The Treachery of Beautiful Things

by Ruth Long

  The one for whom she had worn this very gown. Or something like it.

  The one who controlled Jack.

  Jenny had but one protection. She closed her hand into a fist so tight, the iron jack jabbed into her skin, opening the cut again with its sharp points. Blood and iron…the strongest magic of all. Blood and iron mixed and the pain was a burr, bringing her back to her senses. Oberon stood less than a foot from her, so close that she could feel the warmth that rolled from his body, could smell the tang of salt-sweat. His hand, long-fingered and elegant, hovered just above her cheek, and even as she watched, his head dipped toward her.

  Jenny shied back before he could kiss her, and Oberon paused, a question stirring his endless eyes. If she leaned in to him now, she’d never want for anything again. Oberon would keep her safe and keep her out of Mab’s clutches. He would protect the Edge so that Tom would always be safe. He would fill her days with joys and pleasures that would be beyond anything she would otherwise know. He wanted her to come to him. He could force her, no doubt, enchant her or beguile her, but he didn’t. The May Queen had to be willing or the magic wouldn’t work. It was her choice. He could offer her anything, and deliver it.

  But there was something he couldn’t give her.

  The ghost of Jack’s kiss played on her lips. She remembered his body enfolding her, bringing her out of the dark cold of the river, back to the light and warmth of the forest.

  She couldn’t leave Jack like this, lost in the darkness. He needed the sun, he needed the trees.

  Oberon moved toward her, the bulk of his body dwarfing her own.

  Their lips met, but she felt nothing. His heart was as cold and empty as the winter wind.

  Oberon caught her shoulders and thrust her back from him, studying her at arm’s length.

  “You’ve the kiss of an innocent, Jenny Wren.” His liquid voice rumbled through her. “It’s almost as if you’re kissing another. Whatever are you doing here? And why do you not react to my kiss, Gwenhyfer?”

  “I—I came looking for—for Jack.”

  “Jack o’ the Forest? And what do you offer me in return?”

  She stretched out her hand and uncurled her fingers. Oberon recoiled, his eyes widening, the pupils pooling to fill them with blackness. His upper lip drew back in a snarl.

  “You threaten me?”

  She couldn’t show fear. Whatever she did, she had to hold firm. “No. But Jack is my friend. He rescued me. He took my necklace and gave me this in exchange. This is all I have left, but I’ll trade it for him. An iron jack for a forest Jack. My brother may be safe from Titania, but I can’t forsake Jack.”

  A slow smile spread over Oberon’s face, bringing his handsomeness forward once more. His eyes flushed green for an instant before resolving back to their endless black.

  “You snatched your brother from Titania? And you’d give me iron as a gift.” He laughed and turned away from her. “Iron is poison to our kind. Most metals are unless they are pure, like gold and silver. Even then, they must be given freely. And yet you come and offer me poison for my most prized knight.” He glanced over his shoulder. “It shows bravery, I suppose, or stupidity. And the iron explains your resistance to my will. But no matter. I want no payment for him. He isn’t going anywhere. He’s mine. And will remain so.” He turned and walked away from her.

  “No!” Jenny exclaimed, marching after him. “This is all I have. You can’t turn it down.”

  He twisted back to face her abruptly, brutal in his speed and agility. “Not so, Jenny Wren. Jack calls you the May Queen. If that’s true, you have much indeed to offer. So here is my bargain—a wager.” He smiled knowingly, a smile that made her stomach tighten. “Enter into a wager with me, Jenny Wren, and if you win, you can leave here with your Jack.”

  “And…and if I lose…”

  His fingers slid down the side of her cheek, too intimate, a caress that seemed intent only on claiming her. “Then no one goes anywhere.”

  The cavern unfolded before her, a vast, dark space lit by sparks of light in the gloom. Here and there, fires burned, vast jumbles of wood and flames that belched forth a thick and pungent smoke. The air itself seemed red around them, but farther on, all was darkness. She remembered her vision of the ball. This then was where it had been. She tilted her head back and stared upward. Roots of great trees twisted together and then spread out, like the ribs of a vast cathedral ceiling far above her. They merged again, twisting their way in and out of the rocks and earth, to form pillars all around the chamber. She was far beneath the forest. In the stony heart of the Realm itself.

