Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  "Or school?" John, who was constantly struggling in everything besides Art, asked eagerly.

  "None!"

  "So what do you do all day?" Wendy asked, gingerly pushing off the wall and giggling as she drifted across the room. This was amazing.

  "Have adventures!" Peter said. "We go visit the Faeries or spike the pirates' rum or play hide-and-seek in the enchanted forest! It's great fun!"

  "Can we go?" John asked. "Please, Wendy?"

  Wendy floated over to the window, looking out at the night sky. She thought of a place where there were no rules, where school wasn't necessary, where she could run and play all day and never have to worry about money or food on the table or the Stewarts of the world. "All right," she said quickly. "Let's go."

  "Wait a minute," Peter said, grabbing her hand as she started to go outside. "More dust first. We found that out the hard way."

  Worry spiked through her sudden euphoria. "What?"

  Seeing her expression, Peter quickly shook his head. "Oh no. I was-- well, I was kidding. Still. Tink!"

  "Do we really need to bring her along?" Tink asked, even as she tossed another handful of dust at her. "Your group is the Lost Boys. Will she really fit in?"

  "Well, you're as good as a Lost Boy, Tink! So she can be, too!"

  "That wasn't what I meant," Tink grumbled, before throwing a handful of dust at John.

  "No rules!" he crowed, rocketing into the air.

  No Stewart, Wendy thought, closing her eyes. Not being forced into anyone's company. Making my own decisions.

  She opened her eyes again and found the top of her head brushing the ceiling. Peter hovered closer to the window, and held out his hand to her.

  Wendy took it, laughing, and the two of them flew out into the night, her brother and Tink close behind.

  He raised his hand to knock at the door of Catherine's new quarters, hesitated.

  She had chosen to stay in the palace, but had plainly balked at the idea of staying in the harem's quarters, even though she had them largely to herself now. Cybele was there only every three or four days; she spent much of her time at the Third Village. Small wonder, especially since Estelle had moved back there. Shani had relocated herself to the warriors' barracks, and was training with the Knight of Shadows to hone skills that she hadn't had much chance to practice these past years. Fiametta was also still in the palace, just in the room directly beside the Potions Hall. Roxana had disappeared.

  And Beckah. . .

  He closed his eyes tightly and rested his fist against the door, waiting until he was able to focus on something other than the ragged, bloody hole in Beckah's back before he knocked.

  Catherine opened the door, an absolute vision in a dress as silver as her new hands, and he couldn't help a smile.

  For all the terrors in that forest, beginning to know her had been worth every nightmare that he would have from now on.

  “I . . . may I speak with you?”

  “Of course,” she said, motioning him inside.

  “There's to be a celebration,” he said. “In four days' time. For our victory.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Snow and Alice came by to tell me.”

  “Oh. All right then.” He cleared his throat. “I've been thinking. Things are all right now. We're-- I'm-- back home and. . .”

  “You wish me to go.”

  “No!” Blast his awkward words; how had he managed to convey the exact opposite of what he intended? “Truthfully, the thought of you choosing to leave has left me despairing. Especially when. . .”

  He trailed off, looking to the floor. He knew what he needed to say, had rehearsed it any number of times over the past weeks, but now that the time had come, nerves overwhelmed him.

  “When what?” she finally prodded.

  “When I have no right at all to request you stay. Not only are you not here of your own free will, but you . . . you are not the only one I care for,” he whispered.

  “Cybele?” she asked, and blessedly, she was not crying, had not reached for the nearest object to throw at him.

  “Yes. From what I have been able to discern of love, I love you both. I think of you endlessly, and the idea of either one of you going back to the Villages to stay would . . . would be the end of me, I feel, but I would not forbid you from leaving. I know you don't feel the same way for me--”

  “I do not love you, it's true,” she said. “But I do care for you. I have a feeling I could grow to love you, given time.” For a few seconds, her expression darkened. “Relationships in this palace have certainly been founded on less. And,” she continued, her smile returning, “I have known for quite some time of your feelings for Cybele. It is plain every time you mention her name.”

