"Promise me, please, that you will not fight them," Pony pleaded.
"Okay." Tinker, who had been considering running, had no problem with not fighting.
Pony turned, keeping her tucked behind him, and spoke carefully in High Elvish. He went on at length. The looks cooled from anger to slight disgust and total annoyance.
The strangers finally replied, which generated another long elegance from Pony.
"I have explained that you are only recently transformed and that you do not know the high tongue nor recognize their uniforms. They understand the situation now, and while they are the Wyverns, they are also merely sekasha and do not wish to face the full anger of Windwolf."
Tinker grunted to keep in snide remarks. Annoyed as she was, even if it was one-on-one and without swords, they would probably still beat the snot out of her. It was so lowering and frightening to discover exactly how small you were in the world.
"Are you hurt?" Pony asked.
"I'm fine," Tinker said.
"I am sorry. I should have been here to forestall such a misunderstanding."
"Who the hell are these guys?"
Pony raised an eyebrow. "I told you. They are Wyverns."
"What the hell are Wyverns?"
"Oh," Pony said. "I see. They are the queen's guard. They bring a summons from the queen."
"Summons? Is that like being arrested?"
"No. Not completely. The Wyverns have come on the queen's personal airship to take you to Aum Renau. It is not a summons that we can refuse."
"You mean, we have to leave now?"
"Yes. The order indicates all speed must be taken."
"Why?"
Pony turned to the waiting elves and spoke with them. When he turned back, he was wincing slightly. "They did not ask; it is not in their manner to do so."
* * *
On the way back to the Rolls, she remembered she had her headset stuffed into her pocket. She guessed it was just as well; getting the police involved would have only complicated things. She called Oilcan and let him know that she was safe but being taken to Aum Renau.
"I want to come with you," Oilcan said.
"No, no, no. I'm fine." She didn't want to get him caught in the mess she was in. "Someone has to keep the yard going."
"There's Riki."
Yeah, Riki, who talked me into ditching Pony, she thought and then sighed, knowing that wasn't fair. Riki couldn't have known that the Wyverns were standing on her doorstep. "I went and saw Maynard. He says—well—that Windwolf probably thinks we're married. If that's the case, then the queen probably just wants to meet the viceroy's new wife."
"You're what?"
"Married. Please don't tell anyone yet, at least until I know for sure. Windwolf is at Aum Renau. He won't let anything happen to me."
There was long silence from Oilcan's side, and finally, "Okay, okay, okay. Don't get hurt."
"I won't." She folded away the headset.
"I've been thinking," Pony said quietly. "If we are going to court, it would be best that you did not have a guard, but have a guard."
She considered the sentence. He was using two different forms of have; she had thought the words were equal, but obviously they weren't. "What do you mean?"
"It would raise your esteem in court. Unless you do not wish me to be your guard."
The idea of being completely alone raised sudden panic in her. "No. I want you to be my guard. I don't want a stranger."
"I would be honored to be your guard." He paused to bow low. "I will not disappoint you."
10: Blind Sight
A gossamer airship was moored over the Faire Ground's now-empty meadow. Tinker had seen many gossamers at a distance, but never one close enough to appreciate their true size. Something so huge, living, floating in mid-air challenged the mind to accept it as truth. The gondola alone was a hundred feet long and sixty feet wide; the gossamer rippled in the wind above it, dwarfing the teak structure. And that was the portion of the animal easily seen—the cell structure of the creature fractured the sunlight into a million prisms, giving substance to the nearly transparent form. The creature's countless frilled fins, extending far beyond the glittering mass, showed only as a distortion high overhead, like water running over a glass roof.
"How much tinkering did you have to do to get the gossamers that big?"
"I believe getting them large was not the problem," Pony said. "They occur in nature nearly that size. Probably making them float in air was the difficult part. Originally they were sea creatures."
"Why wouldn't they start with something that already floated in air?"
"You can grow wings on turtles, but they still crawl on the ground."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Pony struggled a moment to put it into words. "Those that float in air naturally go where the air takes them. They needed something that could choose its own course—a swimmer."
