Zydeco Queen and the Creole Fairy Courts

by Cutter, Leah

  Something was still missing.

  Maybe she should just make an arch and step through, over to the island? She could see where she wanted to go, could practically taste the sun-warmed air and feel the soft mud under her boots.

  But—fear spiked her gut. Even if she could see it, she’d never been there. What if the island held rivers or small ponds lay beyond the grass? There was no telling where Francine would end up.

  Besides, forming arches was forbidden, at least for now. No one was supposed to leave the Unseelie lands unless directly sanctioned by the king.

  Which meant the only way to leave was to go raiding.

  Still…it was so close. And she just wanted a little peace, away from the trees.

  Francine tried one more song, a lullaby to calm the waters.

  No bridge rose, but a couple of gators did, right in front of her.

  One turned to look at Francine as it passed, giving her a wink with its golden eye.

  Francine kept playing, not taking a deep breath or stopping until she was certain they’d gone. She could have defended herself from them; she’d learned how to fight with her fiddle.

  But what if she’d done something stupid like made an arch to the island and landed on a pile of their eggs?

  Francine shook her head and put down her fiddle again.

  Queen Yvette had gator eyes, and her smile at the crossroads when Francine had first met her had been so warm and inviting.

  With a sigh, Francine flung herself on the ground, closing her eyes and banging her head.

  She knew why she couldn’t play or stay focused. Papa and Uncle Rene were in a cage. The queen’s screams threaded through all the trees. Fairies had died in a bloody battle. The queen had tortured Pierre and maybe, probably, others. The trees were at war, killing each other. Julius was her friend and he scared her. Mama was still gone, and the ache in Francine’s chest felt heavy and old.

  Both Lady Melisandra and Papa had said Mama was human, spoke of her weight.

  Mama had always been the bridge between Papa and Francine, between the academy and the rest of the family.

  Francine banged her head once more against the hard ground beneath her.

  Of course, she couldn’t raise a bridge when she herself was so divided: Seelie and Unseelie, human and Fée.

  Cursing one last time, Francine sat up and put her fiddle away, strapping it tightly to her back.

  She didn’t know how to solve the puzzle of all the different strands in her blood. She didn’t know where her true home or her heart lay.

  She didn’t need to, though. Not right away. She couldn’t do everything. She just had to do the right thing.

  She just had to rescue her papa.

  * * *

  Francine gritted her teeth and made herself wait another minute, two minutes, five.

  Julius and the warriors gathered below her in the Grand Hall, about to go on another raid.

  Francine hadn’t been able to form her own gate, so she figured she’d use one of theirs.

  The problem wasn’t the waiting; it was the waiting while hidden in a tree, the cries of the queen searing through her hands where they touched the bark. Even her boots and jeans could only blunt the screams, not block them. It took all of Francine’s will just to stay, to not jump out of the tree and run away.

  Finally, though, Julius opened the gate and all the warriors stepped through.

  Francine sneaked down to the Grand Hall, checking over her shoulder and peering through the woods to see if anyone else watched.

  Just the trees stood guard.

  Without looking back, Francine stepped through the portal.

  In the Unseelie woods it had been dusk, the air turning dim and the trees outlined with harsh shadows. The Seelie woods had just passed that point, where the trees had all turned black and the sky offered no relief.

  Francine waited for her eyes to adjust before she struck out along an easy path, thankful that no roots tried to trip her and no branches barred her way.

  This time, the arch was much closer to the Grand Hall of the Seelie. Francine wondered if Julius was just being bold, or arrogantly foolish. Seelie warriors were also good fighters.

  Pierre didn’t answer the door when Francine knocked, or even when she called. She listened, but she didn’t hear him, either.

  Where could he have gone? No one was playing in the Grand Hall. No parties that night.

  Maybe he was training, though.

  It didn’t take long for Francine to reach that part of the woods, the meadow where they’d played. Trickling notes through the trees told her she’d guessed right. She moved quietly along the path, not wanting to interrupt.

