Dragonswood

  I hadn’t thought of that. Mad Jack, the only fey-struck man in Harrowton, wandered aimlessly about, babbling, dropping his breeches and exposing himself. How many such men would a town tolerate? Cupped shadows on the sandy river bottom looked distant and haunting as the Treegrim’s black eye pits. To my mind it was better to turn a man into a tree than to run him through with a sword as I’d seen the sheriff’s men do in Margaretton. At least a Treegrim was alive; still, did the hunchbacked thing I’d seen with the nest crammed in his belly have any memory of his life before his strange punishment?

  Onadon spoke again. “Prince Bion sides with us. He tries to keep Lord Sackmoore from misusing his authority before Arden’s crowned.”

  “Not an easy task, I should think.” I rolled two blackberries in my open palm. “Things will be better once Prince Arden’s crowned.”

  Onadon chose another stone, one worn from the river with a hole in its center. “Perhaps, but he’s been away a long while now, fighting what he calls ‘the heathens’ in the holy land. Will he come back to call us fey folk heathens? We are different and do not live under the same laws the humans do.” He rubbed the stone with the hole, thinking aloud, it seemed, for he spoke out to the water. “Lord Sackmoore had great influence on the prince when he was younger. If his influence remains strong once Arden’s on the throne, we may still lose our sanctuary.”

  I looked up at him, startled. “Where would we go?” I’d said we and meant it. I was with my kin now.

  Onadon shook his head.

  “What about Dragon’s Keep?”

  “Dragon’s Keep will be as much King Arden’s domain as Dragonswood, Tess. If he takes away our sanctuary here, we’ll be scattered to the winds again.” He hurled his last stone high in the air so it hit the water with a splash. “We might have been safer if Queen Rosalind hadn’t set our sanctuary so close to the harbor towns.”

  “Why did she?”

  “She didn’t want to isolate us. Besides, she wanted Dragonswood nearby so she and Kye and their descendants could visit us when they liked. Pendragon Castle’s but a few days’ ride from DunGarrow.”

  Light and shadow moved about me. Garth is imprisoned just a few days’ ride from here.

  Onadon turned. “This is all we have, Tess. This is our home.”

  Now by the windy river I was truly warm. “Our home,” he’d said. I saw a sudden red flash as a bright kingfisher flitted out and dove for a fish. He came up with his wriggling prize, then darted back into the trees.

  “Will you agree to help us?” My father looked down at me, a drifting cloud in the blue sky crowning his head. I was stunned to have his full gaze.

  I understood the urgency now for an alliance between the Pendragons and the fey. Still, I found the idea both daunting and ridiculous. Until just recently I’d been Tess, John Blacksmith’s daughter, a homeless girl on the run from the witch hunter. Hardly the stuff of royalty. Did this fey man even see me? “You know where I came from,” I said.

  “I know exactly who you are and where you came from.”

  “You really want me to be Wilde Island queen?”

  “I’d like nothing better.”

  He did not say Because you are my daughter, but there was a glint in his eyes, or was it only a reflection sent by the river? I wanted to say Yea, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Poppy’s my friend. I don’t want to go against her.”

  He nodded. “Let it be a contest between friends, then.”

  Hadn’t he also admitted to the contest betwixt Elixis and himself? Perhaps his wish wasn’t driven so much by fatherly love or need to protect his magic wood, as by a strong competitive desire to win out over the one who’d seized his fey crown?

  Onadon awaited my answer. The sun sent a ray down, missing me, hitting him in the chest where the leather jerkin was water-stained.

  I ate the last blackberry I’d saved, crunching the tiny seeds. I’d come here to learn more of my origin, to be with my father and my father’s people if they’d welcome me, not to marry a man I didn’t know, even if he were destined to be king. Still, I saw how the marriage would protect the fey, and my father said he needed my help. How could my heart not warm to that?

  “Poppy’s set on the crown, Father, and men adore her. How could I compete with her?”

  “Her seductive allure is a strong fey power, but I would see you try, Tess. I think you have the fight in you.”

  So it was true. Poppy’s extraordinary seductiveness was a fey power. No wonder men panted after her and followed her about, cow-eyed.

