The Fairy Queen Page 8

“Why?” she asked with a slight shake of her head. “I thought I’d been damned to this emptiness for an eternity.”

  She turned to stare over my shoulder, but I was enchanted, entranced by the ethereal beauty of the fairy before me. She had fangs, but they weren’t large and menacing. They were small and dainty and wickedly distracting. And when she wasn’t hurling insults at me, it was easy enough to see that my initial impression of her being pretty was correct. She was pretty. In fact, she was more than pretty. I particularly liked her teeth.

  Odd, I know.

  As a dragonborne, I’d never been squeamish about fangs. In fact, I found them rather enchanting. Dragon mating was often fierce and violent. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she liked to bite.

  Only when I felt her hard, quizzical look upon my face did I realize I’d spaced out, waxing poetic about a pair of pearly fangs instead of answering her question. I jerked. Cleared my throat. And tried to recall what she’d said.

  Her lips twitched, and I knew she knew.

  I glowered.

  Her grin only grew wider. “Why are you here?” she asked again, and I rather had the notion that she’d asked only to remind me.

  Bloody hell. I ground my molars. “As I said, fae, I was sent. I’m here to help you.”

  Her brows dipped, causing a cute wrinkle to gather between them. I suffered the vexing urge to smooth it out with my thumb. I kept my feet glued to the ground and my hands tight to my sides.

  “Help me how?” She tossed a hand wide. “Look around us, Prince. There’s very little here of note.”

  I did look, and she was right.

  Though the world had transformed some, it was still bleak. Still mostly empty. Although seedlings were shooting from the ground with the promise of trees. And the air was now thick with the scent of flowers. I sniffed, vaguely recognizing the perfume but not quite able to place it either.

  In the distance, I spotted a thatched-roof hut that’d not been there before. And I could almost swear that curls of smoke wound sensuously above its chimneystack.

  She bit her bottom lip. “How can you help me, male, when I do not know what I am doing?”

  I wished I had an answer for her. But I felt as stumped as she.

  “My orders were to find you. It’s what I’ve done.”

  She chuckled, and again I felt my nerves twitch to life within me. What was this witchcraft this fairy worked upon me? For three years, ever since Seraphina’s death, I’d felt dead inside. Empty.

  Now, suddenly, I found myself curious with anticipation. Though I couldn’t for the life of me understand why.

  Her brows twitched. “You came all this way, just to find me. Did you not think it odd, male, that you were sent with no other orders? Did you not even think to ask what it was you had to do?”

  She wasn’t ugly in the asking, but my spine stiffened all the same. She couldn’t possibly understand the ennui and weariness of my life, the emptiness of it. No, I’d not questioned much of this, because it hadn’t mattered to me one way or another at the time. But now I suddenly felt decidedly foolish for not doing so and irritated with her for bringing up my shortcomings.

  I opened my mouth, ready to shoot a nasty retort back at her, when she sidled up next to me and planted a tentative hand upon my bicep.

  “Forgive me, Prince. I am tired and weary to my core. You do not deserve my rancor.”

  Then, with those words, she turned and headed toward the hut that now glowed with muted-gray warmth through its solitary window.

  I watched her walk away, feeling stunned and even slightly disquieted. This was not at all the woman I’d met in the world outside of the mirror. The harpy was right.

  Who was this Blue really? And why was she hated by so many? It was easy enough to see how the fairy outside of the mirror could be reviled. What I had a hard time understanding was how this fairy and that one could be one and the same.

  Each step she took seemed weighed down and heavy, as though she were bogged down by the worry of this world, and against my will I found myself moving toward her. Following in her wake. I wasn’t sure what I must do from here. All I knew was that I could not leave her alone.

  ~*~

  ?

  “Well, what do you think, Creator?” I asked, looking up toward the heavens.

  The threads of fate were shifting; already, I felt the restlessness of this world beginning to exhale in anticipation of what was to come. I wasn’t sure what was coming—all I knew was it was going to be momentous.

