Chapter Twelve
Sephie caught Taz’s gaze and nodded, her face determined, and Taz realized she meant for them to pit their own pair magic against that of the fae woman. He opened his mouth to sing, but before he could sound a note, Druisten made a gesture of his own, and the silver cord dissolved into nothing.
“They are the forest’s guests,” he chided the fae woman.
“Then what?” the woman demanded. “Let the dragon burn the trees to find his prey?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Sephie protested. “Cousin Jasper is a good man.”
This time, both of Druisten’s eyebrows rose.
“A good man. Whom you were betraying. If I live to be one thousand, I shall never understand you short-lives.” He clapped his hands together, and clasped them.
“Right then. We had better leave.” He then spoke to the woman in a language Taz couldn’t understand, and she replied in the same language. ”
“Go where?” asked Taz suspiciously. “What are you planning to do with us?”
“Provide you with refuge, Owl,” said Druisten. “As the forest promised, but far away from this place. And Alpia shall show your cousin that you are not here.”
It sounded too good to be true, though the legends did say that the fae never broke their given word. Although, they also said a fae’s promise had a habit of twisting back on the asker. Taz reminded himself he hadn’t asked, he’d just accepted help that had been offered.
“Now,” said Druisten. He made another gesture and said a few words.
A gate appeared in front of them—the sort of ornate gate that might be found at the entrance of a main carriageway to a palace.
A froth of swirls and arabesques rendered in metal, silver, and gold in color, though perhaps not in fact, for the fae were believed to be allergic to silver.
The gate opened onto swirls of mist. Druisten bowed and extended his hand toward them, palm upward. “After you, Lady Rose,” he said.
As if to provide an incentive, the dragon lord roared again.
Sephie picked up her satchel and stepped forward, her attitude very reminiscent of a cat he had once adopted, who would approach a door—any door—with the same stiff-legged caution.
Taz hastily slipped his harp into its case, slung it over his back, and snatched up his own bag.
Sephie was nearly at the gate. He took quick paces to reach her side, put her hand on his free arm, and together, they stepped through the gate.
*
They walked into the mist and suddenly found themselves in another forest. Equally suddenly, they were surrounded by fae warriors, half with swords drawn and half with arrows nocked to their bow strings, the women as fierce, and seemingly as well-trained, as the men.
One of them addressed Druisten, and their escort responded.
Since she couldn’t understand the language they used, Sephie did her best to read their expressions, but all she could pick up was that they were disagreeing.
Presumably over her and Taz, and Druisten’s action in bringing them here. Wherever here was.
Some of the other fae joined the argument, though on which side, Sephie could not tell.
She clutched Taz’s arm. Had they fallen from the pot into the fire?
According to the tales, the fae were a law unto themselves.
They did not recognize the authority of the king, nor—for that matter—any other authority of the outside world.
If they chose to kill her and Taz, or keep them, or hand them over to Cousin Jasper, there would be nothing she and Taz could do.
But was that true? They had only begun to explore the dimensions and effects of their joint magic. Could they, if it came to it, fight the fae?
Better that than submit meekly to their fate, like lambs to the slaughter. But for the moment the matter was not decided, for Druisten and the others continued to argue, and some seemed to be on Druisten’s side.
Perhaps Taz had also been weighing up the possibility of a defense, for he brought his harp case round to the front of his body and unfastened it.
As he brought forth the harp, the fae fell silent.
Sephie looked around, and every pair of green eyes was fixed on Taz and his harp.
More than one person also shot uneasy glances at Sephie.
She suddenly felt better about their chances.
“What do you plan to do with that?” demanded one of the fae.
“Entertain you, perhaps?” said Taz.
That startled a laugh out of some of them, and muscles that had been tense and ready for battle relaxed.
Druisten, with wary glances toward the fae who seemed to be objecting most strongly to the presence of two strangers, said to her and Taz, “My family wishes time to consider whether to send you away or to provide the refuge you have requested. Some consider that the forest’s promise has been fulfilled by removing you from the orbit of the dragon lord.
Some agree that you can stay for a while.