It took her a moment to realize he was talking of instinct. "You can give turtles wings—somehow—but not the understanding of flight."
"Yes!" Pony beamed a smile. "There are some side considerations. Redesigning a body structure to take the stresses of such a massive size in strong currents would have been difficult, so they selected an animal already quite large."
"Who are 'they'?"
"The domana."
On a signal from the Wyverns, there was a loud clank above their heads as safety locks disengaged. An ornately carved, wooden elevatorlike cage smoothly lowered from the gondola. The doors were handmade works of art, and they folded aside to reveal the stunningly beautiful Sparrow Lifted By Wind. Her shimmering white gown of Faire silk was cut so far off her shoulders—displaying her pearly skin, delicate bone structure, and full breasts to perfection—that Tinker wasn't sure what was keeping the dress on, except for the fact that it was too tight to otherwise slip down. What kept her from being the antithesis of Hannah Briggs' tight black was an overdress of cerulean that drifted around her like smoke and matched the blue of Sparrow's dau mark. Sapphires, cerulean ribbons, and pale blue forget-me-not flowers weaved through her intricate pale blond braids, not a hair out of place.
Instantly Tinker realized that she was covered with motor grease, engine oil, dirt, and chicken shit. That she wore Oilcan's hand-me-down T-shirt, her worn carpenter pants, and boots large enough for Minnie Mouse didn't help either. "Oh, hell," she breathed.
"Husepavua." Pony bowed in greeting.
Tinker started to bow too, but Pony checked her with a hand to her shoulder and a slight shake of his head.
Sparrow's eyes narrowed slightly at the gesture, and she flicked her hand dismissively at Pony. "You are released from this duty. Take the car and return to the enclave."
"I am ze domi ani's"—Pony stressed the plural—"guard. I will be going with her."
Pony startled Sparrow into showing cold deep anger that smoothed away a moment later.
"Come, then." Sparrow motioned toward the elevator cage. "I am needed at Aum Renau and can ill spare my attention for this baby-sitting run."
More than three would have crowded the elevator, so the Wyverns waited on the ground while Sparrow, Pony, and Tinker boarded. The doors had to be closed manually, and a bell rung to signal that all was ready for the cage to be raised. Still, the elevator rose as smoothly as it had descended.
Sparrow studied Tinker as they rode upward, and gave a slight sniff. "She smells so much of mud, one would think Wolf Who Rules fashioned her out of dirt."
Pony did not bother to hide his anger. "You fumbled badly, Sparrow. The Wyverns dealt with her in their normal heavy-handed manner and nearly hurt ze domi ani. You should have accompanied them."
"And you should remember I'm domana now, not kuetaun," Sparrow chided him. "As for the Wyverns . . ." She clicked her tongue in an elfin shrug. "The fault does not lie with me. No one would expect the Wyverns to be stupid enough to attack the viceroy's wife."
The cage slid up into the gondola and the safet
y locks reengaged with a thud under their feet, muffled now by wood and carpet.
Sparrow folded back the door to reveal that the cage was tucked into an alcove of a richly paneled hallway. "I have clothes for her; they'll need fitting. First, though, she'll have to have the barnyard washed off her. Go, clean her."
Tinker bristled. "I can speak low tongue quite well. And I'm fully capable of washing myself."
"Then do so. We have much to do before we arrive at Aum Renau. You must be fit to be brought before the queen." Sparrow bowed curtly and shot a hard look at Pony to collect a bow from him. Once Pony had paid his due to her, she flowed away, a shimmer of white and cerulean.
"This way, domi," Pony murmured to Tinker, indicating that they were to get out of the way of the arriving Wyverns. He led her down the hallway that cut through the center of the gondola. Behind them, the gossamer's crew prepared to cast off the moorings. There was an odd unpredictability to the floor that hadn't been that noticeable standing still; it shifted right and left, up and down minutely, so that each stride felt like a misstep.
