The contrast of what beauty had once existed and what scarring marred it now was not easy to look at, that was true. She was glad he couldn’t see, couldn’t see any dismay flicker across her face.
Adoh. Adoh had done this to him. Taken his sight, taken his speech, and marred his touch. Monster.
That was it then. The prophecy of the Fairest One had been thwarted.
Yet, she found herself compelled to keep staring at him, to look past the puckered markings. It wasn’t a mere matter of focusing only what good features still remained to him. It was because…this was him…the kind man who had given her so much. That was all that really mattered. And the more she thought of him, the less repulsive his face became.
Taking a deep breath, she reached out and ran a finger down a jagged scar across his cheek. “Does anything still hurt?”
“No.”
She’d already seen how the goblins could speak without their mouths moving, but that hardly helped hearing his voice while his lips remained still.
“Is this all the damage?”
“Yes. My enemy tried to take my hearing by pouring hot oil down my ears, but my father’s healers were able to fix that.”
“Why do you cover your face?”
“Who would want to look at it?” he said, with a small growl.
“I’ve seen hideous faces, believe me. Yours is not one of them.” It couldn’t be. Not when it belonged to someone with a heart like his.
“The scars make my people sad.”
“But your smile would lift their spirits, would it not? Why hide that smile?”
He paused, folding his arms and tapping a foot on the ground in a nervous cadence. “I forget to smile anymore when I am among them.”
“Then don’t forget anymore. Smile because they love you. Smile because you’re alive. Smile because you can.”
“You have not even seen me smile,” he said, but even as the words slipped from his mind, his mouth twitched and curved in a bashful grin.
“There, see,” she said, tapping him on the chin. “It is a beautiful smile.”
“There is a festival among my people this upcoming full moon,” he blurted.
She stepped back, hesitating, but he went on ahead, blind to the fear that leapt onto her face.
“I promised my father I would come. And I would be honored if you would accompany me. You have accepted me before you ever saw my face, and now that you have, you accept me still. You have given me confidence that I still may live in strength even though my enemies sought to ruin me. I am not…” His voice halted, almost as if he had to swallow. “I am not ashamed when I am with you.”
She stared. This was unexpected. She’d hoped to find some reason to stay now that the bear was dead, and here it was, but now that it had come, she did not want it. Or perhaps she did want it…for an entirely different reason. But the invitation twisted her gut in more ways than just confusion. “I...have attended fey festivals before, my lord. They did not settle well with me.”
His head twitched in swift understanding. “Ah. Yes. The Unseelie Court is given to unchecked passion, most of it dark. Such has not been tolerated in my father’s court for many generations. It is written that such passions are only for those trothed to one another. Even if it were not so, you would be safe by my side.”
Scuffing her boot across the ground, she lingered in reply. Going among the Fair Folk would surely be a risk. Would they smell the treachery on her even when Idris could not? But if she did not go, there was no reason to remain…
“My name is Keeva.” It is not what she had intended to say. All that she had meant to come out was a simple acceptance of his invitation. But now that the name was out, there was no taking it back.
“Keeva…”
A tingle pattered up her spine at how he spoke it. Like it was something special, precious, honorable. She knew then she did not regret giving it, no matter what else might happen. She inhaled, closing her eyes, and treasured the sound away in memory. “I will come as your guest,” she said.
9
The night came all too soon. When the moon began to rise in a glorious golden glow over the dark mountain peaks, a strange procession wound down from the snowy heights to the forest floors. Goblins did not usually leave their mountains, but when they did, they could be clearly heard, for they marched in time and sang loud songs in a strange language that told of ancient tales and fabled treasures. They carried litters upon their shoulders and upon these were statues carved from shining jewels worth kingdoms of men.
In the midst of the goblins walked the pair who truly made the procession strange (for in these parts, goblins were really nothing to remark about).
Idris still wore his white robes and coverings, and Keeva still wore her huntress attire. He had assured her they would be given proper clothing at the festivities and that the transformation was part of the ceremonies.
Since they’d started walking, they had not exchanged a word and somehow a sphere of snowflake silence enveloped them despite the raucous goblin ballads. Idris had looped his arm through hers, and she was not sure if it was to assist him in walking or if was purely the courtesy of a gentleman. Either way, being so close to him both pleased and frightened her. She could not help but notice as she matched his stride that he walked like a king.
The deeper down they plunged, the thicker the forest became, and all the snow melted away. Soon even the regular chill of nature was replaced by something warm and magical. They were walking a faerie path, she knew, and her fingers curled tight into Idris’s arm. As a rule, she avoided faerie paths as much as she could. A mortal straying upon them would find only death. But she was no mere mortal, and she was not alone now. Here, by this strange prince’s side, she was safe.
The trees grew taller and straighter till they soon appeared to be pillars of a grand castle, and the forest path itself widened into a carpet laden with golden moss and small white flowers. Glowing lights, brighter and more enduring than fireflies, began to wink at them through the shadows. The murmuring of the wind tuned to the melodies of music.
