by Jim C. Hines
Grass and trees grew right up to the edges of the chasm, and in some places, the trees actually clung to the vertical stone, maintaining an impossibly precarious hold. As they flew over the crevasse, Danielle could see water at the bottom, a ribbon of sky-blue glass.
“There it is,” Snow said, pointing.
Karina veered west, and Danielle saw it: Fairytown. A huge wall drew a rough circle on either side of the chasm. At the center, a silver bridge joined the two halves of the fairy city. From here, the bridge appeared to be made of silk and spiderweb. Two castles stood on either side of the bridge. The one to the north was a wonder of white spires and majestic curves. To the south was an equally magnificent structure of ebony roofs and golden buttresses.
In some places, the land seemed almost mundane: the crowded greenery of the woods, an open field where a herd of cattle grazed. Other parts of Fairytown were like images from a dream. A small lake of ice shone like a jewel in the sun. Pink trees crowded around a sparkling path leading to the ebony palace.
Karina flew lower, toward the northern wall.
“Can’t we land inside?” Danielle asked.
“Look up,” said Snow.
Danielle moved to the side, squeezing next to Snow and pressing her eye to the wall of the basket. Long wisps of cloud drifted past overhead, but she saw nothing more except—
Wait. Several of those wisps had turned, mirroring Karina’s flight.
“Cloud striders,” Snow explained. “They can conjure lightning powerful enough to turn away a dragon.”
“Don’t worry,” Talia added. “They probably wouldn’t bother to use lightning on a nuisance like us. They’d just eat us instead.”
No doubt similar guardians protected Fairytown against those who tried to enter through the river below.
Danielle braced herself as Karina dove toward the wall. It wasn’t quite like falling, but Danielle’s stomach still made a valiant attempt to climb out of her chest. Beside her, Talia clasped her eyes shut and muttered in another tongue.
Wind whistled through the basket. The trees grew larger. A brown strip of beaten earth flashed past, then returned as Karina shifted direction. They followed the road, swooping lower and lower, so fast Danielle thought they would crash. The basket shook as Karina pumped her wings. Danielle held her breath. Beside her, Talia’s fingers gripped the basket, her body tense as steel.
They touched down so gently that Danielle only knew they had landed because Karina’s wings stopped flapping.
Snow was already standing to unbuckle the straps at the top of the basket. Danielle climbed to her feet to help, grimacing at the cramps in her thighs. Soon, cool air rushed in.
Snow tossed the bags out, then scrambled after, tumbling to the ground in an undignified heap. Danielle’s landing was no more graceful. She hit the earth hard, then stumbled toward a cluster of dandelions at the side of the road.
“What’s wrong?” Talia called out. Moving slowly, but still with more grace than Danielle could achieve on her best day, Talia slipped out of the basket and somersaulted to her feet on the road.
“That hawk needs a chamber pot.”
By the time Danielle returned, Snow and Talia had finished unpacking. “Where do we go now that we’re here? Do we need to inform the fairy king and queen?”
“Not if we can avoid it,” Talia said. “They’d make great proclamations of their innocence and accuse us of trying to smear their names. Knowing fairies, they’d probably suggest we had arranged the whole thing ourselves in order to ruin them.”
Danielle adjusted her sword and fixed her belt. “That’s madness.”
“That’s fairy politics,” Snow said. “Don’t worry, I have a friend who should be able to help us.”
Danielle barely heard. Now that more urgent needs had been taken care of, she had finally turned her attention to the wall of Fairytown.
Even at her full height, Danielle would have found the wall an imposing sight. It was easily twice as high as the palace wall back home. Only instead of stone and mortar, this was made of vines and thorns.
The largest of the vines were thick as trees, with rough bark giving them the brownish color Danielle had seen from the air. The thorns varied in color from dark purple to almost pure black. The smaller thorns shone like liquid. The largest were the length of full spears. These were duller in color, and had a tendency to flake near the base.
Danielle turned to Talia, whose jaw was tight. “Are you all right?”
“Fairies like to manipulate living things,” Talia said. “People, animals, plants . . . they’re easier to shape and control than cold rock. I’m told the hedge of thorns became quite popular after my imprisonment.”
