Chapter 30 #2
This horn—did it used to be hers?
“No, I could not.” I shook my head rapidly and my brows dipped into a frown. To drink from this would be not unlike sipping from someone’s fingernails, or carrying a basket woven from their hair.
Does the queen now reject the wee sprite’s gift? That same inner voice that had spoken from inside me while I lived in the realms of man? It sounded different, louder and deeper now. More difficult to deny.
The child—for she seemed to be no more than six, though fae appearances can be misleading—pouted, tears welling in her big brown eyes. She seemed to shrink, skin wrinkling, and her downy dress molting like a bird.
She dwindles from my disregard, withers like a flower when there has been no rain.
“That is to say, of course I will drink it.” I took the horn from her and drank heartily.
I tasted purest nectar, like mother’s milk to an infant nearly starved.
My whole body filled with strength and wellness.
Thanks were never welcome here, so I patted the little sprite between her horns and told her, “You have served your queen well.”
The horned girl shone with happiness. Never had I caused anyone such joy before.
No, I had. Him I last saw laid out in pain in Carterhaugh. I swallowed down my sorrow. Behave as though you are happy, until it is no longer pretense.
Tentatively, I lifted my hand and waved.
I stood among my own people now. Nixies arose from a glassy lake nearby, their unearthly nature evident in the flick of their silvery tails.
Goblins peeked their loathsome heads around the tree trunks; hobs and green-haired ashrays peeped out of the shrubbery, curious to behold their new queen.
All these creatures belonged to me, like my own family never had; they stared at me in admiration, not pity for the birthmark on my throat.
That blemish had now left me, planted itself among the greens of Carterhaugh. Mab knew whether I would ever see it again.
Mairi Grieve took me away from all this. To keep me safe from what threat, I do not know. But I intended to find out.
Later.
The smaller, wee fae retreated, and a company of glistening Aos Sith came forth, lords and ladies all in silk, wearing drops of dew like diamonds or diamonds like drops of dew, who could tell?
Some wore no clothing at all but their bare skin like the finest royal robes, their eyes of owls or deer or perfectly human-looking, yet somehow not.
A knight in silvery white armor came forward, leading a dove-grey steed whose mane and tail were braided with bells.
The knight’s hair flowed pale as butter, falling over his slender shoulders as he inclined his head.
“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice melodic and light with youth, more the pitch of a young boy than a man. “Your steed awaits.”
For a moment, I stood transfixed, never having seen so beautiful a horse, nor so beautiful a man.
The horse gave me the greater pause, though; ’twas no knightly destrier but a palfrey as fine ladies do ride.
I had never been a fine lady. Eamon Grieve did use rouncy horses at times, minimally trained beasts for transporting heavy goods around the farm, but I always kept my distance from them.
Horses, of course, are shod with iron. Nailing one of their shoes above the lintel keeps the fae folk away.
As if sensing my thoughts, the steed lifted its front hoof. Silver-shod, it appeared, and the rear hooves shod in gold. So did they avoid the poisonous iron here.
Still, I swallowed hard, staring at the saddle before me. I am to sit up there?
“Your Majesty?” prompted the knight, lifting a perfectly arched brow.
“Yes,” hissed an all-too-familiar voice, slithering serpent--like around the shells of my ears. “Do let us see whether Her Majesty is able to ride.”
Queens do not walk, even in Faery, it appears. Could they not then have brought me a litter or a carriage? I did not fear riding in those.
’Twas another test, it appeared, and one I hated to lose.
I blinked at the knight, but if he had heard the voice of the Dark Fool, he gave no sign.
I glanced around me for a figure clad in leaves and velvet, iridescence sparking in the inky black of his hair.
I saw him everywhere and nowhere. He was here and he was missing, like the mortal world and the Veil.
The knight made a basket of his fingers. I stepped into them and allowed him to hoist me onto my mount.
I wriggled in my seat—discreetly, I hoped, and concealing my discomfort. “Your name, sir knight?” I silently added, And would you happen to know mine?
For how could I think of myself as Una’s daughter without even the name she gave me?
“Lyel, Your Majesty.”
This time, when he addressed me thus, I hardly winced at all.
“I shall lead you to the palace now, if so you desire,” Lyel continued, taking the horse’s lead, to my great relief. “And I shall be at your disposal, now and evermore, until you should step down and name a successor in your place.”
A voice spilled out from the forest around us, sonorous and familiar. “Or until the crown should tumble off your unworthy head.” And the air wafted forth with the scent of musk and deep forest loam, something holy become profane and foul.
Then it was dust, all bone and iron.
I looked out across my demesne, and far into the distance stood trees twisted and bare, dead limbs curling like skeletal claws. The ground beneath me lay dry and cracked; I breathed in dusty, metallic air. For a moment, the sky flashed red as flame.
Such a vision had the Dark Fool shown me when we met on the other side of the Veil.
He thought me incapable of preventing this.
The Dark Fool was wrong.
It shall never come to pass. By the blood of Queen Una inside me, I shall see that it does not.
The moment passed, and naught was around me but mellow greenness, the scent of flowers teasing my nose.
I sat tall in my saddle, head high, smiling like a benevolent goddess as I looked out over Faery. I had been made to rule Her, and never would I falter in that task.
All around me, the citizens of Faery shouted out in joy.
“Our queen has returned! Queen Fia has come home!”
Fia.
Like an anchor it moored me, kept me from floating adrift.
For the first time I heard my own name.