"Well, all for the best," said the King. "It seems we now have but two suitors who have honorably completed the Second Task." He turned to Ivy. "Do you know of any reason why these two should not be allowed to proceed?"
Ivy looked at Sir Blythe, singed but without a single injury, and shook her head.
---
Ivy approached the thickly tangled branches, through which tendrils of smoke curled gently, and knelt at the entrance to the cave. Shifting her satchel of healing herbs so that it nestled carefully beneath her wings, she wriggled her way into the narrow tunnel that led to the dragon's lair.
As she neared the lair, the scent of smoke and burning increased. This could only be a good sign, Ivy thought even as her eyes watered--if Faustilian was making smoke, surely he was still alive? At last she reached the end of the tunnel and scrambled out into the lair, a high stone cave whose roof was greasy with a thousand years of soot, and whose stone floor was thickly carpeted with gold and silver coins, diamond rings and heaps of glimmering emeralds.
Sleeping in the center of the vast treasure pile was..."Faustilian!"
The dragon opened an enormous yellow eye and regarded her thoughtfully. Although Ivy was not nearly as small as when she had first met him as a child, she was always amazed at how big he was and how silently he moved. Faustilian was about the size of a mortal family's cottage and yet the coins he lay on barely rattled as he stretched his long tail comfortably.
"Princess," he growled, and his breath singed the edges of her hair. Ivy was pleased to see that he looked not at all hurt. "You are the second visitor I have had in as many days. I remember when there were none who would brave these woods for fear of my breath, so strong I was, and young, and my scales rippled like the wind itself as I breathed fire, great tracts of forest laid waste beneath my--"
"Yes, yes," Ivy said, interrupting him hastily. "Wait--what do you mean, second?"
The dragon yawned. "And you are as little as I remember, fairy, so tiny that I scarce would notice if you...what is that?" His eyes had strayed to the bundle on the ground at her feet.
"Healing herbs, O' Dragon," said Ivy, thinking fast. "A fairy knight came questing here, and if he still lived I would have healed him, but of course you are Faustilian, and nothing remains of his bones but a circle of ash."
"A knight indeed did come this way!" Faustilian said. "A charming fairy person, with manners such as I had not seen in years, and quite a knowledge of Dragon Lore. We shared the opinion that quests to kill my kind are foolish. No woman's hand is worth the life of an immortal being such as myself! I have lived so long that when the fairies were but upstarts in the forest I was many years a God! My great-grandfather--"
"Sir Geraint talked to you?"
"For many hours we... Sir who?"
"Geraint."
"No, this was another Sir. Name of Blythe. A most intelligent youth--"
"How did Blythe get one of your scales, Faustilian?"
"Why I gave Sir Blythe a scale! The time we had passed together was so pleasant--"
"You mean he sweet-talked you out of a scale?" Ivy's mouth dropped open.
The dragon toed the ground with one enormous claw. "No, no. I am a reasonable creature, you know. When Sir Blythe begged a scale that might be brought back to the Forest Court-- I didn't see why not--I don't recall the details of your brief lives very well most of the time. You come and go in a mere age and I--"
"What about Geraint? Tall knight, dark hair?"
The dragon roared with laughter. "Oh, I saw him, all right, though he never came near my lair."
Ivy's stomach went cold. "What do you mean?"
"I heard him crashing about in the forest, running here and there as if a band of harpies were after him--knocking his head into trees and throwing himself face-first into bramble. I poked my head out of my lair and saw him take a scale out of his pocket, pretty as you please, and march back off toward the castle. Poor wandering lunatic..."
"Thank you, Faustilian, darling," Ivy said. "You've been a help."
The dragon winked a yellow eye at her. "Sir Blythe is quite fond of you," he said.
Ivy felt herself blush. "Yes, I know..."
"You could do worse, you know," the dragon pointed out. "Charming, brave, clever, practical--she's the only woman I've ever met who thinks to armor her midsection. You should see what most of them fight in. Little more than scraps of metal."
