A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 10: Of Demons and Samhain

The Dark Lord's fortress, being the retreat of an old Wizarding family, had not one, but many libraries. Precious books written long before mass printing existed, even for wizards, were reverently preserved in cool rooms lined with elegantly carved shelves. Unfortunately though, wizards being wizards, the organization of the libraries left much to be desired. It appeared that the Slytherins had simply filled one room after another with books from floor to ceiling, barely bothering to separate subjects, let alone authors, which was exactly what Arcana was currently fuming about.

Arcana had thought she knew precisely where a certain ninth century Dark wizard's grimoire was stored, but upon trekking halfway across the castle and searching all the shelves, she came up empty handed. Neither did she find it in the second library she tried. Only after a thorough search of the third room was she rewarded with laying her claws on the dark red, leather-bound source of frustration.

Slipping through a set of imposing oak doors, Arcana threw off the black hooded robe she wore about the fortress to hide her identity ever since the vampire emissaries so rudely intruded on her relative peace. The room lightened as flames leapt higher in the specially charmed wall sconces. With the flick of her wrist, the candles perched upon a tall, twisted iron candelabra set by a writing desk flared to life as well. They were the only lighting in the library as a precaution against fire. Arcana noted with a half smile that her glass had been filled once again with the chilled, light berry wine she favored. Shelly was taking good care of her.

Unfortunately, wizards in the ninth century paid little better attention to organization in their books than the Slytherin family had dedicated to its libraries. Arcana nursed her drink while paging through the grimoire until she found the proof for which she had been searching for months. After following the literary equivalent of a wild goose chase and running into dead ends and impossible overgrown trails, it came down to this one book written by a half-mad wizard.

It was indeed demon knowledge that the Dark Lord wanted. There was even reference to a summoning that had failed quite spectacularly. Apparently the demon, whom the book did not name, broke the magical circle that had been cast to contain it. Seeing a prize before it, the demon took the entire coven, save for the one lucky fool who escaped to tell the story, back to its domain. That was a fate Arcana would not wish upon even her most hated foe, not even the Dark Lord, though she had doubts as to whether he would be useful to a demon in the common way.

While Arcana thoroughly documented her findings in her latest notebook, her mind began running through a plethora of follow-up questions and possible leads for the next segment of her research. Before allowing herself to get carried away, she forced herself to finish examining the Greggarius' book. Then she would gather her thoughts and tell the Dark Lord the "good" news. It was difficult to predict his daily routine, but it would be nearly near dinnertime when she was done with the book, and even he had to eat. Sadly, the rest of the grimoire was dull and full of the mysterious mumbo jumbo that medieval wizards had construed as proper writing.

As she closed the grimoire, the rattle of a secure lock and then muffled cursing came from outside the library doors. The Dark Lord had charmed them to only open to Arcana and himself in order to provide some privacy for her delicate research. Recognizing Snape's presence and voice, Arcana scowled, all too happy to ignore him. Then came the knock.

Unable to breech etiquette and continue to ignore Snape, as the Dark Lord had ordered her to be polite in regard to access to the library, Arcana made sure nothing was out of place and then opened the door.

"Which book?" Arcana quickly asked Snape, hoping to cut off any attempt at conversation.

"One that I can find on my own, hunter, or should I say bookworm now?"

"Fine then," Arcana snarled and waved Snape inside. "Be my guest."

Snape swooped past Arcana and strode purposefully across the library. She followed, but did not bother to keep up with his long strides. His fingers ran across the spines of only four books before he pulled out the one he had sought. It was one she had not read.

"Nothing you need to read, fae," Snape snarled down at Arcana. She noticed him surreptitiously looking toward her desk, trying to sort out what she was researching, but there were only a few closed tomes and her notebook. Nothing of importance he could pass along.

"And I thought you knew everything about poisons already, Snape, or is that belladonna, willow bark, and moonlight nettle derivative not working so well?" She could smell that and more on him. He had been brewing.

