"Behind you?" She had never shared a mount with anyone. Why, there was barely room on the beast for Ulrich's long limbs and overstuffed saddlebag and the crossbow. "Impossible."

"You are a bit of a spoiled one, eh?"

"What?"

He turned, one arm propped at his waist, the other hand tapping impatiently upon Fancy's back. "I said, you are spoiled."

"You think I've gone bad? Do I...do I smell?" She attempted to scent her immediate air but only smelled the coolness of the night and a faint tang, which she attributed to Fancy.

"Spoiled, as in rotten. Everyone jumps to your whim. The princess demands her pleasures. Whatever you should ask is given."

"What be wrong with that?" She stabbed her staff into the ground.

They both looked to the ground to spy the clump of dry hornbeam fluttering out from beneath the cloak. Flakes of the enchanted, disarrayed and damaged.

"What is it I have heard about Faery finery and coin?" Ulrich pressed a wondering finger to his chin. Glee sparkled in his eyes, Gossamyr sensed, for it was dark save for the carriage lanterns bobbing down the road. Private as it should have been, he enjoyed her humiliation immensely. "It disperses to dust once introduced to the mortal realm." He toed the flakes of her decimated pourpoint. They disintegrated to a glitter of dust.

Gossamyr nodded. "Very well. Be there another village close?"

"Pray there is. Now mount behind me. I promise I shall not attempt to befriend you along the way."

"Splendid."

"Though I wager it shall be difficult to ignore a naked rider clinging to my waist."

"I am not naked."

"Steal not my hope, my lady."

The sky thinned and receded. A flutter of his wings proved ponderous. Never before had he felt as though the world might...slip away. That his footsteps would not take hold on a path simply not there. 'Twas as if he were falling through the roots.

Images from the fetch proved Gossamyr had successfully arrived in the Otherside. She had even found a companion for the road. Shinn was not overconcerned a mortal traveled at her side; the man would prove a boon. As well, Gossamyr had easily managed the attacking bogie. He would have expected nothing less. The vision of the caged fee had disturbed him perhaps more deeply than it had affected his daughter. She was strong. Capable. Not a single reason for any mortal to cage her.

And yet with every breath, Shinn felt the shiver that had become his bane more deeply. Mortal touched. The result? His mortal pa.s.sion. A sweet punishment. And so much he had reaped from that risk. Greatest of all, his child.

Gossamyr was gone from him. Gone. Child of mine.

Should he have told her more? Revealed- He just...he wanted her to return to him. But Gossamyr's truth would prevent that. She must never learn her truth. For if she continued to Believe she would Belong.

Clutching the curved crystal doorpull that opened into Gossamyr 's bedchamber, Shinn stood for a breath, blinking, struggling to find hold. The spice roses Mince cut daily for her room seeped into him, cloying and powerful. Gossamyr's scent.

He had set his only daughter off on a dangerous mission. It had been the right choice.

There had been no real choice. Shinn had known for some time Gossamyr would be called to the Otherside. The mortal pa.s.sion was ever persistent. He could not interfere. Would Gossamyr sacrifice to remain on the Otherside? Would she wish to do so?

"It is the bargain we made,Veridienne. For your home, you must sacrifice"

"I sacrificed my home for you, Shinn! To love you."

"I acknowledge that, but to have it back, you must-"

"Very well. I will do it. I will...leave her."

"Oh!" At Shinn's sigh Mince popped her head up from the floor by the bed. "Lord Wintershinn." She tugged at her tight blue gown, pulling it snugly over two gentle rolls on her stomach. Her small wings fluttered madly as she backed away. Eyes not meeting his, the rumpled fee backed right into the armoire and bent a wing.

"Is there something amiss, Mince?" Shinn strode by the bed. His fingertips grazed the cold, precise marble and danced through the hanging bed curtains. Nothing out of ordinary. He walked to the window where the long arachnagoss sheers fluttered on the breeze. He turned abruptly, catching Mince in the act of shutting the armoire-on a finger. "Are you looking for something?"

"Looking? Me?" The syllables shook more rapidly than her tell-tale wings. "Why ask you that, my lord? Oh, no, just...tidying up a bit. What of you? You're not looking for Gossamyr?"

"Nay."

"Marvelous. Oh! Er, fine. Just fine."

Now he understood. Mince sought Gossamyr.

"I'm out to the yard."

"What for?"

"Oh? To check...for something. Erm, the peac.o.c.ks must be shooed from the roses."

"She is gone, Mince."

"She?" The matron paused by the door, turning to him with delicate fingers curled into one another. "Who, Lord Wintershinn?"

"Gossamyr has gone to the Otherside."