  “Come to capture me, too?”

  The harsh words rang out in counterpoint to the soft melody.

  “No,” Francine said.

  She stopped trying to move stealthily and walked directly to where Pierre stood.

  Grand trees spread their limbs above his head, hiding the moon and stars. Pierre had raised a sturdy footstool and stood with one boot resting on it. His white shirt was the only light thing about him—the rest of his clothes and his face were dark and closed.

  “You were right,” Francine said when the music finally died away.

  “Not about the battle; it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d played or not. The Unseelie still would have won.”

  She didn’t bother to keep the pride out of her voice.

  “But the Unseelie influence—that isn’t good.”

  Francine looked at her feet, ashamed to have said it out loud, but relieved as well.

  “It’s too late, though, isn’t it?”

  Pierre’s voice lashed coldly along Francine’s skin.

  “You already have Queen Yvette. Our influence is fading. Yours is gaining.”

  “Their influence,” Francine grated out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Their influence,” Francine repeated. “Not mine.”

  “So you just thought you’d change sides again?” Pierre scoffed.

  “The reason King Erastus decided to fight was because of you. How you could rile up the warriors and the court. Your unbridled passion gave them the advantage. The blood of my friends is on your hands.”

  Francine held herself still, feeling herself grow as pale as the few beams of light finding their way between the trees.

  “I know,” she said eventually.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You expect that’s enough?”

  “No,” Francine said, grimacing.

  “I know it isn’t. Words can be hurtful, horrible, but never enough. I want to do something. And I need your help.”

  “Charles,” Pierre said. “He’s been captured.”

  “Yes,” Francine breathed out.

  The hole in her chest where her grief about Mama lived felt extra empty and cold when she thought about Papa.

  “I have to get him out.”

  She paused, adding, “I need your help. Please.”

  “Ah, chérie,” Pierre said, shaking his head and looking to the side.

  “I knew you were trouble. First moment I saw you.”

  Francine swallowed down any feeling of hope or want. He hadn’t said yes yet.

  “Darling, you’re going to dance me to death, aren’t you?” Pierre finally turned to face her. He still wasn’t smiling, still hadn’t relaxed, still stood stiff as a tree before her.

  “At least it’s a good night for madness.”

  Francine nodded and dared a small smile, the first one in days.

  Pierre returned it only slightly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Francine went through the gateway Pierre formed, fiddle and bow in hand. The dark woods made a muffled comment, the air humid and heavy. Clouds filled the sky, and even the birds were silent. She had watched him carefully, but she still didn’t understand how he could bridge the worlds when she couldn’t.

  Pierre came through a moment later. He glanced around
, obvious looking for others.

  “It isn’t a trap,” Francine hissed angrily at Pierre as she put away her fiddle.

  Pierre froze, then turned to Francine slowly.

  “I know that,” he said softly.

  “I believe you, chérie.”

  “But?”

  “You may have been duped, too.”

  Sadness washed over Francine. She no longer trusted the Unseelie. There was a good chance Pierre was right, and that they didn’t trust her either.

  “So we will be careful, yes?”

  “Oui, chéri,” Francine said, teasing, just to bring a smile to Pierre’s face as well as her own. She tried not to let herself notice how sad his smile was.

  Pierre tried to lead the way, but the roots kept tripping him, making him falter.

  Francine knew it was a gentleman thing, and let him, not wanting to hurt his pride.

  “Here,” Francine finally said, pushing beyond Pierre as she helped him to his feet for the fourth time.

  “Let me.”

  They made better progress now. The trees still occasionally tried to trip Francine, but it was more playful, with less intent to harm. They didn’t pause again until they stood on the small rise looking down on the Great Hall.

  To the left stood the tree Papa and Uncle Rene were caged by. No other Seelie had joined them, so the most recent raid had been unsuccessful. They’d unbound the rope from their wrists, and it coiled like a deadly black cloud in the corner of their cage.

