The Last Faerie Queen

by Chelsea Pitcher

  Sure, tell that to my shaking ass.

  It was true, I was shaking; the uncontrollable kind. The faerie must’ve realized what I was thinking, because she narrowed her eyes at me. “You do care for her. That much is true.” Her eyes went wide, and she touched her hand to her lips. I guess the world was turning on its head. But I didn’t have time for an episode of That Moment You Realize You’re a Bigot.

  I had to know if there was another way.

  “Is that the only possible plan?” I asked as she placed a crown of thorns on my head. When she yelped, pulling back her hand, I realized she’d been pricked. Poor baby, I thought with a snarl. It really sucks when you injure yourself in the name of torture.

  I guess I was starting to feel furious, in spite of the fact that she was man-handling me nicely. This situation was entirely wrong, even with all of her gentleness. She was handing me over to be killed in the name of her princess.

  After everything Elora had done.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, trying to catch her eye. She squirmed under my gaze, like I was a spider who was sizing up a fly. Isn’t that ironic? “Do you believe Elora? Do you believe she went to the human world to steal us for the Queen?”

  I could’ve been a faerie myself, the way I worded that. She had gone to the human world to steal Brad for the Queen. Just, you know, not her queen.

  But the faerie didn’t catch my trick, and she seemed to genuinely ponder the question. “I believe the truth lies somewhere in between. The princess must’ve gone to the wasteland to capture you, otherwise she couldn’t have said it. But while she was there, I believe … ”

  “I corrupted her with my wicked human wiles?” I asked, thinking of the way Elora had talked about humans her first week in my world. Of course, at the time, I thought she was some sort of runaway who’d escaped a cult and was skeptical of civilized society. Of people who relied on microwaves and running water. People who were wasteful and didn’t realize how easy their lives were.

  I guess some of that was fair.

  The faerie looked at me as if sizing me up. It was uncomfortable, considering the whole naked thing. “I cannot speak on what happened there, only the consequence,” she said. “Clearly, the princess’s … perception changed. Otherwise this process would be a lot less comfortable for you.”

  “You try standing naked in the snow. You do that and tell me it’s comfortable.”

  “It can always get worse,” she said, and it sounded like a promise. Or maybe she was just speaking from experience.

  “So you believe both Naeve and Elora are telling the truth.”

  “They have to be. Or, at least, they believe they are. What is the other explanation?”

  “And you believe he was justified in hurting her? You think she had it coming?” I tried to hide my fury, because I knew it would give too much away. I was in an impossible position: unable to show my love for Elora without putting her in danger. Unable to be indifferent without proving them right about humans.

  The faerie stepped closer, her eyes ablaze. “I love my princess,” she said fiercely, “And not just now, with freedom hovering on the horizon. I’ve loved her since her birth. She never once raised a hand to me, or spoke to me cruelly.” A small smile, with a hint of a taunt behind it. “She saved her cruelty for those that were cruel first. It’s as if she was born with an innate sense of justice.”

  “What does that tell you?” I said, gesturing to my friends.

  The faerie froze. The humans froze. The entire damn ensemble froze.

  Frozen, to match my feet.

  “It tells me she is worth saving,” the faerie said after a minute. “And perhaps, so are you. But I cannot be certain, and I will not sacrifice her to save you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Queen requires a sacrifice, and she will have one. The best you can do is divert her attention from the both of you.”

  “What, to my friends?”

  The faerie shrugged, like we weren’t discussing murder. “Unless you can make Naeve look like a fool.”

  “He’s mighty good at doing that himself.”

  Her eyes were cold as ice when she said, “Not this time.”

  26

  ElorA

  Night fell, but it was an unnatural sort of night. The darkness that covered the lands came from within. Within the Dark Court. Within the Dark Queen. In this part of the world, the sun had a penchant for shying away entirely during the winter months, but in the summer, it shone furiously, forcing us underground.

