Wayfinder (35 page)

“I don’t know.” Lara stared bleakly at the fire. She had in her life never visited destruction on anything more than a pillow, and now she had overseen the ruin of two cities in barely as many hours.

No wonder Hafgan had hunted down and eradicated the truthseekers.

“The city’s fall was my decision, not your failure. I could have drowned him, and chose not to. The survivors will know who destroyed their home. Perhaps it’s a way to mend the schism between Seelie and Unseelie. Especially, perhaps, if Emyr is indeed dead, and the crowns must fall to a different generation.” Ioan put a hand on Lara’s shoulder, then let it fall, as if afraid physical contact would make the uncertainty in his voice easier for her to read.

“What about Hafgan? Is he dead?” Looking at the blaze, it seemed impossible the Unseelie king could live, but Ioan shook his head.

“He’ll be in a fit of ecstasy, bathed in his element that way. It will fade, and he’ll come to the Seelie citadel in search of either Merrick’s
capitulation or his own retaliation, but we have a little time. Time enough, perhaps, to learn if Emyr of the Seelie lives.”

“Time enough to depose a pretender and make a united stand against the Unseelie,” Dafydd growled.

Lara put her hand on his thigh, the gesture weary. “Don’t. Don’t you start hating the Unseelie as a whole, Dafydd. You defended Merrick when the rest of your people dismissed him because of his heritage. Don’t follow them down that path. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I defended an unworthy man.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean the rest of them deserve to be painted with that brush.” Lara’s shoulders dropped, weariness rolling over her again as she thought of how much Kelly would like hearing her use the vernacular phrase.

Dafydd crouched to put his arms around her shoulders and pull her close, murmuring a promise into her hair. “You’re right. I shouldn’t. I’m just tired of this game, Lara. I’ve never particularly liked politics, and now it seems they’re costing me the lives and love of people around me.”

“At least you were born to it. A month ago I was just a tailor.”

“Tailors,” Dafydd said solemnly, “are meant for great things. Someday I’ll have to tell you all the fairy tales that say so.”

Lara groaned, glad for a jolt of humor even as she said, sincerely, “Don’t. If I’d known that I might never have become a tailor.” The blatant untruth made her laugh, and she rocked in Dafydd’s arms, face buried against his chest. He smelled of fire and water, though none of them were as wet as she thought they should be after the deluge. Ioan’s doing, probably; there was no reason for anyone to stand around dripping when a master of the element was on hand. She finally exhaled heavily and sat back, though remaining coiled in Dafydd’s arms for hours was by far the most pleasant prospect she could think of. “Okay. Whether we’re finding Emyr or deposing
Merrick, that means we have to get to the Seelie citadel. We don’t have any horses. How far is it to walk?”

Dafydd looked at the tennies she’d traded her soft Unseelie boots out for, then crooked a wry smile at her. “Far enough that you’ll be glad of those.”

“Can we get there before Hafgan does?”

“I may be able to help.” Aerin lifted her head. “The magic the horses use is a gift to them from the Barrow-lands, but it’s not far removed from my earth magics. With time—which we’ll have a-plenty, walking from here to there—I should be able to convince the land that we take seven steps for our every one.”

“Aerin, that will leave you exhausted. You’ve already used more magics today than anyone normally would in years. Decades,” Dafydd amended.

Aerin’s expression turned so sour it bordered on funny. The look she gave Dafydd said far more than words could, and he ducked his head in apology. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to state the obvious, but I fear for you. You could find yourself—”

“I know. What choice do we have?”

“Find herself what?” Lara straightened, concern washing through her. “Not mortal?”

“Just useless for a very long time,” Aerin growled. “Useless, most particularly, in battle. My prowess is learned, but the strength that lets me fight inexhaustibly is the land’s. Without it, I’m no more than any other Seelie warrior, and if things go badly, we will need far more than ordinary fighters.”

“I do not believe,” Lara said with unusual clarity, “that anything could make you less than extraordinary on the battlefield. I’ve watched a lot of you fight now, Aerin. Ioan’s better than you are. I haven’t seen anyone else who even holds a candle to you.”

