26. Dinner
R odney had only ventured as far as the front lawn of the palace, waiting impatiently with his ever-present frown, idly unraveling a series of tiny braids in Briar’s long tail. Aisling gracelessly dismounted her horse and passed the reins off to a waiting hob.
“I’m going to reek of flowers for a month,” he complained by way of greeting.
She scratched Briar’s head, then Rodney’s. He swatted her hand away. “You offered to stay,” she reminded him.
“How was your field trip?” Rodney gave up on the braid he’d been working on and leaned back on his elbows.
Too sore to sit, Aisling stretched her calves against the base of a statuette of a dancing pixie. “Interesting. I never realized how much religion meant to the Fae.” For all of her mother’s musings, and all the time spent pouring over books in the Brook Isle library and scrolling through slow-loading pages on the internet, Aisling had never once encountered mention of the Low One, or Aethar, or any other Fae deities.
“We’re not all heathens. How did you get all the way up there, anyway?” He cupped his hands over his eyes and looked across the valley toward Solanthis. From this distance, it looked even higher up the mountain than it had felt when Aisling and Laure had been standing at its entrance.
“Steps,” Aisling said. “Lots of them. I told you to wear better shoes.”
“Why?” The trepidation in his voice was obvious.
“That’s where they keep their archives. Laure said we could visit.”
Rodney groaned. “For what? ”
“For research.” Aisling gave up on her calves and eased down beside him to rub her aching thighs. “Unless you happened to find out how the Red Woman is meant to stop a centuries-long war, then we need any information we can get.”
He groaned again, this time accompanying the sound with a dramatic eye roll. “I was hoping Her Majesty would be able to help you with that.”
“She didn’t seem to know much at all,” Aisling said quietly.
Rodney caught her tone. “Your mom?” When Aisling just shook her head, he sighed. “I’m sorry, Ash.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting much.”
Her attention was caught then by movement amidst a grove of citrus trees a short distance away, where two impossibly thin females in sheer white gowns were leading a plump boy with golden curls in a dizzy sort of dance. One held him by the wrist, spinning him around and around while he giggled and reached out a chubby hand for the other. His cheeks were flushed with pleasure and his laughter was giddy, but his eyes looked similar to the singing woman’s: flat and lifeless. Like one of the fish that occasionally washed ashore near the docks, gills clogged with oil.
“A changeling,” Rodney supplied. “There’re fewer running around here than I expected; likely most were taken by the Solitaries.”
“For what?” Aisling couldn’t look away from the boy’s awkward toddling.
“Dinner,” he said salaciously, then backtracked when Aisling’s face paled. “Kidding—kind of. Usually they just live amongst them. Faeries find humans remarkably entertaining.”
Aisling turned her back to the trio and focused instead on the gentle rise and fall of Briar’s chest. When she could only hear the child’s laughter, without seeing those dead, dead eyes, she could imagine him as a normal boy enjoying the company of friends. “Do you think he’s here somewhere? The real Rodney?”
“I’m more Rodney than he is,” her friend said, almost defensive. “But no, likely not. The baby whose place I took was frail and sick; born too early. I was nothing short of a miracle for his parents.”
Aisling smiled then, a fraction of the tension she carried falling from her shoulders. “I knew you were one of the good ones.”
“Tea?” A pixie, only slightly larger than the statue nearby, had appeared from the palace behind them. On blue-tinged hands she balanced a tray laden with a delicate tea set and piles of fruit. Her iridescent wings refracted flickering rainbows onto the grass around them as they caught the sunlight.
Rodney shook his head as Aisling nodded. “Thank you.”
“The queen would like you both washed and prepared for supper by sunfall.” She flitted away before Aisling could say anything further.
“She didn’t need to specify that we’re washed,” Rodney muttered. But neither of them had showered or changed since they’d arrived in the Seelie Court, and it showed. Aisling thought she must smell like a horse despite the way the floral scent of the meadow clung to her hair. She poured them each a cup of tea. Rodney swirled several spoonfuls of honey into his, noisily hitting the metal against the porcelain. Aisling winced; the cup felt so fragile in her hand she was sure he’d shatter it.
Taking only one sip, Rodney set the tea aside and reached for a bowl of berries. Aisling leaned back, tipping her chin up to feel the sun on her cheeks. The tea brought a haziness to her mind and a warmth to spread down her limbs. A sort of nostalgia for something she didn’t know—something maybe she’d never known—settled over her heart. The discomforted feelings from before faded away. She could stay here.
Someone had left a gown folded on the bench at the foot of Aisling’s bed. She’d been afraid to touch the fine silk until she’d showered and scrubbed her skin pink. The different soaps and lotions arranged in a basket beside the tub all smelled the same: wildflowers, honey, sunshine. So much brighter than the heady scent of the Unseelie Court, even amongst the blooms of the night garden.
