by A. R. Kahler
“Your flesh?” Mab asks. “We may do with her as you wish, my daughter.”
I look at the woman who bore me and abandoned me. The woman who helped us bring down the Pale Queen and restore balance and order to the kingdoms. She stares at me with dull eyes, her memory burned out of her like ash in a husk.
“She is of no worth to anyone anymore,” I say. “Not even to herself. It would be the greatest honor for her to die here, now. As a hero.”
My mother nods from atop her throne and gestures me forward. I oblige and stand, walking slowly toward the bound woman. She doesn’t flinch when I withdraw my dagger, nor does she tremble when I bring it to her neck, the tip barely pressing her flesh.
“Vivienne Warfield,” I intone, my voice ringing through the chamber. “You have given the greatest sacrifice to the cause of Winter, and for that, we give you the greatest honor. To die at the feet of our beloved queen, at the height of your service, in full knowledge of your deeds. May your memory live for eternity.”
The cut is a simple flick of the blade, enchanted steel slicing through flesh like air. Vivienne doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t even bleed. The magic stills her heart and seals the wound, and she crumples to the floor.
“We have much to celebrate today, my daughter,” Mab says. As she descends her throne, the body of Vivienne fades into the floor, becoming nothing more than a pile of snow.
Mab places her hand on my shoulder, and I look from the snow to her cold green eyes.
“Today, our kingdom rises anew. And you, my daughter. You are my prized warrior, my chief in command. It is time you moved into your rightful place by my side. Help me rule, and together, we will make both the worlds of Faerie and Mortal our gardens.”
She squeezes my shoulder. Ice shatters across my garb at her touch, but it doesn’t burn or freeze. It transforms. Magic cascades over my beaten jacket, turning cracked leather supple, silver studs to shards of ice. My torn jeans become whole, and even the weapons I bear are transformed, gilded, empowered. When the magic is done, she waves her hand and the snow that had once been Vivienne whirls up before her and becomes a sheet of mirrored ice.
The woman I see is not the girl I’m used to. She stands before me looking every inch a regal princess, one to inspire fear and respect. The shadows under my eyes are gone, my charred platinum hair is once more lustrous, and my clothes befit a queen. But it’s not the physical changes that make me stand in awe of myself; it’s the bearing, the poise. The pride. Shoulders back, chin high, expression cold.
Mab smiles at my side.
“Yes, my daughter. You are now my equal. And I am proud to let the world see it.”
“Interesting,” comes a high-pitched voice behind me.
I turn, and the illusion shatters like ice on a pond. I’m back in the woods, back to staring at the damned pixie.
“I do not think that is something Mab would ever say,” Princess Honeybutt, or whatever her name is, says. “To care so much for someone’s praise—no wonder your heart is torn. You yearn for two things you truly cannot have.”
Okay, it’s one thing to think that, and it’s another to have an annoying faerie confirm it. I start walking. I don’t know where I’m going, but I do know I’m not staying here.
“Why do you run?” she calls, flitting to my side.
“Because I’m on a job.”
“But it does not sit right within your heart,” she says sadly. “Why would you do what you do not desire?”
“Because I’m contracted to do it.” I glare at her. “I have a responsibility.”
“Not here, you don’t.”
I pause.
“What are you talking about?”
She floats in front of me, a sad smile on her face.
“In Tír na nÓg, you may do or be whatever you dream. This is the land of your heart’s deepest calling. Here, you are not bound to duty.”
“This is a faerie contract. It’s not something I can just duck out of.”
“Mab’s magic holds no sway here,” she says. Is it my imagination, or is there venom in her voice at Mab’s name?
“Are you serious?”
“I am Fey. I cannot lie.”
I close my eyes and brace myself for the pain. I envision just staying here, calling off the hunt. Letting my mom drift away and the Winter Kingdom fall into emptiness. Letting myself give way to dreams and fancy.
The agony of going against my contract never comes. I’m not struck to my knees by a blow to the heart. My lungs don’t contract with fear and pain. Instead, the image floats through my mind like golden silk—the idea of staying here forever, of letting my responsibilities drift away to be picked up . . . maybe by someone else, maybe not. And not giving a shit. About any of it. Because in here, I could live any life I wanted.
“Mab cannot offer you anything like this,” the princess whispers in my ear. “You know it to be true. Even if you succeed, you will be naught but her assassin. Is that truly the life for a mortal child? One who lives and breathes and bleeds to be loved and admired?”
I feel her hand lightly on my cheek, and when I open my eyes, I’m not in the forest, but in a fancy restaurant, the kind with dim lighting and candles on white-linen-covered tables. Roxie sits before me, swirling a glass of red wine in one hand while she laughs at whatever joke I just told. Her black dress hugs every curve of her body, the candle making her dark skin dance. When her laughter settles, she looks into my eyes and her smile deepens.
“Thank you, for this,” she says.
“For this?”
She gestures with the wineglass. “This, all this. You didn’t have to. It’s not like it’s a special occasion.”
“You’re a special occasion, Roxie,” I reply. “Besides, you deserve to be treated like a queen.”
“And you do so splendidly.”
