Archive of Our Own ^beta

            “Congratulations, Lady Taryn.” The faerie midwife beamed. “You are six weeks pregnant!”

            For a moment, Taryn felt breathless. “Really?” she said at last.

            “Really.” Mushroom looked as proud as though she were the expectant mother. “Everything looks quite healthy and normal for this stage of pregnancy. You’re having a girl, Lady Taryn.”

            “A girl.” Taryn couldn’t stop the grin unfurling across her face. She’d always wanted a daughter.

            She was seated comfortably in her suite of rooms in her husband’s mansion, wearing a loose morning gown and bathed in morning sunshine from the window. She and the midwife were alone. Of course, Taryn had asked for privacy during this checkup and diagnosis; but her husband Locke had not spent the night with her. She hadn’t seen him since the party last night, when he’d vanished up to his own suite, on the opposite side of the house. Taryn didn’t mind. Locke’s habit of disappearing had bothered her at the start of their marriage, but now she found she enjoyed the privacy, and the peace that came with it. It had given her an excellent excuse to leave the party early last night, for example. She and Locke hadn’t shared a bed for weeks.

            But now—oh, now!—she wanted desperately to tell him the good news in person. Not before she cleared up a few things with the midwife, however. “How is she, Mistress Mushroom? I mean, does everything look healthy?”

            “Very healthy,” Mushroom reassured her. “It’s early days yet, Lady Taryn, but I’d say the prognosis is good. The baby’s strong and so are you. But you must be sure to get plenty of rest, balanced with some exercise, and avoid these foods…”

            Taryn listened carefully while Mushroom gave her detailed instructions on how to care for herself for the next few months and prepare for her lying-in and eventual birth. At last the midwife took her leave, assuring Taryn she would return in a few weeks to check on her progress.

            When the door closed behind Mushroom, Taryn sat back with a happy sigh. Dust motes floated in the slanting sunbeams, and everything in her sitting room, from the tapestries on the wall to the bowls of flowers, looked ten times more beautiful than usual. A baby! She was having a baby! A little girl! She couldn’t believe it! This was the first moment of undiluted happiness and pleasure she’d experienced since Jude’s exile.

            Taryn’s smile faded. The reminder was enough to ruin the moment.

            But still, she had things to do. She must tell Locke the news. Taryn reached over and rang the little silver bell.

            The door opened and her lady’s maid, Lynette, came in, great gossamer wings shining. “My lady?” she curtsied.

            “Lynette, please go to my husband’s rooms and tell him to come visit me here,” Taryn instructed. “Tell him I have most important news!”

            Lynette’s eyes gleamed—she had some idea of what the news must be—but she merely murmured, “Yes, my lady,” and backed out again, closing the door behind her.

            Taryn sat back in happy expectancy, eating a few more miniature blackberry tarts from the plate at her side. Lately she’d developed quite a taste for buttery blackberry tarts. She sat and ate and lost herself in joyful plans for the future. She was almost surprised when the door opened again.

            Taryn sat up immediately, brushing away crumbs and readying her smile. Her smile faded, however, when she saw it was Lynette alone who had come.

            “I’m sorry, my lady,” said Lynette, “but your lord husband wasn’t in his private suite.”

            “Oh.” Taryn felt her stomach swoop. She scrambled for an appropriate response. “Do you know where he might be?”

            “No, my lady. I asked around, but no one’s seen him since he went up to his suite last night from the party.”

            Frowning, Taryn stood and looked out the window. Her window overlooked the gardens, a sweep of gorgeous flowers and shrubs and emerald lawns. Taryn had had a bed of roses planted where she could look out her windows and admire them. They glowed now in the morning sunlight: pink, yellow, white, black, blue and red.

            Red. Taryn found her eye caught on a large and beautiful rosebush growing at the edge of the bed. It was jeweled with red flowers, and she was almost certain it hadn’t been there last night.

            She tore her eyes away. She had no time to think of rosebushes now. She swept the rest of the vista. She didn’t see Locke anywhere, walking the garden or passed out drunk under a bush. “He must still be here,” she said, more to herself than Lynette. “He was throwing a party here last night.”

            “Perhaps he was summoned to the Palace…?” Lynette suggested.

