The Solstice Cup (13 page)

Mackenzie sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes. Two attendants were advancing with a single gown stretched out between them. The first girl released the lower half of the dress, and half a dozen layers of filmy, translucent fabric fluttered slowly to the ground.

“It's pretty,” said Mackenzie, still half asleep.

Nuala made a pouting face as she flounced down in a chair across the room. “It's pretty—that's all you can say about it? I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm. But I suppose you're still brooding about your sister.”

The faery held up her palms before Mackenzie could answer. “I know, I know,” she said with an impatient sigh. “You're afraid your sister will wake up, and you won't be here to help her. But Deirdre will stay with her, won't you, Deirdre?” she said as her red-haired servant advanced to stand by the foot of the bed. “She won't leave the room until you return.”

The faery clapped her hands. “Now that that's settled, let's forget your sister for a little while, shall we? Try on the dress. You'll forget your own name when you feel that silk against your skin.”

Mackenzie had accompanied Nuala all the way to the entrance of the courtyard before she realized she'd forgotten something even more important than her name. She stopped abruptly, her hands flying to the empty folds of the thin gown under her cloak. She hadn't brought a single bogberry.

A faery with fox ears hissed angrily as he collided with her. “I'm sorry,” Mackenzie squeaked, leaping quickly out of his way.

“What's wrong with you?” Nuala asked as she turned and waited for Mackenzie to catch up. “You've gone as pale as a water nymph.”

“I-I—” Mackenzie searched her mind frantically for an excuse to go back.

“Well?”

Mackenzie's panicked mind had gone blank. “I'm fine,” she said faintly.

The banquet that evening was even wilder than it had been the night before. As the revelry reached a drunken pitch, none of the assembled guests seemed to notice the animals eating freely off the tables. Mackenzie recoiled as a mouse scurried past her plate. A hawk swooped down a moment later and took the mouse in a single bite. Mackenzie didn't even pretend to take an interest in the food in front of her. Her knuckles were white in her lap. With the arrival of each new course, she became more desperate to get away.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Nuala and the other faeries farther down the table laugh with a savage excitement. Nuala's head was thrown back, and her cheeks were flushed with wine and exhilaration.

Mackenzie eased herself back from the table while Nuala was still distracted. She gathered her skirts. She was just half an inch above her seat when a hand closed around her wrist.

“Where are you going?” Nuala asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I-I was just going to stretch my legs,” Mackenzie whispered.

“But you haven't touched the wine in your cup. And look, the piper has arrived to play for us.” The faery tightened her fingers, and Mackenzie felt a small shock travel up her arm. “Stay,” Nuala said sweetly, an icy smile on her face.

Mackenzie's stomach churned as she watched Finian settle himself at the center of the courtyard. Every muscle in her body was tensed as if waiting for a blow.

The first notes were soft, teasing. If they had stayed that way, Mackenzie was sure she could have resisted them. But the music didn't remain gentle. It swelled quickly until it was a crushing wave of sound. Mackenzie did everything she could to resist it. She bit the insides of her cheeks until they were raw. She chewed on her tongue. Her fingernails left bloody imprints where they cut into her palms.

She forgot about Nuala's presence beside her. There was only the piper's music and her struggle against it. She covered her ears and buried her head in her lap, but it was still there, ringing in her head, battering her body.

She felt the air explode around her. It was like an enormous electric pulse, making every hair on her body stand on end. Her head throbbed. When the pipes fell silent at last, she thought her eardrums had ruptured. Several seconds passed before she could summon the courage to sit up and open her eyes.

The struggle had cost Mackenzie all of her strength. She could barely hold herself upright as the solstice cup was carried toward her at the front of the faery procession. The cup itself was a blur: two cups, three cups, coming closer and closer. Nuala steadied her as Mackenzie accepted the vessel with both hands.

“Drink,” the faery whispered.

Mackenzie was too tired to resist. She let Nuala guide the cup to her mouth. Her lips parted… At the last possible second she heard the pipes again, one soft note that was gone as soon as it had begun, as if she'd only imagined it. She hesitated and then tilted the cup again.

The liquid reached her lips, but her lips were closed. She swallowed her own saliva twice and let Nuala take the cup back. She didn't have to fake the tremor that went through her body.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

A
nger had given Mackenzie some of her strength back when Finian showed up at the doorway of her room later that night.

“Are you ready?” the piper called softly into the darkened chamber.

“Why—why do you do it?” she demanded, sputtering in her rage. “My mouth is bloody—it's a mess! I can barely talk because of you—you and that
music
! And my sister—” Mackenzie's voice faltered as she turned to the bed, where Breanne was still asleep. “How can you be their Pied Piper, leading people right into their trap? How can you be so—so
evil
?”