While you wait for us to discuss the matter, we can offer a place to wash, eat, and sleep. ”
Several heads nodded, and the murmur from the rest had the tone of agreement. Taz shrugged. “By all means,” he said.
Sephie and Taz exchanged glances. Not yet, his look at her seemed to say. So Sephie cooperated when several of the armed fae led them politely away from the only one of their number who had said he would support them.
*
Sephie and Taz were led into a cave in a hill and on into a maze of passages, all lined with paneling, painted murals, or carved stone. Sephie had once been in her Uncle Findlater’s mansion, and it was not as magnificent as this, though the ornamentation was in a style foreign to her.
The passages must have been lit by magic, for light streamed from every direction with no obvious source, so that Sephie had to keep reminding herself they were underground.
After several bewildering turns, they came to a door, which opened into a suite of rooms.
If it was a prison, it was an opulent one, with two beautifully appointed bedchambers, a large sitting room, and even a room for washing. No doors, except for the one by which they had entered. Each doorway was filled by layers of diaphanous drapes.
The pool in the washing room was large enough for several people and chest deep on Sephie—or neck deep if she sat on one of the underwater benches around the edge.
It must have been fed by a hot spring, for warm water flowed constantly into it.
It also drained from a series of grated holes around the floor—as Sephie found when she walked across the bath and felt the slight suck on her toes at each opening.
Once she was finished, she wrapped herself in one of the robes hanging near the door, collected her clothing and returned through the living room to her bedchamber. Taz went to have his bath, and Sephie dressed in clean clothes from her satchel.
She emerged to answer a polite knock on the living room door, and stepped back to allow in a procession of people with trays. Covered trays, but from under the protective cloths, succulent smells wafted.
If these were servants, they were the best-dressed servants she had ever seen.
Indeed, every fae she had seen so far wore clothing that most nobles in her own world would trade their eye teeth for.
Sumptuous fabrics, extravagant embroidery, expensive jewelry, in a variety of styles, so she felt she herself had fallen into a medieval tapestry or an oriental painting.
The clothing lent weight to the speculation that the fae did not have servants. But if they did not have servants, who did all the work?
Just to be on the safe side, Sephie thanked them politely for the food, and one of them smiled at her in response.
“Is there any word on whether we shall be allowed to stay?” she asked the woman.
The servant—if she was a servant—rolled her eyes. “Be patient, short-life,” she advised. “The meeting cannot start until everyone has been notified.”
Sephie stifled a yawn. “Sleep, short-life,” advised one of the men. He was openly laughing at her. “All shall happen as it should.”
They left, and she drifted over the table to check the trays. Dish after dish of strange food. She recognized many of the ingredients, but they had been prepared in ways she’d never seen before. They all smelt delectable, though.
“We have food,” she said to Taz, as he came out from the bathing chamber, wrapped in one of the robes. “Is it safe? The legends say that, if you eat fairy food, you cannot return to the real world.”
Taz hesitated, and then pointed out, “We asked for refuge, and we brought no food with us. I think we have to risk it.” He added, “It smells good. I shall hurry,” and was as good as his word, returning dressed from his bedchamber a few minutes later.
“I asked about the decision,” she told him as they loaded their plates. “They said the meeting will not start until everyone knows about it.”
“I propose we eat and then sleep,” said Taz. “Then we’ll be better able to face whatever comes.”
That was sensible, though it was irritating they were going to do exactly what had been suggested by the fae who laughed at her.
But truly, Sephie was too tired to be properly annoyed.
*
Taz woke from a dream in which he was being chased through a forest by a dragon as big as Baradine’s mansion. No matter how he darted from one crack in a tree or hole in the ground to another, the dragon was always close behind, playing with him like a lion with a mouse.
His heart still pounded as he sat up in the most comfortable bed he had ever known, and looked around. Of course. He was a guest—or perhaps a prisoner—of the Fair Folk, in one of their forests.
“Good,” said someone in that lilting accent of the fae. “You are awake. The meeting wishes to hear from you, Owl. And from Rose, your partner.”