“Why?” asked Darcy urgently. “We have lost the memory of why the groves are important. Forgive our ignorance. What would happen if all the groves were destroyed?”
The Sidhe lord gave him a look of pure disgust, but the lady took pity on him. “Why, when a grove is destroyed, the lesser fay, the ones who can only use that particular ring, wither and die. The Sidhe can use any ring, so it matters less to us. When it is only an occasional grove lost, the lesser fay at nearby rings attempt to take on extra duties around the lostring. If they did not...” She shrugged delicately.
Darcy leaned forward. “What would happen? What are these duties you mention? This is what we must know if we are to convince our government the rings must be saved.”
“Why, many crops would fail and fewer babies would be born, both humans and animals. Your mages would lose their power, since it emanates from the faerie rings.”
Elizabeth paled. “No crops would grow?”
“They would struggle. Seeds would still sprout but would grow poorly. The land would become barren.”
His mouth dry, Darcy said, “That changes the question. There should be no difficulty protecting the groves if we can convince the government of this.”
Elizabeth said slowly, “I can see why it is in our best interest to protect the groves, but how does it benefit the Sidhe?”
The lady’s laugh chimed harmoniously. “Why, our vitality comes from you, from having those with human blood among us and by mingling our blood with yours.”
Darcy’s mind was racing. “Honored lord, I will report what I have learned to the mages and to the minister. Lord Matlock, the Master of the Collegium, will wish to meet with you to confirm my reports, if that would be possible.”
“No. Only the two of you.” His expression glacial, the Sidhe added, “Meeting with your leader would make it appear as if I am betraying my king. No one will question my desire to spend time with a beautiful young mortal who stumbled into my hall in Faerie.”
Elizabeth blushed. Darcy ignored a rising tide of jealousy.
Darcy said carefully, “We did speak to another mortal who wishes to stop the war. He asked us to give you this.” Darcy reached under the table and produced the basket Eversleigh had provided, filled with fine sweetmeats he had brought from London for this purpose. Uncertainwhich of the Sidhe to present it to, he set it on the table between them.
The lord pulled the fine linen cloth from the top of the basket, revealing a letter. He read it with a frown before handing it to the lady. Her eyebrows rose as she perused it.
“Do you know what this says?” demanded the lord.
“Viscount Eversleigh told me it says that he wished you to know he supported your endeavor, and that he has a great deal to lose in the event of open war. He will not reveal what he knows to the king and hopes he can be of service to you.” Had he forgotten anything?
Elizabeth added, “He cannot reveal who you are since we do not know your name.”
The lady inclined her head. “You have shown us honor. I am called Aislinn.”
The lord said nothing.
Darcy tried a different tack. “If we can protect the groves, will that be enough to stop the attacks?”
“No. We must also remove Oberon from the influence of his mortal-hating son. It will not be simple; he is very attached to the boy. But that is not a task for you.”
The lady said something in a musical language incomprehensible to Darcy, but she seemed to be asking her companion a question.
The lord’s eyes narrowed, and he answered her at some length.
Elizabeth made a soft choking sound and interrupted the lady’s reply – and spoke in the same language. Darcy stared at her, his breath hitching. Why should he be so surprised she had kept one more secret from him, and why did it have to hurt?
Elizabeth turned to him apologetically. “I was just telling the honored lord and Lady Aislinn that in fairness they ought to know I understand their speech.”
Darcy said stiffly, “I had not been aware you spoke the language of the fay.”
“I had not been aware of it myself, and I find it quite disturbing,” she said with an edge of sharpness.
The lord placed two elongated fingers under Elizabeth’s chin and studied her face. How much could he see in the dying light?
In his chiming voice, he said, “Someone has tampered with your memories.”
Elizabeth stiffened. “Who did it?”
