The Immortal Queen

by Jennifer L. Hart

  The building’s layout is one long open room with several fires burning in rock pits dug out of the earth along the center of the walkway. The fire pits provide heat and light. Stalls with no doors align either wall stretching the length of the house.

  “This is the women’s house, for sleeping and communing with others of our gender. No male over six winters is allowed within these walls for any reason. You can have your pick of compartments. Most of them are empty.” She gestures toward the stalls.

  I step inside the nearest one. It’s set up like cells in a Catholic convent. A single simple cot, a lone candlestick in a clay holder, an earthenware jug and washbowl on a low table beside the bed. A colorful hand stitched quilt is spread across the mattress.

  “So, river sprites don’t sleep with your men?”

  Cascadia looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “Why would we?”

  “Boy, am I the wrong person to answer that,” I mutter then retrench. “Do your people not marry? Where do the children come from?”

  She picks up the empty jug and then turns to me with a frown. “From the water, of course.”

  Right. She had said something about a water sprite for every spring. “But don’t your people...um...interact?”

  “We share meals of course. And chores.” Her manner is calm, implacable.

  “That’s not...oh never mind,” My cheeks heat and I feel like a grade-A pervert.

  Her face lights up with understanding. “Oh, you are referring to sexual coupling?”

  I nod, cheeks flaming higher. “It’s just if the men sleep in one space and the women in another then when—?”

  “Whenever they wish, so long as it’s not in the town green or the women’s house. Even those who enjoy the same gender as their own are not supposed to couple in the sleeping lodges. It’s unseemly around the young and inconsiderate of those who have lost a lover. The women’s house is for companionship, for compassion and understanding. In the past it was not uncommon for our elderly to not leave its sacred walls.” She waits patiently as though in anticipation for my next invasive question.

  Embarrassment outweighs my curiosity and I look away.

  “Do not be ashamed, my queen. We do not expect you to know of such things any more than we would know how to rule the Unseelie. I will get you some water for washing.” With one final smile, she backs out of the compartment.

  Not wanting to soak the bed, I follow her only as far as the nearest fire and sit on one of the log benches. Cascadia’s comment about knowing how to rule rings in my ears. The sad part is, I have no concept of how to rule the court. From what I remember of my past life, all I managed to do was whore myself out to a bunch of would be Unseelie nobles, alienate Aiden and die leaving all those under my protection to the tender mercies of Brigit.

  Is it arrogant to try again? To believe that I will manage to do better this time around? Royals are supposed to be trained from birth on court politics and procedures. I’d been taught to stalk and hunt and kill. Hell, I didn’t even clean up after myself, that always fell to the Aunts. If anything, I’m less prepared in this life. I hadn’t even known about the energy healing thing.

  Aiden was right about my needing more education. Not just what I could learn in my mortal high school, but from life in general. I’d been sequestered by Chloe and Addy. Protected and kept ignorant, only brought out to serve my killing purpose.

  Looking around the long space that is obviously meant for more sprites than there are, a deep weight settles on me like a blanket. These people needed protection, and where was I? Dead at Brigit’s hands because I’d driven Aiden away.

  Resentment coils inside me, a venomous serpent ready to strike. I didn’t ask for this destiny, didn’t want these responsibilities. If the path to the Shadow Throne involves assassination, maybe. But even if I did reclaim it and win the Fire Throne too, how would I rule? Every decision I’ve made to date has caused an avalanche of new problems. For myself and those around me.

  I kill people, but I also hurt them. One I can live with but the other...

  I shiver as their images appear in the flickering flames. Aiden, Nahini, Freda and Jasmine, Chloe and Addy. The people in that apartment complex that the Valkyries had decimated. The river sprites, the few who survived. Any who called me queen or support my claim to the Unseelie are in the line of fire and might die at any time.

  I stare into the leaping flames, searching desperately for a way out but seeing the only answer I ever have...death.

