Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. Eric had told Hosea that he was going to be away for the weekend and so wouldn't be available for busking, but Hosea took it in good part. He'd discovered the New York Public Library's reading room, and was spending a lot of his time there. During the week, Eric'd had a spare set of keys to the apartment made, and given Hosea the security codes, so Hosea could pretty much make his own hours. He was an early riser, often gone for the day before Eric awoke. For a man his sizeor anyone, for that matterHosea was quiet as a cat, and never disturbed Eric on his early-morning exits.
Eric dressed with particular care in his flashiest RenFaire clothes. He buckled on his sword belt, and took his sword down from the top shelf in the closet. He hadn't worn it since he'd been living in Underhill, but the elves would expect him to wear it, as a symbol of his rank. He didn't put it on, though. Swords and modern cars were an awkward combination.
Last of all, he took his flute and slipped it into his embroidered gig bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He couldn't match the Naming Gifts Maeve would be receiving from everyone in Underhill, so he hadn't bothered to try. He'd gone to FAO Schwartz and bought the biggest stuffed pink bunny he could find, and for the rest, had composed a piece in her honor. Beth would like thatit was a variation on the piece Spiral Dance had always ended their sets with, called "The Huntsman's Reel"and what better gift for a Bard to give?
Sword and flute in hand, bunny under one arm, he went down to the parking lot, where a gleaming candy-apple-red Lotus Elan awaited him. It had taken a certain amount of negotiation to get Lady Day to surrender her motorcycle form even for one day; elvensteeds could sometimes be stubborn. As a concession, he'd allowed her to pick the form, and this was what she'd chosen. It took a little work to cram the sword and the bunny into the microscopic space behind the seats, but he managed it and levered himself into the driver's seat. He almost wished she'd chosen something less conspicuous, but it ought to amuse Ria.
"Okay. Let's go," he said, and the elvensteed roared to life with the deep-throated hum of a racing engine.
Ria had offered to pick Eric up, but he elected to meet her up at the Nexus north of Manhattan instead. It was a great day for riding, and besides, on the whole, he didn't want to get into a habit of depending on her. He was still twitchy about that; the time he had spent in her father's Underhill domain as her private boy-toy was not among the moments he was particularly proud of. He headed directly for his destination, and only a few minutes after they started, Lady Day was heading over the bridge toward Sterling Forest.
It was surprising the amount of half-wild land there was so close to the city. If he hadn't known that NYC was 90 minutes away, Eric wouldn't have been able to guess from the surroundings. Sterling Forest State Park was nestled in the gently-rolling Ramapo Mountainsknown for centuries to be filled with haunted places and strange creatures, and for good reason. The Nexus lay in a copse of trees accessible only from a long-disused farm road, the farmhouse itself long abandoned, nothing left but the foundation and chimney.
Behind the house, down a gentle slope, a deer trail led into woods, deep within which lay one special grove of trees that didn't look as if they'd ever been touched by anything but wind and weather. Where there was a Nexusa power source that tied Underhill and the mortal world togetherthere was either a Gate already there, or Eric could make one easily. In this case, there was one already, a Portal that hung as a hazy curtain between two oak trees, visible only to those who had the eyes to see it. He was early; Lady Day had shut down the faux-engine noise she made as soon as they were off the main road, and they rolled up to the Gate surrounded by nothing more intrusive than the cracking of twigs under her wheels. He got out of the Lotus, looking around for Ria.
Eric didn't have long enough to wait even to wonder when Ria would get there; shortly after he and Lady Day rolled to stop, unshod hooves thudding on the turf warned him that someone was coming. Somehow he didn't think it was Ranger Rick.
Ria rode into the pocket clearing on a coal-black elvensteed with hooves and eyes of silver, dressed to the absolute nines in something silky and flowing and midnight blue. Eric didn't pay a lot of attention to high fashion, but this didn't look like anything he'd seen during glimpses of shows on the news during Fashion Week. It also wasn't High Elven as he knew it. As always, Ria was setting her own style, it seemed.
"I didn't know you had a 'steed," he said, as Lady Day shivered all over and made a transformation herselfinto a blue-eyed white horse, who stared down her long nose at Ria's mount in friendly defiance.
Ria glanced at the giant pink bunny and raised an eyebrow. "It's more appropriate to say the 'steed has me," she replied with good humor. "This is Prince Adroviel's way of keeping track of me. Oh, he's very gracious about it, but there wasn't much questionif I want to enter Elfhame Melusine, I'd better be either in your company or Etienne's, and preferably both."
"Oh." There wasn't much that Eric could gracefully say to that, so he didn't say anything at all. Ria didn't seem put outand she certainly looked fantastic, sitting up there sidesaddle on the magnificent 'steed.
"I hate being fashionably late," she said pointedly, as he got himself into Lady Day's saddle with a minimum of awkwardness. After more than a year Underhill, riding still wasn't second nature to him, but at least he wasn't as clumsy about it as he'd been when he first arrived there.
"So do I, and this should be a good party," he replied. "Do you want to key the Gate, or shall I?"
She waved her hand languidly at the shimmer of power between the trees, and he took that as answer that he should open it. It occurred to him a second later, as he whistled the little trill of music that fitted his magic into the Gate and gave it the place it should take them to, that the Prince might not have entrusted her with a key. The elvensteed could take her there, of course, but she and Eric wouldn't arrive together if it did. . . .
The shimmer brightened, then pulled aside, exactly like a curtain, revealingnothing. Not blackness, nothing. Emptier than the space between the stars, the path of a Gate had scared the whey out of him the first time he'd seen it; now he just let Lady Day take up her place beside Etienne, and the two of them passed through together.
There was a moment of cold, a faint brush against his face and hands of something like threads spun of liquid hydrogen, and they were through.
They passed instantly from broad daylight into twilight; from the wild and overgrown, untidy forest covert into truly ancient forest, the kind that must have stood in North America before Columbus, that never knew the touch of an axe. Huge trees that would have been dwarfed only by the sequoias and redwoods of California rose all around them. The ground beneath the trees, regardless of the fact that there couldn't possibly be enough light under the thick branches to support much vegetation, was covered with lush and fragrant flowers in palest pink, faintest blue, and purest white. All except for the path, of course, which was literally carpeted in emerald moss as deep and soft as any high-quality plush number in a Fifth Avenue condo.
The fact was that there would never be any light under these trees; Elfhame Melusine lay in a perpetual twilight. Eric remembered from Dharniel's few "geography" lessons that Elfhame Melusine was one of the Old World hames, whose members had chosen to withdraw from the World of Men rather than cross to the New World.
