“Like you did.” She sniffled a little, eyes filled with tears.
“Believe me. I was all set to settle before I got whisked into Faerie. It’s easy to do. Much easier than holding out. You have to wait for the right one to come along. Sometimes it takes a while.”
“What do I do in the meantime?” She nearly wailed it, as she pulled her hands away and started some rabid tidying up.
“You have the wedding to plan, right? And everyone is counting on it being the event of the century, so it really gives you a chance to shine.” I couldn’t believe myself, but there it was. “And after that, well, this is a huge castle complex—it will need organizing and looking after. I can’t do it, for sure.” And then it all would go out the window if Titania attacked, but I wasn’t going to bring that up right then.
“Th—that’s Mother’s job, as your seneschal.” Starling hiccupped.
“Aha! But Blackbird isn’t here, is she?”
It would be interesting to find out if they had discovered anything more about Brody’s fate. Of course, my new theory that the babies, if they survived Titania’s vicious testing process, were now changelings in my old world altered the situation.
I wouldn’t say anything on that yet, since I had no supporting evidence. How could I possibly test that hypothesis? Would the scepter see through the Veil? Something else to test out tomorrow.
“Mother did say, when she first sent me to you, that I might rise to that role someday. Seneschal of the greatest castle in the land.” Starling peeked at me through her bangs and I pretended to scowl at her.
“She totally set me up for this, didn’t she?”
Starling sighed. “She does plan ahead—very efficient that way.”
Yes. I recalled very well how efficiently she’d managed me. The noble Fae could give Japanese corporations a run for their money with long-term strategizing. “Okay, the job is yours, so far as I’m concerned.”
With a happy squeal, Starling hugged me, clinging like a barnacle.
Hopefully Rogue wouldn’t object. But this was what he got for handing me authority. Probably better for him to learn right away what kind of wife I’d be. I cringed at my own thought. “Wife” sounded so...staid. And here I’d been running around barefoot and pregnant too.
“Okay.” I patted her on the back. “You need time to get ready for the feast, also, right?”
“Oh, gracious!” She let me go and pivoted to take in her reflection. “And I look a fright. I’ll go find my rooms straight away.”
“You could stay here. I’ll magic you a fresh bath and you can borrow one of my ten thousand dresses.”
She was already shaking her head. “Not done, Gwynn. And don’t you dare make a similar offer to Athena because the little twit won’t know better and then we’ll all look bad.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “You look lovely, if I do say so. I’ll see you at the feast.”
She raced off and, alone at last, I carried my cheese tray back upstairs, resolutely leaving the wine behind and happily settling myself at the workbench. Full night had fallen outside the dome, but all the towers and walls were ablaze with tall torches at regular intervals, too bright for me to see the stars.
Opening my Big Book of Fairyland, I flipped to the section I’d titled “The Black Dog” and modified it to say “The Black Dog/White Cat.” Then I set to writing down as many of my observations as I could, from the way the claws had torn out of me during the fight with Titania to the struggle in the practice arena and how my facial pattern appeared.
I wished up a standing cosmetic mirror, so I could look in it and attempt to draw the pattern at this moment in time. Being able to chart its growth might be important. Stymied, as always, by how to apply a date the entry, I decided finally to call it Day 0. Then I created new pages at the back of the book and began sketching a timeline, with Day 0 about a third of the way down the page.
I added salient details to remember this day by—leaving the practice arena, the gang’s arrival and the Welcome Feast. Adding a few hash marks to be filled in when I figured out exactly how many days it had been, I put a Day 3? for my arrival at Rogue’s castle. It would have to do.
Going back to the original section, I sketched the facial pattern as it had been the last time I remembered looking. When had that been? Back at Walter’s castle maybe. I should have kept a better record of it. But there hadn’t been that much to it—a curl on my temple, a suggestion of branches, a hint of a curved claw at the high point of my cheekbone.
