Graham whistled. “Grindylows. Me ma used to tell me of them. Nasty hags who steal away with children who’ve misbehaved. Take the wee bairns right from their beds while they were sleeping and eat ’em.”
“Not all of them,” said Effie. She fixed her gaze on Clara. “Truth be told, we know little about their base nature. So we must trust all is not lost, and not all tales be true.”
Graham caught the meaning behind her words from the way Clara shrank, drawing in on herself. “Och, lass, I didn’t know,” he said. “You have my apologies.”
“It’s all right,” said Rose. She shuffled the girl into one of the chairs and produced a blanket to warm her. Setting the kettle over the fire, she readied a fresh pot for tea.
Gaelyph grunted. He’d come to stand near the hearth, planting his feet wide, with his hands clasped behind his back. “It matters not what tales are believed or told. Grindylows are Unseily and an enemy of our court. As are goblins.”
“To what end?” asked Conall. The question came as inquisitive rather than challenging. He ran a hand through his hair as those in the cottage turned their attention on him. “Pardon me, Master Warden, but I wonder whether a pattern emerges that might give us some insight. Thus far the madness of the banshee’s touch seems like random fits of violence, and now we see that she intends to raise an Unseily Court. Is that also to be random? Or is there some orchestration going on we do not yet see?”
Effie pursed her lips in thought. She had wondered the same but hadn’t yet formed a theory. The only thing she was certain of was that the Barrow Witch was much craftier than her brethren had been. For all his bluster, the Laird of Aonghus had been blind to his own ego, and the Piper of Ceann Rois had seemed nothing more than a brutish warlord. The Barrow Witch, in contrast, had corrupted the minds of thousands and found a way to bind an Unseily Court to herself, all the while remaining unknown and hidden.
“Orchestration, aye, and no doubt one is meant to mask the other,” said Graham. “As those in the cities become enraged, secretly these Unseily fey have spread throughout the countryside. They are searching for Aerfenium or to swell their numbers, or both. Whatever their design, it cannae be good. And it cannae be random. The alchemy itself needs be too methodical.”
“There is also word from Aberdeen of unrest, and rumors of strange sounds coming from the hills in the lowlands,” said Rose. She crossed her arms beneath her chest.
“Rumors cannot be helped,” said Caledon.
“And of what can be helped?” Rose asked. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head toward Effie.
“I made her the offer and she refused, as you said she would,” said Caledon.
“Stubborn as a mule, I believe you told our steward,” said Graham. He chuckled under his breath.
Effie drew herself up. Her eyes narrowed as blood flushed her cheeks, causing her head to swim. Had they all conspired to send her away?
Conall laughed. “Not for the first time she’s heard that, I’d wager.”
Her gaze swung to him, and his mirth dropped. He turned his head and found a piece of lint to pluck from one of the chair backs. A sheepish expression came across his face. Color rose to his cheeks to match her own.
“Er, what of this trinket?” asked Graham. He waggled a finger at Gaelyph, clearly trying to change the subject for Conall’s benefit. “The one clutched in your hand behind your back. I saw you snatch it away from the steward as you entered. I’d bet a coin against three you wanted us common folk not to be the wiser of it.”
Gaelyph glared at Graham, but the cheery man stood his ground.
“Well?” Graham asked. “Is it to be secrets among us?”
“It is an amulet worn by the leader of the Unseily host we encountered,” said Caledon. “It bears a sunburst etched into the wood, the symbol of a cabal of fey known to us from France.”
“France.” Conall whispered the word, as if confused by the sound.
“Our warden did not wish you to know of it, as he believes all fey matters to be solely under the dominion of the Seily Court,” said Rose. Her tone left no doubt as to what she thought of the position. Extending her hand, she waited as Gaelyph’s eyes narrowed further. He regarded the steward in silence before finally relenting and handing over the amulet.
Rose let it dangle from her fingers. Effie saw the sunburst clearly; black lines scored the wooden disk in a crude arc, with rays shooting out to its edges. But the thickness of it caught her attention and gave her pause. It was not a delicate thing, not even attractive for a man to wear. Rather, it reminded her more of a child’s device.
She frowned. “May I inspect it?” she asked. Rose handed it to her by its leather cord, and she took it over to the table. Her legs melted as she finally took her weight off them, but she barely noticed. She ran a thumb over the surface of the wood, feeling every imperfection in the grain and the scored ridges of the design.
Graham and Conall hovered over her. One of the goblins screeched and banged against the cage. The air had grown sharp with smoke from the hearth.
“It’s a puzzle box,” said Conall. He leaned closer until she could smell his breath. He’d had tea recently, perhaps while waiting for her, and he’d drunk it as she liked, thick with honey.
Effie grinned but did not take her eyes away from the amulet. She’d had the same thought. “Yes,” she replied. “Like a locket, only for a child. It’s meant for hiding something in plain sight.”
Her grin broadened. She found the imperfection she sought. Taking the amulet in a firm grip, she moved her fingers into a precise place and twisted.
The sunburst split in half as the wood slid apart.
In the cavity nestled a thin stone covered in delicate runes. Effie gasped and almost dropped the amulet. The stone inside was nearly the size of her palm. The lines of the runes swirled in a dizzying pattern that made her vision swim.
“A thunderstone,” she said. Her brow furrowed. “But why would there be a need, if the bogill was already Unseily?” The only thunderstones she’d ever seen had been embedded into victims’ bodies and used to sway their thoughts. Somehow the connection of the runes and the victims’ blood made the Fey Craft work.
“Not all thunderstones have a need to rend the flesh,” Rose explained. “Nor are they limited to bewitching. They can do other wondrous things if the crafter’s skill is great.”
“Like what?” asked Conall. “What does this one do?”
The fey woman shrugged. “I dunno. You’d need a Rocksoother for such knowledge. But I’ve heard tales of thunderstones divining water in a desert, and of others pointing the way to buried hordes of gold.”
Effie’s eyes lit up at that. It was as if a fist slammed into her gut. “Aerfenium!” she exclaimed. “The stone is how the Unseily host found the cache. Their leader had it. He must have used it to guide them.”
“Gods be good, you may be right,” said Rose. She leaned over Effie, tracing her fingers across the stone. “A master must have carved this. A fey steeped in ancient lore.” Her eyes met Effie’s. “One with knowledge of Aerfenium.” She did not need to state the obvious, that the criteria for its forging narrowed the list of fey to a mere handful.