            Taryn supposed that was a possibility. Locke was Master of Revels, after all, even if High King Cardan didn’t seem too keen on seeking out his old friend lately. Given Locke’s recent behavior, Taryn couldn’t really blame him. “Yes, send a message to the Palace. Perhaps one of his staff members knows where he is. Meanwhile, we’ll search the house.”

            A sprite was dispatched toward the Palace, wings whizzing, and Taryn led the search for her husband on the estate, recruiting the servants to help. But Locke wasn’t there. Taryn searched through the receiving room, wincing at the mess left by the party, but though she found an inebriated tree-woman snoring under a table and a glorious jeweled bracelet some noblewoman would be upset to lose in the sofa cushions, she did not find her husband.

            Taryn and her minions searched the grounds, calling out, but found no sign of Locke. Taryn then went up to Locke’s suite, just in case Lynette had missed something.

            Taryn grimaced when she opened the door to Locke’s private rooms. They were such a mess! Furniture all askew, dust gathering in corners and empty bottles everywhere. She frowned at the weapons mounted on the walls, too. She’d frankly had enough of that decorating scheme back at Madoc’s. Another reason why she wasn’t sorry to have her rooms to herself: she could throw out the knives and swords and replace them with tapestries and flowers.

            Taryn checked under and behind furniture, just in case an inebriated Locke was asleep back there. “Locke?” she called. Her voice sounded thin and strengthless, and no one responded to it.

            Taryn stood in the little private dining room, stymied. Where was Locke? And there was something else bothering her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on…

            Then she had it. While the other rooms were chaotic and near-filthy, the dining room seemed awfully clean. Not all of it—there were still patches of dust and cobwebs in the corner. But the area around the dining table and chairs seemed strangely pristine. Like the carpet had been cleaned last night with meticulous care.

            Taryn sniffed the air. She smelled nothing but the scent of flowers wafting in from the open window. And wasn’t that a bit odd too? Locke usually kept his windows closed, unless he was about to be sick out of them. Which, granted, wasn’t that uncommon an occurrence…

            Taryn surveyed the room again. Was it just her, or did one of the daggers mounted on the wall look just a bit too clean, like the carpet? Like someone had cleaned and polished it and put it back in its place.

            Could someone have done that very thing? Someone who had been here with Locke, who had cleaned the carpet, opened the window…and cleaned the dagger. After using it.

            Taryn shook her head. She was making a fuss out of nothing, she told herself. So the window was open and the carpet looked a little less filthy than usual and the light was gleaming on a dagger. That didn’t prove anything. She hadn’t been in here since…With some surprise, Taryn realized she’d never been in her husband’s private suite. It had never even occurred to her to come here.

            The thought was so odd and disturbing that Taryn retreated immediately from the room and from the suite, heading down to the familiar bustle of the servants. Perhaps the sprite would return with news that Locke was at the Palace of Elfhame, working hard on a new festival or revel.

            But he was not.

            The sprite returned around midday with news that Locke most definitely was not at the Palace. “Everyone I talked to thought he was back home, my lady,” the sprite reported. “Actually, his secretary was rather annoyed. She said she wanted to talk to him today about the budget.”

            Taryn was momentarily thankful that it was Cardan who paid for Court entertainments, not Locke. They had enough to contend with just with household expenses, given the lavish parties Locke was always throwing. “You did well,” she told the sprite. “Perhaps he’s somewhere else on the island. He’ll turn up later.”

            But the day wore on into evening, twilight covering the Shining Isles in a warm blue blanket, and Locke still didn’t show. He didn’t send any messages either, and the household went to bed still wondering where he was.

            At least it was a nice, quiet evening. Taryn sat in bed, her sketchbook propped against her knees, trying out ideas for baby gowns and the layette. Her excitement and pleasure at her pregnancy returned, and she soon forgot all thought of Locke. She sketched and drew, designing adorable baby gowns and lacy little caps. She set aside her sketchbook only after many hours and went to sleep dreaming of her future daughter.

            The next morning, however, Taryn came down to breakfast to find Locke still missing.

            “Should we send word to the palace again, my lady?” asked Locke’s valet, Hawthorn. Taryn noticed that he didn’t look or sound all that concerned. Indeed, he sounded almost bored, like he was already tired of looking for his master.

