“Afterward?”
“It worsened every year. By the time the war broke out, mothers were hiding baby girls, swearing they’d been stillborn. Kidnappings were rampant, with girls forced to move about under armed guard. Battles were constantly breaking out among neighboring clans, just to take prisoners who could be given to the fey instead of the dwindling supply of local girls—”
“God.”
He nodded. “And people were starting to ask why they should fight for Uther when the Saxons might at least let them keep some of their women. Something had to give.”
“But . . . but why did the fey need so many women?”
“They claimed it was for their border war with the Dark, but I suspect that tension with the Svarestri was more worrisome. And then there was the lucrative trade their slavers had established with the Blue Fey, who might claim noninvolvement in our day, but who bought plenty of fertile human slaves in the past.”
“But they had to know they couldn’t keep it up forever,” I protested. “Sooner or later, they’d end up more human than fey!”
Rosier shook his head. “The common practice was to have a wife of pure fey heritage to bear your true children, the ones meant to carry on your name and bloodline. And human concubines to bear your half-breeds, as many as you could manage. The stronger of those, the ones who inherited much of their father’s magic, were kept in Faerie, where they were used as border guards and cannon fodder in the wars. Their lives tended to be brutal and short, although there were exceptions. Igraine, for instance.”
“But she went to earth.”
“Yes, as her mother’s emissary. Running the slave trade was her way of proving her value. I assume there was some sort of agreement: manage the humans effectively, and when Gorlois dies, return to take your place at my side. . . .” He shrugged.
“And did she?”
“No. I doubt Nimue planned to give her half-human daughter a damn thing; set too many precedents. But in the end it didn’t matter. Igraine had inherited her mother’s beauty, but not her life span. She died a year shy of seventy.”
“And the rest?” I asked. “The children who didn’t get the magic?
Rosier lifted a brow. “Where do you think the Changeling myths come from? It wasn’t substituting a fey child for a human one so much as dumping the rejects back on earth, to live out their lives as best they could. The more human of them probably did that well enough, but the rest . . .”
“The local people treated them like monsters,” I said, remembering a story Pritkin had told.
He nodded. “And in so doing, provided another headache for Uther, who was constantly being pressed to stop the influx of these ‘monstrosities,’ some of whom lashed out at their persecutors in deadly ways.”
“Can you blame them?”
“Perhaps not. But they weren’t always selective in who they killed. In short, the whole thing was a giant mess, and as long as Gorlois remained in power, it wasn’t likely to change. Uther therefore challenged him for his throne, trial by single combat. He sprang it on him in open court, knowing he was too proud to back down in public. But not to slip out of the fortress the night before the duel, and when Uther gave chase, to ambush him. And once blood had been shed, there was no way to avoid war.”
“And Uther didn’t try very hard,” I guessed.
“On the contrary. A civil war is the last thing he wanted. That’s why he challenged the damn man in the first place. He wanted Gorlois’ forces intact, to help him take on the Saxons. Every death in that war was a loss to him, even the ones on the other side, and he was desperate to cut the fighting short before he destroyed his own army.”
“So you helped him find a workaround.”
“Igraine was the key to the fey alliance. Without her, the treaty would have to be renegotiated, probably on even worse terms than before. Thousands would suffer. But once she married Uther, well, he was not Gorlois. And not easily manipulated.”
“But why would she marry her rapist?”
Rosier shrugged. “To avoid dishonor. To maintain the alliance that was as useful to her people as it was to Uther’s. And to make his life a living hell, which, I may add, she did in spades thereafter.”
Good, I thought. And then I thought maybe. And then I decided that I didn’t know what to think. Igraine was a victim, but she’d also been an oppressor, running a trade that had destroyed thousands of lives. But Uther hadn’t been blameless, either. He’d been put in a terrible position, but he’d also done a terrible thing.
I was beginning to think that Rosier was right. The stories made it easy: here were the good guys, here were the bad guys. Root for this group, hate that one. But the truth . . . was a lot more complicated.
“And what did you get out of all this?” I asked. Because I knew Rosier. He might have genuinely sympathized with Uther, but there was no way he didn’t find a way to profit from it, too.
He didn’t even try to deny it. “I longed for peace and stability in my lands as much as Uther did in his, but it was impossible on my own. I expended power as soon as I received it, defending my people, keeping the nobles in line, quarreling with the damn high council—a thousand things. My father had no such concerns, because there were two of us, working together to stockpile power to keep the family strong. With another incubus of the royal line, I could do the same. Instead of a house constantly on the verge of disintegration, we could be powerful again, respected, even feared. I told Uther that we could help each other—”
“How?” I interrupted, because Rosier could talk on his favorite subject for hours.
“My attempts to have a child among my own kind had been futile. Our birth rate is so low it might have taken millennia to sire a child—if I ever did. I came to earth looking for a human mother, because their fertility is legendary. But my children were too strong; they overwhelmed the women before they could give birth. So I tried the fey, hoping their strength would do the trick. But they damn well never get pregnant! I finally realized that a cross between the two, part human to aid with fertility, and part fey for resilience, might be the perfect combination—”
“So you came here looking for a broodmare.”
“And I found one. I found the perfect one.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Igraine?”
“No, not Igraine! Do you read at all?”
“Who, then?”
“Who do all the legends say was Merlin’s great love?”
“Merlin? But you’re not— Wait. Wait. Merlin helped Uther at Tintagel Castle. Merlin was the one who cast that illusion. The stories all say so, but Pritkin wasn’t even born then—”
“No, but Myrddin was the name I was going by at the time, which was later Latinized to—”