“I beg your pardon?” Cadance asked from her position of repose. She kicked idly at the bathwater, only her hooves and head visible. Steam billowed from the surface of the water, filling the air with a choking cloud of vapor and rose scent. Libra, still clad in her black robes from her meeting with Captain Afi earlier, did her best to remain calm. The air in the baths was stifling, and Cadance knew it full well. Despite this, Libra had been forced to meet with her there. It had taken the better part of three days to arrange this little get-together, with Cadance’s pages and aides informing the increasingly-frustrated Magus that the Princess was very very busy, and they were so sorry, but couldn’t she come back later?
Libra took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to lose her temper. “I said that I wished to question your daughter regarding the death of Captain Fidelis.”
Cadance nodded thoughtfully as an attendant, standing close by, poured water from a pitcher into her hair. She closed her eyes, partly in reflection and partly to keep the soap out of them. She opened them again and looked Libra square in the eyes. “No.”
Libra felt a bit more of that anger well up in her chest, and triple-checked her mental defenses to be sure that it was definitely normal annoyance worrying at her heart and nothing of magic. They were secure. “Please,” she said, just short of gritting her teeth. “I beg you to reconsider. Without speaking to your daughter, I cannot be assured of her innocence in this matter.”
Cadance waved one hoof. “She is my daughter,” she said. “As far as I am concerned, she’s blameless in all this. You have your answer.”
“With all due respect,” Libra replied, “I have an answer. But I’m also left with questions, your Grace. Several questions.”
The attendants, who were pouring yet more rose oil into the bath, were stopped cold by a gesture from Cadance, who regarded Libra with heavy lidded eyes. The air was warm in the bath, and yet Libra felt a chill run down her spine as Cadance, sweet as candy, said “Continue”.
Libra rallied. “There’s something that’s been bothering me about the timing of all this. Serale goes missing, which is bad enough, and I detected some small bending of the ley after her disappearance. Shortly after this, your Captain dies by way of a pony who is now gone from this Court. Shortly after that, Captain Fidelis, a member of a race which you have, in all honesty, an understandable dislike of, is killed by unusual magics.”
She cleared her throat. “Forgive my ignorance in these matters, for I am only the Court Magus of Lady Everstar and not blessed with the wisdom of immortals, but it seems to me that the manner of Fidelis’s death is most suspicious in that it strongly resembles a Fae curse. I have yet to perform a conclusive autopsy, but I would wager a guess that Fidelis’s body will show no signs of poison or latent familiar magic.”
“Lastly,” she said, building steam, “The timing of your adoption gives me cause for alarm. Though I would, of course, not dream of accusing you directly, a more suspicious pony, such as my Lady, may see this series of events as you paying off a member of the Fae to kill a member of the Evening Guard. And while I ultimately serve Lady Everstar, I have travelled these lands often in my youth. It would pain me to see her consider retaliation against them and yourself over a simple misunderstanding, which could be resolved by a brief conversation with your daughter.”
The attendants in the bath, as if of one mind, took a step back from their mistress. Cadance sat there, the lovely features of her face statuesque in detail and in poise. Libra could see a flush begin to work its way up from the base of her neck, and wondered if she mightn’t have pushed things a bit too far.
“Are you threatening my daughter or myself with war?” Cadance asked quietly, quietly enough that Libra had to strain to hear her over the sounds of running water. “Or are you just acting as the messenger from your Lady?”
“I’m trying to protect you both from that,” Libra replied earnestly. “Truly, Princess. I only wish to speak to your daughter regarding her involvement in the plot, if such a thing exists. I carry no message, I threaten nothing. I wish to help you both, and to get the matter resolved to everypony’s satisfaction.”
For a moment, there was no sound save the steady drip of water from Cadance’s mane to the bathwater below. She took a deep breath, and looked Libra dead in the eye. Her face, still lovely, seemed to the Magus to be unnaturally still and refined, and she was forcibly reminded that she was dealing with a creature that was more god than mortal, and had been for some time. If Cadance wanted Libra to kill herself, there was likely very little that the Magus could do to stop her.
“Suppose I take you at face value. Suppose I agree that you really do have my Kingdom’s best interests at heart, which I doubt. Suppose I do let you question my daughter. What do you think you will get from her?”
