Gossamyr Part 25

All pain ceased. He collapsed at her feet, still clutching the cold white ankle. Whimpers, humiliating and unstoppable, leaked from his throat.

"What was it this time? An angry mob?" She tapped the foot he did not hold. "You disappoint me, pin man."

He cringed, hating it when she used that hideous moniker. Not an affectionate t.i.tle.

Rolling to his back, he fixed his eyes to the one yellow light pinned higher than them all. Mine. Escape. A bittersweet end to the end he lived forever more.

"'Twas a woman," he murmured, "and a man. She was strong, mistress. So strong!"

Where before had he seen that exotic brown stare?

"She kept me away while the Disenchanted one expired. I tried. I scrambled, I fought, I-I kicked!"

"But she defeated you?"

Keenly aware of his mistress's annoyance, he realized he had not come away without a prize. Scrambling to his knees, he shuffled in his pin sheath and produced the one tipped with glistening blood. Displaying it for his mistress to inspect, he smiled greedily. "Her blood."

The Red Lady strode closer, her alabaster skin supple and dancing with the colors of the undulating essences. Bending, she sniffed the pin, but made no expression of remark. And yet, she lingered over the point of silver, wondering perhaps?

"You can scent her?"

"Most definitely." He smiled up, waiting approval.

The Red Lady drew a finger along the length of the bloodstain, not touching, just discerning. "Good, Puppy."

Swinging around, she strode to the bed and stretched out across it. Patting the mattress beside her, she beckoned.

He needed no further encouragement. Scampering onto the bed, he tucked his head against her stomach and lifted his face to kiss the underside of her breast. "A woman?" she said, threading her fingers through his hair. With a jerk, she directed his attention up to her eyes. "Mortal?"

"You would know if she were not."

"Indeed. Certainly it is a female's blood. You said there was a man?"

"Yes. He let the woman fight for him."

"Hmm... Handsome?"

Nettled at that question, he lapped at her nipple, producing a delightful shiver from her. "Not so very. He is ugly and pale."

As she pushed his head down to her loins, she cooed and stretched languorously across the satin bedding. "But...a man. Perhaps he will soon answer my call."

SIXTEEN.

Gossamyr startled awake, to feel a tug at her jaw and a hand gently press her p.r.o.ne.

"Settle," Ulrich said. "Don't move your head. I wanted to put a few st.i.tches to the cut on your jaw. You were out for some time."

Scanning overhead, she saw heavy oak beams, black with soot. Wide, rough ceiling boards seeped hardened plaster from above. Ulrich's face obstructed half her view. Inside, somewhere. Sliding her hands down the strange fabric-ah, the tight brown wool- her palms smoothed over the surface of the bench she lay upon. Sweet ash burned close by, fire crackles snapping.

"I don't need st.i.tches."

"You do unless you want a scar." He smiled. "Such a warrior, my fine faery lady."

"I don't have time." She pushed up and straddled the bench. A glance to Ulrich's leg spied crusted blood below his knee. The hose were cut just above the knee to reveal a bare, hairy leg.

"I st.i.tched myself," he rea.s.sured. "While you were out."

"Healer is another to your list of talents?"

He shrugged. "A man like myself can never be satisfied unless he is constantly learning." She shoved away his hand, needle and thread ready. He set the needle on the table beside a lit candle. "Very well, but you will need a poultice to that cut."

"If it is not too smelly." Testing the cut, Gossamyr touched it but felt no blood. It stretched from beneath her jaw to midcheek. "Healers are a rarity in Faery."

"A difficult profession?" He sorted through an array of brown gla.s.s bottles gathered at the edge of the trestle table, deciding on one with a smeared label and dark, clumpy contents.

"No. There are not many injuries, nor is there plague or common sickness."

"What of battle wounds?"

"The fee heal rapidly. Rarely are a poultice or surgical methods required."

Now she noticed the old man who sat across the well-swept room, his hands crossed in his lap and head bowed. Plain clothing, torn but neatly patched, and white hosen, with a hole in the largest toe. Thick white hair curled about his ears and brown spots littered his nose and cheeks. "Sleeping?"

"Indeed. My uncle Armand. Sleeping is a hobby of his-of course, it is late."

"What are those spots on his face?"

"Age, Faery Not. It is common for the elderly to display their trials and wisdoms upon their hands and face."

Tilting a curious eye upon the snoozing old man, Gossamyr wondered what the spots would feel like. That wisdom was revealed so clearly? Impressive.

"He gets around fairly well for his blindness," Ulrich said. "And he stews up a mean ale berry with sops."

"That is the smell? It is sweet like berries."

"Ale and spices and some such." Ulrich touched her jaw with a cool substance that smelled like mint. "I'll just smooth a thin layer on. There. It'll make the skin contract and knit together swiftly."

Did Shinn witness their companionship through the fetch? Her father would surely rage to see this mortal man touch her so often.

Let him watch, Gossamyr thought. If she were to serve Glamoursiege in any form, surely knowledge gained from this mission, and her introduction to mortal interactions, would prove a boon.

"Thank you, Ulrich."

