Dragonswood

by Janet Lee Carey

  The lady was glowing. “Is she the fairy queen?” I asked.

  Morralyn said, “For tonight.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Morralyn urged me onward. Ladies turned their heads as we passed. They hadn’t a care for me, but many tugged the hive mistress’s sleeve, begging for a new gown. She ignored them one and all.

  As many fey dined without as within. Knowing how cold I’d been outside, I wondered that they should choose to eat outdoors, but these were fey folk, accustomed to forest life. And although a frigid breeze blew through the meadow, my silky gown kept out the cold. I noticed no one wearing cloaks against the night, a testament to Mistress Morralyn’s art and to the flits’ shining weave.

  Three deer stepped round the tables, regal in their gait, the males’ antlers adorned in green leaves and red berries. There were foxes too, and wolves, which frightened me more than a little, but not as much as the brown bear scratching his side against a tree. The fey folk seemed fearless in their company, and indeed one small boy had the gall to order the bear about, saying, “Get out of my way, ya great oaf!” To my surprise, the bear stepped aside. I remembered the bear in Poppy’s dream. She’d been right; here the bears came right up to you.

  Morralyn sat on a pink-cushioned bench under a spreading oak and took a platter from an impish boy. Behind her bench I rocked on my feet. How could I find my father in such a crowd?

  Then I saw a man’s back, and started. The dark hair and broad shoulders were like Garth’s. It’s not him. You know he’s been locked up. Still I went for his table. The fey man turned just before I reached him. His striking face was more handsome than Garth’s, but I found his unworldly perfection less to my liking. I shied away, circling back to Morralyn.

  An urchin, beaming and filthy, brought me a platter stacked with food. I eyed the bright orange cheese suspiciously. There were no farmlands in Dragonswood that I’d heard of.

  “How came you by this?” I touched a wedge.

  “The farms near Oxhaven.”

  “Stolen?” I whispered. In Harrowton farmers came to market complaining of missing eggs, or cows milked dry; they’d blamed the fey for their troubles, but I’d not believed the gossip.

  Morralyn stuffed cheddar into her mouth. “Stolen, if you like, but cows milked by fairy hands never sicken.”

  She chewed thoughtfully, washed the cheese down with wine, and banged her chalice on the table. The empty chalice rang like a bell. A girl raced up puffing; she carefully poured Mistress Morralyn’s wine, then filled her second cup with honey. No one else seemed to be drinking honey, but then, Morralyn was plumper than most.

  Why hadn’t I seen him yet? As I took my seat on the bench, four minstrels passed playing pipes and mandolins. A sweet song, if a little haunting, that made me wish I could hear as well in my left ear as my right.

  I’d not yet taken a bite. Eating fairy food caused one to be fey-struck.

  Morralyn eyed my platter. “Eat, Tess. You’re a fey man’s daughter. It won’t enspell you.”

  I tried the wine first. I’d had an overpowering thirst; the coolness of the drink addressed my jangly nerves even as it lightened my head. I drank more, sighed, then tried one of the little cakes. I’d never tasted such delights. The round-faced maiden to my left with steel-gray eyes and bluebells in her dark hair looked me up and down as I ate, her lip curling as if my human smell offended. She leaned in a little. “I know you,” she whispered. “I saw you on the cliff.”

  My mouth full of cheese, I peered closer. I remembered her too, though last time I’d seen her she was flailing in the old dragon’s claws. So the dragon had brought her here to DunGarrow. “It was dark that night, but I saw you also.”

  She’d been burned before the dragon flew in. Were her legs very damaged? The fey had helped her, no doubt, and she was well enough to join the feast, but I’d yet to see her stand. I’d have asked about her burns if it weren’t so callous to do so.

  “I am Tess,” I said.

  “Tanya,” she said with a nod. “Half fey,” she added in a whisper. We looked at each other. I wondered what her story might be, how long she’d known, what the realization meant to her. Had she longed to come to DunGarrow? Had she heard whisperings? Felt strange tugging? But I couldn’t ask her such things here.

