by Ron C. Nieto
“You shall meet the Unseelie Queen, Lily. You do not require a plan; you require some basic understanding to ensure survival.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
Troy grinned. “I am fay.”
“Yeah. You can’t lie.” His hand had dropped to his knee when she had shifted away from his touch, and now she reached out with a certainty she didn’t feel and covered his cool fingers with her own. “I do require some basic understanding to survive dinner, but you told me all I truly needed before we even met Marast,” she said. “This is something else.”
Troy’s brow furrowed and for a moment his mask of ease and perpetual amusement fell, allowing her a peek of emotion she would have thought unfitting for a faerie.
Curiosity? No. Puzzlement.
It wasn’t the uncertainty or confusion that might appear on mortal eyes when facing a new situation, although she could recognize the situation. She was right, after all. This conversation—his staying with her instead of going to his own rooms—wasn’t about her being knowledgeable and smart when they joined the Queen. It wasn’t about warning her to do or not to do anything. There was another reason, and Lily believed Troy might not have realized what it was.
No, of course he knows what he’s doing. She studied the tilt of his head, followed the line of his eyes to her hand. Their hands. He just doesn’t know why.
She wasn’t entirely sure of her own whats, or whys, but still she refused to budge.
“Troy?” She squeezed his fingers. “What’s going on?”
His muscles twitched half a second before he moved. In less than a blink, he turned his hand, broke her grip, and closed his fingers over hers, keeping her trapped where she was.
Again, a small detail she already knew caught her by surprise. Troy was tall, very tall, so of course his hands would dwarf hers. It was obvious. Still, she shivered when she felt his hand cradling hers, all long and graceful fingers. His touch was cool and gentle, and he left a stray drop of freezing water to trail the path his thumb drew over her knuckles.
“Troy?” His name came out all raspy and her mouth felt dry.
“I would have you understand my kind,” he said at last. “Your turn, Lily?” He lifted their clasped hands, his attention still fixated on their entwined fingers. “Why?”
She fought not to snatch back her hand and deny anything at all was going on. She knew she was flushed, and there was a chance he could feel the slight tremors that seemed to have taken her over. Troy might not think like a normal guy, but he wasn’t an idiot. If she told him “Nothing,” if she lied straight to his face, he would notice.
She couldn’t afford him remembering she wasn’t forced to speak the truth, so she steeled her back and met his eyes.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked.
“I never waste my questions,” he said.
Of course, that was true and Lily knew it. Asking questions was a way to admit one’s lack of knowledge, which in turn was a way to proclaim weakness. The weak ones didn’t survive the games of the faeries.
In fact, this might be the first authentic question Troy had ever asked her.
It was a bit scary and a bit funny because no normal guy would ever ask her what she was doing, much less if it meant incurring a debt with her. A normal guy would know.
But Troy wasn’t normal, he wasn’t even mortal, and the genuine curiosity of a kid stared out the sharp, aristocratic features of a man in his prime.
Lily smiled, trying to make it look coy and hoping it didn’t look terrified.
“Because,” she said.
Troy blinked, his eyebrows climbing up and his jaw going slack for a moment. Then, he laughed. The sound was deep and rich, and full of genuine mirth. It reached his eyes, making them come alive—rich moss instead of cut emerald. It was contagious, and Lily found her fake smile widening into a grin, then dissolving into giggles.
“I shall make you into a worthy player yet,” he said when the laughter died and became just a distant echo in his voice. He stood, shaking his head and combing his fingers through his hair to slick it back into place and push away the errant droplets of water that still clung to the black strands with stubborn determination. “We shall see tonight how well your newly acquired wit serves you.”
“Are you leaving already?” she realized belatedly.
