The rest of the meal passed more pleasantly, with both Ailbhe and Fjell seeming to relax. The Lady peppered them with questions about their journey, coaxing out the tales of their battles between glasses of wine and plates of food - from the dark witch and her demon dogs, to the nuckelavee and the curse, to the nykkjen.
“The only way to rid your river of the nykkjen permanently,” Ailbhe suggested to Fjell after hearing their tale, “is to dirty the water with enough of their blood that they taste it for generations.”
“Aye,” Fjell answered, nodding in agreement. “I suggested that to his majesty years ago when they first showed up, but he wanted to give them the chance to live elsewhere first. We see how well that worked out.”
“That is surprising,” the elf lord said with a small frown. “I remember King Nibelung being one far more prone to the blade.”
Fjell shrugged, sipping his wine. “After our people made peace with the Jotnar, he’s become more willing to allow others a chance before raising arms.”
Folding her napkin, Isabel set it beside her plate and stood. Ailbhe’s mouth snapped shut on whatever he had been about to say and he stood as well, looking to his wife.
“You two stay here and chat,” Isabel told the warriors with a smile. “I’d like to show Marsilia the gardens.”
Quickly folding her own napkin aside, Marsilia stood as well, glancing over at Fjell. The dwarf gave her a small nod and smile of reassurance.
Ailbhe bowed over Isabel’s hand as he kissed the back of her knuckles, his gaze never leaving hers. For one brief moment, the witch couldn’t help but feel a flutter of envy and happiness at the display. There was so much love and romance between them, subtle and tender, as to break others hearts with longing.
As Ailbhe reclaimed his seat and continued his conversation with Fjell, the Lady of Autumn turned and tucked her arm in Marsilia’s to begin guiding her out.
“Eogain,” the Lady called over her shoulder to the elven servant with the strange orange hair. “Please bring the wine and join us.”
Chapter 28
Lady Isabel led Marsilia back through the Keep and out the front doors as Eogain trailed behind them. The wall gate across the courtyard from their exit was closed now and a servant was going around, beginning to light the torches even though sunset was still an hour or more away.
“I’m afraid that I’ve pulled one minor deception on you, child,” Isabel said, turning them towards the trees that flanked the Keep.
Marsilia frowned, looking over at the elder lady. “And what is that?” she asked hesitantly, nerves beginning to flutter in her stomach. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to leave Fjell behind.
“Eogain, who so graciously served our dinner, is not a maid,” the Lady said with a small, knowing smile. “She is my sorceress.”
As Isabel spoke, Eogain came up to Marsilia’s other side. A glamor shimmered around her as it dissipated and the plain brown dress was replaced with golden brocade, nearly as fine as the gown Isabel wore.
Marsilia’s brow furrowed as she glanced to the women on either side of her. “I don’t understand,” she said cautiously. “Why would you hide who she is? Why have her play the role of a servant?”
“It was actually my suggestion,” Eogain answered smoothly. Her gait and how she carried herself had changed along with her appearance; her shoulders squared and head held high, and she moved with a confidence previously hidden under slumped shoulders and bowed head. “I wanted to get a sense of you without you knowing another practitioner was around.”
The witch continued to look at the sorceress, bewildered.
“But… why?”
The elf and the Lady shared a look before Lady Isabel shrugged. “Lady Ylva did mention the girl hadn’t been exposed to much.”
The three women drew to a stop before the solid wall of trees as Marsilia felt her cheeks flushing from the conversation. Eogain returned her attention to the trees ahead and raised her hand, lifting a single finger to the grove. With a groan, the trees began to shift and slowly part to allow an opening.
Isabel patted Marsilia’s hand gently. “Don’t be embarrassed, child. It’s a good thing, in a way. You’ve not become cynical and so wary as to suspect harm from any who come across you.”
Eogain led the way through the trees, speaking over her shoulder. “Many who practice our arts will either put on airs or attempt to hide their true ability around other practitioners. It’s a common practice, if rather ridiculous - all power plays and posing to gain advantages.”
