-Master Jedron
Four days had passed since Ironfoot's revelation. In that time, war preparations had been completed, troops massed at the border. Jem-Aleth, the Seelie ambassador, had been expelled from the City of Mab yesterday without comment. War had come.
Ironfoot stood on the altar of the Temple of Bound Althoin, carefully composing a set of bindings. The deconstructed cynosure was back in place, floating above the altar, but now it had been rebuilt with some crude additions: a few hard runes, a channeling glass. Several of the paperthin leaves that had once resided within the cynosure were now connected to it by lengths of silver thread, their surfaces etched by Silverdun's Elements with additional markings of Ironfoot's design. "I told you," said Ironfoot, not looking down. "The device is calibrated to work from this location only. If we try to use it somewhere else, we'll end up in the wrong place."
Royal Guardsmen had been posted at all the exits. Guide Throen had been furious when Ironfoot had walked out with his cynosure; now he was livid, having been ejected by the Royal Guard from his own temple. The Church elders were gathering nearby for a protest, and Everess had spent a good part of the morning trying to placate them, to no effect.
Sela and Paet sat in a pew, watching Ironfoot. Sela was nervous; she could feel the tension in the room, and could also sense with Empathy the resonances of old emotions in this space. Strong emotions. Fervent ones.
"I wish Silverdun would get here soon," said Paet. "We've been going out of our way to offend every religious order in Faerie this week, and I'd like to get this operation settled before we're damned to any number of various hells."
"He'll be here," said Sela. "I can feel him."
"He'd better be." Paet stood up. "How much longer?" he said to Ironfoot. His voice rang out in the wide space of the sanctuary.
"Not much longer," said Ironfoot. "But as long as it takes. I assume you'd prefer that we survive this experiment?"
Paet harrumphed, but sat back down without speaking.
Sela watched Ironfoot. He was handsome enough, clever, intelligent. Why couldn't she have fallen in love with him instead? He had his own complications, certainly, but she could happily have overlooked them.
Then again, there was a reason she'd been taken with Silverdun. As much as she hated to admit it, she could never have fallen for Ironfoot. He wasn't hard enough. At Silverdun's core was something dark and bitterly tough, and that was what drew her.
As if her thoughts of him had summoned him, Silverdun appeared at the entrance to the sanctuary, a young woman on his arm. Faella.
She was pretty, but not as pretty as Sela. She was young, too, barely out of her teens. She took in the sanctuary with a glance, her face haughty, her eyes fierce. She was used to having all eyes on her. Sela despised her instantly. She could have happily murdered her right there and then. She knew plenty of ways to do it.
For an instant Faella's eyes met hers, and she sensed that Faella knew exactly who she was, and exactly how she felt about Silverdun. Sela consciously avoided creating a thread with her. She had no desire to feel what this girl was feeling.
Faella smiled at her. Oh, how Sela wanted her dead.
"You must be Faella," said Ironfoot, bowing slightly in her direction. "Silverdun believes that you can help us with this. Is he right?"
Faella strode almost regally down the aisle, her gold-embroidered skirt brushing the carpet. "I'm certain that Lord Silverdun has overestimated my capacities," she said. "But I have a great power and I will do my best."
What horse dung. Great power, indeed. Insecure little girl. Sela couldn't help it; she reached out and let the thread form. It sprung up, perfectly white. Sela was baffled. She'd never seen a white thread before. She didn't know what it meant. Examining it more closely in her perceptions, though, she realized that this thread was actually many threads, of all colors intertwined. Only when she examined it from a distance did it appear white.
Who was this woman?
Her emotions, as she strode toward Silverdun, eased into Sela, and Sela saw something she couldn't believe. This haughty woman, this young ingenue, believed every word she said. Faella really did believe herself to be great, but believed it with a purity that astonished Sela. Not insecurity; quite the opposite. Utter confidence.
Faella stopped halfway down the aisle and looked at Sela. A small smile spread across her face. "Not what you expected?" she said. Embarrassed, Sela looked away.
Silverdun looked to Faella, then to Sela, and cringed visibly. Clearly a fear of his was being realized. So much the better.
Sela needed to stop being petty. There was work to do here.
"Lord Silverdun explained some of what needs to be done," said Faella, "but he left the technical details to you, Master Falores."
"Ironfoot will be fine, miss."
"As you wish."
Ironfoot began to explain the workings of his plan to Faella. She asked a number of questions, urging Ironfoot to put the more esoteric details into terms she could grasp.
"I must say," she finally said, frowning, "I'm not sure I quite understand."
Sela bit her lip. "Perhaps I can help," she said.
Faella looked at her and smiled that same seductive smile. "Can you?"
Sela walked to the altar and let the threads spring up between her and Ironfoot and Faella. It would be tricky to connect the two of them to one another, but not impossible.
But before she even began to channel Empathy in order to relate the two of them, Faella picked up on what she was doing and handily did it herself. Sela did her best to hide her feelings of resentment, but knew that they were spinning out from her on the thread and that Faella was receiving them.
Images, thoughts, words, incantations flowed freely between Faella and Ironfoot. It was tiring to channel actual thoughts as opposed to emotions, but each new channeling that Sela opened, Faella expanded. Within a few minutes, Ironfoot had shared everything that needed sharing, and they were ready.
"Thank you, Sela," said Faella. And she meant it. Sela snapped the thread away, feeling stupid and inferior. She wanted to hate Faella, but couldn't. Faella was better than she was. Silverdun's love for her was justified.
"Then let's begin," said Ironfoot. "Just to be clear, I have no idea what we'll find on the other side of this fold. As far as I know, we could all be killed instantly. But if all of this re is being folded there, it must be there for a reason, and there must be something there to contain it. Which means that others have gone before us."
Silverdun looked at her. "Sela, I know you don't want any more missions, but we don't know what we're about to face. We need you."
Sela's heart jumped. If anyone other than Silverdun had asked her, she would have said no.
"Of course I'll go," she said.
"Then let's begin," said Silverdun.
"Yes, please," said Ironfoot. "I have a feeling that any minute now a judge in the Aeropagus is going to send an order for us to clear out of here, war or no war. So by all means, let us begin."
"You know what to do?" said Ironfoot.
"I do," said Faella.
Without warning, the world disappeared.
Sela is finally happy. She has Milla.
They sleep in the same bed. They eat their meals together. They play together on the lawns, weaving the daisy chains that Sela has taught Milla how to make. They put on plays for one another, read aloud (mostly Sela reads and Milla listens), sing each other to sleep. They make rude jokes about the crones and even sometimes about Oca. Sela learns a new word from Milla- "eunuch"-about Oca. They are inseparable. Except for Sela's "special studies" each morning.