"Well," Ria said, looking around, as the 'steeds paused to allow them to get their bearings. "Not very much like my father's domain, is it?"
"What, Elfhame 90210?" Eric asked, and was rewarded by her peal of laughter.
In fact, she laughed hard enough that she had to clutch the pommel of her saddle, and even her 'steed gave out a noise that sounded like a snicker. "Elfhame 90210! Oh lord" she gasped. "90210! That's gorgeous!"
"Thenkew, thenkew," he responded, bowing at the waist slightly, and a bit tickled at his own cleverness. "Thenkew verrymuch, I'll be here all week, leddies and gennelmun."
"Oh lord" She straightened up and carefully wiped the corners of her eyes with a fingertip. "It was, wasn't it? Poor Father! Even he couldn't keep from copying the mortals he despised."
"Well, I can't say that I hadn't seen places just like it in the Beverly Hills version of Find-A-Home, because I had," Eric responded truthfully. "And just about every room in one issue or another of Architectural Digest. No two rooms out of the same house, mind, but still . . ."
"Still," she agreed. "So, what's all this? It's not like Misthold or Sun-Descending, is it?"
The 'steeds paced forward onto the carpet of moss, making no sound at all.
"I met a guy from Savannah that calls this Elven Classic," Eric replied. "He says that over in Outremer they say this is how Elfhames looked for centuriesthe ones tied to Groves and Nexuses in the Old World, that is. Some of the Seleighe Sidhe wanted things to look like the way they'd been at home when they moved over here to escape Cold Iron, and some, like Adroviel, want their homes to stay that way. There're variations, and these days there are even some who've remodeled their Elfhames to look like the way wemortals that ishave described them in literature."
Ria's hand flew to her mouth to smother a laugh. "You don't mean that somewhere Underhill there's a Last Homely House?"
He grinned. "And a Hobbiton, and Galadriel's Forest. And, sadly, there's also places that role-playing gamers would feel right at home in, and a spot that looks like Ridley Scott just left it behind after filming Legend, complete with enough crap permanently floating in the air to give an allergist nightmares." And every one of them the One True Elfland, for the ones who find it.
She bent over again, laughing so hard that she wheezed. "I guessthat Father's tastewasn't quite as badas I thought," she managed to get out.
Eric shrugged. "He had good taste, really good taste," he pointed out, as the 'steeds picked their way across a meadow fully of swaying lilies of the kind normally seen woven into the hair of the maidens in Alphonse Mucha posters. "He only imitated the high-quality stuff. That's their failing, you know, their one big lackthey can imitate like nobody's business, but they can't create. That's what they need us for, or they'd fade away into Dreaming out of sheer boredom." Maybe sleep and creativity are more closely linked than people think. Elves don't sleep, eithernot normally.
She sobered immediately. "I never thought of that. Why didn't I ever think of that?" She shook her head. "Father never did anything much with LlewellCo except use it as a way to launder kenned gold until I was old enough to be interested in business"
Eric raised an eyebrowa Spock-like gesture he'd practiced secretly for years just on the chance that one day he'd get to use it to maximum effect. "I rest my case," he said pointedly. "And, need I add, that was probably the major reason why he sired you in the first place. Using you as a spare battery pack was just lagniappe."
She didn't look stunnedshe looked angry, but only for a moment before letting the anger go abruptly. "It makes perfect sense," she replied bitterly. "He wouldn't have to keep taming and training mortals every few decadeshe'd figure to get at least a couple of centuries out of a half-breed like me. Thoughhe couldn't have known I'd have a head for business, could he?"
Eric shrugged, but she was already answering her own question. "Of course he could; he probably cast all sorts of spells when I was born to bend me in that direction"
Let's not go there, shall we? "He probably counted on the natural cussedness of kids to do it for him," Eric pointed out. "Your mom was a classic hippie, you saidand how many hippie kids turned around and grew up to be yuppies? I think he figured it was pretty well in the bag that you'd run off to be as unlike your mom as possible. All he had to do was leave you with her long enough for you to get tired of living life á la commune, and as soon as you got a chance, you'd bolt for business school." He cocked his head to one side. "I mean, look at memy parents wanted a little James Galway of their very own, and first shot I got, I bolted and turned into a busker."
That turned the trick; she smiled, albeit weakly. "You're probably right," she said, and left it at that.
At just that moment, the 'steeds came out of the forest altogether, and paused.
Probably so we get a chance to take in the full effect and are awestruck, Eric thought cynically. He looked down the hill they were on anyway, and so did Ria.
"My god," she said, not at all in the tone the Sidhe were probably hoping for. "It looks like a matte painting."
"I don't think that's the effect they had in mind, but you're right," he said, because the twilight vista stretching out in front of them did look like a special effect. Everything was tootoo big, too much, too perfect.
The path stretched down the hill and across perfect fields, just irregular enough to be charming, divided one from another by old-fashioned English hedgerows. Some were full of peacefully grazing sheep, some of red cattle as graceful as deer, some of crops. No one tended them, of course; they were dealt with by magic, and looked as if they'd come out of the dreams of a Pre-Raphaelite landscape artist. Overhead the pale-violet "sky" was studded with "stars" that didn't move. The road led through the fields to a distant castle, but not like anything ever actually built in the mortal world. If Disney'd had an unlimited budget and could have revoked some of the laws of physics, he might have constructed something of the sort; a confection of tall thin gleaming turrets that should have collapsed under their own weight, of porcelain battlements and ivory crenellations, with shining walls encrusted with carvings; balconies, waterspouts, bridges leading from tower to alabaster tower; gold-embroidered awnings to shade against a nonexistent sun. The whole was surrounded by gardens that even at this distance looked lush. There was even a drawbridge over a moat upon which white swans glidedpurely for effect, of course, since not even a military genius could defend a castle that looked like this one.
"Elven Classic," Eric pointed out. "Possibly modeled on the ideas of some of the changeling kids they took Underhill to protect them."
Ria smiled again, this time with real warmth. "Now that is something I can get behind," she said fervently.
"Remind me to connect you up with Keighvin Silverhair," Eric replied, and smiled himself. Elfhame Fairgrove in Savannah had what you might call an "active outreach" program for troubled youth.
Having given them enough time to be suitably impressed, the black 'steed now led the way down the hill towards the castle, Lady Day hurrying a little to catch up. As they drew closer, the road widened, and soon they weren't the only creatures heading for what was clearly going to be a bigger deal than Eric had imagined.