  Oberon’s cold hand pressed into the small of her back, pushing her forward. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could just make them out, skirting the edges of the cavern, figures, hundreds of figures. Their eyes made those points of brightness she had seen. But they didn’t show their faces. She didn’t want them to.

  “What…what is this place?” she asked, ashamed of the hesitation in her voice. She glanced back at the King of Faerie.

  He grinned, his teeth very white in the darkness. “A waiting room,” he chuckled. “You asked me for Jack. It was a very polite request and one I’ll respect, if you can win him, but nothing’s free, nor without risk.”

  “This is part of your wager?”

  His hand moved to the curve of her neck and she flinched away. He laughed outright, and in that sound she truly heard the Amadán, the Trickster, the King of Fools. It sliced her nerves like a blade through paper.

  “This is my wager. All you have to do is find him, little one. Call his name and see if he can answer. Just find him and all the happily-ever-afters can be yours. Well, as many as you can expect with a Kobold. That’s not going to change.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Of course.” He gently wound a strand of her hair around his fingers. “But if you don’t find him, or can’t…or won’t…” His tone was possessive. “Then you’ll stay here, Jenny Wren. May Queen. You’ll be mine for eternity. My queen. You’ll accept that, accept me, and submit to my will.”

  She pulled herself free and faced him, a protest rising in her throat.

  “Those are my terms, Gwenhyfer. And you’re already here. I don’t even have to give you this much.”

  He used the oldest form of her name, ancient Welsh, the name that had become Guinevere, another lost queen. It meant the fair, white, and pure, all the things associated with the May Queen. Even her name, he seemed to say, marked her out as his.

  “Then why?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  He spread his arms wide. “To prove to you that I am a gracious lord. And a kind and generous master. Ask your friends. Ask Puck.” He laughed again, that dark and frightening laugh. “Ask your Jack.”

  He turned and walked away from her, the leafy cloak billowing out behind him.

  Jenny waited until the echoes of his laughter had died away, waited for her eyes to adjust more fully to this place of lies and fire-thrown shadows.

  One of the figures moved. She watched the familiar, fluid motions, the animal ease with which he slid into the light. Jack stepped toward her warily and she felt her whole self leap at the sight of him. But before she could move, another figure resolved out of the shadows, another Jack, so closely matched to the first that one of them could have been a reflection. And from the shadows another emerged, and another.

  Jenny backed up as more and more images of her Jack appeared. Her back met the gnarled surface of a door, rough and knotted like old tree bark. Everywhere she looked, she saw Jack, and each one gazed at her with his eyes like shining marbles, one blue, one green.

  “Jenny Wren,” said the nearest, fondly, and each of them repeated it, a hundred times over, the echoes taking up the sound in mockery. A heat burned behind her eyes, tingled in the bridge of her nose. Her throat tightened as if an invisible hand closed around it, choking the life from her.

  “Jack?” She slid down to the ground, the door’s rough surface tug
ging at her dress, scratching her back through the light fabric of flowers.

  “Trust your heart,” he’d said. But her heart was thundering wildly against her ribs. And each of these Jacks wanted to trick her, wanted to serve their master and so enslave her as well.

  “Jenny, listen to me,” said the nearest. He crouched down before her and shook his dark hair from his face, smiling his crooked smile. “Jenny, it’s not so bad, sweetling. Really. You just need to relax.” His hand touched her arm, but his touch was cold and hard as polished wood, not at all like Jack’s. She recoiled, scrambling to her feet.

  Not so bad? To be a servant without free will, to be a puppet, even to a lord who said he loved you…She gripped the tree-bark door behind her, digging her nails into the surface.

  Puck had said Jack was a tree spirit, a child of the wood, but he was trapped when his tree was felled. Oberon had carved a figure from the timber, a servant, a Kobold.

