[Merry Gentry 04] - A Stroke of Midnight (27 page)

“Is not the same thing true of Blodewedd's house?” he asked.

“Do not drag me into this, Dormath,” Blodewedd said. “You who bear the name of your own dog, for you have shamed your true name.”

“I have shamed nothing.”

“Children,” Andais said, her voice light, almost playful. The sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “You see what mercy gets you as a ruler, Meredith. Do you understand now? Mercy is for the weak, and the dying.”

“I know how Kieran has interpreted your actions.”

She looked at me, and I really didn't want that much of her attention in this mood, but I had it. “And how is that?”

“That if you would not kill someone for trying to kill me, then you would do even less to someone who tried to kill Galen.”

“Do you think he had the right of that? Do you think he has no punishment coming?”

“I think Siobhan should be executed and Kieran be made an example of.”

“An example how, if not executed?” she asked.

I licked my suddenly dry lips. “I had not thought that far, Aunt Andais.”

“Ah, but I have, and that is the difference between being queen and being princess.” She opened those red, red lips to say something awful, but the big double doors crashed open, and Doyle appeared.

CHAPTER 25

Usna and Cathbodua came behind doyle, dragging someone between them. Someone wearing a white fur cloak that was decorated with bright spots of crimson.

“Darkness,” Andais said, “how good of you to join us. Who are you bringing so unceremoniously before us?” Her voice still purred with a satisfied tone, promising pain to someone. Doyle had just given her another choice of victims.

“Gwennin, the white lord, a little worse for wear.”

Gwennin, I knew, was no friend of Cel's. He was no friend of anyone he considered pure Unseelie. He had been one of the last cast out of the Seelie Court, and he still acted as if he might someday go back there. The Seelie might welcome back an exile from among the humans, but once you became Unseelie, you were unclean and unforgivable.

I watched Doyle stalk toward me. He was the tall, dark hunter, the grim figure who had frightened me as a child, but I had to fight an urge to tell him to come to me. I wanted his arms around me. I wanted to be held, to feel safe. Sitting here in open court I didn't feel safe. What had driven me from faerie three years ago was happening all over again. There was too much death, too many attempts. Eventually, if enough people want you dead, they will succeed. It's simple mathematics. We had to survive every assassination attempt. They had to succeed just once.

Gwennin was not an ally to any of the lords we had “arrested.” I couldn't imagine a plot that could hold all those before me. Was there more than one plot against me? And what did any of it have to do with the murders?

“Gwennin,” Andais said, sounding puzzled, “you are no friend to those here.” She said aloud what I'd been thinking. I wondered if that was a good sign or a bad one. Was I getting better at the politics, or was she getting worse?

“He says he acted alone. That he resented the princess inviting in the human police. That it was beneath our court to take their help. So he set a spell that would have rendered them useless, or even killed them, if we had carried it to them.”

“Carried it?”

“He put it on Biddy, for she is half-human, and everyone of human blood she touched was contaminated.”

Gwennin found his voice, even flat on the floor between Usna and Cathbodua. “That the spell was able to work on the princess proves she is human.”

Cathbodua gave him a back-handed slap. “Speak when you are spoken to, traitor.”

“Yes,” Andais said, “they are all traitors. So many traitors. But none of them tried to take Meredith's life. They tried to take Galen's, they tried to stop the humans from entering our sithen, but they have not tried to kill Meredith. Interesting, that.”

I thought about it, and realized she was right. I looked at Doyle, and he met my look with one of his own. It was interesting, and puzzling.

“Why would Cel's guard be more interested in killing your green knight than in killing you?” Andais said conversationally.

I tried to keep my voice as casual, and almost succeeded. “If any of his people try to kill me, Cel's life is forfeit, but killing my allies is not an automatic death sentence for their prince.”

“But why Galen, Meredith? If I were going to strip you of your allies it would be Darkness or the Killing Frost.”

“Or Barinthus,” I said.

She nodded. “Yes, that was well done.” She looked at Kieran and his wife, who still had Hawthorne's knife at her throat. “If I kill Barinthus, then one of my most powerful guards is dead. If he kills me, then you are rid of me, and can be the first to suggest that he needs to die for his actions.” She moved in her chair as if settling her skirts more comfortably. “Oh yes, Kieran, good plan. You made only one mistake.”

He looked up at her. “And what was that?”

“You underestimated the princess, and her men.”

“I will not make the same mistake again,” he said, and gave me an unfriendly look.