  “I know it is quite untraditional for a Prince to desire something like this; I am not even sure if the law allows for such things and if I am insulting you by the mere suggestion then please tell me to close my mouth; I just-- I would do anything in my power to make you happy. All you need do is ask.”

  She regarded him for a long moment, and then her lips curved up in a captivating smile. “Have you ever heard of Queen Hadiyya?”

  ***

  He chased her, his laughter bubbling in their wake. She was just out of reach. Could still outpace him easily through the crystalline water. And he didn’t mind in the slightest. Because sometimes-- sometimes-- she would let him catch her.

  “Keep up!” she shouted, glancing over one tanned shoulder with a dazzling smile.

  He flicked his new tail for a burst of speed, marveling at how natural it felt. How right. Being a pirate, living on the water, had been better than being a Lost Boy, which had been better than the almost-forgotten life he’d left at the start. But this? This felt perfect. He’d always known that his heart belonged to the sea.

  And as he admired the way the sunlight dappled her skin beneath the waves, as he delighted in the glint of scales and the power of fins, he knew Scheherazade had truly seen into his soul. This was what being alive meant. This was what being comfortable in your own skin, achieving your dreams, love meant.

  He’d been given everything he could ever want and need. He’d been so blessed. He wondered what he’d done to deserve it.

  They had almost reached the reef. The coral shone red and blue and yellow, dotted with swaying anemones and fronds of seaweed. A school of silver fish spun in a cloud around them before dashing away. A fat tiger shark cruised across the white sand, barbs brushing over sunning starfish. It was beautiful and serene, a colorful paradise that few mortals had ever seen. Smee drank it all in with wide eyes, calm with the knowledge that nothing here could harm him.

  Undine realized he was no longer inches behind and pulled up sharply. He was floating over a large patch of pink anemones, smiling at the bashful clownfish hiding between the fronds. A blue-shelled crab emerged from its den in the reef and scurried over the rocky outcrops, waving its curved pincers at the merman as it passed.

  She smiled at his wonder. The light in his face when she’d shown him the geode caves beneath the waterfall; the way he had grinned when she’d taught him how to steer a shark by its fin, riding the swirling currents beyond the Lagoon; his laugh when they’d teased the giant puffer. His joy at each new experience made her feel more alive; made her look at the old and familiar with new eyes.

  His attention was on a ghostly white octopus when she slipped behind him and slid her arms around his middle, fingertips caressing where scales met skin. He folded his arms over hers and ran his thumbs down her wrists, leaning back into her embrace. Her black hair swirled about them in an inky cloud.

  “You’re like a child with something shiny,” she chided, lips against his ear. “As distracted as a minnow.”

  “There’s so much to see!” he exclaimed, eyes shining. “So much to do-- how can you ever be bored?”

  “I knew you were different,” she said quietly. “The other pirates have such cluttered souls, heads full of gold and fire. When you first came to
the Lagoon, I could see your shine.”

  “You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” he blurted out, cheeks reddening with a blush. “That first day. The sunlight in your hair. I knew then that I would do anything to see you again, even from afar. Just being close to you was enough.”

  “Is this close enough?” she purred, lips brushing his.

  He raised his arms to cup her face, to bury his hands in her flowing hair. She tasted electric on his tongue, sharp and shocking and delirious. There was something of a sting to her kiss, but it was a sweet sting, and addictive. She dug her nails into his shoulders and bit the edge of his lip playfully.

  “You’re lovely,” she said. “Nice. Sweet. But sometimes I’d like to see a bit more of your edges.”

  Undine slipped away with a sharp flick of her tail.

