Midwinter

"It is a matter of the Fae Gifts," said Silverdun. "The Arcadians believe that the Gifts are from Aba and should be used in his service alone."

"And that brought all this about?"

"Not by itself," continued Silverdun. "The Western Valley, where Beleriand is located, lies within the mountains to the west of here. Its people are vastly different from the majority of the Fae you have met. They don't use glamours; they are against illusion in all its forms.

"The original Gossamer Rebellion was an abortive attempt by Beleriand to secede from the Seelie Kingdom altogether. In those days, Beleriand was ruled by a baron named Pellings, a truly brutal fellow who was almost universally loathed, both in and out of the Western Valley. Once the baron was removed, the problem subsided for a while, but it was only a matter of time before the trouble started again.

"Now, of course, the Arcadian faith has swept outward and there are many in the nobility who see the Arcadians as a threat to the Seelie way of life." He chuckled. "Whatever that is supposed to mean."

"But that's not enough of a reason to send armed forces into a region. There must be more to it than that," Satterly said.

Eloquet answered him. "It was not enough to decry us in public. Some of the more reactionary lords here in the west, Geracy among them, believed that it was necessary to stem the tide of Arcadianism at its source. They began targeted assassinations…"

"That has not been proven," interrupted Mauritane.

"Please, Mauritane!" said Eloquet. "You disappoint me. Shall I list the names for you, the causes of death?"

"I speak as an official of the Seelie Court."

"Look around you," said Eloquet. "You are no longer in the Seelie Court. The assassinations took place, and we retaliated."

Mauritane said nothing in response. An uncomfortable silence reigned for a few breaths.

It was Elice, the baron's daughter, who broke the silence. "I hate to be the voice of dissent," she said, uncertainly. "But my father does have a point about the Arcadians. They've done awful things, caused millions in property damage, defacing public glamours and things, and they've hurt people, too."

Eloquet laughed out loud. "What wonders from the mouth of a child!" he said. "Young lady, an agent of your father murdered my wife in front of me, garroted her with a harp string. And you speak of defacing property as though it matters!"

Elice sat up straight. "My father would never do such a thing."

"No, you're right about that," said Eloquet. "He'd hire someone else to do it."

"Would someone please tell me what she's doing here?" said Raieve, looking ready to slap the girl in the face.

Mauritane looked at the girl, for some reason his opinion of her softening. "She is the object of our quest. She is what we have come here for."

"What?" said Silverdun, Satterly, and Raieve, in unison.

The wagon came to a sudden stop.

"There's trouble ahead," said the driver. "Roadblocks."

"Stay here," said Eloquet. He leapt from the wagon.

"What's going on?" said Satterly.

Eloquet returned. "The Royal Guard has set up roadblocks at the City Center entrances. They must be looking for us. Come on."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Elice. "I think I made a mistake."

"Quiet, girl," Raieve said, a knife instantly at the girl's throat. "If you whine your regrets too loudly, you could get us all killed."

"Come on!" whispered Eloquet.

They climbed from the rear of the wagon, Raieve holding Elice at knifepoint. Their wagon was in a line of similar conveyances on a wide cobblestone road. The road passed through tall housing blocks as it descended to the City Center district. At an archway ahead, eight or ten soldiers of the Seelie Army were stopping and inspecting each cart. Mounted cavalrymen passed through the archway and peered down into the vehicles in line.

Eloquet led them silently through an alley and into a side street. They clung to doorways and dark alleyways as much as possible, Eloquet and his men consulting at each corner.

After a few tense minutes they seemed to find what they were looking for. It was a square grate set into the cobblestones, an arm's length across. One of Eloquet's men produced a hardened silver bar from his cloak and set about prying off the grate. A fetid odor of stagnation and urine emanated from the grate.

"Is that what I think it is?" said Satterly.

"Only if you think it's a sewer," said the man with the prying bar.

Elice reared back in Raieve's grip. "I am not going down there," she said.

"Have you ever had one of your fingers cut off?" Raieve asked her.

The girl shook her head, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"If you'd like to keep it that way, I suggest you remain silent from now on."

They descended into the sewer, lowering themselves through the grate. They dropped into a wide rounded tunnel, large enough that they were able to walk double file. There was a low rush and a cold breeze that followed the course of the frigid, ankle-deep water in the passage.