“Kieran, that sounded like a threat to the princess.” Andais looked at me. “Did that not sound like a threat to you, Meredith?”

“Yes, Aunt Andais, it did.”

“Frost, did Kieran just threaten the princess?”

“Yes,” Frost said.

“Darkness,” she said.

“Yes, he threatened the princess, or threatened to plan better the next time he plots to kill you, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, that is what I heard, as well.” She looked out at the nobles. “Blodewedd, did you hear him threaten me and mine?”

Blodewedd took in a deep sighing breath, then gave a small nod.

“I need to hear it aloud for all the court,” Andais said.

“Kieran has been foolish this day. More foolish than I or my house can support or salvage.”

Kieran looked at her, frightened for the first time. “My lady, you are my liege lord, you cannot mean . . .”

“Do not involve me in your stupidity, Kieran. Madenn is your wife and has always been your shadow. But if you could have persuaded more of your own house to take your part, I do not believe you would have enlisted Innis's help.”

“An interesting point.” Andais gazed down at the unconscious form of Innis. “Dormath, I offer you a choice. One of your people must die. Innis or Siobhan, choose.”

“My queen,” Doyle said, “I would ask that Innis be spared, and Siobhan . . .”

“I know who you would kill, Darkness.” She looked at me. “I even know who you would have me slay, Meredith, but you are not their liege. I want Dormath to choose, so that the rest of his house will understand that he will not protect them.”

“My queen, do not make me choose among my lords and ladies.”

“Would you take their place, Dormath? Would you offer yourself to save Innis and Siobhan both? I am willing to entertain such a bargain, if you are willing to offer it.”

Dormath's face got even whiter, something I didn't think possible. He blinked his large, dark eyes slowly. Were we about to see Dormath, the door of death, faint?

“Come, Dormath, it is a simple question,” Andais said. “You are either willing to pay for the crimes of your house, or you are not. Nerys was willing to give her life for her house.”

Dormath's voice came thin and reedy, as if he was struggling to keep it even. “Her entire house had joined her in her treachery. My house is innocent of wrongdoing, save for these two.”

“Then choose, Dormath. I cannot deny the princess her call for a death. She is within her rights.”

“A death, yes,” Dormath said, “but not an execution. She is within her rights to challenge them to combat, and take their life if she can.”

“That might be true, Lord Dormath,” I said, “if Siobhan had attacked me one-on-one, but she did not. She attacked with the aid of two others. She ambushed me. This was no one-on-one combat. This was an assassination attempt, pure and simple.”

“Innis did not even attack you,” Dormath argued, “he attacked the green knight. Surely it should be he who demands the life debt.”

“Do you think he will show more mercy than the princess?” Andais asked.

“I think Galen has always been a fair man,” Dormath said.

Galen pressed my hand tight in his and sighed. It was not a happy sound. “I tried to be fair, and just, and good, whatever that means. Siobhan told me once that I belong in the Seelie Court, where they try to pretend they are something they're not. I asked her what they try to pretend to be. Human, she said, and made it sound like a curse.” I watched his face grow solemn, and very unlike my Galen. “Do you really expect me to help you save the lives of the people who tried to kill me?”

The two sidhe looked at each other, and it was Dormath who looked away first. He spoke with his eyes lowered, so that he met no one's gaze. “One tries to know their opposition and use their strengths and weaknesses against them.”

“Why am I your opposition?” Galen asked.

Dormath spoke to the queen as if he hadn't heard Galen. “My queen, I would ask that you do not make me choose between my people. One has done, perhaps, the lesser crime, but I have more affection for the other.”

“Answer Galen's question,” Andais said.

Dormath blinked those deep, shining eyes and looked at her. His thin face showed nothing. “And what question would that be, my queen?”

“I tire of word games quickly, Dormath,” she said. “I suggest you bear that in mind. I will tell you once more. Answer Galen's question.”

Dormath shivered, and the long black cloak gave the illusion of feathers settling around his body. “I do not think your son would want this question answered in open court.”

I looked at Andais then, my aunt, my queen. I did not know what Dormath was referring to, but she might. She had helped hide her son's secrets for centuries. Her face was cold beauty, arrogant and perfect, every line of her like some statue carved to be the beauty that drives men not to love but to despair.

“Answer as much or as little of the question as you will, Dormath. Know that if you answer as fully as you might you will forfeit all of Prince Cel's allies. For they will feel you betrayed them. Know also that there are those among us now who will condemn you as the blackest of traitors for going along with his plan.”