            “Yes,” she said, ignoring Hawthorn’s tone. “And send messages to the houses of his friends. And I’ll send word to my parents.” It was a slim possibility, but perhaps Locke had gone to visit his father-in-law for some reason. It was worth a try anyway, Taryn thought as she sent a sprite off to her foster father’s stronghold.

            This proved to be something of a mistake.

            Within an hour, Madoc and Oriana appeared at the estate, trotting up on their favorite mounts. Taryn was there to greet them in the yard, and so was there to watch Madoc throw his reins to the groom and hop off his horse Awe with the sprightly enthusiasm of a young man on his wedding day.

            “Is he gone?” was the first thing he said. “Is Locke really gone?”

            “Well—I don’t know about that,” Taryn said, taken aback by the frankly eager tone in Madoc’s voice. “But no one can find him.”

            A huge grin grew on Madoc’s face. Taryn stared. Not only did that grin reveal an inordinate number of fangs, but the sight of Madoc this happy was strange and deeply disturbing. “No one can find him,” Madoc repeated with relish, and smacked his riding gloves in his hand.

            “Yes, Madoc.” Oriana cut in, glaring at her husband. “Taryn, are you all right?”

            “I’m fine,” said Taryn, realizing as she said it that it was entirely true. She was feeling just fine. “Please come in and take some wine…”

            Taryn got her parents settled in the parlor and plied them with wine and cakes. Madoc couldn’t seem to stop smiling, leaning back in his chair and raising his wineglass in a toast. “When did he disappear?” he asked, eyes agleam.

            “The night before last,” said Taryn. “He—we were throwing a party, and he went up to his private suite. And no one’s seen him since.”

            Madoc’s grin broadened still further. “Oh, really?” the redcap purred.

            Taryn stared at him. An icy certainty was taking hold of her: Madoc had never intended for his son-in-law to live. He’d always been planning to kill Locke and make Taryn a widow, probably from the moment he gave permission for the marriage to take place. He’d never truly accepted Locke as a son-in-law, but merely pretended to while he bided his time and chose his moment.

            Why hadn’t Taryn realized this before?

            Did you kill Locke? It was on the tip of Taryn’s tongue, but she didn’t say it. As always, she shrank from the thought of confronting Madoc. And somehow, she didn’t think Madoc had, whatever his plans. If Madoc really had murdered Locke, he wouldn’t be this—happy about Locke’s disappearance, this eager, like a man who had received an unexpected but highly welcome gift. No, Madoc’s eager curiosity was genuine, as was his satisfaction.

            Oriana glowered at Madoc and turned to Taryn with concern. “Have you sent a message to the Palace?”

            “Yes. He wasn’t there. I sent word to his friends as well, but so far no one’s seen him.”

            Madoc took another cake. He bit into it with great pleasure. “Sounds like he’s gone, all right,” he chuckled. “I’ll send my men to search the island too. Just to make sure.”

            To make sure of what? Taryn had a sudden vision of Madoc’s men happening upon Locke, turning him into a pincushion and then dragging the mangled body back to the Grand General as proof that his orders had been carried out… “Really, Father, there’s no need—”

            “Nonsense, Taryn, it’s no trouble. Meanwhile, you should come back to the stronghold today with me and Oriana. You can stay with us.”

            Sending word to Madoc had been a bad miscalculation, Taryn realized. It had put all kinds of ideas in his head. But Taryn had no intention of going along with this one. She knew instinctively that if she returned to the Grand General’s house, she’d never get out again. Madoc would make sure of that, especially once he found out about the baby. “No,” she said firmly. “I appreciate the offer, Father, but this is my home now. And if Locke returns, I should be here to greet him.”

            Madoc took a swig of wine with a happy laugh. “With any luck, we won’t have to worry about that. This marriage was a mistake from start to finish, Taryn, and hopefully we can be finished with it now.”

            “Madoc, that’s enough!” Oriana stood in an angry sway of skirts. “Taryn, why don’t we go for a walk? Just you and me.”

            “Good idea, Mother.” Taryn stood and shot a glare at her stepfather, who merely raised his glass in another toast.

            “You know I’m right, Taryn,” he practically sang. “By all means, look for your husband, but you’ll soon find your life is much better without him in it. And do consider coming home to us. You have no business living alone.”