“So it’s… politics of sorts?” Marsilia asked, frowning.
“Precisely,” Isabel said. “Some play to gain power, others play to stay out of the mix.” The Lady glanced over at her in curiosity. “I can only wonder which path you prefer.”
“Neither,” the witch answered as they exited the grove of trees. “I am what I am, nothing more or less. Why would I try to deceive anyone? I mean, to what end?”
Before them spread a grand garden, easily as beautiful as the glimpses she had caught of Lady Ylva’s estate. Maple and oak trees spread gold and crimson leaves across the ground in artfully constructed paths between garden beds over flowing with chrysanthemums, goldenrod, heather, roses, and a dozen other flowers she couldn’t immediately name. Benches sat tucked between shrubs, under trees. A fountain bubbled in the center of the path ahead.
For a moment, the witch longed to stop and admire the beauty of the scenery, to relish in it and breathe the scents - but the sorceress and Lady were still moving along the leaf-covered stone path.
“I have to wonder that myself,” Eogain said, turning to sit on the edge of the fountain and setting the bottle of wine beside her. “The magic you spoke of using in your tales of your travels was simple enough to learn, but how you say you used it was of a more advanced skill. Few can pull the full power of a storm to their command, nor remove a rapidly spreading stone-skin curse from themselves.”
“Well I had help with the curse,” Marsilia began defensively, though she wasn’t certain why she was feeling so defensive. “And Pa taught me how to harness storms by shooting an arrow up into them. It isn’t that difficult if you know the trick.”
“Changing the seasons is a simple matter too,” Isabel said dryly, taking a seat on a bench before the fountain. Looking back up at Marsilia, the lady gave her a knowing smile. “If you know the trick and have the power to pull it off.”
“That’s a very different matter,” the witch began but trailed off, caught between their two gazes. “I don’t know what you want me to say. If I had some secret talent to confess, I would. I only know what my pa has taught me to do, and it’s not nearly as much as he’s capable of.”
Eogain considered her for a moment longer before turning her gaze to Lady Isabel. “I believe she’s telling the truth, your grace.”
“Oh, I’m fairly certain she is,” Isabel agreed. “The poor dear.” Turning her gaze back to Marsilia, the lady patted the bench beside her. “Come sit, child. You needn’t stand there as if you are on trial. We only wanted to get a sense of what you are capable of to aid in planning how best to combat the dark witch.”
Reluctantly, Marsilia took a seat beside the Lady, still feeling on edge from the unexpected turn in the conversation. Would it have helped if she’d told them who her pa was when they asked? Or would that have made them question her even further? The entire situation had her out of her depth. It was supposed to have been such a simple thing, to go get the blessings and then take the blade back to save her woods, her family and friends.
A hand appeared before her, holding out a glass of wine. The witch looked up to find Eogain smiling sympathetically at her as she offered the beverage. Taking it, Marsilia looked between the elf and Lady.
“You have magic in your veins,” the elven sorceress said, her tone gentler than before. “And it’s not by birth. Perhaps you ‘pa’ has taught you more than you realize. Let’s just start with seeing what you know, and then go from t
here, alright?”
“Alright,” Marsilia answered, holding her glass in her lap untouched.
“What do you know of the flow of magic between worlds?” Eogain asked, moving to reclaim her seat on the fountain, facing them.
Setting her glass aside on the bench completely, Marsilia toyed with a lock of her hair that had come loose. “Each world has its own magic, a source be it of fae, nature or spiritual origin,” she answered evenly, recalling what Eudon had drilled into her since an early age. “At various points in each world, the magics blend and bleed together in different strengths - sometimes with more fae or more spiritual magic, depending on where it is.”
The sorceress raised her eyebrows in approval. “That’s correct, though from the perspective of the Mortal Realm. Here in the Fae Realm, it is either spiritual or nature magic blending with our fae magic. Likewise, in the Spirit Realm, it is a bleed of nature and fae magics.”
