Carmer thought her face fell a little, just for a moment, but the next second she was smiling again and pushing him toward the elf-knights. Their silver-haired leader took Carmer’s hand and hauled him up as the others cheered and clapped him on the back. Their touch felt like dipping his toes in a cool, bubbling spring.
Before he knew it, they were ascending through the branches of the Great Willow toward the bursting colors in the sky.
But even with all the light around them, there were shadows here, too. Carmer glimpsed them through the spaces in between the Willow’s branches and the hovering lights as they flew—a snarling mouth here, a pair of beady black eyes there, a grasping, gnarled black hand. He held onto his elf-knight a little more tightly than necessary.
“What . . . what are those things?” asked Carmer, slightly concerned that even in this realm of the impossible, he was seeing things other people couldn’t.
“Oh, they’re just the nosy ones from the Unseelie Court,” said the elf-knight, his pretty mouth twisting with distaste. “They’re attracted to the revel, like anything fae nearby. But not to worry, Friend! They can’t enter a Seelie domain without permission.”
Carmer was about to ask exactly what the difference was between Seelie and Unseelie faeries—the grimacing faces in the shadows certainly didn’t look friendly—but then the flying leaves slowed their ascent and came to rest in the highest branches of the Great Willow. The tree had changed around them as they flew. Instead of the bowing branches of a willow, they were surrounded by the fresh scent and tickling needles of a pine tree that felt as tall as any tower in Skemantis. The sounds of the party below were fainter here, the flashes of the fireworks the only lights in the sky.
The elf-knight at Carmer’s side suddenly leapt off their leaf with a wink and joined another; thankfully, his presence didn’t seem to be necessary to keep it in the air. Carmer sat down and leaned back on his elbows, letting the crisp autumn wind wash over him. His leaf positioned itself between two branches, which helpfully grasped either end, suspending him in a slippery green hammock.
The faeries casting the fireworks flew even higher still, their tiny silhouettes just visible as they darted across the sky making shapes Carmer never thought possible. Flowers, flying birds, snowflakes, suns and moons and stars, even the outlines of mermaids swishing their tails, lit up the night sky, all moving in tandem with the faeries’ hypnotic song. Carmer wished Grit were there to enjoy it with him.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?”
Carmer sat up, sending his leaf swinging side to side, and clutched at the branch for support. A figure walked toward him from the other side of the tree, stepping from branch to branch as easily as a normal human might take a stroll down the road. The pale form was indistinct, obscured by furry swaths of pine needles blocking Carmer’s view, but it grew clearer with each step.
It was a woman, her skin as pale as moonlight. Sheets of shining auburn hair fell to her ankles. With each step she took, leaves from the bottom of the real Arboretum floor rushed up the tree’s bark to meet her, every autumn color of the rainbow. They fused together, one on top of the other, swirling up and around her body until she was clad in an entire gown made of leaves. To say that Queen Ombrienne was beautiful would have been quite the understatement.
She stopped at the base of one of Carmer’s branches. It didn’t even dip with her weight.
“Y-yes,” he agreed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”
“The revel is a traditional part of the Friendship ceremony,” demurred Ombrienne. She sat down with her back against the trunk, her flowing leafy skirts spilling out on either side of her. “It is a cause for celebration, yes, but also a chance for all of the fae to get acquainted with a new Friend.” Ombrienne smiled at him. “Won’t you join me for a toast?” she asked. “To our new Friendship together?”
Two birch bark cups appeared in her outstretched arms.
Carmer’s leaf detached itself from the branches of its own accord and sidled right next to her. The prickly edges of the leaves on her dress brushed his skin and sent shivers down his arms.
“Grit told me something . . .” Carmer started, but it was terribly hard to concentrate just then, when suddenly all he wanted to do was look at the shining auburn waterfall of Queen Ombrienne’s hair. It was funny how different it was from Grit’s messy tresses shooting out in all directions . . .
The thought of Grit reminded Carmer of her warning.
“She told me not to eat anything here,” he said, a little more sure of himself.