I feel myself smile and blush and have to look away before I get too lovesick. We’ve already gone through a full bottle of wine. And although that’s normally barely enough for me to feel a buzz, being with Roxie is a whole different type of intoxication; around her, everything is amplified. Everything goes right to my head.
“We should be celebrating you, fool,” she says. She reaches over the table and clinks her glass against mine. “It’s not every day you get a promotion.”
I shrug and grin at her. “It’s my mom’s company. It’s not a big deal.”
“Vice president is a pretty big deal,” she says. “It doesn’t matter if your mother’s in charge. She sees something in you. The same thing I do. You have talent and promise, and you’re going to take it far.”
“This, coming from the girl who’s about to leave me for a month.”
She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her wine.
“I’m coming back, and you’re coming down for the Cali leg.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Even if I do now have a bunch of extra important vice president responsibilities. I’d travel to the ends of the earth to watch you sing. Call me your Oedipus.”
She laughs again, and then the waiter brings over the chocolate torte and sets it between us.
“It’s Orpheus, my dear,” she says. “Oedipus is a completely different story. In any case, we’ll have a much happier ending. To us.”
“To us. And happy endings.”
She smiles, and I feel that blush come back, but I don’t fight it off this time. I look her right in the eye until it’s her turn to look away, feigning sudden interest in the dessert.
“You’re amazing, Roxie,” I whisper.
“Not half as amazing as you.”
I reach my hand across the table, and then the table is gone, and I’m reaching out into empty air.
“You love doing this, don’t you?” I growl at the faerie hovering beside me. I fiercely will away the tears that are trying to form in my eyes. I will not be weak. Not here. Not now. Sweet as she may pretend to be, this faerie isn’t on my side.
“Doing what?” she asks sweetly
.
“Torturing me.”
“I didn’t realize I was harming you,” she replies. She actually seems a little shocked.
“Please. Showing me all these illusions, tempting me to stay. You get a real high out of this, don’t you? Let me guess: you thrive off the broken dreams of mortals.”
“We do no such thing. We live off the truest dreams mortals have—the dreams closest to their hearts. And here, in Tír na nÓg, you can live those dreams. You can spend eternity in whatever life you wish. In fact, you can try as many lives as you like.”
“And what, waste away while you suck out my soul? Wait here while the rest of the world dies? Just so I can live a lie?”
Her small eyes narrow. “You of all people should know that dreams and reality are one and the same. Who is to say if we wake from the dream, or into it?” She holds up her hand. “I could give you any life you wish, Claire. Whatever your heart desires, it will be yours. Fame? Love? I could give you a life of luxury or one steeped in blood. It’s yours. All you need do is cease this petty war and stay here.”
“Wait. What?”
“I told you, you could have whatever you like—”
“No, you mentioned the war. What stakes do you have in this?”
She goes silent.
I take a step toward her and she flutters away. It’s taking a lot of control not to reach for a dagger. It would make her talk, but it wouldn’t improve my chances for getting out of here alive.
“Answer me, Princess,” I say. “Why would you want me to stay here when finding my mother is what’s supposedly going to save all of Faerie?”
And then things click.
“She made a deal with you, didn’t she?” I do go for a knife then. One specially made to kill Fey.
Again, the princess says nothing, which tells me everything. When you can’t lie, direct yes or no questions are a bitch.
“That’s why you guys aren’t struggling.” I glance around. Sure, it’s just woods, but I can tell the place is thriving. In Faerie, the world around you tends to change when things get bad. This place definitely isn’t hurting from the Pale Queen. Which means . . . “The Pale Queen was here. You talked to her. And she told you to keep me occupied. I was told Faerie would die and the mortal world would collapse if I didn’t kill the Pale Queen. What’s your story?”
She shakes her head. “We do not fall prey to the intrigues of Winter and Summer. That is where the path of Tír na nÓg aligns with that of the Pale Queen. But that is the only involvement we have in her crusade. We are not fighters. We live on—”
“On Dream, yes. Just like the rest of the Fey.” Now that I can question my charge, it’s hard to do anything but. “So if the Pale Queen succeeds in overturning Winter and Summer, what do you get?”
“Long have mortals been bound by the rules that Mab and Oberon created, and long have we Fey followed suit. The Pale Queen offers a new future, a different set of rules. But Tír na nÓg has always stayed apart from politics. I told her, we are not interested in your war. And she told us that we were not a threat, that she had no quarrel with us.”
“What about me?” I ask. “Why are you so intent on keeping me here?”
She doesn’t answer for a moment, and I assume I’m going to have to start using the knife.
“It is not for the Pale Queen that we wanted to keep you here,” she finally relents. “But because . . .”
“What?”
“Because, when your mother came through here, all those years ago, we tried to give her a better life. We have seen what Mab did to her. The life poor Vivienne is left to live. We wanted to make it better.”
“You’ve seen her?” I ask. “She’s been through here?” She doesn’t answer the question, not directly.
“We failed her. We were unable to give her a pleasant dream, and even now her own dreams are shattered, clouded things. We had hoped that in giving you the same offer, we could right the wrong we did unto her.”
“Is. She. Here?” I demand.
“She . . .”
