Midwinter

"Message for you! Message for you! A message from the far south." The tiny sprite cupped its hands over its mouth and whispered, "It's a secret. Big secret!" It jerked its thumb at Moonwind.

"Don't worry about her," said Hy Pezho. "She's irrelevant."

Moonwind leapt to her feet. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you won't speak if I tell you not to," said Hy Pezho. He jumped on Moonwind, pinning her on the bed. The sprite still remained standing in his palm. He placed the creature gently on his shoulder, where it sat patiently.

"Be still!" he commanded Moonwind, with the tone of the black art in his voice. Moonwind froze, splayed over the pillows.

"Ooh, scary!" said the sprite, shouting in his ear. "Can I give you my message now?"

Hy Pezho placed the sprite on the counter. "Speak," he said.

"Your message is from the one who calls himself the Awakened One. Very poetic! I thought so, anyway."

"Please spare me your comments, sprite."

"Okay!" The sprite stamped its foot. "I am a sprite. I must needs be sprightly."

"Get on with it."

"The Awakened One says, 'I am with them."'

"Anything else?"

"Nothing else."

Hy Pezho clapped his hands together, grinning. "I knew it!" He turned to his wardrobe and examined its contents, searching for his most formal robes.

"Ahem," said the sprite. "I'm sleepy and I need a nice jar to lie down in. And a firefly! And a sprig of parsley! But a jar would do." The sprite looked petulantly up at Hy Pezho.

Moonwind made a muffled sound from the bed, her eyes wide. Hy Pezho sighed and drew a knife from his robes. He waved his fingers at her and she fell splayed onto the bed. Finding herself able to move, she crawled awkwardly backward, away from Hy Pezho.

Hy Pezho strode quickly across the tent's floor and took her roughly by the throat, holding her easily. "Can you read or write?" he asked.

Moonwind shook her head violently back and forth.

"I can tell if you're lying, you know."

"No," she choked. "There's no school for girls like me, you know that. Please!"

"Fine then," he said. "Hold still a moment longer." Hy Pezho pried her mouth open and gently extended her tongue. Her eyes widened, but she remained motionless.

"Sorry," he said. He drew the knife between his fingers and Moonwind's tongue came off in his hand, along with a spray of blood.

"Now go," he said. He yanked her off the pallet and pushed her toward the door. Free to move, she sank to her knees, her hands pressed to her face. She tried to scream and a sick, wet sound came from her mouth.

"Go!" Hy Pezho kicked her in the stomach. She rolled onto her side, then stood, unsteadily, and crawled through the open doorway. He threw the tongue after her.

Hy Pezho turned to the counter along the far wall and washed in the bowl there, pouring warm water from a pitcher over his bloodied hands.

"Come, Bacamar," he said. "We've business in Mab's tent."

A transparent shape uncoiled itself from the bamboo rafters of the tent, its smooth edges glistening in the sunlight. "Did you receive a message while I slept?" the familiar asked drowsily.

"Yes. Your errand was a success."

"I am pleased." Bacamar flowed toward the tent's floor, gently flapping her diaphanous wings.

"Something for you," said Hy Pezho, indicating the sprite.

The sprite looked from Hy Pezho to the familiar on the floor baring her tiny, sharp fangs. "Uh, I was just kidding about the parsley!" it said, backing slowly toward the thick canvas wall. "It was a joke, honest!"

Bacamar advanced, a delicate tongue appearing from her mouth, licking gently over her teeth.

"Can't we reconsider?" the sprite said.

* * * *

The Royal Complex stood at the center of the city of Mab, its violet hangings and golden tassels setting it apart from the rest of the inner court. Gossamer banners of blue and yellow fluttered in the breeze, hung from struts high above the wooden floor of the court. Hy Pezho's boots made a gratifying sound on the wide floor; the rest of the courtyard was silent save for the quiet titters of the robed ladies-in-waiting who clustered in groups of three and four around the potted palms and the stone fountains. A pair of the Queen's Guard stood at the entrance to the Royal Complex, allowing him access based on his sigil of rank.

Inside the complex, Hy Pezho climbed a wide stair, passing more of the youthful ladies of the Queen's cortege. He stopped to admire them. "Very soon, I will be the one about whom you whisper," he said to himself, catching the eye of one of them, a waif in blue silk who passed over his gaze without notice. Hy Pezho smiled. "Soon."

He approached the clerk's desk in the main antechamber of the palace, ignoring the guards who leaned in as he approached, waiting for him to do or say something questionable.

"I am Hy Pezho. I request an audience with Her Majesty," said Hy Pezho, in his best gentrific manner.

The clerk examined his sigil. "Do you have a grant of petition?" said the clerk, looking up at him from beneath smoked glasses.