  The Creator did not speak to me, but a wave of shooting stars sailed across the liquid navy-blue sky, and I smiled to myself, knowing It was pleased. Humming beneath my breath, I went in search of a centaur.

  Chapter 9: In Which Nothing Is the Same

  Syrith

  I wasn’t sure what to expect when we entered the hut. An empty clapboard room with no furniture and nothing on the walls.

  But there was a large hearth burning with a warm fire. Upon the mantel were several white vases filled with clipped gray flowers.

  There was a comfortable-looking gray couch placed before it. A black-and-white threaded rug lay on the gray wooden floors. And beside it rested a table large enough for two with two gray bowls full of a dark, steaming liquid.

  Beyond this room looked to be another. Or at least there was a closed door that I could only assume led to a bedchamber.

  Galeta turned slowly on her heels, taking it all in. In this black-and-gray world, she was a vivid splash of color. I found my eyes always straying toward her colors, seeking her out, and I hadn’t realized before just how pretty the color blue really was.

  “What is this place?” she asked softly, finally turning icy eyes toward me.

  I knew as much as she, but still I answered. “I suppose this is to be our home for however long we remain here.”

  Sucking the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth, she nodded absently. “This world is very gray, is it not?”

  It wasn’t much as far as icebreakers went, but I knew she was trying. “Ah, well. Color’s overrated, I always say.”

  She snorted, lifting a brow and gazing knowingly at her own blue tresses as if to say, “Is it really?”

  My lips twitched in response.

  Still unsure what my purpose was here, I latched onto the only thing I could. “I’m starved. Let us eat, shall we?” I gestured toward the bowls of unappetizing-looking broth.

  She shrugged, following my lead.

  I took a seat, and she stood before me only a brief moment before pulling out her own chair and daintily perching on the edge of it. Her fingers flitted nervously upon the tabletop.

  Never accustomed to being forced to speak so much, I found myself in unusual territory. The room was tense with our shared silence.

  I took up my spoon, ladling out my first scoop of broth, and took my first taste. I’d expected it to taste as unappealing as it looked, but the meaty slide of richly seasoned soup was an unexpected surprise.

  “Beef stock. This is good,” I muttered.

  She was on her second sip. I knew this, because I could not seem to pull my gaze off her. Galeta would not look at me, but she shook her head just a little.

  “Not beef. It’s vegetable broth with a hint of elderberry.” Another bright but fleeting smile passed her lips.

  My heart thumped.

  I cleared my throat, pretending to suddenly take an interest in a polished knot of grain in the wood.

  “Magic is clearly at work here.”

  She sniffed delicately. “You could say that again.”

  But she didn’t sound happy about it.

  I scoured my brain for conversation starters, but nothing seemed right. And more to the point, Galeta herself looked wan and exhausted. Her lovely skin was turning the same shade of gray that surrounded us everywhere.

  We were on the last dregs of our soup when I finally worked up the nerve to speak. “You look tired.”

  She blinked and went stiff. The
spoon that’d been midway to her mouth paused before gently lowering back down.

  Apart from a few brief glances now and then, she’d not looked at me. Not the way she was now. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and my brows lowered.

  “I am at that, Prince. I think I should go find my bed.”

  I curled my fingers into my pant legs, not wanting her to go. But not having a good enough reason to keep her with me either. She truly did look dead on her feet. As though she’d not slept well in ages.

  Standing, she nodded down at me. “Good night, then, dragonborne.”

  I watched her walk away and head toward the closed door. When she opened it, I noted that it was indeed a bedchamber and that it only had one bed. A small twin frame not nearly big enough for two.

  “Oh,” she said then turned and stared over her shoulder at the couch with a tight grimace, “only one bed. I could take the c—”

  I stood and shook my head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, fairy. You take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

  “But it’s not very big,” she said, her words sounding unsure. And I suspected she really did want the bed but was trying to be polite about it. I inhaled deeply.