"No, I-I just saw her. I'm sure she's here somewhere, swinging from the roots-I'll start there, my lord. She never disappears for overlong."

"I sent her."

Mince gaped, seeming to momentarily choke on her own breath. "W-why? How?" she breathed. "Did you...tell her everything?"

"She seeks the Red Lady. I sent her through a Pa.s.sage. You know her truth will keep her from returning to me."

"Oh! But she needs to know! You've sent her to face the very woman- Oh, dear."

SIX.

Forgoing the village of Aparjon for what Ulrich claimed to be another not three leagues to the east, the duo plodded through unmarked gra.s.ses and followed a low rabbit-ravaged hedgerow for some distance until a narrower, lesser traveled road attracted them. There were no trees as far as she could see. The world was very silent. Eerily so.

Ulrich called ahead to Gossamyr. "We should seek shelter for the night, 'tis nearing matins."

"You don't think we'll make the village?"

"Likely not."

Sensing the man's exhaustion, Gossamyr conceded. "Very well."

Tugging Ulrich's cloak about her shoulders seemed to hold the crumbling pourpoint together. She hoped. She had dismounted earlier and now walked, finding the exercise more fitting than joggling along on the miserable old mule. She sensed the beast tread alongside the Infernal, and did not wish to put more of a burden on it than necessary.

The fetch preceded her at a clever distance. She had ever thought fetches only recorded noteworthy events. Mayhap Shinn missed her as much as she was beginning to miss him? To have the fetch follow her at all times?

Miss her father? It had been but part of a day.

The only thing she missed right now was the illumination of Faery. This mortal night clung to Gossamyr on all sides. Crickets chirped and unseen rodents scampered along the gra.s.sy borders of the rutted path. She could not see Ulrich for the gloom, but judged him less than twenty paces behind her.

His suggestion to stop was not entirely unwarranted. She did feel the strain of her journey tug at the muscles in her calves and shoulders. Yet the struggle to stride freely while keeping the cloak wrapped-blight!

Gossamyr dropped the ends of the cloak and let the sweeping fabric dangle. If her garments were to fall off, then so shall it be. For she wanted to skip, to revel in this atmosphere that welcomed like a warm embrace.

"Oh, Hades, be gone."

Gossamyr smirked at Ulrich's hissed remark. The man had babbled most of the way. He had a strange compulsion to compare things, or rather label them as either "the same" or "not the same." She could not figure what he was about. But she had to confess, having a companion eased a bit of her growing discomfort. Alone in a new land. Physically capable, but...her thoughts had begun to return to a place of safety.

She missed Mince. The matron was ever there, a companion, a confidante. A willing foil when Shinn would question Gossamyr's day, and she had snuck off to tournament. And always there to bring her whatever she may request, to know before Gossamyr spoke her need.

Spoiled? Never before had she heard that term to describe one who is given all she needs. Such as a lady who travels with a caged faery in tow?

Hmm...not like that. Nor did she smell.

An eerie feeling of disquiet shimmied about Gossamyr's body. It wasn't as though she were frightened by the darkness. Nor could she summon worry for any beastie that might leap out from the shadows at her. In truth, a tiny niggling at encountering further outcasts from the Netherdred did bother. Unfamiliar, this world. And yet, intriguing. Horizontal and stretching for leagues that fell off the horizon as if the Edge. Mayhap it was an edge? Veridienne had detailed the stretch of France in her bestiary. It was edged by a vast ocean-tribe Mer-de-Soleil territory; merfolk and selkies and kelpies abounded there. But she had no measurement for distance in this land. Unless it was down. So she must rely on Ulrich's navigation.

Many Faery tribes inhabited the realm the mortals called France: the Rougethorns, the Wisogoths, the Quinmarks, just a few. Yes, a huge nation, and she but an itty speck skipping toward sure danger. If she wasn't careful she might lose her grip and fall-as she had once amidst the tangle of roots that reticulated about Glamoursiege. Avenall-her Rougethorn; ever charming and chivalrous-had caught her then.

Who would catch her now?

"No." Ulrich's voice had receded. "Not now. A crossroads? Wicked luck. Now this is the same."

With every step Gossamyr felt the world close about her as if the cloak wrapped tightly against her flesh. Enchantment sluiced from her pores; she could feel it as a tangible p.r.i.c.k. An ache hummed in her heart, a central tremor that called from the shadows of mortality. Home, it whispered. Embrace it.

No, no, no! Home was Faery. Not here.

Gossamyr fought back the invisible enemy, but the ache did settle to a fine pulse, ever there. 'Twas the mortal pa.s.sion, vying to wend into her veins.

"Be d.a.m.ned with you all!"

