Except the Queen
Page 33
Sparrow and Robin are joined now, and the Council has decreed a new house, a new clan that signals the union between fey and mortal with rights afforded unto it in the world of Faerie. The Queen was eloquent about that—as were the crones of course, it being a lesson their kind learned long ago while we were hiding behind our closed borders. Alone each world will destroy itself, but twined together we can rebuild the strands that once wove our histories. Can you imagine, dear sister, a return at last of the goblin markets?
It gives me an odd sense of accomplishment, of strength. Power shared is power restored. Even the Dark Lord has agreed to a limited truce and keeps Red Cap on a very short leash. His bloody hat is barely pink now. I think he is not long for our worlds. As for Lankin, I have not seen him, though a sprite whispered in my ear that he has been imprisoned in a box of bloodstone that is kept in the Queen’s treasury. However, a boogan told me flatly that was wrong and that Lankin had been chopped into a million pieces and fed to the fishes off the coast of Manx. So who knows?
I am happy enough here. I am still recovering from my wounds and Jack, my beloved Jack, tends me. The courts have allowed him to stay as my consort, though there is nothing of that unequal nature in our friendship. I watch him at his work, the sprites hovering around him, singing their surprised joy as he creates his sculptures. He whistles those stolen tunes as he works, for he refuses to change. I suspect he may have a bit of fey blood somewhere in that strange past, but I will never say that to him.
Like you, when offered the chance to return to my youthful self I chose not to. I rather like who I am now, though I admit to having made a few improvements. However, I am no sylph for there is nothing as beautiful to me now as a face that wears its history well. Even the Queen now slips off the mask of youth and in quiet moments sits with me, two older women, our hair graying, watching the children as they come at last into their own between this world and the other.
Vinnie comes and goes as she pleases for the doors of Faerie are open again to those who can see them. She never stays here long. She says her cats need her. Though cats do not seem to need anything except the occasional tin of food. She promises to remain the carrier of all our letters.
But you, Serana, my beloved sister, how fare you in the world? I sorely miss you. You must tell me all.
And so our letters begin again.
Your loving sister,
Meteora
P.S. Robin says to please remember him to Chim and the rest. He and Sparrow hope to come in the spring to play music in the park.
71
Three Crones
My Dearest Sister, Meteora:
I have but a small time to write before we three take to the skies again. You would not believe what I am learning. Flying is not just wings up and soar. There are loop-de-loops, dives, stoops, back wings, soft landings and hard.
And it turns out that three really is a magic number. Shawnique and Blanche have been waiting for me for quite some time, even before you and I were thrown out of Faerie. You see, they have farsight much greater than mine, but I am getting there. I know, for example, that my scare-bird will soon be a father. I believe even you had not guessed that. I wonder if he and Sparrow even know yet. Best not tell them. Let them reveal it to you. Act surprised. I know you can do that.
And tomorrow, since the crones and I will be grounded by bad weather, the Man of Flowers will stay the night. But I don’t need foresight for that. We have been growing closer for some time. I even work in his store now and then. Oh, not for money, but to help out. And to pay him back that I not be beholden. Oh—I now know what a “spick” is, and the boys who said it all came down with bloat tongue one week, and prick rot the next. Something else crones taught me, and helpful it certainly was. I think those boys will stay out of the neighborhood for a while. It is quieter with them gone.
Jamie Oldcourse stops by now and then. She thinks she is my one friend, besides my “boss,” Mr. Flores. I let her keep thinking that. She might not approve of the loop-de-loops. Or Shawnique and Blanche.
I hear them scratching at the window, so must close with love. Next week I am going to learn a tame-iron spell. Shawnique promises that it will change my mind about living in the city. But I am already changed, you see. If I need a touch of the Greenwood, I can simply go across several streets and avenues to the park by the sluggish river and visit with the made-woman. She says little, but sometimes after many days with the crones, I find such silence comforting. She’s a good listener, though. Even better than you.
Your sister for always—for that will never change,
Mabel Serana Farmers
About the Authors
World Fantasy Award winner Jane Yolen is an author of children’s books, fantasy, and science fiction, including Owl Moon, The Devil’s Arithmetic, and How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight?
Mythopoeic Award winner Midori Snyder is the author of eight books, including The Innamorati, The Flight of Michael McBride, Soulstring, and the Oran Trilogy. She lives in Arizona with her husband.
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