A thrill began to clasp her heart. She had always seen only one side of the Faerie before—the shadows and horrors of the Unseelie Court. But there was so much more. There was beauty and joy and wonder in the land of light. True, she knew the Seelie would always be wild and thus not quite safe, but at the heart of things, at the essence of their being, there was good.
“The prince! The prince! Our prince has returned to us! He has come, he has come, at last!” The voices rose in the wood around them, in varying cadences of excitement. A powerful energy rushed ahead of them, carrying the declaration to all.
And then the mound of the Seelie Court rose before them. On the outside it was little more than a hill covered in bracken and moss with a door in the side of it, a warm light spilling out through the open entry. But as they marched through that door and into the golden light, the world changed, becoming larger on the inside than could ever be dreamed.
A different kind of forest grew here, one that sparkled with silver and gold leaves in a thousand lights, all chiming in a song felt more often than heard. The roof overhead was painted in so lifelike of murals that it appeared to have no end to its height, and she wondered if in fact it was a whole other real world looking down upon them. Fauns and nymphs danced around them, joining their ever-expanding procession as they covered leagues in a single stride.
One second, Keeva was clinging to Idris’s arm in frantic determination to not lose hold and be lost forever in the Seelie Court, and the next second, they all stood before the throne of the Seelie King.
She knew she was gaping, and she didn’t care. The arches, the dais, the steps, and the throne itself were all entwined together in intricate pattern of golden wood that dazzled and confused the eye. But the movement of the craftsmanship led one’s attention straight to the center and the king.
He was very beautiful, and she wondered exactly how Idris could have eclipsed h
im. She would have liked to study him much longer, but he was perhaps her most dangerous enemy here, and so she let her gaze drop lower. She noticed then the man in robes upon the second stair and by his aura of wisdom alone she knew him to be the Loresman. So much she had been told by Adoh in her training and now it was all alive and standing in front of her eyes.
It terrified her.
“I have come, Father,” Idris said, his voice ringing to every corner. “And I have brought my friend and guest, the huntress Keeva who slew Dohmnal, the monster of the mountains. Keeva, my father…Deorsa of the Fair Folk.”
His father rose, in that moment seeming as tall and mighty as a mountain. But when he looked upon his son, there was nothing fearful in his gaze, only tenderness. “I welcome any friend of yours to the court, my son. And I am glad you have returned to us.” He stepped down and embraced Idris, then turned to Keeva with a look of curiosity.
She quickly bowed, unwilling to meet his eye and unwilling to do anything such as take his hand for he would surely feel the wild traitorous pulse of her blood.
“I am indebted to you for the happiness you have given my son,” he said solemnly. “Tonight, may you find joy in the feasting. Ladies Fair, please see that she is given every honor we may bestow.”
With those words, Keeva found herself being rushed away in a crowd of women who were not all quite woman but also part breeze and leaf. She tried to look back, only just glimpsing the sight of Idris walking away, his father’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. The strength in the fey women’s pull was hopeless to resist, so she let herself get herded through strange halls and into a dressing room.
Afterwards she was never quite sure whether she’d changed clothes or if they literally changed what she was wearing, but in little time, she was wearing a grey gown, sparkling and soft as morning mist, and seated before a waterfall mirror while the women around her arranged her hair and appearance.
She kept very still throughout it all and tried not to look directly at any of the sídhe maidens, but she could feel them peering at her. Little wonder why. No doubt they were wild with curiosity as to why their fey prince would bring a mortal woman as his guest. As humans went, Keeva had learned she was pretty enough, but by faerie standards, which were as lavish and exotic as orchids, she suspected she’d be viewed as rather plain and uninteresting.
There was one particular gaze that burned deep, and she at last had to look for its source. She found it from a tall woman standing aside who had not taken part in the preening, but glared at Keeva as if her life depended upon it. It was not a glare of jealousy, but of deep suspicion.
“Who is our prince to you?” the woman asked abruptly, and all the idle chatter in the room halted.
Gut twisting, Keeva took a deep breath. The woman’s voice was ancient and keen, and she knew she dared not lie. “He…he was a friend to me when I had none.”
The answer softened the hardness in the sídhe’s stare and the woman even smiled a little.
“That’s our Idris,” the maiden fixing her hair said proudly. “Fairest one, Fairest son, All together, Under one.”
The prophetic chant sent an unexpected thrill down Keeva’s spine. So. They still believed it, they still believed in their ruined, beautiful prince. How Adoh would hate to know that.
But thinking that cursed one’s name seemed dangerous here, and so she buried the thought even as she buried her fists into the folds of her dress and waited for the faeries to finish. They wove delicate vines of silver into her dark hair and strung beads of bright water from her ears. When she dared look into the mirror again, she barely recognized herself without her comfortable furs and leathers. But it wasn’t…it wasn’t a bad appearance, actually quite pleasing, and she hoped that she wouldn’t be such a glaring error in the faerie crowd after all.
“Come, come,” the fey women said, tugging her hands and giggling. “Wait until they see what we have done with you!”
