by L. K. Rigel
It was good to be free of the taint of Idris and shout out whoop! and yaw! with the others. He could almost believe Idris alone had brought about all the goblins’ troubles.
When the line began to form a circle, Max bowed out, poured himself a tankard of stout, and watched the gobs join hands and surround the laughing ladies. The men made their circle smaller and smaller until, one by one, each gob broke free to claim a partner.
Max downed half his ale in two gulps. He was no different than the others; he longed for a companion. The Dark times had passed, right? Hadn’t—as the queen promised—love and laughter returned to the faewood?
Perhaps not entirely. Another unhappy gob left the circle and joined Max at the keg.
“Not dancing, Morander?” Max said. “Surely at least one ladygob of the vale has caught your eye.”
The young gob finished filling his mug and leaned against the table, watching the dancers. After another silent moment he said, “She isn’t here.”
There was a catch in his words. Pain Max could relate to. He wondered which goblin gal Morander pined for.
“What’s that then?” Morander stood taller and looked past the crowd to a commotion at the far end of the square.
Max put down his tankard and muttered, “Treesaps.” Someone still had to keep the peace around here. He started to cut through the dancers, but a gasp rippled through the crowd.
Someone said, “It’s the queen!” and everyone made way of their own accord.
“Your Majesty!”
“Queen Narcissus!”
Some bent the knee, and some squatted in weird goblin curtseys. Every gob overflowed with high regard for their new queen. She basked in their adoration, taking to the role of Lady Bountiful—though the new queen had hardly become suddenly generous or ladylike.
All at once, her searching gaze found him.
Eyes green as emeralds, skin like a pale pink rose, lips like pomegranates, red hair out of an Aeolian nightmare… and the look of an imp in her expression. Cissa might be Max’s queen, but she was still a thief. She’d stolen his heart and never returned it.
Vulsier stepped forward. “My lady, welcome to the vale.” His graveled voice conveyed the dignity of his age and experience. He offered the queen his crooked elbow. “Shall we?”
After three reels, Vulsier surrendered his privilege, and Cissa found Max at the stout barrel.
“Majesty.”
“Oh, stop that, Max. We’re still friends, aren’t we?” She frowned, looking around. “Where’s my drink?”
A pixie popped in and handed her a flute of sparkling pink liquid. “Champagne, champagne, for all your reign!” The pixie popped out.
“Sounds like the pixies have been hanging out with the sprites,” Cissa said. She held the rim of the flute against her pouting lower lip, unconsciously provocative. “You never come to the faewood anymore. I suppose your sister requires much of your attention.”
“She does, my lady,” Max said.
She winced again. What? Did she expect he’d call her Cissa in front of all these people? She knew nothing of goblin pride! Still, he wouldn’t wound hers.
“Would you like to dance?”
Max danced with the queen so many times that by first morning light his shoulders were even with hers, and when she looked into his eyes she wasn’t looking down on him.
During the rondo her red hair flew in every direction and her green eyes flashed with fun, and when her lovely bare arms rested in his embrace, she closed her eyes and sighed, and he thought of the kiss Idris had ordered her to give him as punishment for some slight—how could he forget?
Desire drove him forward toward those luscious lips that could smile and pout simultaneously. He very nearly kissed them again. But the morning star caught his eye just in time and reminded him of his ugliness. He put the idea aside.
The queen’s brows scrunched together, and her eyes popped open. Was that disappointment? Had she wanted him to kiss her?
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “Dandelion and his wyrding lover invite you to dinner at Mudcastle tomorrow.” She looked sideways at the brightening sky. “Tonight, I mean. He says it’s ages since they saw you last.”
“No. I was there just the other day,” Max said. “I brought them a dozen summoning candles.”
“Human time.” Cissa rolled her eyes. “Morning Glory will be there, and Goldy. And they’ve asked the faelings.”
The faelings were Cade, Dandelion’s son, and Morning Glory’s daughter Lily, who went by her human name, Lilith.
