The Fairy's Tale

by F. D. Lee

  Mistasinon looked down at her, searching her face.

  Bea felt a jolt in her stomach, hot and sharp but not at all unpleasant. He was going to kiss her, and, Bea knew, she was going to kiss him back.

  She met his gaze, conscious of the fact that everything she could see in his face he had to be reading in her own. He was so close to her now she could actually feel the air between them, as thick and heavy as water. His gaze flitted down to her lips and then lifted, his pupils wide and dark against the warm brown of his eyes, his fingertips still brushing the bare tops of her arms.

  He leaned forward.

  Bea tilted her head towards him.

  She closed her eyes.

  And then she felt him pull away.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered. “You have an early start, as do I. I shouldn’t have taken up so much of your time,” and, not waiting for her to answer him, he walked off, leaving Bea alone.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Like Bea, night had fallen.

  But the palace was still busy, castles never really going to sleep. The Night’s Watch bled seamlessly into the Day’s Watch, the Bakers and Dairy Men into the Chefs and Chamber Maids, the Stable Master into the Master of the Hound and so on throughout the day, every task executed with precision and efficiency so that the King would never realise it took so many people, all working around the clock, to make the castle run.

  Bea’s hand tapped against her hip.

  She had to face up to it.

  She had no idea how to find the Anti.

  He’d always found her. It was like he could sense her. What kind of fae could do that? The tooth fairies, obviously, had a knack for finding the right pillow, and the higher level FMEs, the godmothers and witches and so on, were trained to spot the signs of a hero or heroine. But all Bea knew about the Anti was that he hung around the King, and so she’d decided to come to the castle in Llanotterly.

  She didn’t even want to think about how many rules she was breaking, not when she had much more immediate concerns weighing on her mind. Like the fact she had just spent hours learning that castles were made up of more than Ballrooms and turrets full of spinning wheels. There was, she now knew, quite a lot of castle to a castle, and trying to find one person without uttering the words “he’s blue” was challenging, to say the least.

  She almost laughed. All those times she’d been wishing so hard not to see him, and now the one time she wanted to, he was nowhere to be found. It was absolutely typical.

  Of course, Bea thought, tiredness making her bitter, if this were a story I’d just bump into him. I’d be here, walking around this garden, trying not be spotted, and I’d turn this corner, around this bush here, and there’d he’d be, just-

  “Ha!” Bea laughed in triumph as her eyes landed on the now familiar sight of the hooded Anti. He was sitting on a stone bench, looking up at the stars. She was also pleased to note that he seemed quite wrong footed by her arrival, though he recovered quickly.

  “What a charming surprise,” the Anti said, not bothering to stand. “I would claim no knowledge of what I have done to deserve this, but I have committed many terrible acts. Still, the punishment seems disproportionate.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “You talk very prettily and you’re very clever. That’s not why I’m here.”

  The Anti lifted his right leg and placed it over his left, a sharp inhalation of breath accompanying the action.

  “You’ve hurt yourself?” Bea asked, forgetting he was now her sworn enemy.

  He looked at her for a long time.

  “Yes.”

  “You know, there’re quite a few herbs in these gardens, if I mixed them up for you they might be able to help.”

  “This from the creature that gave neat datura stramonium to a she-bear?”

  Bea felt her new-found sympathy evaporate. “Fine, suffer then. That’s not why I’m here, anyway.”

  Seven smiled behind his hood. “Of course. Very well. Please, proceed to shout and scream and call me liar. Though I beg you be brief. I am, as you note, unwell.”

  Bea took a deep breath and waited until she could speak to him in a normal tone of voice.

  “Someone told me today that there are two paths. One’s easy and one’s difficult. The easy path is to report you, but if I do that I’ll… Well. I’m not keen on reporting you. The difficult path is to try and work against you, and keep the story running.”

  “Fascinating. Did not we cover this earlier?”

  “I think there’s a third path,” Bea said, trying not to grind her teeth as she spoke. “Tell me why you won’t leave the story.”

  “You have been told.”

  “I think there’s more to you being here. You said to the ugly sister there was a girl. Who was she?”

  “I wondered when I found your Book what you might have overheard. Tell me, did you only listen? It seems a waste if so.”

  “Tell me about the girl.”

  “Only recount? I am sure I could find energy enough to show you what you missed.”

  “That won’t work. You’re not going to embarrass me or throw me off by using sex.”

  “My dear, doubt not that were I to throw you in a sexual manner, the position most certainly would not be ‘off’.”

  “Mortal gods, you’re so vulgar. Can you not have a real conversation?”

  “Why should I wish to converse with you?” Seven snapped. “You represent all that I abhor. These lives are nothing to you but another item to be crossed off your quota.”

  “You were more eloquent earlier. And you’re repeating yourself.”

  “I am tired. And the point bears repeating.”

  Bea stopped. She had too much at stake to risk losing it over his arrogance and snide. This was her one chance to get everything back on track. She had to make him understand.

  “You said a lot of things about me, and the stories,” she said slowly. “Some of which might have had some truth.”

