I found that working on persuading Ystevan to save my father was remarkably like trying to persuade my father to seek the Elfin. I could only push so far at one time before I had to stop, although the he-elf tended to show irritation, rather than outright anger. But when sufficiently irritated he got extremely sarcastic, and nigh-impossible to talk with. He seemed to have a hundred reasons to say no and he trotted them out with firm eloquence.
If it weren’t for my failure in this most important area I would have enjoyed the next few days immensely. After trying to help Haliath around the chambers, I quickly perceived that it was taking the she-elf longer to show me how to do things than to do it herself. So although I had no experience with the elfin bows—and could not hope to draw one, besides!—I asked Ystevan if I could help him with his gathering. It would give me extra time to work on him, and he could at least point out greenery for me to collect.
But when he saw that I could move quietly enough to stalk game, he lent me a rather antiquated crossbow that had clearly seen little use. A semi-precious stone was set into each of the fat bolts in the quiver, and they worked much like Siridean's dagger—not that I’d ventured to show that to Ystevan yet—so soon enough I’d contributed a couple of rabbits and a wild fowl to the table.
~+~
“Alban Serapion Ravena, Duke of Elfindale, you hereby stand accused of black sorcery and accompanying heresies for which the appointed punishment is the cleansing fire of the stake. How do you plead?”
The Duke stood before the thronged court room, one hand gripping the edge of a table in a white-knuckled grip; clearly only this kept him upright. Gaunt beyond belief, he raised a skeletal hand and laid it on the Bible that was presented to him. He raised his hollow face, and a strange, brief, pale smile flickered on his lips.
“It is with great regret,” he said, voice weak but firm, “that I must plead guilty.” The roar of sound that followed a stunned silence drowned him out as he added tiredly to those nearest to him, “and I'm afraid I really must ask for a chair...”
I jerked awake with a cry of protest for those dark robed judges—it pierced the night quiet of the fort, and I stifled it hastily—then sat up to try and regain my equilibrium. It was just a dream. A nightmare, like the others, not a true dream such as Raven sent. I could feel the difference. My father was in grave danger of his life, but from my continued failure, not from a court of law. But there was a sense of urgency to the dream, much the same degree of urgency that I felt from Raven, but far more compelling. There was not much time left.
I picked up a leather-bound chunk of quartz that lit up as I touched it; a gift from Ystevan. I slipped out of bed and found the notebook Haliath had given me when I asked her for some paper, in which I had been keeping a strict diary about my time at the probably-only-once-in-a-lifetime-to-be-seen elfin fort. I flicked backwards, counting the days with growing dismay. I’d been here almost two weeks, and that was excluding the days on the road! But it wasn’t as if I weren’t trying! But...
I couldn’t help biting my lip. I would bring up my father at regular intervals throughout the day, and Ystevan would simply refuse...until I felt I should leave it for another hour.
Blast! He was no fool, no wonder he wasn’t looking very harried, he’d clearly learned exactly how to behave to make me drop the subject. And I’d been so happy here that despite all my best efforts, I hadn’t noticed that I was getting absolutely nowhere. Well, that was it with the velvet gloves. I didn’t have enough time left. Attrition had failed, so bombardment was left. Every other word out of my mouth was going to be to the point, from now on.
~+~
By midday, Ystevan was certainly looking harried but was by no means more compliant. What I now suspected was feigned irritation—designed to make me back off—had long since given way to genuine irritation. He strode ahead of me down the corridors as though beginning to think that Alliron had the right idea after all. He escaped to the throne room straight after luncheon, leaving me frustrated—and more frightened than ever—by my continued failure.
By wordless agreement we had long since made the dining table a battle-free zone, out of consideration for Haliath. But after dinner, when I’d finished helping Haliath with the dishes, I returned to the living room and began to steel myself to tackle Ystevan again. This time, he had to listen! Or I really would have to set off home, if I was to be sure of seeing my father before...before...
Oh, Ystevan, please listen to me!
Ystevan was moving towards his favorite armchair as though determined that he should at least be comfortable...
But then he stopped. A frown crossed his face. And suddenly he was heading for the door instead.
