30th December #4
Lord Taran spread his hand. “Dead, I presume. Well, she was dying when last I saw her. The poison caused a rapid deterioration in her health—you were perhaps overgenerous in your dosage, my dear.” He gave me a smile that I did not find pleasant.
“She had her guards spirit her away somewhere before she could actually expire—I expect it was to spite you, Your Highness. You would have had an easier path to the throne if her death was irrefutable; now, though, those loyal to the queen will have an excuse to stay loyal.”
Wendell looked downcast at that, but then he shrugged. “I will fight them, I suppose.”
“And you will win,” Lord Taran said. “Of that I have no doubt. But there are so many contenders for the throne that it will be a long and tedious business. Many of the queen’s inner circle, as well as the old king’s, share my opinion that you are too young to rule.
Others dislike you for the same reason they disliked your mother, the old queen—they do not wish to be ruled by one descended from the small Folk, particularly the oíche sidhe . It is unnatural.”
“Actually,” I said, as I leafed through the stories in my mind, organizing them like papers on a desk, “the real worry is that your enemies may not attempt to fight you. Instead they will smile and bow and make pretty speeches, and behind your back hire assassins or poisoners. It is, after all, one of the things your court is known for.”
Wendell groaned and rubbed a hand through his hair. Then he seemed to take note of something in my voice. He examined my face, and began to smile. “You’ve had an idea, haven’t you, Em? Please say yes.”
“I think,” I said slowly, “that we need your court to fear you. Enough that they will be too afraid to stand against you.”
“Well, of course; everyone is afraid of children,” Lord Taran said. “And what a fearsome reputation this one has! They say he was almost always the last to leave a party. Now he returns with a rumpled little scholar at his side! His enemies will be quaking.”
Wendell had not taken his gaze off me. “How?”
“Your trick with the cloak has given me an idea,” I said, resisting the urge to straighten the wrinkles out of my skirt.
Lord Taran’s smirk vanished. “You cannot think to throw us all into the Veil, my lord. You will have no one left to rule over. Well, spare me, at least—I am on your side.”
“Are you?” I snapped. “Forgive me, sir, but you do not seem much enthused by the idea of Wendell taking the throne.”
“Oh dear,” Lord Taran said. “It seems we’ve misunderstood each other.
Indeed, I believe my nephew will make a terrible king.
We might as well offer the throne to one of the gardeners and see how they fare.
But I couldn’t care less who the king is.
I am on your side because it will make Callum happy. ”
I did not trust him one bit. “That’s all?”
He smiled. “Naturally that is all, because what else matters in life?”
Wendell was nodding. “I am glad there will be another mortal at court. In fact, I believe I will invite others to join us. Perhaps we should have an equal number of them on our Council, Em. What do you think?”
“You say that as if it is out of the goodness of your heart,” I said with a snort. “Really it is because you find mortals easier to charm than other Folk.”
He gave me an amused look. “Ah, but there you’re wrong—Iprefer the company of those who are difficult to charm.”
Lord Taran finished his tea and stood, setting the cup carefully on the rock.
“I will go on ahead. Naturally, everyone is expecting you to appear at some point, and so a number of the queen’s soldiers are lying in wait for you at various places around the castle grounds.
I will get them out of the way, at least. Then you can sweep in and terrify us all with your sewing kit, my lord. ”
I glared at him, and he raised his eyebrows innocently. “No? Broom collection, perhaps?” And, laughing at my expression, he marched off into the forest.
“Good riddance,” I muttered. I turned to find Wendell smiling at me fondly.
“We are fortunate to have my uncle on our side,” he said. “He is sometimes called Eldest, for he is possibly the oldest person in the entire realm, and widely feared.”
“He is insufferable.”
“He’s also correct,” Wendell said, unperturbed. “It is no easy task to frighten my court. We are too used to monsters. And none of them have ever viewed me as a fearsome figure.”
“Your magic is growing stronger,” I said bluntly. “I have been watching you. You have never used it so freely, and it does not seem to tire you.”
“I—” Wendell blinked. For a moment, he looked as he had when he stood at the threshold of his door—slightly lost. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I believe it is a good sign,” I said. Also an unnerving one, but I did not bother to mention this.
I had not accompanied him to Faerie only to lose heart and sit quaking in some corner, had I?
Shoving my anxiety to one side, I sat up straighter and continued, “Several of the oldest stories suggest that the realm recognizes its rightful lord or lady. I can only hope your court is ready for an unorthodox display of power.”
Skip Notes
*1 Possibly the most widely misidentified faerie species.
Even experienced dryadologists have been known to mistake natural phenomena, fireflies, or indeed other forms of faerie activity for will-o’-the-wisps.
Found in old-growth forests throughout the world, these nocturnal trooping faeries are barely two inches in height, and most of that is their mothlike wings, which dwarf their tiny bodies.
They were once believed to be bioluminescent, but Sofia Wagner’s 1822–24 field study in Belgium demonstrated that, in fact, each wisp carries a glass lantern with a tiny flame inside it, which Wagner posited is used for communication (a theory supported by Brendan O’Reagan, whose 1906 book, Fireglass, attempted to decode this language of magical Aldis lamps).
Contrary to popular belief, stories of errant mortals led into the wilderness by drifting lights can generally be attributed to bogles, not wisps, which are notoriously shy; if they perceive they are under mortal observation, they will usually flick their lights off and vanish into the nearest knothole.
*2 “Rumpelstiltskin” is, of course, the most famous story of a faerie foiled by his own name, but plenty of others exist, notably “Old Erenondalen” (Norway) and “Lammy Boggs” (Britain).
Due to the rarity of scholarly encounters with the courtly fae, and the offence many common fae take at enquiries regarding their names, little is known about the actual power these have, and whether knowing a faerie’s full name would be tantamount to holding them in thrall.
Those few common fae who have entrusted scholars with their names have given them only a piece, sometimes the first half and others the second, and sometimes, as with Lewis Hartland’s henkie, Wattle, a childhood nickname.
*3 “The Laughing Stove,” which can be found in J. P. Gillen’s Anthology of Irish Folklore from the Viking Era: A Cross-Cultural Analysis, 8th ed., 1908.
*4 After an exhaustive search, I have come to the conclusion that no academic literature exists concerning this mysterious “Veil,” a Faerie realm that only monarchs may access. I believe I am the only scholar to learn of it, or at least the only surviving scholar.