by Rigel, LK
Freefall was silent. Red and green and blue light shimmered all around, a churning, living waterfall of light. Then the unearthly vibrations began. Something between a bubble and a buzz pulsated, grew, and wafted over and through his body and mind. From somewhere in the universe angelsong—sung by real angels—rang out and found his soul.
Holy! Holy! Holy!
Then silence and clear night as he fell out of the lights.
“Your heart is racing,” Beverly said. Her wide and blue and shinning eyes reflected the moon and stars as well as any moonstick. “When do we start?”
Unbelievable. She was still blocked. He’d taken away whatever her urgent wish was, and her stress levels had plummeted. Apparently that wasn’t enough.
“This should be sublime,” he said into her ear, his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her hair. He couldn’t help noticing how good her breasts felt against his chest. “I want you to carry this experience in your heart to your last hour. To tell stories to your grandchildren they won’t believe.”
He’d forgotten how much fun it was to play with a human. They were so easily awestruck. This one’s delight was so genuine, so full of wonder. He found himself smiling, even laughing, watching Beverly caught up in the surprise of fairy magic.
But she couldn’t see the aurora, though it was dancing all around her.
“Turn around and face forward,” he said. “We’ll try it that way.” Great gods, it was just as exciting rubbing up against her backside.
Once again they dove into a streak of red light. “I don’t see it,” she said. “You’re having a laugh on me.”
“You’re the one laughing. I’m bloody bitter.” But he wasn’t. He was having a ball.
“I see the lights when we’re far off, but when you say they’re all around us, I see nothing. Like a mirage.”
She didn't see it. She didn't feel it. Human existence was as bleak as it was brief.
“But the stars are wondrous,” she said.
“Now who’s having a laugh?” he said. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Truly. No wonder the astronauts are always so keen to go back into space.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “Next you’ll tell me in the future humans fly to the moon.”
“Well, they do,” she said. “Some do.”
“You believe that, but you don’t believe in fairies.”
“I do now.” She twisted around to face him. “Fairies must be real, or this is the longest and most complicated dream in the history of dreams.”
Her eyes shone and her cheeks were flushed. The dandelion flowers were still in her hair. “Let’s go back,” he said. The closer he held her, the closer he wanted to hold her. And do other things. “Goldy and Glory will wonder what’s happened to us.”
“Right.” The mischievous twinkle in her eye was downright fairylike. “You’re worried about Goldy and Glory.”
Dandelion threw his head back and laughed. Sun and moon, she wasn’t bad for a human. It felt good to be with someone who enjoyed him for himself. Who didn’t either defer to him or plot against him because he was the prince.
And her eyes were so…intriguing. He could gaze into those blue eyes all day. She trembled, and the urge to kiss her was overpowering—so he kissed her.
Or tried to. Her teeth were locked together. Her shoulders shook with cold, not desire. She wasn’t feeling amorous. She was freezing.
He spelled warmth into her and into the air all around her. She melted against him, her legs entwined with his. His lips found hers again, and he pushed his tongue into her mouth.
She accepted him, fearless. She welcomed him and returned his kiss with equal urgency, mingling her tongue with his. Her hands found his skin beneath his vest, sending a thrill through him when her fingers played over his hard nipples. He held her tighter and spun in a circle, his wings surrounding them both as he made their clothes disappear.
“I feel it!” She vibrated against him, with him, in tune with the northern lights. A flicker of green blazed in her blue eyes. “I see it! Oh, Dandelion,” she said. “So beautiful.” She wrapped her legs around his waist.
“So beautiful,” he echoed. He plunged inside her, and they both moaned in equal measure. She drew him further in, riding him down the river of light and vibration as he rode her, took comfort from her, and utterly lost himself to her.
“Dandelion,” Beverly said, “tell me about fairies.”
“What would you like to know?”
They were floating in the silent night, lights streaming all around. He was on his back, and her chin rested on his chest.
“How old are you? Are your parents the king and queen?” Her eyes were blue again. “Why is everyone afraid of Idris?”
