Emily Wilde’s Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde #3)

19th February

Tonight we dined at Lilja and Margret’s—overdue by several days, for I knew they had been anxious for news. Wendell tells me I should stop thinking of the cottage as Lilja and Margret’s—they will be leaving soon, after all, and though they have already promised to return in the summer at my insistence, the cottage will soon be my domain alone. I do not know how much time I will spend in the mortal world, but I can’t deny that having the option of escaping the absurdity of Faerie is comforting; it is one of the best gifts Wendell has given me.

On the subject of gifts, Wendell informed me as we made our way down the hall to the faerie door that he had a surprise for me that evening.

“Is that necessary?” I said with a sigh. “You know I prefer not to be surprised, as a general rule.”

Wendell paused to speak to the small brownie who had run up to him clutching a mug of coffee—these days, Wendell is rarely without a retinue of common fae, who trail after him bearing delicacies and gifts they have made. I am unconvinced that all this fawning is good for his ego, but it is a remarkable thing nevertheless; the small Folk are more accustomed to hiding from the courtly fae, particularly in this realm. Wendell is kind to them at least, and if this kindness remains mixed with some amount of condescension, this is still more improvement than I expected from him.

“You must allow me a little fun once in a while,” he said, following me through the door to Corbann. “I have been so looking forward to this.”

“Well, if you must.” We walked to the cottage gate, and I paused to wait for Shadow to catch up. He has been doing a little better since our grim quest, but I still worried about him. When at last he doddered up to the gate, I knelt to rub his neck.

“Come, dear,” I murmured, my chest filling with a familiar ache. “You shall have your usual blankets by the fire, and first choice of all the courses.”

He licked my hand and his tail gave a solitary thump against the grass.

I turned to find Wendell gazing about the garden with a distracted frown that I recognized well. “You are not thinking of apple trees, I hope,” I said. “Lilja and Margret seem happy to have escaped that unnatural thing you gave them in Ljosland.”

“But it is such a drab little place,” he complained. “Even as cottages go. I could add a pear tree, at least.”

“No,” I said.

“A strawberry patch.”

We spent the next few minutes bickering about it until at last I suggested that he summon a wisteria. He beamed in a way that aroused my instantaneous regret, but it was too late; he placed his hand on the cottage and tapped his fingers against the stone. A vine erupted from the ground and clambered up the wall with an unpleasant, excited sort of energy, splitting itself as it bent around the windows and door until it looked like a many-fingered hand itself, crooked possessively about the cottage. Flowers dangled like fat purple lanterns, dewed petals limned by the hearthlight of the windows.

“Much better,” Wendell said.

I gazed at the place in silent awe. After wrestling with myself for a moment, I said, “You could add one or two more.”

He looked delighted. “That was exactly my own thought!”

I watched as he summoned more vines, taking his time withthe placement. It was not so much the flowers themselves I appreciated, but the magic trick. I do not think I shall ever grow tired of that.

Lilja threw the door open at our knock and welcomed us with hugs, followed by Margret, and took our cloaks to hang on the rack. The cottage was filled with the scent of roasted pheasant and more of Margret’s baking—which, I can say without prejudice, has only improved with time, and is not far from rivalling Poe’s.

Naturally the evening began with everyone talking at once, Lilja and Margret full of questions and Wendell full of compliments regarding their improvements to the cottage and the aromas emanating from the kitchen. Shadow, meanwhile, was so happy to see his friends again that he overturned the tray of toasted cheese Margret had prepared for hors d’oeuvres. Somehow I managed to interpose a summary of recent events amidst the chaos.

“Then the queen is—under guard?” Margret asked. We had settled ourselves at the table, apart from Lilja, who was stirring the pot of soup. “But free to roam about?”

I could guess the source of her anxiety. “She is unable to leave Faerie,” I said. “Wendell has bound her to the realm. So you need not worry about her showing up in your garden again.”

“She has not left her new home, nor tried to,” Wendell said—I could see this still surprised him. The old queen had acquiesced to her humble living arrangements—a small house on the other side of the lake, tucked between two hills well-endowed with pretty meadows—without a single complaint, and, indeed, with a great deal of smiles and admiring little speeches. She had a garden, which she spent most of her days tending, a well, her own cow, and not one servant—though she had several guards and innumerable spies among the common fae, Snowbell among them. Ever delighted to be useful, he visited me daily with updates on Arna’s activities, also voicing his anticipation of the day she would attempt to flee, at which time he intended to gnaw the flesh from her ankles.

