by Cutter, Leah
“You sure about that?” Julius asked bitterly.
“Cause I think all you ever cared about, really, was just getting back to him.”
He pointed with his chin at Papa, who stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, ready to come to her defense.
“You were never in it for the glory of revenge, were you? It really was a puny thing.”
He spit, carefully avoiding her boots, then walked away.
Francine swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, knowing Julius would never understand.
Maybe if she hadn’t rescued Papa, maybe if they hadn’t started finding a way back to each other, Francine would have only wanted revenge, and it wouldn’t have turned out to be such a puny thing, as he called it.
Or maybe revenge was puny, would always be puny, in the face of love.
Chapter Fifteen
The full dark of the night was on the Unseelie court by the time Francine stepped through the arch. Red lights shone down on the court from the branches of the still-swollen trees, the only brightness there. The court wore their gowns and silk coats, fancy gloves hiding claws and paws alike.
Francine joined the other Seelie musicians ranging behind the giant willow that still held the queen. Like the others, she plucked at her instrument, a soft tune, nothing like what either the Seelie or the Unseelie were used to hearing from her. She worked at keeping the song simple, understated.
Even those standing closest to her didn’t seem to get it, and would look away, not drawn by it at all.
Just as she and Papa had planned.
Erastus came before the court. He wore his white fur cape again. He’d grown darker, his lips fuller, and his teeth and horns sharper. His bare chest glistened in the dark as if it’d been oiled.
When Erastus started to talk, the other musicians stopped their random tunes, but Francine didn’t. She wove her song around those closest to her, filling them with peace and calm. Then she slowly pushed out tendrils to the next group, lulling them all, building a base.
The willow groaned as it started to raise its roots.
Francine swayed easily as the ground moved. Papa now joined her, an airy counterpoint, floating above the heads of everyone who heard. They added more melody now, building a song that maybe Mama would have sung.
Papa moved casually to one side of the tree while Francine moved to the other side. They built a bridge of music between them, strong and steady, that lifted the spirits of the few who could hear.
Queen Yvette rose like a flood creek belched out of the side of a mountain. Blood stains spattered across the front of her white dress. Strands of green moss and brown mulch also spoiled its former purity. Twigs and leaves littered her hair, and her dark skin looked as though it had been bleached in ash.
The fetters had turned from black to gray as they’d drained the queen of her power, corrupting the iron until the Fée could touch it without pain.
However, the queen’s eyes were gator gold, and a bright star shone around her neck.
The court murmured, restless.
Francine played a bit louder, calming the Fée around her. Papa joined her, adding layers of lace on top of her firmament.
Erastus glared at Francine, then shook his head.
“The queen is ours! Her power, her light!” he declared, striding up to her.
The queen meekly raised her hands.
Erastus gave her a cruel smile, gathering them in his like a lover.
“Now these are mine.”
He tugged out the pin from one shackle, raising it above his head to show to the crowd. The Unseelie court shouted their approval, growls, hoots, and roars shooting toward the sky.
Francine continued her quiet playing, catching Papa’s eye. He took a step forward and she mirrored him, sliding up into the upper ranges as he slid down, playfully swapping roles for a few measures before returning.
Erastus let go of the unpinned fetter.
It didn’t drop or fall off.
When Erastus touched the first fetter again, a sliver of the darkest ivy twined out from the iron, snaking its way up, wrapping around Erastus’ wrist.
“What trick is this?” he asked, dropping the pin.
The court murmured uneasily.
“No trick,” Francine said, stepping forward, increasing the tempo of her song, building the bridge with her Papa.
Erastus stood still, entranced by the rapidly spiraling ivy curling up his arm.
The queen took advantage of his distraction and freed her second hand from the fetter.
But it, too, didn’t fall, as ivy crept out from it and up the queen’s wrist.
“What?” she asked, glaring at Francine, then at her papa.
Francine stepped closer, her tune swelling. She threw all her passion into the song now, the driving beat of zydeco, the slide of jazz, and the cry of the blues.
Papa built on top of everything Francine laid down, adding all the frills of Féerie, the glittering moonlight and talkative trees, the healing waters and spiked berries.
The fetters transformed, turning silver in the light of their tune. They shimmered and the light spread across the king and the queen, covering them both in a cloak of healing magic.
Francine and Papa switched roles again, with Francine bringing all the passion of the Unseelie into the music, while Papa brought the formality of the Seelie: wild dancing with courtly turns, teasing trees with easy paths.
Queen Yvette clawed at the ivy climbing her arm while her feet shuffled to the song Francine and her papa played. Erastus tried to pull away, his body turned one way, while his feet continued to face the queen, moving in time with her. The rest of the court had already started to dance, unable to resist. Eula, the snake-like Unseelie, twirled with Brooks, while Julius stomped with Lady Melisandra.