  Seven turned his attention back to the night sky. Bea stared at him, his hooded head lolling back on his shoulders. It hadn’t worked. He wasn’t listening. She realised she had no choice but to tell him the truth.

  “This is my first story.”

  The Anti continued to sit silently, looking up at the stars.

  “I want to be an FME, and if I do this story right they’re going to let me join the Academy, to train. You kept asking me what I desire. I want to be something more than what I am.”

  The Anti turned his hood towards her.

  “And what are you?”

  He stood and pulled his hood from his head, the moonlight hitting his blue skin, making it shimmer like ice, his hair falling in tight curls against his face. He seemed tense, his shoulders pulled back and his chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm, as if he were about to say something which would cost him. Which was strange, because when he did speak he said only:

  “If you could wish for anything at this moment, what would you wish for?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “It is my question to you. What would you have of it?”

  Bea looked at him, trying to ignore the way the blue orbs of his eyes made her feel. It was a stupid question, but there was something in the way he’d said it, and in the way he watched her now, that gave her pause. She thought about everything she’d always wanted, or said she wanted, and then she spoke:

  “I grew up in the Sheltering Forest. We don’t get any protection there, and the orcs and gnarls come. I thought the city would look after me – you know the GenAm sends emissaries out to the Forest? ‘Don’t stay in the Sheltering Forest and feed the orcs’ they say. Don’t ‘encourage’ them. And I listened to them. I believed in the safety of the wall and the Mirrors. But when I got there, they all hated me. Do you know what a fairy is in Ænathlin? Less than nothing, that’s what.”

  Bea could feel the anger and resentment building in her like a fire. “B
ut I’ll be damned if I’ll let them win. I’m going to show everyone that fairies can be more. What do they know about anything, anyway? All those stuck-up imps and brownies and the rest? They’ve never had to listen to ogres or orcs or gnarls in the night. They’ve never had to fight a day in their life. Never lost anything, or anyone. You know what I used to wish? I wished they would all just-”

  Seven tensed.

  Bea wiped her eyes, which were stinging. When she pulled her hand away it was wet with tears. “See? See how they make me feel? I won’t let them have that much power over me. And now I’ve finally got a Plot and I should be happy. I shouldn’t be talking to an Anti or worrying about Sindy. But the truth is, I am. And there are things that don’t make sense. No one else sees them.” She thought of Mistasinon. “Or at least I don’t think they do. I don’t know. I suppose I’m saying that I don’t know what I’d wish for anymore.”

  Bea took a deep breath. She felt embarrassed to have cried in front of the Anti. She’d shown something of herself that she hadn’t realised was there, and she was already regretting it. Seven shifted on the bench, making space for her, and Bea, to her surprise, found herself sitting.

  “An honest answer,” he said. There was a softness in his voice now, an acquiescence she hadn’t heard before. She wiped her eyes again, roughly.

  “Here.” He handed her one of his silk gloves. “Dry your eyes.”

  “Thanks. So, will you tell me why you’re here?”

  “What has my history to do with you? We are not trading woes.”

  Bea dropped the glove like it burned her. “I just thought if we could understand each other, why this story is so important to us, we could work something out. But I forgot you’re a total ass.”

  “An ass?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what you are. You’ve just come into my Plot, throwing all these accusations around, making me question everything, everything, I used to believe and now, when the tables are turned and I ask you why you’re here, you refuse to answer. You’re an ass. And I’m sorry that I bothered.”

  He cocked his head, his curls brushing against his face. Bea was annoyed that, even now, she couldn’t help noticing how attractive he was.

  “You are quite right,” he said.

  “I know,” Bea said, sticking her chin out.

  “You have asked me to reveal a truth to you, and I shall. However, I must first ask you to come with me. There is something I would show you that I believe shall benefit you.”

  “You have got to be joking. I shouldn’t even be here now.”

  The Anti shot her a smile laden with all his charm. “Please, godmother – Bea. You have come to me, risking a great deal. Are not you the least intrigued as to where this third path you suggest might lead? No harm will befall you.” Seven held his hand out. “You have my word.”

  Bea looked at him. Slowly she lifted her hand, every muscle in her arm fighting against the command.

  “I have friends,” she warned as she felt his cold fingers encircle hers.

  “And you shall be returned to them.”

  Bea swallowed.

  “Alright…”

  He pulled her into his arms...

  …the blood of the universe screaming through her veins, tearing her into a million pieces, the song of the worlds thrumming in her ears like the roar of a dying sun, but she was covered, protected…

  …and they were in the hallway of what had once been a beautiful, grand mansion. A wide staircase swept in a graceful arc along the walls, its bannisters decorated by crumbling stone pillars that spoke of elegance, good taste and money. The floor was laid with a threadbare carpet, the colour of which had faded to the inky brown of the characters’ blood when it dried. Large, empty windows invited the cool wind in, the torn and ragged curtains drifting in the breeze like seaweed. The mansion wore its history in tattered rags, whispering in your ear that once, before it had been degraded and brought low, it had been beautiful.

  And in the centre of all this ruin stood Seven, his arms wrapped tightly around Bea, his chest rising and falling in short, pained movements.

