Chapter 31
Thirty-One
That night I slept as the earth slumbers beneath a hard winter frost, exhausted by all I had seen and become.
Does the phoenix ever long to return to its nest of ash?
Drunk on wonder, I marveled at the outlandish creatures who had greeted me in the forest, the twisting, sky-piercing spires of the palace Lyel swept me through.
My palace. Mine. Scarce had I more than a kirtle to my name before.
Now I’d an entire world that suited itself to my needs.
I could barely digest it. Through endlessly unfurling wonders Lyel escorted me, passing beneath ceilings glinting with stars, carved by ocean waves, or buttressed by living trees.
The walls gleamed with nacre or were hung with tapestries of vines, some of which dripped heavy with fruit.
The windows were as the glass of cathedrals and like veined leaves, emitting a cool green light into the palace.
My feet glided over carpet that was grass that was carpet, both at once, and brushed like thistledown over my silken slippers.
Nor did I recall from whence those came.
Just another marvel in this impossible world.
There was so much to look at, to touch, to breathe. I’d have sworn I would never close my eyes again; yet I passed out the moment I stretched across my bed.
And what a bed! Soft as cloud, with no straw pricking its way out through the mattress. I smelled neither hound nor old wool, but the sweet aroma of flowers and the juice of exotic fruits.
Why had I grown up apart from all this? From what dangers did Mairi Grieve seek to keep me safe?
And did those dangers yet remain?
Such troubling thoughts plagued my mind even as I settled into this paradise of a bed, certain I would never fall asleep. Yet sleep I did, though I dimly recall reaching out in the middle of the night, for the touch of a warm body that was not there.
I awoke with the indulgent feeling of having rested as much as I wanted, a sensation that generally preceded Eamon’s rod against my back. I shot upright, sick with guilt, my heart pounding.
Eamon was not here.
No one, either fae or mortal, would raise their hand against me again.
Or so you hope. For rulers have enemies, and Queen Una had lost her life.
I stared stupidly at the garlands draped from the ceiling, which came together in an elegant canopy.
My bedposts were slender willows, hung about with flowering vines and the dancing lights of tarrans and pixies too small to fully behold.
The coverlet, which someone must have draped across my slumbering body, seemed at first a solid green, but on second glance revealed all the colors of the forest; leaves shimmering in shades of green and gold.
And on the coverlet lay a hand, pale and smooth, slender fingers uncalloused as if they had never worked a day in their life.
My hand, so unlike the hands of Bess-I-had-seemed, ruddy and calloused, hard worn from a life full of work.
I raised it before me to marvel at, turning it this way and that in the eerie green light.
There came a sound of bells ringing, and a gentle rapping at the door.
“Your Majesty,” someone called out in dulcet tones. “Breakfast is served.”
Breakfast is served. And I not the one who must prepare it! I giggled at the thought, until I heard the creak of the doors opening.
I had not yet dressed.
“One moment, please.” My gaze flew desperately around the room, looking for something with which to cover myself.
I was not among family, who knew me from head to foot, nor yet in the shepherd’s cottage—and he knew me that well from touch.
I might well rule in Faery, but those I ruled were yet strangers, unfit to see me in my present state of dress.
In a panic, I grabbed the coverlet and wrapped it around me; to my surprise, it grew sleeves and gathered around my middle.
That seems convenient. A vine slithered serpent-like from around a bedpost and transformed itself into a cord of shimmering green silk.
I tied it around my waist like a girdle and, in my wonder, almost forgot to call out, “Come in!”
My heart skipped a beat as I wondered if to call out thus had been wise. The daughter of a possibly murdered queen, and I had just invited an unknown stranger into my room. Immediately I wished I could recall my words, but it was too late.
The door opened, and in marched two small green fae, little taller than a four-year-old child.
Their skin grew hairy enough to cover the essentials, or else their clothing was very snug; they wore curling slippers, or else had peculiarly shaped toes.
Between the two of them, they carried a silver tray, which they set upon my nightstand, and uncovered to reveal the most luxurious repast I had ever seen.
Venison, tender and glistening, dripped with succulent juice.
Eggs so large I could barely fit both hands around them, no doubt from birds I had never heard of before.
Fruit tumbled out as from the cornucopia of Fortuna: crimson apples, pears ripening at my touch, a spiky fruit cut in half to reveal juicy yellow flesh.
And a loaf of bread glazed with honey, made from the finely ground flour only nobles are accustomed to eating.
“Am I expecting guests?” I laughed aloud, even while inside I wondered, Is this safe to eat?
The two small fae stood and stared at me, hands clasped behind them. Their dark eyes were as large as coins and did not blink.
“Never mind the hobs, Your Majesty,” said the same melodious voice as before. “They are not like to answer you in any case.” And an ethereally beautiful woman swept into the room.
Do not gawk, I reminded myself. But I could not help it.
This newcomer made Glenna Baker look like a toothless hag.
Tall and slender, she wore a long green gown and her rippling hair, the shade of pale butter, fell unbound to her hips.
Her features were delicate but sharp, her clear eyes the shade of new leaves.
Something about her spoke trust, comfort, and safety, something I did not wish to doubt. And yet I must try her the only way I could think of.
“Do you intend me any harm?”
No offense showed on her exquisite face; she merely inclined her head and took a deep, ladylike courtesy. “By oak and ash, by willow and broom, I wish only to serve, and will defend you to the end of my days.”
The air grew thick, as with a mist almost turning into rain, redolent with the scent of daffodils, thick and green.
Ease settled upon me, and a sensation that indeed I could trust her true.