  By now many tables were deserted and folk were dancing. All the harder to find Father, I thought glumly. A motley juggler who’d swiped a stack of empty platters from two urchins tossed them in the air, first three, then four and six. Throwing out his hands, he let all fall in a loud crash. The fey children screamed, but the juggler laughed and snapped his fingers. Clickety-click the platters mended themselves and leaped into neat stacks. The fairy children clapped, the juggler bowed, his red curls bouncing like springs.

  When the juggler left, I saw my father at last, and no mistaking. He was the tall, broad-shouldered man in belted leather tunic and dark breeches, dancing with a lovely dark-skinned maiden in a shimmering purple gown. As Father turned his lady round, my heart sped. My curling hair is his, as are my green eyes, also my oval face and thick brows, which accentuate his merry eyes but hunch broodingly over mine.

  “There you’ve marked him,” said Morralyn.

  “He looks as noble as the king,” I whispered.

  “It wasn’t long ago Onadon was our king,” she said. “But Elixis rules now.” She pointed through the torch-lit archway into the Great Hall where King Elixis dined. I’d known him for the king at once when we’d passed through the Great Hall.

  My eyes were on my father again. Onadon. I heard magic in the name. Onadon of the water. Onadon of the forest.

  Morralyn took the uneaten food from my platter. I didn’t care. Here was my true father, the one I’d wondered about since I’d learned Mother’s secret. I wanted to go to him. Greet him as a daughter greets a father, but he’d not yet looked my way. Lithe on his feet and laughing, he danced with a new partner now. The fey folk changed partners often, but never mind that, my chest ached just watching my father, and my heart felt too large in my breast.

  Morralyn drank honey and said in a sticky voice, “If you look for some special affection, child, you are all too human.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fey men are fathers of all just as fey women are mothers of all.”

  The tune changed, Onadon switched partners again. The fey children dashed about, most now clearing the tables, stacking platters one upon the other in dangerously steep piles. “Don’t fey men know their own children?”

  “They might. Does it matter?”

  “Matter? Yes it matters!”

  Morralyn gave a little huff and licked her fingers to capture the last crumbs on her platter. “You have lived too long with humans,” she said. “We should have brought you here years ago.”

  “Why didn’t you then? Why let me grow up apart from all of you? Instead you abandoned me to be raised by a brute.”

  I stopped. I wouldn’t bare any more of my troubles here. Tanya scooted away from me, disturbed by my outburst, but Morralyn looked unimpressed.

  I tried to steady myself. “How can a man not know his offspring from another’s when his own wife bears them?” I asked.

  “Fey men do not own women, nor do fey women own men. Wedlock is a human custom.”

  I wanted my father to stop dancing, to turn and look at me with kind eyes, then tenderly cup his hands over my shoulders and draw me to him. I wanted him to hold me and welcome the girl he’d lost, the daughter he’d longed to meet but could not until now. Still he danced, and did not look around.

  He’s only thirty paces from me—a short walk. I stood, wavering. I will go to him, curtsy, and meekly say, “I am your long-lost daughter, Tess.”

  I could not move my feet.

  Onadon’s new partner danced with her back to me. Morralyn had made her an exquisite gown embroidered in red and pink roses. The pale yellow bodice matched the fey girl’s hair. I could see her gown was much finer tha
n mine. Why had she been favored so?

  Onadon spun his pretty partner round.

  I gasped and ran.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  POPPY. DANCING WITH my father! I raced across the meadow toward the castle. Morralyn sent a fey lad chasing after me to escort me to my solar. The guest room was not unlike the huntsman’s quarters, with two beds, a small, round writing table, and a mirrored wardrobe, though this one was high off the ground with a balcony overlooking the meadow.

  Alone with the fire lit, I paced bed to bed. Saints! What is she doing here? She can’t possibly be half fey, yet here she is prettily gowned and dancing with my father!