            Taryn refused to dignify this with a response. Holding her head high, she led her stepmother out into the garden, while behind them Madoc gave another happy chuckle and poured more wine.

            “Sorry about him,” Oriana muttered, stiff and embarrassed. “He ordered the best wine brought out for the servants when we got your message, and spent the whole ride over here speculating on who might’ve rid us of—of Locke.”

            Taryn suspected Oriana had been about to end that sentence with a much less flattering epithet. “So you don’t think it was Madoc who ‘got rid’ of him?”

            “No, I don’t.” They were wending their way toward the roses now, bathed in warm sunshine. “He was genuinely surprised to get the news.” Oriana paused, turning to Taryn with real, sudden concern. “Taryn, how are you feeling right now?”

            Taryn paused in thought. “You know, I’m really not sure,” she said slowly. “I mean, I’m worried about Locke, but…I’m not that worried about myself. If that makes sense. I don’t want Locke to be hurt or dead, but I’m not that upset that he’s gone. I don’t miss him.” She paused. “He’s my husband and I don’t miss him,” she said, realizing the truth of her words as she spoke them. “Oh, that’s awful.”

            “I’d say that depends on the husband,” Oriana said dryly. She paused by the new red rosebush. It really was beautiful, Taryn thought, lush and healthy and crowded with sweet-smelling blooms. “I know you loved him, Taryn,” she said in a low voice, “but he wasn’t a good husband. I could see that. We all could.”

            Taryn stared at her in horror, heat rising to her face. “So you’re saying that everyone knew my marriage wasn’t going to work out and no one said anything to me?”

            Oriana stared back, unflinching. “And if anyone had said anything,” she said evenly, “would you have listened?”

            “Maybe not,” said Taryn in a small voice. Then: “Probably not.”

            “Sometimes we have to make our own mistakes.” Oriana softened this last statement with a sigh. “I too hope Locke isn’t dead,” she said. “But if he doesn’t come back…it might be no bad thing for you, Taryn. You’ll have your own house, and control over all the wealth and estates. You’ll have control over your own life.”

            “Not if Madoc has anything to say about it,” Taryn said before she could stop herself.

            “So just ignore him,” said Oriana simply. “That’s what I do.”

            A burst of laughter escaped Taryn at this. She stopped, caught Oriana’s eye, and then they both started laughing.

            “Mother, you’re impossible!” Taryn gasped.

            “I prefer to think of myself as inimitable.” Oriana’s eyes twinkled. “And honestly, Taryn, you might not have to worry too much about Locke. He might have simply become tired of Court life and gone away to seek adventure. That’s what his father did.”

            “He did?” Taryn realized that she knew nothing about Locke’s father.

            “Yes.” Oriana sighed, sobering further. “He was a wild fey who fell in love with Liriope, Locke’s mother. He stayed here at Court awhile for her sake, but in the end…he left her.”

            “When she was pregnant?” Taryn’s hand rose to her abdomen.

            “I’m afraid so. He was wild, and he was feckless. Much like his son.” Oriana looked at Taryn solemnly. “Taryn, if Locke has left as his father did…there’s a strong possibility that he won’t ever come back. Not for your sake or…anyone else’s.”

            Was it just Taryn’s imagination, or did Oriana’s eyes flick down to her abdomen? Taryn made her hand fall away and flick at the red rosebush instead. “Well,” she said, “even if he doesn’t, that’s still better than him being dead.”

            “Indeed.” Oriana paused to sniff one of the red rose blooms. “Lovely. Let’s go back in, Taryn. I daresay we can buy off Madoc from trying to get you to come home if I say I’ll spend tonight here with you…”

            “Yes, that might work…” Taryn led her stepmother back in, leaving the red rosebush to open its petals in luxurious love of the sun.

            Madoc didn’t mind at all that Oriana was spending the night at Taryn’s house. Not only was this safer for Taryn, but it gave him a chance to brief his men without fear of his wife overhearing.

            Madoc faced his assembled knights. “My son-in-law, Locke, is missing.” He was careful to say nothing incriminating, but he couldn’t stop the broad smile growing across his face. A few of the knights grinned too. “He has been gone for two days now,” Madoc continued. And, if Good Queen Mab smiles on us, he’ll be gone forever. “I want everyone to search the island for him. If you don’t find him, report back. If you do find him…” Madoc’s grin widened. “Then I have every confidence that you will handle the situation in a manner intended to maximize my daughter’s happiness and wellbeing.”

