September 2008

The Queen of the Seelie Court screamed in agony one last time, her hands clenched around a bloody sheet. She took in a shaky breath and looked to where her handmaiden, Kaelie Whitewillow, was now holding a healthy child smeared with blood.

"It's a male," she said softly, wiping away some of the mess and moving to the basin to begin washing him clean.

The Seelie Queen nodded absently, already lost in her thoughts about the new life she had created. She had bedded Sebastian Morgenstern for selfish reasons in those final days before the turn of the new year, before the Cold Peace, taking a mortal lover because it had pleased her to find a Shadowhunter with such an agreeable temperament. Shadowhunters had always held a particular fascination for her, with their shared Heavenly ancestry. But Sebastian Morgenstern had had one thing more – a touch of Greater Demon blood. He had been an entirely unique creature, and quite exciting in their pleasures. Now she had mixed that unusual blood with her own and taken Valentine Morgenstern's experiment farther than he could have ever imagined.

She looked around her birthing bed, glossing over the handmaidens and looked to her daughters who had chosen to attend the birth of their half-brother. Perhaps she could entice one of them to raise the child; a Queen could not be seen caring for an infant. Especially not a half-Shadowhunter, not with the political current in this state. She would turn this child into an advantage – all that remained was determining how.

"My daughters. Your new brother is unlike anything this world has ever seen. Who among you will accept the honour of caring for him as he learns his place in our Court?" The Queen waited.

A tall, lithe figure stepped away from one of the walls where wildflowers bloomed between the cracks and tree roots trailed down from the ceiling. She tossed back long hair the colour of chocolate, her eyebrows arched imperiously and her upper lip curled in disdain.

"'E iz an embarrassment to zis Court, muzzer. Better to kill 'im at once and display ze body for zose 'oo wish to see you lose your throne for what 'appened with ze Cold Peace." Alvariléa had spent much of her time enjoying her pleasures with the Mundanes of Paris, and had made no secret of her hatred for the Faerie's reduced status in the world.

Her dark eyes flashed as they fixed on the oddly-silent baby in Kaelie's arms, "I came 'ere today to see 'im born dead, but it iz cleer zat I will be disappointed. I will 'ave no part of 'im." She turned sharply to stalk out of the room and the delicate curtain threaded through with tiny charms and bells tinkled softly as she left.

Inwardly, the Seelie Queen seethed. There were too many in the Court who had been rumbling about what the Cold Peace had done to the Fey. They were all too young to understand, as she did, that this was only temporary. The Shadowhunters would soon see their error in cutting away the strongest of the Downworlders. They would come begging on their knees soon enough, and she had a mind to have the path strewn with broken glass. She had held the Seelie Throne for more centuries than she cared to count, and she wasn't going to be brought low by these children.

"I will take him, mother." Another of her daughters had stepped forward. Lilac-coloured hair drifted to her waist in lazy, spiralling tresses much like her mother's. Her skin was pale, brushed in places with the softest of purples, and even her eyes were violet-hued. Gossamer wings flitted nervously as she met her mother's eyes, and then looked away from her iron gaze immediately. Arynessa.

A flicker of unease passed through the Queen while she considered the offer. Her eyes bored into her daughter's face as she called on a sliver of her power to force Arynessa to meet the inquiring stare. Clear, blue eyes did silent battle with violet. Holding her daughter's attention, she rifled quickly through the thoughts that were fluttering like trapped moths as a flame approached. One was stronger than the rest. Arynessa, holding an infant boy, with a girl-child of barely two Mortal years clutching at her leg. Each bore the tell-tale, slightly pointed ears of those who had a touch of the Fey. The Queen could feel the longing pouring across the link between them. The silence stretched between the two and some of her other daughters and the handmaidens shifted uncomfortably. The power in the room was perceptible even to them.

"Very well, Arynessa. He will be yours to rear. I will ensure that your brother Baelerithon is present as well, to see that he learns Courtly manners and the history of our people. Between the two of you, I expect you to produce something extraordinary with the breeding I am giving you to work with." She paused, drawing on her power again to drape a layer of menace over the room. Arynessa shivered as it laid across her. "Failure would be most unpleasant, daughter."

Arynessa bowed her head. "Thank you, mother."