“Where are you going?” I asked, dismayed.
“The Queen summons me,” he said, but despite this unexpected reprieve he didn’t look happy. The wooden door thudded softly to behind him.
I sat down in an armchair with a bump, staring disconsolately into the flames.
~+~
The faggots were piled high around the foot of the stake, and the crowd pressed close, as eager as wolves at a kill. The condemned man was led out in his sackcloth, his bald scalp oozing blood where the jailers had been careless with their knife. He was so frail the two guards supported rather than led him, and those on the opposite side of the stake could hardly see him at all. They chained his hands to the post and tied an extra rope under his arms to ensure that he could stand upright.
The magistrate read out the sentence of sorcery and heresy, but the crowd drowned him out. An old priest stood by the stake, holding his crucifix before the condemned's eyes as well as he could. Some of the crowd taunted and mocked his diligence, but he paid them no heed.
The executioner thrust a flaming torch in among the faggots, here and there around the circumference, conscientiously setting all alight. The crowd howled, but the man at the stake held his head up and looked steadily at the cross until the smoke and flames obscured it from view.
...I jerked upright in the armchair, breathing in harsh sobs and struggling to get hold of myself. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. But the sense of urgency it brought was overpowering, worse than ever before.
What should I do?
I'd run out of time, and I knew it.
Well, for starters I would not go to bed tonight until Ystevan returned. But tomorrow...if he still refused...
Tomorrow I had to choose. Stay here longer in the hope I might still return in the nick of time with a guardian in tow. Or leave and be sure of...of being able to say goodbye...
I swallowed hard, tears pricking at my eyes. My intentions had been so good. But I’d only succeeded in wasting the time I would have had left with my father.
Almost more importantly, I’d wasted the brief time he had left with me. I’d deprived him of the company that might have made his long illness bearable, left him alone in miserable worry, for weeks, and for what...? To trickle home and mumble a shame-faced ‘sorry’ as he drew his last breath? I was a stupid, stupid little girl, trying to re-form the world to my wishes, and I had the awful feeling that I might never forgive myself. Would he...?
No, I thought, brushing hair and tears from my eyes, some part of me stirred to anger by my agonized self-reproach. It wasn’t for nothing. The cure is here. It is possible. I just can’t...get it.
He told you that from the start, the resigned half of me said sadly.
He wasn’t prepared to even try, the angry part of me shot back, but at least I tried.
And I wasn’t leaving that instant, I still had this evening. But I sighed and swallowed. Why would Ystevan yield now, and not before? He must realize I could not stay indefinitely. All he had ever needed to do was play a waiting game—my position had never been strong.
Thinking about Ystevan made me feel even worse. I was sure I would miss him terribly. Yet still he said no, still he condemned my father to death so...so pitilessly...
~+~
I was actually able to have luncheon with my father for once in his room. I ate a good meal, still hungry from my chilly and underfed exploits the day before, but my father seemed to have no appetite at all. He tried his best, clearly aware of my anxious gaze on him, but he still put his plate aside largely untouched.
“It’s not as if I need much food, sitting around all day like this,” he joked from the depths of his armchair.
I was neither amused nor comforted, but there wasn’t much I could say. I knew he’d made an effort.
“I suppose you’ll want to be off out again,” my father said quietly, when the butler had taken our plates away.
The quiet sadness in his voice wrung my heart. “I’m staying right here with you this afternoon,” I said, squeezing myself into the armchair and wrapping my arms around him. A few strands of grey now streaked his hair at the temples, I noted unhappily.
He sighed contentedly into my hair, though. “Ah, child, I have missed you so much,” he murmured. “And I love you even more.”
This unusually blunt declaration of affection told me more clearly than anything how close he felt himself to be to the end. I nestled to him for a few short hours until exhaustion forced him back to bed and sleep rapidly claimed him. I sat with him for a while longer, staring at his pale, emaciated face in mingled love and terror.
Eventually, I could stand it no longer and departed for the stables. As soon as Hellion was saddled, I set off for the first fort, the one where I’d seen the golden-haired elfin youth. Or near which I’d seen him; presumably that was where he’d been heading.