Rooms were carefully balanced off either side of the hallway. The first door stood open, revealing an observation room, all done in creamy white and accents of red, with a bank of windows open to sky. Three elf females sat surrounded with bolts of Faire silk, laughing as they worked with the material. They looked up as Tinker paused to glance in at the view, and they went into stunned silence at her appearance.
"Pardon," Tinker stammered, and started to bow out of reflex. Again Pony caught her shoulder and shook his head. "Why do you keep doing that?" she whispered as she fled the doorway.
"You are higher caste than Sparrow and those females," Pony said. "There is no one on board that you should bow to."
"Oh." Tinker pointed to her forehead. "The dau?"
"Yes, the dau, and that you are now Windwolf's domi." Pony opened a door and stepped into a small room of hand-painted ceramic tiles. The motif was phoenix and flame flowers—a riot of reds and oranges on pristine white. "This is the bath. Do you wish to be attended?"
"No!" she cried, then eyed the room. Having been practically raised by Tooloo, she thought she knew how elves bathed—just like humans. The room certainly challenged her notion of this. She recognized the bathrobe hanging on a hook, but there were no faucets. There was what looked like a pull chain dangling next to a spout, but it was at knee level. "This is a bathroom?"
Pony considered the question carefully and then nodded. "Yes." He leaned into the room—he seemed loath to actually enter it—and lifted up a wooden disc sitting on a wide waist-high shelf. Beneath it was a large circular tank of steaming water. "This is the pesh." He replaced the lid. "Bae." This was a wide shallow bowl. "Giree." A dried hollow gourd. "Safat." A sponge-looking . . . thing.
"Soap?" she said hopefully.
Thankfully there was soap, heavenly scented, in a paste form close enough to bar soap that she could wing it. Pony handed the soap crock down off its shelf, then stood there, distressed. "I can get an attendant to help you."
"I can wash myself." Yeah. Sure. "Just—what's the pull chain for?"
Pony winced. "The wash water." He pointed to the low spout. "You fill the basin and pour it over you, then use the soap and the safat, and rinse again, then into the pesh to soak."
"Ah, I see." Seemed a damn uncomfortable way to wash, but she supposed it saved water. No wonder Tooloo stuck to human showers. "I can handle it from here."
* * *
The cold-water scrub was bracing—she'd rather never do that again. The tub's water seemed hot enough to melt her into a careless puddle, but she found herself worrying about everything. Why did the queen want to see her? Was Windwolf in some type of trouble for using the Skin Clan magic? How was she going to stand being so short and plain in a herd of high-caste elves? And why did Sparrow have a dau mark? Had the female been human in some distant past?
Pony tapped on the door. "Domi, pardon, but Sparrow does need you to fit your clothes."
It took every ounce of courage to climb out of the tub, tie on the bathrobe, and unlatch the door.
Pony looked as unhappy as she felt.
"What's wrong?" she asked him, trying not to clench the bathrobe tight around her. It covered her neck to ankles and then some, but still she felt naked in front of him.
"There is much for you to know before you meet the queen, what is proper and what would be unspeakably rude. It is not my . . . place to tell you these things, for I am just sekasha—but there is only Sparrow, and I'm afraid she's taking a kaet."
"A kaet?" She giggled; it was a purposely rude way of saying Sparrow was throwing a snit. "Why?"
"I suspect she's jealous of you."
"Of me?"
"She had ambitions to become Windwolf's wife." Seeing the look on her face, Pony added quickly. "No, no, they are not old lovers. There are some who make alliances with marriages, where two work together well, and they agree to make it a partnership. But that would not suit Windwolf."
"Are you sure?"
"I have known Windwolf all my life, and I believe I see him with clarity, whereas Sparrow—age only makes you wiser if you stay honest with yourself."
"Why does she have a dau?"
"Windwolf's father marked her when she was young to raise her out of the kuetaun caste, otherwise the sekasha would have never listened to her orders."
Ah, yes, the snobbery of elves. Like it or not, she was stuck dealing with it now. "What does the queen want with me anyhow?"
"She wishes to see you."
