Chapter 18
Castor
If I’m to pretend this mortal girl is a glass of wine, then I must offer up some grand gesture to make her see me as a comforting mug of coffee. What better way to do that than to bring her a steaming carafe of the revolting beverage?
I return to Magesté the following morning with a bleary-eyed Tamarind. The bits of sky that can be seen through the spired tops of the redwoods are gray and melancholy, drizzling rain every few minutes.
We take a samara to avoid potential run-ins with creatures not yet chased away by the dawn.
I wasn’t lying when I warned Maddox about the dangers that lurk in this forest. There are creatures not even I am safe from—not even Durian.
Unseelie creatures who follow their own laws and can’t be bothered with the Redwood King.
Spider wraiths. Blood nymphs. The Erlking and his siren daughters.
Monsters who generally keep to the outskirts of dryad kingdoms but have been known to get bored and travel farther in, close to the courts.
It’s become an increasing problem that Durian has all but ignored. His solution, of course, has just been: more guards in more places. Which helps the Crown District and parts of the Rose District.
When the Sylveris Council—made up of all the leaders in the Western forestlands—meets, the topic of Unseelie is broached every time.
And every time, Durian somehow manages to charm the others, assuaging their fears with lighthearted jokes until they change the topic.
To protect the other fae cities from Unseelie beasts would mean using resources Durian would prefer to keep for himself.
The Myrtle Queen is on the other end of the spectrum and sends her protectors out daily to fight off unwanted pests.
There’s a reason her lands are the safest—or perhaps the most dangerous, depending on who’s asking.
“Do you have a plan, Your Highness?” Tamarind asks me under the cloak of vines of silence as we land at the edge of the District Center.
“Play the part of a humble king and stare deeply into her soul as she jabbers on about mortal things.”
He blinks at me. “That’s your plan?”
“A little banter, a little eye contact. What is there to plan? Mortals are drawn to money and magic and dangerous things. I have them all.”
“There are twelve days until the Sylveris Solstice,” he reminds me.
“More than enough.” I’m lying, of course. That’s not nearly enough time. But I’ve had people fall for me in less. People who are dazzled by dangerous things. Maddox seems like one of those people.
We wait outside of the barren establishment in silence. Tamarind stands at attention in the shadows beside a bush bursting with white oleander.
A dull thump and a muffled curse come from somewhere nearby. Seconds later a flash of red appears as Maddox rounds the corner, smoothing her mint-green dress down over her speckled thighs. In her right hand she holds a bottle of what looks like cherry wine.
“Bit early to be drinking, is it not?” I call out to her.
She stumbles, nearly dropping the bottle.
Her attention moves from me to Tamarind standing in the shadow cast by the stationary windmill, his locs hanging loosely to his shoulders and a distrustful expression on his face.
A hint of annoyance colors her tone. “Do neither of you sleep?”
“Not much, no,” I say. “Is that wine?”
She holds up the bottle, as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Yes, actually. I was…bringing it to you.”
“Poison?”
A laugh escapes her rose-colored lips. She moves closer, keeping an eye on Tamarind, as if she believes moving too quickly will force him to use his scythe.
Can’t say I blame her. “I figured it was only fair, after you brought me coffee last night. There’s a chance you may have saved a few lives, mine most of all. ”
“Well, I’ve got good news for you, then.” I wave a hand at the intricately carved stone mug and glass carafe sitting on the table before me. Steam rises like hands beckoning her forward.
“More coffee?”
“I figured you would need it after your first night at Magesté.”
“If I accept that, then you should have a glass of wine. To keep it fair. I would hate to owe you yet another debt.” She places the bottle on the iron table. “I’ll go get a glass.”
“No need.” I reach inside my thin cloak and remove a mini goblet I keep for emergencies.
“You carry spare goblets around with you?”
“Can’t be too careful when you are king, can you?” Swiping the bottle from the table, I examine the paper label tied to the top.