As well, something about her seemed uncannily familiar, but it took a moment to register what.
“Pardon my staring,” I said, “but are you related to the knight Lyel?”
She smiled and set a bluebell face-down upon the table. “Our kinship is close, yes. As he is your knight, I am to be your chatelaine. In the future, you should ring”—and here, she lifted the bluebell and actually rang it—“if you have need for me.”
I picked up the bluebell and shook it; indeed, it did chime like an actual bell. I stared open-mouthed at my chatelaine.
Her eyes twinkled. “Since I am already here, a simple ‘Lileas’ will suffice.”
“Lileas, then.” I lowered the bluebell, feeling sheepish. “How long did I sleep? It felt like I slept the day away.”
She gave a delicate laugh as she began to carve into the venison with a silver knife. “As if that were possible.”
I cocked my head. ’Twas possible. I’d known Tavish to do it after he downed too much of Sorcha’s ale. Yet I sensed Lileas meant something more.
Elegantly she served the meat upon a plate shaped like an enormous leaf, then paused. “The day does not begin until you awaken, Your Majesty,” she explained. “Nor is it truly nightfall until you lay your head to rest. You are Faery, and Faery is you.”
I stared at her, my eyes narrowing. You are Faery, and Faery is you. I did not understand what she meant. “Outside, I saw neither sun nor moon. There is no dawn to announce day’s arrival.”
Lileas placed upon the plate an apple, a pear, and a fruit as pink as maiden’s blush. “Correct.”
“And since there is no dawn, there must be some way to mark the new day’s beginning. So, by custom it is when the queen awakes?” This struck me as a lot of power to have.
Lileas sliced the bread and served it, then sat beside me on the bed, holding the plate of food. “Not exactly. It is difficult to explain, and I know your heart has many things on which to dwell.” She took the bread and tore it, brought it to my lips. Feeding me as Thomas had Margaret of Roxburgh.
A pang struck me then, as if a thorn pierced into my heart.
I bit into the bread she offered, honey-sweet and yeasty, enough to make me swoon. Yet I caught Lileas by the slender wrist and stopped her. Her eyebrows lifted, golden brushstrokes on the perfection of her face.
“I am accustomed to doing it myself,” I told her.
Lileas lowered her hands, chastened, head bowed like a young novitiate about to take vows. “As you wish.” She passed the plate of food to me and made to stand.
“Wait.” I caught her arm again. I did not want her to go. I might not yet know how to use an attendant or a chatelaine.
I still needed a friend.
I tilted my chin towards her and lifted my brows.
“Explain to me how the day starts when I awake? What of the day laborers, the baker who must awaken before dawn, the farmers who rise with the sun?” In a land with no sun, somehow both underneath and alongside the mortal realm. My head began to ache.
Lileas smiled indulgently as she took her seat again. “I forget how new it is to you. Not only your title but this very place itself.” She cocked her head while looking into my eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Overwhelmed, honestly.” I took a pear and bit into it. ’Twas the perfect ripeness, as sweet and juicy as any I had ever tasted.
“No doubt. But physically?”
“I feel well.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Is that all?”
I chewed my fruit with relish and considered her words. I felt . . . rested. More than well rested. Like I had slumbered the winter away and awakened to an eternal spring. “I feel restored. No, that is not strong enough. Reborn. Like the world and I were only birthed this morn.”
A phoenix, yes, but scrawny and wet from the newness of my birth.
Lileas reached out and clasped my hand. Her face radiated beauty, as though bathed with sunlight, green eyes fresh and new as spring.
“The world feels that way as well,” she said kindly.
“It restores itself while you slumber, lives the day away while you do, and when you have both become fully exhausted, it is time for you to go to bed. Or sometimes it will be the opposite; you shall be driven by the strains put upon the land, and the hungers it feels. As I told you, you are Faery, and Faery is you.”
“And when I was gone?” In my mind’s eye, I saw a desert of stone, trees dead and twisted, their leaves gone. The scent of bone dust and metal invaded my nose.
She stared into the distance, jaw tight, mouth grown thin. “It did not thrive. There was none to feed the land. Some say the Dark Fool tried to take matters into his own hands, to no avail. Faery needed its queen.”
From years distant, the memories returned: ringing bridles and hoofbeats outside the Grieve house on a stormy night, when I was but six years old. Ye shall not have her, Mairi screamed out, and though there were eight of us children, four still at home, I knew, as she did, they came for me.
Another memory floated to the surface: a heaviness in the air followed by unearthly laughter as Mairi stumbled to the ground. She took ill for the next five years, and never again was right in the head.
With one touch I bring pleasure, with another, paralysis, madness, death, yet my victims will crave it all in the end. So had the Dark Fool boasted, and ever had I noticed his fingers were as long as those that brushed against Mairi’s cheek.
He might have been punishing her if she did not give him what he desired. If the Teind he wished to pay was me.
When we first met, he spoke of the Teind gone yet unpaid. He showed me a vision of Faery as a barren wasteland, was disappointed I did not immediately suss out its meaning, said I was not ready to help.
Was I now? Did he seek an alliance, or something darker?
Are you friend or foe, Dark Fool? Why should I care? He was not here.
Lileas clapped her hands upon her lap. “These are dark matters for a time which should be filled with celebration. Our queen has returned.” She raised her hand to my cheek, dropped it again before she made contact.
“Faery will thrive while you do. Do eat up, Your Majesty. You have a long day ahead of you, and your coronation is nigh.” She stood and made a clicking noise at the two hobs, who scurried out the door behind her.
Leaving the phoenix chick alone to try her wings.