"My work is none of your concern." Snape loomed over Arcana, lanky hair hanging too close for her nose's comfort. He noticed her distaste and sharply spun around and stalked toward the door. Opening it, he turned back and smirked viciously.

"Oh, and hunter, the Dark Lord is not to be disturbed. He will summon you if he desires a progress report, though it doesn't sound like you have made much of that. Pity, for you at least."

The door shut solidly, preventing Arcana from shooting off an equally rancorous reply. Her feelings toward Snape were steadily degenerating from general malice to vicious hatred with each occasion they were in the same room.

So much for catching the Dark Lord before his dinner, Arcana seethed. She even had real progress to report for once.

"Shelly," Arcana called, and the house-elf appeared with a crack.

"How can Shelly help you, Lady? Shelly was about to bring Lady fae's dinner, but Shelly can bring anything else Lady desires." Arcana was prepared for Shelly's excited rambling and simply stayed quiet until she had finished. Otherwise Arcana would risk Shelly starting from the beginning again.

"Dinner is actually what I called you for, Shelly. I will take it here tonight, and if there is more of that wine, please bring me another glass. It is quite good."

"Of course, Lady." Shelly hopped up and down several times, sending her ears flapping. "Shelly will be right back."

The house-elf Disapparated, and Arcana shook her head in wonder at how chipper Shelly could be while serving the Dark Lord and living in this Dark place. Arcana transfigured a footrest into a dining table and drew over a chair in preparation. Shelly soon reappeared with dinner and more wine. It smelled very good and Arcana's stomach rumbled in agreement with her nose. From the first meal they had served her, the house-elves had been eager to cater to her different nutritional needs and tastes. While she did enjoy some human dishes, it was glorious to have a reprieve from English fare and the constant concern of providing her body with proper nutrition. In the fae realms, magic would have wholly sustained her if she did not care to eat, but in this world she had to take better care of the flesh. After all, she was not made entirely of magic.

After Shelly had taken back the empty plates - Arcana had been hungrier than she had thought - the fae returned to her desk and scowled at her notes. She had hoped that the supposed secrets of immortality were not in the hands of a demon, but was not surprised. Demon summoning was an ugly business, all too prone to deadly mistakes and miscalculations. There was never enough information available about how to create the summoning ritual, or about what wards were needed to contain the demon once it was brought to this plane.

Arcana closed her notebook and looked at the tall grandfather clock - this one actually told proper time - at the end of one bookshelf to see that it was still only early evening. The Dark Lord would probably not summon her for several hours. It was time for a change of pace. Arcana sought out the small seven-pointed star carved into one of the oak shelves lining the walls and pressed her finger to it. It would have been easy to miss the small design amidst all of the other carvings, and she had a feeling that one only saw it if they were supposed to see it. She felt a tingling as the wards recognized her presence.

Nothing changed visibly, but with her second sight of magic, Arcana saw the passageway open before her. Without concern, Arcana stepped through the bookcase, the books, and the wall, leaving the relatively warm library behind for the dark and the cold. The corridor she stood in was narrow, and the ceiling was low. The black stone held the familiar evidence of hand carving, though it had clearly been aided by magic. No torches lit as Arcana walked slowly, her footfalls nearly silent in her soft leather shoes, but she did not need the light to follow the not quite straight passage. Further and further she walked, feeling the floor begin to slope gently downwards beneath her feet, until she reached a fork.

The corridor split in two. Arcana knew that the right path, and originally the only path, led up a set of uneven stairs into darkness, though she could see nothing but blankness with her magic sight. The wards were strong, and not even the Dark Lord had tried to pass them. The left path continued to lead downward and was clear of prohibitive wards. Arcana turned to the left and continued her trek. The corridor became narrower and the workmanship less finished, as if the carving had been hurried toward the end of its construction.

