Chapter 26 Ivy
Ivy
I follow Tegwyn’s fresh tracks through the snow, treading carefully so as not to make a sound. Eventually, I come upon a clearing as I hide behind the bushy boughs of a tall spruce.
Tegwyn stands before a pair of ancient trees at the edge of the clearing.
They have twisted, spiralling trunks and branches that seem to stretch like arms, and I can’t tear my eyes away.
I’ve never seen a more peculiar-looking set of trees.
They seem alive somehow, covered in gnarls and clumps of green moss.
There’s definitely something other about them.
Most trees are living in a sense, but these ones appear to be sleeping.
One bears the face of an old, bearded man, and a shiver skitters down my spine.
The faerie whispers something unintelligible, and his breath fogs the cold air.
One of the trees awakens, opening a large pair of obsidian eyes, and I cover my mouth before a sound escapes.
The tree. It’s Fae.
It assesses Tegwyn carefully with bottomless eyes, then extends its limbs, intertwining with those of the neighbouring tree once it deems him worthy.
The branches twist and creak with the sound of snapping wood, sprouting flowers and vines along the way, and soon a gateway to another world appears.
Tegwyn steps through the gate, and I seize my chance.
I spring forward, darting through the tree’s branches before it can stop me, and I land on the other side with a thump.
Sharp stone grazes the heels of my palms. The ground is no longer blanketed in snow. Now it’s paved with cobblestone.
I look up from beneath my hood to find myself inside a narrow alleyway with sandstone walls. Tall buildings surround me.
I’m no longer in the forest.
A cacophony of strange voices trickles my way, and I gaze at a street up ahead, spying scores of Fae of various shapes and sizes.
Quickly, I clamber to my feet, keeping to the shadows. Snow dusts my cloak, and I wipe it off, hoping none of those faeries notice the sudden chill. Somehow, I have brought winter to this quiet street, and I must be vigilant.
With a deep breath, I lower my hood, braving a step into the busy thoroughfare. I have to duck around a lumbering troll as it stomps by, nearly crushing me to death.
The Fae here aren’t all so terrifying, though.
Some are beautiful and slender with delicate, pointed features and flowing manes of hair.
Others have wings, and several possess claws and hooves, and I spy one or two faeries that have horns like Tegwyn.
Wisps hum in the air, resembling snow eddies as they flutter beneath the warm light of a lantern, one lit with pure magic.
I really have entered a whole new realm.
I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.
Luckily, no one pays me any heed as they fuss with garlands and streamers. A pair of graceful, lithe women hang red and green bunting across the street, attaching it to the chocolate box houses on either side with glowing orbs of magic.
There’s a trestle table in the centre of the street filled with food, and to my relief, none of the meat appears to be human. It’s mostly chicken, beef, and pork, so I’m safe, for now.
The Fae don’t just like their meat; they have bowls of fruit and grains, too. Are those candied almonds?
My mouth waters, but I know better than to eat faerie food, and I walk on by.
Some of the revelers wear fancy bells and wreaths of holly, and I spot several poinsettias on the table. Of course. I thought the red and green bunting looked familiar…
They’re celebrating Yule. Who would’ve thought that the Fae celebrated the festive season, too? It appears our races have more in common than I realised.
This will be the first holiday season without my parents, and I shut my eyes, keeping the morose thoughts at bay. I mustn’t let my emotions get the better of me.
These creatures thrive off misery, yet when I gaze around the merry street, I only see happy, festive faces.
The punters at Stannog’s tavern were desolate souls who could only just about tolerate each other, yet the Fae here appreciate one another, and it’s easy to see the community spirit. This village is different. It’s full of hope and the promise of new beginnings.
A gaggle of children rushes by, and I stare in awe. Who knew that faerie children could be so adorable?
The adults dote on them, and one troll ruffles the head of a little horned girl with shimmering eyes.
A choir sings on a street corner, and they sound like angels.
I glance ahead and spy Tegwyn vanishing into a crowd of revelers. I quicken my pace, taking note of the various storefronts on either side of the street. Bakeries, jewellers, arts and crafts. If I had the time, I would’ve gone inside the latter.
But the store at the end of the road really catches my attention. Tegwyn stops outside a teal shop with bright gold lettering that reads: Bannog’s Whimsical Wig and Dress Store—a fancy-dress shop.
What need would Tegwyn have for fancy dress?
He grips the brass handle of the cerulean door, peering up and down the street before he slips inside.
I approach quietly, spying my pale and very human reflection inside the glass window of the shop.
