by Jocelyn Fox
I thought you would like to know more about our world, the note read in precise calligraphy. The handwriting curved gracefully but there were no superfluous flourishes. It was signed by Bren. And then it said, PS- These books are really not supposed to leave the record-hall so I would appreciate it if you don’t destroy them. And I told Scholar that you would be more than happy to update his records on the mortal world with a personal touch.
I smiled at the post-script and set the note aside, pulling out the chair to the desk. It was surprisingly comfortable, for being a wooden chair. I pulled the first book from the pile, a hefty volume bound in deep red leather. The title, embossed in gold on the front, read A History of Mortal-Fae Relations. The book under that was Before the High Code: The Golden Age of Mortal Visitation. I opened it, expecting to sneeze from dislodged dust, but the book was obviously well-cared for by a curator or librarian. Bren had also left me a book called On Court Etiquette, apparently written for the young Sidhe who had never been to Court. I surmised they had a tradition of debuts, like the American South or the Victorian age in England. The last large, thin book contained a series of well-worn maps.
Liam had always teased me about being bookish. I’d curl up in a chair and read for hours, escaping from our less-than-perfect life into the adventures of heroes and heroines, dragon-slayers and detectives and lost princesses. I smiled a little. I went through a phase when I was seven in which I insisted that I was a misplaced princess, the heir to a throne of a fantastic country. I traced the edge of the book-cover with one finger. Time had left me with only a few clear memories of my father, and one of them was sitting on his lap, listening to him read me my favorite books. My father played along for a little bit in my princess phase, using it as an excuse to take my dearly beloved training wheels off my bike, telling me that princesses didn’t use training wheels. He didn’t seem to mind that I thought I was adopted and wanted to be whisked away to a different world. I smiled grimly. There had always been that longing, in the deepest parts of me, to escape from it all, especially after my father died. Sadness hung over our lives like forgotten Christmas lights in July, when you pass them so often they seem ordinary, and it’s only when someone else points out the wreath on your front door that you truly see it.
I decided to read the books in the order that they’d been stacked, just in case Bren had meant something by it. So I lit the little desk-lamp from one of the candles on the wall, and settled down into my chair, opening the red cover of On Fae-Mortal Relations. The Fae style of writing, I discovered, was much like their formal style of speaking: a bit stiff and archaic in places, and sometimes there were words in the Sidhe tongue that I guessed had no real translation into mortal words. I found myself wishing that I had a pen and paper to take notes, and I explored the drawers of the desk, finding a small stack of loose-leaf paper and, of all things, a silver ballpoint pen. The pen sat heavily between my fingers, and I supposed it was at least sterling silver. It wrote in thick black ink. I covered a whole page front and back, making my handwriting as small as I was able, before I closed the cover of the book and moved on to Before the High Code: A History of Mortal Visitation. I didn’t take as many notes reading that one, because it had a lot of names and dates stretching back all the way to before the Renaissance. There was a gap for a few hundred years before the Renaissance, and then the dates stretched back into what I guessed was probably ancient Egyptian times, and the Greeks and Romans. While some of that was interesting, it didn’t seem to be what I needed to know exactly at this moment, so I marked my page using the thick ribbon sewn onto the spine of the book and set it aside.
Bren came to fetch me for the evening meal, and afterward I studied more. I practiced for a while with my sword, using both hands, before sliding into bed, exhausted.