  Still, if the occasion called for it, we might be inclined to climb out of the earth with grasping hands, and use our collective power to cover the lands in pleasant darkness for one night. Our strength would be depleted in the morning, with or without the dancing, with or without the drink. But for one glorious night, we would revel in the blackness, in the sky so beautiful a person could disappear into it.

  If you are a good little faerie, the sky might open up her arms and swallow you whole.

  This is the story I was told, as a child. And now, in spite of the danger, and the word sacrifice running constantly through my mind, I felt a single rebellious thrill as the first sliver of darkness curled out of the earth.

  I stood at the topmost tower of the Unseelie Castle, watching the darkness unfold. Down below, at the back of the castle, the mountain jutted out into a near perfect circle, and there, in the center, was my mother.

  Perhaps she was drawing on the strength of her courtiers. Perhaps the darkness of the court just responded to her. But here, from a distance, it seemed as if all the darkness in the world existed inside her body, and she was letting it out.

  Black tendrils leaked out of her, circling and trickling and expanding to cover the world. Soon that darkness skittered over the grounds, covering the dirt and the snow like a low-hanging fog. Soon that wicked sun was blotted out.

  I stood, staring down at my mother, my body filled with fear and awe. She was so powerful; how could I defeat her? She was so beautiful; how could I betray her? All the parts of me—dark and light, cruel and kind—converged and surged within me, and I felt, for the first time, that only a part of me would survive. How could I be so …

  In love with a human.

  My mother’s child.

  At war with my people.

  My father’s daughter?

  What had Naeve meant, there in the graveyard, about being destined to visit the human lands? Had my father become entangled with humans as well? Is that why my mother abandoned him? Or worse … harmed him?

  I couldn’t think on it now. Couldn’t wonder about her proclivity for death. For a moment, the most curious image entered my mind, of a blue-haired naiad dragging her lover down to the depths. Had my mother done such a thing to my father, but only to see him scream? Naiad may have felt remorse for her murderous mistake, but the Queen of the Dark Faeries would suffer no such regret.

  Oh, Lady, I thought as she finished her wicked work and turned to face me. Perhaps she knew I’d been there the whole time. The smile on her face stretched to terrible heights, and suddenly I felt the sensation of falling, of being pulled. If she’d sacrifice the humans, would she sacrifice her daughter for loving them as well?

  I would know the answer by the end of this night.

  But first, the celebration. My mother lifted a great, gnarled staff and pounded it into the earth. Her signal for the Unseelie beasties to rise.

  And rise they did. They crawled, like dead things, out of the earth, dressed in their finest. Torn velvet, with fraying ropes around their necks. Mortal-decadence-meets-sex-and-death. Skirts slit up to the thigh, or the breast. Naked ladies with thorny crowns pressed into their heads. Everything would be blood and darkness, even if the mortals weren’t here to witness it. Everything would be unholy, chaotic, madness.

  But oh, there was a p
art of me that responded to it. A part of me that wanted to wrap my hands around the darkness and dance.

  I began my descent.

  There, at the back of the Unseelie Castle, a stairway wound its way in circles to the ground. I took one step, then another. The servants of the Dark Court burst out of the lower doors, carrying food for the gluttons and wine for the lushes. Five more steps, and I was halfway down. Then the dancing began. The Queen had a weakness for music made from the body, so here a quartet of pixies rubbed wing against wing, quite like a string quartet except for the pain it brought. Dust drifted through the air, but those smiles never left their faces. To frown would be to suffer worse things.

  Oftentimes, at the start of a celebration, the Queen required the satyr servants to dance, but tonight, dancing was everyone’s revelry. Masked courtiers spun in circles while the servants swayed, saving their strength for the morning.

  Then, everything stopped. For a moment, I couldn’t understand it. Had a servant tripped over his feet, causing the Queen to rustle her drink? Would some small indiscretion bring the whole thing crashing down?