  Francine studied Pierre as he looked down the hill. Did he see the tree? Or was Erastus right—was the queen truly hidden?

  “You didn’t tell me there would be guards,” Pierre hissed at Francine.

  “There weren’t guards there before,” Francine whispered back.

  She scanned the area carefully. Pierre was right. Two warriors now lazed outside Papa and Uncle Rene’s cage. One sat cross-legged and leaned against the bars, while the other lay stretched out, propped up with one arm.

  Cruel laughter carried up to where Francine and Pierre stood. The guard lying down tossed something into the cage.

  “Not exactly guarding,” Francine muttered.

  The warriors probably hadn’t been told to wait outside the cage and guard it. They were probably just there to have some “fun” at Papa and Uncle Rene’s expense.

  “We’ll have to wait,” Pierre said.

  “No. We have to get them out now. I’ll distract the guards,” Francine said.

  The one lying down had given her an idea.

  “Not like that,” Pierre said sharply, stepping in front of Francine.

  “Not like what?” Francine asked, perplexed.

  Pierre didn’t say anything. He merely looked Francine up and down, with speculation in his eyes.

  “No! Jeez, not like that,” Francine said, her cheeks suddenly warm.

  “Why does everything come down to sex with you?”

  “It isn’t sex,” Pierre assured her. “It’s honor.”

  Francine rolled her eyes. Pierre would see it that way.

  “Get Papa and Uncle Rene out while I’m still playing,” she said as she drew out her fiddle.

  “You know this means they’ll know you’ve turned against them.”

  Francine couldn’t meet Pierre’s eye. She knew.

  The Unseelie would never understand that loyalty. If they ever caught her after this, they’d be merciless.

  But she had to rescue Papa.

  Francine shoved her misgivings to the side and started a bright, happy tune.

  “What are you doing?” Pierre whispered.

  Francine winked.

  “Trust me.”

  Then she let the tune carry her down the hill, twisting and dancing. She didn’t play a constant song, just a few notes here, a string of melody there. She also consciously stumbled, and threw out a few casual curses when she did.

  Finally, Francine stumbled into the Grand Hall.

  “Ooh,” she said with an exaggerated whisper to the two guards, holding her hands out.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She swayed where she stood, as if she were very drunk.

  “It’s all right, miss,” said the one lying down. He started to push himself up.

  “No, no, no, no, no, don’t get up, shh,” Francine said.

  “Here. I’ll help.”

  At first Francine continued to skip over notes, switching from one slow dance to the next.

  “That’s nice,” said the seated warrior, swaying back and forth.

  “Yeah,” Francine said, keeping her own tone soft and unfocused. She changed over to a lullaby, a quiet song Mama had taught her about dolphins and the ocean.

  By the time Francine had reached the second chorus, both warriors lay stretched out, sound asleep. She risked a glance at the cage; both Papa and Uncle Rene were shaking their heads, working to stay awake, yawning greatly.

  She sent the next round of music up toward the tree, soothing it as well, slipping into something that more resembled a carol—the quiet winter chill needed to send a tree to sleep.

  Finally, Francine looked up at the ridge and nodded. She didn’t see Pierre, but hopefully he watched. She kept her playing softer now, casting a heavy blanket of sleep across the two fairies.

  The gate of the cage snicked open. Francine hadn’t seen Pierre approach, but he was suddenly there, urging the two men out.

  Even in the dim light Francine could tell they were pale—too pale. Maybe sick. Papa stood up straight and stretched as soon as he could. Uncle Rene followed suit.

  Papa’s eyes never left Francine even as he rolled his shoulders and head.

  Francine couldn’t pay Papa that much attention. She had to stay focused on the two warriors, making them sleep and dream deeply.

  Pierre shaped an archway just beyond the tree. Francine wasn’t sure how. He sent Papa and Uncle Rene through first. Then he beckoned to Francine.

