Trailer Park Fae

by Lilith Saintcrow

  He’d awakened at dawn to find his jacket tucked securely around him and Robin perching on the stone she had slept against, chin up and her entire body expressing wariness. And she had insisted he step over the border into Summer first, as if she were a gallant.

  Or a bodyguard.

  Now she walked before him, her head up, looking neither left nor right. Either her surroundings were familiar and so, ignored…

  … or she was very aware of everything around them, and chose not to appear so.

  There were no ghilliedhu girls dabbling in the streams, no naiads poking their sleek heads up to see who was passing. As they began up the gentle slope of Hearthill, he realized what else was missing.

  “No birds,” he murmured. All of Summer was in a breathless hush, and he began to feel even more uneasy.

  If that was possible.

  Robin didn’t pause, but she did turn her head slightly. “Perhaps our liege wishes silence.” Each word weighed carefully. Of course, her voice could kill, and here the air would be conscious of the fact.

  That very air carried tales here, too. Gossip, rumor, all the games of fickle near-immortals. It was enough to make him reconsider, but he’d decided to follow her, so…

  What else had he decided?

  She gave him one sidelong glance as she dropped back at the foot of the glass stairs, each riser reflecting a different color. Even a mailed fist would not break them, their fragility a lie.

  Just like everything else.

  The great silver-chased doors were open. Now he preceded her, and he tried to figure out what that look had been. Warning? Something else?

  The rotunda was just the same, its misty starlit dome full of secrets and whispers, its floor a gold-chased map of Summer’s domains, shifting and wavering as the sidhepaths moved according to whim and their own quixotic laws. He glanced down, noted Copperswood and Fall Reil had switched places, and stepped squarely onto Darweil with a certain queasy satisfaction.

  That had been his first duel, so long ago. Fresh from the railway cars and the scrabble of mortal streets, drunk with the possibilities of the sideways realms, and full of petty pride.

  He had not always been of the Summer Court. Maybe he should have told Robin as much.

  Three steps up, and the doors—still giant, but smaller than the front ones—chimed softly as they slowly opened, flowerlike petals of gemmed metal. The light behind them was bright noon, dazzling after the rotunda’s dusk.

  So she wanted to impress him? A lowly Half-mortal knight who had spurned Court and vanished, leaving behind the glass badge?

  Just how desperate was the plague? Well, the Gates were still unopened. Summer couldn’t delay much longer, though; the spring would curdle.

  The Great Hall, for feasting and ceremony, soared away from him on all sides. The glare was her first mistake, and the second was one he did not realize until much later, even though he witnessed it.

  White stone, with green veins shifting lazily through its flow. The columns, fluted and delicate, held the massive carven roof high, and there was a slight tinkling. Apple-blossom scent filled the air, as well as the perpetually falling petals—he had wondered, for a long time, where they all came from, and decided it was a glamour so old it sustained itself with little trouble.

  Beware the mask, old gnarled Fuillpine had once sneered at him, for it becomes truth.

  Fuillpine had died on the lance, a duel engineered by Summer, for whatever reason. Perhaps she didn’t like his cynicism. Even now Jeremiah’s arms tingled, the marks shifting madly under his coat. He was neither warm nor cold, will holding temperature in abeyance.

  Just like any sidhe.

  The petals stayed on the floor, pristine snowdrifts, until they were bruised or stepped upon. Then they vanished, puffing up ghosts of delicious scents to match the apple perfume. As soon as they were marred, they died, mortal as any of his coworkers.

  The hall was empty, except for her, at the end, her reclining couch on the low dais. White as snow, carmine lips, the green Jewel on her forehead singing to itself, as usual. She was robed in twilight, shimmering heavy fur and velvet, as if she felt a chill.

  He took in the changes with a swift glance—there was a column of amber beside her couch on the dais with its star-pattern. Looked like a statue. Naked, a youth with a proud but immature erection, his hands lifted as if he pleaded. There was a marvelous accuracy in the carving, as fine as the bark of the trees in her wood.

  The draperies had become dusty blue instead of the deep heart’s-blood red of his youth, and there was no tinkling music. Had she even dismissed the minstrels?

