Chapter 5 In Which I Call My Mother #3
“What I said to Sahir?” I repeated. He glanced at the Gray Knight and jerked his chin. She stood up and went toward the food line. “I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t know what I said to Sahir.”
The Crone rolled her eyes—the action looked strange in her wrinkled face. Today she wore a blue cloak, the hood over her brow. Her eyes, glittering black, stared out from the folds of the fabric. I wondered if cloaks were comfortable.
To my surprise, she spoke. “Everyone offers gifts and curses,” she said, in a terrifying mimicry of my voice.
I clapped my hand to my own mouth, shocked to find it shut.
The Crone mimed something, her left hand coming up to her neck and then flicking backward, nails brushing her hood.
Did she just pretend to flip her hair? “No point worrying which is which until the time comes.”
“Did Sahir relay this to you?” I asked aloud.
Another eye roll from the Crone.
“I am a Prince of Faerie, lady,” the Princeling said, his voice soft. “My methods are my own, and my knowledge mine until I share it. Ask no more impertinent questions.”
So he’d just confirmed they were watching me, and I should assume they heard everything I said.
I wanted to hunch my shoulders and give up, but the thought of my mom stalking into Faerie to demand retribution spurred me on. “I have considered your… offer, my lord,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“Indeed,” he said. He sounded casual, but he flicked his wrist and a bramble of green sparks burst into being around our table, shielding us from the others in the room. No one screamed at the sight of magical bushes exploding into existence, so it must have been fairly normal for the Court.
“I will teach your people of my people, in exchange for your assistance in freeing me from this realm.” My eyes burned. I stared at the green magic behind him, willing the tears not to fall.
“You know that you cannot leave,” he said, his words as slow as mine. I inhaled. Exhaled. “Or, rather,” he corrected, “you cannot leave and live.”
Finally, I found the courage to meet his gaze. “My lord, within the bounds of faerie magic there must exist some spell to aid me. I ask only your resources in looking for an answer.”
We looked at each other. “Oh, and a vow not to stop me if I do find a way home,” I added. “I seek no promise from you regarding the outcome.”
We sat. No one spoke. The Gray Knight forced her way through the magic green brambles, carrying a tray of food, which she dropped on the table. She had a few green leaves dissipating in her hair, and a tiny green bur on one shoulder. She looked irritated.
“Eat,” she said, rejoining the Princeling and the Crone across from me.
For a moment I wasn’t sure if she spoke to me or to the Princeling, but he pushed the tray toward me.
“Is this new life in Faerie a gift or a curse, lady?” the Princeling asked.
I frowned. The obvious answer—A curse, you insufferable man—was also obviously wrong. “It depends on your perspective,” I said. “And perhaps it depends if you agree to my bargain.” I sounded cool, calm, collected. Suave, even.
Internally, I was shitting myself. But I was more afraid of telling my mom that I was never coming home than I was of the Princeling.
“Eat,” the Gray Knight interrupted, pointing at the tray.
I picked up half of the sandwich and stared at it.
Some sort of spread that looked creamy and purple had been slathered thick through the middle, and sprouts with crisp white roots stuck out from the sides.
I tried to take a bite but couldn’t; my throat had started to close, the way it always did before I cried.
The Princeling sighed. “It is an intriguing proposition,” he said. “And I do not lose much. Nor do I gain much. Your presence here will provide my people with some knowledge of humans, with or without your active instruction. Perhaps that will be sufficient.”
“My lord, I will serve Faerie better in the human realm,” I said, dropping the sandwich and pushing the tray aside.
I’d lost the battle with my tears; I could feel them leaking down the side of my nose.
I leaned across the table toward him. “I can advocate for you better in New York. I can help you integrate into human society. If we get enough investors for your company, people won’t care what species you are. ”
His eyes flashed. “You presume much, lady, about what will help my people.”
I shrank back, mortified and horrified. “I didn’t mean—” I started, but he cut me off.
“It is interesting. I do wonder…” He glanced at the Crone, who nodded minutely.
“Then here is our bargain,” he said, splaying his hands out on the table.
“You will teach my people of humans, whenever they ask and whatever they ask, for thirty years. For that period, you will also retain your job—this should be manageable for you. And if you can complete both of these tasks to my satisfaction, then all of my resources will be laid at your feet.”
Thirty years????? I didn’t want to be starting an escape postmenopause. And what resources was he talking about anyway?
