“Gladly.” Gareth placed the bracelet in the other man’s outstretched hand. “And good riddance. Lock it away in the deepest, darkest recesses of the Hall of Mages. I hope never to see it again.”

“I rather imagine not.” The Master slipped the band of silver over his wrist. “I can still feel the power within it. There may be other uses for it, you know… other than for imprisoning a man.”

“I want nothing more to do with relic magic.”

“I believe you. And yet… although you now appear to be free of the curse, you still present a threat to me and mine.”

“Uncle!” interjected the queen. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Gareth frowned. “In what way?”

“Your blood, dear boy. It has already proven a danger to my niece.”

“I will hear no more of this,” snapped Queen Victoria. She stepped over to the bed, her footsteps stomping indignantly on the floor. Her skirts stirred the air of the room, making the strings of diamonds ripple, causing the sparkles to dance merrily in dizzying motion. She lifted her chin, and looked down her nose at her uncle. Despite her youth, she radiated authority, and looked every bit the ruler of England. “Is this how we reward our subjects for their bravery? If not for Sir Gareth, I would be married—ugh! This very moment! To the odious Duke of Ghoulston. And although I did not appreciate your thumb in my mouth…” She gave Gareth a grimace. “I now understand the necessity.”

Lord Sussex crossed his arms over his chest. “That is precisely what I mean. You are still under the influence—”

“I am not. Well, perhaps a little. But my head is ruling at the moment, Uncle, and I will not have one of my subjects treated so unfairly. Sir Gareth has been imprisoned for centuries for one small… error in judgment. He has more than paid for that crime, and I will not see him imprisoned any longer. In fact, it is in my mind to reward him for his services.”

“That is not necessary, my lady.”

“I do not wish to hear from you either, Sir Gareth. You have no home, no income… I will rectify that matter. There is a small manor in Ipswitch that needs tending. Hobover House. I don’t imagine a shape-shifting panther used to living in the Underground would be comfortable in London. She will adjust to our world much better in the country.”

Gareth’s chest twisted. “You assume she will have me.”

“Of course.”

“I am not so sure.”

The Master of the Hall of Mages rolled his eyes.

Queen Victoria shot her uncle a glare. “Nonsense. Of course she will have you. You have searched for her for centuries! I refuse to believe you two will not work it out… somehow.”

Gareth felt… ah, he felt hope. How could he not? The spell had been broken. He was no longer a prisoner. He could lead a normal, mortal life. At long last.

And he would lead that life with Millicent. There had to be a way…

And perhaps the Master of the Hall of Mages could help. Nell’s death had caused Millicent to harden her heart again, but something about Nell had been niggling Gareth for some time, and he had brushed it aside for more immediate concerns. Yet, he had thought of it again just a few moments ago. Perhaps it was time to listen to his instincts.

“My lord. What do you know of firebirds?”

Lord Sussex did not bat an eye at the abrupt change of subject. “I assume you mean the magical kind.” He dug a finger beneath his cravat and scratched. “They possess feathers varying in shades from reddish-yellow to crimson. They can ignite those feathers at will, and can breathe fire as lethally as a dragon. But unlike dragons, who became illegal ages ago because of their massive appetites, firebirds are natural creatures of the animal kingdom, and as such are protected by certain laws… I assume you are asking because of this Nell person?”

“Yes.”

Queen Victoria frowned. “The lady who died and broke Millicent’s heart?”

“Again yes, Your Majesty. I have this wild idea…” Gareth stopped. Surely it was only a foolish hope.

“Magic brings us many evils,” said Lord Sussex, “but can bring us great joy, as well. There is no subject within my Hall that is too outlandish for discussion, Sir Gareth.”

“Indeed,” agreed Victoria. “It is why Lord Sussex continues in his post. He is always open to the most outrageous magical notions. If there is anyone who can educate you on magical creatures, it is my uncle.”

Gareth nodded. “I had heard—so long ago that I have forgotten the details—that there is a certain type of firebird that rises from the ashes to be reborn again.”

