlight. Finally, Maeve took a slow, deep breath and started forward.

“Ladia?” she asked softly.

The woman started, turning, her eyes wide and frightened in the moonlight. “Who are you? I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after. You bastards already took it all and—”

“I’m not here for that,” Maeve said. “It…it’s me. Maeve.”

“Maeve,” the woman repeated as if the word had no meaning. Then, something, some mad glimmer, came into her eyes.

“Maeve,” she said again, hissing the name this time. “You. What in the name of the gods are you doing here? Will you and your prince take everything from me and then, seeing it not enough, rob me even of my chance to mourn?”

Maeve winced. Visiting an old friend, Ned had asked her, and no. No, that was certainly not the case. “Ladia, I do not mean to cause you any pain, I came because—”

The old woman let out a shrieking, terrible sound, somewhere between laughter and anguish. “Pain?” she asked. “Pain? What do you know of pain? Pain is my life, Lady Maeve, it is all I know, all I have. There is nothing else. First you and your friends take my Layna from me, my girl, then the flux takes my sweet Erwin. And now I am here, alone.”

Maeve moved forward. “I…I am sorry,” she said. “For Erwin. For…for Layna. I promise you, Ladia, me and the others, we did not mean for it to happen.” She put her hand on the woman’s shoulder then, and Ladia turned to regard it so abruptly that Maeve suddenly felt sure that she would attack.

In the end, she did not, only heaving a heavy sigh. “No, you have not come to take my time to mourn but to steal my anger, is that it, Lady Maeve? To steal the only thing I have left that makes me feel alive?”

“I…I did not come for that either,” Maeve said. “Ladia, I am sorry, truly, for all that you have suffered but…I only came to…to ask you a question.”

“Oh?” the woman said, not sounding angry now, her voice devoid of any emotion at all, sounding dead. “And what question is that, Maeve?”

Maeve winced. “You told me, back then, that we took your daughter from you. What…what did you mean by that?”

The woman watched her. “As if you don’t know,” she said tiredly. “After she met that Prince Feledias, my sweet girl, she…she changed. At first, everything was fine, she was fine, but then…Erwin and I didn’t hear from her for a while, so we came to visit her at the castle. She…” The old woman shook her head. “She didn’t know me. Me, her own mother, who raised her from a baby.”

Maeve frowned. “Didn’t know you?”

“That’s what I said,” the old woman snapped. “She…changed somehow. I tried to talk to her, but she had us taken out of the castle, Erwin and me both, and she never would see us again. The next time I saw her was at her funeral. You remember,” she said, seeming to muster enough energy to sneer, “you were there, after all.”

“But…how could she not know you?” Maeve asked, thinking that she had been right after all, that she knew the truth already.

“How in the name of the gods should I know?” the woman said. She shook her head then, wretched in her grief. “It was as if…I don’t know, as if she were under some kind of spell, or something. Or if…maybe as if she wasn’t her at all. Oh, she still looked like her, sure, but that wasn’t my Layna. My sweet, sweet Layna.” She gave a sudden convulsion and burst into tears then, burying her face in her hands.

“Ladia,” Maeve said, “gods, I’m so sorry. I—”

“Just leave me alone,” the woman sobbed, “leave me to my anger and my grief, Maeve. Do not take them from me—they are all I have left.”

“Please,” Maeve said, choked with emotion, “I would…I would do something, would help you, if I could.”

“Help?” the woman shrieked. “Help? Can you bring my Erwin back from the dead? Can you bring Layna back?”

Maeve recoiled at the madness in the woman’s eyes, the anger in her tone. “I…I cannot, but—”

“Then the only help you can offer is to leave me!” the woman said. “Please, gods, just leave me.”

Maeve stared at her, helpless. Then, finally, hating herself, she turned and walked away, leaving the woman to her grief.