“One year,” I said. “Not thirty.”
“One year, thirty years,” he sighed, waving a hand in exasperation. “I forget myself. Your lives are short.”
He glanced at the Crone again. Though her face appeared not to change, he turned back to me with a frown. “Ten years,” he said, “or do not take the bargain.”
He held a hand out to me across the table; it was completely smooth. No tendons, no veins. Just a covering of unblemished skin like the stem of some creeping ivy.
Before I could think, I took it and jerked back at the shock I felt in my palm.
“The bargain is sealed,” he said, a tiny smile creeping onto his face.
I glanced down at my palm—a long white scar appeared, like a single blade of grass. As I watched, it faded back into my skin, dissolved into my blood. Then it was gone.
The Princeling did something with his fingers, and the green brambles dropped.
I expected him to leave in a dramatic and exceptional manner, the Crone and the Gray Knight flanking him. But instead, he leaned back, settling onto his stool.
“Thank you. I don’t want to be here forever,” I said, feeling vaguely embarrassed, like I was turning down a second date. “It’s not personal.”
The Princeling nodded. “Change is no easier for us who live beneath the hill.”
“Are we beneath a hill?”
The Princeling’s shoulders loosened. “We are… sideways. Above. Inverted. And beneath, yes.”
How did faerie truths apply to such nonsense? I looked at the Crone, as though she would provide some insight.
“Look,” I started, and stopped. “Sorry, I mean, my lord, please, look.”
“Why do you speak this way?” the Gray Knight interrupted.
“What?”
She’d leaned forward, forearm on the table, her body tense. Her hair fell forward around her cheeks in sleek curtains. “You speak and stop and speak. You apologize when there is no wrong.”
“Well… I’m a woman in the workplace.” I frowned at her.
“This is… poor reasoning.”
“I—” It was poor reasoning, yes. “I cannot defend the logic, fair one.”
“You evade as surely as one of my own subjects,” the Princeling said. “And I have ignored my subjects for long enough.” He made to push back from the table.
I felt like the deflated remnants of a Halloween pumpkin watching Thanksgiving guests walk into a house. And he’d given me no practical information—how would this teaching thing even work? Would I get a classroom? Were we putting flyers up?
Was I getting paid?
“Please, my lord, I have questions about how this all works—like, do I pay rent for my room? What about the food?”
All three of them stared at me.
“You wish to barter for what is given freely?” the Princeling asked.
The Crone chuckled.
“Uh, no?” I said, blinking away a fresh flush of tears.
“Good. Barter wisely, Lady of the True Dreams.” This time, he pushed away from the table and stood up.
“Why do you call me that?”
The Crone chuckled again. The sound felt like a nerve pinching in my neck. The Princeling held out an arm for her and lifted her to her feet.
He inclined his head toward me and led the other two away.
In my room, I curled up on the floor to cry again.
I imagined my Tinder profile in a few years: Thirty, flirty, and trapped in a pocket dimension.
Doctor Kitten sat on the bed, looking down at me with his implacable green eyes.
Doctor Kitten was used to my bouts of crying and seemed relieved not to be conscripted as a tissue.
I stayed that way for a long time, but I was a bit more alert than the night before and eventually the floor felt too hard beneath the padding from the blankets. Taking some calming breaths, I tried to reanalyze my situation with cold logic.
I was here in Faerie for ten years.
I had made a bargain with a Prince of Faerie.
If I completed my “mission” to teach faeries about humans, I’d get some kind of reward in the form of magical resources.
And, most importantly, this meant that I’d be in the same role for the next decade. Working with a likely rotating cast of young investment dudes. Under Jeff.
Not a great situation. But I’d panic later.
Standing up and shaking my limbs to get some blood flowing, I logged back into my computer. There were forty-three new emails waiting for me in my inbox.
The first read: Send the most recent version of the presentation.
My heart stuttered in my chest. 1:33, three minutes after I had closed the computer. I looked at my phone screen. 2:18. I’d been gone forty-five minutes. I went to the top of the chain and read the most recent message.
Miri, this is not a complicated request. It doesn’t look good when you take too long to do simple things.
I tabbed over to the shared file drive and dragged the file into a response box. Then, for good measure, I attached the email I’d sent to him with the deck—had it only been two nights before?
Attached, and for reference it is in the cloud as well! I typed. Maybe the exclamation mark would make it friendlier.