by Malinda Lo
It had been so long since Kaede had felt its warmth that its first touch brought tears to her eyes; she wanted to strip off all her clothes and stand naked in the light. Taisin had forgotten the way it infused every leaf with vibrant color, causing the veins to stand out in sharp relief against the tender green. And Con could not remember if he had ever seen a sky so blue: robin’s egg blue, smooth as glossy porcelain, untouched by clouds.
That same day, they came to a long row of trees planted on either side of the path. In the morning, the path had been only dirt covered in fallen pine needles, but by midmorning, the pine needles were swept away, and by noon the horses stepped onto pavement. It was not like the pavement used in any human city; this was white stone, perfectly cut in long rectangles. At intervals, diamonds of black stone were inlaid in the road, polished until they sparkled in the sunlight. The road became as broad as the largest square in Cathair, with elegant, gold-leafed trees marching down the center. In the distance the Xi city, Taninli, glimmered.
When at last they saw the crystal gates ahead of them, the Huntsman pulled his horse to a halt and turned back to look at his human charges. “We will ride directly to the palace,” he told them. “Some of our people may turn out to look at you, but do not be alarmed.”
Kaede glanced at Taisin, who seemed slightly ill. As the Huntsman rode ahead, Kaede pushed her horse toward Taisin’s and asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she sounded hesitant. Taisin had felt the city coming as early as two days ago; it was an unmistakable knot of energies coalescing together all at once. The closer they came, the more light-headed she felt, and she only hoped that she would be able to adjust to it quickly. So far, though, it was making her feel queasy.
Kaede wasn’t affected the same way that Taisin was, but she, too, felt a bit out of sorts as they rode through the gates. The world seemed askew somehow; the shadows fell in the wrong places here, or perhaps her eyes simply weren’t accustomed to the angles in the buildings and streets. And the buildings themselves were so strange and exotic. The stone was too smooth to be carved from a mountain, the glass too clear to come from an ordinary forge. The walls were perfectly straight or miraculously curved. Giant windows, cut into facets that held the light like prisms, climbed up the tallest towers. And every structure seemed to fit into the one beside it like a puzzle piece; the only spaces must have been deliberately left open.
In those spaces, the Xi waited and watched. They peered out from balconies, or from beneath archways between houses, or from meticulously landscaped parks that opened onto the white stone boulevard. At first Kaede gazed back at them. In the sunlight, their skin was no longer deathly pale; it was like new-fallen snow, bright and pristine. Their hair, she realized, was a thousand different shades between white and silver; their eyes were sharp, glowing jewels. The pressure of so many eyes on her made her a bit breathless, and after several minutes, she had to look down at her hands, fingers tightly gripping her reins, so that she no longer saw them.
That was when she realized that all the sounds she normally associated with a city—the noise of wagon wheels and beggars and merchants hawking their wares—were absent here. There was only the rise and fall of whispering in the language of the Xi, a kind of hypnotic music. The more she listened to it, the more it made her feel disconnected from her body. But gradually the boulevard climbed out of the heart of the city, and as they left the crowds behind, the whispering faded. At last Kaede allowed herself to look up again, and she saw that they were nearing the glittering crest of Taninli, and before them was the palace of the Fairy Queen.
When they reached the palace gates, the sun hung straight overhead, beaming down hot on their heads. They rode into a grand, circular courtyard, over paving stones set with a mosaic of gold and green in a pattern of swirls. Their horses, lulled into a half doze by the very air around them, were led away by silent-footed Xi clad in tunics the color of fallen autumn leaves. The Huntsman led them inside the palace through doors as tall as a three-story building, and inside it was cool and comfortable beneath ceilings so high Kaede was sure she saw birds flying above her. The Huntsman took them down wide, empty halls filled with light, and Kaede wondered where everyone was. Was the Huntsman taking care to avoid the inhabitants of the palace, or were the inhabitants avoiding them? A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. It was warm as midsummer, and she realized with a jolt that it was midsummer. Tonight was Midsummer’s Eve, and tomorrow would be her eighteenth birthday.
