Aurelie: A Faerie Tale

by Heather Tomlinson

  As what? Sighted, I would have followed her anywhere. Blind, I could make lace and tea and mind a baby and map a landscape in my mind--and listen. What if the princess didn't need any of those things?

  I would know, I reminded myself. When I heard her voice, I would know what to do. Carpet, stone, carpet again, the soft pile muffling our footsteps. Twenty-two steps from the last turn.

  "The Heir's Suite," Elise announced, and we went inside. "I'll see to your unpacking, mademoiselle, and bring some refreshment, if you don't mind waiting here by yourself?"

  What a tactful soul, giving me a chance to familiarize myself with these rooms again when no pitying eyes could witness me fumbling around the furniture. "That will suit excellently. Thank you, Elise."

  "Back soon, mademoiselle." The latch clicked.

  I bashed my shins against a footstool and bruised my hip on the sharp desk edge as I worked my slow way around the sitting room, refurnishing it in my mind. Brocade armchairs, marquetry tables, a daybed draped in velvet. The tiny maid's room offered little more

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  than a bed and dresser, a posy of dried lavender next to the hand mirror and comb. Just in time, I remembered the steps down to the marble bath and crouched to run my fingers along the cool, smooth edge. Aurelie's bedroom hadn't changed. Wardrobe, dressers, two stone maidens holding up the mantelpiece, a flute case on the table beside the immense bed, which was large enough for two little girls and an army of dolls. No dolls today, just a smooth expanse of coverlet and a feather bolster.

  I worked my way back to an armchair in the silting room. I must have slept. The creak of the opening door startled me from a lovely dream in which Loic and I were dancing. My question came out sharper than I intended. "Who's there?"

  "Nettal" Princess Aurelie. Glad, her voice, but edged with a darker emotion. Guilt? Worry? Hard to tell from the one word.

  "Did you get Mother's letter?"

  "Oh, Nettal"

  I don't know which of us was more surprised when she hurled herself across the room, put her cold arms around my neck, and burst into tears.

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  Chapter 14 Aurelie

  Aurelie's woes poured out of her like milk from a pitcher. Nothing had gone right in Dorisen. Garin pretended not to know her, and never explained why, though they'd met several times. When she'd finally caught him alone, Garin had dumped her in a skiff and gone to warn Elise and Count Sicard. Their departure had started the war all over again. Aurelie had tried so hard to navigate the murky waters of Skoeran politics, but she bungled things so badly! And there was still so much she didn't understand.

  Netta's throaty voice murmured comforting noises. She rubbed Aurelie's shoulders.

  Aurelie sat up and wiped her nose. "I'm sorry. It's just that I couldn't put any of that in a letter that your mother would read. Everyone acts like I was brave, fighting the fire and escaping from Dorisen, but I was so scared most of the time, and even more now. It'll be bad, Netta."

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  "How so?"

  "The past two years have been mostly insults and skirmishes. We'd confiscate Skoe's ships; they'd fire on ours, maybe raid our coastal farms, or the logging operations on the border with Alsinha."

  "What's changed?"

  "The Alsinhalese have cut off trade to us and Skoe, both, demanding lower tariffs. The Skoerans are facing a winter with nothing but fish and seaweed broth to eat," Aurelie answered frankly. "Their islands are chunks of rock; they can't grow enough to feed all their people. Skoerans brag about their luxuries, but they can't eat silks and satins. Most of their food comes from abroad. Papa thinks their council will mount an invasion to secure our timber for their ships, our farmland for their larders."

  "Mm." Netta's brow puckered. "And what else?"

  Aurelie rocked back on her heels. How did her friend know? Was she reading minds, these days? "Isn't that enough?"

  "Aurelie," Netta said sternly, "if we have to fight the Skoerans, we'll fight. But I can hear there's something more. You sound exhausted. Something personal, maybe, keeping you up nights. Bad dreams?"

  Aurelie couldn't lie to that loving, concerned, blind face. She picked at the rug's fringe. "Personal, yes. Not bad, like the war, rather the opposite. It's Loic."

  Netta's breath caught. "You're dreaming about Loic?"

