Even if he could discover the identity of his successor, there was no way he could make an equine mind understand what lay in store. Maybe they are better off not knowing, he thought grimly. There would be time enough, once they had assumed the mantle of Windeye, for them to be tortured by the memory of what they had lost, and were powerless to regain. Time enough to know frustration and despair because they were unable to help their people. Time enough to be revolted by the savage slaughter of the Hunt. Time enough to loathe and abominate the Phaerie for what they had done.
All too aware that they were keeping Hellorin and the Phaerie Court waiting, Tiolani and Varna had raced down corridors and flights of stairs, but when they reached the lower levels of the palace, their progress was slowed by knots of courtiers who were all heading in the same direction for the self-same purpose.
Why, we’re not so late after all, Tiolani thought indignantly. From what Arvain told me, I thought everyone would be standing around in the courtyard, waiting for us - though, if they had been outside, at least there would not be all these crowds to delay us.
She had no intention, however, of letting the crowds obstruct her. ‘Make way,’ she called out in imperious tones. ‘Make way, there.’ Reluctantly, the members of the court - a bunch of empty-headed idiots in the candid opinion of Hellorin’s daughter, and they didn’t like her any better - moved aside to let the girls through. They hurried between the massive carven doors of the palace, and went out into the courtyard.
The Lord of the Phaerie, who still stood at the top of the steps, turned to greet his daughter. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Tiolani said, curtseying low. Her contrite tone and expression notwithstanding, she was confident that her father would forgive her. He always did.
Hellorin smiled. ‘It was worth the wait. You look lovely, my dear. Absolutely radiant. All this excitement has you shining like a jewel. Ah, to be taking part in my first Hunt again.’
Though Tiolani smiled at him, warm with such praise, her attention was already wandering, her eyes moving, seemingly of their own volition, to seek out Ferimon in the crowd. Surely tonight, her night, he would look at her a little differently? Maybe realise that she had grown into more than just his friend’s bothersome little sister? But his shining blond head was turned away from her as he talked and laughed with the usual crowd of young women who were always around him, hanging on his every word, and he was paying no attention to her at all. Not even tonight.
Tiolani’s glow of pleasure died, and the temper that she had never really learned to control rose up in its place. What was the point of stupid compliments from her father? She could get them any time. Gritting her teeth with frustration, she turned away from Ferimon and his collection of fawning females. She was damned if she would let anybody see the jealousy that always overwhelmed her at the sight of that coterie of giggling fools, and she had no intention of joining their ranks. She was Hellorin’s daughter. She could never demean herself in such a way. And she had far more important things to think about tonight than Ferimon.
Her brother slung an affectionate arm around her shoulders. ‘Worried about the Hunt, Monster? Stick close to me. I’ll show you how it’s done.’
Forgetting, for a moment, that they were under public scrutiny, and therefore she ought to be on her best behaviour, Tiolani glared at him. ‘Will you, indeed? Well, for your information, I’m not the least bit worried. I’m as good a rider as you are, any day.’
The Huntsman, Gwylan, came up the staircase and bowed low to Hellorin. ‘All is ready, my Lord. My scouts have found our quarry for tonight - a nest of feral humans living in the forest to the south.’
‘Excellent,’ Hellorin said. ‘Have the horses brought immediately.’ He turned to his assembled subjects. ‘Come, my children. Our sport awaits us.’
Tiolani was very proud of her own horse. He was a recent acquisition - a birthday gift from her brother - and the fastest, most spirited mount she had ever ridden. His coat was dark bay in colour: a deep, burnished reddish-brown, with a black mane and tail, and legs black to the knees, as though he had been wading in midnight. He moved like a dancing flame. His eyes were bright and brimming with curiosity and mischief, and a white star blazed on his forehead. She called him Asharal. Spirited and fiery, he was not the easiest of rides, but to Tiolani’s prejudiced eyes he was utterly perfect. She was very surprised, therefore, when there was no sign of him among the horses being led out. Instead, Aelwen approached her, leading Maiglan, her father’s old mare.
There was no mistake. The Horsemistress stopped in front of her and smiled. ‘Here we are, my Lady. Your mount awaits.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Tiolani demanded. ‘That’s not my horse. Where is Asharal?’
Aelwen was unfazed by the girl’s imperious manner. Such was Hellorin’s love of the unique Phaerie steeds that he considered his Horsemistress the most important member of his court, after his family. Furthermore, she had been not only Estrelle’s best friend, but also her half-sister. Aelwen was a Hemifae, one of the many Phaerie with human blood in her veins, sharing the same father as Hellorin’s consort but borne by a mortal mother. Phaerie women found it difficult and dangerous to give birth, and sometimes a couple, unable or unwilling to take the risk, would use a mortal woman to bear children for them. Though these half-bloods were accepted as Phaerie in almost every way, everyone was tacitly aware of the difference.
Over the ages, the Hemifae had tended to become the travellers, the traders, the innovators and the artisans, who were prepared to journey to the world outside to expand their knowledge or improve their fortunes. In the meantime, the full-blooded members of Hellorin’s race had become an aristocracy, devoting their time to magic, to their martial skills, to their pleasures - and, of course, to the Hunt. Only they could become members of Hellorin’s court. Though Aelwen had been nominally admitted to that select body long ago, she had used the concession little since her beloved sister’s death, despising the formality, the ridiculous, overly elaborate fashions and the sneering asides of the courtiers towards the half-breed in their midst. The dubious privilege had been granted her partly due to her skill with Hellorin’s precious horses, but mainly because of her close kinship with Estrelle. The two of them had even looked similar - or so most folk said. Aelwen had glowing copper hair, a much darker shade than that of Estrelle, but her eyes were that same glorious gold. She still looked young and beautiful, as did all the immortal Phaerie-folk, but her face had that indefinable cast that denoted maturity, and the expression in her eyes was kindly, shrewd and wise as she addressed the scowling girl. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be riding Asharal tonight, my dear.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’ Tiolani demanded. ‘Is he lame? What have those idiot grooms of yours done to him?’
A stab of anger wiped the pleasant expression from Aelwen’s face. How dare Hellorin’s pampered brat of a daughter criticise the running of my stable, she thought. I’ve devoted my life to these animals. What she knows about their care wouldn’t fill a thimble. ‘There is nothing wrong with him,’ she replied. ‘Asharal is in my charge, and as you are well aware, he receives the best of care. Or were you implying otherwise?’