            A snigger ran through the knights. They all knew exactly what their General meant. “Yes, lord!”

            “Dismissed!” The knights filed out and Madoc sat in his battered old chair. He kicked back, propping his feet on his desk, and let out another delighted chuckle.

            What a marvelous day this had turned out to be. Everything was going so well. Locke was gone. The worthless playboy was gone! What a perfect stroke of luck! And, should the little shit actually still be alive, Madoc had just successfully given a kill order in a manner that could not be incriminating to him. If even one of his knights found the boy, they’d get rid of him quietly and discreetly and no one would think anything of it.

            It was too bad Taryn was refusing to come home…but Madoc was sure she’d come around. Widow or not, Taryn was a child still, and too young to live alone. She’d realize this in time.

            But there was another, greater hope. When Taryn had moved into Locke’s house, Madoc had naturally paid off one of the housemaids to keep an eye on his daughter and report back with any interesting developments. So far, the woman was proving a most worthwhile investment. She’d taken the opportunity, when Madoc was visiting, to give him a report. Apparently, Taryn had been meeting with a midwife. And—even more significantly—the housemaid had found sketches of baby clothes in her room.

            The thought made Madoc’s heart race with hope. He knew Taryn: she reacted to every major life event by designing outfits for it. Could she possibly be expecting? Could Locke, worthless and obnoxious in every way, possibly have had the decency to get himself killed before Madoc had to do it himself and after getting Taryn with child?

            How utterly perfect if he had.

            Madoc poured himself a glass of wine from the carafe on his desk and raised it in a solitary toast. “Here’s to the health of whoever has rid me of the boy,” he murmured, and laughed again before he drained the glass.

            The summons came as no surprise, but it was still unwelcome.

            Taryn, deadheading the roses, sighed when she saw the messenger in royal colors approaching across the garden. She sighed again when she took his rolled-up message and read it. It was Cardan, summoning her to a private audience to discuss the issue of her missing husband.

            She scanned the message quickly. She was under no suspicion of foul play, Cardan’s missive assured her, but it had been two weeks since the Master of Revels had gone missing, and it was time to settle “questions of property and inheritance”. Taryn gulped a little when she read this. Of course, it was perfectly reasonable of Cardan to summon her like this: it had been a fortnight and there was neither hide nor hoofmark of Locke anywhere. They couldn’t just leave the issue unaddressed.

            But Taryn felt a cold pit of dread in her stomach. She hated attending Court, and hated seeing Cardan more. And how would he decide her case? Would she get custody of Locke’s property, or would she and her unborn daughter be left paupers with nothing?

            On the appointed day, Taryn dressed with care, having Lynette garb her in a floor-length, dark-blue dress with a subtle silver sparkle. The current fashion called for bare shoulders; Taryn had sewn this dress with a line of black at the neckline and a silver star brooch at the breast. There was further subtle embroidery on the bodice, reminiscent of constellations and the zodiac. She wore a silver necklace and earrings in the shapes of stars and moons. Shawls were in fashion at the moment, so Taryn carried the night-sky theme over to a black shawl edged with silver. Lynette pinned up her hair with silver, diamond-headed pins and a crescent-moon ornament. There: fashionable, fancy enough for the High Court but the dark color scheme still acknowledging the serious nature of the occasion.

            Lynette dressed in a dark gray gown complementing Taryn’s ensemble and accompanied her mistress to the carriage where Oriana was already waiting, wearing a similarly sober dress. Taryn was taking Lynette and a contingent of household guards to lend her consequence and protection, and Oriana to act as chaperone. Technically, of course, as a married woman (widow?) Taryn didn’t need a chaperone, but it didn’t hurt to remind the courtiers that she had powerful allies.

            Madoc might have served that purpose, but Taryn had no desire to spend the carriage ride listening to reasons why she should move back home and what a major mistake she’d made in marrying Locke in the first place and how lucky they were the marriage had ended so quickly and painlessly. Besides, this was a family matter, not war or state policy; bringing the Grand General along would have been overkill.

