Chapter 3 Melusine Is Disgustingly Oblivious #2
“Yes, you do!” Her dark eyes pin me. “You’ve not said a true word since you walked through that door.”
I didn’t even know I had walked through a door. A pair of willow trees does not seem very door-like to me. But, that aside, her displeasure makes me uneasy. “I’m very sorry to make you think so, Godmother,” I say slowly.
“Lie!”
Good thing I can’t blush, or my cheeks would be flaming with my own annoyance now. I smile instead. “I’m sure I never meant to say anything displeasing to you.”
She snorts. “Precisely!”
I blink, surprised again. I hadn’t thought she’d cave so easily. Perhaps now we can get on with it and—
“You take great care in crafting everything you say to be particularly pleasing, I imagine!”
I force out a tinkly little laugh. “Why, Godmother, wasn’t that one of your own Gifts?”
“And I’m saying I regret it!” she snaps. She runs her long, pale fingers through her hair. My smile crumbles. “It makes you smell bad! And I won’t be participating in this anymore!”
So, no Gift today? My brain whirls. She can’t take my previous Gifts away, anyhow—at least, I don’t think she can, and if she tries, I’m prepared to wrestle her for them. If I walk away today with nothing more, I can manage. Father will be disappointed, but the duke won’t know any different.
I stand. “I hope I haven’t done anything wrong.” Curtsying, I add, “But I won’t argue with your wisdom, Godmother. If you have nothing for me, I shall take my leave—”
“I didn’t say I had nothing.” Melusine’s couch drifts back down to earth, and she hops off to rap her knuckles against a toadstool.
A tiny drawer pops out. She rummages in it, taking out far more items than I would have expected to fit: several minuscule green glass bottles, a bouquet of baby’s breath and lavender, a swan charm on a thick gold chain, a leather-bound book—goodness, how big is this toadstool?
Finally she withdraws a small wooden box, painted with red and white stripes.
The inside is full of a pale blue powder.
She scoops some out and stirs it into a glass of water that she’s retrieved from …
somewhere. I was too focused on the deceptively small toadstool to notice where she got the water glass.
With a final swirl, Melusine holds the glass out. “Drink.”
I take it slowly. “What is it?”
“Just drink.”
I don’t want to. If it’s not in the Standard Progression, there’s no telling what it is; and even if Melusine is bound by godmother magic not to harm me, I’m still a bit leery of ingesting fairy potion without knowing its effects.
“Drink, I said!”
I put it to my lips, but pause before tipping anything into my mouth. “Forgive me, Godmother—”
“Lie again!” she crows. “You don’t want my forgiveness!”
I don’t roll my eyes. Which is very good of me, and I wish someone would notice the admirable restraint I’m showing.
“Forgive me,” I repeat, my voice sweet as honey, “but exactly what are you giving me?”
“Your Gift, obviously.” Melusine plops herself back down onto her fern couch and relaxes. She favors me with a sunshiny smile, which is at odds with the antagonism she’s otherwise displayed.
She’s always been odd—she is a godmother, after all—but her mood swings are beginning to frazzle me.
“And I thank you,” I say. I really should receive some sort of prize for how gracious I’m being in the face of all this! “But can I know what it is, if not the … ahem … traditional gift?”
“You don’t want that one anyhow.” She tips her head back onto a lily that grows up just in time to serve as a pillow. “It’s only Fertility. For one thing, most women have babies without any fairy help, so it’s a waste when you don’t even know if you’ll need it.”
“It does make one more attractive to suitors, though,” I murmur.
“If you want a suitor who’s looking for breeding stock,” she snorts. “Is that really what you want? Do you like the thought of being sold like a prize toad?”
I drop my eyes to the water glass, unable to hold my godmother’s sharp gaze. Do I like the thought?
I try to tell myself I don’t care either way; I’m dutiful, committed to serving my family and adorning my future husband’s house. But I’m unable to completely ignore the little indignant voice inside that says no, I deserve more than that.
The water still swirls, as if Melusine has been stirring it this whole time.
“Just drink it,” she says. “I promise that it’s a much better Gift.”
“That’s what you said when I was fourteen.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “And I’ve been exercising my ankles ever since.” My tone is still lighthearted. Perhaps that’s what she’s giving me now.
“No one cares about your ankles anyhow,” Melusine says with a shrug. “This is different. Drink.”
Father would disagree. He’d been quite displeased when I came home with the Gift of Cleverness instead of the Gift of Thin Ankles—who wants a clever wife when you could have one with nice ankles?
he’d said—but I resist the temptation to continue arguing.
I lift a shoulder and tip the glass up. The water is cold and bitter, but I manage to get it all down in two swallows.
Done, I look at Melusine, waiting for her to explain.
She seems equally determined to wait for me to ask, leaning back on her couch and twirling a strand of hair around one long finger.