“I was under the impression you were averse to bathing company.” He looked back over his shoulder as he opened the door, and sure enough, a faerie who had been poised to knock appeared on the other side. He, or she, was short, reaching only to Troy’s waist, and wore clean but simple clothes that marked him, or her, as a servant of sorts. Lily was fairly sure this was the first time she met this particular kind of faerie, and she would have been more curious about it if Troy’s mischievous smile, complete with an evil glint to his eye, hadn’t caught her absolute attention. “Or would you have me stay this time?”
He didn’t wait around for her answer.
Lucky because she was too breathless to offer one.
C H A P T E R IX
The faerie servants had come bearing a bathtub, several buckets of hot water, and a gorgeous gown that appeared to be silver or a pale green, depending on the light. Then, they had left. Lily was grateful for that because, as Troy had pointed out, she didn’t relish the idea of bathing in public. However, once she had cleaned up and had stepped into the gown, she had begun to regret her solitude. Not because she needed help, because there were no laces to the dress, a simple yet elegant off-the-shoulder sleeveless shift that hung from her body by its own merits, but because she wanted a distraction.
Alone, she could worry. She could stare at herself in the mirror and see how very mortal she looked. She could try to pin her hair up this way and that, and notice how it refused to stay as anything but the messy knot at the back of her head she had been sporting since her grandmother disappeared. She could spy the faint imperfections of her skin and the tiny smudges under her eyes and bemoan the lack of foundation or any sort of make-up.
“I look ridiculous,” she muttered, giving up on wrestling her hairdo. Like a kid trying on her mom’s fancy dresses.
“Not at all,” said a musical voice behind her.
Lily twirled around and saw Hevana standing just inside the room, wearing the same immaculate write dress as before but looking even more radiant if at all possible.
Perhaps I just think she looks better now because there’s no one around to reassure me.
She shoved that thought aside as soon as it surfaced. “Hello,” she said.
Hevana smiled. “Not every mortal may wear the finery of the fay with your grace.”
Lily bit her tongue to swallow back the “thank you” that came as a reflex to the compliment and reminded herself Hevana hadn’t said whether the majority of mortals was less graceful than her . . . or more.
“I’ll stand out a lot,” she said instead.
“Of course! Her Majesty intends to honor you during the feast. It is very rare for her to entertain mortals so. You are expected not to blend in.”
Great. When I start feeling like an alien, it’ll be so comforting to know you made me feel that way on purpose. “They call me Herald,” Lily mumbled, finger-combing her hair once more and trying to hold it back and up. “Not mortal.”
“As you wish,” Hevana said. “If I may, Herald, why do you not leave your hair down?”
“It gets in the way.” In the way of homework, in the way of housework, in the way of running for my life . . . Would it hurt to let it free tonight? Her hair was thick, smooth, a natural sun-kissed corn silk that didn’t require the same highlighting products that many of her classmates had used to get the shine that came naturally to her. It tumbled to just below her shoulders and usually was one of the features Lily was most proud of.
Standing in the same room as Hevana and her waist-length tresses of spun moonlight?
Lily didn’t want to wear her hair down. She wanted to hide it under a cap
.
“I understand.” The sidhe woman came closer and gently guided Lily down to a chair. “Then, if I may? I believe I know what you would have wanted to see when you looked upon that mirror.”
Lily’s mouth dropped open as Hevana’s fingers worked to knot strands of her hair into an intricate pattern that reminded her a little of a Roman nymph or some other equally wild, equally beautiful creature.
She was done in minutes, and Lily still felt different and alien, but in a good way.
Where’s the catch?
“Where’s Troy?” she asked instead.
“You mean to say Kelpie?”
“He told me to call him Troy. Where’s he?”
Something in Hevana’s eyes shifted for a moment, a thoughtful and pensive look that was out of place in her porcelain-like face. Then it was gone and she smiled at Lily through the mirror. “He shall meet us at the Grand Hall. I am the one to escort you. Are you ready?”