  “Nor is the bed. I’ll be fine, fairy. Sleep. And maybe when you awake in the morning, you’ll find the world to be much changed.” My smile was tight.

  Her eyes were haunted. “As you say, Prince.”

  And then she left, locking herself away behind the door, and the only spot of color in this world vanished with her.

  I wasn’t sure how it was possible to miss someone I’d just met, and yet I did.

  Later that night, I heard her sobs. They were quiet and muffled. I’d been forced to shift into a cat so as to give me room enough to stretch out on the couch, but I was instantly alerted by the sounds coming from behind the door. Jumping lithely off the couch, I padded toward the door.

  Wishing I could enter. Wishing I could somehow make her feel better. The fairy had demons inside of her. Big, menacing ones. I didn’t often care about the plight of others. Especially not in the past three years, too consumed with my own pain and sorrow.

  But I cared now.

  Lifting a paw, I touched the door. Meowing softly, telling her as best I could that she wasn’t alone anymore.

  Instantly, the crying ceased.

  I waited, holding my breath, wondering if she’d open the door to me. But she did not.

  So I curled up into a ball, settled against the frame, and tried to find whatever rest I could. I sensed this lull would soon end, and come morning we’d discover, one way or another, our true purpose for being here.

  ~*~

  Galeta

  I cried last night.

  And I wasn’t sure why.

  All I knew was the hate and rage that’d sealed up the cracks in my soul were fading away, leaving me with giant, gaping, pain-filled holes that threatened to drown me.

  I’d closed my eyes to sleep, and then suddenly it’d all come crashing over me and I’d not been able to stop. Until I’d heard him.

  He’d meowed.

  I’d known Syrith could shift forms—I simply hadn’t known he had so many. But I knew the moment I’d heard that gentle sound that it was he trying to give me comfort as best he could. Here we were, perfect strangers, and yet he truly did seem to care. I’d not been able to sleep last night, but I had at least closed my eyes and rested a little.

  Which was a sight more than I’d been able to manage in the past few centuries.

  Sitting up in my bed, I stretched my tiny arms above my head, watching as the dark sun rose in the still-gray sky. He’d hoped that the morning might bring blooms of color, but it seemed we were doomed to this monochromatic world of darkness.

  With a bone-weary sigh, I shifted form so that I was once more the size of a human and walked toward the water closet to take care of my morning necessaries. Oh, how I missed my wand. One flick, and my morning ablutions would be done without all the messy water and scrubbing.

  Unaccustomed to doing so much by hand, I was already exhausted by the time I exited. I’d half thought I’d find Syrith still in cat form, but instead he was sitting at the table and eating again.

  He looked clean, as though he’d bathed, but I knew he had not. Dragonborne were able to cleanse themselves using the mist of their breath. Like me, he was a burst of vivid reds and golds in an otherwise gray world.

  His clothes were freshly pressed, his hair combed out. And his green-blue eyes sparkled like vivid jewels in his swarthy and handsome face. Again, my heart did that strange stuttering-beat thing. Causing blood to rise in my cheeks. I lowered my eyes toward the ground, unable to maintain his intense gaze for long.

  “Sleep well?” he asked airily, and I frowned.

  He knew I hadn’t. He’d heard my shame last night.

  “I didn’t,” he said. “Some blasted bird kept me awake half the night with its cawing and caterwauling. I’ve half a mind to roast it for tonight’s supper.”

  He kept up with his mumbling narrative of nothingness, and I couldn’t stop the spread of a smile that had begun to twitch at the corners of my cheeks. He was pointedly speaking nonsense to help me keep my pride.

  Warmth fluttered through my belly.

  “Come, then, fairy. This very strange table has again provided our nourishment for the day. Today I’ve been given a big fat juicy steak with mashed tubers on the side.”

  He moaned, patting his belly dramatically, and this time I couldn’t help the short burst of laughter that spilled off my tongue.

  “It’s broth, Prince.” I stared at the same bowl as the night before full of that same dark liquid.

  He shrugged. “Ah, well, the power of imagination. Eat up, fae.”

