Gossamyr (31 page)

A mortar and pestle rolled to tilt against Gossamyr's toe. Tucking
aside her skirt, she lifted the heavy polished bowl and smoothed her
fingers inside the convex stone. "No wonder you're exhausted.
This weighs half a stone!"

"Only now is the woman aware of the suffering I endure for
her." He gestured she hand him the mortar.

"You suffer naught for me. It is for your distressed damsel
whom you quest, and that is the proof of it."

"Indeed." He emptied a cloth bag of flaked herb into the
bowl, but paused. "Do you think it wrong?"

"Most certainly. You cannot bring back the dead."

"And yet, you implied earlier it could be done."

"Be it possible to bring back the dead does not make it
right."

Ulrich nodded. "And you can kill a soul sucker in the name of
Faery, but that doesn't make it right, either."

"I will kill her. And it will be right. She threatens Faery,
Ulrich!"

"And how do you plan to stop her murderous rampage? That
stick of yours tends to only knock a man out for a time. She'll
bounce right back up and suck out another soul from your Disenchanted
brethren."

Leaning back on her palms, Gossamyr toed the base of the stone
baluster. "I hadn't considered the method I would use to stop
her."

"Truly, my lady, you continue to astound me. What was your
father thinking to loose his spoil—"

"Don't say it. You do not know the truth of me."

"True, I do not. Yet, do you know the truth of yourself?"

"Of course I do. I am Gossamyr from Glamoursiege."

"Merely a title. You quest, fair lady. But not for blood. You
seek. We all seek."

"There isn't a thing to be sought." And do not go on
about my lack of emotion, she thought. She wasn't prepared to descend
into strange territory this day; she must focus on finding the
succubus.

From a tiny piece of twisted leather Ulrich dumped some fine
shavings into the bowl of herbs. Had he intention to—

"You cannot!" Gossamyr slapped a hand over the bowl of
glimmering shards. "It is sacrilege."

"Gossamyr, it is blasphemy merely to stand atop this
cathedral and perform magic. On the other hand, magic and the church
have a secret liaison far stronger than any Inquest will allow you to
believe."

Cringing away from him, Gossamyr clung to the stone balustrade.
Magic! A fée who participated in the deed participated in the
destruction of the very Enchantment that was their life.

"You know magic harms Faery?" she whispered. The soul
shepherd did not regard her as he continued to sort through the
items. The black cloth was tilted over the mortar to sift the
particles of alicorn into the mortar. "No!"

She leaped to slam her hands over the mortar.

Ulrich gripped the bowl and met her defiance with a leer of his
own. "Now come, I cannot press it back onto the alicorn and hope
it sticks."

"It is forbidden for a fée to dabble in magic."

"That is well and fine, for I am no faery. Let go! You
needn't watch if that is what troubles you. Do you not want to find
your Red Lady? Just a little magic to locate the succubus who
threatens all of Faery?"

She relented and sat back on her haunches. Clamping her palms to
each opposite elbow, she remained stiff. Surely it would be fine to
tap a bit of Enchantment so the entire realm of Faery might be saved?

Would that she had stopped him before such destruction. He'd
shaved the bits from the alicorn at his uncle's house; likely when
she had been passed out—er, sleeping.

Always the Rougethorn tribe had been tolerated, but Shinn had
never chosen to join troops for a tournament. Tainted, they were, for
their dabbling. Yet, Avenall had been just like any other fée
who had lived in Glamoursiege.

Ulrich ignored her, whistling quietly as he went about his magic.
He was but one single man, and he had claimed to merely know a bit of
magic. He be not a wizard or mage.

Gossamyr's curiosity got the better of her. She broke her stiff
pose. "This spell will track the Red Lady directly to her lair?"

As he began to pulverize the mixture to a fine powder, Ulrich
nodded. "I shall perform a discovery spell. It will track and
mark any with Faery ichor in the city."

"What if there are more than the one?"

He shrugged. "Are not all Disenchanted?"

"Yes, but their ichor remains Faery."

"Your Red Lady is Enchanted bethanks to those stolen
essences?"

"I believe so."