C H A P T E R X
Half of Lily expected a trap, and all of her was surprised when she saw Troy waiting in the shadows before the stairs that descended to the Great Hall. Not because of how he looked—he wore knee-high black boots, black leather breeches, and a dark green shirt that might have been identical to the black one the Seelie guards had lent him—but because of how he looked at her.
With a safe distance between them, with the stare of a lot of eyes to keep things civil and safe, and without her advances to puzzle over, the boyish innocence was absolutely gone.
“Hey,” Lily said.
“You seem to be one of us,” he said, stepping from his hiding place and offering her his arm with a wicked smile to answer her hesitant smile.
“Winter does agree with you, Herald.” Marast appeared out of nowhere to flank her other side, immaculate in white finery. “Whoever picked the color for you made an excellent choice, too. It is the verdant lichen seen through a frozen pond, would you not say, Troy? Fitting.”
“Fitting? Very little about Lily is frozen, but I suppose it gives us a chance to witness a rare thawing.”
Are they still talking about the dress or—? Lily looked between the two faeries, both of whom were focused on her and sporting varying degrees of a grin, and debated whether to be grateful for their appreciative compliments or furious for their complete disregard of her.
At that moment, however, the quiet murmur of the Great Hall fell silent and she was saved from making the choice. Several hundred pairs of eyes turned as one to the stairs, as if alerted by a trumpeting Chamberlain.
“It is time,” Hevana said. “Her Majesty awaits.”
She led the way into the crowd, and they followed five steps behind her, Troy on one side and Marast on the other. Lily took the chance to gaze about, absorbing this first glimpse of the Unseelie Court.
There was no ball, she noticed. The Seelie, in their Summer revelries, had enjoyed music and wild dancing, and a multitude of faeries in vivid colors had turned the smallest event into an unforgettable, enchanting party. This feast, in comparison, was almost somber. Most, if not all, of the attendants, were sidhe, or close enough that Lily’s untrained eye couldn’t tell the difference. They all dressed in pale, cold colors—silver, crystal blue, and icy emerald—and they stood in organized lines to watch them pass by. The tables weren’t small and arranged in cozy circles, but long and set in the traditional “T” shape of medieval courts.
No one announced them, but the faeries stared as if they had been introduced and left an open path to the high table. While Lily felt a lot of curious glances as they made their way, she heard no snickering comments. When they reached their assigned seats after the seemingly endless procession, Hevana indicated them with a discreet gesture and then vanished into the crowd. After a long moment of being the center of attention, another thunderous silence rolled through the Grand Hall and each faerie found their way to their own seat, standing tall and proud behind their designated chairs.
A shift in the air let Lily know there had been movement behind her, and then the High Table was full.
Lily saw a faerie queen for the first time.
No wonder the sidhe were closest to her, but even they couldn’t compare. Between her and them, there was the same huge gap as between them and the redcaps. Her hair was diamond, her skin translucent china, her features so symmetrical and proportioned that they might as well have been the original cast beauty tried and failed to copy. Her gown wasn’t that different from the ones worn by the other courtiers, but on her, it appeared to be made of quicksilver and white fire.
The Unseelie Queen took her place, the center seat that left Marast to her right, and her eyes roved the hall, appearing to catch the gaze of every single guest. When it was Lily’s turn, she thought she would choke with those shards of sky piercing her soul. Then, her gaze moved on, and she made a small gesture, and every faerie in attendance sat down at once.
A horde of the short serving faeries appeared out of nowhere, and in a moment, the tables were laden with food and the cups full of sweet amber wine, and the low murmur of conversation rose and reverberated under the dome as the courtiers engaged their neighbors.
The Queen waited a few moments for the low chatter to spread, taking a sip of wine, and turned her attention to Marast.
“Our Hunter should be rewarded for his swift return to Us,” she said, in a voice that echoed like a gale blowing down a ravine.
Marast inclined his head. “Her Majesty’s satisfaction is the only reward a faithful servant would require.”