  Then I realized the distraction was me. I was the guest of honor. Dressed in an ebony gown, with Kylie’s gold-and-black crown atop my head, the Princess of the Dark Court had returned.

  The crowd parted around me. And as the band struck up again—something wild and raucous with great, thundering beats—I made my way to the throne to my mother’s right. The throne opposite of where Naeve sat.

  Naeve.

  I felt a sudden thrill at the thought of her sacrificing him in front of an audience.

  I felt a thrill, and then the crushing weight of guilt. But did I need it? Guilt exists to keep us from doing bad things, and I wouldn’t be doing anything bad tonight. Besides, that anger would keep me sharp come morning. Come time for battle. I shivered when I thought of all that was to come. And then I didn’t think of anything anymore.

  A satyr appeared beside me, his face hidden by a mask, and he bowed low, his hand held high, as if asking me to dance.

  For the first time, after seventeen years of attending unnecessary celebrations, each one designed to showcase the difference between the courtiers and the servant class, I accepted the offer to dance.

  And dance I did.

  I spun and I spun, trading partners as I pleased, and for once, at these galas, I felt I could breathe. And even though I refrained from drinking the wine or letting the fruit slip past my lips, I began to feel drunk from the wildness of it all. I began to feel special, and royal, and appreciated.

  I began to feel like I was home.

  After an hour, the music climbed into my bones. It burrowed its way into my head. When a phooka stepped up and brushed my cheek with her lips, I actually smiled, a tiny laugh escaping my mouth. And when my mother looked down at me from her place on high, her lips set in a terribly firm line, I nodded, as if to say, It’s all for you, Lady.

  Then she gave me something in return. Across from the thrones, a stage was rising up from the ground. Velvet curtains swung down from above, unfurling like waves. In the center of the stage, five actors appeared, lit up by a single spotlight. Linked together by chains. Each wore a peculiar costume, their skin adorned in bruises.

  Too late, I realized a look of horror had taken over my face.

  My mother smiled then, a smile of true joy. “Now for the sacrifice,” she said.

  27

  TayloR

  I was living a nightmare. My arms were bound at the wrist, held over my head by invisible hands. Down below, Elora was bound too, in a way. The faeries of the Dark Court were closing in around her, holding her back. Wasn’t that a funny turn of events? If she’d never met me, they’d never have dared to touch her that way. All of this was my fault.

  I had to make it right. I just didn’t know how. I looked to my left, to Kylie spinning slowly in the air, one slippered foot pointed toward the ground, one bent at the knee by magic or vines. The dark faeries would add insult to injury every chance they got. So Kylie played the prima ballerina she’d never be in real life. Alexia was the clown, her penchant for beauty exaggerated to the point of mockery, and Keegan was the guard, because he hadn’t been able to protect himself, let alone his sister.

  Brad was the animal, with a furry coat and floppy dog ears, because his mind had been decimated at this point. At least, I had little hope for him bouncing back, and a nagging fear of what would happen if he did.

  Would the darkness that already existed inside of him spread? I mean, you don’t start out an asshole, get tortured, and turn into a nicer guy. Reality just doesn’t work that way. Right?

  As for me, well, I wasn’t entirely certain who I was supposed to be. My skin was glistening with oil and they’d given me what pretty much amounted to a flap of burlap to cover my unmentionables. Plus the crown of thorns. Maybe they just wanted me to look pretty, so it would hurt Elora more when they killed me. As if she’d betrayed her entire court because she thought I was good looking. As if she was that superficial.

  They really didn’t know her at all, and I hoped she would use that to her advantage. I hoped we all would. Because now that we’d all been trotted out like ponies, like slaves, the Dark Queen was rising from her throne and creeping closer. Elora, too, was led closer, dragged along by Olorian and the Lady Claremondes. It was hard to look at her, not only because I hated to see her hurt, but also because thin strands of darkness were crawling out of the Dark Lady, twisting in the air like tentacles that would reach out and choke me, and I needed to be on alert.

