by Rigel, LK
“Has Cissa seen this?” He picked at her pantyhose, pulled the nylon away from her thigh and let it snap back against the skin. “This isn’t glimmermist.”
He sniffed at her legs—or the stockings; she wasn’t sure which. Her body responded with instant heat. This was quickly becoming a very sexy death—or dream, but it felt so real.
She twisted out of his grip. “I don’t know any Cissa.”
He let her go and stood up. He towered over her by at least a foot, and he was truly gorgeous. Beautiful. The word kept popping into her mind. His manners, on the other hand, were appalling.
He touched the hollow in her throat. Her skin tingled under the pressure, and warmth spread through her body. He said, “Where is your tether?”
“What are you talking about?” Without thinking, she touched his bare arm. She wanted to kiss him. She couldn’t be dead. A dream then, but so real. Surreal. He’d eaten some funny brownies. Or she had.
She took in the room’s rounded walls, the rugs on the dirt floor, the perfect fire and the two round windows. Both had window boxes on the inside jammed with flowers in full bloom. Primroses, snowdrops, Dutch iris. All out of season. The door was made of wood, also rounded. Something smelled wonderful, like spiced cookies baking. His biceps was rock hard with muscle.
Not a dream.
“Wait.” He lifted her chin and examined her face then brushed her hair back over one ear. He tilted his head like a bemused puppy and said, “You’re human.”
Troop Night
October 1876. In the Faewood
PRINCE DANDELION EXTENDED HIS wings and lifted above the fae assembled in the throne room. Since before the reign of the human King Utros, on one night of the year the Dumnos fae gathered from all parts for a great collective troop into the human realm.
The troop wasn’t limited to fairies proper. Sprites came, and wisps, and brownies. A smattering of leprechauns was bound to join in. Before the regency of Idris when Queen Sifae sat on the moonstick throne, leprechauns were all for troop night.
Never Goblins, but when did goblins ever play? Work was a goblin’s only pleasure.
Dandelion inhaled the cold night air deep into his lungs and stretched his arms and legs. He was aware of the admiring glances he drew from all quarters. His sister Cissa laughed and clapped her hands, and they shared a knowing look. As fae royalty, they both drew attention from courtiers and would-be lovers, and troop night was always pretty wild.
As royalty, one day they’d make political marriages to bolster alliances and ensure peace among the fairy courts, but that day was far away. Besides, marriage never got in the way of a fairy’s fun.
Aubrey lifted a glass and saluted Dandelion with a smirk. Not unusual. Poor Aubrey, a fairy who’d fallen in love. And with a human, no less! Tragic. It had made him sad. Under Idris’s influence he’d turned bitter and dried up inside.
Goldenrod blew a kiss, and Dandelion rolled his eyes and shook his head. He mouthed the words, not tonight. He occasionally took a male lover for the variety, but he wasn’t interested in sex these days—with anyone. He wasn’t much interested in anything.
He beat his wings, two slow powerful strokes that shot him well above the trees. Legend had it that a fairy’s wings expressed his inner being. Maybe. Dandelion’s were like dark velvet burnout on gauze mesh, strong and large, half again his body length and width. The same chestnut as his long hair, both so dark they sometimes appeared black.
He liked the way he looked. He made a dramatic appearance, and until recently he hadn’t minded. It made it easier to play with humans who were as susceptible to beauty as the fae.
But he was tired of all that. Tired of games and intrigues, of playing with humans like they were pets. Tired of fae politics. Lately he felt trapped. He fingered the cords of the tether around his neck, avoiding the cut stone just below his Adam’s apple.
His body cried out for movement. He wanted to run. To dance. To get away from Dumnos and skip troop night altogether. Maybe fly up to the borealis and sky-surf in the northern lights.
Become a solitary.
But he couldn’t leave the court. He wouldn’t abandon Cissa.
He floated down to the throne room floor and retracted his wings as his feet touched earth. The select few invited to promenade with Idris were already there. Why were they waiting? The trooping fae must be gathered at the circle by now, dancing and singing and ready to go.
Idris insisted on all this pomp and ceremony to make everyone forget he had no right to sit on the moonstick throne. Forget he had no right to be called king or to lead the fae on troop night.