  Bea’s ears were ringing and her stomach felt like it was filled with sour cream, but she had been expecting it this time. She concentrated on breathing, letting the warm, musty air fill her lungs and calm her heartbeat.

  It was difficult, and not just because she felt horribly queasy. There was also no escaping the fact that very certain parts of her body were pressed against equally definite parts of his. At least this time she managed not to kiss his pale blue skin like some lovesick heroine. She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away from her, though in fact only managing to lever herself backwards, into a position any Ballroom dancer would be proud of.

  “Why are you still holding me?” she asked, not unreasonably. “Where are we?” she added, taking in her surroundings in all their sinister glory. “How did we get here?” she finished, looking back at him.

  Seven stared down at her, his ethereal eyes glazed and dull. “I moved us,” he said and then, after a pause that was a fraction of a heartbeat too long, he released her.

  “How do you do that?” she asked again, looking around for something reflective, missing the way the Anti’s step faltered as he walked towards the wide staircase. He collapsed onto the lower step, landing heavily.

  “Magic,” he answered.

  Bea looked at him like he’d just claimed to have discovered the secret of turning iron into gold. “Magic couldn’t move us like that. It’s too weak for anything more than a puff of smoke or a parlour trick. That’s why we have the Mirrors.”

  “You believe magic to be weak?”

  “Everyone knows it. And anyway, it’s not allowed.”

  “I am, as you informed me, an evil Anti-Narrativist, hells bent on the destruction of everything good and right with this world. What is it to me if I use a banned resource?”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me then.”

  Bea turned to leave. She realised how stupid she’d been, thinking she might be able to reach him. All that nonsense Mistasinon had said had obviously polluted her judgement. She started to look around for something reflective, but the window frames were all empty. She kicked around in the dust, hoping she might find a shard of glass.

  “There is nothing here to transport you,” Seven said in between deep breaths. “If I were to leave you, you would be forced to walk days to the nearest village, although I suppose you might find a puddle. Such a glamorous life you seek.”

  Bea glared at him, and then she noticed the way he was breathing. “You are sick. What’s wrong? If you tell me maybe I can help. I really am good at herbs. It’s genetic,” she added bitterly.

  “As reassuring as that is, you need not exert yourself. My discomfort is momentary. Now, attend. I will give you your third path, though I suspect you will not wish to walk it. Once, the Queen of the Fairies resided here. Are you aware of her fate?”

  “She was banished. Or Redacted. No one ever really said.”

  “Poor fairy. No wonder you are so conflicted.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “I said not that you were. You are, however, ignorant.”

  Bea gave him a filthy look, but she didn’t try to leave. Everyone hated the fairies because of the King and Queen, and if he was going to tell her about the Queen then she wanted to hear.

  “Go on.”

  “The Queen is blamed for the Teller. It is an accepted lie that she and her husband were so out of control the Mirrors began to shatter, and thus the Teller was able to usurp them. This is not how he gained his power.”

  “What do you mean ‘an accepted lie’?”

  “That is not true, of course. Perhaps you were too quick to deny stupidity.”

  “Mortal gods, you’re obnoxious.”

  “Again you insult me,” he laughed. “I am more used to flattery, I will admit.”

  Bea bit her tongue. “So what about the King and Queen?”

  �
��The King and the Queen’s storytelling, though enthusiastic, did nothing to the Mirrors.”

  “Yes they did – they didn’t manage the story. None of the old Narrators did. The Teller Cares- I mean, he made it possible for us to keep the Mirrors open,” Bea said, not sure why she had corrected herself.

  “As with all the Teller’s chattels, you do not know your history.” The Anti said this in the tone of voice a tax official might use with a small business owner who walks into the office with twenty years of receipts. It wasn’t that he was displeased with her, but there was no denying the fact that she was causing him a lot of extra work.

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” Bea said. “All my life everyone’s said that the King and Queen were the ones who broke the Mirrors. That’s why they all hate the fairies. They got too close to their characters, especially the Queen. Their stories were out of control.”

  “And that is true. But they are not responsible for the Mirrors.”

  “Then who is?” Bea asked, trying to digest the information he had given her. “The Anties?”

  “Ah, yes, the mysterious Anti-Narrativists. You fear the end of the stories. This is what you have been taught these ‘Anti-Narrativists’ desire. But how can they stop a story? Have you ever wondered?”

  “They change the Plot, they interact with the characters, stop them believing.” Bea answered.

  “But the Chapters change, do they not?”

  “Yes. They used to. But that was because the stories weren’t strong. New ones were always needed. Until the Teller.”

  “What does that suggest?”

  Bea started to answer, and then she paused. Even in the Sheltering Forest, she had grown up on the histories of the GenAm, which were very clear: The old Narrators didn’t manage the belief. They got too involved, their stories were too close to the blood and the bone of life. They tricked and cheated, and the humans drew back as a result. The belief ebbed, and the Mirrors suffered. The Teller’s Plots were simple, easy to run and generated enough belief to keep the Mirrors open, at least until the Anties had come along.