Choke Me Cherry
Magesté
“I guess we’re still uneven in regard to gifts,” she says. “Coffee is a rarity here and it seems wine is plentiful.”
“Yes, but this is Magesté wine. The only rival would be Aronia wine from Willamette Valley. Also, it’s a gift from you. That makes it quite the rarity.”
“Yeah…I’m afraid I’ve gifted you nothing but grief these past few nights.”
At least she is aware.
I peer slyly up at her. “And a golden dagger.”
Maddox sits across from me, perching like a raptor ready to fly away at the first sign of danger. Or prey. “You gave that back, remember?”
“Just the grief, then.”
I slide the steaming coffee toward her, and she takes the mug, breathing in deeply. She makes that little moan sound. Again.
Bleeding trees, can I know no peace?
“I’m afraid I neglected to bring cream or sugar. Perhaps the Magesté kitchen has some?”
“My dad always said putting cream and sugar in coffee was like dipping steak in ketchup.” She takes a tentative sip, closing her eyes as she swallows. “I spent years choking it down for the sake of caffeine until I actually started to taste the subtle flavors over the bitterness.”
“And what does your father think of all your dryad dalliances?”
Her hands grip her mug so tight, I worry it will shatter. “My dad passed away when I was ten. Both of my parents did, actually.”
There’s something dark and unspoken in her words. I try to read her face, but it has gone dangerously blank.
“I’m sorry…” Dryads don’t have parents, but I assume losing them feels the same as when we lose siblings. “Who cared for you after that?”
Maddox takes a deep drink of the bitter liquid, still avoiding eye contact. “ ‘Cared for’ is a stretch. I lived in many homes, bounced around from house to house, foster parent to foster parent. I never stayed in one place very long. But I suppose it’s partly my fault I was never adopted.”
Adopted. The word surrounds me like a dense fog. “What do you mean it was your fault?”
Her eyes glint in the dim lavender light cast by Magesté’s nightshade sign.
“I didn’t make things easy for the families I lived with.
I missed my mom and dad, and I was furious about the cards I’d been dealt.
So I acted out. I talked back to my foster parents, broke things I knew were important to them, picked on their most treasured bio children.
Then, when I got a little older, I snuck guys and girls into my room and did things I shouldn’t have with them in my bed.
I stole things, drank alcohol, broke curfew, snuck out, had sex. I was a Bad Child.”
Something shifts in my chest. Something that makes me clear my throat and look down. “Sounds to me like you were a lonely child.”
A glimmer of pain turns her silver irises a stormy gray. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t cursed like your brother. But I suppose I might as well have been.”
“Are you still lonely?”
Silver eyes flash up to mine, something unreadable in their depths.
Her hands cradle the mug like it’s a living thing.
“I was sharing an apartment with my best friend for a while. But, uh…he just moved to San Francisco. The people I hung around were mostly his coworkers and friends.” A disarming thought appears to strike her as she frowns more deeply. “So, yeah. I guess I still am.”
“I know a few ironfae who live in that city.” Though introducing Maddox to them would likely do more harm than good. “We could visit if you’d like. Meet up with your friend.”
Wonder if her friend has the Sight, too, or crashes dryad parties like she does.
“No.” The word is firm and full of unspoken something. Hurt, perhaps. Or regret. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.” Suddenly, her gaze is unfocused, far away from here, caught up in some dark musing.
Well, this is going swimmingly. I bring her coffee and then force her to relive her darkest memories and face her miserable present. She’s probably moments away from falling for me.
No wonder she seeks the company of dryads so frequently.
I clear my throat. “Shall I open the wine?”
“Probably safest.”
Placing my palm over the opening, I slowly lift my hand. The cork follows as if it’s the positive end of the magnet and my palm is the negative. It leaves the neck with a soft pop, releasing the intoxicating scent of cherries and spices into the air between us.
“You know,” she says, “if you ever get bored of trees, you could make a killing as a magician in the mortal world.”