All except Idris of course, who couldn’t see anything at all. Keeva discovered a vague disappointment in her chest at the thought. Fah. It didn’t matter.
She was led out to an enormous glade encircled by the woods, and a garden of fair folk danced upon the lush grass floor. All kinds of musicians, both fey and animal, sat in the surrounding branches and played their wild tunes, which somehow all fit together no matter their variety.
She realized then that she’d been left quite alone, her attendants having flown into the festivities, and so she hung on the edge, twisting her hands uncomfortably. So this was what the Seelie Court looked like. As reputations went, this certainly exceeded it for fairness. Lovely beyond all words. So much so that she felt out of place even in her borrowed finery. She had little wonder then why Idris had been shy to return in his state of imperfection.
Even as she thought of him, he appeared. There, upon the top of a stairway that descended from the trees to the floor of the dancing glade.
The pipes, the fifes, the harps, and lutes, the insects, the leaves, and all the merry folk—went silent.
He wore a robe of autumn colors, deeply hued by the night and changing tones by cast of the light or shadow. Beneath the robe he wore a coat of glittering silver and gold, but even its fine threads could not compare with the shining of his own pale hair. A silken scarf, of the same red as his robe, bound across his eyes and draped far down his back. An ornamental branch of gold curved up from where it clasped behind his slender ear.
But far fairer than his fine feathers was his grace of presence and the change that rippled through the room at the sight of him.
Keeva swallowed hard. She hadn’t really realized until this moment just what a royal he was. How fey and above her. She was in no way worthy to be his assassin, and much less to be his chosen guest. This was madness, all of it, and she hated Adoh for having the same powerful effect on her, only one of dread and fear and demanding obedience.
The Seelie prince stepped into the gala, heading somewhere to the glowing arch of whitethorn tress where the king presided over the party. The trill of little winged things began first and then all the other musicians flew back into song with rekindled vigor. The laughter and bells and tapping of feet sprang back into life and all the glade became a flurry of colors.
She took a shy step forward, thinking perhaps to find him or the goblins, but the milling throng before her was an intimidation not to be taken lightly. She began to weave through, attempting to attract as little notice as possible, but more than a few folk glanced her way. Some merely looked, some looked with friendliness, and others…others looked with distaste. She tried to keep her eyes on the ground, but she noticed each and every frown, arch of an eyebrow, and whisper behind a feathered fan.
She couldn’t make it. She couldn’t go through an entire gauntlet of fey folk to appear before a prince she did not deserve.
Edging back out of the faerie glow, she nearly stumbled over a man with a mushroom hat, or perhaps a mushroom head. He grunted at her with a large brow raised in question of her presence, then stumped towards the gala.
She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong anywhere. She was a huntress, forced to the chase, doomed to roam forever.
And so she turned and ran.
10
The thickets of the forest welcomed her flight, all too eagerly cutting off the sight, sounds, and smells of the faerie ring. Very little light shed through the boughs, rendering the ground difficult to navigate, but she hadn’t stumbled her way through darkness all her life for nothing, and so the roots and ditches would not slow her down.
Yet something caught her foot, and she flew through the air, coming down in a hard thud to the ground. Groaning, she began to pick herself back up when a red glint caught her gaze.
Not two paces away from her, a red apple rested upon the ground.
She looked immediately up into the branches of the tree whose root she tripped on, but it was merely an old maple. There was no orchard tree to be seen anywhere nearby, and this apple
was smooth and fresh.
Her mouth went dry, her stomach sank in dread, and frantic fear spiraled through her mind. Where was he? Where was Adoh and how dare he come inside the Seelie Court? What guise or design he had taken, she scarcely knew. All that mattered was that the apple was here and the duty was hers.
Shaking, she reached out and touched it, half surprised it did not burn the flesh off her fingers.
“Keeva?”
She snatched the apple to her, heart thundering. What even…had she turned around without realizing it or had the very wood sent her back the way she’d come? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Idris stood a little ways off, dark against the glow of the party behind him.
“Are you leaving?” he asked, voice sad.
“I…” She blinked hard, trying to find some semblance of calm. She buried the apple into the folds of her dress and was relieved to find a deep pocket to hide it in. “The noise…the crowd. It was just too much. I needed to breathe.”
“Can I join you?”
You don’t need my permission to breathe, she thought, even though she knew that was not what he meant. And if you want to breathe, you’d be better off away from me.
“You feel unwelcome,” he said after a moment.
“It’s hard to fit in with perfection,” she said, a snide smile cutting across her lips.
“Nobody back there is perfect,” he replied. “But….I understand. Why do you think I ran away? People were staring at you, were they not?”
“They had a right.” She folded her arms. “I don’t fit in anywhere. Not among mortals, not among the Seelie, not among the Unseelie.”
“There are foul among the Fair,” he admitted. “So I must believe there are fair among the Foul.”
Her fingers bit into her skin as memories of shadows and teeth and disdainful eyes swirled across her mind. “I don’t know about that.”
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