My days fell into a pattern. In the morning, I stretched out the stiffness of the night, warming up my muscles with a few practice sword-passes. I sat on the edge of my bed and strengthened my right arm again until it ached, and then Ramel knocked on my chamber door to take me to lessons. We drilled in the morning, took a few hours’ break for the midday meal, then again in the afternoon. I showered after that, and studied until evening meal. Bren took me to see the Scholars a few times. They were serene dark-haired men, not at all the wrinkled little librarians that I had pictured. I sat in a velvety green chair in the Great Library and patiently answered all their questions about the mortal world. Part of me wondered why they didn’t ask Molly about our world, but then another part of me remembered that Faeortalam was Molly’s world now. As much as I wanted to see her, I forced myself not to seek her out, and filled my days with learning and as much physical exertion as I could handle, going to bed each night exhausted. It helped keep my mind off Molly, and the small bud of homesickness burgeoning in my chest, but no matter how hard I worked myself during the day, each night brought dreams of Finnead. Each night I saw his face in my mind, in the last blurred moment before slipping into sleep.
As hard as I tried to fight it, I remained fascinated by him, and the stories told by the other Sidhe did nothing to dispel my curiosity. To the Court at large, Finnead was a mystery too. They all told tales about his bravery and prowess in battle, about his refusal to marry a lady of the Court despite Mab’s urgings, and his penchant for self-punishment. He took on the most dangerous, difficult missions, and the way most of the stories were told, he laughed in the face of peril. I remembered the feral grin and the glint in his eye as he drew his dagger before the garrelnost, and I believed it.
My relationship with Ramel progressed into a sort of brother-sister bond. Though in the back of my mind the memory of his kiss lingered, I enjoyed his light-hearted company enough to overlook that forward move. To my great relief, Ramel told no one of the kiss, or at least no one that spread gossip at the Court. I respected him for that, and I suspected he enjoyed teaching me sword-play far too much to sully our blossoming friendship with romantic involvement. He was too perceptive for his own good, though, and I was sure that he could see the longing in my eyes when someone spoke of Finnead. But he never spoke of it to me.
I wondered what the Sidhe were teaching Molly, and whether she knew of her sacrificial role in the defeat of Malravenar. I asked Bren if there were any books on the Iron Sword, and she looked at me balefully but slipped me a slim volume that I smuggled back to my room. I was still working my way through the books that she had given me earlier, taking careful notes and absorbing as much information as I could.
The book on Court etiquette was an easier read than the history, and I felt like it was imminently more useful as well. Apparently it is a grave insult to look the Queen in the eye unless told to do so, and the same courtesy was usually extended to the Named Knights. I raised my eyebrows at that one, remembering Finnead’s intense gaze before my ordeal with Mab. I took more notes, making a double-sided cheat-sheet that I could reference quickly in case I got myself into any more sticky social situations. By the time I finished with the etiquette book, I had to refill the little oil well on my desk-lamp, and then I spread out the map-book.
On a night about three weeks after my arrival in Court, I was studying the geography of Western Faeortalam, the Mordland Forest and Edhyre Mountains in particular, when a knock came at my door. Except it was less of a knock, and more of a ping. I frowned and blinked a few times to refocus my eyes, stretching my legs as I stood. I opened the door a crack, saying, “Who is it?”
The passageway was empty. I shrugged and turned back to my desk, shutting the door behind me and drawing the lock just for peace of mind. And sitting right on the middle of my map-book was a very familiar, very bright little glow.
“Wisp!” I said, grinning.
“Tess-mortal,” Wisp said, bowing in very courtly fashion. He hovered a few inches over the map-book as I sat down again.
“It’s good to see you,” I said, holding out my hand. Wisp alighted on my flat
palm, barely heavier than a dandelion.
“I did not expect to see you in the Court of the Sidhe,” Wisp said.
“Well,” I replied, “I didn’t really expect to be here, myself.”
Wisp settled down, sitting cross-legged. “You are in grave danger here, Tess-mortal.”
“I know. The Queen already tested me. She said that I’m bound here until I perform some type of duty for her.”
At that, Wisp whizzed out of my hand and flew in agitated circles for a minute. Then he landed on my shoulder. I felt one of his tiny hands grip my hair for balance. “Not from the Queen, not from the Dark Lady, may the shadows bow down before her.”
I frowned a little. “Not from Mab? Then who am I in danger from? Another Sidhe?”