            Once the carriage started moving, Taryn took a deep breath and turned to Oriana and Lynette. “This isn’t how I’d have chosen to tell you,” she said in a low voice, “but I’ll have to tell the King, and I’d rather tell you first.”

            “You’re with child!” Lynette blurted out.

            Taryn had to grin, a bit sheepishly. “Yes. I suppose it’s obvious.”

            “This is wonderful, Taryn.” Oriana did not look surprised, but she reached out to take Taryn’s hand, beaming hard. “Wonderful for you and for the whole family.” No one mentioned Locke. “We will have to throw a feast to celebrate!”

            “Throw one after the child’s born,” Taryn said, still grinning. “It’s a girl, by the way.”

            “Have you thought of a name yet?” Lynette asked eagerly.

            “We’ll see,” said Taryn, though she thought she already knew what name she’d choose.

            “Marvelous.” A tear gleamed in Oriana’s eye. “My girl, a mother. And this will make quite a difference in your case too,” she added on a more practical note. “The High King surely cannot deny your daughter her inheritance.”

            Taryn thought of Cardan’s capricious bullying, of what he’d done to Jude, and thought he was perfectly capable of doing just that. But she held her tongue as their carriage rolled toward the Palace of Elfhame.

            Once inside, Taryn braced herself. It was bad enough being a human at the High Court, but Taryn had been surrounded by scandal from the moment she and her sisters had been brought here. Her husband disappearing was only the latest piece of gossip. And lately, being at the Palace and the Court served to remind Taryn of Jude. Of what Taryn had done to Jude, her own sister. And then what Cardan had done to her.

            Shame and self-consciousness warred inside Taryn Duarte as she made her way through the crowded halls of the High Court, followed by whispers and flicking eyes. She kept her emotions hidden, holding her head high. She would not be intimidated.

            To distract herself, she snuck peeks at the courtiers’ outfits as she passed. Clothes were always therapy, even when they were being worn by someone else.

             Unfortunately, the male courtiers were all following their new High King in terms of fashion. There were many gaping shirts showing men’s chests, a lot of flamboyantly-cut black velvet and sweeping cloaks in bright colors. Makeup and nail polish abounded, as did incredibly ostentatious jewelry in unspeakably tacky settings. Taryn tried not to wince.

             At least the ladies were looking good. Taryn really admired the new sweeping sleeves and the way each ensemble had a theme. She even saw a few of her own creations, scattered here and there. Lady Taracand was sporting an autumn leaves-themed dress Taryn had designed for her. Taracand spotted Taryn and, to Taryn’s surprise, smiled and swept her a curtsy, showing off her long, full skirts. Taryn smiled back and nodded. Taracand straightened, swishing her skirts and smirking at the ripple of murmurs that sounded.

            The interaction warmed Taryn’s heart, and it was a little easier to compose herself and enter the Small Reception Chamber.

            Taryn and Oriana left Lynette and the guards outside. They stepped inside, curtsied, came forward, and curtsied again.

            “Your Majesty,” they chorused.

            High King Cardan sat on his throne, regarding them. He was nearly alone—which, for a High King, meant he had only a few dozen guards, a single servant and only several courtiers, as well as a scribe standing at the ready with quill and ink. His crown slanted at an insouciant angle on his noble head. He was dressed just as garishly as his male courtiers—more so, in fact—and Taryn was glad she’d already been acclimated, so she didn’t have to fight so hard not to wince.

            “Welcome,” said the High King. “You may rise.”

            Taryn and Oriana rose but kept their hands clasped and their eyes down. Taryn for one had no desire to look Cardan in the eye. Since his ascension to the throne, Taryn and Cardan had maintained a courteous but chilly distance with one another, a distance not bridged at all by Locke’s appointment as Master of Revels. Their history of childhood torment stood between them—and then there was the matter of Jude.

             No, Taryn and Cardan were not friends and never would be, but they had refrained from outright antagonism. So far. Would that change today?

             Cardan got right down to business. “Your husband, Lady Taryn, has been missing for two weeks now. Have you found any sign of him? Any messages, perhaps?”

             “No, my King,” Taryn murmured, eyes still downcast.

             “A pity,” said Cardan, and this made Taryn blink because Cardan didn’t sound like he thought it was a pity. On the contrary, his tone was both brisk and disinterested, as though he wanted to get this dull business over and done with. “You will inform us if you do find him. And naturally, if my agents find any sign, we will inform you.”