Arcana reached the end of the passageway and flexed her frozen fingers. It was impossible to tell how far she was underground, but her instincts told her that she had traveled deep. The wall before her was blank and roughly carved, as if the work of making the corridor had stopped before completion and the project abandoned. She placed one hand on each side of the passage and walked backward slowly until she felt the shift of magic under her right hand. The doorway was never in the same place twice, and it could not be forced open. It was a wonder that the Dark Lord had ever found it, but then again, even Arcana had to admit that he was not exactly your average wizard.

The magic pulsed under Arcana's hands as the final wards to the storeroom activated. Their whispering patterns glided across her skin in magic so near to sound, she could almost hear the caster's voice, and then suddenly it was gone. She had been cleared. She was fae and wished entry of free will. The wards included precautions against wizards forcing unwilling fae to open the door, as the storeroom had been constructed in a brutal time when confrontations between fae and wizards had become common.

Arcana released her left hand from the stone and walked through the wall on her right. The press of the stone against her body lasted but an instant, and then the magic flared bright and Wild. Torches along the walls sputtered to life, sparking and burning with flames that were not quite what had been originally intended, being warped by the old Wild magic that was thick in the air. Before the Dark Lord had shown her the storeroom, she had not believed there were any large collections of fae crafts left in the mortal world, save her own. Ancient gilt books filled several long shelves and were piled high in stacks scattered about the room. Weapons of clean steel and mithril, shining in the colorful, flickering light, had been carelessly stashed in a corner. Chests, both large and small, lined the back wall. Some of them were stacked several high, and most of them had not been opened since the storeroom had been sealed. Others also lay scattered about the room in between furniture of fae make and large magical implements. Perfect organization juxtaposed with chaos.

Arcana carefully made her way across the room to the back wall and the unopened chests, skirting the myriad of magical currents that had taken on lives of their own. Wild magic would never be satisfied with lying dormant, no matter what stilling or preserving charms were cast. She knelt down by one small chest, sensing that it was the one to be opened this night. Delicate gold leaves inlaid the nearly white wood rustled lightly as if caught by a breeze, responding to her nearness. Magic came before physical form for the fae, at least in their own lands.

Under Arcana's hands the lock gave way, and she opened the lid gently. She forced her breathing even when her first impressions of the trunk were confirmed. It had belonged to a forest elf, and Arcana had the strange, mournful feeling that the elf had died long ago. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the tangle of emotions that threatened to cloud and overwhelm her control. Her people, cut down like animals by the humans, the mortals, the lesser beings. The old anger came back surprisingly fast and strong.

Magic flared behind her. A current of Wild magic, attracted to Arcana's anger, drew near and then burst, showering both her and the surroundings with iridescent, glittering powder. She sneezed and shook herself out of her anger. She dared not to dwell on it, especially in this room.

A few talismans, a hunting knife, an empty pouch, and a small book of personal musings bound in soft, well-worn leather - the possessions of one peaceful forest elf. Nothing that needed to be disturbed any further. Arcana gently replaced everything, her eyes lingering on the book, wishing for time to read for a purpose other than the Dark Lord's damnable research. After paying her final respects to the fallen elf, Arcana stood and wandered.

Her foot hit something solid. It rolled away and bumped into the wall with a clink. Arcana tracked it with her eyes until it stopped in a slight depression in the floor. With a wry but sad smile, she picked up the crystal. It was perfectly round, perfectly clear, and fit in her hand nicely. She held it up to her eyes and turned it this way and that, watching the play of magic within Her hand clenched the crystal tightly when the Dark Mark burned. The Dark Lord was summoning her.

Arcana acknowledged the summons, and the burning eased. After a moment of internal debate, she slipped the crystal into a pocket and stepped through the wall into the darkness.

*** *** *** ***

"Ah, the storeroom, my hunter." The Dark Lord's red eyes lingered on Arcana's robes as he let her into his study. "I thought you felt rather distant."

"My lord?" Arcana asked, wondering how he knew.

He sneered down at her. "Not even you are immune to the glitter."

Arcana looked down at herself to see that she was indeed covered in the iridescent powder. "Wild magic is never static, my lord." She shrugged. "It tends to, ah, ferment if left to its own devices. This is simply residue." Arcana noticed the faint trail she was leaving on his rugs. "It will fade soon."

