“It is not an abomination to love another,” she said. “No matter which court they are from. Sadly, it was too late for us, but there may be others who still have time.”
“None of the others wish to indulge in your… practices,” said Altair. “They prefer to remain pure.”
“Then they prefer extinction,” said Kareesh with bitterness. “Deefnir is the last, Altair. There will be no more after him.”
“You cannot know that,” said Altair.
“Do not tell me what I cannot know,” said Kareesh. “You haven’t seen it. Would you like to?” Kareesh stretched out her hand, but Altair shook his head, scowling at her.
“Your problem,” said Krane, “is that you want everyone to be like you. You cannot conceive of a life unlike your own.”
“No,” said Kareesh. “The problem is that I cannot conceive at all. Neither can you. Nor can they.” She gestured to the wider world. “We have fostered our power down the millennia, using the courts to breed our bloodlines pure but bleeding them dry in the process. There will be no more children.”
“The answer is no,” said Barthia.
“Unless…” said Kareesh, “there is another way.”
“Another way?” asked Kimlesh, leaning forward.
“Each of you knows that there have been occasions… incidents… where the Feyre have mixed their bloodlines with humanity.”
“Not in my court,” said Altair.
Kareesh nodded. “With the exception of Altair’s court then, but the fact remains — the union between humanity and the Feyre is fertile.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Teoth.
“The children of these unions are… unpredictable. Fate rolls her dice and the child may inherit from either parent. Some are more fey than others.”
“That’s true,” said Yonna, “but they are not fey. They are the gifted ones, something in-between.”
“And yet there is no barrier against them. The Feyre have long had liaison with humanity. It has become accepted.”
“Not as a substitute for our own children,” said Teoth.
“There are those that have fostered such children into their homes and presented them to the courts as their heirs, there being none other,” she said. Kareesh turned her gaze on Teoth. “How many of your court have children these days, High Maker?” Now it was Teoth’s turn to avoid meeting that blank black stare. “When was it last you celebrated a naming day?” The question hung in the air between them. “Any of you?” she asked.
Altair drew himself up in his chair. “Are you suggesting that these children be accepted as fey? On what basis? In which court? Half the time no one even knows what court begat them. Would you have us start taking in waifs and strays and pretending they are ours?”
“Then mix the bloodlines between the courts. We have a last chance, a sliver of opportunity,” she pleaded. “Even now it may not be too late. There is reason for hope — we could snatch back our fecundity from the hand of fate and have children once again,” said Kareesh.
“Even were we to decree it,” said Teoth, “we cannot compel action which goes against the fundamental culture of our people. It’s a deeply held taboo, Kareesh, as you knew well when you crossed it. It has set you apart for centuries. Does anyone visit you now?”
She stood there in the candlelight, and did not refute it.
“Enough,” said Altair. “We have heard your plea and that is all we are obliged to do, even for you, old one.”
“Then humanity is our only hope,” she said. “Remember that in your deliberations.”
Altair shook his head slowly, but I could see thoughtful expressions in the eyes of the others there: Kimlesh, Yonna, even Barthia. Kareesh turned to leave, and as she did, caught sight of a nod from Altair to the darkness beyond the candlelight. A shadow detached itself.
She paused and then turned back slowly. “There is a chance,” she said, “That one of you might think I have become a thorn in your thumb that must be plucked lest it goad you into rash action. I speak to you in particular, Lord Altair.”
She made the title sound like an insult.
Her crackly voice continued. “Remember this. I have seen the day of my death and I know what awaits me. I will say this, speaking true and clear. The day of my death is also the day of yours. If I were you, I would have every care for the health of this old one.”
She turned again and continued slowly towards the door. Behind her, Altair shook his head minutely and the shadow retreated.
Altair spoke first. “She is old, and she does not see as well as she did.”
Mellion opened and closed his fist three times, in response.
“I too acknowledge the debt,” said Altair, “but she is not the only one with sight, and she does not see everything. There are others we should listen to.”
“Even so,” said Kimlesh. “She is right in one thing. We cannot sit here and watch our numbers fade. We have to do something.”
“I, for one, will not be mixing my bloodline with humanity,” said Altair. “You do not clean the well by adding poisoned water.”
“Cleaning the well?” asked Krane. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“Are you considering adopting this mad scheme now, Krane?” Altair asked.
“I’m open to all the options, Altair, as we all should be. If you have something new, please share it with us.” It was the first time I’d seen Krane say anything against Altair, and the result on the wraithkin Lord’s face was worth the wait.
He stood. “Well let me say this, loud and clear. The Seventh Court will not pollute its bloodlines with humanity no matter how fertile they are. Nor will we sully ourselves with the blood of the other courts. We are proud of what we are, as you should be.” He strode across the candlelit space, making the candles flutter as he passed. The door opened, and he left. The shadow dwelling in the darkness beyond the flickering lights followed him, closing the door after.
“Well,” said Kimlesh. “That places us in a difficult position.”
“That depends,” said Barthia. “Altair has departed, expecting that as we are no longer quorate we must do the same, though I, for one, am not yet minded to leave.”
“Nor I,” said Yonna.
“Nor I,” Kimlesh echoed.
Mellion extended his hand and then placed it on his knee.
Krane said, “I am not leaving if no one else is.” He looked at Teoth, who looked from side to side, assessing the situation.
“You understand,” said Teoth, “that if we continue, there will be accusations of treachery from Altair?”
“The meeting was not declared closed, Teoth,” said Kimlesh. “Are you going to let our brother dictate to you when you may speak and when you may not?”
He looked from one to the other. “Very well then,” he said. “I too shall stay.”
Even so, they dropped their voices and I leaned forward to hear them better. Their voices became fainter, and the flickering candlelight faded.
The interior of the Church of All Hallows by the Tower received the morning sunrise like a blessing. It streamed through the east window leaving long shadows striped across the altar out into the church. As the morning progressed, the light slid sideways, becoming narrower as the sun rose and the world turned and the sun moved round to the stained glass windows along the south aisle, leaving the altar in shadow.