by E G Radcliff
“What are they doing?” he asked, watching a woman in a flower-yellow skirt and a red blouse take an entire loaf of bread and toss it in with the rest.
Boudicca followed his startled gaze. “They’re offering some of their food to the fae,” she explained. “Later tonight, someone will put the basket under a hawthorn tree.”
Áed frowned.
Noticing this, Boudicca looked back to the basket. “Don’t you do that?”
“With what food?”
“Ah. I see.”
“I can’t believe you give up your food to faeries.” It was impossible to hide the surprise in his tone. Such abundance was foreign to him. The loaf that had just vanished into the basket could have fed Ronan for three days.
“Of course we do. But only at the festivals, when they can come through the veil for a time.”
“And what if you don’t?”
“Then they’ll be angry. It’d be foolish to anger such a people.” She seemed oblivious to his challenge. “It makes sense why they don’t come after you, I guess, because you don’t have much food.” She hiccupped. “Then again, maybe that’s the reason the oldest person you know is in his forties.”
“We can’t get much hungrier than we already are.”
“I would just be afraid to provoke the fae.” She took another drink. Áed suspected she was a little drunk as they made their way over to one of the tables and sent Ronan to squirm his small frame between the crowding people to bring back plates of food. He brought back two for Boudicca and Áed, each laden with meat, gravy, and greens. They found a couple of kegs to sit on and put their plates on their laps as they watched the crowd swirl around them, eating, drinking, and dancing in groups to the beat of the drums. The firelight shone on their faces, casting bright orange light that fell abruptly into shadow.
Áed gripped his knife as best he could with his mittened left hand, too nervous to take off the gloves and too hungry to ignore the chance to eat. Ronan rejoined them shortly, his own plate burdened with more dessert than meat, which prompted Áed to raise an eyebrow. “What?” Ronan griped. “I got the food.”
The illumination from the bonfire, as well as the constant distractions, had prevented Áed from noticing when darkness had come, but he noticed it then, noticed the billows of sparks pluming from the top of the fire and edging out gracefully into the twilight. The women in the crowd wore dresses in the hues of the fire, crimsons and golds, yellows and deep pinks. He caught a glimpse of a woman, her hair pinned under a blood-red hat, who wore a dress of violet-blue in the shade of the flames at the heart of the inferno. The air itself felt shimmery.
Áed frowned. Something strange had just caught his attention, and he didn’t know what it was.
He nudged Boudicca. “What was that?”
She pouted—evidently he’d interrupted some story he hadn’t noticed she’d been telling. “What was what?”
He wasn’t sure. It was the impression of another person in a room, that sensation of another beating heart occupying the same space, but with people all around, that didn’t make sense.
Ronan burped and then laughed, startling Áed from his thoughts, and Boudicca joined in the laughter and leaned over the side of the keg to refill her drink. Her laughter made Ronan giggle even more, and he hugged himself, hiccupping. The cheer of it all made Áed smile despite himself, though he couldn’t shake the feeling.
Boudicca, setting her empty plate down on the keg, turned to Áed and extended her hands. He raised an eyebrow, noting her clumsy movements and her slightly unsteady stops. She was a little drunk. “Come on,” she said, and her pink eyes glimmered deeply in the glow of the flames. “Dance with me.”
Áed shot Ronan a glance, but the boy nodded, grinning. “I’ll be fine.”
“It’s safe,” Boudicca assured him, taking his hands and pulling him up. “Look, there are children everywhere.”
She was right. Everywhere around them, boys and girls, some younger than Ronan, scampered through the crowd. He supposed that he wasn’t too worried. Ronan blended right into the crowd, and he knew how to handle himself. Boudicca tugged on Áed’s hands, and he let her draw him into the throng. When they stopped, Áed realized that the drums had quickened their rhythm, and the dancing had picked up into a flurry of beating boots. Boudicca held up her hands, and Áed put his against hers as he caught the beat in his head.