Wendell believes it is only a matter of years, if not months, before she takes up scheming once more, but I maintain my opinion that the old queen has reformed. He did not see her in the Veil. And perhaps Arna, being half mortal, can escape the patterns her faerie ancestors have been powerless to resist. To which Wendell only replies that mortals can be just as prone to cycles of foolishness and self-destructive villainy as the Folk.

Well, time will tell whose argument carries the day.

“Then Ariadne and Farris are not here?” I enquired. “I wondered if they might be delayed; there are so many connections to make from Cambridge, and the ferry is not always reliable.”

“Actually, they arrived early,” Lilja said. “More than an hour ago. They just popped down to the village—”

As if we had summoned them, the door opened and Farris Rose stepped in, bearing a bottle of cider. In his wake trailed Ariadne, who had been walking with one of the village youths—for naturally she had already made a friend. I was embraced by both the new arrivals, after which Ariadne also gave Wendell an impulsive hug. Farris, not making eye contact, greeted him with a curt “Hello” before stalking past, which was the politest he’d been to Wendell in months.

“Was your journey a pleasant one?” I enquired.

“Oh, yes!” Ariadne exclaimed, before launching into a list of the research questions she wished to tackle during her stay. The two would spend a week in Faerie as our guests, to which Farris had acquiesced with a sort of grudging excitement. I could tell he did not wish to be any guest of Wendell’s, and yet he could not resist such an immense scientific gift, and thus his annoyance was partly with himself, in his betrayal of his principles.

“Hello there!” The door opened, and Callum pushed his head in. “May we come in?”

Lilja hurried to the door, greeting him and Niamh with smiles and thanks—Lilja and Margret had asked that no faerie food or drink be brought, but Callum had offered to play for us and had his harp with him. Meanwhile Niamh had brought several sketches of Wendell’s realm drawn by one of the dozen or so mortal artists who dwelt in the castle, so that Lilja and Margret might gain some sense of the place without having to set foot there themselves.

Dinner was a merry affair. The conversation was rather scattered, which does not ordinarily suit my preferences, but among those I knew so well I did not mind it. Farris and Niamh had much catching up to do, for though I had told him she was alive and well in the Silva Lupi, they had not yet reconnected, and were immediately nattering away like the old friends they were, Farris occasionally forgetting his dignity enough to have to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. Ariadne was full of questions as always, but she also formed an instantaneous accord with Lilja and Margret, who were not much older than she. Within the space of five minutes, it seemed, they were inviting her to their house in Ljosland, to which Ariadne—I note with some melancholy—may travel freely without fear of the Hidden king. Even Callum, who is ordinarily of a quiet nature, was comfortable enough to tell several stories of his youth in the coastal village of Kilmoney, and of his early years in Faerie with Lord Taran.

I did not regret our decision not to invite Taran—who in any event had professed himself wholly uninterested in attending—in deference to Lilja and Margret’s discomfort with the Folk, and particularly such Folk as he. Margret, after all, still bears the mark of the Hidden Ones on her forehead, and in odd moments I have noticed her gaze grow distant, until Lilja brings her back to herself with a gentle word or touch. Yet I could see they were fascinated by Callum and Niamh, mortals who had not only ventured into Faerie and lived, but remained themselves and unbroken.

“I still cannot imagine the likes of our wee ones as royal councillors,” Lilja said. “Do the small Folk truly have an aptitude for it?”

We had told them of our new Council, which now contains an equal number of courtly and common fae—chief among them the little housekeeper who saved Wendell—as well as several mortals. Never before in Wendell’s realm—nor any other, to his knowledge—have the common fae been invited into the upper echelons of Faerie’s political structure. The results, in my opinion, have been rather mixed, but still it is a nice thing from a symbolic perspective.