As Queen Sifae’s firstborn, Dandelion was the rightful monarch. But things weren’t that simple. When he and Cissa were children, Sifae had been killed by wyrders—on a troop night, no less. Their father, the queen’s consort, died trying to save her, and Dandelion and Cissa were left orphans. Idris was made regent, the fae bound to obey him until the prince came of age.
When the time came, no one could find the fairy cup, the enchanted glass tankard required for coronation. Without it, there could be no ritual to bind the fae to their new king. Idris offered a generous reward for the cup’s return: any favor in his power to grant. The reward stood on offer to this day. The fairy cup remained missing.
After a thousand human years—even in fae, more than an eyeblink—Idris was fixed in his position. He wore the moonstick crown and let fairies call him my liege.
Dandelion should have objected, but he found he didn’t care. He wouldn’t mind if the fairy cup was never recovered. Almost.
If only the darkness in Idris hadn’t infected the whole of the court. Dandelion had given in to it more times than he wanted to admit. He felt it now with so many gathered together: the Dumnos fae were on the verge of a communal shift from light to dark.
At least Cissa was enjoying herself tonight. His sister, Princess Narcissus, looked spectacular beside the moonstick throne, like a perpetual firework. She’d chopped off her apple-red hair again so it stuck out in wild spikes. Her eyes sparkled green with mischief, and as she talked she waved her arms wildly through the slits in her cloak. The garment’s pastel colors shimmered when she moved.
When Cissa laughed, conversations paused and heads turned her way. Fairy, sprite, pixie, or leprechaun—it didn’t matter. Cissa’s wicked delight bedazzled them all. Even Idris responded to her. A layer of hardness lifted from his face. The light in his eyes burned a little less cruel.
“Let’s go now!” Cissa rolled her eyes and stamped her foot with a playful pout. “Max is probably still cleaning the dirt from his toenails.”
“Max?” Dandelion raised a questioning eyebrow to Aubrey, the closest Idris had to a confidant. “A goblin in the promenade?”
Goblins were necessary, of course. They made all the good stuff. But they were so ugly. Idris had banned them from court for that reason. Harsh, but not completely unreasonable, and the goblins didn’t care. They weren’t interested in politics.
Aubrey shrugged his shoulders.
Cissa extended her wings and flitted about the room. She settled just above the ground in front of Idris, careful to keep her cloak drawn close. Dandelion chuckled. No doubt his sister planned to scandalize them all at the troop circle when she revealed her outfit—or lack of one.
“Why should the ruler of the Dumnos fae wait for a goblin?” she said. She never called Idris king.
On the throne Idris shifted his weight gracefully. One corner of his mouth turned up, if only the slightest bit. He did look marvelous there. Regal. On the moonstick throne he appeared surrounded by moonlight glowing on fresh snow.
As usual, Idris wore almost nothing. His crown of leaves and moonsticks sparkled, silver blue against his wild flame-orange hair. His ornate tether cascaded from his throat over his bare chest, woven with diamonds and sapphires and a large center bead of bright-cut Dumnos steel. A length of cloth about his loins completed his ensemble. He was wiry but muscular, with the fine build of a dancer.
“Princess Narcissus makes a good point.” Idris stood and air-kissed Cissa. His voice was mellow and sensuous and made Dandelion think of sunlight on honey. “Max is late. He can catch us up.” He exuded self-assurance, power, and elegance.
Dandelion couldn’t deny that fairy had style.
Idris led the way with Cissa on his arm, followed by Dandelion and Aubrey. Assorted court fairies and pixies and a few leprechauns fell in behind. Idris loved to make a splash. He was in his glory.
They were nearly at the circle when he paused at the Bower of Elyse. The parade halted, and there was an angry shriek at the back when someone trod on a sprite. “Ooh. Pardon me.” The gravelly voice belonged to Max. The goblin had made it after all. “Oh. Oh.” He pushed closer. “Sorry.”
Cissa’s mouth twitched. She looked furtively over her shoulder then quickly faced forward, clutching at her cloak.
Oh, Cissa! Dandelion suppressed a laugh as it dawned on him what was going on. Cissa’s cloak wasn’t merely beautiful. It was magical. Goblin-made, and Max was probably the goblin who made it.
