Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
After the ceremony, we gathered in the courtyard, where harpers played on instruments of bone ’neath trees of hazel and apple and fruits I could not name.
Goat lads and dryads whirled about in merry dances, or chased one another, weaving in and out of the silvery oaks until each dryad slid into the one she must call home.
Goblins greedily pulled up cowslips and primroses, scrambling beneath their roots for buried treasure.
The stubborn blooms would have none of this, however, for as soon as one flower was plucked, another grew in its place.
How the wretched creatures swore and stamped at that!
Sometimes I looked at the flowers and saw their petals dropping to the ground. The leaves on the trees grew crisp and curling before my very eyes. I blinked and the vision cleared, but I understood its meaning. I was Faery, and Faery was me. And Faery had already had a long day.
My tread was slow as Lyel escorted me through the courtyard, for my gown was heavy and its train, still borne by floating sylphs, was quite long. The crown already sat heavy upon my brow.
Do not let your spirits waver, I cautioned myself. Never let the atmosphere of Faery become one of gloom.
A cloud hung overhead, thin as a wisp and gleaming white against the deep-blue sky.
Otherwise, the eve was balmy as summer twilight, with the scent of honeysuckle and rose wafting through the air.
Lyel led me up the dais, and I leaned on him when my slippered feet slid on the marble steps.
Oh, for a well-worn dirt path and a sturdy pair of boots!
I missed being where I could trust the ground beneath me, when I might not be lifted high, but at least there was nowhere to fall.
Above me rose a canopy dripping with flowering vines, with drops of dew gleaming bright as gemstones and flickering in the candlelight.
Creamy damask draped over the table itself, which was also hung with garlands of flowers.
In time, such splendor might become commonplace to me, but now I sighed, for I had never seen such beauty.
Think not of the sunlight creeping into a tiny shepherd’s cottage, while your body and his lay entwined. Remember not his merry eyes and loving ways, the way he called you wood nymph and revered you like a goddess while he could. “Lady, I would gladly pluck that rose—”
The air thickened, heavy with moisture. The single cloud overhead frothed into many and grew dark.
I breathed deep, inhaled calendula and primrose, slowed my breath. You left that rose in the forest of Carterhaugh. Whether ’twas trampled by beasts, drowned by pouring rain, or flourished, you may never know.
The only rose I bore now was the torc around my neck. I had already pricked myself upon its thorns.
The cloud spread out and thinned, like carded fleece.
“Is something amiss, Your Majesty?” Lyel asked.
I schooled my face and quickly shook my head, allowing him to lead me to my seat.
It stood at the center of the table, a chair carved with swirled sinuous branches and blossoms closed one moment, open the next, as though all the world’s seasons were contained in a single piece of furniture.
The festivities radiated out from me, like rays from the sun. My people pinned me in their gaze. My hand clenched tighter on Lyel’s arm.
He pulled out my chair and whispered, “Never mind their staring, Your Majesty. You are beautiful.”
I smiled wanly and nodded, all too aware how ignorant I was of fae custom and royal manners, outclassed and outshone by everyone around. What was beauty compared to that?
I caught Lyel’s attention with my eyes. “Amadan?” I asked, in desperate need of just one more familiar face.
Lyel shook his head. “We found him not, my liege.”
I nodded grimly and looked out among my people, hoping my smile did not betray my discomfort within.
These were the fairest of the Sith, garbed in ermine or petals or butterfly wings, flapping as if the poor creatures were still attached.
Their skin was such deep black as to look nearly blue, or as white as moonglow, in between, or both at once.
They had hair of gold, ebon, or lavender or even none; were crowned with horns, ox-eyed or tailed, even shimmering with scales like a fish.
Beautiful monsters, or monstrous beauties, they were difficult to look at, as my own face was in the mirror, unearthly beauty that cut like glass.
My feet longed to run, beyond Faery, beyond the mortal world, far beyond the hills I knew. To steady myself, I grabbed hold of my silver-stemmed goblet, filled with a brew smelling of bright fruit and clover honey. I leaned into my knight and asked, “May I drink?”
“Please do,” he said. “It will give others permission as well.”
I lifted the goblet to my lips and drained it dry.
Faery takes its revels seriously.