“As much as any faerie has,” I said. Approximately half of the Council remains entirely useless—particularly the mortal poet and one Lady Thorns and Thistles—and yet I can’t help suspecting, given comments made by Wendell and others, that this is an improvement on the general average. Faerie councils, like faerie monarchs themselves, seem not to have much practical utility, other than, perhaps, as a tiller guiding the wayward impulses of the king or queen, yet I have seen no evidence that the councils themselves are any less wayward.

Once we had finished our meal and established ourselves in armchairs by the fire with mugs of chocolate or tea, Wendell leaned forward abruptly, rubbing his hands together. “Now then! I fear I can wait no longer. The anticipation is too great!”

“Oh God,” I said. “This is that surprise you mentioned, isn’t it?”

“Surprise?” Margret echoed, looking both pleased and nervous; Lilja seemed more of the latter. Ariadne covered her mouth with her hands, nearly vibrating with excitement, and I realized that she had learned of this “gift” from Wendell, and been anticipating it—when, I knew not.

“You needn’t worry,” Wendell said to Lilja. “It is merely a wedding gift for my Emily. One I have planned for a very long time, but which has unfortunately been much delayed due to unforeseen circumstances.”

“Your death?” I said.

“Among other things. The Deer took a great deal of time to root out.”

“The Deer?” I frowned. “Not the hag-headed deer in the rhododendron meadow?”

“The very same. I had to request Lord Taran’s help to remove them—he has an odd sort of accord with them, or as much as any person can have with such magniloquent brutes, and he was only too happy to help.”

This did not do much to inspire anticipation. “Was he.”

Wendell stood, as if he were about to give a presentation. Instead, to my surprise, he knelt by the fire next to Shadow, who gave a thump of his tail in acknowledgement.

“You see, Em,” he said, rubbing behind Shadow’s ears, “that particular meadow is one of the oldest parts of my realm, and home to a number of strange and venerable Folk. Including perhaps the only other personage of mixed courtly and common fae blood in the land, besides myself, of course, a woman of bogle and courtly fae ancestry. An unpleasant sort, as you might imagine! Yet I have long known she is the keeper of several of the ancient Words—you know two of them yourself, which places you already in rare company, for most Folk do not know even one.”

“Yes,” I said, a question in my voice. “Though most Words, in my understanding, are of low value, like the Word for button-summoning.”

“Ah,” Wendell said, “and has that one truly served no purpose? Most of the Words are of that nature—silly knickknack things on the surface, but useful in unexpected ways. Now, some time ago, I took Shadow to see several brownies expert in animal husbandry—”

“What!” I said. “When was this?”

“Last summer,” he said. “A month or two before we departed for Austria. You were at that conference in Edinburgh—”

“On faerie markets,” I cried, absurdly outraged. “I asked you to mind Shadow while I was away. And you took him to a—a doctor?”

“Of a sort,” Wendell went on, looking only more self-satisfied in the face of my outbursts.

“We have Folk of that nature back home,” Margret said, half to Lilja. “Do we not? Hilde and Sam say they live in their stables. They’ve never had a sick sheep or lamb in all their years of farming.”

“Such Folk exist in almost every region,” Farris said. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “They are a type of household brownie—though they are not always popular with farmers, for some are known to endow their beasts with peculiar gifts.” [*]

“These brownies dwelt at a livery stable in Hertfordshire,” Wendell said. “They also tend to their masters’ hunting dogs, who are reputed to live curiously long lives.”

My heart began to thrum in my ears. “I’ve not heard that story.”

“It’s a small part of the local lore,” Wendell said. “More of a footnote, really. I have been searching for such brownies for the past year or two, and never enter a village without making enquiries of the inhabitants—a visit or two to the local pub, usually.”

“Wait a moment,” I said. “You were planning my wedding gifts before I accepted your proposal? Before you had even asked ?”

Niamh snorted, while Lilja and Margret seemed to be smothering laughter. Only Ariadne took my side, patting my hand while continuing to smile in anticipation. I felt as if I were back in Faerie, with every private moment turned into a spectacle for public entertainment.

Wendell held up his hands. “My intentions were honourable, I assure you. Why cannot one be prepared for every outcome? And in any case, this particular gift was for Shadow’s benefit primarily.”

“Good grief!” I said, too overcome to be more articulate.