~+~
I struggled to stay awake, afraid of another nightmare and even more afraid of missing Ystevan, but I was dozing when the sound of the door and soft footsteps along the passage brought me fully awake.
Looking around as Ystevan entered the living room, I saw Haliath pop her head from her own chamber and give her son an inquiring—and rather anxious—look. His eyes travelled from her to me, and he stopped about halfway between us.
“I must to London,” he announced. “I leave at safe light tomorrow. I am to take you with me, Serapia, and see you home.”
My mouth fell open in shock. He was going to London? We were going to London. My thoughts skidded around in confusion...was this good, or bad? Well, there were three guardians here who could heal my father, and only one would be accompanying me...but considering I’d given up all hope as far as the other two were concerned.
This would get me back to my father in time whilst simultaneously giving me extra days to persuade Ystevan—all while getting the guardian to exactly where I so desperately need him to be.
This wasn’t good, this was...perfect!
~+~
Packing in the morning was a quick enough task. I chose two elfin dresses that I thought likely to pass without over-much comment among humankind, one to wear and one for a change of clothes along the way. No need for groom’s garb and that excruciating corset when travelling with my very own elfin guardian, though I slipped the uniform into my saddlebags. Just in case I ever needed it again.
Most of my time was spent carefully wrapping the notebook Haliath had given me to protect it from rain, and placing Ystevan’s prized gift—my hand-quartz—securely in the bottom of the bag.
That done, I went out for an early, goodbye-breakfast. Even fort guardians did not—if they had a choice—travel at first light, but rather at safe light, which was not until the sun’s demon-scattering rays actually peeped over the horizon.
There was a terrible lump in my throat afterwards, when it was time to say goodbye to the motherly she-elf. She’d made me so welcome. “Thank you for everything,” I told her, as she hugged me tight and I hugged her back. “I’ll never forget you.”
“Be safe, child,” she said softly, kissing the top of my head. “Be safe.” Turning, she held Ystevan close in turn. “Be careful,” she whispered, “please be careful...”
“I will, I promise,” Ystevan whispered back—but he hugged her long and hard.
Clearly dark elfin hunting was not the safest of tasks. How had his father died? I’d never quite liked to ask, but I knew he’d been a guardian too. For the first time I found myself viewing Ystevan’s journey to London with something other than selfish delight. Almost wishing, in fact, that he didn’t have to go at all.
When they finally broke apart, Haliath placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a long, penetrating, look, her anxiety changed to deepest sorrow and sympathy. Ystevan just ducked his head, bending to pick up both sets of saddlebags, and hurried towards the door.
No, killing someone was never a pleasant thing to have to do—especially in cold blood. Let alone a relative. No wonder Haliath felt for him.
~+~
Another damp and uncomfortable afternoon in a prickly hedge gained me nothing but a slobbery lick from a curious cow.
Concluding that if the cow could find me so easily the Elfin surely could too, I departed and spent a couple of hours behind the hedge that ran alongside the main road, near the turning, since that was where I’d had my previous success. But nothing elfin-like happened by. In fact, nothing of any note happened whatsoever, apart from Hellion succeeding in sidling up to me and decorating my elbow with tooth-shaped bruises. So I turned Hellion towards home in reasonable time, eager to spend more time with my father.
When I hastened to my father’s room, I found him propped up against the pillows but not alone. Father Francis sat beside the bed, his face such a shade of white that I immediately knew that my father had finally made a completely full confession. The old priest held my father’s hands clasped in his, though, and both seemed deep in prayer.
Something seemed to snap inside me. “What are you doing here?” I screamed at the old priest. “We don’t need you, we don’t, go away, get out!”
They looked up at me with compassionate, pitying looks, and I turned and fled. I slammed my room door behind me and my wardrobe door too, curling up in the darkness with dresses and cloaks brushing my head.
I thought I’d understood before, thought I’d been afraid before, but it was nothing compared to the terror and absolute certainty that had gripped me as I looked at my father and the priest together. Finally, after holding it back for all these years from even that dearest and most trusted confidante, my father had confessed his gravest and most terrible sin…
At some point, probably in the next day or two, he truly was going to die.
~+~