Libra thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “An admission of her guilt or innocence in the matter. It’s well-known that Fae cannot lie, at least directly. A simple course of questioning will be all I need.”
Cadance nodded slowly, beckoning one of her attendants forward. They began to work a soap, scented, of course, of roses, into her mane. “And how would you plan on redressing the insult to her after such questioning? Or were you not aware that direct questioning would be a grave insult to a member of her race?”
Libra didn’t flinch. “To be honest, I couldn’t care less about an insult. But if she insisted upon redress, I’m sure I could accommodate her. Information for information, as it were. Perhaps some information about Cobblestone?”
It was Cadance’s turn to be off-balance. Her brow wrinkled, causing a few suds to fall into her eyes. She blinked in irritation as the attendant washed them out. “What makes you think that I’d be interested in Cobblestone?”
“My Lady has no tolerance for games when it comes to the safety of her subjects, Princess. This is one of the many reasons she employs me. I am not entirely unfamiliar with the principles of courtly etiquette, nor with the finer points of spycraft. You’ve made inquiries about my student, and I have heard them. Now, are you interested in a trade?”
Cadance’s eyes narrowed. “I could have you whipped for speaking to me in such a manner, or suggesting that I’ve been spying on a student of yours. I could have you branded and expelled from my lands, if I so chose.”
Libra sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “Yes, Princess, you could have me whipped. You’d be surprised how wearily often I hear that threat in my line of work, it’s really quite perplexing. Perhaps it’s something of my personality that invites thoughts of whipping, I’ve been told I can have a bit of a sting.”
There was once again silence in the baths, and tension filled the air. Libra blew air through her nostrils, not quite a snort, not quite contemptuous, but close. “Very well. Your daughter can keep her secrets, and I mine. I only wish you were committed to peace.” She bowed. “Princess. You know where to find me.”
She turned without leave and made her way to the door of the baths, hoofsteps echoing off the walls and ignoring the scandalized looks of the attendants who lined the walls. She kept her head high and her step measured. If she feared retribution for her insolence, she didn’t show it.
“Wait,” came a voice, weary and haggard.
Libra stopped, but did not turn around. “Yes, Princess?”
“Usually my subjects face me when speaking.”
“I am not one of your subjects, Princess.” There was pride in her tone, but the words Libra wanted to say remained unspoken.
Cadance sighed. “Very well, Magus. You’ve certainly proved yourself as stubborn as your mistress, if not exactly as tactful.”
“A perennial failing of mine, I’m afraid.”
“Quite,” Cadance replied. “Suppose I agreed to your terms. What guarantee would I have that you have any information that’s of any use?”
“You don’t. But then, your daughter might not have anything of use either.”
Cadance thought about that. Everything the Magus had suggested was logical in the most infuriating way. She fit Twilight like a finely tailored dress, complementary while being just distinct enough to stand on her own merit. She couldn’t abide a yes-mare, a trait both she and her onetime sister in law shared.
Much as she disliked the Magus, who thought she could speak to goddesses as equals, there was a point to be made. War loomed ever closer, made worse by her own investigations into the Cult, though she’d found little evidence of it in her lands. Letting the Magus question the newest member of her Court might do more harm than good. And if she was very lucky, the Magus might insult her badly enough that she’d get turned into a rosebush or something similar. If that were the case, then she’d be sure to plant her somewhere prominent in her garden.
“Very well,” she said, a smile playing on her lips at the thought. “You tell me what you know about your apprentice, and I’ll let Leanan know to expect you.”
Libra trotted back over to the side of the bath, her tone once more deferent. “Everything I know, Princess?” she asked. “I’m not sure what information you could glean from knowing that Cobblestone prefers dark ale to red wine.”
Cadance fixed her with a flat stare as the attendants began their work once more. “You know what I mean,” she said. “Pedantry will not avail you here.”
Libra smirked. “Pedantry is my craft, Princess. Law, boundaries, judgement. A true Magus knows them as she knows herself. But perhaps now is not the time,” she continued. “I’ll begin with her magic…”
Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Feinan, late of the Grove of Silver Apples and more recently of the Dawn Court, had found her rooms, looking over the garden below and the lake and mountains beyond, a bare if serviceable suite, well-appointed and kept clean.
Upon stepping through her door for the first time, she was heard by her attendants, not one of them older than the age of twelve, to say quietly, “Oh, this will not do.”
