Epilogue
The Road to Elsewhere
AN 1219 (AZ 1456) - Midwinter
Outside Danton, Notos
Mab's hand rested on the loathsome swelling of her stomach, something it was wont to do regardless of how she felt about the situation. It was unnatural, detestable. Oberon was not fond of children. He saw little reason for offspring that may one day challenge him for his throne, but Mab had borne him a few hatchlings in the millennia of their marriage together. She knew how it was supposed to be for the females of her kind. It took about one turn of the moon for the egg to solidify before it was laid and after that it would take as few as four months or as many as eighteen before the egg would hatch. In Mab's case, however, nearly twenty months had passed and this thing was still inside her.
If she were positively inclined toward it, she could credit the growing life within her for staving off a return of the madness, but as far as she was concerned, it was an invader, a reminder of her failed ploy that piled humiliation upon humiliation.
"How's the mother to be?" Rowland asked.
Ever since her belly first began to swell, he had taken to greeting her this way. If it was meant to serve any purpose other than to mock her, she did not see it.
She said nothing, only glowered at him briefly. He paid no heed to her hatred of him, though. A luxury afforded to him by the chains that still bound her.
"You know," Rowland said, "a human woman could have had two children in this time. At this rate, it seems like it may spring from you fully grown. I don't imagine you relish such a thought."
Again, she said nothing. Indeed, she had spoken very little to him ever since that day. She had little reason to speak to him before, so much less now.
Just as he paid no heed to her hatred for him, he was undeterred by her silence. He extended his hand to her and said, "Come with me. I have something to show you."
She did not take the proffered hand, but she did follow him as he led her through the castle to an area she had never seen before. He brought her to a door trimmed with gold. Curiously, it appeared to be sealed shut with wax. She had never seen this done elsewhere and could not even begin to wonder at the reason for it.
There were men armed with spears guarding the door. They raised their spears as a sort of salute.
"Hail!" they shouted in unison.
Rowland tapped his fist to his heart to return their salute. And without any further ceremony, he said, "Open it."
The two men were taken aback, disbelieving their own ears. It was no common thing he asked of them.
"But, my lord..." one of them began to say uncertainly.
Rowland repeated the order, this time more forcefully.
"I said open it."
"Yes, milord," the other guard replied.
The guard took hold of the ring pull and broke the seal. Mab idly watched flakes of dried wax tumble to the floor as the door opened. Her nostrils were then assailed by the stench of stale air. If nothing else, in this structure of dead wood and dead stone, at least the air was still alive, but not so in the sealed chamber.
Rowland motioned for her to follow as he stepped inside. It was a stifling place covered in dust and cobwebs. She could sense furnishings of gold and silver encrusted in precious stones beneath the dust. It was not entirely unlike her own chamber, only larger and more ornate.
"And here we are," Rowland said.
"What is this place?" Mab asked, unwittingly finding herself speaking to him.
"The bedchambers of our King," Rowland replied, "sealed for three hundred years."
Even by the reckoning of the Fae, three hundred years was no short time. How much more so for the humans. What would possess them to seal this chamber so many years and what reason did Rowland have for bringing her here?
She had already broken her habitual silence, so there was no reason not to ask.
"Why do you show this place to me?"
She followed Rowland as he walked further in, to the bedchamber itself. The bed was some three times the size of the one in Mab's chamber and taller. Glimpses of the faded purple of the coverings could still be seen under the dust. Dry and brittle from all the years, the covering cracked when Rowland touched it.
Looking back to Mab, he told her, "I woke you from your sleep. I thought you might like to sleep again and not be disturbed this time."
"And how would I not be disturbed here?" she asked.
"There will never be another king in Notos," Rowland replied. "If you went to sleep here, I'd seal it back up and it'd never be opened again."
Mab might have laughed at him, but all she could muster was a derisive sniff.
"You vain creatures, nothing you create lasts so long. Besides, I cannot so easily return to my slumber, thanks to this."
She stroked her swollen belly. As much as she hated the life inside her, it was nevertheless a part of her. Perhaps that was why despite all her effort to hate it completely, her hand would still stray to her belly to gently caress it like there was something beloved and hoped for waiting to come out.
"What'll you do with the kid?" Rowland asked.
He did not need to know the conflict she felt. It was easier to pour out her spite on him.
"Perhaps I shall drown it," she said. "Abandon it on the mountainside for the carrion birds."
She wanted him to believe her, but she was not so certain that she convinced him. There was a rare awkwardness to him whenever the subject turned to their child. It might have been an endearing quality under different circumstances.
"You could give it to me," he suggested.
"To you?"
"It's my kid too. I should have some say in it."
Mab balked at the notion.
"What would you do with a half-Fae child?"
Rowland made a poor attempt at a grin and said, "I wouldn't drown it."
Mab sniffed again.
"Polluted halfbreed though it is, I cannot allow Fae blood to mingle any more with you wretched humans. And I have had my fill of this accursed land. I will find another, where the mortals know fear as they should."
Rowland shook his head. Did he not think she meant what she said? It did not seem to matter, as he changed the subject.
"You probably know this by now," he said, "but you were betrayed by your own kind."
"Of course."
How else could mere mortals have found where she was sleeping in the depths of the mountain? Oh, the vengeance she would exact from the ones responsible, if she could ever find them, that is.
"You might want to be a little more careful about who you trust."
"I have not fallen so far that I need a human to concern himself over me."
She hated his attempts at kindness more than if he were simply cruel. The hypocrisy of it was galling. He could take whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and did so. Honestly, he was not so different from her husband. Men with power are all the same.
More frustrating still was hint of sadness on his face. He had no right to look sad, whatever the reason. So what if he lost his Moonchild wench? There would be others. Perhaps no Moonchildren, but a man of his station would never be lacking for company.
"I guess that's it then," Rowland said with a sigh. "Don't let it be said that I'm not a man of my word."
He pulled out a key from under his tunic, snapping the string it hung by. He then took her wrist and unlocked the shackles, first the left, and then the right. After five long years, the hated chains fell to the ground. In an instant, her true power came flooding back to her. It was not unlike the times Rowland commanded her to use her powers, only it was tenfold stronger, twentyfold perhaps.
She stretched her wings, taking in the flood of sensation through her antennae. Only when she looked down was she disappointed to see that her wrists still bore the marks of her captivity. It was quite possible that those marks would never go away. Still, marked or not, she was free at last, or so it seemed.
"As simple as that?" she asked him.
"Just like that," Rowland replied.
For a moment, her instinct was to spew out all her hatred and rage. And yet she restrained herself. Looking coolly at Rowland, she held up a hand and manifested a tongue of flame to float above it.
"I could burn you to a cinder now as I intended when you first imprisoned me," she said.
Surely any ordinary mortal would have shown fear, but Rowland did not.
"You could, perhaps," he said with a weak grin, "but you won't."
Indeed, she would not, but why? More importantly, how did he know? It was infuriating.
"Maddening devil of a worm," she muttered.
Rowland took her hand and brought it to his lips. The gesture should have disgusted her. She should have yanked her hand away before he could kiss it, but she did not.
"Farewell, fair lady," Rowland said.
Mab gave him no parting words in return. She simply burst into countless sparkling particles of light and vanished, leaving him alone to bear the heavy yoke he had placed on himself. He had no one to blame but himself and deserved all the suffering he would find. Gods, what fools these mortals be.