The Treachery of Beautiful Things

by Ruth Long

  Strong arms caught her shoulders, twirling her around. The gray servants’ gown had vanished, and something spun of diaphanous silk took its place, a confection of lace and captured light. A snow-white dress swirled about her legs, the bodice clinging to her torso, lifting up her breasts like an offering to the man dancing with her.

  His hair was the color of coal dust and his eyes so dark as to appear endless black. On his head he wore a golden crown, styled like antlers, leaves, and berries. A king, then. Her king. A face from her dreams, sending a shudder of recognition through her, a face she’d known all her life, and yet never known at all. He smiled, a seductive, indulgent expression. His eyes captured hers and she stumbled under the impact of his gaze, falling into his embrace. That look promised so much, things she didn’t dare to want yet, things for which her traitor body yearned. He caught her, turning her so that her clumsiness became part of their dance, transforming her into a being of grace in spite of herself.

  His long fingers caressed her bare shoulders or entwined with hers, and her heart beat faster. With him pressed so close, the heat from his body swept over her, the elegant washed silk gown felt like nothing more than a veil, and a flimsy one at that. She could have been naked before him. A smile curled the corners of his mouth, as if he could read her very thoughts.

  “Gwynhyfer,” he murmured. His voice rumbled deep inside his chest and her heart beat in response, a bird trapped in a cage, a wren. The single word echoed on and on, twisting and resolving as she listened to her name. Gwynhyfer…Guinevere…Jennifer…

  Entangling his hand in her hair, he pulled her close, kissing her deeply. He tasted warm and earthy, of forests and undergrowth, but unlike Jack, beneath that initial touch, he was cold, icy cold. The cold of deep beneath the ground, of places that had never seen the sun. It was the cold of winter, clawing deep inside her. There was magic, but not the magic of Jack’s kiss.

  Beware a kiss, Jack had told her. Kisses are powerful things. You expose part of your soul. Have you learned nothing?

  She tore herself free with a gasp. The memory of his voice was so clear he could have been standing at her side, whispering in her ear. Her smiling partner didn’t seem fazed by the abrupt movement. He took her hand and led her forward, twirling her on the end of his arm. He made her dance now, though she wanted to escape, moving her around him, dancing with her despite her resistance. And how could she resist him? He overwhelmed her with just his presence.

  “Stop,” she whispered breathlessly, her head spinning, her stomach sickening. It still churned from the Lethe water having been forced down her throat, and she couldn’t think straight. She needed him to stop, all of them to stop, just for a minute, to leave her alone and let her be. “Please, stop.”

  But no one was listening to her. The crowd parted to watch them pass, some laughing good-naturedly, some applauding. Through all the unreal masks and smiling faces she couldn’t spot a single one she recognized, a single soul she could trust to help her. She didn’t know any of them, but every eye was upon her. Studying her, waiting for her to falter and fail so they could laugh. How they loved to laugh.

  The throne was fashioned from the gnarled trunk of a hawthorn tree, the branches twisted to form the arms and the ornate crest on the top. The roots plunged through the stony floor beneath it, and white blossoms hung in heavy clumps from the branches. There was no sunlight here. Nor moonlight either. Only the dark and the flame. So how could the tree still be alive?

  Her dance partner spun her around one last time, the glossy surface of his green cloak catching the light. It looked like leaves, like holly leaves, rich and dark, glistening. Jenny felt herself falling into the living throne as he released her. She landed, the gown billowing out around her, and the music fell silent at last.

  His figure loomed over her, a silhouette with small horns or antler points poking through the curls, and eyes bright with unspoken threat. He gave her that dangerous smile again and lifted a coronet of tiny white flowers. He cradled it in his long fingers, bruising the flowers a little until a heady scent rose from them.

  Jenny shrank back against the wood, but it was useless. There was no way out. If only Jack were here. He’d help her. Jack would draw his great sword, shout a battle cry, and fight their way out. She closed her eyes, wishing he were there, knowing he was gone. He’d betrayed her, hadn’t he? Brought her here. And she’d lost him. She had seen the earth swallow him whole. He was gone.