They arrived at a set of smaller doors made of a fine-grained white wood, and the Huntsman turned the round crystal handles and said, “You will be very comfortable here.”
Inside there was an apartment of many rooms furnished with chairs carved out of polished tree trunks, with cushions of rose and gold and green silk. The floor was covered in soft carpets, and at the far end of the room tall glass doors opened onto a broad balcony. Sunlight streamed through the windows, filling the room with a lovely midday glow. Con turned to the Huntsman and asked, “When will we see the Fairy Queen?”
“Tomorrow. Tonight is Midsummer’s Eve, and we have other matters to attend to.” He paused in the doorway and added, “It would be best if you remain here tonight.”
“Why?” Con asked.
“It is a night of great celebration for my people. It would be unfortunate if anything were to befall you on the night before your audience with my queen.” He looked at each of them to make his point clear. “I ask you to stay here.” And then he left them alone, closing the door behind him. Though he had phrased his words as a request, Kaede had a feeling that they would not be able to open that door until he let them out.
Chapter XXIX
Kaede chose a round room with walls lined with windows. The vista of the city below was astounding—hill upon hill of buildings formed out of the same white stone that built this palace, every window sparkling. Far below she saw the Wood, a sea of trees all around Taninli. Though it was bright as midday inside, she lay down on the round bed in the middle of the round room, and as soon as her head fell upon the silken pillow, she was asleep.
Con took a square room with a balcony running along two entire walls. He opened the doors, letting the filmy white curtains flutter out into the afternoon. The breezes smelled of jasmine. He stood outside for some time, gazing down at the city, and his eyes were dazzled. The longer he looked, the more his mind became filled with a delicious fog. All the pain of the journey could be erased if he just gave in to this extraordinary place. But he felt a persistent, nagging worry in the back of his mind, and as he leaned forward into the sunlight, he closed his eyes. He saw his red-veined eyelids, the colors of countless ordinary human campfires that had warmed his hands night after night. He remembered Tali, and Pol, and Shae, who had looked at him out of pain-filled brown eyes in Mona’s cottage. He had promised her he would come back for her. The worry turned to impatient determination; his hands clenched into fists. He turned his back on the glamour of the city and went back inside, where he began to pace.
Taisin’s room was filled with trees; they seemed to grow out of the very floor, with smooth, polished bark the color of rust. Glossy leaves, amber on one side and bright green on the other, shaded her bed from the sun that poured in through windows in the ceiling. Tall glass doors opened onto a little round balcony, and when she stepped outside she looked out over a lush, wild garden. In the midst of all the sculptured buildings, the sight of trees and stones and running water was surprising, but as she looked closer, she could see that even this garden had been cultivated with the utmost care. She yawned, and raising a hand to her mouth she went back into the room, stretching. The bed was inviting. After weeks of sleeping on the ground, the feather bed beneath her back was like clouds. She sank into it and slept so soundly that for the first time in weeks, she did not dream of the fortress.
Kaede awoke after dark, and when she opened her eyes there were lights dancing on the ceiling, reflected from the
city below. She pushed herself up, feeling groggy, and went to the closest window. Down below, Taninli was ablaze with fairy lights: thousands upon thousands of them, winking like fireflies in a summer evening.
She left her room, walking down the short, curved corridor that led to the sitting room, and found Con at a table that had been laid with enough food for twenty. He looked up at her with glazed eyes. “Welcome,” he said in a thick voice, “to our banquet.”
She sat down across from him, gaping at the spread before her. She could not identify most of what she saw. There was a silver tureen of some kind of fragrant soup; plates piled high with colorful fruits; breads that were round and baked with golden-brown crusts. “What is this?” she asked, picking up an oblong fruit, its bright pink skin shading into orange.
“I don’t know, but I recommend it,” Con said, and handed her a wooden-handled knife with a blade made of thin, strong stone.