  “You have to go next. I have to close the gate as I go through.”

  Francine didn’t know how to do that. There was still so much she had to learn.

  And now, only the Seelie would teach her.

  Francine continued to play as she walked, right up to the time she backed through the arch, bowing a little, saying goodbye to the place that had urged her to play as wildly as she could.

  * * *

  The notes Francine played in the arch bounced strangely through the Seelie woods, skyward and twisted. Darkness wove between the trees and pressed against Francine’s skin. The air smelled right, and Francine recognized where she stood, otherwise she would have suspected they weren’t in the Seelie lands. She’d never seen it so dark.

  “The queen’s missing,” Papa said quietly as Francine looked around. “The light’s…fading.”

  Francine stifled the urge to say she was sorry, yet again. She looked at Papa, trying to examine him in the dimness. He looked thinner than she remembered, the skin along his neck gaunt and tight. Either he’d shrunk or she’d grown—they stood eye-to-nose now, instead of eye-to chin.

  “It’s good to see you, darling,” Uncle Rene interrupted.

  Uncle Rene had lost so much weight. She remembered Pierre had said he had cancer.

  The stillness holding Francine suddenly broke and she gave Uncle Rene a hug. He held her in strong arms. Francine blinked back the tears.

  “I missed you so much,” she said hoarsely.

  “Missed you too, hon,” Uncle Rene said, letting go and stepping back, dragging the backs of his now-skinny hands over his eyes.

  “Same here,” Papa added quietly.

  “Yeah,” Francine said, looking at him and nodding. She’d missed Papa, but that was a familiar ache, as he’d actually left when Mama had died.

  As always, anger wrapped around Francine’s grief. She knew it didn’t make any sense, but all she wanted to ask was why, why had he hurt her so?

  Pierre stepped through the arch and it collapsed befo
re they could say anything else.

  Francine had never seen an arch fold in on itself that way. She was going to have to ask Pierre to show her that later.

  If Pierre still wanted to be teach Francine anything; if he would trust her that much ever again.

  “We need to get someplace safe,” Pierre told them.

  “Lady Melisandra’s?” Francine asked, remembering the strength of her safe haven in the backyard.

  Papa jerked his attention back to Francine, his expression unreadable.

  “No, though that’s a good second choice. She might help us—help you,” Pierre said with a pointed stare at Francine.

  Francine nodded. Just ’cause Pierre would help didn’t mean any of the other Seelie would.

  “But I was thinking Brooks and Jacque’s place,” Pierre continued. “They’re living here now, trying to keep order with the queen gone.”

  “Why there?” Papa asked. “Why would Brooks help?”

  Francine heard the unspoken, “Why would he help me?” There had to be some awful history there if Papa hesitated, as tired as he looked.

  “They owe her a debt,” Pierre explained.

  “Really?” Uncle Rene said, sounding surprised.

  Papa also cocked an eyebrow in question.

  Francine nodded. “When their bubble world was collapsing.”

  “That was you?” Papa sounded angry, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Yes,” Francine snapped, ready to match his rage.

  “They were my…” She paused, the anger leaving as quickly as it had appeared. They weren’t her friends, not really, though they’d been friendly enough.

  “It wasn’t right,” Francine continued quietly.

  “Just leaving them to be, I don’t know, reabsorbed.”

  Papa looked to the side, not meeting Francine’s gaze.

  “You could have been hurt,” he said softly.

  Uncle Rene gave a loud, dramatic sigh.

  Both Francine and Papa looked at him.

  “Would y’all stop dancing around each other like you’re concerned strangers and just admit that you’re flawed family?”

  Francine’s look turned into a glare. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Papa had done the same. A quick glance showed her that she and her papa stood the exact same way, with their hands fisted on their waists, chins out, necks strained. She bet if she had a mirror, it would show they both wore the same expression.