Unthinkable (3 page)

You see, destruction, unlike creation, is easy. There will be
many possible solutions to these tasks. But I warn you, the
ease will be only on the surface.”

She paused, and then added, “My advice to you, Fenella,
is to live out your life instead, long though it may be. I advise you to reject this challenge. To give up your quest for
death.”

“Continue with your long life,” murmured Padraig. “Your
lonely life, filled with memories. Like when Bronagh came
to me. Fenella, you remember your gawky daughter? That
big overlapping front tooth she had . . .”

Fenella looked only at the queen. She listened only to the
queen.

The queen said, “Don’t allow yourself to be provoked.”
“I’m not listening to him,” Fenella said. And she wasn’t,

The queen had said the tasks would mean difficult
choices, terrible choices. But at least, finally, Fenella would
have choices. She met the queen’s globed eyes and thought
that they were beautiful.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “Thank you for this chance.
What are the tasks of destruction?”
Padraig was silent at last.
The queen leaned forward. “You will destroy three things,
but you will get to pick each one, to fit a prescribed condition.”
Fenella listened carefully. “I will be in control? I will
choose all three of the destructive tasks? I will not need to
destroy anything—or anyone—that I do not decide to destroy?”
“Yes. There will be one guideline per task.”
“I see. Yes. I agree to it.”
“You are not committed, Fenella, until you have said yes
three times. Consider one last time that these are tasks of
destruction. This means—”
Fenella lifted an impatient hand. “I am not a child. I know
what it means. So I am responsible for destroying this thing
or that thing. What does it matter? Life destroys everything
too. Nothing lasts for long. Especially in the human realm.”
Feeling many critical eyes on her, she whirled and outstared a unicorn, only a foot away. She met the gaze of a
speckled faun with wings. She glared at a large, mossy stone
that had shuffled closer.
“Life destroys all of us anyway. At the end we are broken.
At the end, we are dust.” She discovered she was looking at
her friends the tree fey, and that her voice was quiet, steady,
and certain. “At the end, it is all meaningless. Life is death.
Life is destruction.”
“Ah,” Ryland drawled. “A philosopher.”
Even he could not irritate her now, however. Not now
that she saw her path before her, shining strong like the sun
on water. Fenella merely looked at Ryland. “Yes. I am a realist.”
She did not wait for his reaction. She did not care whether
he realized she was no longer the uneducated peasant girl
she once had been. “I absolutely agree to do this,” Fenella
said to the queen. “I agree thrice. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
As the sound of her final yes faded, Fenella realized that
her waist was free and bare. It felt strange, to be without
the touch of the tree fey. Then excitement welled up in her.
She was on her way at last. She held her own fate in her
hands.
The queen’s brother stretched, front paws extended on
the ground, muscles rippling.
“Very well, Fenella,” said the queen. Her gaze moved.
“Padraig, Fenella has accepted the three tasks of destruction. Now comes your part.”
Padraig had a part? Before she could control herself,
Fenella found she had swiveled to face Padraig.
He looked straight back at her. “Why did you think she
summoned me?”
Fenella turned to the queen. “You said there would be no
tricks!”
“There are none. Padraig cast the original spell. Breaking
it will affect him.”
Of course. Fenella gritted her teeth. Why had she not realized this?
The queen said, “Padraig, your fate will depend on Fenella’s actions, just as hers for so long depended on yours. If
Fenella Scarborough succeeds in breaking the life-spell you
cast on her, you will die.”
There was a stirring of deepened interest from the surrounding fey. The only change in Padraig’s expression was a
slight flaring of his nostrils.
But Fenella caught her breath. Padraig, dead? Dead as a
result of her actions? Before she had a chance to soak it in,
Padraig said, “May I ask a question?”
The queen inclined her head.
“What if Fenella fails? What is the consequence to her?
Surely there is one.”
“You are correct,” the queen said. “Everything must balance.”
There was a pause, a long one. Fenella waited for the blow
that she should also have expected. She had been a fool to
trust this unknown queen. A fool not to realize that nothing
was ever straightforward with the fey.
The queen said, “If Fenella fails, Padraig, then her life will
again belong to you.”
“My slave again?” said Padraig, slowly. “In my power
again?”
“Yes.”
No, Fenella thought. And then: What have I done?
Padraig threw back his handsome head and laughed. It
was a raucous laugh, like a crow.
Despite all her resolve, despite all her best intentions,
Fenella flung words at him.
“Laugh all you like, Mud Creature!” She took pleasure in
using his new name. “We shall see.”
“We shall indeed.” His gaze swept Fenella up and down
in the old way.
And her control snapped.
When the red haze lifted from Fenella’s eyes, she discovered that the tree fey had her in their grip. All she had was
a vague memory of having lunged, again, for the queen’s
knife. Padraig was still leering, but he had stepped prudently back.
It was the smallest of victories, his stepping away from
her, but it would have to do. For now. When she won freedom, when she won her death, she would see him lifeless
first.
“I was wrong. This is far from dull,” murmured Ryland.
All the fey were talking excitedly, laying bets, exchanging thoughts, like in the old days. The murmurs rose and
strengthened—
“Silence!” The queen got to her feet.
She looked measuringly at her brother. “I have allowed
you too much leash of late, brother.”
“Allowed?” Ryland yawned. “You have little power over
me, sister. We both know it.”
The queen did not answer with words. She drew her knife
and shaved its blade sharply along her inner arm. A viscous