Not everyone on the road was elven, either, though they all had to be Seleighe, or they wouldn't be here. Some of them were downright odd-looking; creatures right out of a Brian Froud illustration. There was a group just ahead of them, with long, spindly arms and legs all gnarled like branches and hair seemingly made of twigs. There was another behind, armored knights riding black horses with flame-red eyes.
They caught up with a band of human-seeming folk who wore fur capes, and whose hems were soaking wet although the road was dry; they left little bits of seaweed behind them at every other step. Selkies, Eric guessed.
A band of fat little ponies overtook and passed them. The beasts wore neither saddle nor bridle, and carried creatures with elven features, but as small as children and withyesgauzy butterfly and dragonfly wings attached to their shoulders. If this is Elfhame Classic, I guess those guys must be Sidhe Lite.
"This is going to be some party," Ria murmured, as the last group passed them.
"I had no idea," Eric responded, more than a bit dumbfounded. "I really didn't."
"Hmm," was all she said, but she gave him a sidelong glance that he couldn't read.
He was glad enough to see, when they reached the castle proper, that there were young (at least he thought they were young) guards stationed at the gates to direct the crowds. One of them recognized Eric (or maybe Ria's steed) immediately and herded them off as expertly as any celebrity handler. Before you could say "VIP suite" he and Ria were being ushered into the castle and a lavishly appointed reception room, where a tall, crowned elven man and woman were chatting with selected guests. At his side, Eric spotted Kory with reliefthen Beth with the opposite emotion. Bethie was not exactly on the membership list of the Ria Llewellyn Fan Club, to say the least, and while she knew he was bringing Ria, he'd wanted a chance to warn her so she could get her game face on before the two of them met. . . .
But it was too late now. Eric and Ria were being ushered politely but efficiently up to their hosts by a pair of majordomo types. Eric had just enough time to catch a glimpse of Beth's incredulous expression before he went into a full court bow, while Ria dropped into an exquisite High Elven curtsey, her skirts spreading around her in a perfect pool of star-spangled midnight.
Oh, I am going to be in such trouble. . . .
Prince Adroviel gestured for them to rise. "My lady Arresael, I present to you Sieur Eric, Knight and Bard of Elfhame Misthold, and his lady, Mistress Arianrhod, daughter of Perenor the Destroyer."
Eric froze in the act of straightening up. Of course everyone in the room had heard Adroviel's wordsthe prince had pitched his voice to carry. He glanced at Ria from the corner of his eye. Her face was impassive, but he could almost feel the shock radiating from her like cold off ice.
"All who share our blood are doubly welcome here," Arresael said to Ria. She was tall and slender, with cat-green eyes and silver hair: Elfhame Classic. On her head she wore a diadem that on first glance looked like exotic flowersand on second glance, revealed itself to be crafted of enamel, moonstones, and wrought gold. "And we have heard much of your valiant aid to our kindred of Sun-Descending." She leaned forward to kiss Ria on the cheek; a formal salute of welcome.
Eric relaxed, realizing what the Sidhe Prince had done. Adroviel had made it perfectly clear that he knew exactly who Ria was and welcomed her nonetheless. There'd be no trouble now, even if anyone would consider making trouble at a Naming.
"Thank you, my lady. You are as gracious as you are beautiful," Ria answered. She turned to Beth. "Thank you for allowing me to share this special day. I am honored."
Beth looked as if she'd swallowed a live mouse. "Thank you for coming. I never did get a chance to thank you for saving our . . . bacon . . . back there in L.A."
Ria opened her mouth to reply, but just then a chime sounded.
"That's our cue," Beth said. "See you later." The look she gave Eric promised him she'd make sure of it.
And she hasn't even seen the bunny yet.
Another elven courtier appeared at their side. "If you would accompany me . . . ?" he said.
Eric held out his arm to Ria, who placed her fingertips delicately upon his sleeve. They followed the courtier through the door he indicated. A small tingle of magic as they crossed the threshold warned them that wherever they were going, it wasn't physically connected to the chamber they were leaving.
Eric blinked, looking around. If you'd taken Chartres Cathedral and crossed it with the Roman Coliseum, it might look something like this. There was a semicircle of tiered seats rising into the distance, most of them already full. A gilded rail separated them from a row of more elaborate seats, and to either side of the dais were private boxes like the ones in an opera house. Banners hung from the ceiling, their bright silks swaying slightly in the air, and the sounds of music and conversation filled the hall with a susurrus of white noise. They'd come out on the floor below the tiers, and just ahead was a dais large enough to hold a full orchestra, covered in flawless scarlet velvet that was probably deep enough to hide in. It held two thrones, plus a number of lesser chairs.
Their guide ushered them to one of the boxes and opened the low door. "Does this meet with your approval, my lord?"
"Uh . . . fine," Eric said. No matter how many etiquette lessons Dharniel had dinned into him, he just didn't "get" courtly. It always made him nervous.
"Thank you," Ria said graciously, preceding Eric into the box. It contained two chairs only barely less ornate than the ones on the dais, and was obviously a place of honor.
Eric followed her in. The courtier closed the door behind them and turned away to guide others to their places.
"Well," Ria said.
"Look, I'm sorry about that"
Ria waved his words away, sinking into her chair. "Never mind. It was good politics, and good theater. Now everyone knows where the Prince stands; they'd look pretty silly starting something after that. I just wish I'd brought my opera glasses."
"It's quite a show, isn't it?" Eric asked, seating himself beside her. They had a good view of the dais, and their position let them watch the guests without gawking.
A few minutes later, the last of the guests found their seats, and the babble of voices died down a little. There was a flourish of horns, and the hall became absolutely silent. A herald strode out onto the dais.
"All honor to Prince Adroviel of Elfhame Melusine and the Princess Arresael!"
Adroviel appeared behind the heraldmust be a Portal back there, Eric thoughtleading Arresael by the hand. They took their seatsbut not on the two thrones. As the herald called out more names, others appeared to take their seats on the dais, but the thrones remained empty.
"Korendil, Knight of Elfhame Sun-Descending, squire of the High Court, Magus Minor and Child of Danu!"
Kory appeared, looking regal and knightly. He took a few steps away from the Portal and stopped.
"Mistress Bethany Margaret Kentraine, bringer of new life!"