The Queen flicked a hand at Kaelie, beckoning her to bring the infant closer now that he was clean. He was still quiet, moving gently within his swaddling. She looked upon his face and was surprised to see eyes of the deepest green looking back at her quizzically. A matte of wispy white hair was visible, and the Queen nodded to herself, pleased with his colouring. Rather a great deal of his father, it would seem. She wondered at how much of herself would be reflected in his soul if so little showed on his face. Interesting, indeed.

The Queen was reminded of another Shadowhunter, fair to look upon and pleasing in his speech. A smile twisted her lips as she considered her newest son.

"Let the child be called Rayce, and let him bear the name of the Morning Star like his father before him," she proclaimed. "The Morgensterns have been nothing if not entertaining to watch. So, too, shall this one be."

The Seelie Queen waved the infant away and Kaelie moved to place the bundle in Arynessa's arms. The princess fixed a rapturous, hungry gaze on the child as she took him from the handmaiden. The Seelie Queen moved to stand and she dismissed her waiting daughters. Her handmaidens moved in to attend to her as the others filed out of the chamber.

That was when the Queen first heard Rayce Morgenstern begin to cry.

July, 2012

"Rayce, you must be very silent and very attentive today. Mother will not be pleased if you are unruly. Do you understand?" Arynessa crouched down in front of the child and held his chin in her left hand. His green eyes met her purple stare and she repeated her question.

"Yesth, sithster."His face split into a mischievous grin and he lunged forward impulsively to hug her. She rocked back on her heels and brought her arms up hesitantly. It still surprised her after nearly four years that he could trust so freely and love so easily. She ran her fingers through his messy mop of soft, white hair, tracing the slight point to his ears. He really had become quite a beautiful child.

She stood and took his hand, leading him away from the cloistered set of rooms that served as their home in the Seelie Court. A great room served as the entryway, high-ceilinged and wide to accommodate the training he would soon begin. Flowing lines in the sandalwood walls brightened what could have been a gloomy space. Hanging Faerie lights dangled from the high ceiling and were spaced along the walls, their glow easy to dim or brighten with a thought.

Off the left side of the great room ran a hallway that gave access to four bedrooms and a place to wash. The largest bedroom was hers, the smallest belonged to Rayce. The other two were unoccupied, as of yet, though Arynessa expected that to change in the near-future. Off the right side of the great room was a small area to prepare and share meals, and a study where Baelerithon dutifully gave Rayce his lessons. A small space to live in exile, but Arynessa found herself unexpectedly happy with the life she was creating here.

She pulled the door closed behind her and touched her hand to a darker patch of wood next to the knob. Roots from around the door twisted inward, joining smoothly around the seams, and the apartments were effectively locked away. She frowned at the reminder that the seemingly happy life she had was not necessarily something that others among the Fey were happy about.

Will-o-the-wisp lamps brightened in the tunnels as Arynessa and Rayce approached, and darkened as they passed, leaving them in a moving sphere of light. These passages were rarely used, and the Seelie Queen had given them a space far from the throne room to deter any mischief. There had been a few incidents in the beginning, until her mother had drawn out the agony of the last perpetrator's suffering for several mortal weeks. Arynessa already knew that her mother was a master of those arts.

Rayce was scurrying along at her side to keep up with her longer strides, humming a Faerie ballad to himself. Her eyebrows furrowed. Again, he surprised her. She had been humming to herself while washing up after their meal last night; he must have been listening without her knowing he was there.

Soon, they reached the busier tunnels near the throne room and Arynessa slowed, not wishing to be seen hurrying to wait in attendance on her mother. Today's meeting had the potential to be important for the future of the Courts, and the Queen had wanted as many of her children and courtiers around her as possible as a show of strength, but Arynessa wasn't interested in playing the role of lapdog. Looking after Rayce until he came of age would take only a few of her endless years, and she didn't want to return to the Court demeaned in any way. She had always enjoyed a position of strength.

She brushed aside a shimmering curtain of trailing moss that gave off a gentle glow of the worms nestled within. Arynessa stopped and looked closer. They were alive and in good health. She made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. Her mother must be in a very good mood.

Inside the throne room, that good mood was even more clearly in evidence. A carpet of soft, rolling moss covered the ground, rising gently to where the Queen's throne sat on a small atoll. Today, her throne was cut from glittering crystal that sparkled from the tightly-clustered Faerie lights above, almost an imitation of sitting in a ray of sunshine. The chamber walls were loosely-spaced trunks of trees, through which the illusion of distance had been created with a glamour, giving the throne room the appearance of a vast, open space. Butterflies flitted around flowers that rose from the moss and doves roosted in some of the boughs above.