“There she is.” Rogue’s hands caressed my bare shoulders, soothing my little start of surprise. “My scientist in her natural habitat.”
I turned my head to look up at him. “You listen to my thoughts more than is healthy.”
“But I find you fascinating, my studious Gwynn.” He leaned down and kissed me, a sweet kiss that rapidly deepened. The desire for him seemed to burn constantly, easily stoked into full flame with the slightest breath from his tantalizing mouth. Humming with pleasure, he dropped a hand to cup my breast and I arched into it. “You look as lovely in this dress as I’d imagined.” He pulled back to eye my prodigious cleavage.
“Let’s just hope I don’t fall out of it during the feast.”
“That would be entertainment indeed.” Caressing my nipple, he leaned in again to brush my patterned temple with a kiss. “However, I prefer to keep such sights all to myself.”
I reached up and wound a lock of his silky hair around my fingers. “Then let’s stay here. Skip the feast.”
He laughed and, neatly untangling himself from my grip, stepped out of reach. Also in black, but matte where mine sparkled, trim compared to my flouncy self, he looked amazing in the same way male celebrities in Armani tuxes outshone any couture dress on the red carpet. “I would be flattered by my lady’s great desire for me, if I didn’t know you’d prefer anything to a feast.”
“Maybe not anything,” I grumbled, standing up and straightening the dress. I would have magicked the neckline higher, if Starling hadn’t made me promise not to, damn her foresight. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“First I have a gift for you. Two gifts, actually.”
Chapter Twelve
In Which I Receive Something (Mostly) Unexpected
Interesting how Rogue treats my values and idle whims with the same gravity as any covenant. I suppose in Faerie, nothing is truly without deeper meaning.
~Big Book of Fairyland, “Rules of Magic”
I opened my mouth to protest—or negotiate—then remembered that no longer applied between us. However, I felt enough on the short side of the gift-giving at this point that I wasn’t thrilled to accept more. I still couldn’t quite drop the bargaining habit I’d so painstakingly acquired.
Gifts in Faerie always came with a price.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.
Amused, probably by my obvious reticence, Rogue nevertheless didn’t comment. “The first gift I’ve had planned for some time, as you’ll see.” He held up his hands and a necklace appeared, hanging delicately between them. Made of inverted Stargazer lilies in shades from deepest indigo at the centers to the barest pale blue of midsummer sky, glowing like living flesh, they matched the flowers dangling from my ears.
Though Starling had piled the front part of my hair on top of my head, the rest trailed down my back in elaborate ringlets, so I turned my back and held it out of the way while Rogue draped the fabulous creation around my throat. The largest of the grouping hung at the lowest point, like a pendant, exactly at the valley between my breasts.
I looked in the mirror on my workbench. It was beyond exquisite and the woman looking back at me seemed more like some elfin princess than anyone I recognized. Let it go, Gwynn.
“Thank you.” I faced him again, feeling self-conscious for some reason. “It’s very beautiful.”
He seemed pleased, but oddly uncomfortable also. Unusual for him. Made me wonder wh
at all lay in store for the night ahead. I would have brought up that he hadn’t fully filled me in on the importance of this feast, but that was typical of him and one of those things I’d likely have to learn to live with, so I made an effort to set that irritation aside.
We all had our flaws.
Rogue came closer and toyed with the lowest hanging lily, examining it closely, his thoughts elusive. Fidgeting.
“And the second gift?” I prompted, terribly curious about what could have the eternally unflappable Rogue acting what I would call nervous on any other person. Of course, the man lacked nerves—or they were made of tensile steel—so that couldn’t be it.
He met my gaze then, his eyes as vivid as the lilies. “I find myself at a loss, it’s true, my Gwynn. I want to do this correctly and I feel strongly this should occur before we meet our guests, but I’m uncertain as to the correct protocol. I don’t want to make a critical error.”
That made me nervous and I sealed up my reaction as deeply as I could. What the hell did he have up his sleeve? Just when we were learning to grow easier with one another, he wanted to give me a gift that could be a critical error. I laced my fingers together so I wouldn’t reach for my throat.