  My head swam. I kicked the rushes on the floor and tried to piece it all together. Poppy’s mother must have wed the wheelwright as soon as she knew she was with child. Beelzebub! Did my mother know? Had both girls slept with fey men and made a pact to keep the secret between them?

  Poppy’s mother died in childbed. Her secret died with her. I felt cheated to have the information come at me unawares when my only thought had been for my father.

  What fey power did she possess? Did she have fire-sight? Could she envision the future in the flames? I was sure she did not have my power. What then? Were there clues I’d missed? She did see the fey man riding on the dragon the night Tanya was snatched from the fire. And looking back, I remembered the time I’d found her walking in a trance through the snow. When I’d called, she did not hear me, and when I’d shaken her gently awake she’d cried, “North. Come north,” her eyes glassy, her lashes flecked with snow. So she’d heard the voices too, but powers?

  I went out to the balcony. Across the river, folk still danced. I couldn’t make out if Poppy was still there. My friend had herbing sense and healing skills. That could hardly be called a fairy power. Aside from that she was startlingly beautiful even in comparison to the fey maidens I’d seen tonight.

  Her beauty stunned men. We’d all witnessed her seductive allure, something fairy magic might explain. Even Garth had been drawn to her before we’d gone after Alice, though he’d seemed less taken with her once we returned. My heart softened a little. Perhaps Garth had only been enchanted like all the others. Could he have helped it if it was her fey power?

  I’d stepped back inside and closed the glass balcony doors when Poppy burst into the room.

  “Tess! Isn’t it wonderful?” She threw her arms around me. She was damp with sweat, and her breath smelled of sweet mead. “Aisling said you’re half fairy too, and that you might come to us here in DunGarrow soon. I didn’t believe her at first. I couldn’t imagine you a fairy’s child!” Hand over her mouth, she giggled.

  “I was just as surprised to see you,” I said.

  Two black paws poked out from under the bed. Tupkin slunk out. Rump up and front paws extended, he stretched, yawned, and jumped to Poppy. She swayed as she cuddled him. “There you are, my little soldier. Have you been good while I was out? How good, tell me, sir?” She’d drunk too much mead, I could see, and was babbling more than a little.

  “What’s your fey power, Tess? Is it your gift for drawing?”

  “What?” I’d never thought that a form of fey power, but it was a “gift,” as she’d put it, I supposed. Were there fine artists and craftsmen here? I glanced at the flowering vines painted around the wardrobe mirror.

  “Maybe,” I said. I was still stunned over finding her dancing with my father. She’d spoiled the moment when we were meant to meet. I wiped a disappointed tear from my cheek before Poppy could notice.

  Poppy put Tupkin on her pillow. “How many gowns has Morralyn made you?”

  “One.”

  “I have three.” She spread her arms wide. “Morralyn said I am the prettiest of all the fairies and the only one who can do her gorgeous gowns justice,” she said with a happy blush. Then out of concern for me: “You only just arrived, Tess. She will have the flits stitch you more gowns, I’m sure.”

  “Why?”

  “Sister, you’re a fairy princess.”

  Sister? Could it be? Dizzy, I sat on my bed.

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I didn’t guess I was half fairy, but I always knew or felt there was something… I mean,” she said deliriously, “but I never dreamed—”

  “Poppy,” I blurted. “Who is your father? Tell me. Is it… Onadon?”

  “No, my father is Elixis,” she whispered in wonderment. “King Elixis. Can you believe it? Not the wheelwright!”

  I sighed, relieved. “Not the wheelwright. And not the blacksmith for me. Have you spoken with your father?”

  “Oh, aye, a little. But he is busy being the fairy king.” Poppy flopped down onto the covers. She’s terribly drunk. I should tuck her in her bed and talk with her in the morning. I stood to do just that and had reached the writing table between our beds when she said, “I’m going to marry King Arden and be the next Wilde Island queen.”

  “What?” I gripped the chair back.