  She was alone. If she was to escape, she’d have to do it herself. But the throne drained away all her will.

  Don’t listen to that, a voice in the back of her mind whispered. You are strong. Stronger than you know.

  She’d rescued the Leczi, stopped the dragon, helped Jack escape the Nix, she’d fought and struggled and done her best to find her brother. It couldn’t end like this.

  Tears wet her cheeks and she heard the onlookers give a collective susurration of appreciation. She looked up as her dance partner placed a crown of flowers on her head. The thorns scraped her scalp, tearing her skin.

  “Greetings to you, May Queen.” His deep voice rumbled again and the crowd echoed him. With a curious tilt of his head, he reached out to touch a tear on her cheek. Then he smiled again. “Perfect,” he told her. “Just perfect. I was certain you would be.”

  “I—I’m not the May Queen,” she stammered.

  “Oh, but you are, pretty one. The guardian named you so. And besides, the throne of thorns accepts you. Look.”

  The throne trembled beneath her and then shoots erupted from it, bright green, growing as she watched. The roots swelled, cracking through the stone floor. She twisted, looking for a gap to flee through, but the hawthorn throne embraced her, growing around her, trapping her in a cage, in a human shape made of twigs and branches.

  “There’s a mistake!” she cried. “I’m not a queen.”

  The king—for she couldn’t doubt that’s who he was, Oberon at large in her nightmare—laughed and stepped aside. A defeated figure knelt at the front of the throng of dancers, his head bowed, his pose immobile. A cloak of leaves covered his back too, but these were dying, turning to autumn colors even as she watched. All around him, even as the other beings of her dream continued their celebrations, the guardian remained locked in his abeyance.

  “Tell her.” The king’s command boomed through the room. No one could fail to obey him. No one. Not even—

  “Comes the Wren,” said this broken knight. “Comes the May Queen. Comes the spring.”

  Only one person had given her a pet name in years. Jack had called her Jenny Wren.

  Comes the Wren.

  Jenny’s tears flooded her eyes, and with each one she shed, the hawthorn tree grew, its thick limbs wrapping around her. She threw back her head and screamed. There was but a single intelligible word in the sound, the name of the boy clad in leaves and bearing a Saxon-like sword strapped across his back. His cloak of dying oak leaves spilled across the floor and the guardian, her guardian, raised his mismatched eyes to look on her. There was nothing in his face, no love, no affection, not even anger or annoyance or pained disappointment.

  Jenny Wren.

  She had trusted him. She had let him lead her through the Realm. She had let him make of her whatever the Realm demanded.

  “Jack!” she screamed, struggling against the tree even though she knew there was no escape, not since he had put her there. Her certainty wavered, unsteady as the twisting ground beneath her. Jack had betrayed her after all. Puck had been right and so had Tom.

  “There now,” came a voice, slightly rattled but trying to hide it. “She’s deep inside now. Just another drone. Someone take her to the kitchen and put her to work.”

  The queen’s voice, echoed through the hall, or maybe it was through Jenny’s head. No one else reacted to her, or the words she said.

  “Majesty, please…” Tom spoke now, his voice smoother than Jenny ever remembered, almost seductive when he tried to get his way with Tita
nia. “She’s a danger to you. Send her away. It’s safer that way. Get rid of her.”

  Laughter echoed around the hall, bouncing off the ceiling, but the dancers carried on as if it were just another part of the music. The dark figure of the king watched her, and Jack still knelt on the ground like nothing more than a lump of wood.

  “Jack!” she called. “Jack, please.”

  Somewhere, she knew, she was being led away, though Tom still argued.

  “She’s the May Queen. We all heard it. And Oberon will know as well, since the Jack was with her. Majesty, please, just send her away or send her home. Let her go.”

  “You don’t understand, Tom. If she’s the May Queen, then I need her. As much as Oberon does. Perhaps more. She came here willingly, so here she stays. Don’t try my patience, piper, or it will go the worse for you.”

  “And how can it go worse?” he snarled, but Titania didn’t reply. Their voices faded away and the world of the ball reasserted itself around her, swirling skirts, spiraling music, laughter and voices raised in delight.