“One at a time, one at a time.” He couldn’t resist kissing her. She rewarded him with a pleased moan that sent shivers to the tip of his wings. He gave them an extra forceful pump. Flying on his back took on a new dimension with Beverly on top.
“I’m twelve hundred and some years old. My parents died long ago. My mother was Sifae, queen of the Dumnos fae. My father was of the Dumnos fae, not king, but the queen’s consort. When fae royalty marry, it’s to someone of a different court.”
“And Idris?”
“Everyone is afraid of Idris because cruelty is his greatest pleasure. He’s taking the Dumnos fae to the dark.”
“Great gods,” Beverly said.
“Sadly, the gods have no part in it.” Dandelion revered the high gods, but he would never understand them. Did the fae have souls? Had Brother Sun and Sister Moon received his parents in heaven? He had no idea.
“How did they die?” Beverly said. “I thought fairies were immortal.”
“Didn't we all.” He sighed. “It was a long time ago. Cissa and I were children, out on our first troop night. Everyone gathered at the fairy circle, the one Faeview is built upon. The music was great. I can still see Cissa and Glory spinning in the air, throwing that exploding dust over our heads. We danced for hours.”
Beverly laid her head on his chest, and he absently played with her hair.
“Then the wyrd came. They ambushed us with crossbows loaded with iron quarrels. In those days Dumnos iron was as toxic to us as any other iron. It made us sick. Too close to it, our magic failed. But until then it had never killed anyone.
“My father shielded the queen and took a quarrel in his heart. He fell, and another quarrel struck my mother.”
Dandelion inhaled the cold deep into his lungs and blew out the pain. After a thousand years, the desperation of that night was still fresh, the fae scrambling to get Queen Sifae and her consort back to the faewood. They were so traumatized they missed the portal twice.
“It was chaos. Those quarrels were fashioned for one thing: to kill the immortal fae. Idris risked his life to save me and Cissa. Whatever he’s become, that night he was brave and selfless, calling out to the fae to protect us.
“In the faewood, they laid my parents out on green grass and surrounded them with candles and leaves and flowers. The quarrels’ poison permeated and dissolved their material bodies, and then they were gone.
“In some ways, Idris saved the Dumnos fae. We were all mad for revenge. Who could forgive anyone who used such a weapon? Who could forgive anyone who designed one? Idris stilled our lust for wyrd blood. Said to wait. Revenge is best served cold for a reason, he told us. It does the most damage that way.
“I never trusted Idris, but in those days he had my respect.”
“How did he lose it?” Beverly said.
“He courted Elyse.” The old disgust welled up inside. “Thank sun and moon she refused him. Faeling or not, no one could abide a wyrding woman in the faewood, let alone so near the moonstick throne. She was born long after the murders, but she’s still one of them.”
He didn’t try to hide his loathing. Because of Elyse, the first earl built Faeview upon the sacred circle. All wyrders were alike.
“A
nd did you have your victory?” Beverly said.
“We had our revenge.”
Dandelion rolled over and increased his speed, spelling Beverly to keep her secure. The war had destroyed the wyrd and sent their survivors into hiding, but he’d never called it a fae victory. Beverly yawned and snuggled against him. He was glad she didn’t press for more details. With the rhythmic beat of his wings, she soon fell asleep in his arms.
On their descent Dandelion covered Beverly with his wings to protect her from the damp chill of low-lying clouds. Humans were such a contradiction. Their lives were over before they had a chance to live, and yet they could spin stories read hundreds of years after their deaths. So vulnerable and yet so enduring. Many humans were like many fae, selfish and shallow. And some were like Beverly, curious, generous, and kind.
“Wake up, sleepy head.” He kissed her dark curls as they approached Mudcastle. The air smelled of blooming lilacs and clean wet underbrush and other fragrances of spring. Snowdrops and Dutch irises covered the hut in white and purple. Time had passed fairylike while they were at the aurora.