“Hmm, yes.” Sparkles danced on the Master’s brocade coat as he rocked in his chair. “The phoenix…”

“Yes! That is her name… Millicent said it only once, when she first introduced the shape-shifter to me. Nell Feenix. It must have stayed in my mind—that is what has been nagging at me.” Gareth leaned forward, his heart filled with so much hope that he barely acknowledged the sudden sharp stab from his injury. “Is it true? The myth about a phoenix?”

“As far as I know. It has been a long time since I have heard of one. Even firebirds are uncommon. But many myths have turned out to be the truth, as evidenced by this city below London… and Merlin’s relics.”

Queen Victoria clapped her gloved hands, the sound a soft whisper in the quiet room. “Oh, Sir Gareth! If that is true, this Nell might be able to return to your Millicent.”

“And heal her heart,” he finished. “I did not know what compelled me to keep the firebird’s ashes, only that I could not bear to leave her remains lying on that battlefield near Ghoulston’s underground castle.”

“You have them, then?” The Master’s gray brows rose in surprise.

“They are Underground. With the were-bear who aided us against the dragon. I must get them at once.”

Lord Sussex put a restraining hand on Gareth’s shoulder as he started to rise. “Slow down, young man. What do you know of the legend of the phoenix?”

“Just that she rises from her ashes to be reborn again.”

“That’s not quite the entire story. The phoenix will build a funeral pyre of special tree limbs and spices, set it afire, be consumed by the blaze, and then be reborn. How did this Nell die?”

“I think a silver bullet hit her, for she fell to the ground. And burst into a column of flame.”

“Then it may be too late.”

“Uncle!” interjected the queen once again. “I refuse to believe that. Sir Gareth, do not listen to him. There may still be a chance.”

Lord Sussex gave her a wry look. “Well, I am glad to see Ghoulston didn’t entirely destroy your romantic notions.”

Gareth dropped his face in his hands. He might be clinging to a futile hope. Just because Nell’s last name was Feenix—or perhaps Phoenix—did not mean she was one. Many baronets possessed surnames from the genus of their were-shape, like Millicent Pantere, the Old French name for panther, but not all. Some baronets purposely changed their names to protect their identity. And even if Nell was a phoenix, she did not have the special boughs or spices when she burst into flame.

It might be too late.

Gareth raised his head. But it might not. He would not know until he tried… and he would do anything to earn Millicent’s true love. Anything.

“What branches do I use to build the nest? And what spices?”

Victoria clapped her hands again, mouthing “bravo” to him, while the Master heaved a sigh.

“The spices and boughs are difficult to procure, for they primarily come from the Arabian wilderness, where the phoenix originated. But Britain has a presence in Arabia, so they are not unobtainable. I can make you a list of what you need, and how to go about crafting the nest. But after that…” He raised his hands. “You will have to improvise.”

“Based on the legend,” mused Queen Victoria, “perhaps you should craft the nest, put the ashes in it, and then set it on fire.” She shuddered. “It sounds like a dreadful way to come back to life.”

Gareth smiled. “Not for ladybird—ah, that is what I call Nell. She loves fire. I cannot accurately describe to you how beautiful she appeared in her were-shape. Feathers aflame like molten liquid, her tail like the train of a woman’s gown, but alive with flickering light.”

“If you should succeed in your task, brave knight, I would like to meet this ladybird.”

Gareth grinned broader at her words and then rose, a bit stiffly, and bowed as low as he could, stifling a grunt of pain. “My thanks, Your Majesty. For your support, and the gift of this Hobover House.” He turned to the old man. “And Lord Sussex… I believe I have already proven my loyalty to you and yours. And I vow that I will never allow anyone to use my blood for ill… although I rather imagine your spies will be checking up on me now and again, yes?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Excellent. Am I free to go?”

“Not until you are fully healed,” said Queen Victoria. “No, don’t look at me that way, Sir Gareth. You have a legend to fulfill and a woman to reclaim. And you are not used to mortality. A few more days to mend will do you good… and no, I am not sure if it is because I am still under the influence of your blood and require your company a few more days.”

Nineteen

Gareth used Lady Roseus’s stairway to return to the Swill and Seelie when he finally went back underground. The lady had not seemed to be surprised to find him on her doorstep, or particularly disturbed that he requested the use of her stairway, although she asked that he deliver a note to Bran.

He did not wonder about the contents of the missive. The lady had daubed the pink paper with the same scent she wore.