Chapter 41 #2
Something melted inside me as I envisioned him fully grown, tall and handsome with a circlet on his brow, a token of the queen’s regard.
Beside him sat the goat boy—no, he too was fully grown now, a proper faun, whose deep-brown eyes looked only at the mortal beside him.
Their hands were joined, so tight as if they would never let go.
After so much neglect, such suspicion, the boy at last would know love.
I blinked away the vision—and the tears from my eyes. This was something I had wrought. This future unpromised, not glimpsed upon the surface of my scrying bowl. ’Twas everything I was determined he would have, just the same.
Jamie had taken up his silver knife and was trying, with a great seriousness of purpose, to cut his meat. Oh, I did love the little whelp, mortal that he was, an outcast among the Grieves, as I had been. We shared a kinship beyond blood.
I climbed the dais to take my throne beside him.
“It is glad I am to have you here at my right arm. So handsome you look.” And I bent to kiss him on the forehead.
He ducked away at first, then looked up to give me a giant kiss on the cheek, and we both took to giggling, like two youngsters hiding behind a hay wain to get up to mischief.
Jamie and I shared a plate, he serving me so that I would not get food upon my clothes. At least he did not spill my wine, though eventually I wiped my lips with my own napkin.
Lileas smiled, and her shoulders relaxed a bit. “She never lets me do that either.”
Jamie laughed.
And where the Dark Fool disappeared to, I could not say. He must be preparing for the entertainment to come.
Such a feast it was.
The food kept coming: exotic fowl followed by a venison pie, comfit with Faery fruits, a boar with an apple in its mouth.
We feasted upon frumenty, stewed plums, and eggs seasoned with saffron and cloves.
My young dining companion spilled more of his food onto his trencher than his tunic, though the plums made me nervous whenever he partook.
He enjoyed himself, my little man.
The wine flowed generously, from the rich and heady to the light and almost green. I feasted and imbibed with great indulgence, neither too full nor too hungry, but satisfied, as I never had been before.
Around the pavilion, tarrans danced, and punkies, little creatures of twinkling light.
Pixies amused themselves with the flowering vines and columns, landing first upon one bud then another, and when they flew off, the buds burst into bloom.
This display delighted Jamie, who I otherwise sensed was growing restless.
His feet dangled off his throne, and he kicked and wriggled his legs.
Oh dear. He was still only about four.
I bent low to him and whispered, “Need you the privy?”
“I can take him, Your Highness,” Lileas ventured, “and to bed as well. That way you can enjoy the rest of the feast.”
Jamie grabbed my arm, shaking his head vigorously. He might not speak, but he sent that message—not tired—very well.
“The boy is only restive, I think,” I said, and I heard musicians tuning their instruments. “It seems the dancing may start soon.” I smiled down at Jamie. “Perhaps you would like to join me?”
He perked up, nodded, and swung his legs eagerly.
“One dance then, and off to bed it is.” I gave Lileas a broad wink. The dancing would surely wear him out.
I helped Jamie climb down from his seat, and took his hand as the musicians struck up a lively ronde.
Jamie tugged me into the crowd of dancers—sylphs seeming to float above the soft grass and goblins whose every step was a stomp.
I took the hand of a small green hob and quickly we were pulled into a labyrinthine formation, a great spiral that wove across the courtyard in so many ins and outs.
Round and round we went, moving under arching arms and in serpentine curves.
We passed Lileas and Amadan, standing at the fringes of the circle, watching; I frowned at the consternation dipping her brow.
We were swept away into another wave, intricate knotwork, that took us past the dais again.
I meant to break free then, for I thought I saw something white fluttering at Jamie’s seat.
Yet the dance pulled at us like the tide before I could consider it further.
His kerchief, perhaps? Bairns oft got messier than utensils alone could prevent.
The music was sprightly, and then it was gentle: soaring viols chased by the lofty flute, and the delicate strings of the harp. The song seemed never to end, though sweat beaded upon Jamie’s brow, and his cheeks grew ever red.
Faery music, after all, is meant to dance mortals into their graves.
But not my mortals.
“Enough!” I broke away and pulled Jamie along behind me, tripping over his own feet, cheeks red and brow wet with sweat.
The music broke off. Eerie silence fell around us.
I wiped my forehead, though there was no sweat there. I was not mortal enough for it anymore.
Jamie collapsed against me, little chest heaving with exhaustion.
“Oh, little man.” I lifted him up, and he fell against my shoulder as I went to join Lileas. “I never meant to weary you so.”
“I will take him, Your Majesty.” Lileas held her arms open, her face expressionless, eyes flat.
But Jamie revived suddenly and rushed to the table.
The serving dishes were gone, and with them most of the food, the trenchers, and knives.
Only the fine linens, centerpieces, and goblets remained, for those who still wished to drink.
The musicians continued to play, but their song became less sprightly, more sensual; dancers dispersed in pairs, threesomes, or more to engage in dalliances of their own.
Soft murmurs rose from the flowering bushes we wandered past, giggles of pleasure, even moans.
My cheeks warmed and my eyes followed a pair of glowing tarrans as they danced about in the twilight, encircling and bumping into each other so much I thought they must be drunk.
I knew the feeling well.
“There’s no more food, pet. Only dancing and drinking.” And what frequently follows them. Nothing I want you to see. Though that was quite a mortal thought, wasn’t it? Fae did not trouble over the innocence of children that way. “You’ll become quite bored.” I held out my hand for him to take.
But Jamie was stubborn and crawled onto my throne. Lower lip protruding, he grabbed a rich golden fruit off the centerpiece, knocking over my silver goblet in the process. Out spilled the honeyed wine, all over the crisp linens, as well as a thin spike with a flattened head.
An iron nail.
A toxic vapor filled the air and made it difficult to breathe. My head was a tight vise, squeezing into my flesh; the contents of my belly began to churn, even as I heard Lileas beside me, vomiting up her feast.
“Come away, my liege,” she coughed out. “Before it’s too late.”
Jamie stared at me, tears filling his eyes, my poor little bairn!
He scooted over into his own seat, where the wisp of white I had seen earlier lay.
Only now, I saw it for more than white. It had a luminous purple cast. Jamie picked it up, and it was a glove, but in his hand in transformed into a purple, belled flower.
Foxglove. Fairy glove. Dead man’s bells.
“Elidor,” I hissed. Then I yelled out, “Drop it, lad. By Mab’s grace, drop it!”
Tiny red spots had begun to appear on the boy’s nose and cheeks. Foxglove is poisonous if ingested, but plenty of mortals are sensitive to its very touch.
Jamie dropped the flower and began to cry. He scrambled down from his seat and ran off, in the direction of the palace, I hoped. For the moment that was all I could do.
“Empty the courtyard,” I commanded. “Find a human to dispose of the nail. And arrest Lord Elidor.”
For the killer of my fae mother had struck again.