The odds were good she’d stolen that cloak. She wore her classic guilty look: the knitted eyebrows, the shifting glances. Dandelion sighed and cast a spell to make her invisible to Max. Cissa was his sister, and he’d protect her—at least until he found out what was going on.
Music filtered through the trees from the circle, and Dandelion had to fight the urge to fly to the dancing. He could sense the others doing the same as they all waited for Idris to make a show of mourning.
The regent inclined his head tragically and closed his eyes in reverence and pain. This was the place where the faeling Elyse slept eight hundred years ago. The Bower of Elyse had been sealed after she rejected both Idris and her fae heritage. Idris had forbidden entry to all but himself.
Dandelion wanted to stamp his foot and soar away into the sky. Idris’s grief had never rung true. He tended more toward revenge than sorrow. Long ago Aubrey had begged to bring Elyse back to the faewood, but Idris refused and forbade Aubrey to see his daughter again.
Everyone knew Aubrey was still desperate to save Elyse. She was half human. If she remained in the human realm she would eventually die.
Idris sighed, his brow furrowed with sorrow. Then he smoothed his features and smiled wistfully. He offered Cissa his arm. “Shall we?” So charming when he cared to be. Dandelion wanted to throw up.
Cissa’s smile for Idris was too kind. A chilling thought struck. What if Idris were to marry Cissa? As his bride she’d give him a permanent and rightful claim to the moonstick throne.
The instant they reached the circle Dandelion broke out of line and away from the crowd. He leaned against a tree and watched Idris. The fairy circulated, accepted greetings, and dispensed his charm like the politician he was. Irritation flickered across his face when Cissa hurried away to greet her best friend Morning Glory.
The music was intoxicating, mostly pipes and drums and an ancient lute. Near the lute player, a human woman spun around and around and around. Her skirt clung to her her legs, damp with sweat. Someone threw dust on her, and she levitated, still spinning in the air. Dandelion winced at the sight of her bloody bare feet.
“Prince Dandelion.” Max climbed onto a tree stump nearby. Dandelion grinned at the goblin’s boots, the soles and heels stacked five inches. Standing on the stump even in stacked heels, the top of the goblin’s head only reached Dandelion’s shoulder. Max scanned the gathered fae. Still searching for Cissa, no doubt.
The princess was in animated conversation with Morning Glory, but Max’s gaze passed over them. Dandelion wasn’t yet ready to break the spell.
Idris and Aubrey had stopped to watch the dancing human. “How long has this one been with us?” Idris asked of no one in particular but loud enough to draw attention.
“So long she’s been forgotten,” a sprite said. “The twirly pappus stopped blowing in with wishes for her return.”
“Poor treesap,” Max muttered to Dandelion. “Caught out alone one night on the troopers’ path, I’ll warrant. Last year or twenty years ago.”
“I wish they’d leave off,” Dandelion said. “Her feet are bloody enough.”
“This is Idris’s influence,” Max said. “I remember a time the Dumnos fae spent troop night granting favors and doing secret good deeds. Not this dark mischief. The world was a better place then.”
“No,” Dandelion said. “The world wasn’t better or worse. But we were a lighter fae.”
The goblin nodded. “I’ll grant you that, Prince Dandelion.”
“I once gave a fellow a love potion on troop night.” Dandelion smiled at the memory. “He was hopeless. Besotted by a local farmer’s daughter.”
“Did it backfire on the treesap?”
“Not at all. He and his wife grew fat and happy at Glimmer Cottage—that is until Elyse returned to the human realm and drove them off. Even so, they lived together in bliss to a good old human age.”
“Hmph. You’re not the misanthrope I’ve heard tell about,” Max said. “If only the damn cup weren’t lost. You’d make a better king than that one.”
“I’m not cut out to be king, Max,” Dandelion said. “I’d turn solitary if I thought my sister would be safe here without me.”
“Damn fairy.” Max craned his neck, again looking for Cissa. “No sense of obligation.”
Dandelion wasn’t sure who Max was damning, him or Idris. The gob fairly glowered at Idris, though, and with more than dislike. There was pure hatred in his beady stare.