On the road below on his way to Mudcastle from the goblin tunnel, Max drove a wagon pulled by his palomino pony. Talk about a contradiction. Aside from his stooped frame and gnarled face, everything about him was handsome. Even his horse and cart were pretty.
“That’s our goblin friend, Max,” Dandelion told Beverly. “He’ll seem ugly at first, but that goes away the better you know him. Goblins are master craftsmen. He made most of the beautiful things at Mudcastle.”
“Fairies and wyrders and goblins, oh, my!” Beverly said, chuckling. It sounded like a quote, but he didn’t recognize it. No matter. What mattered was her lightness of heart. Taking away her wish had made her forget her human ties.
She could be happy here. He couldn’t let loose in the human realm in this time. She’d be a danger to herself with her talk of horseless carriages and human astronauts flying to the moon. She’d land in Bedlam post haste. Better she remain at Mudcastle.
They touched down, and before he’d retracted his wings she ran over to greet Max. “Hello.” She offered her hand, then blushed. “I’m Beverly.” She pulled her hand back and curtsied. Max turned purple.
Dandelion burst out laughing. “No need to show deference, Beverly. Max isn’t the goblin king.” He’d laughed more since she arrived than he had in years. Hundreds of years. Her lightness of heart was contagious.
Max grunted. “Good to see you too, Dandelion.” He uncovered a cradle in the back of the wagon. “It’s not finished, but Cissa wanted me to bring it to Mudcastle. Glory’s staying here.”
“Good,” Dandelion said. “It will be fun to have a faeling flitting about the place.”
“Do all fairies have children out of wedlock?” Beverly asked.
“Wedlock,” Max said. “Interesting word.”
“Morning Glory wants a child,” Dandelion said. “There are no locks involved.”
Beverly laughed again. She was adorable.
“Fairies love children without reserve,” Max said. “It’s not like their desire for sparkly objects. It’s a giving sort of love rather than a taking love.”
“Why?” Beverly said. “Why children?”
“What a question,” Dandelion said. “I guess I’ve never thought about it.” Delight in children was merely natural, like smelling flowers in spring or building fires in winter. “Fae or human,” he said, “childhood is the time of endless capacity for love and wonder. It’s when we’re still our very highest and best selves, before our hearts are broken.”
“Ah,” Beverly said. “Like what happened to you.”
He bristled. “What are you talking about?”
“Your heart was broken when your mother was murdered.”
“Hmph.” Max glanced at Dandelion. “She might have something there.”
Dandelion wasn’t going to argue with a human over the condition of his heart, no matter how adorable she was. He lifted the cradle from the wagon. There was nothing unfinished about the piece that he could see. It was as gorgeous as anything Max made.
“Cissa’s right,” Dandelion said. “This will be much safer here at Mudcastle.”
“Who is Cissa?” Beverly asked Max. “Dandelion’s wife?”
“Princess Cissa.” Max snorted. “She’s the prince’s exasperating thief of a sister. Though I’ll admit she’s behaved herself since troop night.”
“You like her then.” Beverly grinned.
Dandelion laughed. “She might have something there, Max.”
Inside Mudcastle, Morning Glory was taking the kettle off the chimney crane. She was well into her pregnancy—time had passed while they were away at the borealis—but Beverly didn’t seem to notice. Something bothered her, but it was something else.
As he set the cradle down near the fireplace Beverly said, “Do you have a wife?”
“Yes, Dandelion,” Glory said. “Inquiring minds want to know. Do you have a wife?”
“If I had a wife…” Dandelion stopped. He was about to say if I had a wife would I have taken you to the borealis?
Where did that come from? If he had a wife, it would be a political alliance, nothing more. No wife would interfere with his fun. “I will be expected to marry one day,” he said instead. “If I’m ever king.”
“Fairies rarely marry at all,” Max said. “And never for love. Marriages are political bonds, alliances formed with other domains.”
Beverly said, “That’s why your parents didn’t marry.”
“Queen Sifae had to remain available for a political match,” Glory said.