  He grinned and began the chase anew. She was making for the waterfall, where the large outcropping of rocks was perfect for sunning. She was about to pull herself up when he grabbed her by the arm and spun her about. His mouth caught hers, forceful and insistent, his beard rasping her cheeks. He pressed her back to the rock, pinning her hands above her head. “Is this better?” he growled, lifting a mischievous eyebrow.

  “Oh yes,” she gasped as she melted, chest heaving against his. “All games of chase should end like this.”

  Much later, they lay stretched out atop the rocks, tails lazily flicking out of the water as the sun warmed their skin. She propped her elbows on his chest and pushed herself up to admire him properly. The gold in his brown hair was more burnished above-water, the highlights in his beard gleaming to match his scales. She loved his beard, his curly hair, the pale fuzz across his powerful chest. His arms had always been well-muscled; life on a ship required a great amount of strength. But since his transformation he’d become even more toned, the ridges of his abdomen more defined from

  their constant play. She followed the lines of the muscles with the tip of one finger, tongue peeking out from between her pink lips.

  “Hmm?” he murmured lazily, eyes still closed, head resting back on his crossed arms.

  “I was so lonely before you came,” she whispered. “I’d lost so many sisters. And those of us left, we became so bitter and angry. I became blind to the good in the world.”

  He opened his dark eyes and looked up at her. She was framed in light, a halo glowing above her. Bits of pollen and Faery dust floated in the air and glittered, sparkled over her shoulders and on her cheeks.

  “I was lonely, too,” he said. He reached up. Brushed the small braid she’d woven into her hair behind her pointed ear. “I never felt I really belonged. Always a bit out of place. The first time I felt right was in the water, in your arms. That night I got drunk and jumped out of the rowboat for a kiss.”

  “And I pushed you back,” she remembered. “You were so foolish.”

  “I was in love. Still am. Always will be.”

  He rose to meet her as she bent to kiss him, hand curled against the back of her neck. It was a kiss that was both a question and an answer, a reassurance and a need. It said You are mine, I am yours, and This is true and real and forever. It was better than a ring or an oath. It was all that they had.

  And it was perfect.

  ***

  Tinker Bell knocked rapidly on the door of a once-familiar house. This apologizing thing was a grand idea, really. She got to set things right and it felt wonderful. There was going to be a celebration near the Lagoon later today-- in fact, she'd promised to help set everything up-- but that could wait just a little longer. First she'd speak with this man. She couldn't wait to see the smile on his face!

  "Huh?" the man who opened the door asked, squinting at her in the fading sunlight. "Whadda ya want?"

  "I'm here to apologize," Tinker Bell said brightly.

  "Huh?" he said again. Tink was beginning to believe brains weren't the poor fellow's strong suit.

  “It's about your daughter. Lucinda?"

  "I know my own daughter's name," he said, his tone and eyes a little sharper now. "What about her?"

  "Well, you see, I was the one who took her. Dreadfully sorry I couldn't give you a replacement, but the Fae only participate in the changeling ritual when another realm is involved. Peter wanted a Mother quite badly, and I tried to find him a suitable one."

  He stepped out onto the porch, nearly knocking her off balance. She caught herself, but immediately wished she hadn't; the reek of alcohol nearly took her feet out from under her all over again.

  "You took her."

  "That's what I said, yes."

  "To be someone's mother."

  "Yes."

  He sniffed, rubbed brusquely at his nose. "She was only twelve."

  "Peter Pan is an odd sort," she said. "Oh, don't get me wrong, he's quite wonderful, but he does need a caretaker. Someone to remind him when to eat, help mend his socks-- he's so very hard on socks-- that sort of thing. And he saw how well your Lucinda took care of all her dolls and was quite taken. So now you know," she said. "Again, I do apologize."

  "Where is she?"

  Tinker Bell blinked at him. "Where. . .?"

  "You an idiot? Where's Lucinda?"

  "She-- sir, she died years ago now. I thought with so long without a word from her, you would've already realized that."

