night. Perhaps you could even have brought your love back to you.'
'Enjoy your small victory,' Will said. 'What I have achieved for my friend is worth my own suffering.'
'At this moment,' Deortha agreed. 'In a week's time? A year's? At the end of your days, lying on your deathbed, knowing your entire life has been wasted by the never-knowing?' He shook his head.
'You think you know our ways so well,' Will replied. 'But you do not understand hope. I have hope that I will find my jenny, and I will do everything I can to bring that about.'
'Exactly.' He smiled one more time, and then motioned for Will to wait. At some point Will could not define, he disappeared from view, and when he returned he held a small phial. 'Give this to your friend. One drop, on the tongue. He will forget his contact with the flame of our being, and he will recover. And should it happen again,' he added knowingly, 'administer one more drop. It will only work for him.'
Taking the phial, Will held it tight in his palm, afraid Deortha was going to snatch it back once he had finished his taunting.
'You make all your choices with such a poor vision,' Deortha said. 'You see a week ahead, at best a year. We are long-lived. Our plans move cautiously over years, decades, generations. Connections that are invisible to you fall into relief only when seen from our perspective. You cannot fight us when your reactions to our schemes are based only on the here and now. Who is to say that the things you do are not aiding us? That everything you consider a victory is only a step we expected and factored in to our plans, leading inexorably to our ultimate victory?' He nodded and added pointedly, 'Enjoy this moment.'
Weighing Deortha's words, Will looked down at the phial in his hand, and when he looked up the Unseelie Court was gone. Yet something glinted in the grass in the moonlight, a meaningless object Deortha had dropped in the warm glow of his cruel victory.
For a moment, Will stared at it, barely believing, and then he plucked it up and made his way back across the moor.
CHAPTER 63
he stage was set, the players ready in costumes of green and gold and scarlet, trying on their expressions for a good fit, their true selves long since forgotten. Yet their private conversations carried subtle, conflicting notes. The dress rehearsal was a pivotal point, the end of the prelude. They were filled with the apprehension of how their performances would be received, yet also jubilant at a new start filled with possibilities.
The yard at the Bull Inn was flooded with early morning sun and crisscrossed with cooling shadows cast by the pennants that had been strung haphazardly from window to window overhead. They were only one of many marks of celebration at the news still coming in of the wrecking of Spanish ships in storms all around the northern coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland.
All yawns and lazy smiles, doxies hung from windows to watch the players run through their final preparations. Scents of honeysuckle and rosewater mingled with the sour aroma of beer drifting from the shadowy interior of the inn.
Leaning against the cool stone in the shade, his arms folded, Will watched the proceedings. It was going to be a hot day.
Marlowe sauntered over in a brighter mood than Will had seen him in for a long while. He was accompanied by a young man who shyly left before he was introduced to the great hero of England.
'One of yours?' Will nodded to the players running through their lines.
'A shine on the speeches here and there. Nothing more.' A dismissive shrug. 'I am filled with passion for a greater work. The one we spoke of? A man who makes a deal with the Devil for rewards which only prove fleeting.'
A chill ran through Will, but it quickly dissipated in the summer warmth. 'I am sure it will be well received, Kit.'
Shielding his eyes, Marlowe studied the players approvingly. 'I feel better times lie ahead, Will. With the Spanish so roundly defeated. The Enemy pushed back once more. We can get on with our own lives, and there is much I wish to do with mine. Great plays to write. I see years of productive activity lying ahead.' Embarrassed, he looked to Will and laughed. 'You will think me an impostor.'
'I am glad your spirits are high. You deserve some pleasure.' Will watched Marlowe's young friend squeezing into a dress before he made his entrance on stage; a role upon a role upon a role. 'I will speak with Walsingham,' he added, 'and smooth this disagreement that lies between you.'
'No one has any control over Walsingham.'
'I do.' Will ignored Marlowe's probing gaze; he was still considering how to use the information he had gained from Dartmoor, and how far he could go with it before he became a liability.
They were interrupted by a carriage thundering into the inn-yard. Onlookers scattered as it came to a halt near the stage, much to the annoyance of the players. Nathaniel climbed out and then offered a hand to Grace.
Marlowe flashed Will a glance.
'He is well,' Will said, but offered nothing more.
Two players involved in a furious argument dragged Marlowe away to give them better lines, and he left Will with a wink. Will was pleased to see him at peace; he hoped it would last.
His troubled emotions surfaced thick and fast as he watched Nathaniel and Grace approach, fear of what lay ahead for both of them and doubts about whether he could continue to fulfil his vows and keep them safe. Briefly, he wondered if he was like the Unseelie Court, a too-hot flame that burned all those who came close. But for now they were safe, and after the threat that had hovered over them, that was a victory he could cherish.
'The end of a long night, or the beginning of a long day?' Nathaniel eyed Will and then the open door to the inn.
'Neither, Nat. I am enjoying the sun and the peace of a day away from my duties.'
Nathaniel made a disbelieving face. 'The Spanish defeated, the country in the mood for celebration, and you are not already three drinks ahead? Something is amiss.'
'There is time enough for that. I have been contemplating hiring a new assistant. The old one has a sharp tongue and I feel he mocks me when my back is turned.'
'To your front only,' Nathaniel said indignantly. 'I am not a spy-I am open in my ways.'
'And we are all thankful for that, Nat,' Grace said warmly. 'No news of Jenny?' she asked Will hopefully. She paused, her brow wrinkling as she struggled with the gap in her memory. 'Have I asked you this recently?'
He smiled. 'No, not recently. Do not worry, Grace. The physician says the blow to your head has left you in good health, if a few memories short. You will soon make new ones. And the answer to your question is, not yet. But I continue my endeavours.'
'It warms me that your love for my sister was so strong it still burns brightly even after she has gone. But sooner or later you must let someone else into your life, Will. You deserve warmth, and comfort, and your love returned by a good woman.'
I deserve Jenny, he thought.
His smile and a nod were enough for her. Pleased, she took her leave and went to tease Marlowe who was caught in a huddle of bickering players.
'You will break her heart, Will,' Nathaniel cautioned.
'What do I do, Nat? I must protect her from harm. I cannot keep her at arm's length to do that. She mistakes my care for love and will not hear any different.'
'She may be right, though. She loves you-'
Will's cautionary glare stopped him in his tracks.