  “What if I refuse?”

  Silence from Onadon. I think he was trying not to scowl. Oh, I didn’t want his anger. I’d come too far to be with him for that. “Think, Father. I only just stumbled into all of this. I mean, I meant to come here as soon as I learned who I was. But I came to stay, not to be sent away again.”

  “You know how to speak your heart, Tess. It is not always the wisest choice.”

  I was fighting off tears and barely winning. Could a daughter not speak her mind to her own father?

  “I have to think on it,” I whispered.

  He smiled. “The day after tomorrow I ride out to the edge of Dragonswood. Come with me. Tell me your answer then.”

  He vanished. I watched his footprints cross the sand. Thick ferns shuddered where he passed and the end of a spider’s web blew broken.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I WAS TENSE when Tanya showed us around DunGarrow the next day. I had a single day and night to think over Onadon’s offer. Still, I tried to be attentive, even civil with our guide; after all, she was taking special care to give us a tour of the castle and grounds. Tanya started with the busy kitchen, where cooks baked delights and roasted meats in the many roaring ovens. Hot as the blacksmith’s shop, the place was a-run with fey children doing the work of kitchen scullions. One wall flowed with fresh water diverted from the waterfall; by this there was no need for the children to fetch well water. “Very handy,” I said, pointing to it.

  Tanya shrugged. “Oh, that’s nothing, Tess. Let me show you more.”

  Fey children worked everywhere we went. Their childhood appeared to be as cramped with chores as mine. For years I’d envied the fairy children, imagining them scampering through the woods, playing night and day. The truth was they lived like little servants here.

  Tanya took us to more flit hives, where fey children worked on great, long sheets of silken cloth the size of sails. The humming in the room was deafening. Like Morralyn’s cloth, the work was all done by hand, or rather by pricked finger. I watched the waifs pointing with puffy, red fingers, directing the flits where to weave. Perhaps the most talented among them would grow up to be hives mistress or hives master.

  “What is all the cloth for?” I shouted over the buzzing.

  “Walls,” Tanya shouted back before bringing us down another hall.

  “Walls?”

  “You’ll see.” She gave me a mischievous smile before leading us outside.

  Tanya stays here, Tess, but she’s of no use to us now. Cold words from my father. Entangled in these thoughts, I rammed into Poppy when Tanya stopped beyond the meadow to point up.

  “Ouf!” Poppy said, and laughed.

  I laughed too. “What is it?” I asked, crooking my neck to see what Tanya was pointing at. And there! I did see fairy houses high up in the branches. So not all the fey lived in the castle as I’d supposed. The tree dwellings were akin to small, fairground tents. The cloth walls shimmered green as sunlit leaves and were yellow with that same light where they were not green, so they appeared and disappeared from view. I’d challenge any human to see them at all.

  “Walls,” I said. “Are they sturdy enough?” It was a bright day, but how would they hold up in a storm?

  “Let me show you mine.” We followed her into the trees, where she climbed an oak. Poppy came last, unused to climbing, but I was up the friendly branches in no time and through the shimmering door. We stood on a
wooden platform, hidden by leafy branches below, the floor firm underfoot. The silken flit-cloth walls wavered in the wind. I ran my hand along the surface, smooth and soft as a flit gown. Home, I thought. This was like the place I’d searched for years and years when I’d climbed the trees in Dragonswood. How lucky Tanya was.

  It was nearly sundown, and growing colder by the minute, yet it was cozy inside. By this I guessed no fire was needed—the cloth working as I’d found the gowns to work against cold weather. The room wasn’t tidy. White coverlets on the unmade bed were piled up like cream, shoes and stockings littered the floor, a blue gown was draped over the small wardrobe. But I liked the simple furnishings and the clean smell of the forest that scented the air.

  A single purple iris graced the small table. The vase caught my eye. I touched the cool, clear glass shaped like a long teardrop.

  Tanya nodded. “I see you like that too. Fey artisans work wonders with glass.”

  “Wonders like Lady Adela’s glass eye?” I said. I felt uneasy now I’d loosed her name in the room. Still, I added, “Why should the fey favor someone like her?”