  She sat up. “You know the troubadour’s song about a prince marrying a fairy child? Turns out it’s true, all of it. It’s an old fey prophecy foretelling an alliance between the humans and the fey, and the fairies turned it into a song and gave it to a troubadour who thought he wrote the song himself. He sang it all across Wilde Island to prepare the people for the day when a fey girl should marry the prince.” She paused. “A half fairy, anyway. And it wasn’t the fairy’s fault that the king’s regent hated the song and had the troubadour hanged,” she added.

  “Hanged?” I was aware I’d been reduced to barking single words as Poppy went on, but it was all too much. My head pounded. I eased into the chair.

  Poppy said, “When my father, King Elixis, told me the troubadour was hanged, he said it was a terrible crime and humans are cruel. I told him I wasn’t cruel, and he said he knew that.”

  Hopping up, she studied her reflection in the oval mirror on the wardrobe door. “The fairies have been watching me all along,” she said, “gathering what news they might from the will-o’-the-wisps, or spying invisibly from Dragonswood, waiting for me to grow up and fulfill their wish for me, and here I am getting ready to marry King Arden.”

  If this song was a prophecy as Poppy said, had the fey intended for Poppy to grow up to fulfill it? Why bring me into it then? Why bring Tanya? I’d also heard their voices calling me north. And the dragon had dropped a turtle into Miller’s Pond to save me.

  Poppy talked on to her dim-lit reflection and mine, since she could see us both in the glass. “And since I’m going to marry him, you can marry his younger brother, Prince Bion, if you like, because you are half fey too, and we can all live together in the castle.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Poppy. You’ve had too much mead.”

  “I know exactly what I’m saying, Tess. Mead has nothing to do with it. Didn’t anyone tell you the plans they have for me?”

  “I just arrived.”

  “Oh.” She whirled around and dropped back onto her bed. “That’s true.” Poppy leaned against her pillow and yawned. “Well, now you’re here, you can learn all the courtly dances with me before I’m presented at the castle.” She sighed. “I danced and danced tonight,” she added.

  “I saw.”

  “You were at the feast?”

  “A short while.”

  “You should have stayed and danced too, Tess.”

  “I didn’t feel much like it.”

  “Oh.” Poppy looked confused.

  I walked out to the balcony, thought of her poor mother, who’d married the wheelwright, just as Mother married the blacksmith. They’d no choice but to marry straightaway, knowing they carried a half-fey child. Poppy’s mother died never getting the chance to know her daughter.

  Back inside, I asked, “If this is all true, weren’t you even a little angry to learn that the fairies had a plan laid out for you from the beginning? A plan you didn’t ask for or want?”

  Poppy turned onto her side. “Who says I don’t want it?”
/>
  “But did you ask for it? Were you consulted?”

  “Don’t spoil it, Tess.”

  “I don’t mean to spoil it. I’m happy you’re so content, only—”

  “Only what?” Her blue eyes held the candlelight.

  “It seems the fates have woven our futures without our knowing or asking. I don’t want to be a part of someone else’s plan. I want—” I choked up, unable to say what I wanted aloud or even to myself.

  Wind blew in from the balcony, bringing in the forest scents and the clean wet smell of the waterfall. The candle guttered and went out. I knelt by Poppy’s bed, loving her and fearing for her. She was like a girl dancing on a cliff’s edge. I saw the fall she might take if the fey betrayed her, only she couldn’t see it herself.

  At last the fairy’s mead caught up with her and my friend fell asleep. I covered her and sat on the edge of her bed with Tupkin. The fire was dead, the room dark. There were at least three half-fey girls, Poppy, Tanya, and me. Why so many? Was it insurance? One girl to replace another if she failed?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  IN THE FLIT room, Morralyn inspected my new red gown. Satisfied, she said, “You’re to meet Onadon by his fishing spot.”

  “Where?” I asked anxiously.

  She waved her hand. “The will-o’-the-wisps will show you. Go on.”

  We walked a long way past the waterfall, the river trail bending this way and that following the Harrow. It amazed me to think this same water flowed south another fifty miles or so through Dragonswood before it left the sanctuary, wending through Harrowton on its way to the sea.