Boudicca laughed with delight, stepping back and then in as he mirrored her on the opposite side. Her skirt flared like a windflower in bloom and brushed the tops of his shoes when she twirled. She finished the turn with her back to his chest; her arms crossed over her waist, and Áed held each of her hands. Then he chuckled as he realized he was enjoying himself. “What?” she demanded, looking up at him with eyes that held the firelight.
He shrugged, still keeping step, and twirled her out again as everyone around them did the same. The effect was like an eddy in flowing water. “I’ve never danced with a woman.”
“But you have danced.”
“I danced with Ninian.”
She didn’t press. Instead she spun to the side, throwing out her arm, before she once again stepped in and put her palms to his. “Did Ninian teach you to dance?”
He nodded, holding her back to him again. “Yeah.”
They rotated through the motions again, and their feet beat a rhythm on the ground that complemented that of the drums. The fire flickered over faces, disappeared into black coats, and glinted off teeth and eyes as it washed the paving stones in red light. Boudicca’s voice was almost drowned in the sea of dancers, but it still carried to him as she spun away. “So how did he learn?”
Áed caught her as she twirled in to him and leaned over so she fell backward against his arms. She raised an arm above her head and let her knuckles touch the ground before he swept her up again. “Oh, that’s a long story.”
He felt her shrug in his arms. “We have all night.”
That was true. The fire was still raging, pulsing energy through his bones, the merrymakers showed no signs of slowing, and food and wine remained plentiful on the tables. He suspected that, like in the Maze, the party would last until the sun came up. “Ages ago,” he explained, “After the cities split, the Maze crowned its own rulers. The kingdom crumbled, of course, so it’s pretty lawless now, but Ninian had noble blood from the Maze’s royalty.” He stepped aside as another pair of dancers swung close, and Boudicca matched the movement as part of the dance. “His mother felt that everyone who came from such a bloodline should know certain things.” Boudicca ducked under his arm, keeping time, and he let her spin back in. “There’s not a lot of room for royalty in the Ma—Smudge, I mean, but he could read, write, dance. He had manners, a hell of a vocabulary, that kind of thing. He knew all of the histories.”
“What happened when he learned it all?”
“He never did.” Áed shook his head sadly. “He came close, but his mother died when Ninian had nine years. His father, too, from the illness of his mum.”
Boudicca’s sympathetic sigh crystallized in the cold air, a puff like smoke floating away into the fiery sky.
The feeling of another presence struck Áed again like a slap, and he nearly gasped. None of the dancers were watching him, a nervous look around him verified that, but the sense fired hot sparks down his spine. He turned around, positive he was being watched, and his heart leapt painfully to his throat. There, in the darkness beneath a blossom-covered awning, red eyes blinked at him. The owner of the eyes leaned against the wall, graceful as a ghost, and, meeting Áed’s stare, pushed away from the building and loped to the fire just too smoothly to seem human.
“Áed,” Boudicca asked. “Are you quite alright?”
He closed his eyes hard, and when he opened them, the vision had vanished into the flames.
He shook his head firmly. Perhaps that rhubarb wine had been stronger than he’d realized.
“I thought I saw something.”
“Ooh,” Boudic
ca replied. “The veil’s thin tonight. Perhaps it was one of the fae.”
Áed sighed. “I’ve never really believed that.”
Boudicca’s eyebrow popped skyward. “What?”
“It’s never made sense to me,” Áed said. “Why would they actually come here? To play mischief and eat our food?”
“No!” Boudicca rolled her eyes. “Well, yes, but not like that. The fae are a cunning race, yes, but they aren’t mischievous.” Evidently her point was important to her, for she paused in the dance. The crowd swirled around them as if he and Boudicca were an island in the sea. “Listen,” she said, “because this is important. The fae are a dangerous, frightful lot, and clever enough to know a man’s intentions better than he knows them himself. Compared with fae power, you and I are nothing.” She shivered despite the warmth of the fire. “Even when I work my little magic, I have to be careful.” She nodded toward the basket at the end of the table, now full of bread and early fruit. “So we appease them with food.” She gave him a look. “Maybe don’t insult them.”
Áed held up his hands in surrender. He didn’t like talking about this.