“No, none at this Court, none would dare to test the Dark Lady’s anger,” Wisp said into my ear. “None at the Bright Court either, not when the White Queen is losing power, maybe even missing.”
“Titania? She’s missing?”
I felt Wisp shifting on my shoulder, and I knew he was probably dancing from foot to foot in agitation. “None know, none know, nothing is certain anymore. No one can be trusted, no one stays true.”
“Come on, Wisp,” I said, holding up my hand again, but he refused to come down from my shoulder. Something had definitely rattled the little glow. “What’s the matter, really?”
“The Evil,” he moaned, pressing his tiny body behind my ear as if he was trying to hide. “The Enemy, his power grows and he kills the small ones, and even if they are beholden the Court does not take notice. The Queen does not care.”
I heard a hard anger in his small voice, and I noticed the lack of blessing after the Queen’s name.
“Wisp,” I said, “if you tell me what exactly happened, then maybe I could help.” But even as I spoke the words, I was unsure. I knew that at least Ramel would listen to me, and probably Bren, maybe Donovan and Guinna, but would that really change anything? Then I realized I knew the most important person at Court at this moment in time, aside from Queen Mab herself. I knew Molly.
“It is easy to speak words, Tess-mortal,” Wisp said, his words imbued with an alarming weariness. “Many mortals have given pretty promises and shining baubles to the smallest of us. They think that just because we are small, we do not notice when they slide around their words.”
“Glows still deal with mortals?” I asked, intrigued.
“We are not bound by the Code unless we put ourselves in service to a Court,” Wisp explained. “And even then, there are limits. We will serve, but not perpetually. We will take messages and perform small tasks, but we are no one’s slaves.”
I began to realize that the smallest inhabitants of Faeortalam possessed no less pride and valor than the Sidhe. “I understand,” I said to Wisp, “or mostly. I’m not asking you to do anything for me, Wisp. I want to help you.”
“It is all a balance,” Wisp said after a moment. With a small push he leapt into the air, hovering in the air just in front of my nose, far enough away that I could look at him without going cross-eyed. “If you help my people, Tess-mortal, we will help you.”
I nodded. “I don’t know what I’ll need help with, but when I think of something I’ll let you know.”
Wisp nodded his head seriously. “It is a good trade. We will be of good service to you, Tess-mortal.”
I remembered my lessons from the etiquette book, and I held out my hand, palm out. Wisp pressed his small hand into the center of my palm, his skin cool against mine. A little trail of goose-bumps ran up my arm.
“So in honor it is sealed,” Wisp intoned gravely.
“So in honor it is sealed,” I repeated softly. A small spark ignited where Wisp’s skin touched mine, and I closed my teeth on a squeak of surprise—the spark felt like a little electric shock. Wisp didn’t miss my surprise.
“It is bound with an oath,” he said. “And hurt will come upon either of us if we break our word.”
I rubbed my palm with one finger. “You take giving your word seriously.”
“As it should be, and as should you,” Wisp replied. He settled down onto the desk, standing on the icon of Darkhill on the open map.
“So,” I said, “will you please tell me what’s going on?”
Wisp turned about, gazing down at the map. His wings began whirring with an incandescent glow, and the toes of his boots grazed the map as he hovered, revolving slowly in a circle until he had gotten his bearings. He flew over to a point west of Darkhill, just before the Mordland Woods. “Just as the Sidhe have their strongholds, so do we,” he explained.
I took out one of the blank sheets of paper left in the drawer of my desk. After a bit of rummaging, I found a slender stick of charcoal, and I broke off the tip, offering it to Wisp. It was still too thick to be a proper writing utensil for him, and I saw the flash of a little knife as he pared it down to a manageable size. I gently blew away the charcoal shavings, and then slid the sheet of paper over the map, smoothing it out so the map-markings were clearly visible through the blank page. “Would you mark it for me?” I asked as I sketched in the rudimentary points on the map, marking Darkhill’s location, the start of the Mordland Woods, the Edhyre Mountains and the Royal Wood. I also sketched in the Darinwel River, the approximate border between the lands of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.