  “The Pendragons asked them to,” said Tanya.

  A simple answer. “Do you think her fey eye is magic like they say, that she can use it to spy out witches?”

  Tanya returned my look. “She picked us out, Tess. Are we witches?”

  So she knew my story, part of it at least. I asked how she’d been arrested and why. She too had been seen in Dragonswood. “But I’d been careful not to show anyone my fey power,” Tanya added.

  “What power?” Poppy said. I was as curious as she, but would not have asked.

  Tanya focused intently on the vase and a bright bouquet appeared with roses, lilies, and daffodils.

  “Oh,” Poppy said, clasping her hands. “You can glamour things. Lucky you.”

  “I’m getting better all the time since coming here,” Tanya said with some pride, “but I’m not as good as the full-blood fey.”

  “Maybe you will be in time,” Poppy said.

  “You’re kind to say so, Poppy.” The glamour faded, leaving the single iris behind. My eye lingered on it as I compared Tanya’s fey gift to mine. She controlled her power. I had no mastery over fire-sight. If I stayed here, would I learn to see more? Call visions from the flames? It would make deciding on my future that much easier. Or would it?

  I sent a breath that made the iris petals tremble. What if seeing my future in the flames constricted my freedom? What if once I’d looked ahead, I had no choice but to follow what the fire showed me?

  Tanya said, “Hiding my power did no good in the end. After I was seen in Dragonswood, the townsfolk accused me of flying there at night on my broomstick. Imagine that,” she said with a sharp laugh. “William Carter said I’d hexed his son and made him fall into the well and drown. It wasn’t me,” she added hastily. “His boy had fits, but no one listened to my arguments. They called me witch and were eager to see me burn!”

  I heard the venom in her speech. But Poppy, who did not like to dwell on such sad things, said, “It’s a pretty home you have, Tanya, though a bigger room would be even nicer.”

  I disagreed. “I think it’s just right. Nothing else is needed.”

  Tanya smiled. Her eyes lit up. She was uncommonly pretty when she smiled.

  I was glad to speak no more of witches in her lovely house. I took a chair, resting the back of my hand against the teardrop vase. I’d said nothing else was needed, but if I lived in this tree house, I’d want another to sit in the chair opposite mine. And the man I’d want was the one I’d once seen reading in a king’s chair before a fire, a man who liked to put his long legs out and cross them at the ankle. I’d been trying to push him out of my mind since coming to DunGarrow; now I let him inside, pulling back the silken door as Tanya had done when we’d stepped in. He’d once climbed a tree to talk with me. I’d watched him lean back to look up at the stars. I thought he’d like the little house high up in the branches as much as I.

  It would be time to dress for dinner soon. We made ready to leave. Poppy fingered the pearls on the blue velvet gown draped over Tanya’s wardrobe. “You should wear this tonight.” She tugged it down and tossed it to Tanya. She was being playful flinging it to her, but her action uncovered the full-length mirror and we saw our reflections there.

  In the brief instant before Tanya cried out and threw her dress over the mirror again, we saw her burn scars in the glass. I glimpsed the mottled red and white skin on her neck and jaw, the branching scars on the right side reaching just below her ear.

  She must have more scars up her legs and front, I thought, but those were hidden by her dress. I’d assumed fairy medicine had healed her completely, but the mirror told the truth. She’d had to use a glamour spell to conceal the scars.

  Poppy whispered, “Sorry. I’m so sorry.” She tried to take Tanya’s hand. “Does it hurt?”

  “Get out,” Tanya snapped.

  “Please forgive me,” Poppy insisted.

  “You’re a fool!” Tanya shouted. “You don’t deserve to be Pendragon queen!”

  “She didn’t mean to upset you,” I said in Poppy’s defense.

  “Leave!”

  We both scrambled down the tree.

  “She’ll never forgive me,” Poppy cried on our way back through the meadow.

  “She will. She was just upset with you for revealing her secret so suddenly.”

  “You know I didn’t mean to. I’d help her if I knew the right herbs for such terrible burns.” She sniffed and looked at me. “I don’t understand. Why couldn’t the fey heal her?”