By the time she retraced her steps and arrived back at Ned and Emille’s home, the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon. She walked down the street in the direction of the house, then past it, looking around her as she did. When she saw no one paying her any undue attention, she turned back and made her way up the path to the house, giving a knock.

The door swung open a moment later to reveal Priest. The man was grinning widely. “Maeve, welcome back.”

“Well, good morning to you too,” she said, surprised to find the man smiling for, when she had left, they had been a grim lot.

“He’s awake,” the man said, still grinning.

“Awake?” Maeve asked, pushing her way past him. She started toward the room where the mage had been laid then paused as she saw the others gathered at the table. Including, she saw with a powerful shock of relief, the mage.

“Chall?” she said.

The mage turned, wincing as he did. “Hi, Maeve,” he said. “I’ll tell you, if you’ve ever considered getting stabbed in the stomach, I really wouldn’t recomme—” He never got a chance to finish for Maeve rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Not that I don’t…appreciate the sentiment,” the mage groaned, “but maybe you should let up just a touch.”

Maeve did, just a touch, pulling her head back. “Stones and starlight, Chall, I thought you were going to die.”

“Well,” he groaned, “Not yet, but if I hurt like this for much longer, might be I’ll take on the job myself. Or…well, you are an assassin after all, I wonder if I couldn’t get you to do me a bit of a—”

“Oh, shut up, Chall,” she said and then, before he could respond, she kissed him. There was no artifice or design to it, not this time. It was only a kiss, a real kiss, one long overdue, and for a time Maeve forgot everything else, forgot about Cutter’s exile, and what she’d learned about Matt and Layna, forgot even the kingdom itself. It was only him and her.

At least, that was, until someone cleared their throat, and Maeve pulled away for a moment, glancing around to see the others all staring at her with wide eyes. She turned back to the mage and saw him doing much the same. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Shit, me too,” Chall said, then grinned.

“You saved my life, you know.”

He grinned wider. “I’m aware of it. So what was that then, your thanks?”

She laughed. “Part of it. You’ll get the rest later. But first…we all need to talk.”

“Mean the shows over?” Ned asked.

“Afraid so,” Maeve said, and slowly all of them began to gather around the table.

“Priest filled me in,” Chall said, “though I can’t say I’m sure about it all.”

Maeve nodded. “Well, maybe this will help you.” She went on to explain to them all that Ladia had told her about her daughter.

When she was finished, Chall frowned. “I’m still not sure, Maeve. I mean, her daughter changed, so what? Money changes people—there’s nothing new about that.”

“She didn’t just change, Chall,” she said. “Ladia said she didn’t even recognize her or Erwin. Money might change people, but they’re still the same people.”

The mage grunted, still not completely convinced. “Well,” he said. “I don’t guess there’s any way to know for sure.”

“That’s…not exactly true,” Priest said.

They all turned to him, and the man shrugged. “Well, it seems to me that there might be one way, at least. To know for sure.”

“Oh?” Chall asked. “What’s that? You got a crystal ball handy, that it?”

“No,” the man said, giving a small smile, “but I do have a mage. Battered and bruised, sure, but still a mage.”

Chall frowned at that. “I don’t like the way you’re talking, Priest. Which is nothing new, I suppose, but I particularly don’t like the way you’re talking right now.”

Nigel frowned. “I don’t get it. What are you thinking of doing?”

Priest continued to watch Chall. “I remember years ago, when we were in the Black Wood, you said that you could feel the magic of the place. Is that true? Can you really do that?”

The mage winced. “Yes. Maybe. It depends, alright? It isn’t as if I just reach out and touch it. But if the magic is strong enough, or I look close enough…” He nodded. “Probably.”

“Then that’s it,” Priest said.

“What’s it?” Maeve asked, not following.

The man glanced at Chall, and the mage shook his head. “Uh-uh. You tell her.”

Priest nodded, looking back to Maeve. “We have to kidnap the king.”