Marsilia considered for a moment before nodding. “That makes sense.”
“Clearly you know a great deal of the Mortal Realm, and are learning more of the Fae Realm by being here,” the sorceress asked, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “What do you know of the Spirit Realm?”
“It is a bridge between the Mortal Realm and the Fae Realm,” the witch answered. “The spirits of all life reside there.”
“All life?” Eogain asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well,” Marsilia hesitated. This had been one of the harder concepts Eudon had taught her, and she still wasn’t sure she fully understood it. “The spirits of nature; the spirits of the land. The embodiment of each forest, each mountain, the seas and rivers, even the storms that are born and die so quickly. It’s why there’s such clear connections between the Mortal Realm and Fae Realm. Each spirit manifests a part of itself in both… right?”
A small pleased smile curled across Eogain’s face and she nodded in agreement to Marsilia before turning her gaze to Isabel. “I think we can make some progress here, your grace, if you’ll permit me to teach her a few things.”
“I didn’t bring you here just to ask the girl questions,” Isabel chuckled.
Chapter 29
“What bothers me the most,” Fjell said, leaning back in his seat at the table, “is how much the political machinations of those who won’t even wield a sword influence where and when battles take place. They manipulate behind the scenes and by the time ye realize what’s happened, it’s too late. Battle lines are already formed up.”
Ailbhe nodded his understanding. “It was simpler when I was part of the Unseelie Court. We knew that every spring and autumn we would war, and in summer and winter we lived our lives as we saw fit. None would dare rise up against Queen Mab. Now battle could come from any direction, from any perceived infraction.”
The dwarf remained silent for a moment, letting the weight of the elf lord’s words permeate the room. Candles now lit the feast hall and a fire danced in the fireplace, staving off the evening chill. The last of the sunset shone through the windows, casting faint rose gold hues across the table. Reaching over to the bottle Ailbhe had called for, Fjell filled both of their glasses once more with mead.
“Do ye regret it at all?” he finally asked, looking over at the elf.
A ghost of a smile spread across Ailbhe’s face. “Never for a moment,” he answered without hesitation. “This has brought new challenges, but having Isabel at my side has given me more joy and peace than I ever could have dreamed of. I would fight a thousand battles in a day, stave off countless political enemies, for just one more moment at her side.”
Chuckling, Fjell raised his glass to his lips, taking a long drink.
“You find my declaration funny?” Ailbhe asked, raising an eyebrow even as he reached for his own goblet.
“Nay,” the dwarf answered, shaking his head. “Just… Fanden, I grew up hearing stories of ye. The cold unrelenting general of the Unseelie army, who could freeze a soul with a glance, who no blade could touch. Yet here ye are, with a heart and yearning for kindness, just like the rest of us. Spouting romance and dedication as well as our best poets.”
“I assure you,” the elf said, his polite smile returning once more, “many a blade have touched me over the centuries. There is no elven knight of the courts who hasn’t died at least a dozen times.”
“Aye, how does that work?” Fjell said, leaning forward in his seat. “How can ye lot die, be brought back, and go out to die again.”
Taking a sip from his own glass, Ailbhe set it back down. “You have been injured in battle before, I assume. It is the same logic, just on a grander scale. Would you stop fighting just because you were once cut?”
Shaking his head, the elf tapped a marble pale finger on the table. “No, you keep fighting because that is who you are. Besides, there is a driving force for all in the Courts. A need to fight, to secure the coming seasons. It is hard to explain, and something I did not even realize was there until I was released to the Wild Fae.”
Picking up his glass again, the highborn elf considered the dwarf. “But what of you? You who were outcast from your own people for a… mistake? How do you now find yourself traveling with a mortal witch, on a quest dealing with matters of the Mortal Realm?”
“I owed a debt to a mutual acquaintance,” Fjell answered with a shrug. “Got pulled in to guide the witch here.”
“And then found her worthy of your blade?” Ailbhe offered when the dwarf trailed off.