The Dark Lord saw the trail on his carpet and looked down at Arcana imperiously. "I suppose you must be used to it." His expression shifted briefly, betraying humor, and even Arcana had to admit that Wild magic staining his floor, albeit temporarily, was an absurd sight. "Sit, Arcana. We will discuss your progress over tea."

Arcana sat quietly as the Dark Lord conferred with a house-elf. Her eyes found the wall clock and she was startled to see that it was well after midnight. The Wild magic in the storeroom must have been strong enough to alter her perception of time. She would need to remedy that before long. It was dangerous to lose track of time here.

"What have you found?" The Dark Lord abruptly ended Arcana's reflections. She gratefully took the offered cup of tea and hid a frown behind it. He normally was not so direct. He either knew she had found something, or had become impatient with her slow progress.

"Confirmation that what you seek is in the possession of a demon, my lord. A powerful one."

"I thought that you had already determined that, Arcana." He lowered his cup and scowled. The red eyes narrowed to slits, and Arcana could sense the smoldering anger behind them. It was the latter then: impatience.

"It was never certain, and now I have a solid lead on exactly who you must seek, my lord, though he . . . it remains unnamed." Arcana paused, keenly aware of the danger she was in.

"Continue," he said coldly.

"A reference to a particular summoning, my lord. It can be directly connected to the searches for immortality conducted independently by several wizards. I was even able to link the trail to one of the original three references you found in the storage room."

"And the demon?"

"The summoning, described in the grimoire of Greggarius, a ninth century -"

"Leave out the history lesson, my fae," he cut her off impatiently. Arcana held back a snarl. It was impossible to tell when he wanted the full story, or when he wanted the very abbreviated version.

"The summoning failed, and all but one of the coven was taken back." Arcana could not quite suppress the shudder that ran through her at the thought of being taken by a demon. "The demon was not named in that book. It might be for the best, my lord."

An excited gleam lit the Dark Lord's eyes. If he noticed her worry about the demon he did not show it. "A name then. That is all that I need. A single summoning, and I will do what no wizard has done before. I will never die. Not even the liches can say that." He chuckled then, a half-human sound with an icy hissing superimposed on it. Crimson eyes and roiling magic focused on Arcana. "A reward, my fae. Ask it of me, and it shall be yours."

Arcana gripped her cup tightly, holding surprise and fury in check. First he made light of a summoning and now he offered her some trivial gift, as if it would win her loyalty. In another age, she would have killed the Dark Lord for that insult, but this was not the time to anger him.

"My lord." She forced her hold on the cup to relax. "Samhain draws near." A muscle next to the Dark Lord's eye twitched, and she knew he understood, and that he was not pleased. "I would ask for time, my lord. Sunrise Samhain morn until sunset of the day after. For myself, undisturbed."

The Dark Lord leaned back, contemplating Arcana's request, his blank expression betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Ah yes, my fae. Samhain as you call it. I too have been preparing for Halloween."

Nagini slithered up to the Dark Lord and hissed agitatedly. "Thhhe nasssty butcher issss outssside, Massster."

Arcana sneered, knowing that Nagini was referring to that filth of a wizard, McNair. Even though most wizards seemed happy to delude themselves regarding his poisoned soul, magical creatures could see him for what he was.

"He can wait, Nagini. Come here." The Dark Lord gestured to Nagini, and the snake happily wrapped around him, seeking protection in his power. When he looked back at Arcana, she could see the invitation extended to her as well. Silent whispers ordered her to kneel, but she brushed them off.

"My lord?" Arcana quelled her disgust. She did not need nor desire to hide in the Dark Lord's shadow.

"Nothing for you to worry about, my fae. Matters that immortal observers need not be concerned with." He stroked Nagini's head and whispered something about a treat. "You may have your time. I do not need you that night, though why you celebrate these old human holidays . . . I find it quite unlike you."