The skeleton of a dog or wolf hung a short distance in, suspended on two medium-sized thorns. A family of sparrows had built a nest in the rib cage.
“I’ve seen it before,” Talia continued. “Snow and I were here a year or so back, chasing a spy from Silvershell Port. He had a magical belt that let him transform into a donkey. He’d been hiding out in the stables for close to a year before Snow caught on. We spent a day tracking him around Fairytown, less than a stone’s throw from this wall.” Under her breath, so low Danielle barely heard, she added, “Hated it then, too.”
“Did you catch him?” Danielle asked.
“It was six months at the most before I discovered him,” Snow said, walking over to join them. “He lured us to the chasm south of Fairytown, then changed into his donkey form and tried to kick us over the edge.” She grinned. “Let’s just say the ass-kicking didn’t go quite the way he had hoped.”
“If I’d known how many times you were going to make that joke, I’d have pushed you after him.” Talia finished strapping her short sword to her belt, swiveling it around so the hilt rode in the center of her lower back. Her whip went into a small sheath on her hip.
“You’re no fun.” Snow pressed one of Trittibar’s magical spores into Danielle’s hand. “Eat up.”
The spore felt like a thin-shelled seed. Snow was already chewing hers. Talia tossed hers into the air, catching it in her mouth.
Danielle followed suit. The shell crunched open as soon as it touched her tongue, spilling dry, rounded nodules that tasted bitter and sour, like mushrooms gone bad. She forced herself to swallow.
“You might want to sit down,” Snow said. She ignored her own advice, spreading her arms as she began to grow. Her feet pressed into each other, and her arms whirled madly as she fought for balance. She staggered sideways. With a happy shriek, she tumbled into the grass, giggling madly.
Talia simply balanced on the toes of one foot. Her other foot rested lightly on her thigh. That would be the fairy gift of grace. She held their bags in her arms, and kept her eyes shut as Trittibar’s magic restored her and their belongings to normal size.
Following Snow’s advice, Danielle sat with her legs extended as the magic took effect. Even so, she had to wiggle and squirm as her body spread across the earth. She had the strangest sensation of falling up, and her fingers dug into the dirt for security. She held her breath and shifted her weight, trying to keep the dirt from staining her clothes as her limbs stretched.
By the time she stopped moving, Talia had already grabbed one of the waterskins. She rinsed and spat. “Fairy magic tastes foul.”
Snow brushed dirt and grass from her clothes. Streaks of green stained her sleeve and back, but a little vinegar would take that right out.
Karina flew to the wall, landing lightly on one of the outer thorns. She spread her wings and cocked her head.
“Thank you,” said Danielle. “You must be hungry after flying for so long.” The little falcon had crossed half the island in less than a day. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find food on the way home. Please thank Trittibar for his help.”
With a soft screech, Karina launched into the air. Danielle watched her disappear into the fading sunlight, then turned back to the wall of thorns. “How do we get in?” she asked. “Th
ere’s no gate, no guards or doors.”
“It’s safer this way,” said Talia. “Doors can be broken. Fortunately, Trittibar gave us the password.” She strode toward the wall, her spine straight as a spear. When she was close enough to touch the nearest thorns, she raised her voice and said, “Diglet. Diglet. Diglet.”
“What do you want?”
Danielle jumped. Standing on the road beside Talia was a little blue man with oversized pointed ears and a tangled nest of black hair: a goblin. His skin was a much darker shade than Brahkop’s had been. Yellow fangs curved up from his lower lip, giving him a permanent grin. He wore a vest of soft purple leather with crystal buttons. Matching purple ribbons decorated his black trousers. A single short knife hung at his hip.
“Who are you?” Danielle asked.
“I’m Diglet, of course.” Oversized yellow eyes studied Danielle. “And who might you be?”
“We need to enter Fairytown,” Talia said, before Danielle could answer. “That’s all you need to know.”
Diglet sniffed. “No need to be rude, Your Highness. I’m just doing my job.”