  Then she noticed it. Starting with her hands, her fingernails. They grew as she watched, oval and perfect as pearls. Her fingers too—they lengthened, changing to more elegant versions of her younger hands, a woman’s hands, pampered by creams and oils. The cuts and scratches healed themselves and vanished.

  “What…what’s happening?” she whispered. Her body itched all over, as if her skin were shifting over the surface, and she thought of the Redcaps from long ago…

  “You’re becoming what you were born to be,” said Oberon. He clicked his fingers in a single sharp gesture, and a mirror was brought forth. Old and marked, black flecks marring the surface, and yet she could see herself as clear as day. “It’s part of the magic, you see? The transformation. You’re the Wren now, but soon…soon you’ll be the queen.”

  Jenny leaned forward, her eyes widening as she saw her face transform, re-form. Her skin grew paler, freckles fading, and her cheekbones lifted higher, sharpening. Her face took on an alien cast, her eyes elongating even as she looked, and her hair staining with gold until…until…

  “No,” Jenny whispered. And she heard Titania’s voice.

  No, she realized with dawning horror. Not Titania’s. It was older than that, more powerful, more dangerous. This was the reason the queen wanted to keep her. It wasn’t Titania’s voice at all.

  It was Mab’s.

  Jenny closed her hand on the arm of the throne, digging those sharp nails into the wood, and the wood fought back. A thorn dug into her skin, hard and unyielding, a sharp pain, deeper and harder than anything else. It dug into her palm and with a burst of light, she was herself again.

  Barely. Her stomach twisted and she tried to rise. The dancers protested, but she tore the hawthorn away from her, breaking free of the throne. The king snarled, but he didn’t move to intercept her. Blood dripped from her palm, where a black thorn still jutted from her skin.

  Jack looked up as she approached him, his eyes begging forgiveness, emptying with heartbreak as she came closer. Lost. What had he promised as his price to save her from the Nix? This? Had he renounced her for Oberon? Wouldn’t he even fight for her?

  Jack opened his mouth to speak, but only dirt fell out.

  He extended a hand, a shaking hand. His limbs creaked and she watched in horror as his skin hardened, transforming to moss-covered bark. He lifted his other hand to the glinting touch of gold around his neck, closing wooden fingers over the heart she had given him. Sap leaked from the corners of his eyes.

  Stronger than you know.

  He tried to smile. Like he knew she’d understand somehow. Like he’d do anything for her if only he could. Like he trusted her with all his heart. She reached for him, to help him, to save him, to tell him—

  The pain in her hand sharpened, changing from a thorn to a spike, something cold like ice. The fairy-tale world in which she was lost shifted and then melted away, like rain on a windshield.

  She pulled her hand out of the pocket of the apron. The iron jack dug into the torn flesh of her palm.

  Jack…

  Delicate hands caught her shoulders, shaking her awake. Not Jack. Jack’s grip was firm and strong. Jack had never been so rough with her. Besides, Jack was lost.

  And then in her dream—was it only a dream? He had turned her over to the king. He’d just knelt there, looking at her, holding the golden heart like it was the most precious thing in the world as he turned to—

  It was just a dream. But visions had a way of making themselves come true, didn’t they? She gasped out a sigh, broken by a sob and her eyes snapped open. Pain stabbed at her head, the pain of a migraine, and deep into her hand with the iron of the jack. Someone dropped her, releasing her so abruptly that she fell to the ground. She landed facedown on cold, hard stone.

  “Snap out of it,” a distant voice said. “You have to get out of here.”

  chapter twenty-two

  Jenny blinked around and saw what must be the palace kitchens. The place reeked of stale grease and rotting food. She was on her knees, a scouring brush in hand. Large slabs of stone spread out like a chessboard before her, and in the cracks between, foaming soap lifted out scraps and crumbs. She looked up to the enormous range dominating the wall before her, the tiny barred window high overhead, the grime smearing the walls. Finally her eyes found her brother’s face.

  “Snap out of it,” Tom said again, shaking her. “You have to get out of here.”

  “No. I came…” Her throat was too dry and her voice grated. She tried again. “I came to get you.”

