Frederica looked accusingly at her mother’s dress.
“That is a most unattractive expression, Frederica,” said Lady Matlock. “You may wear mourning if you choose, but I will not. My husband had three great passions: spellcraft, a love of Faerie, and an absolute hatred of sorcery. Yesterday was the culmination of his life, not the end of it. I will grieve the personal loss I have suffered, but I will celebrate what he and King Oberon have done and be forever grateful my husband was given this extraordinary opportunity to create a living legacy.”
“I am glad of it,” said Anne. “I hate wearing black.”
“I believe he would have agreed with you,” said Darcy. “His final expression was one of triumph.”
Lady Matlock nodded. “Thank you, Darcy. I am glad to know that. In the meantime, I have sent word to my eldest son of his father’s death. Frederica, you will oblige me by beginning the study of defensive magic. I do not wish you ever to be in the position I was of knowing my magic might have helped to defend us, had I but chosen to learn to use it.”
Frederica’s eyes betrayed her shock. “Yes, Mama. As soon as I can find someone to teach me.”
“Lord Eversleigh can teach you as soon as he has disbanded the Collegium.”
Eversleigh choked on his coffee. “Well, I suppose that saves methe difficulty of breaking the news to you.”
“It is hardly a difficult conclusion to draw. The Collegium’s charter states its purpose as the prevention of sorcery, and that is no longer necessary.”
Elizabeth was still trying to take in the radical idea of a world without the Collegium when Aelfric strolled in, sat down beside Anne and took her hand. “I just spoke to my father about you, and he was pleased to learn of our connection.”
Anne tilted her head dubiously. “Your father?”
“Yes. Oberon is pleased.”
A sudden silence descended upon the room. Elizabeth stared at Aelfric. What fay madness was this?
Eversleigh swallowed his last bite of food. “They can speak already? Excellent. There are several things I must ask Lord Matlock. Excuse me.” He stood, tossed his napkin on the back of his chair, and left the room.
Frederica and Lady Matlock turned matching baleful looks on Elizabeth, as if somehow she ought to have an answer.
“Aelfric,” Elizabeth said carefully, “I was under the impression that Oberon and Lord Matlock were, well, no longer alive.”
“Of course they are alive,” said Aelfric. “If they were dead, the spell would have died with them.”
Elizabeth moistened her dry lips. “How can they be alive when they spilt their heart’s blood?”
“Oak and ash, has no one taught you anything about Great Spells? Their blood and flesh have changed into the sacred tree, and they live within it.”
It sounded impossible, but Eversleigh had not appeared surprised by the news. If Aelfric and Eversleigh both agreed on something, it most likely was true. “How can you speak to them if they are, um, within a tree? A tree has no mouth.”
Aelfric shook his head, as if unable to comprehend her ignorance. “They can speak in our minds when we touch the tree.”
Frederica said sharply, “They can recognize us?”
“Certainly.” Aelfric reached for a roll. “They cannot focus on a conversation for long, but otherwise it is no different.”
Darcy said slowly, “Eversleigh took us to the Great Spell in Faerie, and Lord Matlock talked to the tree there.”
Frederica’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back. Without a word she ran from the room. Lady Matlock looked thoughtful.
Aelfric seemed unaware that his news had shocked anyone. “I am very glad to have my father’s approval,” he said to Anne. “That means he has no concerns about your parentage.”
It might be true, but Elizabeth suspected Oberon’s true concern was that his son should begin trying to sire another Sidhe as soon as possible. She took a sip of her coffee and eyed her remaining breakfast with regret. Frederica might well need a friend now. “If you will be so kind as to excuse me, I believe I should follow Frederica.”
Anne shrugged. “If you wish.”
How similar Anne’s manners were to Aelfric’s! Neither would ever learn the ways of polite society at this rate. Then again, Elizabeth herself might struggle with that now, given how readily she had accepted the notion of Lord Matlock and Oberon being transformed into a sentient tree capable of communication. Perhaps so many impossible things had happened of late that even this outrageously impossible thing seemed reasonable.
The oak tree seemed to have grown even since she had seen it out her window an hour ago. A carpet of poppies bloomed where they had spilled their blood to bind the spell. Elizabeth absently rubbed her thumb against the sore spot where she had cut her fingertip.