  "Not dreaming." In another rush, Aurelie explained how the river drac had surprised her in the carriage. "You made it plain you wanted no more dealings with them, or I'd have contrived to get word to you. He invited me to a revel. A few hours, he promised, with no one the

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  wiser. Oh, Netta." Aurelie let out an awed breath. "I can't describe how beautiful it is. Loic was right. No one noticed. Most nights since, I hear a tap, tap, tapping on the floor, and a door opens, and a crowd of lutines arrives to chivvy me down the stairs into another world, the Fae world. I play my flute and dance with them, and return before dawn."

  "That doesn't sound bad," Netta said, when Aurelie ran out of words.

  "No, it's wonderful!" Aurelie had heard the wistfulness in her friend's voice. She seized Netta's hands. "You could come, too," she said. "Loic would be glad to invite you!"

  Netta tensed. "No, I couldn't. To explain, to have him pity me? I don't want that."

  "But it's so delicious," Aurelie coaxed.

  "No," Netta said, sharply.

  "Think about it, anyway. The moment I'm back in my bed, I'm counting the hours until I can go again and forget all the awful things. Loic doesn't talk about politics."

  Netta patted Aurelie's hands and withdrew her own, folding them in her lap. "Then why are you so upset?"

  "Why, because it's not real. It's like a play, and then I come home, and nothing's changed. It feels... selfish."

  "So you've forgotten your cares for a while," Netta said. "Who would blame you? Many people would find the lost hours a fair trade."

  "And some people would consider a night slugging down Captain Inglis's 'private reserve' worth the morning they'd spend puking in a gutter," Aurelie retorted, "1 don't happen to be one of them,"

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  "With that sweet girl Elise as a chaperone?" Netta's eyebrows climbed to her hairline. "Your letters didn't mention the part about your drunken binges."

  "D-drunken binges?" Aurelie sputtered. "One sip, and that was an accident. I thought it was water."

  "If you say so." Netta grinned. "Remember the time you let Loic give your grandmother's goats that fairy wine?"

  "He promised me it would make their milk better."

  "Better for something," Netta said austerely.

  Aurelie giggled, relieved by the change of subject. "It was funny, wasn't it, Madame Brebisse singing to the tin peddler?"

  "My luh-luh-love seeks o'er the muh-muh-mountain," Netta warbled.

  When Elise pushed the door open with her tray of tea and cakes, she found her mistress flat on the floor, weeping with laughter, while the blind woman wheezed for breath. The maid put the tray on a table, curtsied, and tiptoed away.

  Assisted by food and drink of a nonalcoholic nature, Aurelie and Netta regained their composure. The princess ate a seed cake in two bites. "I have missed you, Netta. Most of the courtiers went home to their country estates. The rest are obsessed with war plans. Not that I would mention the Fae to anyone, including Papa."

  "Of course you can tell me, and I hope you will," Netta said. "If you go dancing--"

  "When I go," Aurelie said glumly. "I can't seem to refuse Loic."

  "No." Netta sighed. "When you go, then, enjoy it for both of us. You'll tell me about it, and I'll feel I've visited, too. Will that serve?"

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  "Yes." Aurelie yawned so wide her jaw cracked.

  "You're tired." Netta dusted crumbs off her hands. "I'm next door, Elise said."

  Aurelie stood and linked arms with her friend, though she noticed that the blind girl moved without hesitation through the sitting room. Aurelie opened the door and pressed her cheek against Netta's. "G
ood night. Thank you again for coming, and for listening, and for being my friend. I can't remember when I last laughed so hard."

  "A long time ago," Netta answered. "For me, too."

  Only a passing lutin observed that the blind woman waited until Aurelie's door had closed to feel her way along the wall to the next door and open it. If he had followed her into the chamber, he might have wondered why she stood still for several moments, then seized a bed bolster and mashed it against her face as if she were trying to smother herself.

  Or he might not. Everyone knew what odd creatures humans were. They had the lifespan of mayflies, and about as much sense.

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  Chapter 15

  Aurelie

  Snug in the Heir's Suite, Aurelie heard nothing out of (he ordinary. Later, when t he lutines came, she accompanied them with a light heart. She had felt alone for so long, and now two of her dearest friends had been restored to her. If only the third would come, too....With an almost physical effort, she banished Garin from her mind. He'd made it clear he wanted nothing better than to put a wide stretch of water between them.