“If you know she’s a princess, why did you want to know who we were?” Danielle asked.
Diglet stepped closer, sniffing again as he neared Danielle. “Commoner by blood, but. . . .” His bulbous nose wrinkled. “You married a noble, I take it? Got yourself knocked up with a little princeling, from the smell of it.”
Danielle folded her arms, trying to quell a rush of embarrassment. Would everyone in Fairytown be able to smell her condition?
Diglet was already moving on to Snow. “Nobles all. But that doesn’t tell me who you are or why you need entry into Fairytown.”
“I’m sorry,” Snow said, feigning confusion. “I don’t remember where in Malindar’s Treaty it specifies that a member of the servant caste is entitled to question human nobles before allowing them entry into Fairytown. But I do remember on page nine, section four, where those fairies attempting to deny nobles rightful entry shall be subject to punishment up to and including being bound in chains and flung into the chasm by the Dark Man himself.”
“Easy now,” said Diglet, raising his hands. “Ain’t nobody denying nothing to no one. I was curious, that’s all. It’s not every day we get three princesses showing up at our wall. I’ll be happy to escort you through the thorns. You, too, Highness,” he said to Danielle.
“Good.” Talia folded her arms. “Shall we get on with it?”
Diglet took a small step back. “About that.” He glanced around, looking like a cornered animal. “Your friends can enter. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait here.”
Talia reached behind her back, whipping her short sword free so fast the goblin yelped. “I am Princess Talia Malak-el-Dahshat. My blood is every bit as noble as my companions’. You have no reason to detain me, goblin.”
“Nobody’s questioning your blood,” Diglet said. His voice had jumped in pitch, and he kept backing away until one of the thorns jabbed his neck. “Trouble is, you’ve been fairy-cursed.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Whatever was done to you, the stench of it still lingers in your blood. You offended someone with a fair lot of power, Talia Malak-el-Dahshat, and I’m not about to let you—”
“I offended?” Talia repeated, her voice barely a whisper. Her sword shone in the fading sunlight.
“I’m sure that’s not what he meant,” said Danielle.
“Not at all,” said Diglet. He reached up and gave his ear a nervous twist. “I’m sure it was nothing but a misunderstanding. This sort of thing happens all the time. Human maidens seducing fairy princes or—”
Snow caught Talia’s arm and pulled her away from the goblin. “Diglet has a point. There’s a subsection of the treaty which gives them discretion in barring those who have been found guilty of crimes against fairy citizens.”
“I’ve committed no crime,” snapped Talia. She glared at Diglet. “Yet.”
The goblin folded his arms. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. You’ve been cursed by a fairy far stronger than myself. I’ll not be the one flung into the hedge for allowing a fairy foe to wander freely throughout our home.”
“I’ll vouch for her,” said Danielle. She pointed at Snow. “We both will.”
“That’s nice and decent of you, but who are you to vouch for her?” Diglet smirked as he waved at Danielle’s clothes. “Your blood says you’re royal . . . barely. But your outfit says you spend more time playing in the dirt than sitting on any throne.”
His words carried little sting. All her life, Danielle had been subject to far worse. “I am Princess Danielle Whiteshore.” The name still sounded strange on her tongue.
Diglet stared. “Who?”
With a sigh, Danielle said, “Cinderella.”
“Oh, right. The one with the glass shoes.” He cocked his head. “How did you manage to dance in shoes like that? Sounds horribly uncomfortable.” With a leer, he added, “Or maybe there wasn’t much dancing, eh? At least not the kind that needs shoes.”
Danielle turned to Talia. Over the past month at the palace, she had listened to enough pompous, overblown politicians to learn the pattern of their speech. “Princess Talia, do my ears deceive me, or did this goblin just cast a most denigrating insult upon the name of Whiteshore? To imply I am little more than a tavern whore, or that the prince’s taste would run to such?”
“Now wait, that’s not what I—”
“I believe he did, Princess Danielle.” Talia’s grin was feral.
“I heard it, too!” Snow piped up.
“A most grievous slight against my honor,” Danielle said. “Just as you insulted the honor of my friend, Princess Talia.” She shook her head. “Queen Beatrice will be most displeased. As will your own rulers, I suspect.”
