Siofra would like to say she didn’t give Lysander, the Forbidden Wood, or the notion of a tree nymph another thought, but it consumed her evening. Lady Gretchen droned on and on about the delights of returning to London, seeking out the latest fashion and gossip from the ton, but Siofra’s imagination drew pictures of the strange delights she might see if she ever crossed the bridge.
And then there was Lysander. He had invaded her life. She questioned everything through the lens of her association with him. Was she similar to him? If she visited Faerie would she, too, have magical abilities? But then he also said he was able to do certain things because he was the Steward. Such a conundrum. Be a human. Be an elf, or whatever type of fey she might be.
That glamour of his was intriguing. Had he made his looks so striking because he was, in reality, a plain-looking fellow, or had he changed his looks to hide from someone? Did he always look the same, or did he have different glamours for different associations? Regardless, she meant it when she said she didn’t care. He had become her friend, but, as usual, curiosity absorbed her thoughts.
Lady Gretchen took a sip of soup then smiled. “Just think. You will have a nice dowry, and you have a genteel lineage. Any number of eligible bachelors will wish to court you. And you are especially lovely, Siofra…when you remember to keep your back straight. Why are you slouching? Are you tired? I haven’t said a word about you spending two entire days alone, walking in the woods. After your ordeal, a little solitary reflection is healthy. But if you are too weary to sit at table, perhaps you should rest tomorrow.”
Siofra straightened and spent the remainder of the meal, pretending utter fascination with the topic of London, balls, courting, and new gowns. If Lady Gretchen only knew how Siofra really spent her time! How she was going to broach the notion that she might disappear for days on end? If time moved at a different rate in Faerie lands, she could never predict how long she’d be gone.
A worry for another day.
The following day, Siofra rose even earlier than usual and dressed, but when she reached the kitchen, Mrs. Sgot blocked her path. The brownie rubbed her hands on her apron and pointed at a leather satchel on the table and an assortment of odd items. “Ye’ll be needing that.”
“That’s a rather large bag for foodstuffs.”
Mrs. Sgot sat and gestured for Siofra to join her. She began with a short, slender pair of scissors. “Some species of Fey hold their power in their hair. When ye change clothes, keep the scissors handy.”
“I’m wearing trousers today. I won’t be changing.”
Mrs. Sgot sniffed. “Dinna forget.” She shifted a clutter of dried nature items toward the bag. “Fairies, sprites, and pixies are dangerous pests. Don’t be beguiled by their pretty forms. When ye begin yer quest, keep these on yer person, because they dinna like ‘em. See? Marigold, primrose, rowan wood, a four-leaf clover, and St. John’s wort.” Before Siofra could respond, Mrs. Sgot up and grabbed something from beside the stove. “Goblins love mushrooms as well as you love cake.”
Siofra added the items, wrinkling her nose at the musty scent. “Wait! What quest? I’m going for a walk in the Wood.”
“Now, if ye do find yourself near a fairy, sprite, or pixie, wave this before them.” She held out a handful of straw. “Keeps them mesmerized.” She handed Siofra a small canister. “Save this as a last resort. Sugar. Makes them drunk as honeysuckle wine…talkative, too. They’ll tell ye anythin’.”
“That could be useful.” If she ever planned to venture on a quest.
“And the last…Say thank you.”
“Thank you—wait, you told me never to say that…Never say thank you, never say please or I’m sorry, never eat or drink, never dance, never stray off the path.”
“Aye, that’s all well and good, but this is vital if ye want to trap the high Sidhe. Say thank you for no reason at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It signals a bargain.” Mrs. Sgot rubbed the side of her head. “Besides being painful on the ears, it confuses and disorients them…especially when there was no bargain. They set great store to bargains and vows, and gratitude works as well as a spell. Or give them a piece o’ yer clothing, and it’s the same. Ye’ve gifted them your essence so’s they canna curse ye.”
“Clothing? What should I take?”
“Nothin’ unless ye value it. Castoffs will backfire on ye.”
Siofra closed her eyes to think, and she heard Mrs. Sgot push back her chair. The lesson on the fey must be over.
“What about my ribbons? I wear them frequently and value them highly. They’re lovely as well.”
“That will do.”
Siofra raced up the stairs, sifted through her ribbons for her favorites, and returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Sgot was just adding parcels to the bag, including a flask.
Siofra came up beside her and squeezed her shoulders tight. “You are very helpful.”