“Dandelion’s wyrding lover?” Max said. “You still haven’t accepted Beverly, though she saved your brother from the eternal agony of Idris’s cold iron.”
“He’s gone completely solitary for her.” Cissa waved her arms in exasperation. “He never leaves Mudcastle. I… I don’t understand love. It makes no sense.”
Max felt the crease between his eyebrows deepen and tried to ignore the twinge in his heart. “I’ll be there,” he said. “Boadicea must think I’ve abandoned her.”
He grunted, then felt himself wince. He hated to make such grotesque bodily noises in front of Cissa. But there it was. Now that he knew people of the human realm, people he didn’t mind seeing on occasion, the time schism between the two worlds was… inconvenient.
“Your sister is at Mudcastle?”
“Beverly’s trying to find a way to free her from the glimmer glass.” Max knew there was little hope, but he wouldn’t say as much aloud. Boadicea was desperate to try anything, and he wouldn’t destroy her hopes. What could he do but take her there?
“Ah. Well, I suppose you’re busy in the vale these days, doing… things.”
Forging a shield to deflect your loveliness. Great gods, he was becoming such a treesap.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Majesty.” He touched her arm gently. A thrill of longing shot through him; he noted it and let it pass. “I’ll bring you a present.”
“A present.” Her eyebrows shot up, and the apples returned to her cheeks. Her lips formed a pert O. “Ooh, I like your presents, Max!”
There she was, the old Cissa. She winked and blew him a kiss—and then she popped out.
She was right. He never went to the faewood anymore. He couldn’t bear to see her in the throne room, attending to her monarch’s duties. Gone was the thieving fairy who had plagued him for centuries with her antics, the red-haired girl who liked to dance in the air and toss exploding fairy dust willy-nilly. The princess whose kiss had given him the sweetest memory in his small treasure box of memories.
No longer the sister who risked all to rescue the fairy cup for her brother who should have been king of the Dumnos fae. She was the bride of fae who’d accepted the moonstick crown in her brother’s stead for the good of her people. Not Cissa, but Queen Narcissus.
Still, Max was fairly certain it would be Cissa who showed up tonight at Mudcastle. She did like his presents—because he gave them freely, with no obligation. She had no idea he always got something in return. The satisfaction of making her happy.
Yeah. He had become a real treesap.
« Chapter 22 »
Abomination
The same day. Faeview
Lilith woke late—and alone. By the time she showered and dressed and came downstairs for breakfast, it was close to lunchtime. No wings appeared at the moment, but she did feel somewhat… strange. Like she had a fairy hangover.
She repressed the urge to run through the house looking for Cade.
She was a countess, after all. There were servants vacuuming—hoovering—and dusting and a head housekeeper supervising. She didn’t know whether to feel like Lady Mary Crawley or the second Mrs. de Winter, but she knew enough not to run.
Cade was in his office with the door ajar, and from the gallery she heard him talking on the phone. She’d come to appreciate land lines. Or, more correctly, the lack of a cell phone. Disconnected from the virtual planet, the real world’s colors and sounds and t
extures had become more vibrant, and not only because she was turning fae. Free of her cell phone’s constant stream of focus-shattering demands for attention, her human nature thrived.
Also it was lovely not being always available to anyone who had her number.
“Dammit, Duncan!”
Lilith stopped outside the office, her hand on the door, surprised by Cade’s vehemence. She’d heard him angry before, but never so enraged.
“I’m telling you that can’t happen.”
She didn’t want to interrupt. She’d find out what was wrong when he finished the call.
“I don’t care if it’s five thousand percent. … No. … It’s no good coming this way.”
Lilith stepped away from the door. To pass the time she walked around the gallery, looking at the portraits of earls and countesses past. Her father was there, the fourteenth Lord Dumnos. Donall James Utros Cade Bausiney, 1858-1928. Unwitting sperm donor, more like.