A great expanse of mirror was suspended in the air below the atoll at a short distance, affording an impressive view of the chamber's current styling. Arynessa settled herself and Rayce in the moss near the foot of the atoll, far enough way from the throne that he would not be easily seen, but close enough that others would see where she sat. The darkened mirror was close; they would have a good view.

Soft murmuring filled the chamber and Arynessa listened with only half an ear. Scrying with the King of the Unseelie Court was not common, but she had been a princess of the Court long enough for the novelty to have worn off a bit. It was far more important for her to observe those gathered, and more importantly, those who had chosen not to come.

As her eyes played over the courtiers, she picked out many of her siblings among them, chatting easily. Her eyes narrowed. Were they solidifying support for her mother, or fostering dissension? She almost wished she hadn't chosen to ensconce herself so quickly. Perhaps it would have been advantageous to filter through the room; a shoulder touched here, a slight nod of her head there... But no. She looked behind her to where Rayce was sprawled on his back in the moss, arms and legs flung out carelessly.

Rayce was staring up at the Faerie lights above and the hovering butterflies, entranced. He had never been permitted to leave their apartments before. A butterfly floated closer and he raised his hand to it, offering a perch. It alighted gently on the back of his hand and he froze, staring intently at the pattern of its wings, memorizing the shape of them.

The butt of an elaborately carved wooden staff slammed down at the entrance to the chamber to the left side of the throne, startling the butterfly from Rayce's hand. He sat up and twisted around, but couldn't see past the assembled guests.

A dozen Faerie knights in two columns marched sedately into the throne room and stopped. They turned to face each other and then stepped back as one, opening an aisle between them, and drew their swords in a synchronized motion to hold them outstretched overhead, the points of one column meeting those of the other.

The Queen of the Seelie Court entered then, and Arynessa held back a gasp of wonder. Folds of gossamer silver wrapped around her mother's body, shot through with bursts of platinum, and jewels dazzled at her throat. Her red locks had been bound up in silver threads that dangled diamonds haphazardly throughout the arrangement and sparkled off the Seelie crown.

Arynessa had not seen her mother arrayed so brilliantly in some time; the wealth of the Court had dwindled miserably as the Fey had been obligated to pay for the restoration of Alicante and many of the Institutes attacked by Sebastian Morgenstern.

The Seelie Queen mounted her crystal throne and sat back delicately, hands lightly caressing the edges of the armrests. She nodded to two of the Fey kneeling at either edge of the scrying mirror. On her command, they each touched a bottom corner of the glass and it came to life slowly, revealing the Unseelie Court on the other side.

Whereas the Seelie Queen had expended great effort to create a beautiful throne room for the reception, it was clear that the King of the Unseelie Court had gone to no such trouble. The scrying mirror seemed to strain trying to reflect enough light from its gloomy image. A dark cavern stretched out from the mirror, and a rough throne of unworked stone rose from the floor as if it were a single piece. A few licks of blue flame flickered unsupported around the throne, illuminating a little of its surroundings. Dark shadows gathered behind the throne; Unseelie courtiers.

The Unseelie King stepped into view, the throne many paces behind him, and he seemed larger than life to those watching from the Seelie Court. Dark hair rippled to his shoulders, bound by an ancient bronze crown.  His black eyes seemed to draw in the darkness of the cavern around him, feeding on the black emptiness. The Queen fixed her gaze on him and opened her arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

"My Lord, today is an auspicious day for our people. The Nephilim have taken the last of the blood money for their Glass City. Nearly all of their Institutes are rebuilt. Today we may begin restoring our thrones to glory!" She smiled wildly as a smattering of polite applause filled her chamber.

No sound came from the Unseelie Court. The King tilted his head.

"Do you think it over, Fair One?" His voice was deep, resonating through both of the Courts. "The price may be paid, but there is work still to be done. My people will stay their celebratory revels, I think." He extended his arms out to indicate those behind him. "We needs must continue to labour for the Children of Raziel."

The Queen tightened her grip on on the throne. "How fortunate, then, that I chose not to make my people into slaves for the Nephilim. It would not please me to see them toiling with stone and wood to renew the houses of our enemies as payment for the Dark War."

