Chapter 15 Silva #4
The fae woman laughed as if she had told a joke. “Of course not, dearest. You’ve been very careful. But that’s what beautiful mornings are for.”
Every step now was agony. Silva bit her lip. Her back felt like it was on fire, the weight of the baby combining with the pressure of this place, leaving her nearly lightheaded. “What-what does it cost to sit?”
“Cost?” The man had come up behind the vendor with the pruning shears, from somewhere deeper inside the stall, slightly hidden from her view until that moment. “Beloved, you’re a guest.”
Silva swallowed hard, remembering the instructions she had received before entering. Ensure your questions receive actual answers. You’ll pay either way. “That’s not an answer.”
The fae woman’s smile didn’t falter, but something sharpened in her eyes, a flicker Silva didn’t miss.
“There’s no cost for courtesy here, sweetling.
No payment for rest. This isn’t Autumn.” Both of the vendors laughed together.
“You should rest while you can. Beautiful mornings were made for leisure.”
Time, again. That’s what they wanted. That’s what they would always want, she suspected. She wasn’t there to linger, but neither did she think she could continue if she didn’t rest for the briefest moment.
Silva practically staggered to the bench, lowering herself to it carefully, cradling the swell of her body as she did so.
The relief was instantaneous. Stone shouldn’t have been so comfortable, so welcoming.
Dropping her head back, she let it roll slowly, feeling a bit of the tension that gripped her ebb away.
The soft, early-morning sunlight was warm on her face.
The air was fragrant, the birds were chirping, and all around her, the market thrummed with vibrancy.
She understood how easily one could simply slip away here.
“Some refreshment while you rest.”
The man had come around from the stall’s table, setting a clear glass goblet beside her. The liquid within appeared to be water at first glance, but as she looked closer, Silva saw the surface shimmer with iridescence.
“What is it?”
The man waved his hand, as though he were brushing her question aside. “Nothing that will hurt you, sweetling.”
That wasn’t what you asked. She kept one hand at her bump, clutching her dress with the other, not touching the cup. Unlike the full meal she had been fed in winter, that shimmering liquid did feel like a threat.
Don’t ever accept gifts. Don’t eat their food.
Careful where you wander. She had a feeling Tate would be extremely disappointed in how poorly she’d followed his directions thus far.
She needed to leave. Needed to get out of this place while she still could, before it cost her something she would not be able to repay.
She knew that was the wisest course . . .
But she felt stuck, unable to make herself push up from the bench and march back to that cooler, putting the market behind her.
You’re never going to find him at this rate.
“I’m looking for someone,” Silva began carefully. “I know he’s not here, but—”
“Never say never, dearest. Who knows? He might journey back here any moment.”
Her breath caught in her lungs, leaving her wheezing for a moment. “I haven't told you who I’m looking for yet.”
Again, the two fae laughed as if she had told a hilariously funny joke.
“Beloved, you didn’t need to. Of course, we know.
Why else would you be here? The best thing for you to do is just sit a spell.
We have travelers from all the courts passing through all the time.
These golden hours are not to be rushed, and the things we lose always have a way of coming back to us here. ”
“How do you know I’m looking for someone from the courts?”
The two fae exchanged a look. The fae man blinked at her as if he couldn’t comprehend the question.
Like the very first vendor she had encountered, his skin was sun-kissed and his eyes too blue.
His hair was a shock of white blonde, a sharp contrast to the delicate-looking woman beside him, her skin pale as ivory.
Unlike her companion, the woman’s sloe berry eyes fixed on Silva slyly at her question.
“You smell like the Bonfire Court, beloved.” The fae woman spoke slowly, enunciating her words, as if Silva were exceptionally stupid.
“And you’ve been to Winter. We can tell.
The cold . . . it lingers. So who else would you be searching for if not your lost lover?
” She smiled warmly when Silva remained silent.
“You’re safest with us, you know. Look at how beautiful it is here, and you’re just at the beginning!