Surprise, then chagrined pleasure slid over Aerin’s face and she looked away. Lara wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion at Dafydd,
and was only further confused at his quick smile. He leaned forward to kiss her and murmured, “You couldn’t have said anything better,” against her mouth, then lifted his voice to say, “Then we’ll rely on you, Aerin. Thank you.”

Aerin grunted, and in a little while they gathered themselves, preparing to begin their journey. Lara took up the staff again, about to slid it crosswise over her back when a thought struck her. It responded to emotion and need, and emitted emotions and desires of its own. She said, “Thank you,” aloud, if quietly, and after a few long seconds felt a sullen sort of pleasure from the weapon. Grinning, she tucked it away and fell in with the others as they struck out toward the distant Seelie citadel.

The Unseelie joined them, not so much willingly as with the air of people who had no other option. Ioan walked among them as they set out, offering what reassurances he could. They were scant, but Lara admired that he tried. Hafgan’s return had reminded them, sharply, that the man they’d called king for centuries was no more than heir to the throne. There seemed little resentment among them for the deception: as Ioan had suggested, they appeared more content with continuity than strict truth. Their distress now was for the betrayal laid upon them by the king who had returned; for the man who commanded fire, and who had burned their home to molten rock. A few came forward to walk with Lara, to verify she was a truthseeker, and that it was through her magic and Ioan’s that anyone had survived immolation in the fire. When those few fell back, satisfied, Lara thought Ioan had earned himself a small personal guard, men and women whose loyalty was to Ioan himself, not to the Unseelie crown. It could mean nothing or everything in the reshaping of Annwn that they intended, but either way, she was glad of it.

It had been midday when they abandoned the citadel, but night came on more quickly than Lara expected. There was no chill in the
air to suggest short winter days, and not until the moon’s light hopped unexpectedly high in the sky did she jog forward to catch up with Aerin. “Is this you?”

“I’m already doing all I can. I had hoped I could move us as quickly as the horses would go, but two legs aren’t as quick as four, even magicked. The best I can manage is three steps for every one.” Aerin looked tired and alien, the long contours of her skull more easily visible with sweat matting short hair against it. “The horses would have us there by morning. The best I can do is three days, perhaps.”

“The best you can do,” Lara echoed in astonishment. “I’ve read people can walk twenty or thirty miles in a day. You’re moving us sixty or ninety? How far do we have to go, Aerin? How long do you have to keep this up?”

“Unassisted, it would take a sennight or more to walk this distance.” Aerin cast a glance back at the Unseelie, among whom were children. “Probably more.”

The corner of Lara’s mouth turned up. “Thanks for looking at them, and not at me.”

Aerin quirked an acknowledging eyebrow, then exhaled noisily. “This requires concentration, Truthseeker.”

“Right. Just don’t … burn yourself out, if that’s what can happen. Be careful, Aerin.”

“The time for care is long past.” Aerin quickened her pace by a step or two and Lara took the hint, falling back again. Night grew deeper in quick lurches, until she was certain midnight had come and gone. Only then did Aerin stop abruptly, and the travelers slept where they fell, only to rise and walk again not long after sunrise.

Lara awakened to muscles and feet so sore that every step was a challenge. No one else complained, and she wondered if mortal weight connected with the land harder, or if she was simply outrageously
unconditioned compared to everyone else. They all shared a certain drudgery of intent, but she caught no one else wincing with each footfall. That evening Dafydd silently stripped her shoes from her feet and massaged the tender flesh.

The second day was worse, grime and hunger building up. Ioan, Dafydd, and a few of the others broke away to hunt. There were always streams for water, but Lara could hardly feel her body, numbed from repeated impacts against the earth. Even Kelly’s relentless good nature and enjoyment of adventure vacations would be hard-pressed to find much fun in the trek. Lara was torn between worry about when and where she and Dickon had landed back on Earth, and weary envy that they probably had access to showers.