“You can’t tell my queen anything if you can’t reach her.” Diglet twisted and hopped backward, past the outer vines. He almost seemed to dance as he slipped deeper into the hedge. “I’d warn you not to follow. The thorns don’t like strangers. Sorry, Princesses. That one’s fairy-cursed, no mistake about it, and the queen’s had too much trouble with mortals in the past. We’re under strict orders. You can circle around to the king’s side, but I doubt his dwarves will give you a better welcome.”
Danielle waved a hand at Talia, who lowered her sword. Diglet was right. He was only doing his job. A thankless job at that. A single goblin, sent to deny those who sought to enter Fairytown. Few would bother to thank such a creature, but how many, upon being denied, would take their frustrations out on him? “How did you become the guard of this hedge, Diglet?”
Diglet shrugged. “A group of bandits killed Pirrok when he wouldn’t let them through. The rest of us drew sticks.”
“You drew the short stick?” Danielle guessed.
“Nah. Grint did. Then he pummeled me and broke my stick so it was shortest.”
Danielle smiled. “Grint sounds like he would have gotten along with my stepsisters.” Well, no. Her stepsisters would sooner die than be seen with the likes of a goblin. Still, the bullying was the same. She wondered what other jobs Diglet had been forced to do. Cleaning up after the others? Preparing their meals? And he wouldn’t have had a loving spirit to help him escape his fate. What noble would fall in love with a goblin, taking him away from this life? Most likely he would keep guarding the hedge until someone like Talia grew irritated enough to run him through.
“The treaty says you can refuse to let Talia enter,” Danielle said. “It doesn’t say you must. What could we do to change your mind?”
“You could tell your friend to put that sword away, for one thing,” Diglet snapped.
Danielle waved a hand at Talia, who scowled, but obeyed. “What if we paid you?”
Diglet snorted, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Goblin guards don’t take bribes,” he said haughtily.
Danielle studied the goblin, the way his gaze kept shifting to the ground, the way his shoulders tended to slump. “No, of course you don’t. Bec
ause Grint and the other goblins would take it away from you.”
“Something like that.” He fingered the buttons of his vest. “Grint would steal the clothes off my back if he thought they’d fit.”
In a way, it was brilliant. Diglet couldn’t be bribed. If they killed him, it wouldn’t change anything. They would still be stuck outside the wall, and the other goblins would simply choose the next unfortunate soul to take Diglet’s place.
“What if we were to give you something truly valuable?” Danielle asked. “Something the other goblins couldn’t take away?”
Diglet stood at the edge of the hedge and reached toward Danielle. “Everyone lock hands, and don’t let go, not unless you want to spend your final days spit-ted like a pig.”
Danielle twined her fingers with the goblin’s. His hand was cool to the touch, rough with calluses and warts. His black nails were bitten ragged and scratched her wrist. Snow took Danielle’s other hand, and Talia came last, having thrown their bags over one shoulder.
“Come on,” Diglet said. He ducked beneath the first vine and began walking through the hedge. “Mind your step. The thorns know me, so they won’t go out of their way to skewer you. But if you step on one, it’ll go right through your foot, and once those babies go in, they don’t come out.”
Danielle hunched and twisted, trying to watch every direction at once. Sharp thorns caught her sleeve, but they didn’t break the skin. A thorn like a curved sword tangled her hair, then flexed back on itself, allowing her to slide free.
“Don’t worry, that’s just the hedge’s way of reminding you who’s boss,” Diglet said. “So long as you’re with me, you’re safe. Probably.”
Danielle clutched the goblin’s hand more tightly, both for protection and for balance. The vines were thickest on the ground, and it would be easy to fall as she turned and twisted after Diglet.
The air was darker here, and it carried a foul smell, like spoiled meat. She saw a line of black ants crawling up a vine as thick as her wrist. A thorn had broken away, and the ants swarmed over a crust of dried sap that looked like an old scab. Occasionally she saw bones or scraps of metal, though there were fewer and fewer the farther they penetrated.