Mrs. Sgot sniffed. “Ye might make it out alive, at that.”
When Siofra reached the Forbidden Wood, Lysander wasn’t waiting for her beside the stream. The clearing appeared completely natural, clear water trickling over rocks, reeds bent from the wind, but if Lysander was correct, that stream represented a veil to the world of Faerie.
She waved her hand like Lysander had, even though he’d said he could think the bridge into place. Nothing changed over the water, but she felt the air stir. Wind?
Maybe if she spoke to it. “Bridge, come.”
A slight shimmer of light, but no bridge.
“Bridge, I know you’re there. Come, at once.”
She stepped to the edge of the grass where she imagined the bridge to be and felt something solid under her feet. She took another step, then another. Though she couldn’t see the bridge, she felt it.
Which meant she’d reached a conundrum. If she kept walking, she’d enter the other realm…on her own. After the terrifying stories she’d heard about what the fey did to hapless humans, should she venture beyond the border without Lysander? What if she couldn’t locate the way back?
Siofra patted the bag hanging at her side. She was prepared, almost as if Mrs. Sgot knew.
With the idea of imminent death at the fore, she took baby steps all the way over the invisible bridge, barely breathing until her foot landed on the blades of grass on the opposite side.
When both feet touched down, the Forbidden Wood fell away, and Siofra found herself gaping at the town. Small stone cottages and large hills of grass embedded with brightly painted wooden doors. Were those underground homes? Cheerful colors everywhere. Blue, green, yellow, even pink.
Before she had time to consider more, she was shoved aside as a large humanoid stepped up to the bridge. Green skin, yellow eyes, and one large protruding yellow tooth…probably a goblin. A nice goblin? He took no notice of her beyond attempting to pass. No need, then, for her delicious mushroom, hidden away in the bag.
The next creature to bump her was much more frightening. It sniffed and snarled at her bag, being of a short stature and nearly even with said bag. What could it be? Siofra couldn’t tell fair from foul.
She clutched the bag more tightly against her side and made for the most fascinating building in town, the tree store. Looking neither to the left nor right so as to attract as little attention as possible, she took firm steps forward.
Dark green leaves drifted in front of her face, but when she batted them away, they lifted again as if by a tiny whirlwind.
Could leaves be helpful? She raised her head to stare at the massive tree that held the store. The leaves came from this tree.
Without pondering why, she lifted the bag and opened it. The leaves, too many to count, dropped inside as if lured there by invisible fingers.
A group of individuals passed inside the store, and Siofra hurried to follow behind. Perhaps she could blend in.
Once the door slammed shut behind her, Siofra’s breathing came harder, as if she’d been cut off. She grabbed the first thing at hand, the shoulder of the tall, willowy man in front of her.
He whirled on her, a large lopsided grin offering greeting. To Siofra, he looked more like a fabled fool or court jester, with blue-and-yellow-checkered blouse and pants, a matching hat that covered his ears and draped over his forehead, partially obscuring the luxurious daisy-yellow hair that complemented his attire, and a stringed instrument slung over one shoulder. “Good day, traveler. Where are you bound?”
The only way she knew he wasn’t human was by the silver light in his eyes, cunning and a trifle disconcerting…and the smooth silvery speech of his tongue. Definitely fey.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Ah, here to purchase a quest?”
“Not really. I don’t know much about it.”
He leaned closer and whispered theatrically. “Mayhap you need a ballad or an epic tale to help you decide. I, dear lady, am a bard, a teller of tales.”
“You know of the Aes Sidhe?”
“Don’t we all? It is the most epic of tales. Shall we?” He offered his arm, and they meandered to a nearby nook, complete with a long wooden bench and puffy yellow seat cushions.
Siofra sank into cushiony delight. She could sit here forever. She bolted up. Was it a trick to make her stay?
The bard stared at her with wide eyes, then he, too, jumped up. “Why are we standing? Did the imps sneak in again?”
Siofra had no idea what imps could be, so she shook her head. “I…I thought I saw someone.” She glanced around the room as if searching. There were more colored doors, more than she could count. How positively thrilling! The store was infinitely larger on the inside than it appeared outside. And the people! If she could even call them that.