I pour myself a hearty goblet full of the deep red liquid. “I could only perform my act near Sylveris if I wanted it to be anything extraordinary.”
“Why?”
I tilt my head to the side, assessing her as I swirl the wine.
She claims to know of dryads, attends their parties.
Yet she doesn’t know some of our most basic magic.
Her back straightens, but she doesn’t look away.
“Because,” I say finally, “a dryad’s magic is tied to their heartwood.
The farther they venture, the weaker it becomes.
Until, eventually, it fizzles out entirely. ”
As I lift the wine toward my mouth, Tamarind takes a step forward, holding up his hand. “Wait, Your—Your Majesty.” I pause, and he clears his throat. “Are you certain it is safe?”
Maddox shifts her focus to Tamarind. “You think I would be foolish enough to poison the king in your presence?”
Tamarind doesn’t look at her, attention focused solely on me.
Swirling the goblet again, I say, “Did you poison this wine, Maddox?”
She inclines her chin, wearing the ghost of a smile. “Why don’t you drink it and find out.”
“Seems the only way.” I lift the goblet to my mouth again, and Tamarind closes the distance between us, snatching it from my hand.
Red liquid sloshes over the side, soaking my gray breeches.
Cursing, I stand to full height, still half a head shorter than my guard.
“Have you forgotten yourself, Tamarind?”
Tam’s statuesque composure fractures, broad shoulders bowing forward.
I get the overwhelming desire to apologize, to right him, but I resist. I’m supposed to be king, and he’s supposed to be my dutiful guard.
Not my painfully loyal friend who steps over the line from time to time.
His eyes connect with mine, a fierce protectiveness in their copper depths—the embers of our bonfire friendship glowing a bit more brightly.
“Stand down, Tamarind,” I warn.
He takes another step back.
Reclining in her chair, Maddox gestures toward the bottle. “Why not take a sip yourself if you are so concerned?”
“If I’m poisoned, the king would be left unguarded,” Tam snaps without sparing a glance her way.
“I’m fairly skilled with a few choice weapons,” she tells him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect the king.” At this, Tamarind bares his teeth at her, snarling like a cornered wolf.
She rolls her eyes. “It was in a sealed bottle. And I’m mortal.
I can’t magically poison shit with my tree powers.
” She holds up both hands and wiggles her fingers in mockery.
“Then why not drink a dram yourself?” Tamarind challenges. “Prove me wrong.”
Irritation laces her words tightly together. “Because mortals can’t drink dryad wine.”
Both Tamarind and I look at her now, taken aback.
“Who told you that?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It’s just part of the local lore. You know, step inside a ring of mushrooms and you’ll be whisked away by vindictive fairies, ask the Myrtle Queen for a wish and she’ll grant it for a price, mortals can’t drink the wine, it will drive them mad.”
I throw my head back in a laugh, sinking into my seat again.
I lift the half-empty glass. “This is just cherry wine. It will only lower your inhibitions, as will nightshade tea and nepenthe. Your mortal lore is probably referring to tieg wine, a deep green liquid that few dryads drink due to the raging hangover that accompanies it. Though the high is almost worth it.”
A look of understanding passes over her face. “Don’t drink the…tieg wine, he meant.”
“Who meant?” I ask.
She shakes her head, blinking. “No one.”
Clearly sensing the absence of immediate danger, Tamarind takes another step back from me, fists clenched tightly by his side.
“So.” I take up the unpoisoned bottle. “What you said at the masque about not being a drinker, is that true? Or was it to protect you from our dangerous libations?”
Drumming her fingers on the table, Maddox appears to be weighing something in her mind.
She looks from me to Tam to the wine. Instead of answering, she swipes the bottle from my hands.
Bringing it to her lips, she breathes in.
I imagine the heady aromas of cherries and autumnal spices filling her airway, intoxicating her the way they intoxicate me.
Tamarind watches with laser focus. She winks at him. Then she takes a drink.