  Deciding it might just be easier to go with the flow, I sat and picked up my spoon. And yes, it was broth, that same vegetable broth from last night, but this time instead of hints of elderberry there were wafts of wild mushroom. It was delicious, and I couldn’t help but look like an uncultured swine as I set down the spoon, lifted the bowl to my lips, and drank it all down.

  I sighed with appreciation when I’d swallowed the last drop. Syrith gave me an appreciative look. “Always did like it when girls had an appetite.”

  Snorting and feeling ridiculous, I wiped my mouth off with the back of my hand and shrugged. “I’ve never been aught but what I am, Prince.”

  “And that is?” he asked, sitting forward and planting his chin on his fist. Giving me open and frank attention.

  Feeling suddenly small and overwhelmed by the dragon’s presence, I wet my lips.

  “Should we walk?” I asked, switching subjects.

  There was a flicker of something that passed through his eyes, but then he nodded, giving me a tight smile. “As you wish, fae. Are you ready?”

  He was still as polite as ever but more reserved, and I knew that somehow I’d done that to him, but I also didn’t know how to undo it either. I wasn’t accustomed to this person I was now.

  I kept waiting for the darkness to crawl out of me. To choke me in its dark grip as it often would, but it’d been blissfully suppressed for many days now. The prospect of being forever imprisoned in a world of darkness had been horrifying, but suddenly, things didn’t seem quite so dark or so depressing.

  There still wasn’t color or even much life, but there was a Prince who was awfully kind.

  I stood. “I am.”

  “Good. So am I.” Then, standing himself, he came around to my side and crooked his elbow. “Shall we?”

  Surprised by his noble gesture but also understanding that as a Prince he’d been trained since birth to exhibit manners, I knew this was absolutely nothing other than courtesy to him.

  “Indeed.” I slipped my arm through his, shivering a brief moment at the scent of male and dragon that lingered upon him.

  Dragons always smelled of clean smoke and ash. Enticing and heady all at the same time.

  Together, we walked out of the hu
t. Last night a few trees had sprouted. And a town, even.

  We both stared agog at a world we’d not expected.

  The town was now full of people milling idly about, those stopping to chat with vendors at various stalls, and others to chat amongst themselves.

  There were children running. Mothers squawking at them to slow down. And fathers looking bored and miserable as they shambled behind.

  There were haberdasheries and milliners. Jewelry makers and dressmakers. Food stalls. Penned animals for sale and so much more.

  Everything was still in shades of gray, but for some reason none of it looked quite as dark and depressing as it had the night before. Perhaps it was the sun.

  “I’ll be hornswoggled,” Syrith mumbled, and I nodded.

  “This is all very strange.”

  He grinned. “Let’s go exploring. What do you say?”

  He looked excited. I, on the other hand, couldn’t contain the terrible zip of foreboding suddenly running down my spine. Something about this place felt strangely familiar. Horribly familiar.

  “Galeta,” he said in his deep dragon’s voice, and I shivered, looking up at him. His hand squeezed mine. “If something does happen today, I’m right here. Do you understand me?”

  I wet my lips as my pulse thundered like horses’ hooves inside me.

  “Come on,” he said, gently guiding me toward the open market. I let him lead me at first but kept scanning the crowds around me. Looking for someone or something to come jumping out at me, to snatch me away, hurt me.

  We walked through several stalls. And bless him, he tried to engage me in idle chitchat, but I couldn’t relax. Couldn’t stop waiting for whatever it was the fates would do to me.

  At one point, a loud ruckus at a vendor’s shop ahead caused me to shriek, jumping away from him as I waited for the monster to finally make its show. Instead, everyone turned to look at me with befuddled curiosity. And the noise...well, it’d been nothing other than a mule overturning a barrel full of iron scraps.

  Syrith nudged me forward, taking my arm once again and leading me around, but I was on edge and anxious.

  After an hour of this, he stopped, turned me around, and in the middle of the busy street grasped my face and forced me to look up at him.