  Whether mine or theirs, I don’t know.

  AFTER WASHING, I BUNDLE up in the pretty quilt and lie down on the narrow bed. Though all my worries still pressed down on me, I sleep deep and dreamless until just after sunset. The sounds of laughter and music float through the waterfall windows, beckoning me to come out.

  Aiden? I call out with my mind. I can feel him nearby, at the edge of my consciousness, but he doesn’t reply. I hope he’s not trapped at the river bank, frozen with the same look of horror he’d been wearing untold hours ago when I’d ordered him not to follow me into the water.

  His agonizing expression haunts me. I should proceed out, see how wild the river sprites shindig will get. If only I had something to wear other than my pale blue undergarments. Then I spot the fabric lying across the foot of my bed. The dress is gold and shimmers in a ray of the late day sun. The cut is simple, just a knee length sheath with spaghetti straps. It’s elegant and the material is smoother than any silk I’ve ever felt as it slips between my fingers.

  “Do you like it?” Cascadia peers at me through the open door of the sleeping compartment.

  I trace the bodice which shimmers with an almost iridescent quality. “It’s lovely. What’s it made from?”

  “Spider silk. It’s a gift from King Soladin.”

  My head jerks up at her words. “He’s here?”

  She frowns at my obvious distress. “Not yet, though he sent word with the messenger that he will arrive midmorning tomorrow. Is something wrong?”

  Only that the last time a Seelie king had given me a pretty dress, it hadn’t ended well. “Did the messenger happen to mention if my traveling companions will be with him?”

  That Soladin knows not only where I am but that I need clothing is telling. And though I don’t know how far the river sprite village lies from the heart of the Seelie Court, I doubt word of my arrival reached him through conventional channels. No, more likely he’s gleaned the information from a seer. Namely Harmony.

  “He didn’t say. Get dressed and you can ask him yourself.” With a reassuring smile, Cascadia leaves me to ready myself.

  The spider silk glides over my skin like a cloud. I would have expected it to be sticky, but evidently whatever the curing process is to make spider silk fabric, involves the removal of the adhesive. The fabric clings enticingly to my breasts and hips. Not wanting to reveal either bra straps or panty lines, I take my undergarments off and rinse them out in the basin, then lay them on one of the empty logs near the fire. I have no shoes, so I pad barefoot out into the town green.

  In the time I spent sleeping, the village has morphed from common marketplace to an outdoor celebration. Like the other river sprites, the bride and groom are completely nude, except for garlands of autumn flowers braided into their long silver hair. It’s almost impossible to tell age in a population that shows no physical signs of the ravages of time, but something about the male’s expression seems...seasoned. Then again, with the tribe of river sprites being evicted from their homes and reliant upon a Seelie king, they probably all have a bit of experience.

  “How old is your uncle?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “About a century. His new bride is the first river sprite born of the Nile, an elder of our tribe. Several centuries older. She has been waiting all this time for love.”

  I gape at the ageless seeming woman. Old as the Nile River? She hardly appears it, laughing with her head thrown back. “Why would they wait so long?”

  �
��Because,” Cascadia says simply. “They weren’t ready."

  They may not be young lovers in rabid infatuation but they grin at each other in a way that makes it clear they are the newly married couple, his left hand bound to her right with a length of vine twining into what looks like a Celtic knot.

  “Did I sleep through the ceremony?” I ask.

  Cascadia shakes her head. “The ceremony comes later, at the claiming. The two wishing to become one bind their hands before all and at sunset, they will retreat into the forest to unite their bodies and sanction their union in the cradle of Underhill.”

  Heat scalds my cheeks. “You mean they are going out into the woods to have sex?”

  “Of course. My uncle has already selected the place where he will claim his new bride.”

  “Maybe she’ll claim him,” I mutter and Cascadia laughs.

  “I believe she already has.”

  I watch as the new couple strides off into the trees, three crows watching their progress interestedly.