Dormath put out a long pale hand to steady himself against the table. “My queen . . .”

“Dormath, if you do not answer the question I will consider it a direct challenge to me, personally.”

“You would slay me to keep from revealing what he has done,” Dormath said.

“Is that what I said? I don't believe that is what I said.” She looked at me then. “Is that what I said, Meredith?”

I wasn't entirely certain how to answer that question. “I do not believe that you threatened Dormath with death if he revealed what Prince Cel, my cousin, has done. Nor do I believe that you have encouraged him to reveal all that he knows.”

“Go on,” she said, and she seemed pleased with me, though I wasn't sure why.

“But you have stated clearly that if he does not answer Galen's question, you will challenge him to single combat, and kill him.”

She nodded and smiled, as if I'd said a smart thing. “Exactly.”

I looked from her to Dormath, and I had a moment of pity for him. She had set him a riddle that might not have an answer, not one that would keep him alive anyway.

He was still propping himself up on the tabletop. His face showed clearly that he did not see a way out of the maze of words she had thrown up around him. “I do not believe that there is a way to answer the green knight's question without revealing much that I do not believe you want known.”

“I do not believe that you know what I want, Dormath. But if you remain mute, I will kill you, and there will be no argument that it is unfair, for it will be one-on-one against me.”

He swallowed, and his throat looked almost too thin to hold the bobbing of his Adam's apple. “Why are you doing this, my queen?”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“Do you want the court to know? Is that what you want?”

“I want a child who values his people and their welfare before his own.”

The silence in the room was profound. It was as if all of us took a breath and held it. It was as if the very blood in our veins ceased to move for just that instant. Andais had admitted that Cel valued nothing but himself, something I had known for years. She had raised him to believe that faerie and the sidhe and the lesser fey owed him. He had been the apple of her eye, the song in her heart, the most precious thing in her world for longer than this country had existed, and now she wanted a child that valued others above themselves. What had Cel done to so disillusion his mother?

Dormath spoke into that silence. “My queen, I do not know how to give you what you desire.”

“I can give you what you want.” Maelgwn's voice had lost its usual amused smoothness. He sounded serious and gentle at the same time, a tone I'd never heard from him.

Andais looked at him, and with only her profile I could tell it wasn't a friendly look.

“Can you, wolf lord, can you truly?” Her voice held that edge of warning, like the pressure in the air before you even know the storm is coming.

“Yes,” he said softly, but the word carried through the hall.

She settled herself against the back of her throne, her hands very still on the carved arms. “Illuminate me, wolf.”

“There are two children of your line who have come of age, my queen. One child has reawakened the queen's own ring, and now offers almost anything to be allowed to enjoy the ring's magic. A child who says bringing children to all the sidhe is more important to her than gaining the throne, or protecting her own life, or filling her own belly with life. These are all things that most of the nobles in this room, perhaps everyone in this room, would give anything to have. Is that not a child who puts her people's welfare above her own?”

I sat very still. I did not want to draw her attention to me. Maybe what Maelgwn said was true, but the queen didn't always like or reward the truth. Sometimes a lie got you further. Andais's most beloved lie was that Cel was fit to rule here. She herself had opened the door to the nobles finally speaking the truth. That Cel would have been almost no one's choice, if they'd had any other choice that didn't include a half-breed mortal. Only my father had ever had the courage to tell Andais that there was something wrong with Cel. Something that went beyond just being spoiled or privileged.

Andais spoke as if she'd heard my last thought. “When my brother got his new bride pregnant so quickly, there were those who urged me to step down. I refused.” She turned and looked at me. “Do you want to know why I called you home, Meredith?”

It was so unexpected that I gaped at her for a moment, then managed, “Yes.”

“I'm infertile, Meredith. All those human doctors have done everything they can for me. That is why you must prove yourself fertile. Whoever rules after me must be able to bring life back to the courts. Maelgwn accused me of condemning all of you to be childless because my line is. I can only give you my word that I did not believe it until recently. If I could go back . . .” She sighed and slumped as much as her tight bodice would allow. “I wonder what we would be now, we Unseelie, if I had allowed Essus to take this throne these thirty years and more.” Her eyes held a pain that she'd never let me see before. That one look answered a question that I had wondered about. I knew that my father loved his sister, but until that moment I had not been sure that she loved him back. It was there in her eyes, in the lines of her face, even underneath the makeup. She looked tired.