Aerin stopped them earlier that evening, not long after sunset. She was slender to begin with, as all the Seelie were, but she looked as though she’d been eaten from the inside out, her muscles thin and ropey and her eyes sunken with fatigue. “We should arrive by midday,” she told Dafydd. “If we hunt and eat well tonight, and sleep well, we may be in some condition to face whatever awaits us. Ioan might scry to see what lies ahead.”

“It could alert Merrick to our presence.” Ioan had recovered from his injuries as they walked, though like everyone else his shoulders slumped with weariness. “We might be better unannounced. The surprise would be as much theirs as ours.”

“Can you cast a glamour to get us inside unseen?” Lara asked Dafydd. A darker thought spun out of that: if he could get them inside the citadel unseen, there was no reason they couldn’t assassinate Merrick under that same cloak of invisibility. She met Dafydd’s eyes, and saw the same idea flash through his mind before he shook his head.

“Glamours are much more successful against mortals. The constant use of power gains notice among our own kind. Call it what
you will, paranoia or curiosity, but there’s always someone looking for it, and a glamour large enough to hide even a handful of us would be observed long before we found Merrick.”

“Then isn’t what Aerin’s doing going to draw attention, too? She must be using huge amounts of power.”

“But the horses use a version of this magic all the time,” Aerin reminded Lara. “It’s a constant draw, so typical as to go unnoticed. Far more likely that the destruction of the Unseelie citadel has been noticed than my call on the earth’s magic.”

“There was an army of Unseelie out here,” Lara said in dismay. “If they know their city was destroyed are there going to be any Seelie left alive by now?”

A little silence met her question, and Dafydd finally sighed. “They’ll have fled, Lara. Even with Merrick’s fine speech, the truth is that with Emyr’s death, most of the army will have taken to the forests. If they even believe he’s Ioan, they won’t trust him, not with the change he wrought upon himself. They would have fallen with Emyr, and their first instinct will be to preserve those who are left. The citadel is a symbol, but not enough to rally them without—”

“You,” Lara finished. “Without Emyr’s heir, particularly when his other son apparently sits on the throne already, as one of the Unseelie.”

“Assuming I’m enough. First they saw me murder Merrick, and then they watched me kill Emyr, both in cold blood. Even having a truthseeker substantiate my story may not be enough.”

Cold dismay filled Lara’s chest. “You knew this all along, didn’t you? When we decided we were going to the citadel, you knew it wasn’t going to be full of Seelie ready to fight the good fight. And you didn’t tell me.”

“I told you exactly what we’re going to do.” Dafydd fixed his gaze forward, quiet determination in his posture and voice. “We’re going
to depose a pretender and make a united stand against the Unseelie.”

“The four of us? You made it sound like—” Lara bit the words back. Dafydd had told the truth. Her way of interpreting that truth had been glossy, perhaps. Fanciful, full of hope, and none of them had seen fit to disillusion her during the exhaustive journey. Subdued, she asked, “How are we going to win this?”

“We may not.” Dafydd gave her a wan smile. “But that’s a problem for the morning.”

Are you
sure
this is going to work?
wasn’t a question Lara was given to asking. She had always known whether someone was sure, and both Ioan and Dafydd were certain of their plan.

But surety wasn’t interchangeable with being right, and the problem with plans was she had no way of determining whether they would succeed. She’d laid down law with her voice once or twice, but the wholesale demand that events go her way lay beyond her. Perhaps only because she thought it did, but that was enough: the limitations she argued were her own.

The glamours disguising them were subtle enough to hardly bother even her. Aerin’s burned hair had been darkened to buttery yellow, and her eyes made blue, but her appearance was so altered from extended use of earth magic that little else needed to be done. Dafydd’s golden tones had been bleached, leaving him wraithlike, and he had taken on fuller-featured aspects: a lusher mouth, cheekbones less angled, and the sweep of his hair longer to help change
the line of his jaw. Lara had observed once how alarmingly similar the Seelie looked to one another, and now the understated changes in Aerin and Dafydd reminded her of that. They weren’t themselves, but they could have been any of their people: a police witness would be hard-pressed to single them out of a Seelie lineup.