It was all so odd. Cade, the noblest person Lilith had ever met, had no noble blood in his veins—unless you counted being the son of a fairy prince. Lilith was the actual blood descendant of House Bausiney. Morning Glory had seduced Donall because she wanted a child—and because she fancied him and wanted to give him a gift of lustful, joyous sex.
Lilith found she didn’t mind being the product of such a union.
She’d never had a real father. Not even a father figure. It was strange to look at the painting of the man who should have been that person. He seemed nice enough, but whatever.
Oddly, she felt more of a bond with Lydia, Donall’s wife. The countess wore a headdress of peacock feathers and stared down from her portrait as if defying anyone to judge. It only made Lilith like her more.
“I do judge, Lydia,” Lilith said to the picture. “I judge you admirable.”
No children stood in the countess’s portrait as with the other Lady Dumnoses on the wall. Lydia’s featured object wasn’t a male heir but a black leather journal with the title in red letters, Tales of Wyrd. The full title was obscured, but Lilith had heard Beverly talk about the journal, Tales of Wyrd & Fae.
Lydia Pengrith Bausiney had been something of an unsung scholar, an expert in her subject at a time when women’s scholarship was patronizingly indulged and ignored. Or derided and ignored. By all reports, the countess didn’t suffer such fools and let no one get in her way. She’d pursued her study of the wyrd and fae until her death.
Oh. My. God.
That was the answer! The journal.
If there was a solution out there, anything to keep ghost squatters out of Lilith’s body and stop her transition to full fairy, Lydia Pengrith Bausiney would have known—and she would have documented her knowledge. Lilith had to find that journal, the Tales of Wyrd & Fae.
And she knew where to look.
“What’s that smile for?”
She hadn’t heard Cade come out of his office. He slipped his arms around her waist, and she turned her head up for a kiss. He grinned and leaned forward, pressing his soft and strong lips against her cheek.
“Great gods, I love that smile.”
“I think I know a way to slow down my change—or at least how to find out,” Lilith said. “When you married me, I’ll bet you didn’t bargain on having a ghost-whispering fairy for a wife.”
“I don’t know about that,” Cade said. “Do you remember the first time we were at Igdrasil together, during the Handover? The Day of the Biscuits, I call it. We shared a tube of Hobnobs.”
“I do.” Lilith couldn’t forget that day. Somehow, without meaning to, she’d given Cammy French a headache. Disconcerting, if not frightening, even if Cammy French had deserved it.
“I saw your wings, rising behind your shoulders. They were there, and then they weren’t. On some level, you must have been getting in touch with your fairy nature even then. It must come to you more easily because you’d spent time with the fae when you were so young.”
“But it terrifies me, Cade. If you’re to remain human, then I don’t want to be fae. Your dad’s blood might not be enough.”
“He’s not my dad,” Cade said. “James was my dad… not some randy poser named Dandelion. Good lord. I freely admit I want a real life, a human life, with you. Being fae holds no interest for me.” He turned her around and lifted her chin, his eyes twinkling. “Who needs it? I’ve already won my chosen mate through my uncompromising animal magnetism and overwhelming sexual attraction.”
He pulled her close and kissed her. Their tongues met, and Lilith tingled with desire as she pressed her body against his. They both moaned with wanting. She took his hand to lead him upstairs, and when she turned around she nearly walked over a maid bringing in the teacart.
“Oh!” The woman’s face was purple. “I’m sorry, my lady. Pardon me, my lord. Mrs. Trenam said you’d like some coffee since you hadn’t had any breakfast yet today.”
“Yes. How thoughtful,” Lilith said. “Please thank her.” She and Cade stood silent until the poor lady made her escape, and then they burst out laughing.
“It was for the best, I suppose,” Cade said. “There’s no time to do you justice.”
“I like that, though you know a fairy hates to wait.” Lilith fixed two cups of coffee with cream. “Who were you talking with on the phone earlier? You sounded upset.”
“Ach, it’s a disaster.” Cade’s eyes clouded. “It was Duncan Edan, our financial manager. I’ve just learned why the Clad’s shares have skyrocketed lately. I’ve been no better than James, leaving the finance side of things to so-called experts.”