She tested the edge with her finger; it was sharp. When she peeled the skin of the fruit she held in her hand, the flesh that emerged was soft, juicy, and golden. She bit into it and the sweetness startled her; it was like liquid sugar with a tart, lingering tang. She discovered that there were several different kinds of cheese, and she especially liked the soft white one that crumbled in her fingers. She ate until her stomach was full, and then Con poured something from a decanter shaped like a bird into the crystal goblet at her elbow. “I have never tasted anything like this,” he said.
She looked at him dubiously. “What is it?”
“I think it’s wine.”
It smelled like newly budding roses. The fragrance itself was intoxicating enough, and she put it down and looked at Con. “Is there water?” she asked.
He laughed at her, and she realized that he had drunk the wine—perhaps he had drunk too much of it. He had shaved off the beard he had grown during their journey, and it made him look younger and more vulnerable. “There,” he said, pointing to a crystal pitcher down the table. “I think that is water.”
She stood up to fetch it as Taisin came in from the balcony. The sound of celebration followed her through the open doors—music and voices, all mingled together in a joyous crescendo. “It’s midnight,” Taisin said, joining them at the table. She picked up a chunk of bread, but like Kaede, she avoided the wine.
Kaede poured water into two goblets, handing one to Taisin. “How do you know?”
“The celebration,” Taisin said, gesturing toward the balcony. “It’s turned a corner. It must be Midsummer Day now.”
Kaede took her goblet of water out to the balcony. Below, among the winking fairy lights, she thought she could see the Xi themselves flooding through the streets. She rubbed her eyes, not sure if they were playing tricks on her. Everything here—Taninli, the palace, the food they ate—seemed obscured by a thin but persistent fog. It was as though some of her senses had been dulled, but others had been sharpened. She was more conscious than ever of the rhythm of the blood in her veins, but she felt oddly disengaged from her breath. Every now and then snatches of music floated up to her, played on instruments she had never heard before. It was so beautiful that it made Kaede’s heart ache. She longed to be a part of it, to dance among the Xi, and she realized she was gripping the balustrade with white fingers, her goblet tipping precariously until water splashed down on the white stone. She righted it, stepping back, and blinked, pressing her fingers to her temples.
The door behind her opened with a scrape. It was an unexpectedly ordinary sound for Taninli. She looked over her shoulder and saw Taisin coming to join her. “Happy birthday,” Taisin said.
“Thank you.” Kaede had not expected Taisin to remember, and she felt inordinately pleased about it.
Taisin stood beside her, looking down at the sea of celebrants. The lights glowed on her skin, making her seem gilded. Kaede could not stop staring at her, and she wondered if even the water in those pitchers was somehow thickened with magic, for nothing seemed usual tonight. The Huntsman might have warned them to stay in these rooms, but he could not prevent the air from carrying the scent of their celebrations up to them, a potent, alluring perfume. Taisin turned to look at her, and her lips parted.
Kaede straightened, taking one step forward, and Taisin seemed to lean toward her just enough—and Kaede saw, then, that what she had hoped for could come true. If she wished it, if she reached out and touched her, Taisin would come to her easily; she only wanted a bit of suggestion. The space between them hummed. It was the most natural thing in the world to slide her finger beneath the strand of hair that fell across Taisin’s eyes and tuck it behind her ear. Heat suffused Taisin’s cheeks, and Kaede drew her closer, her breath a soft tickle across Taisin’s lips, and kissed her.
Everything focused.
Taisin felt every place their bodies touched, and she felt every place they did not. Kaede slid her hands down Taisin’s back. Taisin felt the blood singing in her veins; all of her was surging up to meet Kaede, who pressed her closer. They moved, clumsy with desire, and one of them bumped against the crystal goblet, knocking it off the balustrade to shatter, loudly, at their feet.
They broke apart, staring dazedly at the fragments of crystal. The lights below were sharp as diamonds.
Taisin recovered first. “I’ll get a cloth,” she said, her voice husky, and departed abruptly.
Kaede squatted down and picked up the stem, taking care to not cut herself on the jagged edge. Her breath was ragged in her throat; her limbs felt weak, as though she had just climbed a thousand steps; her hand holding the broken stem shook. A shadow fell over her, and when she looked up, it was not Taisin but Con who handed her a cloth.
