2nd January
The cottage is snug, perhaps a little smaller than our accommodation in St. Liesl, but larger than the Hrafnsvik let.
Upstairs are two bedrooms and a bathing room that I suspect Wendell has enchanted, for the water is hot and gushing to a degree that is generally alien to creaky, rural cottages.
As for the downstairs, the layout is simple, merely a sitting room with hearth and the kitchen, divided by a little hall with the staircase at one end and the door at the other.
The place is bright even in winter, for the windows appear larger from within than from without—which is certainly possible, until one realizes that there are also more windows inside the cottage, which is not.
A handful of feral cats with odd, all-black eyes include the garden in their neighbourhood patrols, keeping the mice away.
Lilja and Margret say that the villagers are much mystified by their appearance, as prior to this winter, none were to be found within five miles of the place beyond a fat housecat or two.
I cooked up a simple breakfast of omelet and toast, tucking some away in the oven for Lilja and Margret when they awoke, and then I wandered around the cottage, looking out the windows.
Around the back was a door leading down to a cellar, which my friends had stocked with provisions.
The sun was bright that morning, and it was almost warm, or warm enough with a coat and scarf.
I settled myself on the wooden bench in the garden and spent a happy hour there, taking copious notes for my book on faerie politics or gazing out at the landscape, lost in thought.
I found myself regaining my excitement for my project and the opportunity for scholarly discovery presented by my presence in Wendell’s kingdom.
Given the peril that surrounded us, this may seem a little mad but—well, actually, I have no defence for that.
It is nigh impossible to find evidence to support the wisdom of taking up a throne in any of the Faerie realms, particularly during a time of political conflict; yet this thought shrinks to almost nothing when I imagine how my research will benefit the scientific cause, our understanding of the inner workings of Faerie. The opportunity is monumental.
When I think how often I despair of the irrationality of the Folk!
I paused in the sketch I was making of Wendell’s throne to watch a robin poking about for worms. The mist from the waterfall settled over the grasses, gilding the places the sunlight touched.
Lilja and Margret came to find me a moment later, and we walked up the hillside to where the water began to cascade down the steep, ferny slope, which offered a view of the pastoral landscape.
I could see two lakes, similar in shape to Muckle and Silverlily.
The village was a scatter of perhaps two dozen dwellings along a cobbled street, with farms beyond that stretching to the mountains with their light dusting of snow.
We talked of ordinary things—the health of Aueur, who was doing a little better these days, though still far from her old self; Margret’s newfound fondness for baking bread, which she had taken to selling at a tidy profit to sailors who passed through the Hrafnsvik harbour—as well as my time in Faerie.
“And you have not changed your mind?” Margret said, after I’d unravelled the tale as far as the previous evening.
Lilja put a hand on her arm, and the two exchanged a look before turning the subject to other things.
Not for the first time; I sensed they had a great deal to say about my decision to take up a Faerie throne, as well as my faith in Wendell, whom they have always liked, particularly given their gratitude to him.
But I am coming to understand that this is not the same as saying that they trust Wendell—perhaps this distinction holds true for all the villagers of Hrafnsvik, given their troubled history with the courtly fae.
We returned to the cottage after our walk and I collected Shadow, who would not have enjoyed such a steep hike.
He yawned and stretched, his bones creaking a little, and I felt a stab of melancholy familiar to all those who care for old dogs.
I would speak to the servants—perhaps they had a more beneficial salve for his joints than the one I relied on.
“Would you care to come back with me?” I asked as we stood by the gate. “I could show you the castle.”
Margret and Lilja exchanged another look. “It’s kind of you,” Lilja said. “But we are content to remain on this side.”
Instantly, I regretted my words, recalling what they had suffered at the hands of the courtly fae of their country. Before I could apologize, though, Lilja touched my arm and smiled.
“You will visit again soon, I hope?” she said.
I promised I would. Then I turned and went through the faerie door.
