Shadow Hand (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #6)(88)



Even as she spoke, her voice was nearly drowned out by Nidawi’s screech of, “GIVE HIM TO ME, OR I WILL REND YOU!”

“Here’s the thing, Imraldera, old girl.” Eanrin shrugged as casually as though he remarked on the fineness of the weather. “I’m a Faerie man, born and bred, so to speak, and I’ll trust a Faerie’s word sooner than a mortal’s most any day. That’s a Faerie out there, and an angry one if I’m not mistaken—”

“REND YOU, I SAY!”

“Granted, we’re a temperamental lot as a rule,” Eanrin added. “But we don’t usually offer rendings unless provoked. So I suggest, before this Faerie lass and her toothy companion begin an assault on our doorstep, we’d best find out what they want him for.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Imraldera, her face and voice tense. “He is our guest, and he is wounded. Wait at least until he heals—Eanrin! Where are you going?”

For the cat-man had turned on heel and now strode from the room, his red cloak flapping behind him. Cursing under her breath, Imraldera hurried after and caught up just as he opened the front entrance of the Haven and looked out into the Wood.

“Very well, renders all!” he called in his merriest voice. “Come plead your case, and we’ll see who is rending whom tonight.”

Immediately the great white lioness leapt into the space before the door, her whole face and body twisted with a terrible roar. Eanrin watched through half-closed eyes, his arms folded even as Imraldera startled and ducked behind him, trembling, though she was no coward.

When Lioness had finished her piece, Nidawi appeared. She was a child still, wild and sexless, flashing teeth as vicious as the lion’s, if not more so. “Exactly!” she cried. “Everything she said and more!”

“Well, that’s not very friendly, tearing limbs asunder and so forth,” the poet-cat replied blandly. “And I’m certainly not going to stand by and watch you do it—”

“Thank you,” Imraldera whispered.

“—unless, of course, you have good reason, in which case all options will be considered.”

Imraldera smacked his shoulder, which served only to broaden his grin.

Nidawi stared up at him, her eyes as wide and feral as Lioness’s, panting fast in her ire. Then she drew herself up and became a tall queen, beautiful and severe, strong and sorrowful. Both Eanrin and Imraldera were surprised by this, and even Eanrin took a step back. He felt Imraldera grab hold of his arm, her fingers warm, her body near and trembling with something other than fright.

“I am Nidawi the Everblooming, Queen of Tadew-That-Was,” said the Faerie woman. Her hair grew thick about her face, moving as though with its own life as flowers twined green shoots through the tangles, blooming and fading in moments. “That creature you harbor within your walls murdered my people.”

“What? All of them?” Eanrin said, his eyebrows up.

“All of them,” said she. She extended a long arm, strangely muscular for her femininity, and her fingernails were long like claws and tipped with Sun Eagle’s blood. “Murdered my people and razed my demesne until nothing is left that is green or growing, and I am alone.” Her hand was palm up, as though expecting a gift or an offering. “His blood is mine. Send him out to me.”

“No,” said Imraldera fiercely. “You’ll not touch him!”


“Easy now, old girl,” Eanrin said, putting out a restraining hand even as Imraldera pushed past him and stood, shoulders squared and feet braced, small before the might of that terrible queen. Nidawi took a threatening step forward, and with that step her face aged, her black hair streaked with white, her eyes sank into hollows, and deep pits formed in her cheeks. But she was more terrible still, and her eyes were orange-gold in their hollows, all trace of demure shadows fled.

“I demand in the name of the Lumil Eliasul that you give him up!” she cried.

“No!” said Imraldera again. “Such is not our way or the way of our Lord. Don’t use his name lightly and expect us to concede.”

“Are you not Knights of Farthestshore?” Nidawi said. “Are you not sworn to defend the weak against the predators of the Wood?”

“Well, my dear lady,” said Eanrin, stepping forward to take hold of Imraldera’s shoulder and draw her back, for she looked as though she might fly at the powerful queen, “you certainly don’t make a great case for yourself, demanding blood vengeance one moment and protection the next. You’ve said your piece, however, and we will consider it—”

“Consider it?” The Faerie queen shrieked and tore at her own hair, her fingers ripping away the vines and flowers and leaving cuts in her scalp. “I want rest for my people! He must die, I say! Murderer! Parasite! Life-sucking leech! Send him out to me! ”

With that, she flung herself at them, her mouth gaping wide and black, her eyes too round and too huge to be human. Arms raised above her head as though she would snatch them all and tear them apart, she flew at the door, her hair streaming like white smoke behind her. Eanrin hauled Imraldera back and slammed the door in the wild woman’s face; just in time, it would seem, for she struck with such force that the whole of the Haven echoed with it. But the Haven was built for protection, and none could breach its defenses (save perhaps dragons, though that had yet to be tested).

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