  Good God. Summer without her constant music. It beggared belief.

  Robin, behind him, barely faltered. Still, the hesitation between two of her steady steps was as loud as a shout in the hush.

  The ageless, beautiful face glowed as the Seelie Queen lay on her side, watching them approach. “Here he comes,” Summer murmured, her voice just as beautiful as ever. Just as soulless. “A champion, one who faced plagued Unseelie and triumphed. Hail, Armormaster.”

  That is not my name. He restrained himself with an almost-physical effort. He remembered those exquisite fingers against his sweating flesh, her quiet laugh when he spent himself, shuddering with loathing.

  Perhaps she remembered as well. She had not called him to her bed often, and even at the time he’d had enough sense to be glad of that. You had to be half insane to couch with Summer; still, she had her ways of enticing even when a man wanted nothing to do with it.

  His throat was dry, but he managed to sound crisp and calm. “Greetings to Summer.” Barely polite, not delivered on one knee, and brief. He settled his backpack higher on his shoulders and halted before the dais, gazing up at her. “You sent your errand girl, and she brought me. Speak.”

  Even he couldn’t believe he’d said it. It was a relief to find his body, for once, not noticing the Seelie Queen’s nearness. Maybe Daisy had inoculated him against that disease.

  Robin halted, two steps behind and to his left. His skin chilled, suddenly. After seeing what her song could do, only an idiot would turn his back to her.

  Robin Ragged wasn’t the danger here. Still, if Summer ordered her to sing him into death, would the Ragged do so?

  The true danger in this room snuggled into the mound of gorgeous cushions in every shade of blue piled on that end of the reclining throne and smiled pacifically at him. “First I shall send the errand girl away. She has something to collect for me.” Those perfect lips, the smile spreading, white teeth peeping between the carmine eagerly to see what she was regarding so intently.

  It was Robin’s turn to speak, but she took her time. When she did, it was the soft dulcet honey of a woman past rage. “Have you met my conditions, O Seelie’s glory? Is Sean returned to the mortal realm, whole and well?”

  Summer’s smile widened, fractionally. “I would have, but a poor, poor mortal boy insulted one of Seelie’s greatest knights.” One pale hand lifted languidly, stroked a velvet-clad hip before pointing at the amber boy, glowing with his own inner light. “I could not deny such wrath from a prince of the Blood.”

  Sean? The sudden urge to glance at Robin rose up in him, died away. Was she bargaining for a lover caught in Summer’s snares? His throat was full of hot ash. There was a ghost of her scent clinging to the collar of his coat; he suddenly longed to shed the rough heavy cloth and leather patches.

  Of course Robin had a lover. Those eyes, and that hair. Who wouldn’t want her? The danger of her voice would only add spice to it, an edge hidden in a woman’s softness.

  Summer’s eyes narrowed fractionally, their blackness turning hurtfully brilliant and sharpening, tiny star-motes dying in a river of ink.

  Whatever he expected, it wasn’t the slight sound of weight shifting. A woman turning on a Cuban heel, and there were determined little clicks.

  Receding.

  “Ragged Robin, Robin Ragged.” Summer’s smile had widened. �
�Bring me the ampoules, and I may find a way to return our Sean to flesh.”

  No change in the footsteps. Jeremiah did not dare to glance over his shoulder. Instead, he watched Summer.

  The Queen’s countenance didn’t alter, a picture-perfect rendition of calm. It wasn’t an actress’s expression—a mortal actress, after all, would know on some level that she was lying. “Robin.” An edge below the silken tone now. “If you leave, I may have to put him away in a storeroom, with dust and cobwebs. Do you think he’s alive in there?”

  Robin halted.

  Jeremiah almost winced. Either Summer was overplaying her hand here, or Robin was just like every other fickle sidhe.

  Which one would it be?

  GAVE YOU AN ANSWER, DO

  25

  All the stars of Summer’s dusk. She blinked several times. The hot water collecting in her eyes didn’t brim over. Instead, Robin swallowed twice. Maybe she thought it was indecision, for the Queen of Seelie spoke again, a little more harshly.

  “What is it to be, Ragged?”