Gossamyr stopped and swung about. Neither Fancy nor Ulrich were in sight. But she could hear him...talking to someone?

"I beseech thee to allow me pa.s.sage. No? Very well, that way. Yes, follow my direction. You there, follow the finger. Up, up and away with you. b.l.o.o.d.y saints, I shall be here all through the night!"

"Ulrich?" Gossamyr stepped cautiously through the sooty darkness. The whisper of a breeze through the long reeds that lined the path danced them to a crisp shimmy. Her bare feet made not a sound on the dirt road. The cloak whipped out behind her.

She spied Fancy, unloosed and grazing over a patch of clover. Another outburst from Ulrich stirred Gossamyr to a trot, her staff held horizontal and shoulder level, ready to spear.

"Another? Be patient; wait your turn. This way. Not so pushy!"

"Ulrich?" Now Gossamyr could make out the gray outlines of Ulrich's head, bowed and swaying as if in deep thought. She veered from her approach as he swung out a hand and pointed starward.

"You. Yes, you next!"

"Whom are you speaking to?" There was not another person in the vicinity. To be sure, Gossamyr turned a complete circle-staff cutting the night-scanning the circ.u.mference. Scentless, the air. Strange, she did neither smell the dirt or gra.s.s. She noted they stood at a crossroad, Ulrich exact center.

When she turned back to him his body jerked, as if tugged from behind, and he leaped about to face the empty darkness.

Could it be a creature from the Netherdred? One who stood yet on the Faery side of the rift, invisible yet capable of affecting the Otherside? She should be able to see anything that stood in Faery if it connected with this world. Why could she not- "If you cannot afford me the virtue of patience," Ulrich announced to no one, "I shall see you to Hades where you belong. Be gone!"

"Ulrich!" She leaped forward and gripped the man by the shoulders. If he had succ.u.mbed to a glamour, perhaps her contact could unloose him.

Because he was rigid and jumpy and jerking in her grasp, her fingers could not maintain hold. The vexing cloak impeded her and she toppled, but caught herself with the staff. "You speak to the night. What is to you, man? Be you luna-touched?"

"Get me free from here," he growled. A flick of his head to the left and he addressed another unseen ent.i.ty. "Heaven? You who takes your own life asks very much!"

"Is it the Netherdred?" she pleaded.

"I know not of nether dreads-only the dreads that stand before me. Ah! I must concentrate!"

The man had stepped into a realm that frightened even Gossamyr. She could feel not a presence. No smell or sound could be pulled from the confusion of the moment. She tugged Ulrich's arm, but resistance tensed in her grasp. And yet, the man did not pull himself from her. 'Twas is if he were bestiffened.

Banshees? she wondered. No, they were visible figments of white wailing women. Ghosts? She had not experience with the sort; ghosts aligned themselves with wizards, witches and forbidden magic.

"I have not the leisure for you all," Ulrich shouted and twisted from Gossamyr's hold. "I will die of old age to send you each in his turn. Faery Not, pull harder!"

"I am trying," Gossamyr said. She clutched him about the waist and planted her toes in the loose dirt. It was as if he were being held to the center of the roads, fixed with nails pounded through the soles of his soft-bottomed shoes. Yet she felt not a single presence. "What is it? A spectral creature I cannot see?"

"Hundreds," Ulrich cried. "Take my hands."

Twisting under his outstretched arm, Gossamyr seized the man's hands. Though the darkness shadowed features, the agony on his face showed strongly. As their palms joined, Gossamyr felt cold tremor through her forearms and up her shoulders.

Horrors! A chill greater than winter's bite trickled through her bones. "I can feel them," she uttered.

Pushing with all her might, she succeeded in moving Ulrich from the center of the crossed roads while he shouted and protested with the unseen forces. Together they shuffled backward. Her toes stepped onto gra.s.s. Fancy snorted and clopped from their way. Finally, Ulrich tripped and went down. Gossamyr fell forward onto his chest, collapsing with a huff. The distinctive rip of dried leaves sounded.

Breath wheezed from Ulrich's lungs. Reaching back, Gossamyr felt over her pourpoint. A rent down the center, up to her mid-section, she determined.

Now even the crickets silenced. Dark surrounded; the eyelash moon ignored this little crossroad. Lying atop Ulrich, Gossamyr grew aware of his breaths, short and hot. The chill had slithered off as if it had not bitten her so sharply. The man had been a.s.saulted in a manner she could not comprehend. But that she had rescued him from an unseen a.s.sailant seemed apparent.

She gave a jerk of her head to swish back the heavy corner of the cloak from her face. "Are you fine and well?"

A burst of laughter shook him beneath her.