Kingfisher

“This has nothing to do with Lord Skelton’s quest—”

“You are searching for the same thing,” she said inarguably. “What would

you have done with that extraordinary vessel if you had walked into the

Kingfisher Bar and Grill and found it there? You recognize this marvel, you

take it—and you do what with it? Use it to threaten your own father with war

if he doesn’t return a long-forgotten land to its rightful ruler? Would you

really do that?”

He was seeing her clearly, then, and wondering at the question, which took on

dimensions he hadn’t noticed before, or had so completely forgotten why he

should care about them. “Yes,” he said finally. “Yes. I would have. If I

had walked into the Kingfisher Inn instead of into this mystifying,

exasperating no-place. This mist would still have been in my head instead of

all around us. Now, my head is appallingly clear. And when we are finally

allowed to leave this place, I will be of no use any longer to the one who

enchanted me. Or to myself,” he added with wry sorrow. “I will be

disenchanted.”

He was astonished at the sudden sheen in her eyes, the well of tears from some

source hidden within her prowess, her composure.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I should never have followed you so far.”

“I didn’t think anyone could.” He was silent again, thinking clearly for

once, and finding it disconcerting. “If this isn’t within the definition of

Lord Skelton’s idea of a quest, and it isn’t the enchanting place I had

begun to know so well—if some power is guarding that vessel from both the

wyvern and the raven, then where are we? Who brought us here?”

“Good question,” his mother said, and he saw the three familiar faces behind

Dame Scotia.

She whirled, as though she felt the intent gazes homing in between her

shoulder blades.

“Who is this,” Vivien wondered, “standing between you and me, my love?”

Scotia moved again, quickly, stepping to one side of Daimon. “Lady Seabrook,

” she exclaimed, and Morrig smiled suddenly with delight.

“Dame Scotia Malory. I met your ancestor Tavis once, you know. Well, of

course you don’t, but I did. You’d think, writing all those tales of valor

and romance, he would have led a more respectable life. But then, how would he

have recognized me?”

“You knew Tavis?” Scotia said faintly.

“Of course. I have been at the Wyvernhold Court since the first King Arden

overran Ravenhold. I thought it would be the best place to hide.”

“But how,” Vivien asked, her wide, lovely eyes never moving from Daimon’s,

“did this knight find her way here?”

“Well,” Morrig mused, considering the question, “that might be Tavis’s

fault, too. We might as well blame him. Everyone else did. He was always

finding himself where he didn’t belong, and with those who might have given

him a glimpse into overlapping realms. Dame Scotia could have inherited some

of his sight. Fore and hind, over and in, as well as second—who knows exactly

which sight drew her here?”

“She serves the wyvern,” Daimon’s mother said abruptly. She was veiled in

black from hair to shoe, as they all were, shadow black, raven black, and she

held what looked like a chain made of raven feathers that linked her to an

odd, blurred bundle containing broken branches or bones, all of them

constantly shifting, testing the strength of what held them imprisoned.

“Yet she sees us,” Vivien said, her voice curling to a question, a caress,

in Daimon’s ear.

“He brought her here,” Ana said simply, and Daimon, startled, shook his

head.

“Of course she serves my father,” he said, glimpsing undercurrents, and

choosing words very carefully around them. “So do I, for that matter, though

it hardly matters to you. She was following me only because she was asked to.

She has no idea how she got here, and I’m sure, if you show her a way out,

she’ll take it with great relief.”

“She has a voice,” Vivien commented, and gave Scotia a glimpse of her

charming smile. “She could ask.”

“I could,” Dame Scotia agreed. “Ask.”

But she did not, just waited silently, while they gazed at her, waiting as

well, then consulted one another.

“Generally speaking,” Morrig said to her, “you must be wanted.”

“Wanted?”

“Invited. To come here. As we asked Daimon. We permitted him to see our

realm. Sometimes we allure, beguile, bewitch—we do whatever catches the

attention of the one we wish to bring into our world. All that is a form of

invitation. We did not invite you.”

Patricia A. McKillip's books