Wander The Night, page 19
“Too true sometimes,” Titania agrees. The mirth leaves her face then, and she stares at her folded hands. “When we were younger, my sister was very fond of chess and very good at it. I found myself too quickly bored to foster any great skill, but Mab was different. She had the patience to wait out her opponent, to measure her moves and the speed with which she struck. When you thought she would take her time, she would sacrifice a piece in a reckless move. When it seemed she would take an obvious path, she would force you to wait out her turn while the minutes crawled by and your guard fell.”
I feel out of place in this too intimate conversation. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, my lady,” I admit.
Titania looks to me and holds my gaze. “Mab has the patience and the skill. She won’t stop at a handful of pieces. She will play until she has the board.”
It takes a moment before her meaning slides into focus in my mind. If we are pieces, the board must be—
“She claims she’s only acting in retribution on your behalf,” I say, confused. “I thought I was the prize she stole to make things right. What more does she want?”
Titania shakes her head. “Does one spare the colony because only one ant bites? Or is the anthill destroyed in order to prevent another sting?”
I frown, thoughts spiraling. “No, she wouldn’t do that. She speaks too much of honor—”
“And it is honorable to her,” Titania interrupts. She spreads her hands, willing me to understand. “The Green Court struck the first blow. Anything she does is just cause.”
“But that, that’s not—that isn’t right!” I stutter.
“Right and wrong have little import in the workings of courts.”
I run a hand through my hair. A thought strikes. “Do you care what happens to the Green Court?”
I worry that perhaps I’ve been too forward, but no reproach comes. Titania smiles, though it’s tarnished with sorrow. “I told you before. For any wrong Oberon may have done in his time, I love him still. And for all that I was not born to the Green Court, I have come to love it and its people as my own. If I seemed ill content at times, it was for reasons of personal matter and nothing more.”
Peaseblossom has been quiet for some time, rocking the princess while listening to the conversation. She draws in a measured breath. “If the queen has her way about it, there soon won’t be a Green Court to love.”
None of us voice what we’re all thinking: the queen always has her way.
ACT III
My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger;
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,
Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all,
That in crossways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They willfully themselves exile from light
And must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.
—William Shakespeare,
A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
Act III, Scene II
SCENE 1
Sunlight streams into the cave, waking me. For a scant second, I look around, trying to figure out why I’m here in the first place. Then I remember and groan with the thought of what I’m about to walk into. A laugh sounds from my left, and I glance over to see Ariel watching me with amusement.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes and stretching. “Find something funny?” I ask.
Ariel tilts their head. “I could see the exact moment on your face when you realized you were going to do something stupid today.”
I cut my eyes in their direction, though the statement isn’t wrong.
Ariel tosses me a small bundle of cloth. “I’ve been awake for a bit. Thought I would find us some breakfast.”
I untie the bundle to discover a large handful of berries, roundish and red with shiny skin. I don’t know what type they are. They must be something that doesn’t grow in Green lands. When I bite into one, the juice is honeyed and tart on my tongue.
While I pack up and finish eating, Ariel crafts cloud steeds for the third time. Then we leave the cave behind and take to the sky. It’s a little past noon, judging by the sun’s position, which is later than intended but not late enough to affect anything to a great degree.
As hills and valleys pass by below us, Ariel and I discuss a plan. Ariel will glamour me to appear as one of the revelers, another face in the crowd. I will act as a party-goer while I search for Kavi. Meanwhile, Ariel will also be glamoured, for a short time at least. They will go in invisible and then reappear in the throng of people, acting as though they’d never left. With any luck, Mab won’t have missed their presence. Ariel will then find Peaseblossom to enlist her assistance in a distraction that will allow me to slip out with Kavi.
Ariel drills me on locations in the Mound. I’ve spent time there, too much for my taste, but they apparently assume I could forget where different rooms are. I understand the concern though so I simply nod along as I’m reminded of the layout of the Mound—the kitchens, the throne room, the royal chambers, the staff quarters, and so on—and then reminded a second time for good measure.
An hour or so after night falls, the moon is firmly risen, and Ariel and I touch down about a quarter-mile from the entrance to the Mound. We dismount, and the cloud steeds dissolve.
“All right,” Ariel says, though I’m reasonably sure it’s not directed at me, or anyone for that matter. They turn to me, give me a swift once-over glance, and nod. “Okay, we can work with this.”
I prepare to argue with that comment. It would sound less than flattering at the best of times, and this is, indeed, not the best of times. But then Ariel is dousing me with a rather powerful wash of glamour, one far thicker than the disguise Mustardseed gave me at the motel. The air takes on the pleasant smell of petrichor on a breeze. I decide not to push the issue.
Here’s the thing about glamours. When you’re just trying to fool the human eye, it’s as easy as a breath, but the fey and the Sighted can see beyond it if you’re not careful. When you cast one to fool other faeries, it takes effort and skill and can’t be seen through. So I’ll have to be careful. Mab is not a typical faery.