Satisfied, Boudicca moved in toward him again and resumed the beat of the dance. As they danced, her hair worked its way loose from under her hat and fell in wispy chestnut curls around her cheeks. The fine hairs that caught the light of the bonfire shone like filaments of gold.
“I think I’d like another drink,” she sighed, nodding her head to the drums.
Áed pulled his attention to her words. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I think so.”
He regarded her skeptically. “You’re already drunk.”
“Not enough. The Festival of Fire only happens once a year, you know.”
“You’re going to wake up with a headache.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He rolled his eyes and took her hands. “It’s your choice. We can find Ronan and sit down.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Ronan sat where they had left him, consuming a second plate laden with finger-sized cakes. He looked up and grinned before he popped another cake into his mouth and tried to speak through it. “Hello.”
“Cheers,” Boudicca declared, and set off purposefully toward the food tables.
Áed sat down next to Ronan and gazed over the laughing dancers. No red eyes, no shaded figures moved among them. The feeling had gone, leaving nothing but a prickle of familiarity in Áed’s chest. It had felt like the shadow had come to see him, and him specifically.
When Boudicca elbowed her way back toward them through the crowd, her lips were dark with wine and she held two mugs high. Áed moved over to make a space for her, and she sat heavily onto the barrel and nearly sloshed wine over her dress. Handing a mug to Áed, who discreetly put it aside, she tipped her chin back and took a long drink.
“Boudicca?”
Finishing, she brought the mug back down. It may have been the shifting firelight, but her eyes didn’t appear to focus on him. “Yes?”
“Ah…” He trailed off as she looked into her mug with disappointment, and he realized it was already empty. It was not a small cup. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
She shook her head too hard, a few stray hairs floating loose. “Naw.”
He sighed as she straightened her skirts awkwardly and the material caught on the rough barrel. Sighing, Áed hopped up, took Boudicca’s hand, and pulled her to her feet. Once standing, the matter of smoothing her dress was simplified, and he eased her back into a seat as she smiled at him a bit vacantly.
“Say,” she said, and her words were mildly slurred. “Did you drink yours already?”
“No.”
She blinked, her long eyelashes brushing against her cheek. “Can I have it?”
He considered her face, her jerky, incompetent movements, and shook his head. “Nope.”
She leaned on him and dropped her cheek onto his shoulder as if it might convince him. “Why not?”
He found the brim of her hat and tugged it back gently to reveal her face. Her rosy eyes studied him while an absent smile stole over her wine-stained lips. She pouted, her elegant eyebrows coming together, and Áed had to put an arm around her shoulders as she tipped unsteadily backward. “You’ve had a lot.”
She waved her hand dismissively and almost hit Ronan in the nose. The boy leaned back, frowning with disapproval, and Áed bit his lip to keep from laughing as Boudicca dropped her hand back onto her lap. “Pshaw. Don’t be such a killjoy.” Her hand flung out again, gesturing vaguely to the dancers, the dark forms of laughing people at the food tables. “It’s a party. This festival only happens once a year.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Come on. It’s getting late, and at the very least, Ronan needs to get to bed. Let’s go back to your apartment, okay?”
“I don’t want to.” Her head tipped back as she looked to him, trying to see around the flirtatious hat brim. “You take Ronan back. I’ll come later.”
Áed squirmed out from under her cheek and stood, but kept as tight a hold as he could on her hands to prevent her from toppling sideways. “That,” he declared, pulling her up, “Is a terrible idea. Come on.” Ronan hopped up as Áed let Boudicca slouch against him. “You’ve done a lot for us, and leaving you drunk at the mercy of the crowd would be a horrible way to repay you.”
She complained inarticulately as Áed led her through the crowd, one arm around her waist and the other held as a support. Ronan trailed behind, his hands full of cakes he hadn’t finished.
It was fortunate that Boudicca’s apothecary was just down the street, because by the time they were free of the throng, she was dragging. Too worried about Boudicca breaking an ankle on the steps to care what anyone thought, Áed scooped her up and carried her over the threshold while Ronan held the door open.