Look at this glorious morning. Night’s Court has nothing to offer but death.
Here, though, you would be a welcome guest.”
“You don’t take in Spring?” Silva asked, already suspecting she’d not receive a straight answer.
Again, a trill of bell-like laughter. “Darling, of course not. We host. That’s all.”
The distinction seemed like a thin one to her.
The Court of Flowers will pick their teeth with your bones.
Winter had given her honesty, of that she was certain.
Planting her palms against the stone bench, Silva pushed up, willing her feet to hold her.
There was no cost for rest, they’d said, no toll to sit.
Let’s see if they’re true to their word.
“Leaving so soon?” The man asked, his voice dismayed as she staggered to her feet. “But you were only just getting comfortable!” The woman at his side said nothing, only grinned knowingly.
Silva gave them both the same tight smile, a mask her face was getting quite used to wearing. “I’m only browsing.”
“Of course you are. Best of luck to you on your journey, dearest,” the fae woman said cheerfully. “You’re almost there.”
You can leave whenever you want, she reminded herself. The florist had said so. All she was doing was browsing, no commitments made and she could leave whenever she wanted. Her feet found their way back to that painted spiral, taking a deep breath before following it to its center.
The world tipped, as if she were on a carnival ride at the FallFestival at Saddlethorne Farm, the market spinning wildly around her until she was disoriented and staggering.
Silva shrieked, feeling both her feet leave the ground.
It took her several thudding moments before she realized that she stood upright, was actually perfectly fine, and that the flower market was gone.
In its place stood a forest.
Silva began to tremble, a horrible sense of déjà vu seeping into her veins.
She recognized these crooked trees. Recognized that placid little pool, surrounded by flowers.
Recognized it well enough to realize . .
. it was different this time. There was no grotesquely oversized moon casting its white light down on the trees, no leering shadows, concealing hidden torments.
The same softly filtered light from the flower market glowed over the horizon here.
It was dawn. Birds were chirping, the air smelled sweet and fresh, the day in all its promise stretching out before her endlessly.
It was different, but this was unmistakably the same wood.
This was the closest she’d come since she’d started her journey to find him.
“Tate?” she called out, unsure if she was shaking from fear or adrenaline at that point. “Tate?”
Her voice seemed trapped by the branches, wavering through the forest, the echo carrying farther than it should have in the wide open space.
She called his name again, startling a cluster of birds.
Silva ducked as they erupted from a crooked tree, feeling foolish as she did so, that ever-present stone in her stomach turning once more.
This wasn’t right. She knew these trees, but this wasn’t right.
She had never before seen them dressed in budding greenery as they were now, had never seen the way the early morning sunlight seemed to catch between their twisting branches.
Her feet had never trodden over small clusters of wildflowers the previous times she had stood beneath these trees.
He wasn’t here. She would not find him here in these golden-lit woods.
Her eyes filled with tears, the ever-present hopelessness that she could not do anything to change the situation enveloping her fully.
She would not find him here. She was on the wrong side, and he was lost to her still.
It is always night in her Majesty’s forest. Always night in Autumn .
. . and always dawn in Spring. And now, she wasn’t even sure how to return.
“It’s a beautiful morning today, is it not, dear heart?”
Silva turned slowly at the sound of a voice, trembling like a leaf.
She heard a small, childish giggle somewhere to her side, her head whipping around when something caught in her peripheral vision, a small form darting through the trees, hiding.
Doing a poor job of it, because they couldn’t stop making noise, small baby peals of poorly concealed laughter but trying all the same.
It was then that she saw her. Silva knew who she was immediately.
Unlike her frozen sister, the dewy-faced Queen of Spring was an explosion of life and color.
Her face was doll-like and pert, with peaches-and-cream skin, a rosy flush at her cheeks, and a small, upturned nose, bearing a spray of freckles over its bridge.
Her sapphire eyes were wide, her lips full and pink, resembling a porcelain doll Silva had owned as a child.