“The goblin!” A sprite appeared in front of Max, blocking his view of Idris. The sprite burst into drunken sing-song.
Goblins, goblins everywhere
Goblins every hour.
Going here and going there—
Especially to the bower!
Max’s arm shot out, but the sprite disappeared and the goblin grasped air.
“What was that about?” Dandelion said.
Max’s face turned purple. “Um…gotta go.” Max spun on his stacked heels and jumped off the stump. “I have to find someone.”
“You don’t have to find anyone.” Dandelion grabbed the goblin from behind, catching a wad of shirt instead of the leather coverlet. “What’s this?”
The soft fabric beneath his coverlet felt cold to the touch, not like something worn against a goblin’s hot skin. It shimmered as brilliantly as Cissa’s cloak.
“Glimmermist!” Dandelion said. Everything was clear now. “That’s why you’re after my sister. Her cloak is made of your glimmermist.”
Max turned around. “You ask too many questions. But yes, I need to find the princess.”
“You won’t,” Dandelion said. “You won’t see Cissa again until I let you.”
“Dream on, Prince.” Max clutched his shirt collar and grinned. “You can’t spell me when I’m wearing this.”
Cissa and Morning Glory shrieked with laughter as two sprites played catch with a leprechaun’s hat.
“Apparently I can,” Dandelion said. “At this moment, Cissa isn’t ten feet away.”
“She never.” Max’s eyes widened. He took a step back and searched the area.
“She is.” Dandelion said. “I spelled you on line when you were making so much noise.”
“That should be…impossible.” The goblin scowled.
“Tell me. What scheme has Idris got you up to?”
“I can’t say.” The gnarly voice dropped to a whisper. “But Elyse’s Bower isn’t what you think.”
“You can say, Max. What has Idris got going in there?”
Max hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Idris. Then he heaved a sigh and motioned Dandelion to bend down. Nose-to-nose, he said, “The regent’s amassed a stockpile of cold iron.”
Dandelion’s head jerked up in shock. Idris was with Cissa and Morning Glory, laughing at the hatless leprechaun as if all was well with the world. Max grabbed his neck and pulled him back down. “He’s storing it in the
bower.”
Great gods. “I knew his so-called grief was a show.”
Only Dumnos iron was benign to fairies. All other iron was toxic. The Dumnos fae called non-Dumnos iron cold iron and the steel made from it cold steel. Coming close to cold iron caused excruciating headaches. Prolonged exposure nullified fairy magic. In rare cases it was lethal, as Dandelion well knew.
“And the goblins are involved in this scheme?” He didn’t try to hide his loathing.
“Don’t press me,” Max said. “He’s coming.”
The Fairy Cup
“IDRIS. AUBREY." DANDELION ACKNOWLEDGED the two fairies. It was impossible to know if they’d overheard his and Max’s conversation.
“My favorite goblin.” Idris slapped a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Not before time the gobs sent someone to troop night. I was on the verge of hurt feelings.”
Max shrugged Idris’s hand off, his grumble nearly a growl. He was obviously miserable. Dandelion believed the gob was a reluctant participant in the iron scheme, but what hold could Idris have on Max?
Idris smiled indulgently and snapped his fingers. With a pop and a flash, a serving pixie appeared with a tray of four glasses of sparkling pink liquid.
Max sniffed at the wine and wrinkled his nose, which offended the pixie. “Cretin!” She disappeared in a huff. Dandelion felt sorry for the gob and lifted the spell as he drank. Max instantly spotted Cissa, his eyes widening eagerly above the glass.
Idris followed Max’s gaze to the princess and back. “There is nothing more pathetic than a fae in love,” Idris said. “It’s why I forbid Aubrey to visit his wretched faeling. It’s for his own good. She reminds him of his lost love, and I can’t bear to see him so unhappy. Now it seems poor Max is smitten.”
Max shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“What is your problem, gob? Can’t take a little joke?” Idris feigned a pout. “I’ve had to suffer your guttural grumbles since we left the throne room. You’re spoiling my mood.”
“I do have a problem, my liege. A grievance.” Max raised his voice and waved his empty glass at Cissa. “A grievance against Princess Narcissus!”