Please, not a collar. With a pitch of stomach-sinking apprehension, I feared he planned to coerce me into exactly that. I’d refuse. We could stay here all night and fight about it, miss the feast and insult our guests, but I would not let him bend me on this one.
“Ah,” he reflected in an even quieter tone, “and now you’ve gone silent. No reassurance from my lady that I could do no such thing.”
I made myself look him in the eye and not lose myself in how deeply I wanted to tell him that very thing. The words in my mouth like dusty moths, instead I said, “I wish—in the abstract way—that I could promise that. But it wouldn’t be true.”
He sighed. “And you would not be who you are if it were. Very well. I shall have to take my chances and hope for forgiveness should I blunder, since blind trust is out of the question.” He let go the necklace and opened his hand. “My forever Gwynn—”
“Maybe you should wait,” I blurted out, really not ready to fight with him.
Narrowing his eyes, he studied me, then shook his head, an abrupt shake that reminded me of a dog shedding water. “No. Tonight we present ourselves as a betrothed couple and you said you required this. I will not let that, at least, jeopardize our agreement.”
That I required? What had...? I stared in shock at the diamond ring on his palm.
Of all the ridiculous things. He’d taken that stupid remark about engagement rings seriously—but of course he had—and, worse, I started crying. Just a few tears, but they flowed faster than I could wipe them and pretend they hadn’t happened.
Rogue’s face fell. “Is it wrong?”
“No.” The one word was all I could get out before I had to swallow down the excess emotion. The diamond was like nothing I’d ever seen—cut in a perfect sphere with minute facets, brilliantly refracting the light. No human of my world cut have cut a gem like this. “I’m an idiot. This is perfect. But you really didn’t have to.”
“You should agree to this marriage in the tradition of your people too.”
“It’s kind of a dumb tradition, really.” To my surprise, though, it did mean something to me. My mother would have gone crazy over this and she would never know, which only made more tears fall.
“Is the weeping part of it?”
I laughed, watery, and pressed the heels of my hands into the corners of my eyes. “Apparently. Okay, let me get a grip here.” At least magical makeup didn’t run when you cried. “All right, I’m ready.”
“What do I do?” Rogue’s eyebrow winged up. At least he wasn’t nervous anymore, which helped immensely.
Feeling a bit silly, I held out my left hand and pointed to my ring finger. “You just slide it on this finger.”
“I did not magic this up, since you said it shouldn’t be made that way, so it might not fit. Is it against the rules to adjust the size that way?”
“That is well within the rules,” I replied, working hard not to laugh.
His magic whispered out, a tiny touch of black and blue, eddying around the ring as he slipped it on my finger. “Now what?” he asked, still holding my hand.
“That’s it.”
“No promises to go with it?”
“You already asked and I agreed, so that part’s done.” He looked unconvinced so I added, “The ring symbolizes the vow. It comes from an older tradition, where you make a vow and then never remove the ring until it’s complete.”
“So be it then,” Rogue affirmed and a bit of magic shimmered around us, cementing it into place. With a slight smile, he bent over my hand to kiss the ring, holding my gaze all the while.
“Rogue,” I breathed his name, groping for more words to express what this gesture meant to me and settled for something he’d once said to me. “You undo me.”
His eyes went to my cleavage, then roamed over the rest of me. “I would love to undo you from that dress, but we would be late to greet our guests.”
“Traditionally, my people would celebrate this moment with sex and champagne. Maybe chocolate-dipped strawberries too.” I raised my eyebrows at him, going for a convincing expression, but he only laughed.
“You are a terrible liar, my gorgeous Gwynn. When you mean to hide how you feel and what you want most, it’s clear as day in your mind. The feast will not last all night.”
“Why should this one be any different?” I groused.
“Because this is our home and we decide.”
I did like the sound of that.