  Cold fire all through her, scalp to toes. For a moment she considered finishing her smooth inhale—four counts in, to make certain she had enough—and loosing the full range of her cursed song on Summer herself.

  What is it to be, Ragged?

  Then continuing, singing until every particle of the Queen of Seelie was ground finer than dust. Could she do it? There was precious little the song couldn’t destroy, if she gave it enough breath.

  A rather fitting expression of your entire life, don’t you think? The few times the song had burst free in her mortal childhood were nightmares best kept locked in a dungeon.

  Even as Robin considered it, there was a better idea. Though that was hateful, too, wasn’t it? The ease with which she considered what would hurt her enemy most, and leave Robin’s sorry skin whole.

  Daddy Snowe would be proud. How often had he regaled a silent, adoring Mama with tales of how he’d “got one over” on anyone who crossed him?

  Her pulse thundered in her ears. Of course she would hear it, and probably Gallow, too. So Robin let the tears brim over, two slug-tracks on her burning face. Let Summer think her weak enough to weep from sorrow instead of rage.

  Robin whirled in a tight half-circle, her hair fanning out in a heavy wave.

  When she faced Summer again, it was a little surprising that Gallow hadn’t turned. He was of course entranced by the beauty of the Seelie Queen.

  Just as Sean had been. Men did not see past that loveliness. She almost regretted tucking Gallow’s coat about his shoulders and keeping watch this morning. Almost regretted holding a little boy and teaching him the constellations. Sean never cried, never threw a tantrum like some mortal children.

  Robin-mama! Little hands raised to greet her, and his wide-open smile.

  “I go to fetch you a gift, my Queen.” Amazingly, the words didn’t turn to bitter saltpeter in her mouth. Robin could have congratulated herself on sounding so carelessly polite.

  “The ampoules, Ragged.”

  “Yes.” She was looking down, she realized, at the toes of her shoes. Scuffed and black, their gloss a sidhe chant that would renew itself. They had given her good service, a gift from Morische the Cobbler before he had left for the mortal realm. Let me go, Ragged, and I shall give thee hooves that will not falter.

  Except they had. She had stumbled in the dance somehow, either in caring for a full-mortal boy… or in letting Summer know she cared.

  Still, Morische had left with his life; perhaps that counted for something.

  “Gallow was my Armormaster, and the finest to wear the glass badge.” Summer moved slightly, and a rosy flush simmered through the floor. “He shall keep you safe, dearest Ragged, while you fetch what is mine.”

  Amazingly, Jeremiah Gallow spoke again. “I will keep her safe. But I do not serve.”

  A long, trilling, thrilling laugh. “You’ve grown defiant. Yes, Gallow-my-glass, you shall watch my little bird. After all…” Summer clapped her hands once, and the flush through the glassine floor faded. “She is your kin. You married her sister.”

  Keep your lying tongue from my sister, you sidhe whore. The inhale filled her, breath in a bellows, and her throat relaxed, ready to let the music through.

  Gallow stood before Summer, his head cocked slightly to the side. “I don’t recall such an occasion.”

  “Did you think your mortal dalliance had gone unnoticed? You left Court for little Daisy, who gave you an answer, do.” It wasn’t precisely a smirk on Summer’s fair face.

  The most horrible thing about it was her relaxed, easy smile, the utter transparency of her satisfaction.

  All the air left Robin’s lungs in a rush. “Daisy…”

  “She didn’t have a—” Thankfully, then, Gallow shut up. He froze as if turned to stone, and for a moment Robin had the strange idea that Summer had encased him in amber, too.

  “Where was mortal Daisy bound, the night she died?” The Seelie Queen stretched luxuriously. “And who did she happen to meet there? I’ll tell you this much, Gallow-my-glass, she met a sidhe.”

  “Who?” The word was a croak.

  Robin’s throat was dry as Marrowmere sands; she could not make a single sound rise. Is that what happened? Is that why I could not find her, until I found her grave?

  “Oh, I think I’ll tell you, when you bring the Ragged back to me, with her precious cargo.” Summer nibbled at her lower lip, teeth so sharp-white against the crimson. “Don’t delay. I must open the Gates soon. Wide and wild shall be spring’s return.”