Green fairies, or perhaps pixies or sprites, Siofra certainly didn’t know the difference, flew and flitted about the store. A cyclops hesitated before an orange door, scratching his head. He was much taller than Siofra would have expected, more like a giant. A hairy giant who forgot to wear a shirt. She turned her head, and her jaw dropped. A beautiful green-haired woman caught her eye, tall, lithe, with bronzed skin and glowing green almond-shaped eyes. Could this be Daire, the Keeper? Her brow lifted as if in question, and she froze in place, one hand hovering over a display of magic copper-colored beetles.
Siofra shook her head and sank into the lush cushions.
The bard cleared his throat. “Let us begin…
“Long ago, they sailed and came,
“The famed and glorious Tuatha Dé Danann.
“With eyes of silver and tongues of light,
“They rose from mist to share their plight.
“They speak the truth, they can’t tell lies,
“But magic twists and dark will rise.
“Share, they called, to Firbolgs’ ruler,
“He gathered his forces, so minuscular.
“Though Firbolgs fought to keep the land,
“Not one could beat the magic band.
“Lo, Tuatha’s king Nuada his arm ‘tis lost,
“But he offered peace, the Province of Connaught.
“Without his arm, a Tuatha king can’t be,
“So, Breas the wily became trustee.
“He taxed them poor and made them hunger,
“For half his blood was cunning Fomorian.
“Nuada’s brother, with silver, his arm did reform,
“And they struck down the foul Fomorian swarm—”
Siofra lifted a finger. “Wait. His brother made a silver arm?”
The bard frowned at her interruption. “He made a working silver arm, but the Tuatha are wondrous enlightened. Nuada’s brother, Dian Cecht, had a son, Miach, who turned the silver arm back to flesh.”
“Impressive.” And probably impossible. This was a fable, after all.
“Shall I continue?”
“Ple…uh…yes.” She’d almost said Please! Her first encounter, and she’d nearly used a forbidden word.
He tipped his head. “Alas, Nuada is no more,
“Slaughtered by Evil Eye Balor.
“His stead, young Lugh, avenged his master.
“He was the right good king thereafter.
“Eventually, three grandsons built each a palace.
“Not expecting the Milesian’s malice.
“Under burrows, the Tuatha did flee,
“And passed into legend the Aes Sidhe.”
He bowed before her, thrusting out his hand with a flourish.
Siofra clapped her hands together. “That was marvelous, simply marvelous! Now, how did they come to be called fairy folk or the gentry?”
He grimaced. “That is a greater tale. I highly suggest you refrain from calling the true Sidhe, fairies. That’s like comparing a dung beetle with a hummingbird. This is your first visit?”
No flies on him. “It is.”
He sighed. “Obviously, no enchanted or magical being would ever offer their true name, so they took on the name given them by the humans of the land. People of the Sidhe. Now, it is merely the Sidhe and all magical beings are residents of Faerie land. They are fey.” He held out his hand again with another flourish. “My payment.”
Siofra’s stomach sank. Here was a prime example of why it was dangerous for her to go off on her own in Faerie. There were too many rules. If she asked him what he wanted, that would be like agreeing to give him anything.
“I have no coin, nor any spells.”
He eyed the pendant hanging against her chest. “That will do.”
Lysander would not be pleased. Siofra lifted the chain to pull it over her head, but it would rise no higher than her forehead. Ahhhh! Lysander had used her full name when he told her not to remove it. She couldn’t!
She felt a real and growing panic. Would he appreciate any of those baubles Mrs. Sgot gave her? He looked far more intelligent than a fairy. Those silver eyes twinkled as he stared at her, leaning closer, his hand nearly touching.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the quiet around their little nook. Siofra’s heart absolutely leaped into her throat. The man standing beside them was positively the most beautiful being Siofra had ever seen. She had thought the bard tall, but this man was at least six inches taller, almost as tall as the ogre. His massive shoulders and chest tapered to a flat midriff and long legs. His clothing was nothing impressive, white blouse and a type of brown buckskin trousers, like what Lysander wore. But his long, silvery hair and that face! If she’d been prone to poetry, this man deserved a poem or even a sonnet. Were his eyes silver or gold? No, opal! Alight with the fires of many colors and focused solely on her.
She swallowed hard. His brows, his long slender nose and cheekbones, his full pale lips, all so perfectly symmetrical. This was a glamour worth boasting about.
“What are you doing here? I told you to wait for me.”
The bard yanked his hand away, and Siofra barely heard a soft gasp before he spoke. “Steward, this is a friend of yours?”
Steward? But Lysander was the Steward!