A few drops of golden liquid flowed over the tops of the cups and trailed down Queen Ombrienne’s delicate white hands. “Well, drinking isn’t exactly eating, is it?” she said with a small wink. It was like watching a very convincing ice sculpture try to pass for a human being, but Carmer blushed anyway. “Come now, just a taste. It is a party, after all.” Her green eyes twinkled as she held out the cup.
“If you’re sure it’s all right?” Carmer said. Vague memories of an old story the Amazifier had told him long ago swam to the surface of his mind; something about a princess being trapped in the Underworld because she’d eaten of their fruit . . . or was it the story that passed around the orphanage once, about a magical floating market whose young customers were whisked away in the night, never to be seen again? Carmer had never had much time for stories—most of them just didn’t seem practical for everyday life.
He was starting to wish he’d paid a little more attention.
“Don’t worry, dear boy.” The queen laughed. “I’ve no plans to keep you here forever. As a Friend of the Fae, you may come and go as you please.”
Carmer nodded. It did seem rather rude to refuse a toast in his own honor . . .
He took one of the cups.
“To new Friends,” Ombrienne said, holding up her own, “new alliances, and a brighter future for us all.”
“Um. L’chaim,” said Carmer. He had no idea what it meant, but the Amazifier always said it during a toast.
“And,” the queen began.
Carmer paused with the cup to his lips.
“To my daughter.”
That was something Carmer didn’t mind toasting to. He smiled. “To Grit,” he agreed, looking straight into Ombrienne’s emerald green eyes, and drank.
18.
DOWN MEMORY LANE
Felix Carmer’s earliest memory was of someone playing with his hair. He couldn’t have had very much of it at the time, but he remembered the feeling of someone’s fingers brushing through it, drawing little swirls around his ears, making funny shapes with the ends that stuck up in all directions, smoothing stray locks away from his face with gentle hands. Sometimes, mostly when he was still at the orphanage, he let himself think it might’ve been his mother. But only sometimes.
Now was one of those times. He was fairly certain he was dreaming, because someone was running their hands through his hair, and it felt exactly as it did deep within those memories—places his mind explored only in the space between dreaming and waking. No one he knew in real life would ever treat him like this, cradling his head in their lap like a child. He wasn’t sure he would let them.
Yet he was only fairly certain it was a dream, because he couldn’t remember falling asleep, and because the person stroking his hair was talking to him. He never remembered his mother talking to him.
“Felix Cassius Tiberius Carmer III,” said the smooth voice from somewhere above him. “Such a big name for such a small boy.”
He tried to wake himself up, but just turning his head felt like running a mile. He forced his eyes open, but all he could make out was a pale, blurry face above him.
Something crackled under his ear; he was lying on a pile of leaves.
“Being a Friend of the Fae is a great honor, Felix Carmer,” said Queen Ombrienne, smoothing out the skirts he’d mussed up tossing and turning. Her fingers went straight back into his untidy dark hair, twirling locks of it into intertwining knots with
deft hands. “But once you open that door, it’s very, very hard to close again. And all kinds of things can slip through the cracks.”
She paused and leaned over to cup his face.
“You wanted to be closer to faerie magic,” she whispered. “And you are. But it’s closer to you, too. I have to protect my daughter.”
Queen Ombrienne bent down and placed a gentle kiss on Carmer’s forehead. He could barely keep his eyes open.
“And that means keeping her away from you.”
The waves of her hair fell down around him like a curtain, and the world went dark. If he hadn’t been dreaming before, he certainly was now.
The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when Grit woke in her hollow in the Great Willow. Strictly speaking, faeries didn’t need to sleep, but a refreshing nap after an all-night revel was nothing to scoff at. Mostly, faeries slept to dream. A vivid dream could warn the dreamer of trials ahead, or help them solve a nagging or overlooked problem too thorny to be tackled in the waking hours. A good dream could make an entertaining story the next morning, and stories were prime currency among the fae.