             “Of course, my King.” Privately, Taryn wondered at Cardan’s tone of utter indifference. She didn’t expect him to have any feelings toward her, of course, but hadn’t Locke been his friend? His best friend? Even if relations between them had been strained of late, shouldn’t Cardan show just a little concern over Locke’s fate?

             Cardan took a sip of wine from his jeweled goblet. “According to custom and practice,” he continued, “you will continue to be considered Locke’s lawful wife for the next seven years. If he fails to return before that time, you shall officially be his widow and free to remarry should you choose. You shall, of course, retain title and use of his properties and monies as either his wife or his widow. My scribe has written out the deed.” He nodded at the scribe, who handed Taryn a scroll bound with black ribbon.

            “Your generosity is great, my King.” Taryn bit back a smile as she took the scroll. Relief was washing through her in waves, and joy. She officially had full access to all of Locke’s wealth. She could stay on the estate. This was the best she could have hoped for.

            “I’m glad you think so.” To Taryn’s surprise, there was a hint of genuine warmth and pleasure in Cardan’s voice. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Lady Taryn?”

            Taryn looked up then, facing the High King full on. “I am with child, Your Majesty. I carry Locke’s daughter and heiress.”

             A ripple ran through the watching courtiers. Cardan lifted an elegant eyebrow. “Well. Congratulations. I trust it is cause for congratulations?”

             “Indeed, my King.” Involuntarily, Taryn smiled. “I am most content.”

             Cardan stared at her a moment, his expression intense but hard to read. Was it yearning? Sadness? But all he said was, “This certainly adds another legal angle. I’ll have my scribe and Seneschal draw up a document ensuring that your daughter is named your legal heir, and Locke’s as well.”

            Taryn curtsied, still holding the deed. “That is all I could have hoped for, Your Majesty.”

            Cardan stared at her another moment. The jeweled fingers of his left hand tapped the armrest of his throne, restless and fidgeting. “Leave us,” he ordered suddenly. “I must speak with Lady Taryn alone.”

             Alarm jabbed at Taryn as the guards and courtiers started filing out. She shot a desperate glance at Oriana, who widened her eyes but could put up no resistance as she was gently but firmly ushered out. Taryn caught a glimpse of the crowded hall outside before the door shut and she was alone with Cardan.

            The small room was suffocatingly quiet. Palms sweating, Taryn stood rigid and stared at the floor.

            At last Cardan spoke. “Have you heard anything from your sister Jude lately, Taryn?”

            Taryn was so startled that her gaze jerked up and she met the High King’s eyes. He was staring at her more intensely than ever, his eyes like daggers, pinning her in place.

            “N-no,” Taryn stammered out at last. “I haven’t. My King.”

            She remembered the last time she’d seen her twin sister. The wild claims Jude had made, of marriage and queenship. The jeering fun the courtiers had made of her. How Cardan had exiled her to the human world, ridding himself of his puppet master.

            Everyone had called Jude Duarte a liar for saying she was married to Cardan and was the new High Queen, but Taryn had her doubts. Not that Jude wasn’t an excellent liar—but part of what made Jude such a good liar was that her lies were plausible. Her marrying Cardan and becoming High Queen was such a bizarre, far-fetched lie that it didn’t seem like a lie at all.

            Was she telling the truth? Taryn wanted to ask now. Is Jude actually your wife and the High Queen? Is that why you’ve been so generous to me? Because I’m really your sister-in-law? Or because you feel guilty?

            Taryn was not stupid enough to say any of this aloud.

             Cardan sat silent, staring at her a long moment. Then he moved.

             So fast he was a blur, the High King of Faerie jumped up and grabbed Taryn’s wrist in a vice-like grip. Taryn didn’t even have time to flinch. She stood frozen with terror in the High King’s grasp.

             “You’d better not be lying to me,” Cardan spat out.

             “I-I-I’m not!” Taryn was stammering with fear and desperation. “I swear! I haven’t heard anything from Jude!”

             Cardan glared at her for another heart-stopping moment. “If you do hear from her,” he said at last, hard and low, “you will tell me immediately. Me and me alone. Do you understand, Taryn?”

