Siofra pushed away the broken chains and studied the battles around her, some used magic, some used weapons, and some sheer might. Do I join the fight, Lord? What can I do?
No one bothered with her or looked her way. Those who had guarded her had run into the fray, attempting to destroy the queen and king. Siofra prayed, watching for her moment. She felt deep inside that she’d know when to move and what to do.
The sugar came to mind, and Siofra tugged the canister to the forefront of her satchel and let it hang at her side. I love that you place ideas in my head, Lord.
Why wasn’t Lysander using that knife, the one that would kill anything it slashed? It would have been her weapon of choice, not her hands. She couldn’t take her eyes from him.
As Lìos pounded him with blow after blow, Lysander fell to his knees. Lìos lifted the stone over his head, and Siofra knew. This was it. He was going to kill Lysander.
Give me strength, Lord.
She screamed, and the sound bellowed across the valley, shaking trees, knocking many down along with people and creatures. “Stop! I command you to stop by the power of the Most High King!”
She swept forward and crouched over Lysander. “Lìos, you and the Fomorians will leave right now or you will face judgment. This is your last chance to depart unscathed by a force mightier than you all.”
His scoffing laugh was taken up by other Fomorians, but some glanced around uneasily. Siofra was an unknown to fey and Fomorians alike. They didn’t know her power or abilities.
“Very well,” she said, tears coursing down her face. “Love must be given and never taken. I offer Lysander my true love.” She whisked the knife away from his waist and stood over him, feeling a surge of power along her hand where the knife touched the ring. “You will have to kill me to reach him.”
“You were next, but if you’d rather go first…”
“No!” Lysander cried, attempting to push off the ground.
From the corner of her eye, Siofra saw the queen and king advancing on them.
Siofra held up her other hand. “According to the laws of the land of Faerie I hold you to account. I have offered free gifts, expecting nothing. I have given my thanks, though no service was rendered. You have beaten and enslaved me. Caused me tears of pain. But the most damning injustice of all—you have injured my true love, prevented my true love from running its course, nor have you aided my true love. May the God I serve and every force that governs this land, judge between me and thee.”
As Lìos opened his mouth, Siofra threw the sugar in the air. It landed in his eyes and mouth as a swarm of raging fairies and pixies overran him and the Fomorians beyond.
The screams of terror and pain reverberated in her ears as she helped Lysander to his feet and tugged him towards the king and queen. Several Sidhe rushed forward to surround them, but Siofra shook her head. She would stand on her own. She and Lysander.
He draped his arm at her waist, and she leaned into him. “My clever girl,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you, you know.”
She nodded against his shoulder. There would be time for them later.
She lifted her head to look back at Lìos, but Lysander shook his head. “I wouldn’t. There’s not much left of the Fomorians.”
“The fairies?” A horrifying thought.
Lysander shook his head again. “Maybe at the start, but you did call for justice. They’re just…gone.”
Gone. Finished.
I like that, Lord. Thank you doesn’t seem large enough, but I’m glad you are the One who always appreciates my thanks.
The king and queen stepped over debris to join them. The king’s stern eye landed on Siofra. What had she done now?
He tipped his head to her and the edges of his lips looked as if they wanted to lift. “The kingdom of the Unseelie gives you thanks. I thank you for the life of my son.” He rested his hand over Siofra’s, where she held Lysander’s hand. “You have my blessing.”
“That’s all I want.” Siofra said, knowing the king had just acknowledged his indebtedness to her, which meant the boon she’d owed him was void. “Where is the other half of the crown and the stone?”
The queen held out both. “What do you wish to do with them?”
“Why me?”
“You are the victor,” Lysander said.
Siofra looked from Lysander to the king, but, as usual, the king’s staid face revealed nothing. If he was just going to steal it from her later, she didn’t want the crown.
“I have a proposition.” She looked at each of them to be sure she had their attention. “I know neither of you is interested in relinquishing your reign to the other. But I do feel that someday, it might be necessary for all the fey to be as one. In order for that to happen, they would have to trust the leader.” She pushed the crown at Lysander. “You are the natural leader of the fey and Sidhe. Everyone trusts you.”
“I agree.” The king actually smiled at Lysander. “You would reign well.”
“We can settle it now.” The queen set the stone at Lysander’s feet.