When the glamour is complete, I look down at myself to study my new appearance. I'm wearing a doublet of ruby velvet and tall leather boots stitched with silver. The buttons down my front are made of bone. The skin of my hands is lighter, and my fingers are ringed with gold bands. I pull one of my daggers out to examine my face in the reflection of the blade. My face is the same pale tone as my hands. My hair is blond and longer. My eyes remain persistently green.
“What do you think?” Ariel says. “Does it meet the standard?”
I tuck the dagger into my doublet and hide my satchel in a patch of grass. I'll come back for it later. “I think it'll do.”
Ariel nods. “See you on the other side.” And then they vanish from sight.
I turn toward the Mound, take a steadying breath, and force my feet to move.
A narrow road leads up to the Mound, its sides lined with bioluminescent toadstools. Along the road are dozens of travelers, all of them in the extravagance one would expect to see at a court revel. I can’t say I’m not at least somewhat offended by the court throwing a party in celebration for knocking the Green Courters on our asses, but also I can’t deny that it makes gatecrashing easier.
Assuming the ease of someone who has been invited, I slip into the procession and into my role. After all, this isn’t the first time I’ve sneaked in where I wasn’t supposed to be.
The Hill and the Mound may both be underground faerie palaces, but the similarities end there. The Mound is treeless, just a large, grassy knoll amidst green moorland. It rises up over the heads of the travelers in front of me, innocuous in appearance but triggering a chill down the back of my neck all the same. When the road ends at the Mound’s base, no door waits. Instead, the road gives way to stone stairs that lead up to the crest of the Mound. I follow the others to a stone tower, some twenty or thirty feet high, at the end of the stairway. A large wooden door, carved with intricate designs and inlaid with labradorite, stands open at the bottom of the tower. A guard in court livery flanks either side, and I glimpse a third atop the tower when I dare to turn my eyes upward. None of them accost me though, and I enter the Mound alongside the other revelers.
Inside the door, another set of stairs spirals downward into the earth. When the stairs end after perhaps fifteen feet—it’s hard to tell the depth with the way I’m going in literal circles—a foyer opens out. Servants stand ready to provide food and drink to newcomers and to usher us into the adjoining throne room. I accept a glass of wine to avoid suspicion and let myself be pushed along by the crowd.
The Grey throne room is beautiful. It’s a dark sort of ethereal, the type of aesthetic that wouldn’t be out of place on a Cirque du Soleil stage. Regardless of the lack of trees topside, huge, dark, gnarled roots extend from the earthen ceiling. Interspersed among the roots are scores of the same kind of bioluminescent mushrooms that line the road outside. The effect is akin to plastic glow-in-the-dark stars, lit up in a child’s bedroom. The top half of the room is bathed in an eternal pale green glow. The walls are swathed in panels of black velvet, and black sconces are lit with faerie fire. An array of tables is scattered about the room, laden with delicacies, desserts, and drinks. A fountain of wine is set up on one, deep red liquid cascading like blood into a lower tier.
I scan the crowd for Kavi while keeping an eye out for Mab or Titania. I spot Mab upon her throne, a carved masterpiece of white marble with a cushion of silk. A second throne sits upon the dais, which I assume to have been brought in for Titania, but this one is unoccupied. The Green Queen doesn’t appear to have graced the party with her presence yet. Mab seems to be content where she is, one hand holding a wine glass aloft and her posture relaxed, so I turn away and continue my search. I amble onward, feigning self-importance and pretending to scrutinize everyone else’s state of dress.
Grey Court fashion favors dark shades and jewel tones. It’s an odd combination of medieval and Elizabethan, with trailing sleeves and corsets and neck ruffs. The beading and bejeweling lean toward excessive, and Grey men tend to be fond of half-capes. As with the Green, there are those whose finery is made less with cloth and more with pieces of the natural world or, occasionally, pieces of another creature.
Most revelers, regardless of their court affiliation, do not know the meaning of personal space, and I spend more than a few minutes attempting to disentangle myself enough to move through them. My ass is grabbed more than once, and I force myself not to pull the dagger from my doublet. It wouldn’t end well for anyone. Romeo and his friends went to an enemy’s party uninvited and looking for a fight and see how that turned out.
Spoiler: everyone died. It's probably because someone had to go and talk about Mab. She tends to bring death at the mention of her name.
For the next hour, I play the part, going so far as to join one of the dances, before I decide that if I haven’t found Kavi here by now, there’s a good chance he’s not in this room. Detaching myself from the throng, I leave the throne room and head down the hall toward the kitchens. I push open the double doors and saunter into the room, drink in hand and staggering a step or two to give the appearance of drunkenness. It must work. A couple of kitchen hands glance up when I enter and then return to their tasks. I amble through the room, feigning interest in the next dessert being prepared.
Kavi doesn’t make an appearance here either. I didn’t want to have to resort to checking the more private rooms in the Mound, but it seems I haven’t the choice. Nicking an iced cake from a passing tray, I return to the hallway.
I check the first room—empty of anyone, including Kavi—and make it to the second room down the hall of private quarters before I’m caught. I reach for the doorknob, and someone clears their throat behind me. Biting down a curse, I turn to see a guard in white and grey eyeing me with suspicion. His hand, resting but ready, is on the hilt of the sword at his hip.