The satchel fell out of Ivy's hand and hit the floor of the cave with a dull thud. "Sir Blythe is a woman?"
"Why, yes," Faustilian said mildly. "Didn't you know?"
If Ivy hadn't known better, she would have sworn that the dragon was laughing at her.
---
It was dusk by the time Ivy returned to the castle. Lanterns had been lit along the corridors and feasts were being laid out in each room in honor of the successful completion of the Second Task. Ivy stalked through the Great Hall, where her mother and Geraint sat at table together, their heads bent together over clear goblets of wine. As she passed them, Geraint raised his dark head and dropped her a lascivious wink. Ivy shuddered.
She slipped past their table and found one of the palace guards. "Take me to Sir Blythe's quarters," she demanded. "I must speak with her..."
The guard raised an eyebrow.
"I mean, I must speak with HIM immediately."
"Yes, your Royal Highness."
She followed him, but instead of leading her up to the guest quarters he brought her down the staircase which led to the dungeons. They were narrow and spiraled down like a conch shell. The faint hum of Ivy's wings was the only sound as the noise of the party faded into the silence of beneath-ground and the ceiling became roots and dirt.
"How long has Sir Blythe been quartered in the dungeons?" she asked at last.
"Since you ordered him placed here, your Highness, on the night that he was caught attempting to breach the Garden Wall."
Ivy said nothing. They continued to descend until it seemed like they were deep in the earth. At last the stairs ended in a small arched doorway, through which Ivy could see a long corridor lined by cells. She pulled the hood of her cloak up to hide her face and went through, telling the guard to wait at the foot of the stairs.
The cells were all empty save one. Sir Blythe sat upon a narrow wooden bench, her wrist cuffed by a silver manacle. A chain ran from the manacle to a silver ring embedded in the wood. Her helm shone in the candlelight, but most of the cell was in shadow.
Ivy tapped her ringed hand against the bars, and Sir Blythe looked up. Ivy saw the circles of weariness under her eyes, where the gaps in the helm left the skin bare, but Blythe smiled anyway.
"It's not as bad as it looks," she said. The chain rattled as she indicated her surroundings with a sweep of her hand. "It could use a coat or two of paint in a lighter color, to be sure. And perhaps a velvet divan against that wall, there, for reclining."
Ivy did not smile back, but said merely, "I would not have told them to bring you to the dungeon, had I thought that they would leave you here all this time."
Blythe said nothing.
"Have they been feeding you properly?" Ivy asked.
"Are you concerned with my satiety?" Blythe replied softly.
"Have you been hurt?"
Ivy could sense Blythe looking at her in the dark. "No. They have tended my wounds. From whence this sudden concern, Princess?"
Ivy took a deep breath. "Why did you not tell me you were a woman?"
There was a long silence.
"Answer me, or I shall have the guard make you answer me," Ivy said.
Sir Blythe tried to get to her feet. "Believe me, I--"
"No! Why should I believe you when all you have done is deceive us all?"
"I hoped you would recognize me. I have loved you ever since we first met."
"I have never met you before," Ivy protested.
"You don't remember me?" said Blythe softly. "I remember a beautiful girl who danced all night in my ar
ms, in a gold-draped pavilion beside a crystalline lake. She wept when she told me of a cruel fate which awaited her, a contest of Three Tasks and her heart promised to the winner. I begged her to stay with me, but she refused--and when she went, my heart went with her."
Ivy covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Though the helm hid the long golden hair, which had then been braided with apple blossoms, and the armor lent a square look to the strong and slender figure of the girl in the golden pavilion, some part of Ivy had recognized Blythe's true self in the kindliness she had shown to Orrin when he lost the duel. It was the same sweetness Ivy remembered, the same gentle hands.
"You do remember!" Blythe pulled at the silver chain until the links made a high tinkling sound, like bells. "You see now that I do love you, have loved you all this time. You are the cleverest, kindest, and most beautiful creature that I have ever known. If I had thought that I could have quested openly for your hand I would have done so..."
"You could have," Ivy said.