"Me? Why? I'm just a snot-nosed Pittsburgh teenager with an interesting ear job."
Pony nodded several times, as if ticking off her words in an effort to parse them. "Yes," he finally said, still nodding. "Exactly."
"What?"
"You are a young elf. All things elfin fall under the queen's power. Now that you are elfin, so you are now her subject."
"Automatically? I don't get any say?"
"No more than when you were born in Pittsburgh and fell under Maynard's power."
She wanted to say that was different, but she couldn't decide how. The fact that her conception was far from normal—perhaps paralleling her transformation into an elf—gave her a very unstable base to argue from. "Does she do this with every elf?"
"No. You are, however, now her cousin."
"What!"
"You are now her cousin," Pony repeated, more slowly.
"How did that happen?"
"You married Windwolf."
"He's her cousin?"
"Yes, which, by law, makes you her cousin too."
It was such a sane reason that Tinker found it comforting.
"Please." Pony indicated that she was to head back to the observation room. "Sparrow has a gown ready for you."
Tinker winced. "Oh, I don't like the sound of that."
"Why not?"
"In my own clothes, I'm still me. I can't see the change, so I don't notice it."
"I am sorry, but it will be better if you look your best."
Fortunately—in a manner of speaking—only Sparrow was in the Observation Lounge. The other females had been banished to another part of the ship, most likely because of the limited space in the room. Pony took up a post by the door and practiced at being invisible.
"We only have a few hours before arriving at Aum Renau," Sparrow told her. "We'll be going straight from the airfield to an audience with the queen. You must be ready." She handed Tinker a mass of fabrics. "This is a court gown."
Tinker fumbled with it for several minutes trying to make sense of it, until Pony finally took pity on her and reorganized the layers. He held it out then, by the shoulders, for her to see. It was a deep, rich, mottled bronze that looked lovely against her dusky skin, a silk soft as rose petals. While the skirt flared out full, the bodice seemed to be skin-tight, with long sleeves that ended in a fingerless glove arrangement. It wasn't something she'd pick out for herself—to start, there was no way to rol
l up the sleeves to keep them out of grease. Tinker wasn't even sure how you would get it on; she supposed you pulled it over your head and wriggled a lot. Over the bronze silk was another layer of fine, nearly invisible fabric with a green leaf design, so that when the bronze silk moved, it seemed like sunlight shimmering through forest leaves.
Sparrow waved toward a folding screen set up in the corner. "Step behind there and put it on."
"Just pull it over my head?"
"There are small hooks here that we'll close after you slip it on." Sparrow flipped the material up to show tiny hooks and eyes, oddly enough made of cling vine and ironwood instead of metal.
Pull and wriggle. She tried not to think of Pony standing on the other side of the mostly fabric wall as she gyrated half-naked.
"Wolf Who Rules sent footwear." Sparrow fastened the tiny hooks in the back of the dress. It fit nearly as snugly as Sparrow's gown. The female elf clucked and pinched it tighter. "It needs to be taken in more."
Sparrow handed slippers that matched the gown—tiny dainty things that Tinker loathed on first sight—but sitting on the floor were two pairs of stylish boots heavy enough to please her.
She tried one of the slippers on, hoping that they'd be too small, and found they fit perfectly. "How did you know my size?"
"Windwolf had your clothes measured," Pony said.
Tinker marveled at the slipper. "Truly? The high heels I was wearing were too wide."
Sparrow sniffed. "He asked me to measure your clothes, but I knew how humans make their clothes—standard sizes that fit no one well. I measured you while you were sleeping."
How utterly creepy.
"So, why is the queen here?" Tinker asked Sparrow to avoid thinking about it.
"I don't know." Sparrow smoothed away a hard, resentful look. "We no sooner arrived than the queen requested that you be sent for, and that triggered an argument over you—"
"Me?"
"You. Windwolf wanted to keep you in Pittsburgh until you adjusted, but Soulful Ember insisted that you be fetched, which resulted in my being sent back. I had to leave before learning why the queen has come to the Westernlands."