  “No,” she whispered as realization blossomed in her mind.

  A Kobold was a slave, kept in a case only to be let out to do his master’s bidding. And Oberon was his master, from the moment she had met him, now and always. Jack had no choice but to serve him.

  “What did you do, Jack? Did you do what he told you to? Is that why you changed your mind and helped me?”

  The ersatz Jacks gazed at her and murmured without comprehension, so many images of him, none of whom could know the real answer, none of whom would help her.

  “Did Oberon tell you to help me?” Tears rolled down her cheeks, salty on her mouth. “Or was it her? Did you bring me to Titania as Tom said only to have her betray you in return? Did she promise to set you free? Because you’re not free. Was this what you meant when you said they’d hidden your heart? Oh Jack, where did they hide your heart?”

  “Locked away,” he had said. Locked. Locket…

  She stumbled to her feet, her legs wobbly.

  A Kobold was locked away and the children were taught never to go near its cage. Their parents made toys, brightly colored, loud, terrifying—Jenny took a step forward, peering between the Jacks. Then another, pushing them aside so she could see better. And then another and another. She was running through the hall now, pushing Jacks out of her way, seeking desperately through the shadows at its edge.

  “Jack!” She yelled his name until her voice was hoarse. “Jack, where are you?”

  She fought her way through the crowd of imitations, their confused murmurs like the wind through leaves, over oceans, through mountains. Oberon must have summoned them all, pulled them out of every patrol, every duty, to be here, to deceive her, to trap her. He cared nothing for his borders, nothing for the Realm or its people. All that mattered was that he win.

  That he win her.

  The Jacks did nothing to hinder her. In fact, they suddenly seemed eager to get out of her way, to get away from the insane girl who was throwing herself into the darkness. Let them stand there, openmouthed. Let them stare. She was used to people staring. She didn’t care anymore. At the far end of the hall, she found what she was looking for and the very thing she had been dreading. Boxes were scattered haphazardly around the edge of the chamber, a hundred or more boxes, for a hundred or more Jacks. Garish colors splattered over each one and there was no way to tell them apart. She skidded to a halt, her frustration a nearly palpable fire in her chest that turned in a moment to ashes.

  “No,” she cried, and dropped to her knees. “No. Jack, help me. You have to help me. Please.”

  She remembered the feeling of the slim gold chain on her neck, the solid weight of the gold heart against her sternum, the rapid series of clicks it made as she ran it along the links when she was nervous. She remembered her only treasure. The place to keep her secrets.

  And the boy she had given it to.

  From the darkness she heard the ghost of Oberon’s laughter. It was the only answer. Jack was silent. Jenny closed her eyes against her tears.

  Jack slept without dreaming. Wood didn’t dream and dead wood even less so. When Oberon had shut him up in his prison, all thoughts and feelings had seeped away. Winter claimed him and he slept, his limbs hard and lifeless. He didn’t feel Jenny’s necklace clutched in his hand, but the metal chain entwined his fingers. He had held it close as he felt the change steal his life, his memories, his consciousness. The tiny heart pressed into his palm and the skin had molded around it in the moments before he could feel no more.

  Winter was all, winter that buried the smallest spark of life deep inside him, winter that made him hard and cold. He waited, hidden in his wooden heart, the box made of his heartwood. Like all seasons, winter had its time, and in that time it ruled all.

  But also like all seasons, it was subject to time. Winter had to end with the coming of spring. It had to yield, just as Jack had yielded to winter. Winter yielded to the coming of spring’s herald, the Wren, the May Queen.

  And from the first touch of spring, the oak burgeoned to new life, ready for summer, ready to be king and protector.

  The pendent heart warmed in his grip, the first touch of spring’s sun. The sap was rising, warming his body, returning life where life had fled.

  “Jack.” He could hear her voice like the distant fall of rain, the rain that like the sunshine fed the heartwood and brought forth new life. “Help me. You have to help me. I can’t find you.”

  His arm jolted, muscles spasming, the tendons snapping to rigidity. His fist slammed into the roof of his prison but did not break through. His eyes opened and he dragged in a desperate breath.