Once inside, Áed set her down and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. The hall was dim compared to the brilliant blaze of the bonfire down the street; only a few candles glimmering in sconces along the walls provided illumination for the foyer. “Boudicca,” he sighed, and she looked up at him with a dopey smile. “You are going to be so sick tomorrow.”
“Probably.” The word was badly slurred and accompanied by an impressive peal of too-loud laughter.
They made it to the stairs, and Boudicca gasped loudly. She broke into a drunken grin. “What?” Áed asked, glancing to Ronan to see if he knew, but he just shrugged, staring blankly at Boudicca.
“No way!” she laughed, tripping forward toward the steps, and Áed looked up to follow her gaze. Standing on the stairs was a shadow, a silhouette in the shape of a man. Boudicca stumbled onto the bottom step, tripped onto her knees, and looked down in confusion like she didn’t know how the staircase had gotten there. Then she looked up again, beaming. “Why are you here?”
“Hello, Boudicca,” the shadow said in a deep, even voice. It held a hint of bemusement. The stairs creaked as the figure descended, peering through the gloom. “Who’ve you got with you?”
“Friends.” Suddenly she scowled, glaring at Áed. “‘Course, he wouldn’t let me get another drink.”
“For good reason,” Áed grumbled, and supported her by the shoulders to help her up. Addressing the stranger, he asked, “Who are you?”
The silhouette passed into a streak of candlelight, and the yellow beam illuminated chestnut hair and a crooked nose, a mouth set in a curious half-smile. The man’s features were familiar enough that Áed already knew the answer when the man said, “I’m Cynwrig, Boudicca’s brother.” He moved down a few more steps, and his face moved out of the light. “She’s drunk?”
Áed nodded. Boudicca had mentioned that she’d rather Cynwrig and Áed not meet, but there was nothing for it now. “Very.”
In a couple of self-assured steps, Cynwrig was standing next to them, hoisting his sister up and cradling her against his chest. Judging by the ease of the motion, he must have been strong. Boudicca giggled, and Cynwrig transiti
oned her weight to one arm, extending the other hand to Áed. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Áed,” he replied, shaking Cynwrig’s hand carefully. “And this is Ronan.” He gestured down to where Ronan was standing behind his legs.
Unlike Gráinne, Áed was certain that Cynwrig noted the shape of Áed’s hands beneath the thick mittens. Still, the man said nothing, only, “Pleasure meeting you,” which left a swirl of nerves tingling in Áed’s stomach.
Áed and Ronan followed Cynwrig up the stairs, and Ronan took hold of Áed’s sleeve and clenched it in his fist.
“So,” Cynwrig’s voice came down the stairs, and it was impossible not to notice he shared his sister’s habit. “I thought I would come by for the festival, but the key wasn’t under the mat.” At this, Boudicca snorted.
“I know.”
“Do you have the other key?” he asked, addressing his sister, who still hung limp in his arms.
“Pocket,” she slurred, jamming her hand into her pocket and frowning. “I mean, the other pocket.”
Sighing, Cynwrig located the key in her pocket and opened the door, nodding over his shoulder to Áed and Ronan. “Well, come in, then.” The two followed Cynwrig as he carried his sister inside like she weighed nothing, navigated the dark room, and set Boudicca down in one of the chairs at the table. She immediately laid her head on her arms. Once she was safely seated, her brother pulled a pack of matches from his pocket and lit candles while Áed and Ronan hung up their coats. Áed removed his mittens and pushed his hands into his pockets.
Having lit the flat, Cynwrig sighed and dropped to a seat at the table. The chair creaked under him, and he flicked another match from the packet and drew a cigarette from the pocket of his coat. His eyes, a pale, clean blue, narrowed as he regarded Áed and Ronan in the light, and he held the cigarette between his lips and lit it. The end glowed like a nocturnal eye as he inhaled, and he blew out a puff of white smoke with a thoughtful frown. “Are you wearing my clothes?”
Áed bit his lip. Intuition was murmuring in his gut, and he didn’t think he trusted Boudicca’s brother. “It’s a long story.”