"The turning of the seasons, my lord, is a force beyond humanity," Arcana said, unable to keep all of the derision out of her voice. "It is one of the few things that still remains free of it, and hence I find it a cause for revelry."

The Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed to slits. "More half-truths." Arcana gritted her teeth and glared back, unmoving. "I will let it be for now, Arcana. Do see to your hunting duties before you vanish into the mists to frolic with what ever paltry, distant relations you find."

"Of course, my lord," Arcana managed to reply steadily. She set aside her empty cup. "I should trouble you no further, my lord. I will hunt tomorrow night, unless you require my services."

"Yes, I have much to do." The Dark Lord stroked Nagini, who had settled her head on his shoulder. "Although, I would have less if my fae acted half as reasonably as my familiar."

"Goodnight, my lord," Arcana bit out and stood to leave, only to have her legs give out. She fell back into the chair, crying out and grabbing her left forearm.

"I did not dismiss you, hunter." The Dark Lord's chill voice, backed up by his formidable magic, sent shivers of fear down Arcana's spine. She looked up and met his gaze coldly.

"May I leave, my lord?" she hissed through the pain.

Searing heat lanced through her limbs, originating from the Dark Mark, and then faded.

"Yes, hunter," the Dark Lord said in the same deadly serious whisper she remembered from her last punishment. "Leave me."

Arcana stood and bowed to the Dark Lord, unable to totally ignore Nagini's obvious contentment and the message he was sending with it. Black cloak clutched around her and hood low over her eyes, Arcana fled to the relative peace of her rooms, not even sparing a glance for McNair, who was still pacing outside the Dark Lord's study.

*** *** *** ***

As Samhain dawned, an electric anticipation filled the air. Birdsong rang keenly from the dark forest, dewdrops glittered like diamonds on the long grass, and the haze of Wild magic - that untamable force - hung around everything. The moment that the sun cleared the horizon, Arcana stepped out of the Dark Lord's fortress, free for a time, or rather, as free as possible.

She had taken time yesterday to carefully prepare, laying out precious fae-crafted clothing she had preserved for centuries, only donning it on special days when she could be herself. A steel dagger to hang at her waist, her wand to slip into one boot, crystal and mithril to encircle her neck, and a small flute were set out as well. Snow-white hair was braided into long plaits and decorated with silver. The Dark Lord's needs, both in souls and translations, had been satisfied earlier that day before he locked himself away to make final preparations for some Dark ritual. From a locked box in the back of a hidden drawer, Arcana withdrew an old memory and slipped it into her pocket.

Wrapped in a cloak the color of the forest, with rippling greens, golds and browns, Arcana stepped out of the darkness and into the morning. Everything was alive and humming, as if the chill air was carrying a new tune. Life stirred in the trees, in the waters, and in dark places, sensing that the veil was thin. The boundaries between worlds waned on this day of Halloween, on this day of Samhain.

Something about this day, this season, brought the fae realms closer to the mortal world. Not closer in a physical sense of course, since that kind of distance was meaningless, but in the magical way. It was something in the way the Wild magic and the pitiful amount of High magic here resonated with her homeland this one day, but even after her centuries of exile she did not fully understand it. It touched Arcana, the magic plucking the harp strings of her soul, calling to her, singing to her, tempting her to become what she had been in the beginning: Wild. Only her intensive training in High magic held the Wild at bay.

From the fae realms, Samhain was hardly a regular event because of the different flow of time, but the faerie always knew when it came. They would leap upon their steeds and join the Wild Hunt. Hooves would thunder across the earth, sounding less like the footfalls of horses than a raging storm. The scent of spring would come with them, and that of the clean wind that blows off of the river. Madness and steel followed, staining the trees with splattered blood, and leaving death in their wake. Other fae would wander into the mortal realm on that night, out of curiosity, or kindness, or malevolence, and not always of their conscious will. In those days humans were right to ward their homes and stay hidden.

