Stepping through the crack between realms was nothing like using a portal. My three-dimensional body felt as if it were digitized and compressed into two-dimensions before the process unfolded like living origami. The process felt as if I had been squeezed and compacted, forcing my body to conform to the Sithern’s ruleset, and then unfolding to return me to my original form.

The process wasn’t painful, but it was disconcerting. I had no issues with balance or spatial awareness. I think the change in environment and lighting was the most jarring. At least it wasn’t nausea-inducing, I’d found enough new experiences that ended with me vomiting. A Ranked Sidhe with a weak stomach did not make for an impressive and staunch ally.

I was deposited partly in shadow. A blending of light and dark that returned dimensionality to my form. Marbled floors, walls, and ceiling welcomed those that managed to gain passage into the Sithern. Veins of black and gold intricately woven and cunningly displayed for maximum effect. The polished stone spoke of wealth, tempered by grace and taste. The patterns were obsequious and subtle.

Light sources were cleverly hidden and mimicked the recessed sconces and details I’d noticed in Lord Kel’s keep. The passageway was more austere than welcoming. But it was functional, sheltering those that could gain entrance and ignoring the blizzard that railed in increasing sound and fury on the other side.

I found the surroundings soothing, and I would have relaxed if I didn’t have the feeling that I was being watched. I doubted a person was responsible for that discomfort, my perception informed me there were no living creatures within range. It was more likely it was the Sithern itself that was watching.

The Duchess had been able to claim land, a claim which should have been impossible while in a Dungeon, but somehow, she had managed to birth a Sithern in CERN dungeon. And this Sithern, that she had coaxed into being, was imbued with her essence, it had manifested as a willing extension to the Lady's will. A symbiotic partnership that appeared healthy and flourishing.

Discounting how for now, I began exploring. The path forward was obvious, there were no hallways that branched or alcoves to break the continuity of the marble walls and floors. No doors opened into side rooms or passages.

I checked System: Time, partly to orient myself to the planet's diurnal cycle, partly to make sure I still had access to System functions. I found it interesting that my time function had been converted to twenty-four-hour military time. I wondered if the time zone had been synchronized with Switzerland, before dismissing the notion that the System would ignore something so trivial.

I walked slowly down the Sithern passage, cautiously, my perception extended fully, probing for life-signs. I thought it doubtful that Duchess Wynne would have no guards to give warning, but perhaps she had abandoned the practice after so many years trapped on at CERN. The Sithern itself created an impenetrable barrier; egress was restricted. It wasn’t as if the Dungeon residents would have a way to enter. The Sithern offered protection as well as concealment.

There were no local Earth inhabitants that would be able to find the Sithern opening, so any intrusion would be accidental at best. The Sidhe had a long history of how they treated any mortal that visited Underhill, and I fully expected that in the unlikely event that anyone might have found their way inside, did so because they had been enticed or kidnapped by a Sithern inhabitant.

That invitation to enter would result in enforced permanency or more likely one-way passage through the portal exit to Talahm. A guest was synonymous with a hostage in most Underhill myths.

Duchess Wynne and her entire House had been tasked with espionage and research as well as procuring Scientists for exportation. I wasn’t sure how large her House was, but if she was an established power, there may be a multitude. As a Duchess, she had most likely grown her base and followers over countless years. Unlike my Ascension, she had put in the time and effort to level and Rank up through hard work and perseverance. Vassals and House members would have been gained as she rose through the Ranks.

Her daughter had been held hostage for her behavior, but her Vassals, servants, staff, and House members were allowed to accompany the Duchess into exile. She had agreed to a Faustian bargain, she had to know that there was no way she was ever leaving this place. Or that she would see her daughter alive again.

Which made me wonder why she’d agreed.

I suppose her daughter was the perfect foil and bargaining chip to constrain and bind her actions. The Sidhes’ love for children was well supported, the Seelie and Unseelie especially, once birthrates began to decline. Tales of sacrifice from the Shining and Dark courts to protect and cherish their young, those immortal perfections that were the only chance to bring true immortality to a House and lineage were prolific. They were protected, often spoiled, as the hopes of House and Rank, it explained how Thom was allowed to become the bully and tyrant he had demonstrated.

Ultimately, she had no choice.

There was always the very slim chance that her daughter was alive. A possibility that they would be reunited. No matter how unlikely it was that they would be reunited, there was no certainty that her daughter would be killed either.

I dreaded the fact that my first encounter with the Duchess would be as the bearer of grave tidings. I did not want to be the one that shattered what illusions or hopes she was clinging too.

Needs must. Sadly. And my duty here was clear. I would shoulder the burden of imparting ill-tidings. I would do what was necessary and end that small seed of hope that the Duchess might have retained.

The passage had opened into a world of Spring. The first sign of life was surprisingly that of a group of Volar-Fey, demi-fey, they were graced with butterfly wings and markings. Flowers abundant and in bloom cascading and softly swaying in the wind enveloped the field the Sithern had created to host these diminutive creatures.

The Volar-Fey were flittering from flower to flower collecting nectar. Mortals had often ignored their presence, rationalizing their existence and refusing to see what was really there. Instead of what they expected to see. It became almost instinctive, their ability to rationalize and explain away the unknown.