Beth appeared, holding Maeve in her arms. The baby was wearing whatif they were anywhere but hereEric would have identified as a christening gown. It was white lace, sewn with small sparkling brilliants, and its end brushed the ground. Beth was dressed in red and gold, a gown that would make any Rennie turn pale with envy. She wore a simple gold circlet on her red haira symbol of rank, Eric knew that much. The Sidhe were very picky about things like that: they were doing her great honor here today.
When she appeared, the hall went wild with cheers. She must have been told what to expect; she turned toward the audience, smiling, waiting for the cheering to die down. When it did, Kory held out his hand and escorted her to one of the two thrones, seating himself in the other. Today an elven knight and his mortal consort were ranked above princes.
Elves take children very seriously. If Eric had ever doubted it, here was the proof.
The herald stepped back, and Adroviel rose to his feet.
"People of Underhill. We gather here today in this holy place to welcome new life into the land. In the name of our Holy Mother, Danu, whose children we are, let it be so!"
Elves had some kind of religion, Eric knew, but they didn't talk about it much, and in all the time he'd spent Underhill he'd never seen anything remotely resembling church on Sunday, or even one of Bethie's Wiccan Circles. But that he was seeing it now, he had no doubt. The expectant silence was thick enough to cut with a sword.
"She comes among us small and helpless, yet may she grow great with help and love. And to that end, her mother has chosen wise counselors for her, who will guard and guide her as bone of their own, blood of their own, flesh of their own." He gestured, and a tall stately woman, seated in one of the lesser chairs on the dais, rose to her feet.
"The Lady Coinemance, Lady of Elfhame Misthold and of the High Court, Magus Major and Child of Danu."
"I do accept this task, this burden and this joy," Coinemance said. "I vow to teach this child all my arts, to bestow upon her all knowledge of magecraft and sorcery, bone of my own, blood of my own, flesh of my own."
"And I accept your oath for the child's sake. May all your arts turn against you should you fail of your vow."
One by one Adroviel called out names and titles, until four Sidhe stood beside him. Maeve's godparents, and heavy hitters all. As they stood, each accepted guardianship of Maeve, and vowed to teach her their skills of war, of sorcery, of healing, and of Bardcraft.
Then Arresael rose to her feet.
"Now do I call forth a Protector for this child. As it is written in the Great Book, she shall guard this child until she is grown, putting her safety before any other thing, even the defense of her home and her own honor. May she never be asked to take up her sword! Come forth, Lady Montraille!"
Eric had been expecting another Sidhe, but to his surprise, the woman who came to stand beside Arresael was humanor looked so. Unlike the others, she wore full armor save for her helm. Her red hair was cropped short, her face seamed with age and hard living. She regarded the assembly grimly.
"I come," she said in a thick French accent. "And I do swear, in accordance with your ancient ways, that I am a bachelor unwed, with neither kin nor mate nor child." She drew her sword, and held it high for all to see. "From this moment I vow, by this blade and my own heart's blood, that the demoiselle shall be dearer to me than honor or breath, that her safety shall be more to me than the defense of the hame, that I shall turn away from battle or challenge for her sake." The warrior sheathed her sword.
"I accept your oath," Arresael answered gravely. "May your blade and every hand, here and in the World Above, turn against you should you fail of your vow."
The hall was absolutely still.
"Who names this child?" the Prince asked.
"Her parents name her," Kory said. He got to his feet and took Maeve from Beth as she, too, stood, then returned the baby to her. Side by side, they walked to where Adroviel stood.
"Her name is Maeve," Beth said firmly. "Know her name."
"Her name is Maeve," Kory answered. "Know her name."
"Welcome, Maeve," Adroviel said to the baby. "I give her a second name, a Name of power."
Arresael stood back. Maeve's sponsors and protectors clustered around as Adroviel bent down to whisper in the baby's ear. No one but they would know this Name. For a moment a bright glow surrounded them, fading slowly.
The others returned to their places. Kory, Beth (holding the baby), and Adroviel stood alone together in the center of the dais.
"Now let joy reign unconfined!" the Prince said. "Let there be feasting, and music, and danceall in Maeve's honor. Let us welcome her as she deserves! Let the ceileighe begin!"
Once more the horns sounded. The hall erupted in wild cheering, drowning out the sound. Kory was grinning fit to crack his faceBeth looked a bit more uncertain, but still mightily pleased. They stepped forward to the edge of the dais, and Beth raised Maeve higher in her arms. From Eric's vantage point, he could see the baby yawn and stretch, unimpressed by all the noise, her eyes squinched tightly shut. After a moment, Kory led Beth back to her throne. The shouting diminished, replaced by a hubbub of conversation as people began to leave their seats.
"Pretty impressive," Ria said, leaning toward Eric so he could hear her.
"I'll say," Eric said. Does she wish Perenor had done this for her? Does she miss the chances she should have hadwould have had if her father had been anyone else?
There was a discreet knock at the back of the box, and a door opened in the wall. The courtier who had escorted them to their seats was waiting.
"Sieur Eric? Mistress Arianrhod? If you will come this way . . . ?"
A ceileighe meant music and dancing, as well as the presentation of gifts to the new arrival. The presentations were less formal than the Naming had been, but that didn't mean everyone wasn't watching. Beth and Kory sat in thrones of honor on a small platform. The gifts were piled high beside them, and as each of the presenters advanced to present his gifts in person (something only a few of them were doing, Eric was relieved to note), a page put his gift into his hand. The gifts were as eclectic as the givers: everything from a golden harp, to a shiny red tricycle, to a tiny but perfect elvensteed with elaborate saddle and bridle.
Eric advanced and was handed the bunny.
"I thought she'd like this," he said, offering it to Beth.
She grinned. "You're one in a million, Banyon. And a good thing, too."
"Aw, c'mon, Bethie," Eric teased. "Every kid should have a few stuffed animals. I've got something else for her, too. I wrote a song for her. I'll play it later."
"Glad you're sticking around. This is going to be some party."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Eric answered. He stepped aside.
Ria was next in line. The page handed her a small drawstring bag. She opened it. There was a gold ring inside. She held it out to Beth.
"This isn't magic, but it does have my private cell-phone number engraved on it. If Maeve ever needs help in the World Above, she can call me from anywhere. I'll come."
"This is a princely gift indeed," Kory said.
"Yeah," Beth said. "Thanks. I mean it."
Ria smiled and stepped aside to make way for the next giver.
"Pretty cool," Eric said. "Makes my bunny look all no-how."