Wizards had a rudimentary understanding of Wild magic since it was unavoidable, being the main power behind most magical creatures, but they understood High magic very little. The whispers of wind through the trees, the howl of the wolf calling the pack to hunt, the fire of the phoenix - the Wild was in it all. High magic, on the other hand, was far more elusive. It trickled through the ley lines, and glittered in the stars, but was rare enough that wizards rarely encountered it, and they were incapable of harnessing the cold, silvery power. In this mortal world High magic was only concentrated in a few places, most of those being gateways where the fae had frequently crossed between their realms and this world. Wizards had sealed those old places - the ones they could find - out of fear, even though their Barrier prevented travel through them. There was only one left that Arcana knew, sheltered on an island that was hidden by mist and waves, and untrod by human feet for over eight hundred years. She had personally dispatched the last trespassers.

Once past the wards of Slytherin's Valley, Arcana Apparated to a remote shoreline in the far corner of Wales. She took measure of the land and renewed her pact, and then Apparated again. From place to place she traveled all over Britain, and even to the far shores of Ireland, fulfilling duties she swore to uphold to the last of the old druids. The land must be kept in balance and harmony. With all of the magic concentrated here in the isles, someone had to maintain the natural balances of land that was never meant to endure this kind of strain. The fae and the wizards had left a dangerous legacy in their impatience and lack of understanding.

Past muddy fields and fattened livestock, past the once quaint towns and large, stinking industrial cities, past forest and loch Arcana traveled until she reached the bleak northern Highlands. From there she Apparated to the Shetlands and then to the Hebrides, and lastly paused for a rest on a lonely Orkney isle to taste the salty wind and watch the golden sun sink through the stormy clouds toward the dark sea. With a weary sigh, Arcana Apparated one more time.

Damp winds caught Arcana's cloak as she stood on an isolated peak in the heart of the Highlands. The path to the Poison Glen, the most magically tainted spot in Britain, could only be found at sunset. There were other places that had been inhabited by wizards for longer, had more complex wards in place, or had known magic longer, but wizards kept them all. No wizard would ever see the Poison Glen. Arcana's vision doubled as the sun hit the horizon and a twisting, treacherous path appeared. As she walked, the normal world faded, and this Other place became solid and real. The Glen had been so warped by magic that it almost was not part of the mortal world, and had become a shadow overlaying the land that Muggles and wizards traipsed across ignorantly.

The bonds of the Dark Mark tugged at Arcana briefly, whispering that she must return, but they soon subsided since she had not really left the mortal world. The setting sun stole behind the misty mountains, sending purple shadows fleeing across the burned out ruins of an ancient Muggle settlement. A not quite natural strain of wild heather crept through the old stone works, and began to sway and hum as night drew its velvet curtain across the day. A few glittering fairies rose from the ground and began dancing in the air to their own pure music that was filled with bells and drums and light voices. An attorcroppe, a small black and brown magical serpent with short arms and legs, scurried up a block of stone and hissed menacingly at Arcana. Attorcroppes could be quite dangerous little monsters, but a shining silver glare sent this one scampering back to its burrow. It was going to be a long but fruitful night.

Arcana woke to the sunrise, covered in crystalline dewdrops. She closed her eyes and reveled in the pure, clean scent of the morning. The wild heather that had cradled her in sleep sighed as she stood, invigorated. As repayment for her work of maintaining the magical balance of the glen, Arcana absorbed the excess High magic that shone in every blade of grass and stone and flower. She savored the Wild joy within, knowing that for a few days she would feel a tiny bit like her old self.

Sundown found Arcana stepping over the threshold of the Dark Lord's fortress. The coppery scent of blood was in the air, and she sensed the languid minds and corrupted souls of the Death Eaters, sated after their feasting. Arcana's Dark Mark burned, and she acknowledged the summons. She could almost see the satisfied smile on the Dark Lord's face through their connection. The corridors were silent save for the soft swish of Arcana's cloak, as the Dark wizards seemed to be keeping to their rooms to enjoy the aftereffects of a very successful ritual. Mildly, Arcana wondered if there was anything left to feed the thestrals, or if the Death Eaters and their lord had consumed it all themselves.