Chuckling, Fjell filled his own glass again. “Aye. More than any in my own homelands.”
“I am beginning to think we are not so different,” the elf said before downing the rest of his own glass and siding it over for Fjell to refill.
“Maybe not,” the dwarf agreed, pouring into his goblet as well before handing it back.
“Fight me in the morning,” Ailbhe said, accepting the offered glass.
“What now?” Fjell asked, looking at him askance.
“Just in practice,” the elf lord said. “I would see what you are made of. I assume you will be the one wielding the blade in the coming battle. I have centuries of experience; perhaps I can give you a tip or two. As dwarves fight differently than my people, it may be I even learn something from you.”
Fjell considered his drinking companion for a long moment before finally nodding. “Aye, alright. Ye have practice blades?”
“Of course,” Ailbhe said with that polite smile once more. “I have not trained an entire guard of Wild Elves with live blades.”
A grin spread across the dwarf’s face. “Good, I’d hate to cut that pretty—”
The door into the feast hall opened and both warriors turned their gaze to those entering. Lady Isabel entered first, and Ailbhe was on his feet instantly, moving to her side. He took her hand, kissing it as they stepped out of the way.
Eogain followed and Fjell frowned. The servant’s simple garb and hunched shoulders had been replaced by fine garments and a head held high - and the dwarf saw something more. The magic in her golden eyes that he had overlooked before when he thought her a simple servant. He rose to his feet, brow furrowing as he began to head down the hall towards the doorway, worry beading in his chest.
If they had done anything to Marsilia…
The white witch entered just behind the sorceress, her face glowing with excitement. Fjell stopped, looking between the women, but his seidkona was already hurrying over to him.
“Ye alright?” he asked, tempering his confusion at her elation and his revelation of a sorceress being present.
“I’m more than alright,” she answered, beaming up at him. “Watch.”
Cupping her hands between them, a faint shimmer traced through the air before a bevy of ghost-like butterflies erupted around them. Fjell stared in confusion at the display. While it was very pretty, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. An illusion of some sort perhaps?
“The spirits of our gardens,” Ailbhe said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Very impr
essive, Marsilia.”
“Whoever her mentor has been,” Eogain said with a smile, “he has taught her very well. He just never showed her how to connect the pieces of his teachings into useful conjurings.”
“I called them from the Spirit Realm,” Marsilia said, smiling up at the dwarf still. “Tomorrow, we are going to the woods so I can learn to call more powerful spirits.”
Fjell felt his eyebrows attempting to climb into his hairline and he schooled his face to a smile for his seidkona instead. “See? I said ye would be more,” he said, grinning.
Rather than argue or blush or even blow off the statement, Marsilia leaned in, wrapping her arms around him as the butterfly spirits faded back to their own realm. Fjell smiled down at the top of her golden head and wrapped his arms around her in return.
Chapter 30
Pulling away from the hug, Marsilia looked back up at Fjell’s glowing golden eyes. As excited as she was, she was also incredibly nervous and wanted so badly to talk things through with him - but she wasn’t certain it would be a good idea with their present company. The discussion of politics and power plays between the Lady of Autumn and her sorceress still rattled in the back of the witch’s mind.
Fjell’s brow furrowed, clearly seeing something of her concern in her gaze. She pulled back and took his hand, giving it a squeeze as she turned to face the others in the room. Still, she could feel his gaze on her, even as he squeezed her hand in return.
Ailbhe and Isabel remained off to one side in hushed conference, but Eogain was standing nearby, watching the dwarf and witch. When they parted, she smiled faintly.
“I am looking forward to furthering your abilities tomorrow, Marsilia,” the elven sorceress said. “But it is growing late. Reflect on what you have learned tonight for tomorrow will be far more trying.”
“I will,” Marsilia said, and then unsure of what would be appropriate, half nodded, half dipped into an awkward curtsey while still clutching Fjell’s hand.
The Blessing of Equinox Page 16
