She was white with rage. “The child,” she whispered, “will satisfy that debt nicely.”
Willow went cold. She was shaking, her throat dry, her heart stopped. “You cannot have my child,” she said.
A smile played across Nightshade’s lips. “Cannot? What a silly word for you to use, little sylph. Besides, the child was born in my domain, here in the Deep Fell, so it belongs to me by right of law. My law.”
“No law condones the taking of a child from its mother. You have no right to make such a claim.”
“I have every right. I am mistress of the Deep Fell and ruler over all found here. The child was born on my soil. You are a trespasser and a foolish girl. Do not think you can deny me.”
Willow held her ground. “If you try to take my child, you will have to kill me. Are you prepared to do that?”
Nightshade shook her head slowly. “I need not kill you. There are easier ways when you have the use of magic. And worse fates for you than death if you defy me.”
“The High Lord will come after you if you steal his child!” Willow snapped. “He will hunt you to the ends of the earth!”
“Silly little sylph,” the witch purred softly. “The High Lord will never know you were even here.”
Willow froze. Nightshade was right. There was ho one who knew she was in the Deep Fell, no one who knew she had returned from the fairy mists. If she was to disappear, who could trace her footsteps? If her child was to vanish, who could say it had ever existed? The fairies, perhaps, but would they do so?
What was she to do?
“Someone will discover and reveal the truth, Nightshade,” she insisted desperately. “You cannot keep such a thing a secret forever! Not even you can do that!”
The witch gave a slow, disdainful shrug. “Perhaps not. But I can keep it a secret long enough. Holiday’s life is finite. In the end, I will be here when he is gone.”
Willow nodded slowly, understanding flooding through her. “Which is why you want his child, isn’t it? So that he will leave nothing of himself behind when he is dead. You would make the child yours and wipe away all trace of him in doing so. You hate him that much, don’t you?”
Nightshade’s thin mouth tightened. “More. Much, much more.”
“But the child is innocent,” Willow cried. “Why should the baby be made a pawn in this struggle? Why should it suffer for your rage?”
“The child will fare well. I will see to it.”
“It isn’t yours!”
“I grow tired of arguing, sylph. Give the child to me and perhaps I will let you go. Make another child, if you wish. You have the means.”
Willow shook her head slowly. “I will never give up my baby, Nightshade. Not to you, not to anyone. Stand aside for me. Let me pass.”
Nightshade smiled darkly. “I think not,” she said.
She was starting forward, arms lifting within her black robes, intent on taking the child by force, when a familiar voice spoke.
“Do as she asks, Nightshade. Let her pass.”
The witch stopped, as still as death. Willow looked around quickly, seeing nothing but the trees and misty gloom.
Then Edgewood Dirk stepped into view from one side, easing sinuously through the heavy brush, silver coat immaculate, black tail twitching slightly. He jumped up on the remains of a fallen tree and blinked sleepily.
“Let her pass,” he repeated softly.
Nightshade stiffened. “Edgewood Dirk. Who gave you permission to come into the Deep Fell? Who gave you the right?”
“Cats need no permission or grant of right,” Dirk replied. “Really, you should know better. Cats go where they wish—always have.”
Nightshade was livid. “Get out of here!”
Dirk yawned and stretched. “Shortly. But first you must let the Queen pass.”
“I will not give up …!”
“Save your breath, Witch of the Deep Fell.” A hint of weary disdain crept into the cat’s voice. “The Queen and her baby will pass into Landover. The fairies have decided, and there is nothing more to say about it. If you are unhappy with their decision, why don’t you take it up with them?”