  “Jenny,” he tried to call, but his voice was too weak, no more than the scratching of twigs at a windowpane. “Jenny,” he tried again, to no greater effect. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fingers around the locket and slammed his fist into the wooden wall. “Jenny,” he cried as the fleeting newborn strength began to fade and he felt Oberon’s will reassert its hold. He was a prisoner, after all, a slave and subject to laws as old as the Realm of Faerie.

  “Jenny,” he breathed in defeat as the darkness of winter rose around him again, like fresh snowfall blanketing all sensations.

  Jenny. The voice was faint as a breeze through leaves. It could have been any of the other Jacks, hovering behind her, intent on and bewildered by her display. But as her body jerked to alertness, she knew it wasn’t. The thud sounded a second time, from the left, and she scrambled forward on all fours, unable to waste her time getting up. His voice came again, distant and in pain. Jenny froze, like a hunting cat, poised to track a sound, a scent. There was another thud, another anguished cry. She could picture his frantic eyes in the darkness.

  “Jack?” she called. “Jack, I can hear you. Once more, please—help me.”

  Self-disgust clawed at her. It was all she ever asked of him. Help me, Jack. Guide me. Save me.

  Now it was her turn to save him. She wasn’t going to fail.

  Jack hadn’t let her down. He’d done just as she had asked.

  “Did he never let you down?” said an insidious voice. She glanced around to see one of the Jacks kneeling behind her, his eyes like twin gas flames. “He let Titania capture you. She promised to free him, you know. When she didn’t, your Jack brought you here, to our master, as per his instructions.”

  “Jenny,” Jack whispered from one of the brightly colored boxes, his voice stretched with despair, with guilt. He believed them, even if she did not.

  “No. I asked him to bring me to the palace. He tried to fight Titania, to warn me. And he didn’t bring me here, I came myself.”

  “If he wasn’t here, would you have come? No, I don’t think so. He was always going to bring you here, whether he wanted to or not. That was his mission.”

  “You’re lying. You’d say anything right now.”

  The other Jack laughed the Amadán’s laugh. It spread through the hall, ricocheting off the walls in waves. And Jenny heard the thud again, saw the slight vibration of a colored box buried among many. She stumbled over and t
hrew herself on it before anyone could stop her. Taking it in her hands, she wrenched the lid open.

  chapter twenty-six

  Jack burst from the box, gasping for air. He pulled her into his arms, a brief and perfunctory embrace. But he was warm and vital, and his unmistakable scent surrounded her. It was him, really him. He drew the Jester’s sword, putting himself between her and the other Jacks.

  “Did they hurt you? Did he touch you?”

  No question as to who the “he” was. “No. I’m fine. We have to go.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I made a wager. If I found you, we could go.”

  “By the Elders, Jenny.” He turned toward her and his eyes glinted metallic with shock. “What if you hadn’t?”

  “Then we would have both stayed here.”

  “You still might,” said Oberon. The fires flared, bathing the chamber in their infernal light as he walked forward. “No one ever claimed I kept my word.”

  Jenny went cold. She should have guessed, should have thought…

  But Jack didn’t move. “Not so, my lord. You’re bound by your word. You always have been.”

  The king laughed, a hollow sound, and ignored Jack. Instead he smiled at Jenny with a calculating expression. “It could have been a perfect marriage, Gwenhyfer. It still could be.”

  “The May Queen chooses her king,” Jack interrupted.

  “Then let her choose, Jack.” Oberon spread his arms wide, palms up. “Jenny saw how Titania treats her people. She could change that, be the May Queen they deserve.”

  “I’ve seen many of her people,” Jenny said. “Maybe they have the queen they deserve.”

  But she didn’t mean that. She knew she didn’t. Stepping around Jack, ignoring his grunted protests, she faced the king, his knights lined up on either side of him. Every one of them looked like the boy she loved. And yet they didn’t. Couldn’t. Not one of them was really like him. They lacked so much. Her Jack alone was special. She had always known that.