"She'll probably have more use for the bunny," Ria answered. "I can't imagine that kid'll ever need anything I can give her, but I thought it was a nice gesture."
"It was," Eric said simply. "C'mon. Let's go find something to drink. This is going to go on for a while."
The ceileighe filled several huge rooms. Servants passed among the revelers carrying everything from pitchers to wineskins to silver trays covered with champagne glasses. Ria snagged a glass and sipped it. "Cristalle. Very nice. What about you, Eric?"
"I think I'll stick to fruit juice. I'm driving."
A servant appeared at his elbow holding a large silver cup. He bowed and offered it to Eric. "Your cider, my lord."
Eric took the cup. The servant vanished from sight. He sipped. Pear cider. One of his favorites, and hard to come by even in as big a city as New York.
"Sometimes I wonder why you left," Ria said. "This kind of service would be very easy to get used to."
"Maybe," Eric said. "But I'm not tempted, and neither are you. We belong in the World Above. Down here we'd just wither away and die. There's no challenge to life here. That's why most of the changelings go back eventually. To a better life than they left, of course."
"I guess that's why the Elfhames never really severed their connection with our world," Ria said slowly. "And you're right. Rough as real life is sometimes, I do like a good scrap. If you can have anything you want with a wave of the hand, there's no savor to it."
In the next room, musicians were tuning up. The dancers stood waiting impatiently for the music to begin.
Sidhe danced. All the mortal accounts of them agreed on that much, and Underhill Eric had gotten a chance to see how good a dancer you could become if you had centuries to do nothing but practice. The formal dances tended to be elaborate, complicated, and very long: Master Dharniel had told Eric tales of elves so caught up in their dancing that whole Courts had dwindled away into the Dreaming, still dancing.
But while no mortal could live long enough to learn the steps of the Court dances, there were others far less complicated. He and Ria skirted the first set of dancers, following other music already playing, and found themselves in the midst of an Irish jig. The musicians were all wearing plaidsthe Great Plaid, twelve yards of fabric and nothing moreand the dancers looked as if they'd just stepped out of Riverdance. The music was like a double shot of uisighe, going straight to the blood.
"C'mon," Eric said, grabbing Ria by the hand.
He'd expected her to refuse and need to be coaxed, but instead she grinned, as caught by the music as he was, and dragged him onto the dance floor. The other dancers quickly made room for them, pulling them into the dance.
They danced until they were glowing with exertion and the musiciansfiddler, bodhran, and pipesstopped to refresh themselves from a keg of beer placed nearby. The dancers broke apart, into groups of twos and threes.
All of them were looking at him. They began to chant, clapping their hands rhythmically.
"BardBardBard"
"Oh, hey," Eric said, raising his hands in protest.
The chanting continued, and now Ria had joined it, eyes sparkling.
Finally Eric gave in and walked toward the stage. He took his flute out of his gig bag and fitted it together as they watched him expectantly.
"Lordsladiesgood gentles all," he said in his best Faire brogue, "I am but a mere traveling player, not fit to play for such a grand company"
Happy catcalls, whistles, and hoots greeted these remarks, and Ria was shouting as loudly as any of them.
"but since you're so insistent, it's an exception I'll be making for your foigne selves." He bowed deeply, and then raised the flute to his lips.
Nothing sad or solemn today, no reminders of ancient battles or beloved dead. He blew an introductory trill and swung directly into "Susan Brown," one of the pieces he and Hosea had worked up together. Fiddle in the middle and I can't dance, Josie/Fiddle in the middle and I can't get around/Fiddle in the middle and I can't dance, Josie/Hello, Susan Brown! The dancers whooped and flung themselves into the music. He followed the tune immediately with another"Turkey In The Straw," a fine old dance tuneand then another. After the first few, the musicians joined him, their instruments blending seamlessly with his own.
At last, fearing he'd be here all night, Eric played a last song, Mason Williams' "Cinderella Rockefeller." It was slow and sweet, and very silly, even without the lyrics, and by the time he was done, the dancers had all stopped to listen.
"Thank you, ladies and gentles all," Eric said. "It's been a great honor to play for such fine folk, but too much honor can kill a man with thirst. And so I leave you in good hands!" He bowed to the dancers, who cheered him lustily, and quickly made his escape to where Ria stood on the sidelines.
She handed him his cup, and Eric drank deeply. The pear cider was still cold, and the cup was still full, but he was used to that. The rules for normal were different in Underhill.
"Juilliard doesn't do you justice," Ria said. "You're at your best in a situation like this, playing for an audience who feels the music."
"I didn't go back to school to learn to perform for a crowd," Eric said. "I wanted to learn what I don't know, not what I do. C'mon, let's go find the food. I'm starved."
They passed other groups of dancers and other musicianswild Cajun fiddles playing for an enthusiastic band of selkies; another fiddler and a caller playing for a group of centaurs whose square dancing more resembled polo; a small chamber orchestra playing a minuet for Sidhe in stately Georgian dress. Every form and period of music was representedevery form of acoustic, that was. While many of the Sidhe were passionate rockers, rock didn't mix well with unamplified venues and would be off in a separate space of its own.
Eventually they were forced to ask one of the servants where the dining hall was. He pointed to a Portal; once Eric had seen it, he could see others hanging in the air as well. They passed through. Here the musicians played for listeners, not dancers, and the air was filled with savory smells.
Soon they were sitting in what looked like a garden. It was night here, but the trees were filled with golden fireflies, and glowing will-o'-the-wisps floated gently through the air, shedding multicolored pastel light. Just inside the doorway stood the original Groaning Board where they'd filled their plates. Elsewhere in Adroviel's castle tonight there was everything from a formal sit-down banquet to world-class sushi chefs preparing food to order, but this was the first place they'd found.
"If I eat this, will I be trapped in Underhill forever?" Ria asked, holding up a cluster of Underhill grapes. They glowed with a soft violet light.
"That's just an old tale," Eric told her, biting into a hot roll. He'd loaded his plate with prime riball that playing and dancing had given him an appetite, and the evening was far from over. "It only works if the food's bespelled, and nothing here tonight is. Try them. They're good."
They weren't alone in the garden. Around them were other guests taking the opportunity to rest and refuel. Between the trees, the ground rose up in couch-shaped hummocks carpeted in green moss. They were just as soft as they looked. Eric saw a woman with green hair and skin who wore a garment of shining leaves. Her plate was piled high with bread and fruita little cannibalistic, considering that she was probably a dryad, but who was Eric to judge? Her dinner companion was a satyr. His small horns were wound with ribbons, and his hooves were polished and gilded. The Sidhe can look like anything humanity can imagine, and a number of things they can't.