  It was bad enough that my wrists were bleeding. I didn’t need my windpipe choked off as well. I was already pretty close to freaking out.

  The Dark Lady slid across the grounds, moving easily through the air like smoke. She hovered over us at an angle, something that would be impossible for a mortal, and her dress billowed out around her in jagged wisps, not unlike Elora’s wings. Her original wings, that is. The ones that had been tattered from the start.

  Wait, why had they been tattered from the start? Was it because light and darkness were battling it out inside of her? When Elora had first come into the Seelie Court, the symbols on her arms had faded. The parts of her that were dark had faded, and only returned at night. But here in the Dark Court, she still had her snow-white skin. She still had her fiery hair.

  The darkness wasn’t washing away her light.

  Because it isn’t light, I realized. Her father isn’t a bright faerie. He couldn’t have been, since light erased the darkness. The second he’d touched the Dark Lady, she would have faded. Maybe disappeared entirely.

  She was a being of pure darkness.

  I thought of the Bright Queen’s story then, of Naiad and Dryad. They’d loved each other, but they’d never actually touched. Not in the scenes that Maya de Livre had created to illustrate the story. But Naiad had touched her lover with no problem at all.

  “The creature of the land,” I whispered.

  “Excuse me?” The Dark Lady’s voice was soft, but there was a rumble beneath it, like an earthquake skittering under the ground.

  “I know your secret,” I said, my mouth dry and my heart thundering. “The reason Elora was born with tattered wings. The reason she went to the mortal world in the first place—”

  “Stop!” The Queen lunged forward, the glamour dropping from her face. Beneath it, I caught a hint of her fury. Her anguish.

  “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” I said quickly. Darkness was creeping toward my mouth, ready to shut me up if I said too much. “In fact, I’m willing to take it to my grave, if you give me one small thing.”

  “I am not letting you go,” she said, sneering.

  “I’m not asking for that. I’m not selfish enough to bail on my friends. I just want you to hear me out.”

  The Queen jerked back, affronted. “Why should I do anythi
ng for you?” she demanded. “Why shouldn’t I kill you now, with a flick of my wrist—”

  “Because you’ll never know who’s been whispering behind your back. You’ll never know who’s been sharing your deepest shame.”

  She froze, her cheeks flushing crimson.

  “Admit it,” I said, glancing out at the crowd, “If you kill me now, you’ll be denying yourself the chance to sacrifice the betrayer.”

  “That would be a pity,” she agreed, her hair dancing around her head. It was hard to see in this darkness, but thin strands of scarlet ran through her hair, like blood in the blackest of lakes. “Although, if I torture you slowly, I’ll be able to pluck the name of my betrayer from your muddled brain, and then I’ll have everything I want.”

  “You could,” I said, shrugging as best I could. It was hard, being captive and all. “Of course, if you do that, I’ll definitely spill the secret.”

  Her smile slipped.

  “Face it, Lady, I have you trapped. If you torture me slowly, I’ll spill your secret to the world, and if you kill me fast, you’ll never know who stabbed you in the back. So … do we have a deal?”

  She was silent a minute. Finally, she turned to the crowd. “What do you say? Shall we let the wicked wretch entertain us?”

  The faeries shrieked and clapped.

  “You have three minutes,” she said, turning back to me. “After that, I will revert to Naeve’s plan and torture each of you to see if my daughter reacts. You, I think, I will suffocate—”

  “And if Elora doesn’t react, you’ll know that she’s telling the truth and that Naeve’s lying?”

  She peered at me coolly. “I suppose. Yes.”

  “And if Elora’s telling the truth, you’ll let her go.”

  “Yes,” the Queen said again.

  I took a deep breath. “So what if Elora isn’t telling the truth?”

  The dark faeries gasped. It was beautiful, all these self-righteous assholes totally blown away by one little sentence. Elora’s eyes were bugging out of her head, but I hadn’t said she’d lied, now had I? I’d just asked a question.