"Then she should shine brightest. Should at least give us
clue where to begin the search. Darkness would have served far better
to sight the charm, but clouds mar the sun this day. Trust me,
Gossamyr." He touched the hem of her sleeve. In his eyes danced
a trust that overruled the illicit touch. "I will help you
locate this red lady."

She moved forward, bending, and brought her face directly before
his—close enough for Faery. "And in return you expect me
to lead you to the unicorn?"

"Sounds a fair trade."

"What if I refuse?"

Ulrich sighed and leaned back against the curved stone wall of the
tower. "Then I wager I am on my own. But you may yet favor a
guide."

"You are no more familiar with Paris than I, soul shepherd."

"Think you? You do not know the truth of me, faery princess."

With that curious comment, he unwrapped a length of dark twisted
plant leaves. Cranesbill, Gossamyr guessed, for the pungent odor. A
charm for the eye.

You commit a foul sin against your own!

But could it be so wrong if it ultimately served to save Faery
from a dire fate?

"I do this for Faery, and Faery is my home," she
whispered, "so I do this for myself. Selfish..."

"Yes, yes. But what makes Gossamyr of Glamoursiege happy? Do
you even know?"

"A silent soul shepherd, 'tis what gives me happiness."

"Sorry, can't help you there."

"Can you be quick about it?" She scanned the sky, her
sight fell on the fetch. "Shoo!" She flapped her hands, but
the fetch remained.

"Your father watching?"

"He once banished a man from Faery simply because he was a
Rougethorn. Rougethorns dabble in magic."

"I see. And so, your father will see you dabbling? Through
the fetch?"

With one eye to the keenly perched fetch, Gossamyr vacillated for
but a moment. "It is what must be done."

"I like you, Faery Not. Have I mentioned that? You're bold.
And you sparkle. Now." Ulrich stood and handed Gossamyr the
mortar. 'Twas heavy and cool in her palms like a river stone dredged
up from the muddy depths. Inside, a fine dark powder glimmered much
like the fée's natural blazon. "If you'll hold this while
I summon the elements?"

"You can do this?"

"Have faith in me, fair lady." A glance to the fetch
narrowed Ulrich 's eyes. "Shinn, do not fault your daughter for
this magic. It is a necessary device to locate your villainess."
He tipped a wink to the fetch.

With a tilt of his head and a shrug of his shoulders, Ulrich began
a strange ritual. 'Twas as if he were shaking and loosening every
limb in his body.

Gossamyr watched with a mixture of doubt, mirth and interest as
the soul shepherd went into a remarkable concoction of gyrations
accompanied by strange humming. He spread his legs and shook out his
arms and shoulders, the movement traveling to his head as he rotated
and worked it upon his neck. Finally he snapped to a position and
hummed. "Hmm... Hmm, hmm, hmmm."

Never had she witnessed such display. Once a wizard—a
practitioner of magic—had infiltrated Faery and had been given
the guest treatment by her father. She wondered if the old wizard
still danced the endless dance. 'Twas very possible. The mortal had
no right to enter Faery unannounced; that punishment had been
fitting.

A funny noise brought Gossamyr's attention back to Ulrich. He blew
air through his mouth, vibrating his lips. Just what were the
requirements for magic?

Eyes closed, Ulrich then clapped together his palms. His arms
splayed back behind him, he gave a jump and a spin to face her.
Arching his back, he opened himself to the air. Spreading his arms
wide out to his sides, he beckoned the elements and began the low hum
in his throat.

"Spread far, dance wide, become my eyes." With a
decisive nod, Ulrich silently took the mortar from Gossamyr and held
it high above his head. "Track the faery souls—"

"Essences!" Gossamyr interrupted.

"Er...
essences
hidden in the shadows. Sift through the
masks of the common and illuminate that we wish to see. So mote it
be!"

The mixture inside the mortar fluttered upward, spiraling into a
glittering swirl. Tiny stars fallen from the heavens, Gossamyr mused,
seeking to claim their original position. A gust of warm summer air
dispersed the spell. She dashed to the balustrade and stretched out
her arms. The particles danced and swooped and began to descend over
the city.

"It is working," Ulrich whispered.

"You are surprised?"

"Yes!"