Wisp, for his part, sketched in what looked like a tiny castle, adding exquisite detail to his drawing. I wished I had a magnifying glass. From what I could make out, the castle’s structure reminded me of an impossibly elegant bee hive, with hexagonal windows and additions arcing off the main structure. I waited patiently while Wisp finished his sketch. There was reverence in his movements, a studied concentration to every stroke of his diminutive pencil that led me to believe that this beautiful little structure no longer existed. He was sketching it as faithfully as he could from memory. A little pang hit my heart: I knew the feeling, tracing contours of my father’s face beneath the cool glass of a picture frame so that I wouldn’t forget the strong curve of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.
Finally, after about ten minutes of intense concentration on Wisp’s part, the drawing was complete. I saw that the structure was built about a tree, with the main castle or palace built on a sturdy lower branch, and then smaller versions of the palace hanging from branches like icicles or stalactites.
“There were many trees like this,” Wisp said, his voice heavy with sadness.
“It looks beautiful,” I said honestly, imagining a grove of trees filled with the small glows flying through the air.
“On the edges of what the Unseelie Court calls the Mordland Woods, there was a stand of oak trees that have been the home of the trooping Fae since before any alive could remember. And at the center of the stand there were the Three Trees, where we made what Court we desired.” Wisp hovered above his drawing, and even though I couldn’t see his face amid the glow, something told me he was gazing longingly at his sketch. “All were welcome, and we could come and go as we pleased, and those of us that served the Night made no quarrel with those that chose to perform tasks for the Day. White Queen, Dark Queen, it made no difference your loyalties. The greatest loyalty was to each other, and to the sacred Three Trees.”
“You all lived there?” I asked.
“No,” Wisp said, shaking his head. “We may make our homes wherever we wish. Some live behind the waterfalls of the Darinwel, some in the coldest caves of the Edhyre Mountains, some in the canopies of the Royal Wood. But the Three Trees always offered us shelter and comfort and company of our kin.” Wisp stopped and I could see him trembling, his glow pulsing and fading a little.
I had the feeling he wouldn’t be able to tell me what had happened, he was so distraught over it still, so I took a deep breath and decided to say it for him. “And�
�the Three Trees were destroyed.”
Even though my voice was as soft and gentle as I was able to make it, Wisp flinched. His light faded a little more.
“Flames,” he said, his voice so soft that I had to lean closer to hear him. “Dark flames, licking up the trees. Many were killed. Many who did not deserve to die.” His wings whirred angrily. “We have no allegiance to Night, no allegiance to Day! Our quarrels are not their quarrels!”
I pressed my lips together. “Wisp,” I said gently, “now it seems as though your quarrel is the Courts’ quarrel.” I sketched an arrow on the edge of my copied map. “Did you know that three knights of the Unseelie Court have been killed? They were killed by the same evil that destroyed your home.”
“Three?” cried Wisp in a voice that I had never heard him use before. He flew up and hovered right in front of my face, so that I could clearly see his small hands as he jabbed an accusatory finger toward me. “Do you know how many of the Glasidhe were killed? Do you know how many young ones, how many old ones?” The glow about his wings burned scarlet. I resisted the urge to lean away from him, because as diminutive as Wisp was, his rage frightened me a little in that moment. “Scores! Hundreds! And there is no help from the Courts! There is no help for us!”
“That,” I said quietly, “is where you’re wrong, Wisp.” I looked at him until the red faded from his glow. “I’m going to help you.” I held up a hand and after a long moment, Wisp landed in the center of my palm. He sat down cross-legged and put his head in his hands. The sight of him so distraught twisted my heart. “Wisp,” I said, “what is it that your people need most right now?”