She had turned to her attendants and bade them bring a number of objects, among them a quantity of silver, green wood of a yew tree, a branch of a thorn, and the roots of an ash, a hatful of newly fallen snow, and a dram of wine. Her attendants, grinning widely, had done as they were bade, not wishing to offend Leanan, or, as she was known to them, “Lady Lea”. To them, it smacked of a scavenger hunt, and they set about their tasks with gusto, finding stranger and stranger things for her to use.
Finally, after the last bolt of green wool had been found, the last urn of soil dug from beneath a rosebush, and the last cup of tears, collected from all of her servants laughing uproariously at one of the many stories she had shared with them during their hunt, had been brought to her, she had dismissed her servants as the moon rose for the evening, telling them that tomorrow morning, they were to report with the sunrise.
They did as they were told, and the next morning, as the sun rose, they were ushered into what appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, a forest, and one that was unlike any of them had seen. The forests of the Northern March were hardy pine woods, clinging to wind-blasted mountains. This was a forest of drooping boughs rustling with leaves in a strange wind, which seemed to come from everywhere, a forest of soft mossy floors and a ceiling that appeared to be an actual sky, complete with stars dancing faintly in the distance.
They found out when they exited the room perhaps ten minutes later that almost a full day had passed without their knowledge.
That had been two days ago, one of the pages explained to Libra as they climbed the tower steps. He, being the oldest of the attendants selected by Lea, as he called her, was tasked with explaining that there were new laws in the Dawn Court, and that the Leanan Sidhe had a right to enforce them.
“For starters, Missus Magus,” the colt said cheerfully, “Lea don’t stand on titles. So you’re Libra, she’s Leanan or Lea, if she gives you leave. Also, if you have anythin’ of the iron on you, I’d leave it by the door. We’ll have Lemon keep it for you and give it back later. Makes Lea sneeze, does iron.”
Libra raised an eyebrow in surprise, but nodded. She’d thought it might have been an issue, but if the quantity of iron in her alchemical pouches would only make the Sidhe thing in the room sneeze, then she was dealing with a powerful entity indeed.
“She also wanted me to remind you that you are her guest, which has certain rules, miss. She said you’d know them all, but wanted to put emphasis on the fact that using magic in another’s home without their permission aside for regular tasks is considered very rude.”
He looked at her. “I can vouch for that, Miss Magus. Poppyseed tried to make a rosebush bloom with her magic and was dismissed. Lea takes it very serious, though she weren’t mad at Poppy.”
“I’m sure she was very understanding,” Libra said, trying to keep the edge of sarcasm out of her voice. “Anything else?”
“Last rule, Miss Magus,” the colt said, “Lea’s finnicky about promises. If’n you make one, you best keep it, not disparaging your honor, Miss.”
“My honor is already thoroughly disparaged,” Libra mused, as they arrived at the door to Lea’s chambers. There were no guards posted, though two hoofmaidens in shifts of green and blue, emblazoned with a symbol of a crystal heart wreathed in vines, watched her carefully. “And you’ve had nothing to do with it. Thank you, young colt.”
She fished out a silver piece. “For your trouble.”
The colt smiled brightly, taking the coin. Libra also removed her alchemy belt, giving it to one of the young fillies, who simply hid it beneath the skirts of her dress, not moving from her spot. The other filly rapped gently at the door, three knocks and a pause, followed by one more. The door clicked and opened.
The colt bowed. “Lady Leanan will see you, Miss Magus.” He smiled, and Libra discerned something not entirely right about the expression before he simply began to walk away. She turned to the door, which had only opened a crack, and took a deep breath, steadying herself. She placed her hoof on the door, and pushed it open on silent hinges. Before she could stop herself, she screwed up her eyes and checked her mental defenses again, then rushed through the door.
She heard the door close as she opened her eyes to find herself by a small stream. Stars gleamed gently overhead, though the sun hadn’t quite set yet. A warm breeze blew through the air, carrying with it the scent of sap and fruit and wine. She was standing in a clearing, bounded on all sides by massive stones, forming a ring. In the distance, she heard the sound of a nightingale, and she found herself easily able to believe that there was an actual bird in this room.
“Ah!” came a voice, delighted and melodious, from behind her. Libra did her best not to jump at the sound, chiding herself for a fool for not paying attention as she turned around to see who it was that had addressed her.