From out of the air, the king held out the other half of the crown and fit it to the broken piece, and they melded into one. He slipped it over Lysander’s head.
Siofra had avoided eye contact with Lysander, but his grip on her hand brought her face up. His eyes were huge with question and wonder. “Not without you, Siofra.”
“One thing at a time. Step on the stone.”
He looked down, but he didn’t move. “This is not what I ever intended nor wanted. I’m not ready, and no matter what a stone says, I won’t do something that’s not right for me, now.”
“Agreed,” his father said.
Lysander put one foot on the stone, and they waited. A shock rang out, shattering the stone and sending them all to grasp their ears. Murmurs of discomfort rang out all around.
Siofra turned and looked behind them. The fey were still gathered, but the ground was clear of all the blood and dead. She darted a glance at the place where the Fomorians had stood. It, too, was clear.
“Was that it?” she asked.
The king and queen shared a look, and the queen looked back at Siofra. “We don’t know, but it’s enough for us. Time to dance.” She lifted her hand to the king. “You will join us at the Summer castle?”
“An honor.”
And then they vanished, followed by the remaining fey.
Siofra was left holding Lysander’s hand. “Will I ever understand the fey?”
“What is there to understand? They do as they please.”
That summed them up perfectly, but she was tired. Tired to her marrow.
“Lysander, I wish to go home. Will you take me there?”
His eyes studied hers, searching for what, she didn’t know. Right now, she didn’t care. They both had much to consider. And she had a life in England to examine. What had those glamourized brownies done with Lady Gretchen while Siofra was gone?
He placed both his hands on either side of her face and kissed her forehead. “If that is your wish.”
Siofra found herself in her room, standing at the darkened window. Why couldn’t he have done this each time they traveled in Faerie? To think of the days of walking.
She glanced at the clock. Too late to ask for a bath. Where was Lysander? She turned in a circle. “Lysander?”
A sheet of paper drifted down through the air, and Siofra snatched at it.
If ever you need me, you know where I am.
Yours,
Lysander
That was all he had to say? What happened to “the talk?”
What did it matter? She was too tired to talk anyway. She dropped the satchel on the floor, and red spilled out. She yanked at the cape. The king? Could he hear her, even here?
Siofra rushed to her closet and stuffed it in the deepest corner then piled masses of dresses over it.
When she closed the door, she heaved a sigh of relief. Normal again.
Mrs. Sgot shoved against her door and opened it with a pail of hot water, steam rising over it.
“Oh, Mrs. Sgot, I missed you so very much. Your remedies…they were ever so helpful. I have much to tell you.”
Mrs. Sgot poured the water in the bath basin. “Eat. Wash. Rest. Tomorrow is soon enough. You leave for London in two days.”
“Two days?”
“The time has passed. You inherit everything.”
The time had passed. She could do as she pleased.
Siofra sat in her chair and ate a warm roll, slathered with butter and honey while Mrs. Sgot filled the bath.
She could do as she pleased. After all this time, she could do as she pleased. She wasn’t afraid that someone would eat her or slash her with knives or swords or bind her with chains.
She glanced at the single sheet of paper resting on her desk. But she would never see Lysander. Never get to know her mother or what happened to any of the other fey she’d met. Never discover whether or not she had a father. Was it odd that she felt numb to it all?
She soaked in the tub until the water lost its heat then dressed and crawled in her bed. It had been such a long time since a bed felt this soft. How long had she been gone? She didn’t know.
Did Lysander have a little cottage of his own in that village beyond the forbidden wood? His father was right in a way. She had been obsessed with her quest. All that time, and there were so many questions she never asked. She fell asleep tracing the ring on her finger.
Burning sunlight against her face woke her. Goodness, she had awakened late in the day. She turned over and her hands crunched against something on the bed.
Leaves.
The bed was covered with leaves. Siofra bolted upright and looked around her room, also covered in leaves. Leaves continued to drift from the fireplace chimney into the room.
The tree. She never said goodbye to the tree. She couldn’t function with leaves following her everywhere she went. And what about the tree? How long could it drop leaves without getting damaged or ill or whatever enchanted trees got?
Mrs. Sgot entered carrying a tray. “Y’er up, I see. Oh, those leaves. I’ve swept them three times already!”