It was peaceful here. "We'd better go find Beth and Kory after this, or we never will. They should be done with opening baby presents by now."
"It'd be easy to miss them in this mob," Ria said. "Fortunately, no matter how long we're here, Etienne can get me back to nine o'clock Saturday night. I've got a lot of work to get through tomorrow."
"You should take a day off once in a while," Eric said.
"I'm here, aren't I?" Ria answered. She tossed a grape at him; he grabbed for it, but a flying critter snagged it out of the air before he did. "You're so easy to tease, Eric. Always worrying about everyone but yourself. Who's going to worry about you, eh?" She reached out to brush a lock of hair back from his forehead.
"You are," Eric answered. He leaned forward, into the kiss.
There was scattered applause.
Both of them recoiled in opposite directions. They had an audience of tiny Sidhe, naked and sexless as kewpie dolls. The creatures had bright butterfly wings, and each wore a different full-sized flower as a hat.
"Scat!" Eric yelped, swinging at them with his flute. They scattered and ran, giggling in high squeaky voices. He glanced at Ria, who was at least trying not to laugh.
"Why don't we go find your friends?" Ria said after a long pause.
Beth and Kory were dancingone of the simpler Sidhe dances. Five rings of dancers, each rotating in a different direction, jumped and spun and twirled to the music. At intervals, the rings would break into sets for a measure or two, as dancers worked their way into the inner circle of dancers and back out again. The two of them were completely intent upon the danceit wasn't as simple as it looked, as the pairs bowed and curtseyed and flung themselves into the air.
Kory saw them and waved, and in a few minutes they worked their way to the outermost ring and freed themselves from the dance. There were others more than ready to take their place; the music itself seemed to have no end.
"Master Dharniel's looking for you," Beth said, only slightly out of breath from her exertions. "He's in charge of the playing order for the Bards."
Eric winced. Not even the sanctity of a Naming could squelch the dueling egos of most Bards, a circumstance not calculated to improve Master Dharniel's temper. No matter what order they went on in, someone wouldn't like it.
"I'd better go find him," Eric said. And do what he could to soothe matters. He glanced at Ria.
"Oh, I'll stay here," she said with fulsome sweetness. "I'm sure Kory and Beth will take very good care of me."
He had no choice but to leave her there, and of the two women, he wasn't sure which one he was worried about.
"So," Beth said. "Are you enjoying the party?"
"It's lovely," Ria said. "And you?"
"Oh . . . hell," Beth said, grimacing. "We could go on billing and cooing until the end of the world. I'd rather get real. Eric vouches for you, and the Prince and his lady accept you. I don't know whether I like you or notI never had much in common with corporate types."
"Like me," Ria said. "And I don't know that I care much for elves, myself." She gave Kory a mocking glance.
"But you're . . . oh." Beth said. "Yeah, I guess I can see that. But all the Sidhe aren't like . . . your father."
" 'Perenor the Destroyer.' How pleased he'd be to know he was so fondly remembered. Still, done is done: he's dead, and Sun-Descending is still there, keeping the wells of imagination flowing in southern California. Isn't it odd that the Sidhe, who aren't creative themselves, seem to inspire so much of it? Ireland . . . Canada . . . California . . . New York . . . wherever there's a hill, it seems to bring out the best in humans."
"Or the worst," Kory suggested. "Just as humans do, we cherish most what we lack. Mortals create. The Sidhe live nearly forever. You would not trade your imagination for our long lives, if you truly knew what it would entail."
"I, on the other hand, have the best of both worlds," Ria said lightly. "Human creativity, and at least a little of the Sidhe longevity." She looked at Beth. "Just as any children you and Kory produce will have," she said pointedly.
"Why don't we go somewhere more quiet?" Beth said. "Eric will find us."
Kory gestured, and a Portal opened in the air. The three of them walked through.
"This is the day nursery," Beth said. "Maeve's through there. Don't worry. We won't wake Maeve. Once she's asleep, she's dead to the world."
"Do you want to see her?" Kory asked.
"Yes," said Ria honestly. "I'd like that very much."
They went through the doorway into the night nursery. In the middle of the room stood an elaborate bassinet, covered with ribbons and lace. Lady Montraille sat watching over Maeve, unlikely though it was that anything might happen here. With her were more ordinary nursemaidsin this case, three gleaming balls of light, one pink, one blue, one greenhovering above the bassinet. If Ria squinted, she could see a tiny figure at the center of each light.
She approached the cradle and looked down. Maeve no longer wore the elaborate christening gown, just a simple pink T-shirt and Pampers.
"I grew up in a commune until I was four," Ria said, speaking softly, looking down at the baby. "I hated it. There was never enough to eat, never anything good to eatI slept in the same room with all the other kids. The older ones used to scare the littlest ones to make them cry, creeping around the floor growling like bears. I never cried. I already knew there were worse things than bears."
Beth sighed. "The more I see of other peoples' childhoods, the more I appreciate my own."
For some reason, that felt more real to Ria than expressions of sympathy or horror would have been, and she acknowledged it with a nod. "I didn't see much of my mother. She spent most of her time getting high any way she could. She didn't have much time for me. I suppose I don't blame her. She was just doing her best to stay alive after my father's magic fried her mind and killed her twin. She used to have terrible nightmares, waking up screaming about drowning in blood. I guess the others thought it was just acid flash. I don't know what I thought."
"What could you think?" Kory asked. "You were only a child. I suppose you accepted it; young things are like that, they accept whatever form the world takes, however cruel or strange."
That, too, was more sincere than Ria had expected. Now the words she had so much difficulty in forming flowed from her. "Then one day my father came for me. Perenor always liked to leave the dirty work to others. Now I was old enough to follow orders and be an asset." She shook her head, plunging back into a memory that had seemed golden at the time.
"I thought he was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen. He came driving up in a big black limousine. He brought me candy. It was the first time I'd ever had chocolate. I suppose he gave it to me to see if it would kill me, if I'd inherited more from the Sidhe side than the human." And now, she recalled the calculating look on his face as she devoured the treat, the satisfaction when she asked for more. "He took me back to the commune and started to leave, and I ran after him, ran after the car. I'm sure he was waiting for that. Basically, he abducted me, not that anyone there ever cared. At the time, all I knew was that it was wonderful. He took me to a toy store and let me buy anything I wanted. I had pretty dresses, my own room, a governess who let me do anything I choseit was paradise. But it came at a price. A few days later, when I started asking whether my mother was going to join us, he told me she'd killed herself. When I was old enough, I checked that out for myself, and he hadn't lied. She'd lost the battle. The commune was on the coast; she just swam out into the ocean and didn't swim back."