There were several seconds of silence, broken only when Ned barked a laugh. “Sure, why not? And while we’re at it, I’ve never really cared for where the castle is. Reckon on the way out we could pick it up, maybe move it to the other side of the city?”

“Ned’s right,” Maeve said. “You weren’t there, Priest. The castle isn’t safe—Chall nearly died the last time we went. And if we go again, who’s to say that woman, that Felara, won’t be there waiting for us? I won’t risk it again and—”

“We have to do it, Maeve.”

She turned to look at the mage. “You can’t be serious, Chall.” She looked at the others, all of them watching her, apologetic expressions on their faces. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “no, I won’t allow it. You can’t go back, Chall. I won’t…” I won’t risk losing you, not now. “There’s got to be another way,” she finished, turning to look at Priest.

“There isn’t, Maeve,” Chall said softly. “I don’t know if Priest is right or not, but if he is, there’s a chance I might be able to detect the creature, and a chance—albeit a small one—that we might somehow be able to get it out of him. And…if there’s even a chance, Maeve, we have to take it.”

She stared at him, at once feeling betrayed and more in love with him than she ever had. “No,” she breathed. “No, Chall, and that’s final. Now, I…I need some time alone.”

She hurried away, fleeing toward the back room. She stumbled inside, closing the door shut behind her. She looked at the table, still stained with Chall’s blood, the table where, only hours ago, he had lain, fighting for his life. The tears came then. Hot and heavy tears that traced lines of grief down her face.

It wasn’t fair. She had already given so much to the world, but the world, like some insatiable beggar, had decided, it seemed, that it was not enough. It had stolen one life from her already and now it meant to steal another, to steal even the small chance at happiness that she had managed to gather from the ashes of what it left her the first time.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at that table but not really seeing it, the tears flowing freely. Eventually, though, she heard the sound of the door opening. She did not need to look up to know that it was him, for she knew his sounds, the sounds of his footsteps, his breathing. In another moment, he was beside her.

“Look at me, Maeve.”

She did not, only stood, staring at the table. “Maeve,” he said softly, “look at me.”

Finally, she did, turning to him. “You can’t go, Chall. I’ll go, if that’s what needs doing. Me and Priest, some of the others, if we think it’ll help. But not you.”

The mage gave her a small smile. “That so? And if I don’t go, Mae, then who’s going to try to sniff out the magic we think might be on the lad? Or did you become a mage yourself, during your exile? Because when I found you, you were practicing pulling turnips, not casting spells.”

“Potatoes,” she said, sniffling.

“What’s that?”

“I was pulling potatoes.”

“Right. Potatoes then.”

An idea struck her, and she grasped his hands. “I know what we could do, Chall. We could get the king and bring him here. We’ll be safe here,”—you’ll be safe—“and then you can take all the time you need to…well, do whatever it is you’re going to do.”

He grunted. “So let me understand this, Mae. You want to not only kidnap the king—quite an impossible task—but now you also want to somehow lug him across the entire city while, if what Priest is saying is true, the creature inside him is going to do its level best to get us all killed and get free? Not that it would have to do much—a simple shout would be enough to draw the guards’ attention.”

She winced. “We could bind him, gag him, maybe, and—”

“No, Mae,” he said, gripping her hands gently. “This is how it has to be—you know that, I think.”

And the most damning part of it was, she did. She knew that there was no way they’d make it across the city, not without being caught by the guards. “But you’re wounded, Chall,” she said, “you nearly died.”

“We nearly died,” the mage countered. “Sure, maybe I came a bit closer than the rest of you lot, but if we mean to do this, I reckon you’ll all get a chance to even things up a bit soon enough.”

She looked at him, and he was smiling, doing his best to hide his pain, but she could see the way he hunkered over, the way he moved tenderly, carefully, so as not to make it worse. “She was better than me, Chall,” she said. “If only I’d been better, faster, then you never would have been wounded in the first place.”

