Alison of Tarves buzzed about the Fey Finder’s ears in her azure gown. How her wee body did not freeze to death, Effie could not fathom. She could see Fergus Alpin straining not to swat the pixie away. She giggled to herself, remembering. Jaelyn and Ana had seen to this newfound composure. They had threatened to remove the man’s hands. Effie wished her friends had remained, but they had left with Freiherr Jörg and the gnomes of the Order of Freiwald to track down a thur spotted near Goswick.
The last of the group storming from the old distillery was Gareth. The hound wore a happy winter belly that wobbled as he trotted through the snow. He kept his head cocked, watching Alison flit about with his tongue lolling merrily.
“See here, Effie of Glen Coe,” started Fergus Alpin, but his words trailed off into a fit of wheezing. He put a handkerchief to his mouth and stooped from the effort.
“He says she’s evil,” squeaked Alison. “He says she don’t want to repent.” The pixie fluttered to land on Harper’s shoulder, waved her arms as if to prove her point, and zipped off again.
Effie raised an eyebrow. She idly reached to scratch at Gareth’s neck as the hound pressed against her shin. “We have been through this before, Mr. Alpin.” Several times, in fact, she did not add. “What is it about this woman that convinces you of her wickedness?”
“Something in her eyes, he said.” Samuel Harper planted himself next to Effie and shook his head. The young man had been granted leave by the duke himself to lend what aid he could to Effie.
“Her pale complexion,” said one of the brownies.
“Her long nails,” said the other.
“But of course she has those things. She hasn’t been healed yet.” Jane started, as if surprised by the bite in her tone. She swept a loose strand of hair from her face. The white of her dress shone through the open part of her heavy coat. She had become bolder over the past few weeks, taking charge of organizing many of the gathered fey’s daily needs.
The change wore well on her, as did her acceptance of Edgar Talmadge’s proposal. The pair would marry in the summer. Jaelyn had teased the young woman would need to find a dress of a different color come autumn. The jest had made Edgar blush deeper than Jane.
Fergus Alpin raised a finger to thrust at Effie but thought better of it. Dropping the hand, he said, “You cannot be sure this healing will make the creature good again. You cannot be sure of it!”
“No,” Effie agreed. “We most certainly cannot. But we must try anyway.” It was true not all of the Unseily they had healed had been grateful. After all, not all had been forced against their will. Some had been like Tallia, bent on delusions of the Barrow Witch’s grandeur.
“It would be better for the empire to put the thing down,” said Alpin. “One does not let a rabid dog play with the sheep.”
Gareth whined and thumped his tail. Effie felt the gazes of those gathered. They looked to her to guide them. Even Fergus Alpin did, in his own grumpy manner. Perhaps they had for quite some time, in some regards. She had only needed to learn how to trust and accept her place among them.
“Nor does one cast out an unfortunate soul whose poor circumstance was no cause of their own, Mr. Alpin.” She raised a hand to quiet the Fey Finder. She leaned toward the man. “I will not stand for abandoning a single victim of the Barrow Witch. Their bent, whether good or ill, will not be decided for them by a presumption of tainted blood. The days of that absurdity have ended.”
Effie’s hands started to stray to her hips but she pulled them back. It was too cold for such a stance. She hugged her coat closed. “The matter is settled,” she said, striding for the warmth of the old distillery. “Let us get out of this chill air.”
Fergus Alpin grumbled behind her but made no further objections. She warmed at the small victory and realized, not for the first time, that her authority no longer felt so odd a mantle to bear.
Epilogue
Conall Murray slapped a hand against his knee. “It is madness and an insult,” he said as he and Effie settled within the compartment of the steam carriage. He wore a formal coat trimmed with the green, blue, and red striping of his family’s tartan. “I am restored to Fey Finder General, to the dismay of John Billingsley, and bestowed a knighthood. Caledon is made Keeper of the Wards. Lieutenant Walford is given a commendation.” He thumped his cane on the carriage’s floor. “Even those men of Hawick received a royal declaration of gratitude.”
The steam carriage creaked as it sputtered forward. Effie swayed with the gently rocking compartment. She held her gloved hands in her lap, feeling stiff and awkward. She was ready to be rid of the embroidered gown of emerald and silver she had donned for the evening. It felt too much like wearing a mask, like the animalistic ones of Les Revinirs.
“I have all I desire,” she admitted. “The treaty is signed by the royal hand. The Sidhe Bhreige are defeated. I have no need of a title or compensation.” She meant the sentiment, but it had not been lost on her that none of her gender had ascended in rank as the queen bestowed her blessings. She grinned at the irony of trading one prejudice for another.
“The treaty.” Conall shook his head and thumped the cane anew. “It could not be written more vaguely if it contained no words at all.”
Effie put a hand over his to still the cane. “It is an agreement of peace, something we fey have never had in our lifetimes. It is something to us.” Her hand slid to his knee. “I think I liked you better melancholy. This cheerless passion does not suit you.”
“Och, I am sorry. It is only that I want you to have all you deserve, and you deserve more.” He cocked his head and eyed her with a smile. “It was satisfying to see Lord Granville humbled. I’ve never seen the man sweat so much and say so little.”
Effie had to agree. “He has fallen from a great height and may never recover.” Word had spread that the lord used crown funds to hire thugs bent on repressing worker unions through violence. The mob justice had caused the deaths of dozens in Manchester, and the scandal had led to many further admissions by his associates. All were nefarious. No one yet knew when or where the allegations might stop. She only hoped Catherine Granville’s name would be spared. The man’s daughter did not deserve such disgrace.
Regardless, her debt to the vile man had been fully paid.
As the steam carriage trundled along, the lights of Edinburgh flashed through the compartment’s window. Conall studied one of the tall, stone buildings before returning to his musings. “His legislation for the crown to formally seize control of Aerfenium will pass,” he said.
Nodding, Effie said, “It must. But not with his name as its architect. There is a very large and intimidating microscope pointed at the empire from across the channel. If London did nothing, it wouldn’t take more than a match to inflame tensions to the point of war.”
“Aye,” Conall agreed. “The continent watches, ready to pounce. They will hold the empire to the coals to ensure another Sidhe Bhreige does not escape the Downward Fields. They will do even more to ensure the empire cannot use the substance while they have none. It would tip the balance too far in our favor.”
“The Sidhe Bhreige will not escape,” replied Effie. “We will see to it, though men like Sir Walter Conrad will play both sides while Caledon is caught in between.” A new home to store the substance would be found, and caches great enough to withstand even a major loss would be created. Plans for both had already commenced.