"But I am a woman," said Blythe, and looking at her soft mouth and downless chin, Ivy wondered how she could ever have thought otherwise.
"'Whosoever in the land,' that's what the proclamation says," said Ivy.
"'Whosoever in the land desires to win the hand of the princess'--so why not you?"
"But I thought..." Blythe began uncertainly.
"You thought I would not choose you if I knew who you were," said Ivy. "And what kind of trick is that to play?"
Blythe shook her head in protest, but said nothing.
"When I met you, I thought you were the loveliest person I had ever seen, and I wanted to kiss you a hundred times," said Ivy. "And when I thought you were a knight, I thought you must be the kindest and the cleverest knight who had ever lived. But now I find out you are a liar like Geraint and a coward like Rival. You are just like all the rest!"
"Ivy!" Blythe cried, straining toward the bars of the cell, but Ivy stepped back, pulling her hood around her face, and hurried from the dungeon. She nearly knocked down the guard in her haste to get away, Blythe's cry still ringing in her ears.
---
"I'm so glad you've come to your senses, darling," said Queen Arhianrhod. She was referring to the creamy gauze dress, which Ivy had worn mostly to appease her mother. Her wings were bound securely underneath. Ivy said nothing.
"This is the Third Task," Arhianrhod continued in a stage whisper, although there was no one Ivy could see in the corridor outside the hall who could have overheard. "You will choose a husband today, and I have faith that you will choose correctly. Now, remember to say the riddle as you have been taught."
"'What is the most valuable thing in all the kingdom?'" Ivy parroted dully. She had been unable to sleep all night, the sound of Blythe's voice calling her name ringing in her ears like a bell.
Arianrhod smiled. "Very good. A certain someone, of course, may have been given a hint as to the correct way to answer."
Geraint. Ivy felt her heart drop. So this was it, the last day of the rest of her life. Well, at least she wasn't going to make it easy for Geraint, or anybody else for that matter.
She heard trumpets sound on the other side of the great doors. Ivy turned back to look at her mother and felt something heavy and sharp placed on her head. A crown of silver-dipped thorns and roses.
"There!" Arhianrhod beamed. "Now you look like a princess!" She ran to the back doors and slid through.
Ivy sighed. She felt like a doll of herself. She wondered if it would be her duty to the kingdom to feel like this forever.
When the trumpets faded away and the doors opened, Ivy stepped out into the hall. The branches were alive with banners and wings but the hall was quiet except for their rustling as she walked up to the dais and took her place next to her parents. From the crowd Sir Blythe and Sir Geriant stepped forward and knelt. The proclamation of the Third Task was read and there was scattered applause. Ivy looked into Sir Geraint's eyes, cocky and triumphant as if he were already there for his own coronation. She glanced at Blythe, but Blythe looked quickly away.
"The Princess will now ask her riddle," said the Queen.
Ivy stepped forward. "What..." she began, and Geraint smiled. Ivy raised her voice. "What, Sir Geraint, would you do if I chose you?"
Queen Arhianrhod's left eyebrow lifted nearly off her head. Geraint and Ivy's father exchanged looks. Sir Geraint cleared his throat.
"If you were to chose me for your betrothed, I would honor you, as the future Queen of the kingdom we shall rule together, for the rest of our lives."
How conveniently spoken, Ivy thought. No love promised, no care for her wants, and if she should die by some unspecified means he would not even be under the obligation to honor her after her death.
She turned to Blythe, who raised her eyes. There was no unspoken question in them anymore, only a sort of resignation. "And you, Sir Blythe?"
"I would refuse it." Blythe said simply. A murmur of shock and disapproval went through the Hall.
"I believe," said Arhianrhod, "that the choice is clear. Announce your winner, Ivy."
Ivy raised her chin. "I choose Sir Blythe," said Ivy.
The murmurs from the boughs became a low rumble, like the distant sea. Blythe rose and removed her helmet. Long flowing blonde hair came tumbling down around her silver armor, falling nearly to the floor. Her pale blue eyes looked at Ivy, and were sad. She laid the helm on the floor at Ivy's feet. She curtseyed low, first to the King, then to the Queen, then to the entire court.