The young mare was slender, delicately put together, and possessed of a beauty and poise that was certainly not natural. As her kind was wont to do, even in polite company, she wore no clothing, though in deference to her mother she wore several ribbons in her hair in blue and rose, and a small pendant of a heart carved from a single, flawless diamond.
“Magus Libra!” Leanan effused, clearly delighted to see her. “I had thought thou wert lost, or were caught away on some errand!”
Libra kept her expression neutral. “Lady Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Fienan, I thank thee for thy courtesy and hospitality,” she intoned. “And I’ll be sure to make this quick, so as not to impose on you.”
The Sidhe blinked. “Why, I thank thee,” she replied. “But pray, use only my first name. None save my mother call me anything but Leanan.”
“If you wish it, Lady Leanan”, Libra replied.
The “younger” mare inclined her head slightly, indicating a set of benches. “If thou carest to do so, Magus,” she said cheerfully, “I had thought we might take tea. It comes upon the fourth hour past the sun’s height, and I am given to understand that it is customary around this time to do so.”
Libra bowed a little, never taking her eyes from the mare in front of her. “Tea would be delicious,” she said noncommittally. “I would hate to impose.”
Leanan’s eyes flashed. A hit, then. “It would surely be no imposition,” she replied as they wandered over to the benches, where Libra could indeed see a teaset, ready and waiting. “I was told you preferred green-leafed teas? I had one of mine servants pick a suitable blend.”
Libra waited for Leanan to sit before she took her seat, determined not to give the Fae an inch when it came to obligation. She’d had limited dealings with them before, and though she knew that the creature in front of her was considered a member of the Seelie court, that gave her no excuse to be lax in her dealings. Seelie Fae could be just as deadly as their Unseelie cousins.
“That’s very discerning of you,” Libra replied. “What blend is it? I’ve become something of an amateur connoisseur. No great talent, but I’ve enjoyed it as a hobby.”
Leanan smiled at her with such radiance that Libra felt sure that had she not known what the young Lady was, she would have been charmed immediately. Of course, she would undoubtedly have had questions about the gleaming fangs that she was choosing to show.
A threat display. Libra was in the power of Cadance’s adopted daughter, and they both knew it. She wouldn’t be getting out of this entirely intact, not unless she could do something completely unexpected and pull the wool over the eyes of a being undoubtedly much older than she was. She drew a deep breath. Patience, she chided herself. You'll do yourself no favors by slipping up. Quite to the contrary, in fact.
“If I recall, it is a blend picked from the grand hills which lie to the east of Canterlot,” Leanan replied. “Mixed with mint grown in the greenhouses here. I had thought it an odd blend for winter, but Princess Cadance assured it was a good blend for thee.”
Libra took the offered cup easily in her magic, as she had seen Leanan do. She waited until the Fae has sipped from her own beverage before doing the same. It was a good fit for the weather, she decided. Refreshing, but mellow, perfect for the seemingly oppressive air that came with too much winter, from closed up windows and roaring fires and stale air hoarded for its warmth.
“Princess Cadance tells me that thy apprentice will be returned to us soon,” Leanan said, setting her cup down. “It will be good to meet her, I think. I had heard her prowess was fearsome for one so low-born.”
Libra nodded politely. “Cobblestone shows a great deal of potential,” she said. “How she uses that is, of course, up to her. She could choose to squander it, but I think she’ll seize what she’s been given.” She paused, searching her words thoroughly before continuing. “I think you and she might be more alike than appearances would suggest,” she said. “For one, you and she share a certain...poise. Like a cat might have, if you take my meaning?”
“Aye,” Leanan replied cheerfully. “An’ I thank thee for thy compliment, Magus. I dearly love cats, noble and curious creatures that they are. I had one of my own before I left home.”
“Oh?” Libra asked. “Did you decide to leave him there?”
The Fae thing shok her head. “Nay,” she replied. “He escaped my grasp some moons ago, and though I had looked and looked, I could not discern where he might have gone. T'was a pity, and one of the reasons I have strayed so far from my homelands. I had heard rumor he had fled the Forest.”
Libra knew that Leanan wanted her to ask her why she had left the Forest, what her other reasons were. If she were to give her further information, then it would put Libra in her debt. She would have cause to question Libra further. A feint, carefully calculated to draw her in. And an amateurish one, at that.