Nearly every mortal story of us involves dancing and celebration, music and lovemaking and every other indulgence deemed sinful in the world above. “The fae do not toil and labor as mortals do,” the stories say. “They revel and play all night and wake only to begin again.”
But it is fair exhausting to work so hard at your play.
I did enjoy myself once the entertainment took attention away from me.
As a changeling, I had been too occupied tending the ailing Mairi to participate in most of the entertainments around the village.
I never danced, for Eamon Grieve deemed it sinful, and when I did hear music, it was usually bent to the glorification of the Christian God.
Here, fae musicians played melodies Christians might say the angels made.
Human musicians also performed, but such musicians as must entertain only royalty in the mortal world, for I had never heard such skill.
Lileas sat beside me, resplendent in a gown of spring green.
She had taken over her kinsman’s role as my companion when he went to speak to one of the guards.
Peculiar how I never saw them both at the same time.
Soon the music became more earthy and rollicking, and my people began to dance.
Stony trows linked arms with delicate moss maidens; goblins tramped the ground with feet as long as they were tall.
My heartbeat seemed to play in time with the music, and I found my foot tapping along.
A handsome Aos Sith came over and bowed deeply before me. “Your Majesty, would you do me the honor?” He held out his hand.
Oh, he was beautiful, with eyes of amber and skin of delicate gold. I stood and nearly took his hand, but Lileas caught me by the elbow, shaking her head.
“Her Majesty is honored, milord,” she told him, “but I fear she is temporarily indisposed.”
The young nobleman bowed his head and took his leave. I gulped and slunk back in my chair.
“Lord Elidor did not approve of Una’s mortal consort—or her mortal midwife, for that matter,” Lileas whispered. “Very loudly he disapproved. I would not trust the man.”
I blinked after him, trying not to notice the fine figure he cut in his rich velvet and snug hose. “He is as old as that?” I thought him near the age of the shepherd king, not much older.
“Appearances can be deceiving—particularly with that one. They say the Dark Fool taught him everything he knows.” Lileas shook her head. “Besides, he is only the second son of a minor noble. If you dance with him, you will have to dance with all the others, too.”
The second son of a minor noble. Yet Amadan chose to spend his time with someone like that? Somehow, it did not add up.
Then the implications of Lileas’s words hit me, and I stared at the elegant folk who peopled the table where I sat. “All the others?” I repeated. “Every Aos Sith?”
“Not only the Aos Sith.” Lileas spread her arms to indicate the entire assembly. Goblins, trows, and redcaps, even little green hobs.
I must dance with anyone who asked?
Lileas sighed sympathetically. “I promise you will dance, my queen, should you desire it. On a less formal occasion, such as Beltane, or when you know your people better. By then, you will understand with whom you should curry favor and whose overtures you should ignore.”
“Curry favor.” But what of those I want to spend my time with—will I ever be permitted to entertain those? I thought of lowly brownies, unwanted children, bastard shepherds. None of these seemed proper companions for Faery’s queen.
Lileas raised her eyebrows. “I could give you a proper lecture on it now . . .”
“No, that is all right.” In my current state, it would only go in one ear and out the other.
I straightened in my seat and made a deliberate show of drinking my wine.
We had switched to juniper over the honeysuckle, and I did not like it nearly as much.
I tried to conceal my grimace, but the steward noticed anyway and quickly swept my goblet out of my hands, swearing that variety must never, ever be served in Faery again.
My hand remained frozen in midair. I looked to Lileas. “That is extreme. Others may enjoy the vintage. They need not all have the same tastes as I.”
Lileas smiled sweetly. “Be at ease, Your Majesty. Faery has been without its leader for so long. It is still getting used to having a queen again. Your subjects simply want to make certain everything is perfect.”
I nodded, still ill at ease, and turned my attention to the entertainment, discreetly calling out “Well done” after every performance, applauding with tempered enthusiasm that I not be seen to favor any performer over the others.
Yet even perfection can be wearying when one has had a long day of it, and my soft hands soon grew raw and red from clapping.
Worse, after the performance of an unfortunate mortal harper I could contain myself no longer and let out a prolonged yawn.
The assembly silenced; all eyes turned away from the performer and towards me.
I might have dropped the crown jewels in the chamber pot.