Chapter 17
Pink petals fall from the ceiling, drifting down slowly on a light breeze before landing on the plush bed, each petal mesmerizing as it falls. One lands on my skin, sending whispers of pleasure as it brushes against me. The scent of floral permeates the air, followed by something earthy.
Above me, an uneven patch of moss is centered on the ceiling, its rough edges slowly spreading as it grows larger.
The moss spreads outward in a slow, lazy trail toward the walls.
A butterfly flits past my nose. I reach for it and watch its iridescent wings flutter as it settles on my fingertip.
My gaze goes back to the moss, watching as it slowly spreads down the navy-blue walls, small mushrooms sprouting in its wake.
The moss parts, then branches into five separate, smaller trails before stopping abruptly. The ten small trails begin to wiggle. Like ten delicate fingers.
My breath catches in my throat as green, textured algae gives way to smooth, alabaster skin and a figure emerges from the wall.
She’s completely nude, save for the moss trailing down her slender figure, fully covering her breasts and center. With every step, her wavy, glossy umber hair bobs against her hips.
Her crystal-blue eyes find mine, and I’m utterly paralyzed by her otherworldly beauty.
“Hello, Mae,” she says, her ethereal voice wrapping around me and ensnaring me.
“H-hello,” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from hers.
She pauses at the foot of the bed. A sun-yellow butterfly settles on her shoulder.
She glances at it, eyes brightening as she beholds the delicate creature.
Every move she makes is pure grace. Her elegant hands come to rest on the foot of the bed.
A bright green caterpillar crawls along one finger, slowly inching up her hand.
She turns her gaze to me, her piercing eyes brightening as they land on mine.
“Do you know who I am?” she asks, her voice reminding me of the sunshine on a spring day.
I begin to say no, but I stop as a voice whispers in my head.
Mother. Maker. Creator.
She smiles, revealing perfectly straight teeth as bright as the Eternal Star.
“This is a dream,” I manage to say.
She nods, her smile falling away as she does. “It is, my child.”
I stare at her, still unable to look away. I swear I can see the reflection of the choppy waves of the Icebound Sea in her eyes. “This isn’t real,” I whisper.
She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Isn’t everything real with magic?”
The caterpillar inches its way up her forearm now. She places a graceful finger in front of its path, watching as it slowly crawls up her slender finger. When it’s in the palm of her hand, she cups her hands together and traps the caterpillar inside.
“But some things are not as they might seem,” she says, glancing down at her closed hands.
Her hair falls forward, long strands framing her face.
She looks up, eyes now resembling the celestial kaleidoscope of the Adastreia Galaxy, and opens her hands.
The caterpillar is gone, now replaced by a thin, forest-green book.
“Remember that, always,” she whispers, placing the book on the foot of the bed.
Without taking my eyes off her, I lean forward, eager to see what’s inside the book. But before I can grab it, I’m flat on my back again, staring up at the ceiling.
The floral scent is gone. The ceiling is pristine, not a hint of moss on the white paint and neat trim. I surge upward, head whipping from corner to corner. No trace of the dream remains.
It felt so real…
Light filters in through the windows, the curtains unable to keep out the morning sun. I throw the covers back and head to the bathroom. Before I exit my bedroom, I look back, unable to shake the feeling that the dream was real.
My eyes snag on something green. Something moving.
A leafy green caterpillar lazily inches it way down one of the wooden bed posts. I hurry to it, sinking to my hands and knees as I watch it go further and further down the post. It’s unmistakably the caterpillar from my dream.
The exact caterpillar that was crawling on the Mother. I reach for it, but something stops me. Something is telling me to watch.
After what feels like ages, the caterpillar makes its way to the wooden floors and begins to crawl under my bed.
Eagerly, I yank the ivory bed skirt up and freeze when I see what’s there. Underneath the bed sits the thin, green book the Mother was holding. Chills spread through me as the realization dawns on me.
The Mother was in my bedroom last night. The Mother spoke to me. The Creator of all, the god that rules our kingdom, was in my bedroom. Speaking to me.
I reach for the book, lifting it gently from the dark wood floors. It’s light in my hands as I bring it closer. An emblem of a stag is embossed on the hardcover. It’s similar to the emblem of our House, but this deer has pointed ears.
The spine cracks as I open it, the sound a familiar comfort as I sit on the floor and stare at the yellowed pages. The pages are textured and worn, as if turned countless times over the many years, maybe even centuries. I lean against the bed and begin to read.
The First Deer Queen
In days of old, when the ancient forests stretched far and wide, there dwelt a kingdom where magic danced freely. Within this kingdom, there lived a Faerie King and Queen, blessed with two daughters as different as moon and sun.