Unaware of how close the man stood, Gossamyr jerked her attention
from the bespelled particles and looked upon Ulrich's face.
Awestruck, he watched his spell take shape. Slack, his open mouth
revealed the gap in the upper row of brilliant white teeth. Not a
single line of age traced his flesh. Very near to her age? Not with a
daughter grown and gone. And yet, he had not lived those stolen
years. Mayhap they two were peers?

She touched his chin, fine stubble wobbled under her finger pads.
Startled, he turned to her, and Gossamyr repressed a sigh. There in
the centers of his dark pupils glimmered a spotlight, the origin of
the bespelled particles.
Exotic.
She tilted her head, meeting
Ulrich's mouth with her lips.

Softly she accepted his kiss. Like fire sparkles to her being, the
connection quickened through her. Prinkles of energy snapped all
along her extremities. Buried desires emerged. She felt want, a
pining, seductive want.

This mortal passion, it was sweet. So...natural. Easy to fall
into.

Quickly, Gossamyr pulled back. The fetch was nowhere to be seen.
Still lingering in the throes of passion, a smile could not be
suppressed. A second brief but sweet kiss followed close behind.

"So mote it be?" Ulrich said with a charming grin
twinkling in his eyes.

"I..." Startled at her brazenness, Gossamyr turned away,
locking her arms over the balustrade. Still the smile would not leave
her lips. In fact, a silly grin formed and she could but shake her
head. "Forgive me, that was most uncalled for."

"Never."

"Ulrich! You are a married man."

"Whose wife has taken another man and chased me away with a
huge, hurting stone."

Gossamyr reminded herself: The mortal was without ties. A
giddiness filled her. Joy, such as discovering a secret hiding place.
Yes, that be mine! I claim it.

He belongs to no one else.

She could secretly claim any man she wished. Yet she had been
spoken for.

A kiss, one perfect kiss. 'Tis bone. Just...enjoy the feeling.

Indeed. Releasing a truly spontaneous smile upon Ulrich, Gossamyr
said, "I liked that."

"Kissing has been known to bring great delight."

"But we must not do it again."

"Think you?" He leaned against the balustrade, casually
crossing his ankles. "Saving yourself for a handsome faery man
who will sweep you off your feet—literally?"

"No. " Yes. The wedding had been arranged. Be the groom
willing or otherwise. Face your truths! "Yes."

"What if you cannot return—" Ulrich tilted a look
outward, scanning the city scape. "Dragon piss!"

"What?" Gossamyr followed Ulrich's line of vision. Thin
rays of sunlight bursting through the clouds painted the red-roof
tiles a brilliant orange. Shadows stretched long behind jutting
towers and chimneys. Everywhere sparkled the alicorn dust. Surely,
hundreds of lights, like a midnight skyscape fallen to earth. "There
are so many."

"The city is verily infested with those from Faery."

"We'll never find her now."

"Mayhap we can." Ulrich pointed toward the palace
plopped at the end of the island. "Do you notice some lights are
brighter than others? Only few really stand out."

"The weak ones must be the Disenchanted."

"I thought all fée in the city were Disenchanted?"

"Or very near. Perhaps the brighter are the strongest and
newer fée. Disenchantment requires a few days. And if she is
stealing the essence of the fée she must possess Enchantment
untold. We must seek the brightest—"

"That one over there, near the Conciergerie."

"Where?" She knew not the city, nor the buildings, and
followed Ulrich's directions as he pointed out next to the palace the
Conciergerie—a
jail,
as he explained—then, across the bridge from another large
cathedral, the wide-open square of the Place de Greve.

"Or there!" She pointed to a particular light twinkling
brightly at the edge of the city.

"Doubtful." Ulrich sighed and settled his chin in palm.
"'Tis the castle of St. Antoine—the Bastille. Another
prison. I wager your bloody succubus has not hidden herself away
there."

Gossamyr tried to determine where Ulrich looked now, but it seemed
he stretched his gaze along
her
cap-a-pie. "What be to you?"

"Hmm? Oh. Er,
n'importe."

Avoiding the question. So unlike the man.

"Can you see my light?"

"Oh?"

Gossamyr looked over her body and all around and above her head.
Stretching out an arm, she slid her palm over the soft yellow gown,
hoping to see a glint from the spell. A frantic wave of her arm
proved fruitless. The sudden disappearance of the sun behind a cloud
shadowed her body. Not a glow, not a glimmer.