  “You’re a fool. No one leaves the service of the queen. No one would want to.” But he no longer looked convinced. How long had it been? There was no light here, so she didn’t know if it was morning or night. But her hands were raw from scrubbing the filthy floor. Except where her palm bled. She tore a strip off the apron and wrapped it tightly around the wound.

  Can you get tetanus in fairyland? she wondered idly. Or something worse?

  “It wasn’t meant to be you,” he blurted out. Jenny looked up at him sharply. His eyes glistened like broken glass. “I thought…I thought I’d find someone to take my place. But I never meant for it to be you.”

  And that was supposed to make it better? She paused for only a moment. “Well, it was. And I came.”

  “Why?”

  “For you. To come home. Come home, Tom. Please.”

  “Home?” He faltered, his eyes flickering away from hers. The Lethe water must be wearing off, Jenny realized. Otherwise, why was he even here? Please, she prayed, please, let me get through to him. But he shook his head. “This is my home.”

  “This is an illusion.”

  He laughed and Jenny realized what she must sound like, kneeling in a filthy hearth in a kitchen with no escape. If this was an illusion designed to snare her, the queen had a lot to learn. Somehow, she doubted that. No, the ball had been an illusion. The awful embrace of the throne, the king’s touch, and Jack…All illusions.

  But it didn’t matter now what they said, or what she feared. Her heart knew the truth. Jack hadn’t betrayed her, not willingly, not in truth. Jack—or the memory of him—had given her the strength to break free, Jack and the little iron jack, which he had given her despite its danger to him. Tears stung her eyes. She was so tired of this. She forced them back, focusing instead on Tom, on the reason she was here.

  He blinked and for a moment she saw her brother in his eyes. “I can get you out of here, Jenny, out of the Realm, or at least as far as the Edge. You have to leave, though. It isn’t safe for you.” Wasn’t that what Jack had said all along? Go home, Jenny. Leave. It isn’t safe.

  “Jenny?”

  Tom’s voice was different now, familiar, and at last she saw Tom, her Tom. Relief surged through her and brought a smile to her face, quickly replaced by a determined frown.

  “I’m not going without you. What else can she do to me now?”

  Tom sighed,
suddenly exasperated, and began to pace. “You’re a threat. If you continue to be a threat, she’ll kill you, drink your blood, eat your heart, and then she’ll…and then she’ll become you. She’s done it before. Countless times. With each May Queen she conquers. And she is not known for her patience.”

  Eat my heart? “But…” She remembered the queen’s stare, her strength and beauty. Nothing could harm such a woman. Nothing was a threat, especially not Jenny. “Why would she?”

  Tom stopped and pulled her to her feet.

  “You’re the May Queen. Your vision proved it. The forest found you, the king chose you, and the May Tree Throne accepted you, as your Jack must have known they would.”

  “My vision?” She stared at him in amazement. “How…how do you know what I—”

  Guilt reddened his face and he turned away. “Everyone saw, Jenny. It’s part of the magic. She peered into your mind and projected it as an—an entertainment for the court. She wasn’t expecting what she saw, though, and she’s displeased.” The coldness with which he said the last word made Jenny’s chest contract. “You’re the May Queen, little sister. Her rightful heir. One chosen by the land, by the Realm itself, found by the forest. And it’ll mean your death. When she’s ready, she’ll take your body, but you…you’ll be gone. Only the king himself can stop her. So far, he’s remained aloof. But from what you showed her, that’s all about to change. He knows, if Jack knew, for he’s bound to have told his king. And Oberon will come for you.”

  Exhaustion swept through Jenny like a sudden sickness, and she swayed on her feet. Tom turned just in time to reach a hand out to her. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I saw myself changing, becoming…her. Becoming— What is the May Queen?”

  Tom looked at her, his eyes serious.

  Jenny became scared. “Tom, what is the May Queen?”

  He dropped his hands to his sides. “Titania’s—Mab’s rival, one of the few creatures who can withstand her. Everything is tied to nature. The old is continually replaced by the new. Mab is a very old queen, Jenny, though she changes her name, alters her appearance at whim. She has ruled for a very long time. But it begins and ends with the May Queen.”