“True,” the mage said, nodding thoughtfully. “A fair point. Come to think of it, you really did drop the ball, didn’t you?” He sighed theatrically. “All these years of being threatened by those knives of yours, turns out that they aren’t so dangerous after all.”

She stared at him for a second, and he shook his head, smiling. “Look, Maeve, so maybe the woman got the better of you this once, so what? It isn’t exactly as if you’re at the top of your game, is it? None of us are. I mean, when was the last time you slept?”

Maeve blinked. With everything that had been going on, she’d lost track of the last time she’d managed to get any meaningful rest. “I’m…not sure.”

“See?” the mage said. “Anyway, if you want to start passing around blame, why not blame me? After all, if I hadn’t been so exhausted—and scared, I’ll admit it—I could have, perhaps, cast some sort of illusion, got us all out of there. Or maybe we should blame Priest—the man’s always talking about that goddess of his, but I didn’t see her show up to keep that knife from seein’ what my guts looked like. Or how about Cutter for sticking his wick where it didn’t belong in the first place?”

Maeve frowned. “There’s…I assume, a point to all this?”

“My point, Maeve, is that there’s plenty of blame to go around, if that’s what you mean to do, but it isn’t going to help us, is it?”

“I guess not,” she said slowly. “But I still don’t like it, Chall.”

He laughed. “What’s to like? This might surprise you, Mae, but I don’t much care for the idea of getting stabbed again either.”

“But you still want to go.”

“Want? Stones and starlight, no, I’m not suicidal, am I? But then ‘want’ doesn’t really have anything to do with it. We’ll go anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s the right thing to do?”

“A pox on the ‘right’ thing,” the mage said sourly. “No, I couldn’t give two shits about that. We’ll go because maybe, if we’re really lucky, we can help the lad.”

Maeve found herself smiling. “You like him, don’t you?”

Chall fidgeted, uncomfortable, as always, with the thought of saying or doing anything that might counter his hard-won reputation for being a selfish cynic. “And so what if I do? And to be honest, I’d want to go even if it weren’t for that.”

“Why?” Maeve asked, genuinely curious.

The mage laughed. “Not going to let me get out of this one, are you? Fine. I’ll go because the prince wouldn’t hesitate to go if it were one of us and Matt is his son. And if, by some chance, Bernard does make it back from the Black Wood, I’d rather not be the guy who let his son go on being possessed by some Fey monstrosity. Being stabbed isn’t any fun, but I imagine there’s worse things.”

Maeve was smiling wider now. “Challadius the Charitable. Has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“More like a death knell,” the mage muttered, then he met her eyes. “Anyway, are you okay?”

She nodded slowly. “I think so. Or as close as I’m likely to get. So…are we leaving now?”

“Me and the others talked about that after you left. We’re thinking maybe we’d best wait for night but then, you’re the one with all the experience—you tell me.”

“Night’s the way to go,” she said.

He smiled slowly, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Well, in that case. Ned and Emille said they’ve got a spare room, if we want to…you know. Get some rest.”

Maeve arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” She grinned. “Resting, I mean. What with your wound and all.”

“This?” he asked, gesturing at his bandaged stomach. “Pshh. Just a scratch.”

“A scratch,” she repeated, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“Sure,” he said, “a scratch. Anyway, I think maybe I could do with some rest.”

“Me too,” she said. “But I’ll warn you, Challadius,” she went on, grabbing his hand, “if you think you’ve risked your life so far, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

And with that, she led him to the bedroom, uncaring of the knowing looks the others shot them as they passed through the main room of the house. In moments, they were in the room, an urgency within her, and, judging by the way he fell while removing his trousers, Chall as well. An urgency that they might have been forgiven as the both of them had waited on this moment for fifteen years and more.

But they were together then, the waiting done.

In time, they both lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Marvelous is right,” Chall gasped.

“Oh, Challadius,” Maeve said, turning to him, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”