“You must find a balance,” Papa told the queen. “Between the dark and the light. It can’t all be one way.”
“Charles—” the queen warned.
“You heard me. You must return to the light,” he growled.
The queen shuddered, and the shining star around her neck flared. Her gown turned white as the first winter’s frost, her skin growing dark and rich again. The king also changed, sharp angles taking over his face, his ears turning pointed and his mouth cruel.
Francine added some of the sadness she felt as they king transformed. Her friend was gone, though the light of the queen did ease her heart.
She’d never be able to come to the Unseelie court again, regardless of whether they’d welcome her or not.
The king and the queen finally began to dance together, jerkily at first, then with the grace inherent to the Fée. They floated through a few turns of a waltz that then sped up to the staccato of zydeco. Leaping up, they spun in the new moon, the magic spiraling out, blessing the crowd, the trees, and the lands. They mirrored each other better now, one dark, one light, one blessed, one not.
From the far side of the Grand Hall, a new fiddler joined in. At first the music sounded out of place and the notes didn’t slide together well. But before the next refrain they were well joined as Pierre walked through the dancers.
Pierre gave a wan smile to Francine, his fingers skipping as he relearned playing with extra joints. His shirt echoed the tree bark he’d worn, segmented and mossy. His pants were woven ferns, green and crackling.
Francine poured more joy into the tune, welcoming Pierre, expanding the song to encourage him more.
The low sax of Uncle Rene joined them; then, one by one, the other musicians as well, both the Seelie and the Unseelie playing together for the first time.
Francine kept hold of the rhythm, not letting a single style take over. They needed to mix, to mingle, but also to be pure to themselves, the Seelie, the Unseelie, and the mixed Fée that joined them together.
Papa gave Francine the biggest smile she’d seen him wear, at least since Mama had died.
Mama, if she was watching, would have been very proud of them indeed
.
* * *
The trees closest to Francine felt real under her fingers, with rough bark and sweet sap. Buds swelled the branches. Birds hadn’t returned yet, but the squirrels had come out, chittering and racing, scrambling and doing death-defying leaps between the branches.
But in the distance, mists wrapped tightly around the trunks, swathing the branches and hiding all the details. It seemed to Francine that she stood at the edge of a watercolor painting. The earth under her human boots felt solid and real. Yet when the trees echoed her music back, it returned high and thin.
The Seelie court woods had changed, losing more of the human elements, become more Féerie, less attached, less real.
Francine soaked up as much of the morning as she could, breathing in the cool air, the taste of moon wine still on her lips.
They were going home: Francine, Papa, and Uncle Rene.
Or, at least, back to the human lands.
Francine had spent the night making music with Pierre, tossing melodies back and forth, capturing the light of the Fée with their tunes, then kicking up their heels to Francine’s beloved zydeco. They’d made the trees dance and the waters sing. They’d gelled like they had that first night, each of them letting go of their fear.
With the coming light, Pierre had slipped away like the mists, his tune trailing behind him as he went.
It was the best goodbye Francine could expect.
Papa, Uncle Rene, and Queen Yvette waited already in the Grand Hall. The queen shone brightly in the wan morning light, like a star that had fallen. She gave Francine a cool nod of her head but didn’t say a word; she hadn’t spoken to any of them since they’d forced her to be more balanced.
Papa put his arm over Francine’s shoulder when she came up.
Francine rolled her eyes. Papa had let her go spend the night with Pierre, but he was always scared she’d never come back.
He didn’t need to worry. She’d always come back, now that there was something to come back to.
The queen formed the arch, flinging the top of it high enough to brush the branches of the trees above them. It stood like a dark curtain in the meadow.
Uncle Rene picked up his sax, then blew a cool, sad riff. He gave the queen a stiff bow, then walked through.
Papa went next. He kissed Francine’s cheek, then approached the queen.
Queen Yvette stiffened as Papa neared. Regardless, he leaned down and kissed her cheek as well before turning swiftly and walking though the arch.
For a moment, the queen smiled, sly and thoughtful. Then her face grew blank as Francine approached.
“Thank you,” Francine told her. She gave her deepest courtesy. Even Pierre would have been surprised.
“For everything.”
“You’re welcome, darling,” a new voice said.
Startled, Francine looked up.
Lady Melisandra walked across the Grand Hall. The queen glared at her.
“She’s too proud to say it, but she’d like to thank you as well,” Lady Melisandra said.
“No, I wouldn’t,” the queen said, addressing Lady Melisandra.
“The child weakened us.”