The Queen shared the hint of a smile and Lily noticed how she had avoided to thank Marast, even to openly offer him a reward, and how Marast had avoided saying he didn’t want it. Clever, she thought.
Then, the Queen’s attention moved down the row of seats, to Lily, and she stopped noticing things.
“The presence of a mortal resulted most fortuitous for Our Hunter, and more so was her willingness to assist.” Again, a lot of apparent recognition without a hint of gratefulness implied. “What is your name, mortal child?”
Lily swallowed. The Grand Hall went silent as every sidhe within hearing distance strained to eavesdrop. “They call me Herald,” she said, managing to keep the tremor in her voice to a minimum.
“How very fitting. Is she yours?”
The Queen’s eyes wandered back to Marast, who shook his head. “Kelpie struck the bargain well before our paths came to cross.”
“Ah.” The Queen’s long fingers caressed the rim of her cup and she leaned forward to better see Troy. “We thought you lost,” she told him.
Again, a pregnant pause marked everyone’s interest in the answer.
“I am who I am, and stagnant waters have always failed to please me,” Troy replied easily enough. “I believe my talents might best serve Her Majesty on the far-flung shores of her realm.”
“And proof sufficient stands before Us,” she said, and the atmosphere relaxed minutely. “Do tell Us, Kelpie. How did you come to meet the Herald? We are sure it shall be an excellent tale, for you are not reputed to bargain with the mortals who make your acquaintance.”
“She was a faerie doctor before she became a Herald,” Troy said, as if that explained everything. And while it was, of course, the truth, it didn’t even begin to cover why he and Lily were together.
Why, Lily wouldn’t even know what being a faerie doctor was if she hadn’t met Troy.
“A worthy name and a weighty title,” the Queen said, pensive. “Tell Us, Herald, why would you forgo it to embrace a new one?”
Lily shrugged, caught herself, and covered the movement by adjusting the cutlery on the table. “It was taken, it seemed. Herald came up and I thought it was a fair option.”
“Taken? We recall the previous Doctor was a notable woman who dwelt near Kelpie’s domain.” The Queen’s eyes unfocused, and she gazed somewhere far, far away. “Does she live then? We have not counted the cycles that may have passed on the mortal shore of time.”
Lily
saw the opening, clear as day, and cursed Troy when he didn’t take it.
“It is unclear,” was all he said.
“If that is the case, We agree on the wisdom of choosing another name until such a time as the passing of the Doctor may be ascertained.”
Then, the Queen turned to her other side and addressed another sidhe, a man whose darker, honey-colored hair was pulled into a single braid and who scowled at his plate as if his food had personally offended him. Lily didn’t strain to listen in and turned toward Troy instead.
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“Not the time, not the place,” he said, reaching out and plucking a ripe, frozen berry from his plate. “Eat now, Lily, and rest assured I have not forgotten our purpose.”
“She asked you about it.” Lily stabbed a tiny pastry, making the filling ooze in a slow, red-brown river that resembled a seeping wound. “It was the perfect chance. How are you going to bring it up again?”
“A feast is no place for petitioning,” he replied. “She would have denied the request, if only for its ill timing, and she would have been well within her rights to do so.”
That deflated her. He was correct, of course. A welcome party was hardly the best moment to bring up their request. Still, waiting was hard.
Even when she wasn’t banking on the Unseelie faeries to rescue her grandmother.
Turning back to her plate, Lily was startled to find Marast leaning in, an elbow upon the table, as he openly listened to her conversation.
“Do go on,” he said. “I would hate if you were forced to interrupt such an interesting conversation on my account.”
“It’s over already,” said Lily, glancing over to Troy only to see him replying to some comment made by the guest on his other side.
Marast followed her eyes. “Do you understand, Herald, how fortunate you are?”
“Yes. I know I’m lucky to have struck such a good bargain with him.”
“Good bargain?” He laughed. “Any bargain at all is a true feat of luck, but I did not refer to that.”