Grit did not have good dreams that night. Despite the frivolity of the revel, her dreams were filled with grasping shadows, shivering wingless faeries, and metal monsters that bit and slashed at her heels no matter how fast she ran. She’d called out for her mother, for Bressel or Carmer or anyone, but no one came. Carmer’s face floated out of the darkness, but only for a moment, before he, too, was swallowed up into oblivion.
Grit woke calling his name and very much alone.
“Carmer?” she tried again, more quietly this time. Judging by the stillness around her, most of the castle was still asleep. Not a leaf stirred. The Willow was just a willow again—as much as a faerie castle can be “just” anything.
She rolled out of her hollow, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and padded out onto the nearest branch. The thinnest layer of frost crunched between her toes; autumn was nearly over.
Grit peered over the edge of the branch, expecting to see Carmer slumped against the thick trunk and snoring away—faerie revels were much more tiring for humans than for the fae—but she didn’t see or hear anything remotely human. Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t seen Carmer much at all the night before—not after he left to go watch the fireworks with the elf-knights. He was probably just on the other side of the Willow, abandoned by his playful new acquaintances when the magic of the evening began to wear off.
But when half an hour’s climb around the entire Willow yielded no results, and none of the sleepy faeries she clambered over could give her a satisfactory answer, Grit was forced to accept that Carmer just wasn’t there. He was probably waking up in some damp corner of the Arboretum, soon to be discovered by pointing, laughing humans or shooed off by a policeman rousting up vagrants. She needed to find him before he got himself into trouble.
A whistle and a few worm offerings later, Grit was soaring over the Arboretum on Dusten’s back. Carmer should have been easy to spot; there were hardly ever any humans in the park at this hour. She flew to the West Gate and the Whispering Wall first—no Carmer there. With much prodding, she steered the owl in a loop over the entire Arboretum, over the steep Widdershinner’s Hill, through the hemlock grove and the birdhouse village and the wildflower meadow, dried and brown and reedy in the cold autumn sunrise.
Dusten hooted in protest when they finally made it to the North Gate; he knew the bounds of the kingdom, and would not go beyond. The city outside was waking up; merchants rolled their carts along the cobblestones, knots of bleary-eyed boys stumbled to their first shifts at the factories, and window-ticklers rapped on foggy windows to rouse those still sleeping in. And still, no Carmer.
Grit glared at the streetlamp just outside the gate. It was still shining merrily, though the sun was almost totally up.
“It’s not even dark out,” she groused, though she wasn’t surprised. The Mechanist seemed determined to outdo everyone, including the sun. “Where is he?” Grit wondered aloud for the first time. She wasn’t talking about the Mechanist. Carmer, Grit, and the queen were supposed to discuss today’s plan, but the new Friend of the Fae was nowhere to be found.
“Are you waiting for someone?” Grit’s mother touched down beside her on the gate. At one glance from the queen, Dusten flew off back into the Arboretum with what sounded like an apologetic hoot. Maybe the owl was smarter than he looked.
“Carmer’s late,” said Grit through her teeth. Her mother was going to love this. “I’m worried something’s happened to him.”
“You cannot wait much longer out in the open like this, my dear,” said the queen. “It’s not safe.”
Even Grit knew it wouldn’t be wise to stand out on the gate in broad daylight, but she couldn’t disguise her sigh of frustration as her mother lifted Grit under the knees like a little seedling of a faerie and descended to the Arboretum floor. She hated being lifted by her mother.
“He promised to help us,” insisted Grit as they ducked under the cover of a bunch of sweet ferns. “He said he’d be here, so he’ll be here.”
“So you’ve said,” said Ombrienne. “Perhaps he’s merely been waylaid slightly, or gone back to his camp and overslept. Our revels can be quite the ordeal for humans.”
“Maybe if we went back to the Whispering Wall,” suggested Grit. “It is where we met before . . .”
“Don’t worry, Grettifrida. Even in our absence, will not his Friendship with us guide him to the Great Willow?” asked Ombrienne. “We will all be safer in the shadows of its branches.”