“?‘Prepared for every outcome,’ he says,” Niamh said with a laugh. “This one has not once been thwarted in love. You should have seen him in his youth—fawned over by all and sundry. The Folk are already possessed of healthy egos; you can imagine how much more swollen his grew for his early successes.”

Wendell gave her a wounded look. “In fact, Niamh, I was half convinced my dear Emily had never met a man whose attentions she was less inclined to humour. I was astonished when she deigned to consider my proposal.”

“Indeed?” Niamh rolled her eyes. “You should have turned him down at first, Emily. It would have done him good.”

“I’m beginning to see the wisdom of that,” I said, but I was too impatient to needle him further. My heart was thrumming in my ears. “What did these brownies tell you? I’d no idea such Folk could help a Black Hound.”

He took my hand. “Shadow is ill, Em. Some congestion in his blood—that is how the creatures described it. An illness of age, which they might have prevented before it set in, but which they could not cure.”

I sank back against my chair—I had not realized I was leaning forward, my body rigid with tension.

“However,” Wendell continued, “I did not lose hope at this, for the information was useful. I’d heard rumours that this half-bogle woman, who aptly calls herself the Wordmonger, had amassed a great collection of forgotten Words. Including one intended to cleanse the blood—used mostly, I suspect, to rid the body of alcohol, and thus its aftereffects. Perhaps one of the most useful Words ever invented! And I thought to myself, why should it not be useful in this case? The Words have more than one function, and it stands to reason that their effects should be stronger in beasts. If ever I regained my kingdom, I told myself, I would venture to the rhododendron meadow to interview her as soon as could be.”

“A hangover remedy!” Niamh exclaimed. “You thought to cure the dog with that ?”

“I already have,” Wendell said. “Come here, Em.”

I knelt beside him and placed my hands where he indicated. I felt Shadow’s heartbeat—with which I was acutely familiar, for the old dog liked to sleep pressed against my back at night. I didn’t notice the change at first. But then—

“It’s stronger,” I cried. “Wait—is it?” I listened again. “Yes—I’m almost certain that it is!”

“I will teach it to you,” Wendell said. He spoke the Word, slowly and softly. I felt the magic in the air, there and gone like an errant breeze; the Word had a presence when Wendell spoke that I could never give to it. Shadow gave a huff and licked his hand, his expression more alert than I had seen in a long time. I repeated the Word, adding it to my little collection.

“We should speak it now and then to keep the illness at bay,” Wendell said.

“He—” I stopped. “He has seemed better, these last few days.” I could not say the word cured, for it felt like a falsehood. Shadow was still blind in one eye; his preferred pace remained slow and lumbering. He had sought the hearth and blankets Lilja had laid out for him with all his usual enthusiasm to be off his feet. There was no dramatic transformation—the effect had been so subtle as to be barely noticeable. Wendell had not snapped his fingers and turned Shadow into some strapping immortal beast.

“He is an old dog still,” Wendell said quietly. “There are no magics to restore youth in creatures doomed to age—only glamours. But I thought, if I could grant him another few years of health, which he may spend in your company, and in roaming his favourite paths, and napping by the fireside—”

“It’s enough,” I said, then buried my face in Shadow’s fur, unable to control myself any longer. In truth, it wasn’t enough—no finite span of years ever could be. And yet it was a gift beyond measure.

When at last I had my emotions in hand, I looked up to find both Ariadne and Lilja brushing away tears, while Margret rubbed Lilja’s shoulders. Niamh nodded her approval, for once having nothing to tease Wendell about, and even Callum, who is ordinarily a little hesitant around Shadow, being, like Wendell, more given to cats, was blinking rapidly. Only Farris seemed unmoved, and yet he spoke not a word to dampen the moment, merely regarded Wendell with a sort of repressed antagonism.

“This deserves a celebration,” Callum noted, removing his harp from its case. “What do you say?”

As none of us had any objections, he began to play, the music scarcely louder than the wind outside at first, as if they were two halves of the same melody, then swelling into a familiar song. Shadow lay his head in my lap, and I held him so tightly one would have thought I had lost him, as I had Wendell, only to find him again.

Skip Notes

* The Belgian story of the egg-laying goat is perhaps the most famous example, but many others exist.