              “Y-yes.” Taryn hardly knew what she was agreeing to. She was just desperate to get away. “Of—of course, my King.”

              Cardan held her wrist and her gaze a few seconds longer before finally letting go. Taryn stumbled back, massaging her wrist, gulping air. Her heart thundered.

              “Go,” the High King said. “Our audience is complete. You will receive the deed of inheritance as soon as it’s completed.”

              Taryn gave a shaky curtsy and backed out of the royal presence. The doors to the receiving chamber closed before her. She stood shaking, unable to turn around.

              “Taryn?” A soft hand on her shoulder. Taryn turned to see Oriana’s anxious face, Lynette hovering behind her. “Are you all right? What happened?”

              Taryn straightened her shoulders and took a deep, steadying breath. She could tell no one of what Cardan had said, what he had demanded. The High King had made that perfectly clear. “Nothing,” she said. “Our audience is complete and I should be receiving the inheritance deed soon. Let’s go home.”

              Neither Oriana nor Lynette looked convinced, but they let Taryn lead them back toward the carriage. Walking through the Palace a little faster than was her usual wont, Taryn couldn’t stop thinking of what Cardan had said. The look in his eyes when he had spoken Jude’s name.

             Taryn prayed to whatever deity might be listening that Jude would remain in exile in the human world, away from Cardan. That she would be safe, wherever she was. That she would never try to contact Taryn.

              But even if she did, Taryn knew she would never tell Cardan, whatever his orders.

              She’d betrayed Jude enough times already.

              A few weeks later, it was another beautiful day.

              Taryn and Oriana sat in the rose garden, sewing the layette for the baby. Oriana stitched lace onto a tiny baby gown. Taryn was embroidering around the edges of a soft white baby blanket. The sun beamed down around them, the birds sang, and Taryn had a plate of buttery blackberry tarts.

               She took one up and ate it, eyes closed. “Mmm.”

               “You’re going to get crumbs on your work.” Oriana scolded without heat. “And how many blackberry tarts can you eat, anyway?”

               “I don’t know. I just want them all the time.” Taryn ate another. Still chewing, she brushed crumbs off the blanket. “Mistress Mushroom says it’s food cravings. It’s normal.” Her hand touched her abdomen, only just starting to swell with the coming child.

               Oriana’s eyes softened at the sight. “Yes. We’ve got to feed our little girl, haven’t we?” She took another stitch, lace trailing over her hand. “Has Madoc spoken to you about coming home?”

               Taryn rolled her eyes. “Yes. Just last night, in fact.”

               “And what did you say?” Oriana’s pink eyes twinkled.

               “I said I’d consider it,” Taryn smirked.

              “Well, consideration is a virtue,” Oriana said gravely, and both women snickered.

              Taryn found her gaze drawn to the red rosebush, its blossoms waving lazily in the breeze. Where had it come from? It had simply sprouted up, appearing out of nowhere, the night Locke disappeared.

               Locke. With a jolt of guilt, Taryn realized this was the first time in a week that she’d given any thought to the father of her child. Locke was gone, and no one ever even mentioned him. No one cared. Even Cardan seemed far more interested in exiled, disgraced Jude than in the fate of his supposed best friend.

               Taryn shivered, remembering her interview with Cardan. What had happened between Jude and Cardan? What had happened, to light such a fire of obsession in Cardan’s eyes? Taryn found she did not want to think too much about it. Better to leave the matter alone. In fact, better never to mention Jude to anyone, not even her parents. Taryn would do nothing that might draw those blazing black eyes onto her sister.

               And if that meant never seeing Jude again—if it meant her sister would never forgive her—then so be it. It was what Taryn deserved, after what she’d done to Jude.

               Taryn imagined Jude, safe on the Ironside. She hoped Jude was safe, anyway. She hoped Jude had moved on, found meaning in her new life. Maybe even found a new relationship. Taryn smiled, thinking of Jude happy in the human world with a new partner, maybe even a child.

                I hope you find happiness, Jude. You deserve it, after all that’s happened.

               The wind blew, sending the intoxicating scent of roses over the women. Taryn watched the miraculous red roses nod in the breeze. Then, taking up red thread, she began to embroider a perfect red rose on the corner of her daughter’s blanket.