With a sigh, I ask, “Are you going to tell me what it does, or do I have to figure it out by myself?”
Melusine’s face slowly splits into a wide smile. “That’s an excellent question, my dear. Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
What I mean to say is something bland and polite.
What comes out is the opposite. “I wish you would stop playing these silly games—”
I clap my hands over my mouth, horrified. Never have I spoken to someone like that—how did those words escape?
“I mean,” I try again, “that I’m very annoyed and I want—” I bite my lip. “What’s happening? Why am I saying these things?” I cry.
Melusine pops off her couch and claps her hands.
“It worked! I tried a new recipe—the skin of a blue-bellied salamander mixed with pansies, mostly, plus my own proprietary blends. I call it the Gift of Not Smelling Like Insincerity Anymore. It will keep you from saying those silly little falsehoods. Very useful. You’re welcome. ”
“The what?” Alarm snakes down my limbs. Those silly little falsehoods, as she calls them, are the basis of, well, all my relationships. “Oh, no, Godmother! This is basically a curse! Of all the hideous, useless, terrible—”
“Good, good!” Melusine cheers, her eyes returning to violet. “Let it all out!”
I hiss. It’s the least Poised thing I’ve ever done. “Why?”
“I can’t abide lying, and you’d gotten so smooth at it—poor thing! I could tell you wanted to speak your mind, so I’m helping you.”
I grind my teeth together so hard that she can probably hear them all the way across the glade. “My thoughts are the only thing I have—I had to myself,” I say. “If I say them to everyone—”
“Then they’ll know what you think!”
I’m not proud of this, but I let out a string of curses for the first time in my life, and it’s almost enough to make myself blush. I don’t, of course, and neither does Melusine. She only watches me with a very interested look on her face.
“It seems you don’t like my Gift,” she says when I’ve exhausted all the profanity I know.
“Don’t you understand?” I say, nearly crying. I gesture to myself—my flawless skin and straight teeth and elegant posture and that ever-present poise. “I was perfect! I was—” I press my lips together. Melusine doesn’t deserve to know every little feeling I have.
“Ah, you discovered the limit! You don’t have to say everything you think,” Melusine says serenely. “The potion only applies to actual speech, not potential.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I grind out.
“It means that when you speak, your words will reflect your actual thoughts. None of these half-truths and polite nonsenses.”
“My whole life is built on polite nonsense!”
“And aren’t you glad I’ve freed you from that?”
“Not even a little bit.” I curl my fingers into tight fists, focusing on the pain of my nails cutting into my palms to keep from cursing again.
“You seem disgruntled,” Melusine breezes on. “But I really do believe you’ll thank me eventually!”
“I really do not!” I stop there, aware that if I keep talking, it will all be very rude.
And even though my idiotic godmother deserves whatever wrathful things might come out, I haven’t forgotten that she’s as capricious as any other fairy; she did this to me, but I imagine she’ll only put up with so much verbal abuse before cursing me with warts or shin splints.
Even if it was generations ago, she did turn someone into a frog.
“I have something else, too.” Melusine rummages around in a sack that seems to be woven from spiderwebs. “Ah, here it is!” She withdraws a porcelain teapot decorated with all sorts of useless frippery. “Enchanted,” she explains, “to keep your tea warm.” She holds it toward me.
It’s very beautiful, and I do want it very much. But I will not accept another thing from this creature. I cross my arms in front of my chest. “I’d love it,” I say, then grit my teeth. I’d meant to say no, thank you.
“I thought you would! And look! It doesn’t spill, either!” She taps the spout. “I’d demonstrate, but it’s empty.”
Well, that is practical. But I keep my mouth shut. I will not compliment the being who just ruined my life.
Melusine is either disgustingly oblivious or very good at pretending she is, for she takes no notice of my sullen displeasure as she pulls a scarf out of a crimson rose.
The petals themselves seem to unfurl and weave themselves together.
“Here,” she says happily when it’s as long as she wants. “Allow me.”
I don’t want to, but she’s too fast for me to refuse. In a blink, she’s wrapped the scarf around my waist and tied the teapot to it by the handle. It’s warm and heavy as it presses against my thigh.
Melusine’s eyes darken as she steps back across the glade. “Do be thoughtful with it. It could break.”
“What’s the point of a fairy gift if it’s breakable?” I ask bitterly. What’s the point of any of my gifts, if I’m cursed now? “I cannot say thank you,” I say, quite truthfully. “Goodbye, Godmother.”
“And a happy birthday to you!” she calls to my stiff back as I push my way out of the glade, hot tears pooling in the corners of my eyes.
I have a houseful of guests arriving to court me at my birthday ball, including, most importantly, the duke, of whom I have many thoughts that I’d rather not share.
I can’t afford to let my tongue say whatever it wants. I have to find a way to control this before it’s too late.