  “And when you do, the plague will spread.” Robin had found her voice again, and each word was a weapon, the song trembling right behind it. “It will claw at pretty white flesh, and—”

  The amber column trembled. It rocked back and forth, singing a high distressed note, and almost, almost fell.

  No. Please, no. She couldn’t sing—her throat had closed completely.

  “If you do not bring the ampoules, dear Ragged, I may not be able to free our Sean.” She yawned, patting at her mouth with one hand. Her nails, long and wicked, were now glamour-dyed with moonshine, white bearing a faint blush of peach.

  Gallow had turned and was bearing down on her. Robin struggled to breathe. If she could just get enough air in, she could let the song loose, and…

  … then what?

  His hand closed about her arm with bruising force, and Gallow the Armormaster dragged her from the hall. Summer’s laughter, high and sweet and tinkling, accompanied them all the way through the rotunda, and spilled away down the stairs just as they did.

  AS PLANNED

  26

  High morning in Summer was busy with bees drunkenly careening from flower to flower, pixies trailing scatterdust as they played among the zipping buzzes. After a great hush earlier in the day, joy had stolen out of Summerhome, filling the flour-pale pathways with a secret, brimming glee. Naiads basked on the shore or cavorted in the crystalline water, the nymphs and dryads had taken up their dancing again, and delight brimmed in every flower-cup.

  The fount of this joy swayed between two rows of apple trees, white silk fluttering in a playful perfumed breeze. Decked with long indigo velvet ribbons, her hair pulled back in an elaborate cable-braid, it pleased Summer to appear a simple nymph. The Jewel on her forehead flashed, sonorously, and as she reached up to a low-hanging branch, her quick white fingers found a red fruit nestled among the creamy blossoms.

  A shadow lengthened on the other side of the tree, and yellowgreen eyes peered at her. “Oh, lovely one, take care. These trees belong to Summer.”

  Her soft laugh rustled every leaf. Some few paces behind her, two ladies-in-waiting halted, their heads bent together as they gossiped. The taller, black-haired lovely was Brenna Highgate, and the chestnut-haired other was the fair lady of Dunhill, both in sky-blue and simple holly crowns, since it was still, technically, not spring yet. A little further afield, two fair-haired Seelie knights in gold-ch
ased armor stood, no doubt alert.

  Puck’s fingers caressed the hilt at his side, but he stayed well in the shadow. Pixies flitted among the leaves, chiming, and soon there would be a drift of blossom in every corner of the orchard, flushing to heartsblood and sending up a heavy reek of spice and copper.

  Once the Gates were open.

  “They do,” the Queen murmured, examining the red fruit. No blemish, no stain, marred the perfect rind. “What news, Goodfellow?”

  “Unwinter quakes, my lady. Wights and knights have issued forth, and all to catch one small bird. No doubt she is hopping through the brambles as we speak.”

  “No doubt.” White teeth peeped between crimson lips. “What else?”

  “Oh, gossip flies on the wind. There are some who say the Ragged has a mighty protector, but who it may be, none knows.”

  A small, satisfied smile played over Summer’s face like sunrise. “Ah. And our pet, the mortal of science?”

  “Very fine.” Puck’s own smile was no less satisfied. “He asked of you, lovely one.”

  A fractional shake of her golden head. “He has little of value left to give.”

  Puck’s expression did not alter, though he could have noted that in point of fact, the mortal had nothing left to give, not even his life. But that would spoil the game. “There is other news.”

  “Oh?”

  “Haahrhne.” The name sent a chill through the orchard. Both the ladies-in-waiting shivered and cast glances over their shoulders. A few paces away, the knights stiffened, scanning for danger.

  The Jewel on Summer’s brow darkened, and she frowned, just a little. “You would speak that here.”

  “I hear the sickness has breached his halls, Majesty. And that he himself may ride forth ere long, to seek its source.”

  Summer’s smile broadened. Her teeth flashed, and she bit, with a satisfying crunch, into the fruit. She sucked at it, a slight flush rising up her cheeks as it withered, and each tree in the orchard stirred uneasily again.