All Volar-Fey were capable of flight, Volar was a direct translation for the French word to fly. I didn’t understand how a traditional Gaelic and Celtic species would have a name that was derivative of the French people, but that was the affectation they had been labeled with. Perhaps the French language had somehow co-opted the word in the distant past when the Volar-fey were prolific and roamed Earth’s gardens at leisure.

They were considered a sub-species of Wisps, one of the wee folk. Unlike Wisps, they didn’t have the ability to glow or the insect qualities that blended with Seelie form. They were a perfect miniature of Seelie. The tallest barely three inches, but fierce warriors and sorcerers, nevertheless. Nor could they change shape or size, the addition of the wings precluded that ability.

Their ability to glamour was as strong as the Wisps they were distantly related too. They used this ability most often to beguile and entice. If Wisps were well known for leading prey to their deaths, Volar-fey were best known for leading mortals to Underhill. Mortals that were considered beautiful or talented were often targeted.

They ignored me, at first, content to gather their nectar. Either they saw me as inconsequential and no threat or they’d been instructed to allow intrusion by Seelie.

The Volar-Fey had their own court, their own Ranked, and their own Monarchs, but this group could only look to a Duke or Lord as the highest Ranked for direction and leadership. Their Queens and Kings would never have allowed themselves to be trapped and banished, forced to live within a Dungeon. Even if a Sithern existed within the confines of that dungeon. It was more likely that this group had been summoned against their will when the ritual to create the Sithern occurred.

Although diminutive in size, that very size made them formidable. Their ability to use air currents, glamour, and shadow, paired with their ability to fly, meant that they were capable of encroaching in even the most hidden locales. But what made them truly formidable was their ability to ignore any wards and formations.

They were quicksilver. Creatures of both moonbeams and sunlight. And because they could see the currents of air and magic, they were able to find the imperfections in the magic that powered the wards. Slipping easily past even the deadliest array.

Once they have gained entrance, they became the perfect assassin. Glamour was not their strongest magic, they employed poisons to paralyze or neutralize, and those they targeted, their intended victim almost never knew what had killed them.

To slight or offend the Volar-Fey was to risk reprisals from a people that could swarm and infiltrate any room, no matter how warded or hidden, until they were satisfied that honor had been restored. I would not be so foolish as to ignore the significance of Volar-Fey being the first line of defense established by Duchess Wynne.

[You are trespassing here. Even though it appears they are ignoring you, they aren’t. They are assessing you, determining whether they should consider you friend or foe. It would be a mistake not to make an offering to the Volar as a token of friendship and respect. They are best appeased with the gift of food and drink, given with the appropriate ritual, it will go far in gaining their respect and cooperation.] Caraid informed me.

"What ritual?" I asked.

[Mortals have sought the lesser fey blessings using gifts of milk and honey almost since Danu breathed life into them. As a Ranked Prince, it would be seemly to gift them a few drops of blood. The offering should also be visually pleasing. The Volar-Fey appreciates beauty, nectar, and flowers. So, when presenting your offering, create an artistic representation of those elements.]

Reaching into my Ring of Hidden Depths, I withdrew several items, a jug of milk, freshly baked bread, strawberries, some macaroons, and a honeycomb. It’s amazing the things Jennie had insisted I carry, now I knew why.

Withdrawing a knife, I began making wedges, triangular in shape as I cut the bread into shape and placing them in a pattern. I interspersed the break pattern I was creating with strawberries and macaroons.

I was meticulous in creating a mandala pattern, drizzling honey and magical essence into each piece of bread as I brought to life a flower of pattern and texture. Cutting my finger, I soaked the last piece of bread in my blood before placing it pride of place in the center. A glistening morsel of blood and honey that was pulsing with my magic and essence.

Grabbing another saucer from my Ring, I poured an offering of milk, floating a few honeycombs into an intricate filigree of glistening decadence and using my knife to mix the honey and milk in a pattern that was geometric and concentric in form. Stepping back, I gave a final appraisal to my creation before I addressed the Volar-Fey.

This time it was Caraid that gave me the words to speak. There was no Wild Magic or instinctive knowing. But the words were formulaic, words spoken with the weight of ceremony and history, words that had created grooves in the flow of time itself, layering and enforcing the meaning behind the offerings to the Fey.

"Warm and moist beneath the hill,

Voices and laughter are soft and shrill.

Glints of light and shadows long move,

And merrying the long night thru.

Danu's children in morning emerge anew Slumber,

and waking each in their time Music,

and laughter interlace and combine.

Earnest crafts folk of diminutive size,

Blessings on you, betwixt us no lies."

The Volar-Fey paused, frozen and expectant, as they turned to appraise my offering. The highest Ranked, a Lord, finally made himself known and cautiously approached, flying back and forth, between food and drink, appraising. Satisfied, he finally dipped to nibble on the bread I had soaked in blood.

His first bite released a magical tsunami and feeding frenzy as the rest of the fey gathered en masse, to partake in my offering, absorbing both nourishment from the food as well as magic from the ritual. They were like a nest full of bees, buzzing and flying as they jockeyed for position and delicacies.

But even in their feeding frenzy, they were not so boorish as to ignore the least among them. Making certain that an equal share was had by all.

And as they fed and drank, the Sithern pulsed. Pleased with my gesture and my offering. It responded in kind.