The door to the Dark Lord's private quarters opened before Arcana knocked. She rubbed at the brand, trying to dissipate the uncomfortable humming feeling under her skin. The Dark Lord was reclining in his armchair near the fire and nodded to Arcana in greeting. He had shed the heavy cloak and black outer robes he normally wore, leaving his rich, deep red inner robes in full view. The scent of blood clung to him, and his magic shone brightly in its Darkness.

Arcana bowed to the Dark Lord and remained still as the door closed behind her. A strange feeling of self-consciousness hit her as his crimson eyes scrutinized her unusual garb. He waved for her to come near, and his nostrils flared.

"My, my . . . someone has been busy." The Dark Lord's eyes lingered on the silver in Arcana's hair. "I admit I forget sometimes, my fae, my mysterious. Sit with me."

Arcana did as she was bid, warily watching the Dark Lord for any change in mood. The heightened state of her magic set her instincts on edge. The Dark Lord found her cautiousness amusing, and his thin lips curved into a cruel half-smile. The dangerous gleam in his eyes didn't help matters.

"You will have to tell me sometime what you have done." The Dark Lord touched Arcana's magic. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, and she fell, lost for a moment, before pulling away, and hiding a scowl as he chuckled at her reaction.

"Yes, your magic shines, my fae, but, as you can see, the magic of death and blood, the power of the depths of Dark magic, is much more effective then your trifling efforts."

Arcana allowed herself a scowl, but refused the bait. She dearly wished to refute the Dark Lord, to tell him exactly what she had done, that her night had not been spent on a bloody and selfish quest for power, but it was better to be silent and let him come to his own conclusions. He would think her aims had been the same as his - a compliment from him, in an odd way.

"Things are as they are, my lord. You have your ways, and I have mine."

"Words of wisdom I suppose, but," the Dark Lord said with a sneer, "they do not apply to someone who seeks influence, change, and power. You have spent too long drifting through life, my fae."

The Dark Lord's barb stung. "I make the most of the options available, my lord," Arcana said coldly. He frowned, and she went still, thinking she had overstepped her bounds, but the rebuke did not come.

"You may walk freely when I have my victory, Arcana." The quiet seriousness of his voice shook Arcana. "As long as you have my trust." The Dark Lord's eyes glinted in the firelight as he relished the power play.

"It would take more than that, my lord, as you very well know," Arcana dared, testing his mood.

"My word will be law, Arcana. No one will dare defy me. You see my power grow every day, and though you pretend to ignore the war, I know you watch and you listen. You know that I will win, and the world will change."

"What will happen, will happen. I will wait and watch, as always, my lord." They both knew that his war was far from won.

The Dark Lord regarded her silently for a moment, and then tilted his head in a very snake-like manner. "I wonder if I will ever think that way."

"Doubtful, even if you do gain immortality, unless you end up wandering an alien world for eight centuries, hiding for your life. The time scale of conflict and politics is meaningless . . ." Arcana trailed off, and then frowned, realizing she was starting to speak too freely. His openness had caught her off guard. The Dark Lord's piercing gaze was enough of a reminder for her to reinstate the silence. He was not Jeriol, and he would use this knowledge against her.

"Fascinating," he hissed. "Just think about it, my fae. The freedom you could have under my rule. No more illusions of humanity. Never needing these few days to play pretend, of trying to live - no, of trying to hide in the past."

"I pretend nothing, my lord," Arcana hissed coldly, struggling to restrain her fury. "I have my reasons, and I ask you not to insult them." She steadfastly denied the insidious curl of doubt in her stomach.

"I will consider it, my fae," the Dark Lord mused. "Go and eat something. I can sense your hunger through the Mark. And," he paused and waved at her fae clothing, "take that off. Your time is up."

Arcana stood and bowed, hatred for the wizard before her raging. He had won this round. "As you wish, my lord. I will await your next summons."