"I did my best, but I still think it'll leave a mark."

"No worry." Her fee blood would not aid the healing. She bore a scar on her elbow to prove that. "Where are we?"

"At my uncle's."

"Yes, I've been introduced. But where?" Sight of the open saddlebag redirected her concern. Gossamyr shot across the table, slapping her palms to either side of the alicorn, which lay exposed across the black cloth. Bits of the horn lay in the folds of the cloth. "It is disintegrating?" She looked to Ulrich.

The man swiped a hand over his chin and winced. He looked off toward the fire. As if he had not heard her. There by the alicorn lay a knife.

"You cannot!"

"Just a few bits." Hurriedly, he rolled up the black cloth and clutched the alicorn to his chest. "It is required to help you locate the Red Lady."

"Required? You have damaged a sacred-"

"Gossamyr." He clamped a hand on her knee. So stern his face became, she ceased protest. "Do you wish to carry it?"

She shook her head.

"Then it is mine to own until I locate the unicorn. I shall do with it as I please."

"But-"

"Worry about your own troubles, woman." He shoved the alicorn into the saddlebag. "You could have been murdered had I not been there after you fainted."

"I did not faint. I've never fainted. I just...don't faint."

"Of course not. You are a warrior, a champion on a great and mighty quest-"

"Ulrich."

"Very well, but you were exhausted."

"No, I-" When last she remembered, she had to let the pin man go- without the essence.

Avenall? Her bruised heart had pulsed when she had looked into his eyes. Eyes that did not see the woman Avenall had once courted against Shinn's wishes.

Why did he not remember her? Did banishment erase a fee's memory?

The warmth of Ulrich's touch to her chin, to direct her gaze up to his, startled. "There is no harm in admitting you needed a bit of rest, Gossamyr. You've forged onward relentlessly since we met in that enchanted woods."

"But the pin man-" How strange to refer to one she had loved in such a manner!

"I searched after you fainted. There was no sign of him. You really think that strange being can lead you to the Red Lady?"

"I know he can. And he isn't strange!"

"He was there for the essence, wielding pins like a porcupine beast. His hair...it was unnatural red."

"That tells little of his alliance."

"Speaking of hair." Ulrich sat beside her on the bench and moved the tangled snarls of her hair back over her shoulder. "I've a comb. Mayhap I could plait your hair? I used to twine Rhiana's little braids. Even so young she had lots of hair."

His smile started in his eyes, attracting her to the pale blue iris like a flower to the sun. Impure, Ulrich would be termed by the fee. A mere mortal.

A mere mortal who had tended her and taken her to safety. And now he offered to tend her hair, as would a servant. It was odd to think it, but he reminded her of Shinn. A man who loved his daughter, though Ulrich's love manifested in tangible touches and emotion. Yet, they both regarded their daughters as the world. Did he offer that side of Shinn she would never have? The loving part?

"I think you will not find what you're looking for in my eyes."

Blue, so blue, and drowning in stark white.

Gossamyr startled, following with a chuff of mirth. "What makes you think I am looking for anything beyond the Red Lady?"

"How can you not be searching for something more? You've no home, no family, no place to call your own. And what of this wanderl.u.s.t mother? Surely you must search for her?"

"There is no need to quest for a mother who did not love me."

"Mayhap she simply did not know how to love."

"Faeries are the ones who rarely love. Veridienne was mortal. She left Faery of her free will, leaving me behind."

"Yes, you mentioned something about a strange call?"

"The mortal pa.s.sion. It is what called my mother away from me when I was yet so small."

"I am sorry you were not given the unconditional love you desired. Every little girl deserves love."

Gentled by his statement, Gossamyr nodded an agreement she wanted desperately. She had known love. From her father. Had she desired more than what she'd been given? Never. Until it had been taken from her arms. "Shinn loves me."

"Ah yes, so much he sent you off to your death."

"Death will not be mine." A grip of the air at her side did not place the staff to hand. It stood propped by the wall next to the door. "I will return home after the succubus is defeated."

And now there was Avenall to consider. Could she connect with him, make him see beyond the red gloss that filled his eyes? Would he remember her if she Named him? Of what use would the Naming serve if banishment would hold him for ever a prisoner of the Otherside? Unless the Red Lady had discovered a means to return. Why else would she collect the essences if not to gain enough glamour to serve her return to Faery?

A glance to the black cloth wrapped about the alicorn. So much the Red Lady could do with this powerful symbol of Enchantment. That Ulrich had damaged it...

Ulrich stood and went to a small carved box placed on the hearth. Drawing out a wooden comb he displayed it, his eye twinkling.

"Tip back a cup of aleberry wine, and let me work the tangles from your nest."

Before going at her hair he poured her a cup of wine from a dented pitcher. Inside sloshed a pale liquid that smelled of berries. It tasted weak but not awful.

Gossamyr closed her eyes. To the alicorn. To her immediate troubles.

The sensation of Ulrich's careful fingers touching upon her scalp, easing a comb through her hair, calmed. He started with the ends and combed so carefully she did not once wince from an aggressive tug. So many kindnesses he had offered to her.