“What happened? Taisin told me you needed this, and then ran off.”
Below them they heard the roar of the crowd in celebration. Her heart was pounding as loudly as the crowd. “I dropped—I dropped the goblet,” she muttered. She took the cloth from him and began to sweep up the broken shards. They glinted in the light spilling out from the sitting room.
“Be careful. You’ll cut yourself.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, but she felt the beginnings of panic whirling in her stomach—why had Taisin left?—and she swept up a piece of glass that nicked her thumb. A small drop of blood welled up through her skin. She pressed the white cloth to it, the red blooming like a rose, and her finger smarted from the cut.
Taisin shut herself in her room and sat on the edge of her bed, and all she could think of was how much she wanted to go back to Kaede. Her whole body quivered from wanting it.
Nothing had prepared her for this. None of her books, none of her teachers had said a single thing about what to do with this wild energy pouring through her. She had no idea how to deal with it. She took a deep, trembling breath, trying to moderate the pulsing of her blood. She could still taste Kaede’s lips. She pressed her hands to her eyes, but all she could see was Kaede’s face.
She curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest, and gradually the beating of her heart slowed. She counted her breaths, hoping that it would calm her down. One, ten, one hundred breaths. Again and again, until she could push away the lingering sensation of Kaede’s hands on her back.
But what if she couldn’t fight this anymore? Had she been a fool to even try?
She stubbornly tried to recall every detail of that first vision she had when she was still at the Academy. The beach, the boat, Kaede’s face when she pushed away from the shore. The feeling that the most precious thing in her world was leaving her, and it might never return.
Sister Ailan had told her that her vision was a vision of the truth. But what was the truth? Was it that Kaede would leave her behind? Or was it that she loved her?
She heard the whistle of the wind in her ear, singing across the ice. She could no longer feel the softness of the bed beneath her. Cold seeped through her clothing, into her skin, until she felt the icy floor of the fortress beneath her feet.
Now that she had seen the way that glass c
ould be manipulated in Taninli, she knew that the ice was only a cold imitation. She stood in the ice fortress, her fingers curled into fists, and gazed out the window—yes, this was real glass, hard and unyielding—at the landscape before her. The walls of the fortress descended like a mountainside to the ice fields below. In the distance the ocean was azure blue beneath the ice floes, reflecting the great arc of the sky above. Behind her there was motion: the fluttering of wings, the darting shape of another creature. The sprite. It had a message for her, and when she had heard it she reached out and plucked the fairy from the air, pinning its wings back. She watched the sprite’s face stretch out in fear, and she whispered to it, soothing it, stroking its hair. An imperfect thing, this one.
But it would be a pity to blame the messenger.
She let it go, feeling its wings brush against her fingers before it bobbed away. She felt its fear, and it both saddened and exhilarated her. She turned back to the frozen vistas outside the window. Soon, she thought, and it sent a thrill through her. Soon her visitors would arrive.
Taisin sensed the woman’s anticipation with a clarity she had never experienced before. Beneath that, she felt the heady rush of the woman’s power, as if her veins ran with fire. It filled her body, lying on that soft bed in the Fairy Queen’s palace, the same way Kaede had filled all of her senses when they kissed.
Chapter XXX
Kaede did not know what to do. She went to Taisin’s room and stood outside the door, but she could not bring herself to knock. She could barely believe what had just happened—it was all so surreal, this place with its impossibly smooth walls and intoxicating lights. Perhaps they hadn’t really kissed at all; perhaps it was all just an illusion. But she could still feel Taisin’s mouth against hers, the bones of her spine beneath her fingers. Kaede’s entire body burned at the memory. But Taisin had fled from her. Kaede remembered their whispered conversation in the middle of the night after leaving Mona’s cottage. Taisin was promised elsewhere. What had made Kaede think Taisin had changed her mind? Kaede’s heart sank. She turned away from the closed door and went back to her own room.