  Long log tables are covered with trenchers of food with even more passing between the beings milling about the green. A massive bonfire blazes in the center of the common area, directly across from the third log house.

  And then there’s the music.

  It’s a light tune, a song with no lyrics, just an enchanting melody that seeps into my skin, sinks into my bones until it becomes a part of me. The drumbeats make my heart pound, the flutes lift my spirit, the strings have my bare toes tapping. Fey dance about it in wild abandon. With a start I realize there are more than just river sprites in the group.

  Some have wings, others claws. Several are taller than the roof of the buildings, many more no larger than the acorns that lay thick on the ground. Green and gold, brown and red, they are the colors of the falling leaves, the colors of harvest. Twilight dapples the sky, the setting sun bathing the still clinging leaves and dancing people in a golden light.

  There’s something wild in the air, something that calls to a deeply buried part of me, a part that yearns to break free and run as fast and far as I can. To lose myself in the shadows of the night, to get lost in sensations, the music. To shut off my damn cold calculating brain and just be.

  “It’s like the revels of old.” Fjord appears at my elbow.

  I turn to face him, studying his expression. It appears almost wistful as he turns to me. “My granddaughter is too young to remember but there was a time when the fey revels were so exuberant the music could be heard across the Veil. The celebrations between the changing of seasons to mark the shift of power between the Fire and Shadow Thrones would go on for days.”

  “When did the others get here?” I ask, gesturing toward a mottled brown fey with horns.

  “They’ve been arriving since shortly after you did. Most are from the nearby villages, though some have traveled from Unseelie lands to the North.” He points with one of those three knuckled fingers.

  The music is making it hard for me to think, to keep a clear head. “Were you expecting them?”

  Fjord shakes his head. “No, but all are welcome. Word of you has traveled from the giant’s keep to the west and in from Wardon’s coastal cities. They come seeking the Queen of the Shadow Throne.”

  My lips part and I send a hasty glance around. Sure enough, several of the fey are staring openly at me. Under the scrutiny, I’m doubly glad I had another option than to emerge in my skivvies. “But why?”

  “Because they want to make themselves known to you in hopes you will remember them.” His expression is sad. “Would you care to address them?”

  I shake my head. I can’t stomach being the center of so much attention. Most of my work is done in the shadows, and there are rarely witnesses. Talking to a boisterous crowd of revelers, all of whom are looking at me with an air of expectation...just no.

  Fjord appears disappointed.

  I ask, “Has there been any word from the party you sent to search the riverbank?”

  “No, but it’s only been a few hours. I’ll notify you the second they return.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Cascadia mentioned a messenger from the king. I’d like to speak with him.”

  Fjord glances around and then beckons Wade over. “The queen requests an audience with the king’s messenger. Do you know where he went?”

  Wade blushes. At least I think it’s a blush, considering his gray skin tints with a blueish hue. “He was with some of the tree nymphs the last I saw.”

  “Were they dancing?”

  The color grows even darker. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Fjord smiles and leans heavily on his walking stick, moving forward toward one of the tables. “To be young. Go and see if you can pry him away at his earliest convenience. And you,” he says, turning to me. “You should dance.”

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” I admit even as the song from the revel fills me with longing. That pressing urge to be free in body and spirit gnaws at me.

  Fjord waves my excuses away. “You are of fey blood. All the fey can dance, if given the proper motivation.” He picks up my hand, presses it to his silvery lips and then holds it aloft.

  Almost instantly, someone else takes it and whirls me out into the stream of dancers. I spin, shocked and exhilarated at the sudden movement. My partner, another of the river sprites, grins and twirls me again. I feel my hair fanning out, skirt whirling up and then he pulls me into the steps.

  My feet find the rhythm all on their own and before I know it a laugh escapes me. My partner spins me once more and then hands me off to the next in line. This male is shorter, stockier and covered with some sort of blue black pelt. His black eyes reflect the firelight and though he isn’t as skilled as the river sprite, he guides me through the steps of the dance well.