Finally clean, Aisling let her fingers play over the gossamer fabric. It was cool and slid through her hands like water. A soft shade of sky blue, the skirt was embroidered with tiny silver leaves and beaded pearl flowers. There was a corset stitched with the same pattern that she struggled to lace. As she cinched it closed across her bust, the light fabric conformed to her figure. Almost a perfect fit, if a touch long.
Rodney looked exceedingly uncomfortable in a suit of pale lavender, with a tight waistcoat that bore a matching floral pattern. Even Briar had a new collar made from what looked like the castoff fabric from Aisling’s gown.
“I feel ridiculous,” he said, tugging at the hem of the waistcoat. He hadn’t made any effort to tame his hair; it stuck up at odd angles as though he’d just gotten out of bed.
“You look ridiculous,” Aisling teased. She reached under her hair to clasp the delicate gold chain of her necklace and adjusted the pendant to hang at the center of her chest. It gleamed in the candlelight, a beacon. Rodney noticed. His brow furrowed in consternation.
“You shouldn’t accept gifts from the Fae, Ash,” he chided. “You’ll never see the strings tied to what you’re offered until they’re being pulled tight.”
Aisling waved him away. “Who am I to tell the queen no?”
“You’re the Red Woman; you can tell the queen whatever you want.” Rodney flicked a lock of hair off of his forehead, then offered Aisling his arm. “Shall we?”
“Briar, close.” He padded to her side and she linked her arm through Rodney’s.
The aquamarine pixie who had delivered their tea met the trio in the hallway between their rooms to escort them to the dining hall. Their path was lit by candles—dozens and dozens of them. The flickering golden light cast an eerie glow on the frescos above, and the looming shadows of the marble statues seemed to dance in their alcoves. Distantly, a harp played a haunting, melancholic refrain. Aisling supposed it was meant to sound serene and soothing, but the way it echoed off the high ceilings and cold stone was anything but. She tightened her grip on Rodney’s arm and dropped her other hand to the top of Briar’s head. He leaned into her touch.
The hallways of the palace seemed to stretch and stretch, dreamlike, as though they’d never reach their end. Though the plush carpet dampened their footfall, Aisling still felt her every movement, every breath, was impossibly loud. The pixie, by contrast, glided forward soundlessly.
Rodney swore under his breath, drawing Aisling’s attention up from the swirling patterns underfoot. She followed his gaze to an alcove ahead, at the far end of the hallway, where a statue of a woman stood. She was posed with candles on each shoulder, fresh and hardened wax coating her form from breast to hip. Flawlessly sculpted cloth the same shade as her skin wrapped her body loosely, and her hair—all that same pale, pale gray—was coiled atop her head out of the way of the flames. A blindfold hid her eyes, but her face was carved into a peaceful, neutral expression. The detail of the sculpting, from each individual hair on her scalp to the creases of her bare feet, was unlike anything Aisling had ever seen.
And then she moved.
Aisling’s blood froze in her veins. She stopped short, jerking Rodney backwards. Her body refused to move any closer to the figure. Briar halted too, his hackles raised and a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.
“Just keep your head down,” Rodney said quietly in her ear.
“What the fuck is that?” Aisling hissed. The statue—woman—shifted again, settling her weight from one foot to the other. Her expression remained that same impassive mask.
“Keep walking.” Rodney tugged Aisling’s hand and she stumbled into motion alongside him. A cold sweat beaded down the center of her spine and her heart was stuck high in her throat, racing. The woman was still again as they passed. The pixie didn’t so much as glance in her direction, but Aisling couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of something that looked like stone, but hairline cracks cobwebbed from her joints, highlighting each part of her body that she’d shifted. She’d only moved a fraction of an inch, but that coating was unforgiving. Aisling hoped that it at least provided her some protection from the burn of the melted wax as it dripped.
As they rounded the corner, Aisling’s sharp intake of breath echoed audibly off the high ceilings. They’d reached the doorway to a grand and opulent dining room, and the opening was flanked on either side by two more stone-covered humans. Men, this time; both blindfolded. They were on their hands and knees on the cold marble floor, heads lowered, dozens of candles on each of their backs. This wasn’t the first time they’d been subjected to such treatment, nor had they only been there for a short time: the candles were anchored in place by mountains of hardened wax. These two were almost nude save for a pair of stone-colored underwear. A rivulet of melted wax dripped down the back of the thigh of the man on the right. Aisling flinched as though she could feel it heating her own leg.