"I am Lady Starflower Blythespirit, a Knight of the High Court of Fairie, and out of my great love for Ivy I give her the only gift I can -- her freedom. I am sorry to have misled you," she looked at Ivy, "and I will take my leave."
"You most certainly will not, Sir." Geraint drew his sword. "You are a woman, and therefore unqualified to even enter this contest--"
"I think if you consult the law you will find it says "'whosoever in the land wishes to quest for hand of the Princess'" not "'whichever man, " said Blythe. Another murmur shook the boughs of the trees; the Court was enjoying this immensely.
"The law has not been fulfilled," Geraint protested, even more furiously. "The Princess must be married--"
"No, Geraint," said Ivy, almost feeling sorry for him. "The princess's hand must be won in contest of Three Tasks, that is all the law says. Sir Blythe has won fairly, and is free to depart."
Geraint's eye twitched, but he sheathed his sword.
Slowly Blythe turned and walked out of the hall, leaving her helm at Ivy's feet. Ivy watched her go through a blur of tears.
"Was that a girl?" asked Ivy's father, always a beat behind everyone else.
Ivy's mother leaned close to her. "Did she say 'of the High Court?'"
Ivy lifted the crown off her head, and placed it at her mother's feet, beside Blythe's helm. "I do believe the Forest Court is safe from ruin now," she said gently, and then fled for the door.
---
It was easy enough to follow Sir Blythe's progress through the woods. She had left an easy trail, as if she had been in too much haste to get away to take much care in covering her tracks.
Ivy reached Blythe's camp in the late afternoon. Sunlight was falling in patches through the green leaves. A flask of elderberry wine and a loaf of honey bread were set on a rock near a small fire. Blythe, slumped against a tall oak, stood up in surprise when Ivy rose into the clearing.
Tethering Pepperberry to a tree, Ivy leaped down from the pony and approached Blythe. Blythe was still wearing her armor, though her hands were bare and so was her face. Her golden hair showered down around her, damp at the temples with sweat.
"I hope you have not come to invite me to your wedding," Blythe said.
"I have," Ivy replied, laying her hand gently on Blythe's smooth cheek. "To the wedding of Sir Blythe and princess Ivy, which will be held in the spring of next year. If I am so lucky."
Blythe looked up and her eyes widened. "But your parents!"
/> Ivy laughed. "They will come to accept it, and if they don't, what of it? My responsibility to the Forest Court is discharged, and I am free to do what I like, thanks to you."
"All I ever wanted was for you to be able to choose," said Blythe softly.
Ivy placed her other hand under Blythe's chin and kissed her lips, twisting her fingers in Blythe's hair and pulling her close. Blythe put both her arms around Ivy and held her so long that when they parted the shadows had deepened around them.
"I should have known you were a woman from the beginning," said Ivy.
"And how is that?"
Ivy laughed. "Because you are so charming."
Cassandra Clare is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of City of Bones, City of Ashes and City of Glass. City of Bones was a 2007 Locus Award finalist for Best First Novel and an ALA Teens Top Ten 2008 winner. She is also the author of the upcoming YA fantasy trilogy The Infernal Devices. She lives in Brooklyn, New York with her boyfriend and two cats.
Ruby deBrazier is a talented physician and poet living in New York City. This is her first published short story.
Three Letters from the Queen of Elfland
Sarah Monette
When Philip Osbourne found the letters, he did not do so by accident.
Since the birth of their son, he had become worried about Violet. In the evenings, when they sat together, he would look up and find her staring at nothing, her hands frozen above her embroidery. When he asked her what she was thinking about, she would smile and say "Nothing." Her smile was the same lovely smile that had first drawn him to her, but he knew she was lying. At their dinner parties, where formerly the conversation had sparkled and glimmered like a crystal chandelier, there were now silences, limping faltering pauses. He would look around and see Violet watching the reflections of the lights in the windows, with an expression on her face that frightened him because he did not know it.
So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction Page 8