  It was silly to dwell on rocky Skoe when she stood with both feet planted in the Fae world. Moonlight poured into the dancing glade, polishing the dew-damp moss. Globes of fruit spangled the dark foliage of surrounding trees, and the warm wind played with her unbound hair. Aurelie lifted her face to breathe in its rich scent, sandalwood mixed with bitter orange. For Netta's sake as well as her own, she must store up the night's delight to share in the morning.

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  Aurelie stretched her arms to the sky, like an evergreen shaking off a load of wet snow. The sudden release of weight made her giddy. "Again," she demanded, turning in the circle of her partner's arms. The playful mood stealing over her was new. Netta's gift, it must be. Aurelie gave silent thanks for her friend's understanding. "Faster, Loicl"

  "Faster, little mortal?" Violet-blue eyes widened in amusement.

  "Yes." Aurelie bounced on the springy moss. "Unless you're tired?"

  "Never," the drac said. "Who falters first pays the other a forfeit?"

  "Done!" With a toss of her head, Aurelie accepted the wager. She rested her hand on her escort's arm.

  Scales glittered at his wrist. Tonight, the river drac wore a human shape for dancing and with it, a kind of armor. Made of interlocking, flexible plates, the shirt and leggings fitted together so cleverly that they never pinched the folds of her nightgown, no matter how closely he held her. Loic clasped her shoulder; his other arm locked around her waist, and they danced across the clearing. Slowly at first.

  Aurelie listened to the wind in the trees, the river whispering secrets to the stars. Later, the Fae would gather to hear her play her flute, but first they danced to the sounds of the elements: earth and air, water and fire. Loud and rolling as thunder or soft as the brush of wings, this world's rhythms were as varied and mysterious as its inhabitants.

  When they were younger, the human children had never ventured very close to Loic's home for fear of encountering his parents or mortal nurse. The little drac hadn't minded; he enjoyed exploring the

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  forests and fields of the mortal world. Grown up, Loic proved a gracious host, eager to show off the Fae realm's splendor.

  Safe under a full-grown river drac's protection, Aurelie had no fear of a lesser Fae attacking her, like the elder drac had blinded Netta. Still, the early years shadowed them. Most nights Aurelie would catch Loic glancing over his shoulder while they danced, as if he, too, wondered where the others had wandered.

  At least she was making a memory to share with Netta. When the dance's tempo quickened, Aurelie met the challenge. Loic twirled her over the moss and then, in a series of gliding steps, guided her out of the clearing and into the forest. It was darker among the trees, but the drac never faltered. He lifted Aurelie in a half turn and tucked her against his chest. She let her head fall against his shoulder, matching his every step. She didn't need to worry about her footing, even when the ground changed to hard-packed dirt and logs covered in drifts of leaves. The strong hand at her waist kept her from stumbling. And if, privately, she wished Loic's skin weren't quite so scaly, she didn't say so.

  They leaped and dipped and spun through a narrow ravine, where the night's song echoed in Aurelie's ears, and then out of the sheltering forest to the riverbank. Bordered with trailing water weeds, the current polished diamond-bright grains of sand. Loic spun Aurelie to face him, and they swooped in wide circles beside the river. Aurelie's hair swung away from her face. Her nightgown belled out from her body; she thought they might be flying.

  And then a turn swept her feet into the water. The shock felt delicious against her ankles, but surprise was her undoing. She gasped.

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  Losing her footing, she sank in a breathless heap on the ground. "That was a low trick." She scooped up a handful of water and flicked it at Loic.

  Untroubled by the droplets running down his armor, the drac lounged beside her, his legs outstretched. "Did I lag behind you?"

  "No," Aurelie admitted.

  "Then I claim my forfeit."

  Aurelie glanced at him from under her eyelashes. "I don't recall agreeing to the stakes," she demurred.

  "No, sweet mortal?" Loic tugged on a lock of her hair. "Then I must accept whatever reward you care to bestow."