“Our esteemed guests have arrived.” Laure was standing at the head of a long table, angling a golden chalice towards Aisling, Rodney, and Briar. A handful of other gentry were seated on either side of the table in high-backed chairs. All were dressed and made up for the occasion, attire slightly more garish than the soft, muted pastels Aisling expected. Costumes, she thought. They looked like they were wearing costumes. The females had rouged cheeks and feathers and flowers pinned into their colorful hair. The males wore jackets with tails. One wore only a satin waistcoat to show off rows of porcupine-like quills that jutted from his bare arms.
Rodney nudged Aisling in the ribs then pulled her down into a bow at the waist.
“There’s no need for such formalities, my dears.” Laure’s laugh was rich and warm. “I’d like to introduce you all to the Red Woman, the White Bear, and their púca companion: Aisling, Briar, and Rodney. Please come sit.”
The other dinner guests murmured in appreciation and smiled politely. Several raised their own glasses as the trio approached. The seats at Laure’s left and right hand were occupied, so Aisling and Rodney took the next two empty chairs across from one another. Briar settled in on the floor, chin on Aisling’s feet.
The female guard who had commanded the sentries at the Thin Place sat between Laure and Rodney. She was still clad in armor, but a more formal suit tonight that somehow looked even thinner and more pliant than the last. Beside Aisling was a long-haired male that looked like he could have been the guard’s twin: they had the same grass-green eyes, the same translucent, freckled skin, and the same rich auburn hair.
With a flourish of her voluminous skirt, a similar sage green as the velvet cloak she’d worn to Solanthis that morning, Laure sat back down. The guests at the far end of the table resumed their quiet conversation, but Aisling could feel the eager glances they cut in her direction. Her skin prickled at the feeling of their eyes on her, drinking her in. She wondered whether they were disappointed; surely, they’d hoped that their Red Woman would be a warrior or a soldier. Not merely a plain human.
“You have both met the captain of my guard, Niamh.” Laure reached for her hand and Niamh accepted the gesture readily, giving Aisling little more than a curt nod before turning her attention back to her queen. “And this is her brother, Tadhg, my artist. He creates wonderful paintings; he’s done my portrait more than once.”
The male turned to smile at Aisling. His features were softer, more delicate. The look in his eyes far gentler than the searching, accusatory hardness in his sister’s. “Wine?” he asked, brandishing a bottle of deep burgundy alcohol. Even his voice was soft. “We make it from summer berries just south of here.”
Aisling and Rodney both slid their chalices to him to fill. When his sleeve shifted up as he poured, Aisling noticed several smudges of paint that he hadn’t yet scrubbed away.
“Did you make any of the art in Solanthis?” Aisling asked.
Tadhg shook his head, hair swishing over his shoulders. “No, my art has no place in the temple. Someday, maybe.”
“Don’t be modest,” Laure scolded gently. His pale cheeks flushed pink.
The berry wine was sweet, almost sickeningly so, and left a bitterness on the back of Aisling’s tongue that was only abated by another swallow. She drained her chalice quickly that way and with very little in her stomach, it went to her head immediately. Still, the pleasant buzzing in her brain and the surrounding conversation wasn’t enough to distract her.
Aisling’s eyes lingered on the men at the door. Their faces were utterly calm despite the strain their bodies must have been under. Unlike the woman in the hall, she hadn’t seen either of these move a muscle. She had to peer closely to even tell whether they were breathing.
“They’re not here, you know,” Tadhg commented. Before Aisling could ask, he explained: “Physically they are, of course. But their minds are elsewhere; somewhere peaceful and beautiful. Like a sort of trance.”
“Why?” Aisling asked cautiously .
“Why not?” Niamh challenged.
Aisling bristled at the defensive edge to her tone. “Are they being punished for something?”
“Of course not. Their minds are dancing through sunlit fields or floating in crystal clear waters.” Tadhg was gazing at them almost wistfully. “How could that be considered punishment?”
“They make you uncomfortable,” Laure observed. “I will have them removed.” She referred to the men so casually—like objects. Nothing more than furniture. Aisling chose to refill her chalice with more wine rather than respond. Silently summoned, the blue pixie entered from the hall. She tapped each man gently on the shoulder, then turned and walked out. Slowly, without snuffing a single candle, the men crawled out after her. They left behind a trail of wax and bits of gray stone that flaked off of their skin as they moved.
“Darling,” the quilled male called from the far end of the table, breaking out of the Fae language to speak to Aisling. “You look terribly familiar. Have you visited us before?”
“Her mother,” Laure interjected before Aisling could answer. “Maeve, wasn’t it?”
Aisling nodded. The male thought for a moment as he drew in a deep drag off a clay pipe. The tendrils of herb-scented smoke he exhaled through his nostrils dropped heavily to blend with a swirl of mist that seemed to cling to his body. Then recognition sparked in his eyes.
