Page 30 of The Filigree Key

The woodchuck flung up a paw against his lips. “Shhh! I don’t want Mrs. Bilberry hearing. We’re not exactly allowed to talk to you.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Bilberry would mind,” I whispered back, especially after her mutterings about the dishwasher. But I still leaned forward to hide my head and torso behind the curve of the ovens. “What is this?”

“Servant passageways. Woodchuck size,” he replied. “We can’t manage stairs very well, so they’re all ramps. They lead all over the place.”

He hunched low, as if he wasn’t already out of sight. “Did you mean what you said about Cernunnos taking care of the hobgoblin?”

“Yes, of course.” Whether or not Ossian actually did anything about it another matter entirely. Wystan was his supplier, after all.

“Can you, um, persuade him to hurry up?” He wrung his hands as if his suggestion was treasonous. “It’s just . . . Ricky was taken last night.”

“What?”

“Oh, he’s got enough spite to keep him alive for a while yet—an ear-biter, that one—but he is only a woodchuck. We’ve been sleeping in the stable with the horses at night, you know, for safety in numbers? Except Joe came down with a cold and so Ricky went to check on their latest batch of cider by himself. When he wasn’t around this morning, we found his tracks and others outside the distillery shed.”

Whatever composure Roland had mustered to tell me this all without his voice wavering broke. He shuddered, his paws tightening into fists. “It’s sacrilege,” he spat, more to himself than to me. “The King of Beasts has a sacred duty to protect his subjects, and, and— I’m beginning to see why Callan threw him out!”

His paws flew to his mouth. “Oh, lass, I didn’t mean—” His eyes widened at the familial term. “Oh, milady, I didn’t mean, I-I—”

He’s remembering!

I quickly put my hand on the woodchuck’s shoulder, partly to reassure him but mostly to keep him from running off into the warren of the servant passageways and slamming the door in my face. “It’s okay, Roland. Calm down. I don’t mind you calling me that in private. Now, what was this about Callan?”

The poor woodchuck looked supremely uncomfortable, wringing his paws and looking for a way to slip my hand and escape. “I-I only know the old legends, milady. I was a storyteller before I, um, was a server and housekeeper assistant.”

Before you took over as leader of the hobs and Sweet Cider Farm’s apple business. “Go on.”

“Milady, the old legends are banned for a reason. Talk of them would brand me a dissenter, maybe even a usurper—”

“Tell me about Callan and Ossian, Roland,” I commanded.

He chuffed an unhappy sigh. “Only the broad strokes and nothing more,” he said resolutely. “But the stories are murky, there are conflicting details, and—”

“Then tell me both versions.” I glanced over my shoulder to find the kitchen still in the height of its hustle and bustle, but it didn’t take someone long to feed a sourdough starter. We would be attracting notice any moment now. The woodchuck jumped when I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Quickly, Roland.”

“Basically, one legend says Callan accused Ossian of shirking his responsibilities to the realm and banished him. But only after Ossian tried to steal Callan’s betrothed, Shannon of the River Court.” He lowered his voice even though he was already whispering. “Banished him and cursed him to become a beast himself.”

That tracked with what Ossian had revealed to me, but I knew the fae was an expert in twisting tales to suit his own ends. “And the other legend?”

The woodchuck checked that the coast was still clear before hurrying on. “The other says Callan was jealous of Ossian’s success as heir to the Court of Beasts and the rare gift of having a fated mate. So he usurped him, took his mate Shannon for his own bride, and banished him.”

“Did he curse him too, in this legend?”

Roland nodded, his fluffy woodchuck jowls wobbling.

Both of these legends centered around the line of succession to the Court of Beasts—a historical cliché no matter the culture—and Shannon, a fae bride. She brought more to the table than an alliance through marriage; she brought power to her husband. And she had magic in her own right. Surely she had a say in all this?

“Shannon seems to have gotten the raw end of the deal both times—abduction and coercion into a marriage she didn’t want,” I pressed. “Couldn’t she just get divorced?”

Roland barked a laugh. “There is no such thing as divorce in Elfame. It’s too risky. When a couple weds, a portion of magic is not only shared between the couple, it is amplified. It knits them together. To divorce, to cleave apart that which has been made one, would kill the weaker spouse, if not both of them. And the survivor would lose all that he or she had gained, not to mention be rendered incapable of ever marrying again. Marriage is a lifelong commitment. That’s why it’s taken so seriously, why other fae merely partner for a season then go their separate ways.”

He shook his head. “No, if Shannon was forced into a marriage to either one of the high fae brothers of the Court of Beasts, her only freedom from it would be death.”

“Wh-what happens if Shannon dies? By her own hand or natural causes? What happens to the magic Callan has acquired through her?”

“So long as Callan does not take Shannon’s life with his own hands, her power stays with him.”

My stomach hollowed out and suddenly I couldn’t find any air. I staggered against the counter, my fingers blanching as I gripped the edge to keep upright. That’s why Ossian was taking Shane with us through the portal. He wasn’t there for my protection—not that I’d ever believed it. He was there to be my executioner.