"I will not keep you waiting, Bacamar." Hy Pezho rose and stroked her long body, his fingertips passing through her diaphanous skin.
"I understand that you are a man and that you have needs," said Bacamar, petulant. "But I do not want the stink of your whores on you when you are mine. Perhaps you might stop bedding them now and save yourself a bath."
"Jealousy does not become you, servant."
"You wound me."
"As you wound me with your mistrust."
They eyed each other. Hy Pezho took his cape from behind his chair and hurried out of the room, whistling the sprite's tune. Bacamar watched him go, her eyes filled with inhuman lust.
Queen Mab spread a chart on the wide oak table of her council chamber. She pointed to a spot on the map, a city poised at the base of a mountain range that occupied the map's western boundary. The city was within the Seelie Kingdom, less than a hair's breadth from that land's border with the Contested Lands.
"The Contested Lands are narrowest near Sylvan," she said. "For years the Seelie have expected an attack from Us there. Regina Titania has historically garrisoned several thousand of the Seelie Army there, along with a phalanx of her Royal Guard. During Midwinter those numbers are increased. Do you see how she gives away a weakness in this manner? In a time when snow and ice would reduce the likelihood of a campaign's success, she fortifies." She looked around. "Laese'am, do you have a question?"
"What weakness does Titania reveal by this?"
Mab smiled. "We do not know. That is what We plan to discover when We take Sylvan on Fourth Stag."
There was a shocked silence in the room, as each of the Prefects looked to the others, gaping. Only Hy Pezho was not surprised. He sat idly in his wide chair nearest the Queen, his arms folded across his chest.
"There are two great enemies to the south, gentlemen," said Mab. "We dealt a crushing blow to one of them when we brought low the city of Gefi. The Arcadian cult will make no further headway with Our subjects this year. But their priests and monks will be planning future incursions even now, and We must take Our war against them to the source.
"Our other foe is far less subtle and far better armed." A nervous chuckle ran through the chamber. "But We will tell you a secret about Regina Titania. When winter comes to the Seelie lands, she is weakened. We know this. We have scrutinized her carefully over the centuries, during our elongated cold war. She grows ever weaker as the season progresses and then one day, suddenly, she is renewed. The sun returns to the City Emerald. The ice cracks on the Ebe. All is well within the Great Seelie Keep. We would pay well to know what it is that rejuvenates her. Hy Pezho?"
Hy Pezho rose and cleared his throat, looking out over the assembled Prefects, those high and mighty who only weeks ago would not have acknowledged his existence. They were all watching him now. It was beautiful.
"My father had many spies within the Seelie Kingdom over the years. He lived a long time, and he had an excellent memory. He began to notice a recurring event that took place during the season the Seelie call Midwinter. The story is this: Titania sends out an emissary to some remote corner of her kingdom. The emissary returns to the City Emerald and within a day, the Queen is restored. The emissary and the location are never the same. Nothing else is known." He leaned forward, stabbing his finger on the map at Sylvan. "But this time we know who the emissary is. And this time we will be there waiting to discover his errand."
"Thank you, Hy Pezho. You have done well." Mab looked around. "You have all served Us well over the years. We do not need to tell you your orders. Go now and prepare for a southward advance and an assault on the Seelie border. Our trials will soon be at an end!"
Chapter 26
On the day prior to Purane-Es's fete, the Lady Anne received a program booklet containing the promenade route, the seating chart, and the dance cards of the most prominent guests. She sorted through them happily, recalling the days when doing so was joyfully commonplace and dull. She traced the promenade route with her finger through Southmarket out the city wall to the Villa Diosa.
For days, the name of Purane-Es had plagued her. She knew of a Lord Purane who had replaced Mauritane as Guard Captain. Purane-Es was, of course, his second son. But that was not it. What about the first son, PuraneLa? Was that name familiar?
Purane-La.
It was he that Mauritane had murdered, the commander in Beleriand. Of course.
How could she be so foolish? How had she not remembered the name? Two years ago the name of Purane-La had been on many lips, spoken quietly behind waving fans. At her husband's tribunal in the Aeropagus, the elder Purane sat on the side of the kingdom, whispering back and forth with the Queen's solicitor. The high tribunal was a long smear in her memory, three months of shame and horror that culminated in her exile. She had not wanted to remember.
Surely this Purane-Es was not as stupid as she. Certainly he had not forgotten. What, then, was his motivation? Was he an Arcadian convert, inviting her into his villa to offer forgiveness for her husband's act of cruelty? Certainly not. Arcadians did not throw lavish parties at their country villas; they gave away their villas to be used as monasteries and temples.
What did he want with her? She could not be any further humiliated, and her husband was no longer a concern to anyone. So why?
She considered not going, forgetting the whole thing. Then the courier arrived with her new dress from Cucu's and she knew that she would go, and that she would wear the dress, and the consequences be damned.
The Villa Diosa was an heirloom of the Purane lordship, a long graceful structure of white granite with open terraces and marble fountains and vast acreage. It sat astride a hilltop overlooking the city's southern wall. Its facade opened to a vast garden of fruit trees and low shrubs, narrow winding pathways meandering throughout. A staff of a dozen man-sized clockwork rabbits served drinks to the lesser nobility from silver trays; they went on two legs and wore waistcoats and spectacles, their mechanisms whirring as they bowed. The grounds had been spellwarmed at enormous expense, and a botanical mage had been called in to tease the flowers and grasses into temporary livelihood, belying the frigid weather that held outside the villa's gates.
About an hour before sunset, a horn sounded in the city below. From a garden overlook, a frail girl in pink clapped her hands and pointed down toward the city. The high noble promenade was beginning.
The Lady Anne sat in her sedan chair, her dress arranged perfectly around her with a white fur throw covering her against the cold. Her two carriers stood by at attention, awaiting the signal to lift her and begin the procession. She was third in line, following only after the Elder Purane and his current Lady, he astride a white cavalry stallion and she in a gold filigreed palanquin borne by eunuchs. Anne could not have asked to be placed more prominently in the riding order, but she felt conspicuous in spite of herself and sat low in her chair, feigning a dignified aloofness.
A horn sounded and the promenade began, to the applause and whistles of the assembled peasantry and merchant families. Standard-bearers in uniform plied the streets of Southmarket, conveying the emblems of the high nobility in attendance at the fete, walking in martial stride. Behind them came the flower girls in their petticoats and gaily colored bows, their cheeks red in the wintry air. The musicians followed, horns braying and tambourines crashing, performing popular songs so the assembled onlookers could sing along. Only when the musicians and crowd had finished a chorus of "Cir Laeana, Titania" did the nobles begin moving. By then, the Lady Anne was shivering beneath her throw, doing her best to keep her public smile in place around chattering teeth.