One morn, the noble King was on a stroll with his youngest daughter—a sprightly thing who delighted in games of hide and seek. Suddenly, she darted through the forest.
“Come seek me, Papa!” her voice called, floating betwixt the ancient trees. She was nimble and full of grace, which made her skilled at hiding. His eldest daughter, bless her gentle heart, could never master such games, for her feet stomped too loudly over the well-trodden forest grounds.
The King sought for his youngest daughter amidst hollow tree trunks, under fallen branches, and behind thick, ageless trees.
Yet as he searched for her, a cry most terrible came from the heart of the forest. Swift did he race toward that sound, his heart thundering within his breast. Darker grew the woods around him, for the ancient trees grew so thick that scarce a ray of light could pierce their canopy.
He comes to a stop as he finds his eldest daughter, seated cross-legged in a clearing.
At his arrival, a queer smile formed upon her lips.
But she was not alone, for from betwixt the shadows emerged a creature.
A witch of the old blood, her eyes pale as moonlight and her hair dark as raven’s wings.
Shadows writhed about her form, seeming to drink the very light from the air.
The King’s magic recoiled from her presence, for such dark powers had not been seen in these lands.
Though the King bid his daughter to flee, she heeded not his words. When he made to snatch her from harm’s way, the witch’s power struck swiftly as a serpent, plunging his world into darkness most profound.
Years passed until one fair day, the Queen ventured forth to gather posies for her youngest daughter’s nameday celebration. The kingdom would soon feast and make merry, but first would the Queen and her princesses share sweet pastries by the hearth, as was their custom.
As she bent to pluck fair daisies from their bed, there came the soft crack of twigs.
There, amidst the wildflowers, she spied a magnificent stag whose eyes held the very color of summer skies.
The woodland creatures typically flee from Faerie-kind, yet this noble beast fled not, his eyes affixed to her every move.
Drawing near with careful step, she found herself possessed of a strange yearning to touch his tawny coat and stroke the ivory velvet of his mighty antlers. These eyes, she knew them well, for they were the very eyes of the King that had captured her heart so many moons ago.
When, at last, she cupped his noble face in her palm, the stag released a sound of such profound anguish that it pierced her very soul.
Tears, both his and hers, flowed freely as they shared their grief, kneeling together upon the forest floor.
Tears of sorrow fell upon his brow, accompanied by love's true kiss.
The wind whipped between them, magic in its purest form stirring.
In the stag’s place, the long-lost Fae King now stands in his proper form.
Yet, the price of such magic proved dear indeed.
For while the curse upon him broke, a portion of its power passed unto his beloved Queen, crowning her head with delicate antlers and dusting her fair visage with spots like starlight.
The witch's curse, he explained with a trembling voice, had condemned him to roam the woods as a beast, forever denied love's sweet embrace. Only a kiss of true love, given in deepest sorrow, could break the spell—though such breaking would demand a terrible price.
But crueler still was fate's design, for upon their return to the castle, they found their daughters had vanished as though they had never been.
Thus, the King and Queen did learn the terrible cost of breaking such ancient magic—that to regain their love, they must sacrifice that which they held most dear.
And so, they dwell still in their faerie realm, their hearts both full and empty, rulers of a kingdom where deer and Fair Folk are as one.
For such is the way of magic most ancient.
It gives with one hand while taking with the other, weaving tales that shall be whispered in the deep woods until the end of all days.
I flip to the next page, then the next, then through the rest of the book. Every other page is empty.
I go back to the beginning of the tale and read it a second time before looking up, trying to process what I just read. This is a fairytale? This is what our children are being read before they go to sleep? Those parents had their children stolen from them. There was no happy ending.
The story was similar to what Ruby and Elle told me, but there were some glaring differences.
There’s nothing about the Deer Queen’s daughter returning with a great stag.
There’s nothing about how the different High Houses were even created.
There’s nothing about Wrena’s true daughter.
What even happened to Wrena’s children? Were they kidnapped? Did they run away?
Three sharp raps echo from the front hallway. I shove the book back under my bed and stand, grabbing my robe before I hurry to the front door.
Nora and Ruby greet me, bags of makeup and hair products in hand.
“Your Highness,” Nora says brightly. “We’re here to prepare you for your date with Prince August.”
“Oh,” I say, lamely. “Right.” I open the door wider, gesturing them inside. My brain feels like scrambled eggs right now.
Nora and Ruby get to work, but all I can think about is the dream that’s starting to feel like it wasn’t a dream.
I can’t stop thinking about it, the moss tendrils of the Mother’s fingers, her piercing crystal gaze…
I feel insane for even thinking this, but I’m almost confident the Mother came down from the heavens and visited me in the middle of the night. To deliver a book, of all things.
Did this actually happen?
And why did the Mother gift me this tale?