"I didn't come to Elenth to make friends," said Mauritane, sighing.
By nightfall, Ironfoot was ready. His modifications to the cynosure proceeded more quickly than the first time, and he'd been able to use what he'd learned from the first journey in order to ensure a smoother trip.
The Chthonic priestess had, of course, been furious at the idea. But she also realized that at the moment she needed Mauritane far more than he needed her, and ultimately acquiesced.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Silverdun asked Faella.
"She loved you, you know," said Faella, as if this answered her question.
"I know," said Silverdun. "I think we owe her this much."
Faella folded them, not only directly into the chamber of the gods this time, but directly onto the silver disc she'd created to protect Ironfoot and Sela.
It was dark. And silent.
Silverdun flared witchlight, and the room erupted in white light. Ein was gone, his platform empty. The other gods were silent, unmoving.
"Sela!" called Ironfoot.
Ironfoot channeled Motion and they floated throughout the chamber looking, but Sela was gone. The only sign of her they discovered was the silver-coated iron band that she'd always worn. The Accursed Object, she'd called it. Ironfoot plucked it gently from the ground, his hand wrapped in his cloak.
They returned to the temple in Elenth without incident. As soon as they arrived, Silverdun snatched the cynosure off of its pedestal, hurled it to the ground, and smashed it to pieces.
Seelie Army drinking song
Lord Everess delivered one of the most touching eulogies, praising Glennet's years of service to the Seelie Kingdom, restating his many contributions to Corpus and to his peers, and calling him one of the great heroes of the realm and an exemplar of the Seelie Heart.
Very few in Corpus were fooled by the official explanation for Glennet's demise. Most assumed that he'd ridden into battle in an attempt to end his life in dignity after falling into financial ruin. If any of his coconspirators in the House of Guilds-either his creditors or those with whom he'd invested -suspected the truth, they were wisely keeping it to themselves.
To add to the insult, when Silverdun had arrived in Corpus he'd discovered that Lord Ames had been using his chair as an impromptu liquor cabinet for years. Granted, Silverdun had only sat in it once in his entire life prior to today, but it was the principle of the thing. He made a show of polishing off one of Ames's finer bottles of whiskey during the proceedings.
Well, Ames could have the damn chair. Silverdun would never sit in it again after today.
Afterward, Silverdun met Ironfoot, Paet, and Everess at a cafe on the Promenade. They raised an ironic toast to Baron Glennet and then sat in silence for a while.
"You laid it on rather thick in there," Silverdun told Everess, after draining his glass.
"Never pass up an opportunity to praise a fallen colleague in open session, boy," said Everess. "It's just good politics."
"I suppose there won't be much resistance to the Office of Shadow now," said Ironfoot.
"Oh, we still have our enemies," said Everess. "But they now know the price of going up against me."
"Us," said Silverdun. "They know the price of going up against us."
"Just so," said Everess. "Just so."
That evening, in the tangle of brush behind Blackstone House, Paet, Silverdun, and Ironfoot buried Sela's iron band in a small hole near the wall. They passed around a bottle of very expensive brandywine (purloined from Lord Ames) and spoke little.
"I'm surprised you agreed to this, Paet," said Silverdun. "Didn't you tell me once that Shadows don't get funerals?"
Paet looked at him and opened his mouth as if to speak. Instead, he simply shrugged and walked away.
Once he was gone, Silverdun and Ironfoot sat on the ground next to the tiny mound of dirt and finished the bottle.
It was late afternoon when the hired carriage stopped before Oarsbridge Manor, and Silverdun and Faella stepped out of it. Autumn leaves blew across the front walk, skittered across the lawn. Spring was approaching, but autumn still had work to do.
A servant admitted them into the house; Silverdun didn't recognize her, but then he'd been gone a very long time. She gave no indication that she had any idea who he was. Tea was offered and accepted.
They were sipping it in the parlor when Bresun appeared. "Why, if it isn't Perrin Alt, Lord Silverdun," he said calmly, as if he'd been expecting their arrival. "And the lady ..."
"Just Faella," Silverdun said, as Faella rose and curtsied. "Not `Lady' anything."
"I see," said Bresun, though he clearly did not. "How may I be of service?"
Silverdun paused, wanting to keep Bresun in the dark for as long as possible. What must the man be thinking? He'd probably been dreading this moment every day for the past two years, since "Lord Silverdun the Traitor" became "Lord Silverdun the War Hero." Silverdun had been happy to let him swing on the hook.
"Small point of propriety," said Silverdun. "There is no Lord Silverdun any longer, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "You'll just have to call me Perrin from now on."
"Excuse me?" said Bresun. Silverdun could see that his uncle's feigned politeness was about to be shed.
"It's true," said Silverdun. "I petitioned the queen to have the lordship annulled, and she has graciously agreed to my petition. Both Oarsbridge and Connaugh are now estates of the Crown."
Bresun simply stared at him. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
"I should add that the dissolution of the lordship means that all of your titles to the lands and properties are, sadly, revoked."
"You can't do this," said Bresun, shaking his head. "You can't. You'll lose your title! You'll be penniless! We've been through all this before!"
"Oh," said Silverdun. "It's not so bad. I have a job, you see."
"And I don't care about money; I love him for his looks," said Faella, touching Silverdun's knee.
"By the way," said Silverdun. "The overseer for the Crown is going to be here tomorrow, and he'd appreciate it if you'd be out by then. Short notice, I know, but some things can't be helped."
"You're mad," said Bresun. "I told you one day that I'd destroy you, and I still can."
Silverdun glared at him. "I think you'll find me a rather more able adversary than when last we met."
He smiled. "And anyway, it's not me you're up against. This is between you and Regina Titania, I'm afraid. You can take it up with the overseer, of course. You'll like him. Arcadian fellow, very peaceful and forgiving, as those sorts tend to be."
Bresun sputtered, but said nothing.
Just before sunset, Silverdun and Faella walked hand in hand down the lawn to the family burial plot. Generations of Silverduns had been interred here, and were now simply names on stones.
His children, Silverdun realized, would not be noblemen. But he could live with that. As he had once pointed out to his mother, if they were all descendants of Uvenchaud, they were all lords.
And honestly, most noblemen were asses, anyway.
Silverdun looked down at his mother's headstone for the first time. He searched for some kind of sentiment to match the occasion, but came up with nothing.
Finally, he sighed and said, "Well, Mother, I finally decided what kind of man I wanted to be. I'm not sure that you would have approved of my choice, though."