* * *
Unlike the first reception and banquet I’d attended at the Castle of the Dark Gods—again on Rogue’s arm, but this time with considerably more awareness of what was going on, not to mention feeling like I looked pretty fabulous—we did not circulate and mingle before sitting down. Probably why they’d all referred to it as a “reception” plus banquet before and “feast” this time.
Rogue seated me on his right at a carved wooden table on a raised platform that overlooked the football-field of a banquet room. Tall swathes of filmy color draped from the ceiling, banners without emblems, softening the stone walls. A group of assorted fae played instruments, adding a merry tune to the proceedings, though fortunately without the hypnotic crooning song they sometimes added.
I perched on the edge of the massive wood chair, which was heavier than I could move on my own, with arms that met the edge of the table if I wanted to reach my plate. Furniture built for noble fae with their long limbs and unearthly strength, not for on-the-short-side human women.
I glanced at Rogue and mentally tested the composition of the chair. Handmade and by some human man whose face I could nearly make out in my mind. Not magic. Rogue returned my look with an inquiring lift of his brows. Smiling sweetly, I changed the chair into something lighter, a bit higher, with a ledge for my feet to rest on, instead of dangling like a child’s.
He inclined his head in wordless agreement, altered his chair to match in general appearance and picked up my left hand, kissing the skin just above the ring.
Who said we weren’t getting better at communicating?
The guests began to file in, entering through the great doors—easily two stories in a human building—directly opposite and mincing down a long black runner, to bow and curtsy before us. To begin, most seemed to be the statuesque and willowy noble fae—all the best people—but the other castle denizens soon mingled in. Various sprites and pixies skipped through and paid homage in their ways. The petite fairies I thought of as dragonfly girls danced down the black carpet in their wispy gowns and adorable curls, filling the air with musical giggles. Some types of fae I didn’t recall having seen before and I tried to keep track, so as to add them to the Flora and Fauna section of my grimoire.
A page of Larch’s Brownie ilk stood by the doors, announcing them, but the names, most of w
hich I heard as designations or descriptions anyway, washed into a blur after a while. If I’d been thinking, I would have had Athena nearby to record them all with her eidetic memory, so I could transcribe them into my list later. Letting my eyes travel over the room and the tables that filled as more guests paid their respects, I spotted Athena standing beside, of all things, a potted palm, Darling Hercules at her side. She saw me looking and gave me a jaunty thumbs-up.
Perfect. Then I frowned at her dress—a rainbow-hued gossamer dream that I knew she wouldn’t have willingly worn in a million years, but typical for a dragonfly girl outfit. She fingered the material, made a gagging gesture and shrugged.
It was a bit of a reach for me, across the great hall and with milling, chattering people between, but I concentrated and changed the dress to a deep amethyst velvet sheath that would complement her eyes. With a broad grin, Athena put her hands together in a Namaste position and bowed.
Uncanny the things she’d picked up from my head.
“You spoil that one,” Rogue spoke in my ear and handed me a shimmering crystal glass filled with ruby-red wine.
“Is that a problem?” I asked in all honesty, surveying his expression. He looked a bit exasperated, but not angry. I tasted the wine, braced for the Kool-Aid sweet stuff the fae tended to serve, pleasantly surprised by the smoky warmth of it. Too bad I couldn’t drink much of it.
“Not yet. But the other servants will notice and there will be trouble. Also, in your inattention, you snubbed Lord and Lady Ladybug.”
I couldn’t help it, I giggled. “Really? I mean, oh no.”
He took my hand, thumb passing over the diamond. “Truly. Perhaps it’s for the best that you were only distracted and not laughing in their faces.”
Another couple, covered in matching outfits of salmon-pink feathers, came up and bowed. I practiced looking regal, going for a Grace Kelly style of poise, managing to hold it until they finished saying their inane social things that always translated as utter nonsense or outright lies to me—a huge reason I abhorred these sorts of social occasions—and wandered off to be seated.
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