Finian was silent for almost a full minute. When he spoke again, his voice was ice. “There are some things wee lassies like you could never begin to understand. I've helped you and your sister repeatedly, and I'll take you to the old woman now if you're ready. But I won't explain myself to you.”

“I don't need your help,” Mackenzie said, her heart thundering. “I can find my way myself.”

The piper snorted. “Oh, you can, can you? Then by all means.” With an awkward flourish, he gestured toward the hallway.

“I know the way,” Mackenzie insisted.

“I do not doubt it. But does the way know you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Finian stood aside. “Find out for yourself. But let me warn you—you won't get far. The passageways will be short, and they won't lead you anywhere. You'll find many walls and few doorways, and then you'll find no doorways at all. If luck favors you, you might find your way back here. Then again, you might not.”

Mackenzie remained silent.

“Let me know what you decide,” Finian said. “I'm at your service.”

With an effort, Mackenzie brought her voice under control. “If you won't tell me why you're helping faeries like Nuala trap people, will you at least tell me why you're bothering to help me and my sister?”

“It's not you I'm helping. I told you, I owe a debt to Maigret.”

“So how come you can come and go as you please?” Mackenzie asked, her arms crossed. “Why do the hallways stay open for you?”

“The ways are charmed against those the faeries don't trust. They trust me, of course. I've earned certain privileges for my faithful service.”

“I'll bet,” Mackenzie muttered as she looked down at Breanne's still form on the bed a few feet away. She uncrossed her arms. “All right. If you're my only way back to Maigret tonight, I guess—I guess we'd better get going.”

“There's a bright lass,” said the piper.

Mackenzie didn't speak to her escort as she trailed a few feet behind him, not even when they were out of the faery mound and well on their way to the water. Finian untied the same boat they'd used the night before, and they rowed across to Maigret's shack in silence.

“There you are, delivered in one piece,” the piper said, nodding at the ladder that led up into the shack. “You know the plan. I'll be back before dawn.”

“Thank you,” Mackenzie said stiffly.

“Wait—you've forgotten something.”

From underneath his cloak, Finian pulled the pouch that held the fragments of cloth from Mackenzie's and Breanne's clothing. He tossed it across the boat. Mackenzie picked it up and started up the ladder.

Maigret was waiting at the top. “Come in, lass, come in,” she said as she took Mackenzie's arm and led her across the dim, lamp-lit space. “The loom is ready. You brought the pieces of cloth from your own garments?”

“They're right here.” Mackenzie held up the pouch.

“Good. I spent the day spinning fibers from the marsh into twine—enough to get you started.”

The old woman positioned Mackenzie in front of the empty loom, which consisted of four wooden poles lashed together at the corners to form a tall frame that leaned against the wall. Two narrower poles were attached by slender ropes to the bottom and top poles.

“You have to string the warp threads to start—the ones that go from top to bottom,” Maigret said. She handed Mackenzie a ball of very coarse yarn.

“Wouldn't it be easier if you did this part?” Mackenzie asked as she struggled to follow Maigret's directions. The yarn was supposed to wind continuously from the bottom pole to the top one and back again, forming tight parallel lines across the loom. Mackenzie kept dropping the ball of yarn as she traced clumsy figure eights around each pole.

“Keep the yarn taut,” Maigret said. “That's it. Aye, it would be easier for me to do the whole thing. But the weaving must be all yours, or the mantle's power against Nuala's magic will be diluted. It's enough that I did the spinning.”

When the warp threads were in place, Maigret directed Mackenzie to insert a long stick between every other thread. “That's your shed stick, to keep the warp threads open. Now the batten.” She handed Mackenzie a flat stick with a sharpened edge and instructed her to insert it under the shed stick. “There, that gives you room for the shuttle.”

Mackenzie took the long flat stick with yarn wrapped around it and began weaving it through the warp threads, releasing yarn from it as she went. It was a painstaking process, even with the batten in place to hold the warp threads open for the shuttle. Following Maigret's directions, she used a wooden comb to pack down the weft threads she'd just woven in.

Mackenzie surveyed her progress and then tensed her body in frustration. “It's a mess!”

“It's not a silk dress you're weaving, lass.” Maigret put a wrinkled hand on Mackenzie's arm. “It doesn't matter what it looks like.”

“But there's no way I can weave a whole cloak by the day after tomorrow. It's impossible!”

“'Tis a mantle, not a cloak. It doesn't have to be big. It just needs to be wide enough to cover your sister's shoulders. Keep going,” Maigret urged. “Don't think about it—just do it. Your fingers will learn. Soon enough they'll be flying across the loom.”