I focus my attention back on the ring. And sure enough, I feel her. Close.
“You are going to take me to her.” I hold the dagger up to her, as though that could force her to do anything in her own kingdom.
“I have seen your heart,” she says. “I cannot let you harm Vivienne. Not after what she has been through.”
“Then weave her a better dream,” I say. I begin walking, following the pull in my gut. I expect the woods to change, for new memories or dreams to leach into my consciousness. But they don’t. Clearly, she realizes I’m done playing games.
“Why are you doing this?” the faerie asks. She flutters beside me. “Here, you both are safe. She wanted sanctuary. That is what we gave her. Why would you destroy that?”
“The magic binding her is fading, or did you not notice? She’s going to die no matter what.”
“Not in here,” the princess says. I actually stop. Her words strike me like stones. “Tír na nÓg is its own entity. Vivienne could live here forever, lost in her happy daydream. And you . . . Your contract holds no sway here. You don’t have to harm her. You don’t have to fight. You two could live here. Together. Happily. Forever. No other person, faerie or mortal, could offer so much. You know this.”
“I wouldn’t have to kill her?”
“You have already seen that the magic binding you has no power here.”
Her words hit home stronger than I want to admit. I drop to my knees, overwhelmed by this warring sense of burden and release. This was the way out all along; I don’t have to kill my mother. She doesn’t have to die. Princess Meadowsweet could create a new life for us, a different dream.
“We could live together,” I say. I don’t know if it’s to myself or to her. “She could be a real mother. And I could be a real daughter.”
The faerie hovers by my shoulder. Her words drip soft honey.
“I could make the rest of your life feel like nothing but the dream of a dream. You would never age, not physically, but you could live a thousand lives with her. You could be the daughter you always wanted to be. Could feel the love you’ve always wanted to feel. You could be safe.”
“Did she put you up to this, too?” I whisper. “The Pale Queen? Did she tell you to try and keep me here?”
“She said only that you were no threat to her, and that we could take you in to right the wrongs we’d done by letting Vivienne go free years ago. It is our way to make amends. Let us gift you this. Let us make it right, by giving you the future you so desire.”
I know I should say no. Nearly twenty years of training—I should have my dagger to the faerie’s throat.
I can’t move, though. I can’t find the spark.
I could have a home.
“Take me to her,” I whisper. “Please.”
Nineteen
The princess doesn’t play any more games.
She reaches down to take my hand and help me to my feet, which feels strange since she’s the size of my palm, but like the faerie bartender Celeste, she’s packing some hidden strength and magic. She doesn’t let go of my pinkie as she guides me through her kingdom. I have no doubt there’s a faster way to my mother; she wants to give me the grand tour.
We pass over hills and through glades, wend our way down cobblestone paths that roll along brooks and ponds that glimmer in the sun like, well, honey. Birds flutter through the air, their song as sweet as flutes. Although the place is green, it is nothing like Oberon’s kingdom, which always felt like something from the Midwest. This is a verdant playground, everything green and gold and grey, like the Scottish countryside. Minus the rain.
I don’t pay much attention to the scenery, though. Even if a part of me is repeating this could be my life, I’m focused on the woman waiting for me at the end of this walk. My mother.
Hope blooms in my chest. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. It is as warm and intoxicating as the sunlight in the trees, and just as foreign to my Wi
nter-hardened skin.
We could live here. We could let the rest of the world go to shit and live here in this Eden. Whatever we dreamed, we could create. I wouldn’t have to kill again. I wouldn’t have to wonder again. I’d know what it felt like to be loved. I’d know what it felt like to have a home. I’d never fall prey to a contract or faerie ploy again.
Finally, the path turns, and we find ourselves at the edge of a low hedge maze, the topiary reaching just to my knees. Viv sits in the middle of the maze, a tiny golden faerie floating around her. Vivienne is laughing, wearing the exact same smile as when I saw her on the trapeze.
And for the first time since I’ve started this mission, I let myself smile at seeing her happy. Because here, I don’t have to end it.
I walk forward, stepping over the hedges and ignoring the maze. My mother doesn’t look up at me, not at first. When she does, the faerie flits away, and it’s just the two of us in here. She brushes the dust off her knees as she stands.
Her eyes.
Gods, her eyes when she sees me.
Her smile widens, and her eyes fill with tears.
“Claire,” she gasps.
I don’t expect it.
She runs toward me, and before I know it, her arms are wrapped around me and she’s crying and laughing, and I’m doing the same.
I have never been hugged. Not like this. But my body knows how to respond.
“My baby,” she cries. “My baby girl.”
“Mom.” The word comes out as a choke. This time, I don’t fight off the tears. I don’t have to be cold and hard here. I don’t have to be strong.
This is my mother. And she knows me.
“How?” I manage. It’s all I can say. I’m not used to trying to talk through tears. I’m not used to letting myself cry this hard.
“I don’t know,” she replies. “But being here . . . I remember. I remember you being taken away. And now I’ve found you, and that’s all that matters.”
All that matters. It’s all that matters.
“How did you find me?” she asks.
“I just knew. I could follow you anywhere.”
“I’m so glad you did. We’re here now. We can be a family.”