  I change partners again and again, losing myself in the madness, the whirling energy of the dance, high on the good will emanating from the fey. I forget everything, my worries for Aiden and Nahini, Harmony and Bard and the Wild Hunt. The gauntlet, the forces warring over the Unseelie Court, the enemy I made in Wardon, the meeting between Rodrick and Soladin. None of it matters in the moment of absolute abandon.

  Part of me feels as if I could do this forever, could so easily lose myself in the dance until I become part of the melody. The desire scares me but not enough to stop. Just one more song, I tell myself as I spin and dip, am lifted and traded. One more turn and I’ll be done.

  I recognize it for the lie it is, but the knowledge doesn’t stop me from continuing into the next set of arms, the next smiling face.

  “You’re a fantastic dancer,” The male murmurs in my ear. “My queen.”

  I beam up into his handsome face, feeling lighter than a feather, freer than I’ve ever been.

  Until a fist crashes into the side of his skull.

  What’s Eating Him

  “Aiden,” I gasp, relieved to see him, even if he is currently trying to shred my dance partner into sushi.

  The two go rolling across the ground. Thank the gods that Aiden is still a man, for the wolf would rip the river sprite’s throat out in the first minute. Then again, the wild look in Aiden’s eyes tells me he’ll gut the fey with his bare hands.

  They tip a table over. Food and drink go flying and I decide enough is enough.

  “Aiden, stop.”

  He doesn’t.

  Frowning, I repeat the command and am once again ignored.

  The music cuts off with a screech of strings as the fight takes on a life of its own. The fey who were dancing moments before scatter like leaves in a gale before the grappling men. Desperate, I reach down to grip Aiden’s shoulder, to pull him off and make him see reason before he kills the male, but he turns to me, teeth bared in warning.

  My heart lodges in my throat. The green eyes of the wolf glare back. Whether he wrestled control from Aiden, or the man gave it over willingly, I’m not dealing with a rational being. Instead, there is one who thrives on punishing those who cross him.


  And the river sprite had just been holding his mate, whispering in her ear. Jealousy, as I’ve learned firsthand, is a harsh and demanding mistress. And the wolf exists on instinct. After days of travel, torment, starvation and fear, Aiden’s defenses are down. Though the fey and I didn’t do anything more than talk, it doesn’t matter to the wolf. A literal green-eyed monster had been unleashed.

  And as long as there is a fight, he won’t relent.

  “Quit fighting him and bare your throat.” I call out

  “Are you insane?” The river sprite is streaked with blue blood, his gray eyes large with terror.

  “Just do it,” I bark. “Before he kills you.”

  He is barely holding the wolf at bay. I can see the sweat on his forehead, the shaking of his limbs. Aiden’s green eyes blaze, his teeth gnash as he holds the other being down.

  With a murmured prayer, the sprite lifts his chin and bares his throat in submission. A snarl creases Aiden’s lips, his hands going to the other male’s throat.

  I lunge forward, wrapping myself around Aiden’s bare back, holding tightly to him and praying I’m right. That the wolf isn’t completely gone with bloodlust or hunger.

  That deep down, he doesn’t crave the kill more than he yearns for the feel of his mate.

  Around us, the revelers are motionless, their faces masks of horror and fear. Do they know what Aiden is, what sort of threat he poses if he has a full-scale meltdown?

  I can’t think about that though. Instead I tighten my grip on his chest and hold him close and repeat the only words that come to mind. “I’m here. I’m alive. No one hurt me. They won’t hurt you, either. Aiden, can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” he speaks, his tone guttural and not wholly human. But at least I know he is listening.

  “He’s no threat to you,” I tell him. “Let him go and come with me.”

  He inhales once, then blows out a long stream of air. He shoves away from the river sprite so quickly that I lose my grip on him and stumble back. Shoulders tense, he stalks up the hill, leaving the valley silent.