“I’m tired of hiding in the shadows, Mother,” said Grit with a sigh. “I thought you were, too. I thought you agreed Carmer could help us.”
“I did,” agreed Ombrienne, “but I confess I’m starting to wonder if his help will come after all.” Ombrienne weaved through the fern leaves, caressing each of them in turn. As her hand passed over each blade, it grew noticeably sharper and pointier—the better for snapping at the ankles of trespassing humans.
“It will.”
“Are you so sure?” asked Ombrienne. “You have borne witness to this boy’s selfishness before. You know he is capable of it. Perhaps now that he has obtained easier access to the magic he desired, he has left you behind?”
Grit shook her head. “Carmer’s not like that. He wouldn’t just abandon us.”
“Then where was he last night, dear one? When he let himself be swept away by a few dashing elf-knights singing his name, and spent nary ten minutes with you?”
Grit had no rebuttal. It was true, Carmer had gotten rather caught up in the festivities, but it wasn’t every day one was named Friend of the Fae. And Grit knew faerie revels were notoriously intoxicating for humans. She could hardly have expected Carmer to sit through it all being his usual inhibited, bashful self.
“I know he’ll be here,” Grit repeated stubbornly, crossing her arms and setting her jaw.
Ombrienne finished her stroll through the ferns and placed an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “I do hope so,” the queen agreed. “If you insist on continuing your search . . . consider the Royal Guard at your disposal. They’ll be more than happy to keep an eye out for your new Friend.”
And the other eye on me, Grit thought.
“I’ve asked your friend Bressel to come and keep you company as well,” said Ombrienne. “I know how you two get on.”
Bressel, a dozen armored crickets and a battalion of hornets trailing behind her, appeared almost instantly on the path. Grit had the feeling they’d been lying in wait this whole time.
“Keep me company?” scoffed Grit. “You mean sproutsit me.”
Bressel had the decency to look embarrassed.
“I’m not holing up inside the Great Willow and pretending this isn’t happening,” insisted Grit. “We need to wait. Just a little longer. Just until—”
“Until Carmer arrives. As you wish,” said Ombrienne, with a nod to Bressel and the crickets
.
Bressel curtsied low as the queen flew away.
“But do not let pride add fuel to the fire of your misplaced faith, my dear,” warned Ombrienne from above. She and her hornets were gone before Grit could reply.
“I suppose you’re here to wrestle me into submission and drag me back to the Great Willow?” Grit asked Bressel. “Gently, of course.”
“Well,” admitted the garden faerie, “we’re supposed to wait a little while first.”
Carmer woke to the sound of water sloshing around his ankles. He was lying in a marshy wetland, surrounded by browning cattails, and unpleasantly damp down to his bones. The entire back of his body was sticky with mud. Worst of all, he had no idea how or why on earth he’d found himself in such a situation.
He sat up slowly, head throbbing with a dull ache and ringing ears. He took a few deep breaths and took stock of himself, but other than a few deep scratches on his palms—how had he ever gotten those?—he seemed to be all right. He got unsteadily to his feet, mud sucking at his ankles, and looked around. He heard the sound of rushing water and surmised it was the Bevel River, which meant he shouldn’t be far from the circus camp outside the city. A glance to the west confirmed his guess; he could see the smoke rising from a few cook fires from where he stood.
But how did he get to be there, lying in the mud and feeling like he’d been both run over by a steam engine and out dancing all night? Neither of those seemed highly likely, but he couldn’t seem to remember anything about the night before. He wondered if Kitty and the Amazifier knew where he was, then felt a surge of panic. If he was out here in the middle of nowhere with no memory of how he got there, where were they? He needed to get back to the camp as soon as possible and make sure they were all right.
You’ll be lucky if they let you in the door, he thought, and then paused. Why would he think something like that?
A rush of hazy memories came back to him.
“I was visiting another magician yesterday,” said Carmer, “but it wasn’t to steal from him. I was asking for a job.”
The Wingsnatchers Page 18
