nations. Peace, even. '
'Would you have responded so positively if our strength had not increased? Our defences? Our ability to challenge you for the first time?' Elizabeth asked.
Walsingham winced; the words were too bald, and he was afraid they would only drive the Enemy into an unnecessary confrontation.
The Faerie Queen's eyes flickered towards Dee. 'You have gained a great deal indeed under the auspices of your wise and honourable counsel. ' Smiling, she gave Dee a respectful bow. He nodded in return.
'I feared you would use this opportunity to attack us,' Elizabeth stated.
The comment stung the Faerie Queen. 'We are an honourable people. '
'You can afford to be,' Elizabeth responded.
'Now!' Walsingham called.
From their hiding places in covered trenches, the fifty-strong army rose up as one, their pitch-covered arrows ablaze in an instant. As Elizabeth's guards rapidly guided her away from danger, the soldiers fired into the mass of startled Enemy. Many caught ablaze, their cries terrible to hear. Others retreated in the face of the onslaught.
A small group of soldiers grabbed the Faerie Queen and dragged her to Dee, who forced the contents of a small phial into her mouth. As her eyes flickered shut, the Enemy attempted to reach her, but the English soldiers blocked their path and drove them back with more arrows. The Enemy retreated into the slight indentation in the grassy ground next to the standing stones. Walsingham could see they were already preparing an assault that would no doubt be devastating.
The thin covering on the ground gave way beneath their feet and they plunged into a gaping hole, one of the pits the local tinners had used for lodeback work. The mine was not deep, but it would serve the purpose.
From their hiding place, the soldiers dragged the barrels of pitch and sulphur, setting them alight and flinging them into the pit one after the other. The screams that rose up would haunt all present for the rest of their days.
When the flames soared so high the soldiers were forced to back away from the edge, the dreadful cries finally died away.
Shielding his eyes from the blaze, Walsingham announced to Elizabeth, 'You said you dreamed of a warm fire.'
'Enough!' she said with restrained fury. 'This night has blackened the history of England! Oh, how can I live with the memory of our treachery!'
Chastened, Walsingham replied, 'The ends will justify the means.' He gestured to the unconscious Faerie Queen, her wrists and ankles now bound under Dee's direction. 'She will be our prisoner for all time, locked away at the top of the Lantern Tower where she will serve as the crux of Dees magical defences for our country. The Enemy will be kept at bay, their power muted.'
Elizabeth did not appear convinced.
'This dark night will fade against the golden days that lie ahead,' Walsingham pressed. 'England ... finally free of the grip of an Enemy that has hounded our people for sport, slaughtered them, mutilated them, defiled their lives, and spoiled their dreams. The English people have always deserved peace, and now they will get it. '
'I do not share your conviction, Lord Walsingham. ' She glanced back at the burning pit and then quickly averted her gaze. 'I fear this night will echo down the years forever, and none of us will know sleep.'
CHAPTER 62
or a moment, Will was convinced he could smell smoke on the wind, but it was just the enchantment of Deortha's words.
'You understand now,' Deortha concluded.
In his pale eyes, Will saw the depth of emotion, and understood so much that had troubled him: what was kept in the room at the top of the Lantern Tower; why the Unseelie Court had risked so much to attack the Palace of Whitehall, and why they needed the Shield as protection when they unleashed the Silver Skull's plague; the comments Cavillex had made in Edinburgh about Dartmoor; and why the Enemy was so determined to destroy England.
'This madness will never end,' Will said. 'Each atrocity drives worse from the opponent in a spiral of horror.'
'It will end,' Deortha said firmly, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
'No one can win,' Will pressed. 'There is no good here, no evil. Everything is tarnished. Do we even remember why we fight?'
'We remember.'
'We continue this war, then, like the dogs tearing chunks off each other in the pits in the inn-yards of Bankside?' His bitterness made the words catch in his throat.
'What your kind did that night can never be forgotten, or forgiven,' Deortha said coldly.
'And what you did to England for generation upon generation-'
'Then you understand fully. There can be no peace. We are too much alike.'
Will felt as desolate as the dark landscape stretching out into the night.
'There is worse to come,' Deortha continued. 'Cavillex's death is a bitter blow to the High Family, which has already suffered greatly in this conflict. His brothers and sister burn with the desire for vengeance. Your nation will soon fear the heat of their response.'
'It never ends,' Will said to himself. 'Then grant my request. Help my friend and let them take me and punish me for their brother's death.'
For the first time, Deortha's laughter was filled with clear contempt. 'You think you are a fair exchange for a member of the High Family? If all your countryfolk were put to death, and your nation burned to the ground, it still would not make amends. You mean ... nothing.'
Will set his jaw. 'Then you will not help me?'
Deortha considered for a moment and then said, 'I will help.' His smile chilled Will.
'The conditions?'
'You must make a choice. Aid for your friend ... or an answer to the mystery that consumes your nature: what happened to your lost love.'
Will was stunned, not only that Deortha had offered such a dilemma, but that he knew about jenny. The slyness around his eyes showed that he was aware exactly what effect his offer would have.
Hiding his shock, Will replied, 'Why? You refuse to take me for punishment, perhaps death, yet you gladly offer help if I make a simple choice?'
'Choose.'
He could see Deortha revelling in the agonies that consumed him. Knowing the truth about jenny had been the only thing that mattered for so long, it consumed him, drove him on to do everything he did; how could he turn has back on what might be his only chance? Yet how could he knowingly consign Nathaniel to the horrors of Bedlam? He saw the elegant cruelty in Deortha's dilemma: either answer had the potential to destroy him, not in sudden brutality at the hands of the High Family, but gradually, over years, with a slow magnification of pain that would eventually consume him. He was responsible for Nathaniel's suffering. He was responsible for never knowing the truth that would finally give him peace.
'I choose ... my friend,' he snapped.
'Very well.' The triumph in Deortha's face sickened Will. 'There are worse things than death,' Deortha continued wryly, as though he knew the phrase had been uttered before. 'For the rest of your days, you will be haunted by the knowledge of this night, as we are haunted by the knowledge of that other night. You could have solved the mystery that wrenches your heart. You could have found the one answer that will allow you to sleep at