The stones were slick underfoot, almost slimy. I had just stepped onto the third stone, my left foot halfway to the fourth, when I found myself standing in the familiar castle hallway, the door open behind me.
Shadow gave a pleased huff and trotted off down the hall.
I knew he was in search of Wendell, for he seemed disappointed when each room we passed was empty or revealed only a servant or two, who bowed hastily when they noticed me.
The bedchamber was similarly abandoned, apart from Orga, who was curled up among the tangled blankets—I guessed that she had not permitted the servants to make the bed.
To my surprise, she greeted me with a chirp and rolled over, purring, allowing me to pet her stomach.
Shadow made a lumbering hop onto the bed to commence his customary midmorning nap; Orga ignored his existence entirely, which represented a marked improvement in their relations.
Ordinarily, I spend little time on my appearance, but the idea of donning one of my plain shifts and throwing my hair up into a knot here in Faerie made me uneasy.
Someone had added another wardrobe to the bedroom, and in this I found a dozen dresses in a range of colours and styles, as if someone—the servants, I supposed—had chosen to offer me a selection in order to assess my tastes.
Naturally, they were all far too luxurious, too brightly coloured or with odd accoutrements; a green dress had vines attached to the bodice that had to be untied before I could put the thing on, while one of white lace had the silliest sleeves I had ever seen, with what looked like silver bracelets dangling off them.
I eventually chose a black one, which at least didn’t have any adornments, though it did have five layers of skirts embroidered with silver that sparkled as I walked.
After some hemming and hawing, I summoned a servant and requested a hairdresser.
This creature—a brownie with a wrinkled grey face held in a permanent scowl—yanked my hair into an elaborate plait atop my head and wove it with silvered flowers, primarily poppies.
Once everything was in place, I felt awkward and slightly sweaty, though the dress was light, even with its many layers.
I cast a longing look at the simple brown dresses I had brought with me, which I had hung in the wardrobe alongside the finery. They pressed together like poor relations at a lavish ball, who on the whole would have preferred not to have been invited.
“Right,” I said, eyeing my appearance in the mirror apprehensively. Then I set to work.
—
My first task, I had decided during my ponderings that morning, would be to speak to the oíche sidhe . I knew the creatures did not like to be seen, even by other Folk, and also that they preferred to work at night, and thus were most likely at rest now. But there was nothing for it.
I found several servants in the dressing room.
They were tailors, hard at work assembling garment after garment from the rich silks and linens—mostly black, naturally—that were scattered everywhere, though two were presently adorning headless mannequins with tunics.
I glanced about for a moment, overwhelmed.
When I asked if the faerie woman in charge, who was of the courtly fae, might escort me to the oíche sidhe, she gave me a horrified look and darted from the room.
Before I could decide if I had offended her or if my request had been so strange that she had panicked and fled, she was back, and behind her was another faerie.
“The head housekeeper,” the faerie woman said, and then she and the other tailors departed, leaving us alone in a room full of expensive fabrics and scattered measuring tapes and thimbles.
I almost didn’t see the new arrival at first, strange as that may sound, because he was so grey and unexceptional that he blended into the flagstones of the dressing room.
He was small, but not so small as most of the common fae, the top of his head reaching my shoulder.
His fingers were many-jointed and far too spindly, his eyes black, and his hair fell to his chin in dust-coloured wisps.
He wore a belt with a single grey rag dangling from it, which his hand went to frequently, twisting it about his fingers in an absent-minded way.
He was, unsurprisingly, painfully neat in every respect.
“Hello,” I said hesitantly. “I apologize if I disturbed you.”
The faerie sank to his knees and lowered his head. “Your Highness,” he said in a rough voice that made me picture the bristles of a brush.
“Oh, no,” I said. “No, please stand up.”
The faerie rose gracefully to his feet, pausing only to smooth the wrinkles from his trousers. “As Your Highness desires.”