"Yes, instead you would beggar your realm!" The Unseelie King's eyes blazed as he took in her jewels and finery. His look said that he understood they were a sham, a show for the courtiers who didn't know how empty the Seelie coffers were.

The Seelie Queen rose from her throne, seething inwardly. "Do not presume to think I do not know what Iarlath is doing in the Mundane city of lost angels. Is that what the Unseelie Court has become? A haunt for Fey who glamour mortals into parting with their worldly wealth?" She scoffed. "It gives me cause to wonder what else he may be doing there. Whispers of dead Faeries in that area have reached my ears even here."

The King looked thoughtful for a moment, and inclined his head to her. "Better a clever thief than a foolish pawn, Sammaradriel."

Both Courts fell absolutely silent.

Outwardly, the Queen revealed nothing. On the inside, she felt a fury rise in her breast that she had not felt in centuries. How dare he insult me and speak my given name in the same breath! He will pay in blood for this! Her silent anger was drawing down power, filling the room, and the edges of the scrying mirror creaked and warped.

"Have any more of your sons tried to steal your throne, Luchaereon?" She taunted.  "How many more will you throw to the Hunt because you are too weak to prune your family tree?" Her hands clenched at her sides, throbbing with the beat of her pulse as it raged within her.

The King's smile was cold and slow in coming. Arynessa saw several of the Seelie courtiers around the edge of the room slip away and vanish through the exits.

"Kieran will be treated gently by the Hunt; I have seen to that. He will have a long, long life of suffering with them that will never be cut short by the fleeting hatred of another. He will work for his people during his exile, a far more useful purpose than a quick death. My son's punishment will be eternal and he will no know rest nor peace." He paused. "Are you so very comfortable on your throne, my Lady?"

The King of the Unseelie Court turned his back on the scrying mirror and gestured sharply, dark energy racing down his hand to snap out at the mirror. It shattered into pieces, smashing down into the moss near the foot of the atoll.

Arynessa cried out and dove backwards, protecting Rayce with her body. The moss cushioned the fall of the glass, though, and any real damage was avoided. Her chest heaved as she looked down to where Rayce was nestled under her, looking up with frightened eyes. She lifted a finger to her lips and he nodded earnestly.

"Out! This audience is dismissed!" The Queen's head whipped around to search out her staff-bearer at the entrance. "Bring me Gwyn ap Nudd. Now." More courtiers slipped away through the exits, the Seelie Queen's children among them. Arynessa was among the last to leave and cast a despairing glance back over her shoulder at her mother. This had been a serious blow, witnessed by many. It could take years to recover from the loss of face.

She chivvied Rayce ahead of her and saw him glance back as well, concern etched on his small face. Arynessa gently shoved him forward, "All will be well, Rayce, you'll see."

Minutes later, Gwyn of the Hunt stepped through the moss curtain woven with glowworms, and approached the throne. Shards of the scrying mirror crunched under his boots. He knelt before the Queen and bowed his head.

"My Lady sent for me, and so have I come with all the speed of the wind. What service may I render you?" He raised his eyes to see her glaring down at him.

"The tribute from the Hunt. I want the tithe for the Seelie Court raised immediately. Twenty percent of your takings, and not a silver less." Her eyes burned with a fervour that gave Gwyn an unsettled feeling in his heart. He shook his head.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but I cannot do this. Ever has the Hunt gifted ten percent to the Seelie Court and ten to the Unseelie. Such was the agreement written when the Hunt was formed. I am bound by my vows and cannot change them. Perhaps more can be done in the Shadow Markets of the world."

He waited, head bowed once more. The air tasted strange in this place. He could sense magic from both of the Courts here; it seemed to crackle around the smashed scrying mirror and swirled around him uncomfortably. Whatever he had missed, perhaps it was for the best.

The Queen's voice was quiet when she replied, "I should have guessed, Hunter, where your allegiance would lie. Leave this place; I have no further use for you."

 "As you command, my Lady." Gwyn's massive form rose and he turned, stepping over the glass uneasily. He passed out of the throne room and headed for one of the hidden exits reserved for the Hunt. He was already gone when the Queen screamed in rage and the glowworms burst with her fury.

**Author's note:   The physical description (and French-ness!) of Alvariléa was chosen as a winner of my fan-submitted character contest.  Originally named Léa, I lengthened the name with Rachel Barbra Berry's permission.