Beth and Kory both nodded, saying nothing, and she was grateful for that. Oddly, or perhaps not so oddly, that particular memory gave no pain. Her mother had never been more than one of the "chicks" who cooked, tended the kids, and did the housework when they weren't stoned. In fact, she'd seen less of her mother than any of the others because her mother had been stoned more often, trying to escape.
"He never stopped telling me how fortunate I was to be alive; how he'd wanted me so much he'd used special magic to sire me on a mortal woman. The only way that can happen is for the human partner to somehow become equally a . . . oh, I don't know, 'creature of magic' sums it all up. So either the Sidhe partner has to be weak and close to death, or the human partner has to become a temporary mage. Of course, that was the method Perenor chose. He found some potential magesabout ten percent of humanity has that potential, or so I'm toldand stole their power: their joy, their hope, their creativityall of itand fed it to my mother. One of them was her twin brotherthat was one of the reasons he picked her, because her brother was a nascent Bard, and Power ran in her Line. Of course, along with the power of everyone Perenor sucked dry, she got their dreams, their memories, and their deaths. No wonder she went mad. Later, of course, he found other uses for that power."
"That much, we know," Kory said, stern and sad, though neither of those emotions was aimed at her.
Of all the ways this particular encounter could have gone, this was not one of the ones Ria would have put high on the list of "likely." She felt a catharsis, finally telling someone just what kind of burden her father had laid on her young shoulders in an effort to make her as hard as he was. She'd never dared say these things to Eric. Eric cared too deeply, felt too much. It would have hurt him. "Perenor made certain I would know exactly how much my life had cost. I don't suppose it ever occurred to him that having a dozen teenagersand my mother, in the enddie so I could be born would bother me. After all, why should the strong care about the weak?"
"But that can't be the only way," Beth said despairingly. "There have to be others!"
"Crossbreeds are rarer than elven children," Ria said bleakly. Suddenly, she had to give them hope. Beth's naked anguish, although she didn't exactly understand it, had to be answered. "Perenor chose the most convenient method, but he knew most of the others. They all have the same basis: parity between the energy states of the two partners. Either find some way to turn yourself temporarily into a Sidhe without killing anyoneor turn your elf-friend here temporarily human." Kory and Beth looked at each other with an unreadable expression. "He did find some hints that Sidhe who'd slipped into Dreaming were more fertile with humans than normal Sidhe, but I don't imagine that's an experiment you wish to try?"
Kory shuddered, and Beth took his arm protectively. "There has to be some other way."
Ria looked at Beth's woebegone expression, and again offered a breath of hope. "It isn't impossible to find a way, you know, even if Misthold or Sun-Descending or even Melusine doesn't know how to get its hands on enough life-force. There's more to the World Underhill than the parts of it the Sidhe live in, and creatures out there old and powerful enough to make the Emperor Oberon look like a wet firecracker in comparison. Do what you'd do faced with a problem like this in the World Above. Find an information specialist and consult him. There have to be trade fairs of some kind herethe inhabitants may not be human, but they're not that different."
"I know of one." Kory spoke up. "I do not think it is precisely the sort of place you mean, but we may begin there."
"Do," Ria suggested. "And let me know what you find out, okay? Who knows? The day may come when I need to know myself."
One of the will-o'-the-wisp servants guided Eric through the labyrinth of interconnecting castle rooms all filled with revelers, finally arriving at the castle's equivalent of the RenFaire's Main Stage. Here only the most elite performers would present their work for the entertainment of the high-ranking nobles and their own coteries.
When Eric got there, Dharniel was talking to the Lady Harawain, one of Maeve's sponsors, and a famous Bard. He'd played her work many times while under Dharniel's tutelage. Her instrument was the harp, and she carried it with her now, slung over her shoulder in a velvet bag. She was one of those Sidhe who had chosen to modify her natural form: her hair and skin and eyes were all in shades of gold, until she looked like a statue of living amber.
"the young Bard must go last," she was saying in firm tones. "He's the one everybody will want to hear today, being Maeve's father as well as a great hero."
Me? Eric thought. They can't be serious.
"My dear Lady Harawain, your own natural humility keeps you from seeing what is truly the proper place for so honored a guest. He must go first, of course." The speaker was an elegant and very dandified Sidhe, with waxed moustaches and a goatee. He held a lute festooned with trailing ribbons by its ivory neck.
"If first is such a desirable place, Pirolt, by all means, it should go to none but yourself," Harawain shot back silkily. "Don't you agree, Lord Dharniel?"
"Oh, but I regret that I cannot accept. My lute, she is a temperamental mistress, and I could hardly be ready in time. I will, of course, be more than willing to perform last," Pirolt said hastily.
From his days on the RenFaire Circuit, Eric knew that the end position was the one most coveted by performers. It assured that yours would be the piece the audience remembered best because they'd heard it last, gave you plenty of time to warm up (and the audience to assemble and warm up for you), and meant you didn't have to spend the day waiting around for your turn or rushing to fill in if something happened to someone else. First was also good, for a lot of reasons, but the star attraction always went on last.
And Dharniel was saving that slot for him?
"Eric goes last," Dharniel said. "I am Master of the Revels and that is my decision. Pirolt, your concern for my protégé does not go unremarked. You will play first, so I suggest you begin tuning now."
The foppish elf drew himself up to his full height. His eyes flashed dangerously.
"You will find in me an implacable enemy, Master Dharniel."
"And you will find in me your last one, Master Pirolt. But do take your complaint to Prince Adroviel, by all means. I'm sure the prince would relish the chance to settle your dispute."
Pirolt looked as if he might say more, but settled for spinning on his heel and stalking off.
"Harawain, dearest lady, I place you just before Eric," Dharniel said.
Good lordis Dharniel smiling? I thought his face would crack if he ever did that.
"The best of the Old Ways followed by the best of the New," she said without ego. "It is a pretty conceit, Master Dharniel. And here is the young Bard now."
Dharniel turned to Eric as Lady Harawain gracefully made her exit. "I suppose you, too, have some complaint of your position in the order of play?"
"None," Eric said hastily. "But there was actually something else I wanted to talk to you about. But if this isn't a good time . . . ?"