I pour every bit of acting skill I hope I possess into my performance.
“Red-handed, I suppose,” I say in my most snobbish voice, as though it’s no real issue.
The guard’s eyes crinkle in confusion before he schools his expression again. “Might I help you find your way, sir?” His politeness sounds forced.
“I’m afraid I have a small confession.” I lean toward him and speak in a pretentious whisper, the kind I’ve heard so many Gentry use when they wish to speak gossip but don’t want to look like they enjoy it. “I heard the Green King’s half-breed was here somewhere in the Mound. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him, see him with my own eyes. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to point me in his direction?”
Sometimes, the best way to deceive someone is to tell them the absolute truth.
The guard studies me. I wait to see what he says, hoping he does say something and doesn’t just stab me, and try not to hold my breath. Showing nervousness will shatter my disguise. Which could probably get me killed.
Or worse. It could start a war. I’m not keen on either idea.
The guard seems to resign himself, though if he’s so put off by the thought of assisting me, I can’t imagine why he couldn’t simply say no. He looks me up and down appraisingly. I start to say something, tell him it’s no trouble, I’ll just go. But then he plasters on a smile, nods, and steps around me.
“This way,” he says, waving a hand and leading the way down the hall.
We come to a white door inset with bursts of grey opal, and for a heart-sinking second, I think the guard has led me to Mab’s personal chambers. As he lifts a hand to knock, however, the door opens, and someone most unexpected steps out. Titania, dressed in a gown of deep amethyst, stops on the threshold and regards us with curiosity. Her eyes dart from the guard to me and back to the guard. An unvoiced question hangs in the air.
Who are you, and what are you doing here?
“My lady,” the guard says, sketching a bow.
I bow as well but keep my mouth shut. I fear my voice might give me away.
The guard continues, and I’m grateful I needn’t say anything. “We’ve come for Oberon’s boy, my lady.”
Some unfamiliar emotion crosses Titania’s face before she slides her mask of indifference back down. I feel intrigue crawl over me, but I haven’t the time right now to pursue it.
“Very well,” Titania says. “I am rejoining the party. See that no harm comes to the boy.”
I’m more intrigued still. Why would she care what became of Kavi? Shouldn’t she relish the vengeance her sister has wrought in her name?
Oblivious to my mental puzzling, Titania trails down the hallway toward the throne room. The guard bows again as she leaves, and I derail my train of thought in order to mirror the gesture. Then he steps aside and extends an arm toward the doorway, an invitation to enter ahead of him. I accept the offer and step into the Green Queen’s chambers.
The room is every piece as lavish as the royal quarters under the Hill. The bed is draped with soft, white furs and silks. Around the room is various other furniture—a divan and plush sitting chairs, a small round table set with a tea tray, a desk that looks barely used, a delicate crib beneath a mobile of dangling crystal. The walls are draped with velvet, similar to the throne room, though these panels are dyed in varying shades of turquoise instead of black. Again like the throne room, sconces light the room with faerie fire. No mushrooms grow from the ceiling, but there are roots that stretch from the earth above. They aren’t wild and gnarled here but instead drop from the center and twist over each other to create a sort of chandelier. Tiny candles glow from the end of each root.
Peaseblossom and Kavi glance up from their seats on a spider-silk rug on the floor. Peaseblossom cradles the princess in her arms. She and Kavi both stare at us, bemused by the intrusion.
Thoughts of how to ditch my one-man entourage turn over in my head. The dagger is still hidden under my clothes. I could stab him, but I would rather this whole affair not spiral into chaos. The guard makes my choice for me.
“I have a post to return to, sir,” he says, nodding his head to me in a bare gesture of deference. “I trust you might find your way back on your own.”
I nod back, dismissive, and watch him leave the way we came. When he has disappeared around a corner, I close the door behind me and turn to face the others. Kavi and Peaseblossom are standing now, the princess wrapped in Peaseblossom’s protective arms.
“What do you want?” Peaseblossom asks, voice wavering.
“To take you home,” I say, and then smile. “Hey, Kavi.”
He starts at being addressed personally. I watch his expression melt from suspicion to reluctant hope. “Robin?”
I dip into a theatrical bow. “The one and only.”
Peaseblossom makes a strangled sound. “That’s not possible. He’s dead.”
“News of my death was greatly exaggerated,” I say, shrugging. “I would take off this glamour and show you, but…” I cut my eyes to the side, as though I can pin them on the offending party. “Oberon might have bound my glamour, and now I’m relying on someone else’s.”
Kavi shakes his head, trying to find a loophole in my words. “I want to believe you, but I don’t.”
I should be disappointed, but I’m impressed. Smart kid. About time.
“Tell me something he would know,” he challenges.
I can’t help the grin that comes to my face. “If that’s what you truly want.” I tick items off with my fingers, listing embarrassing facts as they come to mind. “You’ve had a crush on Moth for the last year or so, yet you still think you’re being subtle about ignoring her. You couldn’t pronounce the letter R for a long time, so you still call me ‘Puck’ when you panic. You went through a weird phase where you were terrified of squirrels. You were incredibly hard to potty train, and I thought I’d never get you to cease taking—”