  Aurelie leaned over and propped her elbows on his chest. The flexible plates of armor shimmered. She ran her hand over the unusual garment. Not metal or leather or cloth. It was cool, and smelled... she put her nose closer and sniffed. It smelled like breakfast in a spring meadow: wild strawberries and grilled mushrooms and oatcakes with butter. She thumped his chest. "What is this?"

  The violet eyes blinked lazily. "What of my forfeit?"

  "Mm." Distracted, Aurelie stared into Loic's handsome face. "Your forfeit?" she repeated. "Let me think."

  "As you will." His mouth curved at the corners.

  How would the others respond? Garin hated to lose. He'd suggest another contest, best of three. And Netta? Aurelie leaned closer, her lips a breath away. "A kiss," she said.

  "Acceptable," Loic replied.

  The Fae tasted the way his strange armor smelled, tart and wild and a little earthy. River reeds, and musk. Delicious. Dangerous.

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  Aurelie drew back, aware of unease sliding down her spine. Perhaps that hadn't been such a good idea.

  A voice snapped in her ear. "Bad princess!"

  The world reversed itself. Or rather, she did, Aurelie understood after a confused moment. Loic had dropped her, putting himself between Aurelie and a newcomer. More than one, she corrected her self, peering over Loic's shoulder. Other Fae had found them.

  Her escort did not sound pleased. "Helis."

  "Kiss, kiss." The fox-faced lutine smacked her lips and peered at them through locks of russet hair. She brandished Aurelie's wooden flute. "Enough kisses. Playl"

  "Let me catch my breath, Helis." Blushing, Aurelie took the flute and stood to shake the creases out of her nightgown. Loic stepped aside so Aurelie could greet the other two Fae. "Good evening, Yvaire, Gaelle."

  Another lutine, Yvaire's lapis -colored eyes shone behind a birdlike mask of iridescent plumage. Blue and purple feathers tickled Aurelie's wrist as the Fae dipped her head. She didn't speak, but Aurelie wasn't insulted. Yvaire never did.

  The tall Fee Verte folded Aurelie in her arms. "We missed you, Princess," Gaelle said. Her mantle of whispering leaves surrounded Aurelie. It felt like being embraced by a tree that wore a wood nympli's face. Noisy and ticklish.

  "We were dancing," Aurelie said, as Gaelle stepped back to nod her leaf-crowned head at Loic.

  "Dancing?" Helis made a rude noise.

  Loic ignored the red-haired lutine. He bowed to Gaelle, then

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  offered Yvaire one arm and Aurelie the other. Helis darted ahead and disappeared among the trees as the drac escorted the others back to the cleari
ng where the dance had begun. "Until soon, my lovelies," he said, his voice at its most resonant.

  Aurelie felt honored to be included with the others. "Until soon." She curtsied, watching him stride away, then settled herself on the moss.

  Gaelle had followed at a slower pace, stopping to pick a pear-shaped fruit from an overhanging branch. "Will you take Loic for your lover?" the Fee Verte asked idly.

  "Oh, no." Aurelie touched her tongue to her lips. "We're just, ah, friends." Netta might have had a different answer, but then she should have come herself. To cover her embarrassment, Aurelie found her flute case and took out a polishing cloth. She pulled the instrument apart and wiped each section clean.

  Gaelle's gown rustled as she sat, spreading the scent of cedar bark. The Fae's twiggy fingers measured the fruit she had picked. With a deft twist, the Fae divided it in two and offered half to Aurelie.

  Aurelie accepted with a nod of thanks, admiring the fruit's rosy skin. At the first taste, her eyes closed, the better to savor it. The flesh burned on her tongue, then dissolved in a rush of sweetness, as if she had eaten fire dipped in honey. Garin would love these. The Fae had bolder tastes even than Skoerans. Food here was hotter, sharper, sweeter, more intense--like their dancing, their conversation, their kisses.

  Aurelie shivered and opened her eyes, then stared at her empty hand. She had taken one bite. Where had the rest of the fruit gone?

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  "Helis." Gaelle's tone made the name a warning.

  Aurelie turned around in puzzlement. Behind her, the russet-haired lutine licked her snout. "Helis!" Aurelie said. "Give it back."

  "Gone." Fox ears twitched. Two sticky fingers tapped the flute case. "Play."