"So long as it is not a matter of artistic temperament," Dharniel said. "But stay. You will need your keeper so that you can attend upon the music in good time."
He plucked a knot of glowing ribbons out of the air and touched it to Eric's shoulder. Eric heard a faint chime, like the ringing of crystal bells.
"It will sound when it is time for you to come to the stage. Do not fail to heed it."
"I won't," Eric promised. As if he'd stand up the biggest audience he was ever likely to have, or miss the chance to hear the cream of Underhill Bard-dom play!
Dharniel regarded him, and Eric realized the elven mage was waiting for him to speak.
"I've found another Bard, Master Dharniel. A human Bard, in New York"
Quickly he told the story of meeting Hosea Songmaker in the subway, of sensing his Talent, and related the bits of personal history Hosea had confided in him.
"And he's got a lot of natural talent, but he's looking for a teacher, so I thought . . ."
He stopped. Dharniel was smiling again. Mockingly.
"Congratulations, young Bard. You have just acquired your first apprentice."
"IMe? But I thought . . . I don't know how to train anyone, Master Dharniel!" Eric sputtered.
"Soas I thoughtyou slept through all my lectures. Well, no matter. As you are so fond of saying, you can always 'wing it.' "
"But I can't" Eric said in panic.
Dharniel's face took on an expression of sternness. "Eric, for every Bard comes the time when their first apprentice is sent to them. None of the good ones think they are ready for such a responsibility. But you have learned everything I have to teach you, and learned more in your own life. Who better than a human Bard to train another? I shall look forward to meeting him when he is ready to present his masterwork."
And that seemed to settle that. Eric gulped. "I Um, thanks, Master Dharniel. I think."
Maybe Hosea won't want me for a teacher, Eric thought hopefully, then banished the matter from his mind to think about later. Right now he had more immediate things to worry about.
All too soon it was time for him to go on. He'd switched from pear cider to plain water awhile back, and was glad he hadthere was enough magic floating around in the air to make him dizzy.
The magic had another effect as well. Musicgood music, no matter the stylewas always about real things: hope and heartbreak, people and places long gone or yet to be.
Here, music made them real.
Music and magic went hand in hand; Bardcraft had always been about magic as well, about the controlling or the unleashing of power. But now he was seeing what that actually meant.
When the Bards performed, what their music spoke of became real for everyone to see. It was like stepping into virtual reality, bringing the audience with you.
Some of the Bards went for simple flashy effectsfireworks, showers of flowers. Others worked more subtle and more powerful magics. For her last pieceeach Bard was restricted to threeHarawain had played a Homecoming Song that had left the audience weeping tears of joyand Eric, too, even though he wasn't quite sure why. But at that moment, it had all been real: the cry of the gulls, the salt smell of the ocean, even the deck rocking gently beneath his feet.
A tough act to follow.
He knew better than to try to beat the Sidhe at their own game. For this performance, he was going to give them human music, ending up with "The Huntsman's Reel," the piece he'd composed for Maeve.
He started with "Bouree," a bouncy flute piece he'd found on an old Jethro Tull album and liked instantly. A touch of magic, and he was playing all four parts of the contrapuntal melody in perfect harmony with himselfa neat trick, and one he'd worked hard on. The music spun shapes of pure geometry in the air, sparkling and changing with each note. As the last note died, delighted applause washed over him. He could see Kory grinninghe, Beth, and Ria were seated beside the Prince and Princess in seats of honorand Beth shot him a thumbs-up of approval.
For his second piece, he'd used Mozart's The Magic Flute as his inspiration. No magic this time beyond what the music itself produced, but that was enough. He lowered his flute at the end of the piece, and there was a moment of hushed silence before the applause began. When it had died down, he stepped to the edge of the stage.
"Your Highnesses, ladies and gentlemen, for my last piece I would like to play a new composition, dedicated to the Lady Maeve and written in her honor."
Suddenly there was a new quality to the respectful silence. An electric anticipation, almost hunger, that he had never felt before. After a moment, he realized why.
A new piece. New. I spent all day explaining to Ria that elves never create anything because they can't, and never stopped to think what an effect something like this would have. Even the Sidhe Bards don't create new musicthey just adapt the old. What have I set myself up for?
There was no choice now but to go on with it.
He raised his flute and played.
The inspiration for the piece was a dancing tune, and the dance was still in its heartbut this was the mortal dance through life, growing and learning. Each time he returned to the original melody it was more complex, deeper, as the child became a woman, then a mother, then a wise counselor to her children's children. Then he stripped away all the ornament and reprised the motif as the woman stood alone, wise and full of years, looking back on all she had done.
When he stopped, there was a long silence from his audience, and for a moment, Eric was sure he'd mortally offended them. These were the Sidhefirstborn of Danu, Folk of the Air, eternal and unchanging. What had ever possessed him to play something that was nothing less than a celebration of human mortality for them?
Then the cheering began. One by one, the audience stood, clapping and cheering. The Prince wept unashamedly. Beth was alternately hugging Kory and bouncing up and down. Ria, standing behind them, spoke silently, but he could read her lips:
"Only you, Eric."
He guessed he'd better get off stage while they were still applauding. Master Dharniel was waiting in the wings, most of the other Bards clustered behind him. The cheering could still be heard, though more faintly than it would be in a World Above venue.
"You're more than ready for an apprentice," Dharniel said curtly, turning away abruptly.
"As I said, the best of the New," Harawain said. She reached out to touch him gently upon the shoulder. "Won't you stay here with us, in Underhill? Your own kind will never value you as we do," she said wistfully.
"I'm sorry." Eric smiled regretfully.
Just then the first of the well-wishers arrived, the Prince among them. His presence kept things from turning into a mob scene, but Eric was still glad to make his escape. Fortunately, on this particular night, Beth could have anything she wanted, even the Bard that everyone wanted.
"Oh, Eric, you rock! That was so . . ." She stopped.
Eric grinned. "Just so you know there's more to me than bunnies, m'lady."
"You could have given us no richer gift," Kory said. "Truly this will be a night long remembered."
" 'And gentlemen in England now a-bed/Shall think themselves accursed they were not here/And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks/That fought with us upon St. Crispin's Day,' " Ria said lightly, quoting Shakespeare to good purpose. Beth shot her a wicked grinit looked as if they'd settled whatever issues still remained between them, Eric noted with relief.
"So what do we do now?" Eric asked.
"What else?" Beth answered. "Party like there's no tomorrow."