line of deep green-blue blood welled up.
“Consider this a test, brother.” The queen smiled, but it
was a smile that did not change her expression. “Your test.”
“Wait,” said Ryland, half rising. “What are you—”
“Or perhaps it is a punishment.” The queen spoke over
him easily. “You will go with Fenella to the human realm.
You will be her adviser. And you will do it well, or you shall
not come back here. Do not doubt I have sufficient power
for that.”
Queen Kethalia stretched out her bloody arm and laid it
on her brother, blood to his skin.
A spasm passed through Ryland’s body. His shape went
smoky. It writhed and shrank.
When Ryland came back to solid form, he was a mediumsized, fluffy-haired tomcat. His fur was mostly white, but
he had one black forepaw and, on his chest, a second black
spot. This spot was in the exact shape of a heart.
Indignantly and unmusically, the cat yowled.
The queen yowled back. Their voices rose—warred—
and then died out. Ryland turned his furry head slowly. He
looked at Fenella.
He meowed contemptuously.
The queen said calmly, “Ryland has agreed. Or, rather,
understood that he must obey me.” She nodded at Fenella.
“Your choices and your actions—yours alone—will guide
the destructive tasks. Ryland can only give you advice. But
that he will do.”
The leaves of the tree fey rustled.
The queen appeared to listen for a moment before she
swept on. “In the human realm, Fenella, if you are careful,
you can get away with talking aloud to your cat. As for my
brother, he will send thoughts to your mind.” She turned
to the cat. “We can’t have you talking aloud, can we? You’d
end in a science lab with electrodes attached to your poor
wittle head.”
The cat’s hair was standing on end. He presented his rear
to his sister.
The queen only shrugged. “Fenella, Ryland also has the
power to return to Faerie when necessary and—if you are
in physical contact with him—to take you with him. Finally,
when you give him a direct order, he must obey.”
The cat screamed.
“Oh, it’s true, brother,” purred the queen. “And you know it.”
She turned again to Fenella. “My brother is a cruel and
callous individual. He thinks this is a strength. However, I
have found him reliably strong in only one thing: He always
knows how best to undermine and destroy. This, you may
find useful. I certainly do not.”
The cat was now silent.
Fenella found her voice. “But I don’t want him!”
At the same moment, beside Fenella, Padraig protested.
“How is this balanced? How is this fair, that she has help? At
the very least, she must have a time limit!”
“There is a time limit,” said the queen.
“Nine months?” asked Fenella sarcastically. It had been the
amount of time allotted to try to break the previous curse.
“Three,” said the queen. “The span of a single season.”
The cat meowed. Fenella discovered that she could indeed hear him in her head. She’s right that you’ll do better
with me to help. Unless you don’t really want death? Do
you secretly want to belong once more to the Mud Creature?
The cat’s mental voice was surprisingly calm. Perhaps too
calm, as if he were forcing himself to be rational. Meanwhile, Padraig was standing straight, looking—was Fenella
suddenly imagining this?—confident. She contained a
shudder.
She looked back at the cat, and then at the queen.
“Decide, Fenella,” said the queen. “Do you go alone, or
with Ryland?”
Fenella hesitated. The tree fey murmured their opinion.
Fenella said reluctantly, “I will take Ryland with me.”
“Good. He knows the human realm, and so will also assist you in navigating and understanding it. It is a long time
since you have lived in that world, and you will find much
has changed.”
Fenella said, “I know more than you realize.”
It was true. She had learned about the modern world
from her descendants, starting with Minnie Scarborough.
Minnie had been educated before Padraig’s curse took her.
She had been Fenella’s friend. Because of Minnie, Fenella
had at last allowed herself to become close to every Scarborough girl that followed. Jennie. Mary. Ruth, and Joanne,
Deirdre, and finally, Miranda, Lucy’s mother.
Fenella had helped each of them in turn endure Padraig. She had learned to adjust the way she spoke English,
and even the way she thought, to better communicate with
them. Of course, each relationship had ended in pain and,
yes, destruction. But still, she had learned. She was no longer the inexperienced girl who had failed herself and her
family.
She could do this. She could free herself, and see Padraig
dead in the bargain—and she would.
“I talked with each of my—my daughters, when they
were imprisoned here with me. They told me about their
lives, and about their world.”
The queen nodded. “I am glad you mention your daughters. You will go to the two that survive, Lucy and her
mother, Miranda. Tell them you have been freed and are
coming to them for help to restart your life.”
“No.” Fenella was firm. “I will do this destruction my
own way. I will keep Lucy and her family entirely out of it.”
The queen continued as if Fenella had not spoken. “They
will want to love you and take care of you. They will not be
suspicious.”
“I don’t wish to go to them,” Fenella repeated. “I would
rather simply begin on the first task of destruction. Tell me.
What must I destroy first?”
The cat butted his soft head against Fenella’s ankles. He
did not make a sound, but Fenella heard his mocking voice
in her head.
“No,” she said sharply. “No, you’re wrong.” She looked at
the queen. “Isn’t he wrong?”
“He directed his thoughts to you, not to me. What did
he say?”
“He told me—” Fenella broke off. “He said that my family must be the target of each act of destruction. He said it
would not be human destruction if there was no pain for
me. For people I care about.” Her eyes were hot flame. “Tell
me it’s not true,” she demanded.
The queen said, “Your first task is the destruction of your
family’s safety.”
“No,” said Fenella.
“Yes,” said the queen, steadily. “You have agreed. You
must go forward toward the death you desire, sowing destruction about you, or you will belong again to the Mud
Creature.”