  I couldn’t answer. I was as surprised as she to discover their limitations. Was their magic less powerful than I’d supposed? I found the thought unsettling.

  TANYA DIDN’T JOIN us at the feast table. Nor did I see Onadon anywhere in the high meadow. I thought I might take Tanya up some food, but Poppy said she’d go. I watched her heading for the tree house with honeyed bread and golden plums as a kind of peace offering. I hoped Tanya would accept her gifts.

  Food was plentiful as always here. After a few bites I was too unsettled to eat more. Onadon expected to hear my decision tomorrow. The tour had kept all my questions at bay. Now I had to think it all through.

  I quit the meadow to be alone in my solar awhile before Poppy returned. Outside our balcony window, the stars glittered in the autumn night. Beyond the meadow the treetops lined up like black arrowheads below the peaceful heavens. Hearing a whisper of cloth behind me, I spun round just as a fey child winked into view. I jumped, still unused to the fairy folk’s sudden appearances.

  The child smiled wickedly at having surprised me, then cleared her throat. “Mistress, I’m to take the red gown you tore down by the river yesterday to be mended. You’ll wear this meantime.”

  It was the girl I’d seen in the shallows. I could not recall her name. I looked at her outstretched arms and saw no gown there.

  “Take it, mistress,” she said, as if the air she held was heavy. She was indeed a slender thing, near as pale as Morralyn, though dark-eyed with a thatch of short, brown hair. I reached out. A rough gray robe appeared between us. She smiled shyly.

  “You’re quick with your magic,” I said.

  She curtsied. “Thank you, mistress. I am a second tier.”

  “Second tier?”

  “I already know comings and goings.”

  Comings and goings, she called it? She’d shown me her prowess—vanishing before my eyes at the river yesterday, appearing suddenly before me now.

  “Embellishments,” she went on, “and I’m learning filching and food fabrications.”

  “By filching you mean stealing.”

  “Never, mistress. It is an art to take and make things well. A fey-touched hen’s a mighty layer. More eggs for all by it.”

  I had to smile. “What is your name, child?”

  “Susha, mistress.”

  “Well, Susha, turn about whilst I change,
will you?” She did. Struggling out of my torn red gown, I slipped on the robe. The weave was rough and scratchy. An ill-made thing and surely not flit spun. “Who sent this?”

  “Morralyn, our Mistress of the Hives.”

  I nodded. No doubt she’d sent the poor excuse of a robe to punish me for damaging her lovely creation. “You may turn about now, child.”

  I gazed down at her. She was eight or nine in human years, if they were not the same in fey, and small as a wild bird. She is hungry, I thought, and sups little. So much for “food fabrications.” I wondered who cared for her.

  “Tell me, Susha, who is your father?”

  “Mistress?” She covered her mouth and giggled. But she saw I meant my question. “King Elixis is our Father King and the rest of the masters are our All Fathers.”

  It was what Morralyn had said; still, the words All Fathers did not sit well. I’d stayed a short time at DunGarrow and did not understand their society. As a fey man’s daughter, I was but one among many. This child, Susha, might well be one of Onadon’s offspring, my half sister. The thought sent a dull ache through me.

  “You call the fey men masters. Are you a servant, then?”

  The child stuck out her chin. “I am no servant, mistress. I am fey!” Her brown eyes sparked dangerously. “We all of us start out climbing the tiers, acquiring magic on the way.”

  The fairy folk might be born with the capacity for magic, but it seemed the children had to study and undergo years of discipline to master their powers. This wasn’t much different from the human world, where boys apprenticed themselves from age seven to carpenters or stone masons to learn a trade. The blacksmith had put off having a young apprentice. I’ll train up my own son, he’d said. My heart tightened thinking of Adam.

  The child was swinging her hands. “So when you are a grown-up, Susha, what happens then?”

  “When I am grown, the younger fey will do my will,” she said with a greedy look. “I will be in my full powers and an All Mother.” At this she turned and walked regally from my room, my torn gown thrown over her shoulder, lank and floppy as a dead man draped over a horse.