Lady Melisandra gave an unladylike snort.
“Like hell. She helped you become more pure again. But you’re young yet yourself.”
Then she walked past the queen and came directly up to Francine.
“Goodbye, darling,” Lady Melisandra said, giving Francine a very human hug.
“I know you can’t come and see us again, but you never know who may come to have tea with you sometime. I’ve heard your Uncle Rene’s biscuits are quite a treat.”
“That they are,” Francine said. She was looking forward to them.
“You’d be welcome,” Francine said. “I can’t thank you enough. The trees, my woods—”
“I know, dear. You miss those most, I imagine. They’ll come visit you in your dreams sometime.”
Lady Melisandra kissed Francine’s forehead. Warmth blossomed across her skin, filling her with the fizzy energy of glittering moonlight.
For a dizzying moment Francine thought about staying, about going back to her woods, that place of her heart—but she knew she couldn’t.
Francine had had enough of fairy magic and tricks.
“Goodbye,” Francine said firmly. She picked up the bone-white fiddle and stepped through.
Dry gravel crunched under Francine’s boots. The air struck her skin as cool and surprisingly dry. Papa and Uncle Rene waited for her on the side of the crossroads.
Francine blinked, surprised. It all looked so…normal. She’d expected to be jolted, but she wasn’t. The sun hadn’t quite peeked through the trees. Thin clouds hid the pale blue of the winter sky. Francine took a deep breath, breathing in the dust of the road, the pungent pines and the quiet of the day.
It wasn’t the sweetness of Féerie.
But it was still good to be home.
* * *
A noise startled Francine out of her studies. She looked up from her books and blinked. The only light was the one shining on her desk—it had grown dark outside and she hadn’t realized it.
She stood and stretched, then glanced back down at her books. Two more weeks and she’d be ready for her GEDs. Then she could send the Louisiana music college her application. She already had her audition CD prepared; both Papa and Uncle Rene had helped.
What had disturbed her? She glanced at the clock.
Papa wasn’t home yet; he and Uncle Rene had started another band and were playing that night.
Francine had wanted to go hear them, but she knew she wouldn’t have been content to just listen, and would have spent the night playing when she needed to study. At least Papa was having fun, and Uncle Rene’s cancer had stayed in remission. The trip to Féerie hadn’t cured him, but it had stopped the cancer, at least for a while.
The knock came again.
Not from the door, but from the window.
Francine’s first instinct was to pick up her sadly human fiddle, but it could no longer defend her. It had faded to plain wood in the human world, no longer shooting sparks or flames.
Still curious, Francine lifted the shade.
Pierre stood outside, holding his fiddle in one hand, his bow in the other.
“Wanna dance, ma chérie?” he asked with a winsome smile.
Francine looked back at her desk. She should study. She should finish the next practice test.
Her feet decided for her, and she found herself already drifting to her bed and picking up her fiddle.
“Just for a bit,” Francine told Pierre sternly, already sliding open the window and slipping out into the backyard.
“You wound my honor, darling,” Pierre told her, giving her a slight bow. “You know we only play as long as you want.”
“And you never ask me to stay,” Francine said, unsure as always how she felt.
“Neither do you,” Pierre said quietly.
Francine nodded. It took two sides to build a bridge, and they were both too firmly rooted in their homes to do more than meet in the center sometimes.
But that was enough.
“Let’s play,” Francine said with a smile.
And they began to dance.
Author’s Notes
Louisiana Music College doesn’t exist.
The academy that Francine attends doesn’t exist.
Small cell lung cancer, however, does exist, and really is that much of a killer. Life expectancy after diagnosis is one to two years. There are no stages. There is no reversal or remission. There are treatments to prolong life, but no cure.
A percentage of the profits from this book will go to the American Lung Association.
About the Author
Leah Cutter’s first three novels (Paper Mage, Caves of Buda, and The Jaguar and the Wolf) are all historical fantasies, set in diverse periods of time, such as Tang dynasty China, WWII Budapest, and the Viking era, respectively.
Her recent nov
els, (Clockwork Kingdom, Zydeco Queen and the Creole Fairy Courts, and The Raven and the Dancing Tiger) are all contemporary fantasies, and set on the Oregon coast, in rural Louisiana, and around the city of Seattle, respectively.
Her short fiction includes fantasy, mystery, science fiction, and horror, and has been published in anthologies, magazines, and on the web. A collection of her recent short fiction is available in Baker’s Dozen. A collection of her mysteries, set in the same world with the same ghost detective, are available in The Shredded Veil Mysteries.
Read more stories by this author at www.KnottedRoadPress.com.
Follow this author’s blog at www.LeahCutter.com.
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