  He stared at her for a long moment, eyes bloodshot, and she shifted her weight from one foot to another. Was she supposed to leave now? she wondered. Or should she explain further?

  When he didn't dismiss her, just kept staring, she reluctantly continued. "We're not quite sure if the mermaids or the Grinning One got her. I did warn her, even Peter warned her, not to go into that Lagoon. And she's with us for less than a week when she decides that's a perfect place to go swimming. It was fast, sir, whatever happened. I can promise you that."

  There, she thought. She'd apologized, and he knew the full truth. Nodding to tell him good day, she started to turn, pausing in confusion when he grabbed at her shoulder.

  "Hey! Where you going?"

  "To the next on my list, of course."

  "Your list? You done this to other people?"

  "This specifically? Only to two others. But I have done other things wrong, and I mean to make up for them now."

  "Haven't made up a damn thing."

  "What are you talking about? I said I was sorry. What else do you want?"

  His hand moved surprisingly fast for someone so wobbly on his feet. Tink jerked back, started to fly, remembered too late that she had no wings anymore. She only succeeded in backing up a small distance, and the motion did nothing to stop his fist connecting with her face.

  The Prince watched from the forest, his stomach twisted into a knot. His first instinct was to go and help, but the Fae's very own words kept him still.

  She'd taken a child, left a father to wait and worry for years. Again. Done it to others in this realm, it sounded like, in order to please that smiling demon in the woods. All the apologies in all the realms paled in comparison to that.

  Then the man kicked her in the stomach, hard enough to make her yelp and curl in on herself, and he hurried out of the cover of the trees. Maybe she did deserve every blow and worse, but that was for someone with far more power than he'd ever have to decide. Right now he was the one here, and he couldn't just watch it happen.

  "Stop it!" he ordered. The man was crouched down next to her now, fists hitting anywhere they could reach, the blows weakened by the sobs shaking his body. "Stop," he said, taking his shoulders and pulling him away.

  "She . . . my baby. She murdered my baby. Let go. Let go!" he demanded, tried to pull away, but the momentary strength that fury had given him was gone now, and he sagged to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

  "I did no such thing!" Tinker Bell protested, hands rubbing at her wounded stomach as she got to her feet. "I told you, she--"

  "Close your mouth," the Prince snapped.

  Too startled to do anything else-- he'd come to
help her. Didn't that mean he was on her side?-- Tink fell silent.

  "Do you know what those water devils do to people?" the old man asked. "They play with them. Drag them under and let them up, let them think they might live, and then they drag them under again."

  "Don't think about that," the Prince said, utterly unsure of what to say in the face of such grief. "Maybe she's not gone. After all, she was just a child; if the mermaids found her they wouldn't have any reason to--"

  He let out a pained bark of laughter. "You ever met the mermaids, boy?"

  "I'll speak with them. Ask them what happened to your Lucinda. All right?"

  "Think you can get an honest answer from the mermaids. You're as foolish as she is evil," he muttered, getting to his feet. He walked slowly back into his house, looking far more frail than he had when he'd first opened the door.

  As soon as the door was closed, the Prince turned on Tinker Bell. "What was that? Do you think the main point of your apologies is to defend yourself? Exactly what is there to defend?"

  "I-- there is plenty to defend! I'm apologizing, aren't I?"

  "And that solves everything! If I were to hit you and then say, oh, I'm sorry about that, would that make your face stop hurting?"

  She drew herself up to her full height, which still left her a foot shorter. "If you strike me it will be the last thing you ever do."

  "That wasn't a threat; it was a hypothetical-- come here," he grumbled, grabbing her hand and leading her back into the woods before the old man decided he'd given up too easily and came out with a crossbow. She swore at him, invective that was rather stunning in its creativity and filthiness, but he wasn't holding her tightly enough to hurt. She could have pulled away if she'd tried hard enough, and she didn't. That, he thought, said volumes more than her language.