“If I do become king,” Dandelion said, “I’ll marry for the good of the Dumnos fae. Otherwise, there is really no need.”
Glory set the kettle on a table that hadn’t been there when Dandelion and Beverly left for the borealis. There was a new trivet too. She went back to the kitchen and foraged through the cupboard. “Peppermint, peppermint, peppermint!” She wrinkled her nose. “All peppermint. I long for a nice soothing cup of chamomile tea.”
Beverly brightened. “I’ll bring you some. I saw a patch of chamomile…sometime.” a cloud crossed her face then faded. “I don’t remember when. But I know where it grows. Let me fetch it. It won’t take a minute.”
“Wait,” Dandelion said. It was cold and wet outside. He changed her sandals to soft leather boots. “That’s better.” He followed her to the door and spelled her with warmth as she fairly danced away. She could definitely be happy here at Mudcastle. When he turned back inside, Max and Glory had grins on their faces.
“What?” he said.
“Did you fall in love?” Glory said. “With a human?”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“Hmph,” Max said. “At least you’ve got her trained to fetch and carry. She already knows where the good biotanicals are, sounds like.”
“No, she’s only been to the lake and…” Dandelion’s heart jumped into his throat. “And the portal.”
He was out the door in an eye-blink. The first drops of cool rain fell as he extended his wings and soared above the treetops. He spotted her just off the walking path near a stand of lilac in full bloom, a clump of chamomile flowers in her hand. She looked up at the sound of his wings and blinked away the raindrops. As he touched ground, he let out a sigh of relief.
She smiled as if he was the most important person in the world and said, “I wish I could tell Marion to remember her umbrella.”
The words echoed in the emptiness where Beverly had stood.
Bright Cut
THE GOBLIN TUNNELS WERE dark and cool. Here Max could forget what he was, what he’d lost. He could forget what he longed for and lose himself in the comfort of solid rock and yielding metal. Rock was secure and didn’t shift. Metal would always be made beautiful by lap and graver. Unlike the beauty of a certain thieving fairy, the beauty of bright-cut silver was his to enjoy and revere. Gold never denied him. Brass never deemed him unwo
rthy.
He urged his pony Mavis through the tunnel past gobs coming and going, tool bags slung over their shoulders and Davy lights dangling from their hands.
“Whoa, girl.” The wagon rolled to a stop at the back entrance to the Bower of Elyse. He jumped down and stroked Mavis’s golden neck while a crew of goblins swarmed over the rods of cold iron stacked in the wagon’s bed. In pairs, they hefted the rods over their shoulders and hauled them inside.
Goblins were immune to iron’s toxicity no matter what ground it came out of. It didn’t hurt them like it did other fae. It wasn’t like working with gold and silver or even copper or brass, but any good job was a satisfying thing.
Max had been proud of the tether jewels he’d cut from Dumnos iron—until he learned about Idris’s glimmer glass.
The bower job was not a good job. Fewer than forty gobs worked it, and they had all become worn out and downright cheerless. Idris claimed that stockpiling cold iron was for the greater good of the Dumnos fae, a lie on its face. The regent must have some cruel power over these gobs to keep them working.
By the high gods and the low, Max wouldn’t be here if he had a choice.
Those unloading the wagon were despondent and slow-moving, their eyes to the ground, the cloud of despair around them so thick it could rain grief. Mavis whinnied and Max petted her affectionately, glad he was just dropping off, not going in.
He had more interesting plans for today. Lily was coming to the faewood so she could embrace her fairy nature, and he intended to make sure no one found out. Terrified Idris would claim the faeling if he learned of her existence, Glory had kept the child at Mudcastle in the human realm for all her three years.
Dandelion didn’t help matters. He supported Glory in this. The child delighted him and soothed the wound inflicted by the loss of his human. Of course the prince denied any such wound existed. The treesap.
Finally yesterday Cissa convinced Dandelion and Glory that the longer Lily went unexposed to fae the harder it would be for her fairy nature to settle in. The little girl had to visit the faewood as soon as it was safe.