“A pity,” Libra said. “You have my condolences for your loss, and I wish his swift return to you, wherever he may be.” It wouldn't do to offer her personal apology, as that would, once again, imply debt. A simple “I'm sorry” would suggest that Libra was to blame here.
There was an amiable silence as both sipped at their tea. Libra took her mouthfuls with as much of her considerable delicacy as she could manage, and Leanan exhibited the famed elegance of the Fae with each miniscule movement of the cup she held in her magical grip.
At last, the tea was finished, along with it the posturing with the cups, and both hit the table at approximately the same time, though not so close together as to suggest that each was watching the other closely. There was a moment more of silence, and then Leanan broke the tension.
“Tell me, Magus, for I know not the bounds of your race's knowledge. What do you know of the Fae? Aside from faerie stories, what do you really know?”
Libra considered that. “I know that you live in many places besides the Everfree, though you are most well known there. I know that you are immortal, though it's hard to say that since you don't seem to share the same life as us, since time moves strangely around you. I know that you are unable to tell a blatant lie, though your kind are masters of half-truths and lies of omission. You share a closer and stranger bond to nature, and it to you, than most ponies save a few Earth ponies.”
She paused for breath. “I know you are organized into two official Courts, the Seelie of the Summer and the Unseelie of the Shade, or Winter, depending on who you ask. Many in those Courts enjoy courtesy in conversation, and can, in some circumstances, be quick to take offense. And I know that you rarely trouble yourselves with the politics of mortals, which raises many questions.”
“Questions I will happily answer,” Leanan replied. “As my mother wishes me to.”
Libra almost inquired as to which mother she was referring to, seeing as she very much doubted that Cadance's new daughter was anything but Seelie nobility. And she also resolved to be much more careful around that topic. The last thing she needed right now was to inadvertently offend the Queen of Faerie. She didn't know if the Unseelie had a Queen, or any nobles at all. Nopony really did, or at least, nopony had found out and returned to tell of it.
“Very well,” Libra said primly. She withdrew a small notepad from within her voluminous robes, as well as a silver inkpen. “Do you mind terribly if I take notes? I would dearly regret having to trouble you again over some miniscule point I had forgotten.”
Leanan inclined her head magnanimously. “Prithee, write what thou wilt,” she replied. “An' should what you write be insufficient, I only hope that you will not dissemble in coming to me once again, so that I might enjoy your...company.”
Incur a further debt, you mean, Libra thought rather uncharitably. When this is over, I'm having a stiff drink.
“Leanan mac Baobhan man Niamh du Fienan di Cadenza, late of the Grove of Silver Apples, recently named Lady Cadenza and heir to the Crystal Throne,” Libra began. “Did you, through artifice, spell, poison, or any other means, direct or indirect, kill the Changeling known as Fidelis, Captain of the Evening Guard?”
“I had no occasion to do so.”
Libra's mouth tightened. “Please, Lady Leanan, give me definitive answers.”
The other unicorn looked like she had swallowed a whole lemon, and her lip twisted back to expose her half-revealed gleaming fangs. Her eyes, opaloid spheres as they were, narrowed into slits, and Libra was sure she could see the colors fade from them. “I did not slay Fidelis,” she said.
Libra nodded, scribbling her notes. “Did you conjure, contract, command, or otherwise enlist the help of another pony, Changeling, Gryphon, Minotaur, dragon, spirit, or any other entity, including flora or simple fauna, in order to effect the death of Captain Fidelis?”
Leanan looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I...” she took a deep breath. “I did not enlist the help of anything else to kill Captain Fidelis in any way.”
“Did you know of the plot to kill Captain Fidelis, either before or after Princess Mi Amore di Cadenza Allegretta offered to adopt you as her daughter?”
Leanan shook slightly. “Nay,” she managed to gasp out, her voice tremulous, “Had I knowledge of it, we would not sit together hence. Though I believe...” her lips sealed themselves shut as she hissed softly. She forced them back open, and Libra could see that she had bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, which was admittedly easier than it might first appear, due to her sharp teeth. “I do know the spell which killed him,” she volunteered, seemingly unable to stop herself.