There are mannequins inside the window display.
One is dressed as a farmer and the other as a blacksmith. The third is a dentist.
I shield my eyes with my hands, trying to peer through the glass, but I only end up fogging it up.
My gaze lands on a narrow alleyway beside the shop, so I slip through the tight space, spying an open window ahead.
I find and stand on a crate outside the window, peering into the back of the shop. It’s a simple lounge with a crackling fireplace, soft furnishings, and a fancy throw rug. The wallpaper bears a pretty floral design. What manner of creature resides here?
Tegwyn sits on a red velvet chair before the fireplace, facing a much larger seat, but I can’t see who’s sitting on there. Tegwyn's still wearing his hood, and he looks so unsure of himself, gazing around the ornate room.
It’s a far cry from his cave. That’s for sure.
“Biscuit?” a gruff, yet very gentle, voice offers.
Tegwyn declines. “No. I’m not hungry.”
“But I insist. They’re to die for. My mother’s old recipe.” The host tries to tempt him with a biscuit again, and I see a large, well-groomed hand.
My stomach rumbles at the sight of those chocolate-drizzled biscuits, but I steel my thoughts, telling myself that they’re faerie sweets and that they’re bad for me.
Tegwyn sighs. “If I must.” He grabs a biscuit from the pretty porcelain plate, and I muffle a laugh when he melts at the first bite.
Seems he has a sweet tooth.
“Your mother was a genius,” he whispers, taking another bite.
His host gushes, and a sipping sound follows. “Oh, you old charmer…”
Tegwyn balances a teacup and saucer on his knee, drumming his fingers nervously against the blue and white porcelain. I never thought I would see him drink tea. Judging by the aromatic flavour drifting from the pot with the knitted tea cosy on the table between them, it’s chamomile.
“So, my delightful cousin tells me that you’re after a glamour,” the host drawls, and I lean in closer. A glamour?
Tegwyn rubs the back of his neck, tittering nervously. “You got me, but…that’s not the sole reason I’m here. You mentioned in your letter about…you know…”
“Ah, yes.” The host sighs, placing his cup and saucer onto the table. “I’m afraid it’s not good news…”
Tegwyn stiffens, and then his eyes shine beneath the lights of the chandelier.
My gut wrenches at the sight of that broken expression.
I once thought him cold and unfeeling, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Tegwyn has the biggest heart of anyone I know, and that goes for Fae and humankind.
He licks his bottom lip, clearing his throat. “What…what happened?”
The host’s words are lost to me when percussion music starts playing on the street, and I look down the alley curiously.
A band has set up their instruments, and their drumbeats thrum through my veins, urging me to dance.
My hips are already swaying to the thumping rhythm as I make my way to the street.
Tegwyn isn’t going anywhere; I can return to him later.
Just after one dance…
Dancers crowd the street, completely inebriated with honeyed wine, and several are naked. Fair enough. If I had the silvery, gleaming skin of a goddess, too, then I wouldn’t want to be concealed by my clothes, either.
Yet, I start to find my own clothes awfully constricting, and I’m sweating beneath my heavy cloak.
Why hide? Especially as the music pulses through me like a heartbeat, turning my thoughts wanton.
I stop myself in time, gasping for air, and to my relief, no one pays me attention. Everyone is having too much of a good time to notice the human in their midst.
It looks as if they’re celebrating the unveiling of a statue, and I creep closer, forgetting all about the music and the dancers. I only want to see the sculpture now. The statue is made of shining onyx, and at first, it resembles a cloaked human male with shoulder-length hair.
I can’t stop looking at his face. A slightly hooked but very human nose, but his ears are pointed, and his eyes…they shine like quicksilver.
I know those eyes…
Staring at me from the branch of a skeletal tree, assessing whether I am worthy enough to kill. That hadn’t been an ordinary raven. Not with eyes that silver.
No. That ominous black bird had been Fae, and not just any Fae, too, but my mortal enemy. King Corvis regards me with the same cutting gaze, and I clench my fists, grinding my teeth. It all makes sense. Why he is so abhorrent.
King Corvis is Fae.
But it makes no difference to me. He is still going to die at my hand one day. And my first act of revenge? To ruin his facsimile and the festivities of the creatures who revere him.
He’s a monster.
They all are.
But before I take another step towards the statue, a large, callused hand wraps around my mouth, and then I’m dragged away into the crowd.
I never take my gaze off the statue. His eyes gleam back at me, and I send him a silent promise.
I am going to kill you one day…