“But why is it a bad thing? We’ve been able to do so much—for the house, for the village,” Lilith said. “Isn’t the rise in shares good?”
“Not like this,” Cade said. “It seems the stock is up on rumors of a military contract to procure Dumnos steel through the Clad.”
“Great gods.”
“From the time of the first earl, we’ve banned sales to the military. Sure, there’s the occasional ceremonial sword made of it—”
“Henry II’s battle sword,” Lilith said. “I’ve been catching up on the history of Dumnos.”
“Henry II’s sword, very true. But Dumnos steel has never been used to make guns or bullets or even military vehicles. That’s not going to change on my watch.”
“But if it’s just a rumor, maybe it’s false.”
“It isn’t false. That’s why Duncan called. A vote on approval of the contract is set for after the holidays, at the first board meeting in January.”
They were interrupted by Mrs. Trenam, the housekeeper. “Pardon me, my lord,” she said. “Good morning, my lady. I apologize for interrupting your coffee. There was a call from the head curator at the Victoria & Albert in London. She asks if you’ve made a decision regarding the museum’s request to borrow Bausiney’s Abundance for the fairy exhibition in January.”
Cade looked to Lilith with a raised eyebrow.
“Why not?” she said. “As long as they take proper precautions.”
“One thing more, my lady,” Mrs. Trenam said. “A Jenna Sarumen called before you came down. She claims to be a friend of yours from California visiting Tintagos, and she asked if you could ‘do lunch’ at the Tragic Fall.” Mrs. Trenam wrinkled her nose at the words “do lunch.”
“That’s… astonishing,” Lilith said. “Today?”
“She seemed rather put out that she couldn’t reach your mobile.” Mrs. Trenam chuckled. Tintagos locals found great humor in tourist frustration over the cell phone situation. “But she left her room number. Shall I answer? I did say on such short notice it was quite unlikely you’d be available.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Trenam. Please ring her and tell her just that,” Lilith said. “And I do promise to hire a social secretary soon.”
Lilith waited for the housekeeper to go, then crossed her eyes at Cade.
“Jenna Sarumen,” she said. The woman had stolen Greg fair and square. Why wasn’t she using his last name? “T
he last person I’m interested in doing lunch with. Do you think it has to do with this military contract?”
“Maybe,” Cade said. “Sarumens are lobbying hard for it. Maybe she hopes to convince you to put in the good word.”
“Fat chance.”
“Look, I have to motor up to Dunhevos. Duncan’s there today, and we need to talk face-to-face. Not something to discuss on the phone, even a land line. Do you mind? I might be a bit late to Mudcastle.”
“I don’t think fairies even have a word for late. No worries. I’ll go on ahead and represent the team. Come when you can.”
“Sun and Moon, I love you.” He hugged her.
Lilith ran her fingers through her husband’s hair and pulled him close for another kiss.
“Mm…” Cade’s low rumble vibrated in his chest. “I’d stay, but there’s not a minute to lose.”
“Go,” Lilith said. “I’ll see you at Mudcastle.”
Perfect. Cade could arrive as late as he liked, and meanwhile Lilith would get to the cottage early. If she could somehow distract Beverly and Dandelion, maybe she could find the Tales of Wyrd & Fae.
As for Jenna Sarumen… what was up with that?
To get to Mudcastle, located deep in the woods northwest of Faeview, a human had to either enter the fae realm through a portal or be brought from the human realm by fae magic. To the human eye, it was said to appear as a mound of earth, not high or wide enough to be called a hill, covered with snowdrops and Dutch iris that bloomed through all seasons.
Lilith turned off the Ring road, parked the Mini near the Temple of Joy and Wonder, and after a short walk through the woods she reached Mudcastle. She had never seen the mound. As faelings, she and Cade saw the cottage in fae form, a pretty stone house with a thatched roof right out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Spring flowers bloomed year round in its garden, and the opposite end to Morning Glory’s wishing portal opened at a lilac stand nearby.