The Catswold Portal

Last night she had believed in him, she had believed all that Efil told her. Warm with lovemaking, feeling at one with him, she had burned to stop Siddonie. He had made her believe she would easily dethrone the dark queen, that Siddonie, without an heir, would fall and the Netherworld would be free.

He had driven away all her doubts, all her good sense. She had ignored his self-interest, had ignored the sure knowledge that within Efil there was no core of truth, no desire for good over evil. For right over wrong. She had pretended not to know that everything Efil did was for his own expediency and power. Now, for the first time in a long while she thought about the good, true things Mag had taught her, and she understood them. And she knew that Efil was not a part of that decency.

Efil stirred and woke, and lay watching her.

“I dreamed,” he said, distraught. He reached for her hand. His palm was sweaty and cold.

His distress alarmed her. “What did you dream?” Dreams were too often prophetic.

“I dreamed of a changeling child. I dreamed that Vrech carried Wylles to the upperworld and brought a changeling down. That Vrech brought a healthy boy down to take Wylles’ place.”

“But it was only a dream,” she said softly, seeing the pain in his eyes. She could not hate him when he felt such pain.

“No one traffics in changelings anymore, Efil. That was all in ancient days—it was a dream.”

“It was so real. I saw Vrech carry Wylles out through an upperworld portal. I saw him bring the changeling child down into the tunnels, and the boy looked uncommonly like Wylles. But he was stronger, rosy and healthy.”

“Maybe Wylles will get stronger. Maybe that was what the dream meant.”

He sat up against the pillows, pale, shaken, trying to get hold of himself. After several minutes he said, “I suppose it was a dream. It would take Siddonie months, years to find a child who looked like Wylles.” He drew her to him, kissing her nose and lips. “Before that our own son will be born and Siddonie will no longer be queen. Anyway, Vrech hasn’t yet…” He faltered, then said too smoothly, “Vrech hasn’t done anything to make me think…”

“Vrech hasn’t yet what?” She pulled away, and sat staring at him, alarmed.

His face slid into a smile.

She caught her breath. “It wasn’t just a dream! Siddonie has planned a changing! You knew! You knew before we—before you brought me here!”

“Of course I knew,” he said easily. “And I have to stop her. Together, we can stop her.”

She swung off the bed, snatching up her dress. “You bred a child with me. You—all the time you knew she could prevent that child from having claim on the throne. You knew this! And you made a child in me! I will—I will lay every spell I know to destroy it!”

He was out of bed, pulling her to him. “Our child will be stronger than any changeling. Trust me. You have the Catswold strength. And you will have the Catswold nation behind you. With our child, we will defeat Siddonie no matter if she does bring a changeling.” He cupped her face in his hands. “There is a magic among the Catswold, a power for life that can defeat her.” He backed her against the wall, stroking her, handling her too roughly, hurting her, whispering spells to dominate her.

She fought him, pushed him away. He threw her onto the bed, forcing her until in a tide of passion she clung to him. Appalled at herself, she let him take her, driven by a wild, animal lust.

When they lay spent, she was ashamed. She hoped he would sleep. She made a sleep spell, silent and insistent. And when he did sleep, she slid off the bed and pulled on her rumpled dress. Angrily she cast the open-spell and watched the wall swing back. She was angry at herself, and angry at the powers that had lured her; angry because she could have resisted those powers. She was shamed because she had not.

Standing in the opening, she saw, away through the woods, the palace shining pale against the green-lit sky. She stood for some moments watching for guards, and when behind her Efil stirred from sleep, she spun around fiercely whispering another spell at him.

He slept deeply again.

She had stepped out into the woods when she saw riders leave the palace. She drew back, waiting until they had gone. Then a lone horseman came out the gate. It was the queen’s seneschal, Vrech, hunch shouldered, booting his horse along in that ugly way he had. He was headed south, his yellow cape billowing.

She remembered that a tunnel lay to the south, and Efil’s words exploded in her mind: Vrech is responsible to her upperworld associate, he is back and forth often…I dreamed of a changeling child…I dreamed that Vrech carried Wylles to the upperworld…Vrech goes up more often…