The man looked Sela's way. When his thread sprang up she leapt at it, dragged at it. He looked at her, bewildered for a moment, then smiled.
'Ah, whom have we here?' he said. Sela felt Perrine's thread go purpleblack. It stung, but she ignored it, smiling.
'Sir,' she said.
'Perrine,' said the man, 'you are first in my heart, of course, but I would very much like to get to know this new friend of yours.'
'Of course, Guildsman Heron.' Perrine seethed.
Heron took a silver khoum from his pocket and pressed it into Perrine's hand. 'You're a treasure, my dear.'
Sela smiled and took Heron's hand. To Obin, she said, 'Where shall I take him?'
'Upstairs, second on the left,' said Obin. 'Everything you need is in the room already.'
Sela nodded. 'Thank you.'
They went upstairs without a word. Sela found the room Obin had indicated, and they went inside. There was a bed and a small table upon which were laid out a bowl, a candle, a packet of herbs, and a stoppered glass bottle.
'I trust your preparation is of adequate strength,' said Heron, removing his cape. 'I prefer an intense level of connection.'
'You won't be disappointed, love,' said Sela. She unstoppered the bottle and poured its contents into the bowl, then mixed in the herbs. The potion shimmered momentarily. It was an Insight preparation, similar to icthula, but with a decidedly different purpose.
Heron undressed while Sela prepared the draught. He climbed into the bed, and the bedsprings rattled beneath him.
'I'm ready, ready, ready,' he said. His thread, bloodred flecked with brown, throbbed.
'Almost there, dear,' said Sela.
She knelt on the bed and brought the bowl to his lips. He drank and lay back, impatient. She lifted the bowl and pretended to drink.
'Now come here and give us a kiss,' he said.
Sela placed the bowl on the bed and leaned down toward him. She put her hands in his hair, ran her fingernails down his cheeks. He sighed happily, the effects of the potion beginning to affect him.
Heron's eyes closed. Sela took a small knife from her bodice and drew it across his neck. His eyes opened wide. He tried to speak, but only managed a thick gurgling sound. He pawed at her, grabbed at her hair and yanked at it.
'You're not real,' said Sela.
Once she was certain he was dead, she stood and walked out of the room.
Indirect problems require indirect solutions.
-Fae proverb
ilverdun maintained consciousness as his captors dragged him roughly town the stairs and outside. He felt the sun on his face, but his vision was blurred; he saw only blue sky and moving shadows. He was lifted into the back of a closed wagon, and presently the wagon began to move.
With each bounce over the rough cobblestones, Silverdun's wrist shot pain up his arm. One of the guardsmen had bandaged it, and the bandage was already wet with blood. That deep, deep red blood. The light in Annwn, its red sun? Silverdun shuddered; his body wanted to die, but Silverdun refused to allow it. He'd never experienced anything similar.
The wagon turned, and its wheels rolled onto smooth stones. Silverdun smelled hay and horse dung. He tried to sit up and made it to his elbows. Ironfoot was slumped next to him. His eyes were open, and he looked back at Silverdun.
They were pulled from the wagon and carried inside a cool place that reeked of urine. There were calls and shouts. Silverdun was placed on a straw mat on a dirty stone floor, and he heard Ironfoot grunt next to him. There was the sound of metal on metal. Silverdun raised his head again. He and Ironfoot were in a small jail cell. He closed his eyes and slept, despite the pain from his wrist. A little while later he came awake and felt something cool and soothing on his right hand. He looked over to see someone, an old woman, applying a salve to the stump of his wrist.
'Surprised he's not dead,' said the witch.
Silverdun almost wished he were.
Perrin is studying for his fifth-year exams when a message sprite alights on
