The Unicorn Hunters: A Novel(93)

“A wise child too,” murmured the lady. “What do you want, then?”

“My cat,” said Elesbed at once. “She will help me, I know, and also she is very handsome and yellow. But she is far away in Nantes.”

The lady laughed; really laughed. She suddenly sounded like someone much younger and happier. “Well, then,” she said, “I suppose there is yet wisdom in the children of men. You shall have your cat, child. And more, if you ever seek me out.”

Elesbed said cautiously, “Are you a korrigan?”

But the lady had stepped away and was gone, as was the light she’d stood within.

Something moved in the leaf-litter. Elesbed stared.

Butter sauntered out of the leaves and licked a paw. Elesbed burst into the loudest, snottiest tears she’d ever cried in her life, snatched up her cat, and buried her damp face in the yellow fur.

Butter tolerated this for a moment, then batted Elesbed away, jumped down, and ran to a door Elesbed had not noticed. It was a door made all of metal.

“That one, really?” said Elesbed.

The cat just looked at her.

“All right,” said Elesbed, and wiped her nose.



The rooms of Never-Was changed after Anne found Louis. Now they passed through rooms made for both of them, and that made it harder. They saw a coronation with pomp and circumstance, two thrones side by side. A Christmas feast. A rumpled bed, with dawn light pouring in. A sunny nursery and a boy with Anne’s eyes in the arms of a wet-nurse. They stopped at that one, their hands closing tight each upon the other. Anne said, after a long pause, “It’s not real.”

Louis did not move. “Anne,” he said. “I have not the strength for too many more. It is starting to blur, what is real and what is not, especially when there are rooms that I—wish were real. What are you looking for?”

“Our wedding-feast,” she said. She gave him a sidelong look, half-despairing. “I think there will be one. Don’t you?”

And he nodded, wordless.

It took a long time. Anne was stumbling, leaning into him with each step, and they were bruising each other’s hands, so desperately were they clinging on, when they walked into a great hall bright with flowers, people in glittering clothes, laughter, sunlight. All the delicacies in the world were spread upon the groaning boards. Two great chairs in the center of the high table stood above the others, twined with flowers.

A roar of acclamation shook the room as they entered.

“Here,” whispered Anne.

“I do not understand.”

“The lady outside said that if we hurried we might even attend the feast. Well, here is our wedding-feast; Moreau’s will not be far. That is how I found you.” She shivered. “And Isabeau will be with him.” She was straining her eyes, looking for the shadow of Moreau in the crowd. Abruptly, she pulled Louis forward, into another light.

Into a different wedding-feast.

The walls of this hall were scarlet, like oxblood when it has dried. Her sister sat with clenched hands, perfect as a doll, dwarfed by the great chair he’d put her in, the twin to his. Julien was leaning on the table, ashen-faced but expansive too, a glass raised in mockery of merriment.

Anne and Louis took three steps into the room and then Moreau looked up and into Anne’s face. He smiled. “Well met, Highness, I knew you’d not stay away. But what can you do? I am king of the korriganed and this girl made me a promise. You must make me a promise now, to ransom her.” His face was damp with sweat. Madness sparked and glinted in his eyes. Isabeau cried, “Anne!” high and furious as a bird, but Moreau’s hand fell heavy on the back of her neck and she could not move.

The hall was packed with men and women feasting, dressed in courtly finery, but all their teeth were sharp; she saw long fingers everywhere, and yellow eyes. She felt Louis tense beside her. He had no sword.

Anne went forward slowly, collecting all their eyes, a trick she’d learned in her early days after her coronation, when she had to employ every scrap of will, instinct, charisma, merely to be heard.

“No farther,” said Moreau, his eyes glassy. Anne stopped. A dagger had appeared in his hand; he had hold of Isabeau with the other. “You may beg to marry me instead if you like. But first I will punish your willful sister who broke my mirror!” The last word was a shout. Isabeau thrashed; he struck her face and she stilled. Her eyes were murderous.

“Kill the duke,” said Moreau, and half the korriganed at that great table rose. Drawn blades caught the light of fires and torches. Were these then his subjects, since he called himself king?

Louis’s jaw set hard. “Come on, then,” he told them, almost conversationally.

She edged away from him, afraid for him. But he didn’t need to be trying to shield her too. She must get to Isabeau.

The first sword came at Louis and he dodged, swearing, and tripped the korrigan, smashing an elbow down. A quick movement and he had a short sword in his hand, and the light of battle in his eye. He was taller than the korriganed, more sturdily built. “Now, you bastards,” he said.

They were moving in like a ring of wolves. But before they could close with him, the great double doors of the hall wrenched open, and of all things, a cat, a child, and a knight in dented jousting armor came running into the room. Elesbed was yelling, “I told you my cat was clever, I told you!”