The Unmaking (The Last Days of Tian Di, #2)(59)

The garden was Illusion, though well done, but the birds were real, captured by Tariro’s servants from an island in the Far Sea. Their song was exquisite, their feathers far brighter and softer than any of the birds in the west. He thought he would like a coat made of such feathers and wondered if there was some way he could ask her for more birds. He would write her a letter, reassuring her that Cadeyrn was indeed moving up as quickly as was seemly, and include a subtle hint of how lovely such a coat would be. Perhaps a poem of thanks, with a line about how the birds wore feathered coats beyond what could be dreamed of in the humble Faery Court. Yes, she was clever, she would pick up on that.

He left the Illusion of the garden intact, hoping he would have time to return later. A path appeared under his feet and he followed it downhill into a valley of towering ash-grey trees whose pale branches reached towards a stormy white sky. Wind lashed the trees but did not touch Alvar. Victims of Malferio’s insane purges were bound to the trees by silver chains. They hung their heads or shouted Curses they could not complete or moaned into the wind. Alvar walked among them, as he did every day. Some of them were old friends but he did not meet their eyes. He could do nothing for them now. He walked here as a reminder. As a warning.

The sky flashed and shook and the trees groaned, their pale, leafless fingers shuddering. Something was moving further in among the trees. Alvar reached for his sword. No, it must have been a trick of the light, the wind throwing shadows. There was no one here. He walked further and then froze. There was a sound on the wind like a bright, ringing laugh. He saw the flash of a cloak moving behind one of the trees in the distance.

“Show yourself!” he called. Again he heard the echo of sweet laughter, like a girl’s. He peered among the trees and the hanging bodies of old comrades. There, again, too quick for him to be sure – gleaming hair, a swirling robe.

And a voice behind him. “Alvar.”

Witchery. He did not turn around. How could there be a witch loose in the Traitor’s Wood? He should summon the Faery Guard at once, but....

“Wait,” said a voice in his ear, a voice he knew.

She stepped out from behind a tree several paces away.

“Wait, Alvar. Hear me out before you act.”

She was as beautiful as ever. So lovely that his heart seemed to stumble and pause. Her cloak was silver-white, her satin dress a brilliant green flecked with gold, like her eyes. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in shining curls and the look on her face was caught somewhere between pleading and laughter.

“It would be treason to speak with you,” he said. “I could find myself hanging from one of these trees.”

Nia looked around and shuddered. “I don’t know why you come here; it’s very morbid of you. But you won’t end up this way, Alvar. You’re far too clever. And if you listen to me, everything might be different.” She paused, her smile trembling slightly. “No more Traitor’s Wood.”

“If I am so clever,” said Alvar, “why have I not yet summoned the Guard?”

Nia shook her head. “I am a match for all of you now, Alvar. You should hear what I’ve come to say.”

The trees swayed and the wind screamed around them, touching neither. Alvar felt strangely calm. So, Nia had come. To him. There were only two possibilities now. Malferio and the Faeries would destroy her at last or she would destroy Malferio. And he, Alvar, would fall with one or rise with the other. If he spoke to Nia now, his life would depend upon her success. Centuries ago he had been a member of a secret society in favour of assassinating the King and his dangerous Queen. The society had never gained the support it needed for an undertaking so vast as the murder of another Faery and it was disbanded altogether once Nia left the realm and the worst of the purges were over. The fact that Alvar was still free and in a position of prominence showed that the King did not know of the society. The fact that Nia was here now suggested that perhaps she did. Or perhaps she only knew that the thought of her death, even when he had worked for it, had always grieved him. Perhaps she knew he had seen nothing lovelier in all his thousands of years than the flash of her eyes.

Alvar had done terrible things in his life, things he took no pride in. But he could never be called a coward. It had come to this and he was glad.

“Come,” he said, and held out his hand. The relief on her face was plain. As she came closer he saw around her neck Chiranjivi’s Mirror, the gift of Faery Immortality to a mortal, and a shining vial that, he knew, contained Malferio’s blood. Her hand in his was soft and warm. A sandy path opened among the trees and they took it out of the wood, which fell away behind them. They emerged under a gentle sky, rose-coloured, tinged with gold. Emerald waves lapped against the sandy shore. Behind them chrysanthemums bloomed, heavy-headed on their stems.

“Very pretty,” said Nia. She looked up at him coyly through a fringe of dark gold lashes. “You called me Queen once. Does that seem funny, now?”

“Not funny,” said Alvar, but he smiled. “How did you find us?”

She frowned. “Don’t insult me. I’m not a fool and neither are you. That’s why I came to see you first. The allegiance of the Faery Guard is yours, Alvar. You carry a great deal of influence. Others will listen to you. You have to make my case for me.”

“I thought you were a match for all of us.”

“There’s no need for an all-out war. I have no grudge against the Faeries. In fact, I’m rather fond of Faeries. But I have a matter to settle with your king. Whether the Faeries rally around him or not, I will destroy him. If you can persuade the Faery Lords to overthrow him, it will all be very simple. If not, I will have my way in the end anyway, but I will count you in particular my enemy.”