“I do remember her.” His lips spread into a wide smile, revealing rows of tiny, pointed teeth. “She sang so beautifully for us.”
A falling sensation gripped Aisling suddenly, tightening her lungs and turning her stomach. It made sense to her now: the hoarseness of her mother’s voice when she’d return after being away for days. The way it rasped in her throat when she’d greet Aisling; the way she’d drink cup after cup of honey-infused tea to ease the soreness. It was a small detail—in the grand scheme of her mother’s storytelling, hardly one worth remembering at all—but it jumped out of her memories now loud and unbidden.
“She stopped coming around, didn’t she?” He addressed the female seated beside him. His companion, a nymph with deep golden skin and leaves woven into her elaborate braids, stroked his quills idly with spindly fingers. Her features were so sharp they could cut glass.
“A while ago now,” the female said.
“Why is that?” When Aisling was silent, focused on keeping her expression from crumbling, the male’s smile turned sinister. “Ah,” he sighed. “The humans did what humans do best, is that it?”
“Enough,” Rodney said harshly.
“Your people are far crueler than ours; you’d do well to remember that. We’d take much better care of you here.” The male’s voice was like velvet, enchanting despite the chilling implication of his words. He took another puff on his pipe, openly enjoying watching Aisling squirm under his gaze. A loud scraping sound startled them all when Rodney shot to his feet, shoving his chair back from the table.
Laure, who had been watching the scene unfold with an amused half-smile, waved a hand. “Darragh, you’re dismissed.”
Darragh dipped his head, then he and the nymph rose and exited the dining room without argument. Aisling shuddered when she noticed that his figure didn’t cast a shadow .
Rodney, still standing, gestured to Aisling. “We should go, too.”
“Nonsense,” Laure said. “Sit, please. We’ve not even eaten yet; there will be no further interruptions. Only pleasant conversation now, yes?” She looked expectantly around the table until each courtier had nodded in agreement.
“It’s okay,” Aisling whispered to Rodney, and he sank back down into his chair. It wasn’t; she had to cross her legs tightly under the table to keep herself from jumping up and running out of the palace, but she swallowed down her discomfort with another mouthful of that bitter wine.
Though the food was fragrant and exquisitely spiced, Aisling could only stomach a few bites. The rest she pushed around the plate with her fork. She was grateful when a hob delivered a bowl of plain boiled meat for Briar—at least one of them would go to bed with a full stomach.
She was exhausted, and her senses were overwhelmed. But as she was conscious of Laure’s eyes on her, Aisling feigned a smile and laughed along with the courtiers while they traded stories of their travels and encounters. Laure spoke very little, simply observing and allowing herself to be entertained by her subjects. Niamh, too, was largely silent. They held hands atop the table, Laure’s thumb tracing circles over Niamh’s knuckles.
The feast stretched on into the night, and it wasn’t until they’d run out of bottles of wine that guests began staggering out of the room.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Tadhg said, excusing himself from the table. Before leaving, he leaned down, cupping Laure’s cheek gently and kissing her goodnight. Aisling averted her gaze from the tender moment, but she didn’t miss the way Niamh’s hand tightened on Laure’s just slightly.
Once it was only the four of them left, Laure sighed. “I apologize for Darragh; it’s in his nature to behave that way. I would not have brought him here tonight had I known he would cause a scene. I hope he hasn’t made you think less of us.”
“We’d like to visit your archives in the morning,” Rodney spoke for Aisling, and she shot him an appreciative smile.
“Of course, I will make sure it is arranged. A keeper will meet you at the steps.” She and Niamh stood together, and Aisling and Rodney followed suit, rousing Briar from where he’d fallen asleep beneath the table. “I’d like to sit down with you tomorrow afternoon, Aisling, and discuss plans. This war has gone on long enough. Send for me when you return?”
Aisling only nodded. The company parted ways at the dining room door and Laure and Niamh disappeared down a dark corridor.
The human statues were gone, and the hallways were barely lit as Aisling, Rodney, and Briar navigated back to her chamber to collapse on the bed. Neither had the energy to change, though Aisling shed the uncomfortable corset as soon as they entered the room.
“What is Darragh?” she asked once they’d settled in.
“ Gancanagh,” Rodney pronounced. “They call them Love Talkers.”
“I didn’t like him. I didn’t like any of them.” Aisling pulled the sheet tighter around her shoulders. Mercifully, despite the chill the evening had left in her bones, the wine pulsing warmly through her bloodstream coaxed her to relax. Distantly, she recalled the first book Kael had given her— A Historical Record of Fae and Human Relations. She’d thought it propaganda then, the account of the Unseelie Court’s demand to establish and guard Thin Places to separate their realms. Maybe it hadn’t been, after all.