Libra tried to conceal her look of shock. She had thought getting information out of Leanan was going to be like pulling teeth. “By all means,” she said, “Please share, unless this would cause you further discomfort. I would not wish to subject you to such things.”
“It is known as Bramblebone, or the Thorn's Curse,” Lea replied, her eyes welling up with tears. “For use upon those who spurned the advances of the Fae. But when we cast it, the roses are always red. Never white, white roses belong to...”
Here, she clamped her hooves over her mouth with a yelp, refusing to speak further. She grabbed for a small silver bell, and rang it sharply.
“You need not speak further, Lady Leanan,” Libra said quickly. “You mean the...Court of Air and Darkness, yes?”
Lea said no more, but she managed a jerky nod. Her hooves flew away from her mouth as one of her pages rounded the corner at a sprint. “You have cost me much,” she said quietly. “You are pony, but I am fae. We do not speak plainly, Magus. We know too much to do so. Leave us. Please, I can bear no more. Leave!”
Libra rose quickly, sketched a half-courteous bow, and before she could see or hear any more, simply bent the air around herself, breaking a rule of hospitality and thus nulling the accidental debt Leanan had put herself in, and vanished from the room entirely.
Leanan shuddered. Though it had never been made into song or story, never been told around a campfire, there was indeed lore to the Fae that even the Magus, with all her knowledge, had never known. With luck, and all of her skill, she would make sure that the Magus never had the opportunity to learn this lore, this weakness.
The Fae never answered questions plainly, the better to trap their prey in webs of debt, misdirection, and obligation. The magic they possessed was near limitless when used on one that had wronged them, but it came at terrible cost. Should they answer three questions plain and true, with nary a misdirection between them, it could turn back upon its user. And though she was older by far than most ponies, Leanan mac Baobhan mac Niamh du Fienan was a very young Fae indeed. She'd hardly earned more than a half-dozen words to her name, except…
The magic was the magic of truth, for the Fae knew much, and kept it jealously. But it was said that all truth came out eventually. And it had come spilling from her, spilling as the water from a fall. Such was the price of her magic. Had she continued speaking, soon would have come knowledge of Libra's thoughts and hopes, from there prophecy and premonition and truths of bardic beauty. And from there, past the music which surrounded her, the music of the land and ley, would have come her name.
Her heart's name, her true name, not the one she wore like a colorful cloak with which to distract and hide, and with it the key to all her power, all that she was and could ever be. And she could do little to stop it, save for one thing.
“Lady Lea!” the page cried, shaking her. “Lady Lea, are you alright? Should I fetch the Cleric?”
Leanan grabbed at the page's wing, holding her near. “Nay,” she said. “Stay, dear heart. Stay, and I will tell you a great many wondrous things. You enjoy stories, do you not?”
The pegasus filly looked at her, unsure, but curious. She nodded, a bit skittish. Leanan smiled, dragging herself to her hooves. She knew what she must do. Gently, she lead the filly to a nearby bower, where were situated two small grooves growing close between the roots of a mighty oak, one much smaller than the other. Into this one she laid her young page, and settled herself into the other, as the sky above dimmed at her call, spinning from twilight and into the night.
The door locked itself quietly.
Leanan began to speak then, speaking truths her heart knew to a youth who would not know what to do with them. She spoke of secret glens and sacred groves, of what really waited for young children in the dark and what watched them dreaming, of who the filly, named Misty, was most loved by and most hated by, of what once was and what was to come.
She spoke of sunrises and sunsets, of black seas and the stars shaking in the sky like leaves, of dragonfire and the tumbling down of old things and maybe the rising of the new. And Misty began to cry, for while she did not, could not understand what Leanan meant by these things, she knew that they were frightening.
“M...my mother,” Misty replied. “I want my mother.” she attempted to rise, but found she lacked the strength. “Lady Lea, I can't get up!”
She felt rather than saw Leanan huddle close. “Hush now, good heart, sweet heart,” Leanan whispered, her voice laudanum and honeyed wine. “Close your eyes, dream of that which delights you. And I will sing to you my name.”
Misty fought until the end, but when Leanan leaned in close and began to murmur strange and wonderful things into her ear, she stopped moving as if electrified, no longer able to see the roots coiling about her body, drawing her into the barrow. Her eyes fluttered, shut, opened, and shut again. And Leanan told her, just as she slipped into a dream from which she would not awake, her name.