“Three? What time is it?”
“What day is it, ye mean?” The brownie settled the tray across Siofra’s lap then brushed at the leaves piled around her. “Ye’ve slept straight through two days. Lady Gretchen will soon be calling ye to get on the carriage for London. Eat up.”
Siofra dropped the fork she had just lifted. “Two days? But I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t get to talk. I don’t even feel home yet.”
“Can’t be helped. Ye’ll feel at home soon as ye arrive at the townhouse.”
“But you won’t be there.”
Mrs. Sgot paused. “It will all work out in the end. You’ve got to see what you’ve got to see.”
And with those pearls of fey wisdom, she took herself and the leaves out of the room.
Siofra looked at the ring, then turned it. Scattered rainbows from the opals sparked outwards. Oh, Lysander. What will I do so far away from you?
It was one thing to return to the village, but to travel half a continent away from him? She felt slightly ill and pushed the tray away.
Her eyes landed on the open closet. Had they packed the king’s red cape? She threw off the bedclothes and ran to the closet. The great pile she’d made was indeed missing. That red cape wasn’t something she intended to let out of her sight.
She searched her room to ensure her luggage wasn’t still there then bounded down the stairs to the kitchen.
Kelley grabbed her heart. “Landsakes, miss, you gave me a fright.”
“I…I wanted to ask about the red cape. It was in the closet? It’s gone now. Did you pack it?”
Kelley nodded. “But I can take it out if you don’t want it for London.”
“I do, but keep it…available.”
“Available?”
How could she explain? “Just bring it to me…when it’s convenient. Please.” It would be an adjustment to remember her manners again. Imagine being afraid to say thank you and please.
She returned upstairs. Climbing wasn’t as easy as the race down. Oh, her limbs were stiff.
The tray caught her eye as she entered the room. If she had to travel, she should eat Mrs. Sgot’s food because the brownie wouldn’t be going with her and traveling food wasn’t always palatable. To think, she made it days without eating much of anything in Faerie.
She took a sip of tepid tea and nibbled on a lemon scone. Lysander’s tea had been perfect. As good as any tea she ever had. A tear slid down her cheek. Did he miss her like she missed him?
Kelley entered holding the red cape. “I tried to wash this earlier, miss—it was at the bottom of your closet—but the water bounced off.” She leaned close. “Is it magic?”
Siofra smiled happily. “It is.” She returned to her scone.
Two hours later, her bags packed high on the carriage and Lady Gretchen beside her, Siofra felt ill again. Lady Gretchen patted her hand. “I’ve so enjoyed the last few months building your wardrobe—I am simply in awe over that new puce bonnet—formulating the list of eligible gentlemen…I envisioned a bit more resistance on your part. It is refreshing for you to take my advice so easily. The number one choice is a young man I’d have chosen myself, were I ten years younger.”
More like twenty. Who was this paragon? And puce? What were those brownies thinking?
“I seem to have forgotten the number one? Who was that?”
“Lord Maynard Englebright.”
The one who compared Siofra’s slender frame to a stork, two seasons ago? Never. And need she repeat it? Never, would he even get his name on her dance card, now that she had real bosoms.
“And number two, Lady Gretchen?”
“Let me see.” She dug in her reticule, smiling with expectation, joy, contentment. All could describe her at this moment. “Just to keep you dreaming…there is Lord Fitzroy Somerset, Lord Graham Mayfield, Sir Walter Kent—”
Siofra placed her hand on Lady Gretchen’s arm. “No need. I believe I remember them all.” And cared not a jot about any of the gentlemen. Nor had they thought much of her. If they so much as looked at her, it would be the pocketbook they saw.
Siofra pulled the curtain away from the window and gazed outside. The majestic scenery she’d always enjoyed on trips to London seemed flat and dull. This time she wasn’t certain it was the particular view she wanted to see. Were there tears in her eyes? That would never do.
She picked up the book Maeve had pressed on her at the door. “It’s a long drive, miss. Ye might get bored.”
Sermons for Young Women by James Fordyce. Really, Maeve?
“An excellent choice,” Lady Gretchen said. “I think I’ll rest my eyes while you refresh your spirit.”
Siofra set her jaw, but plodded on. It might pass the day.
“The highest reward for female virtue is male attention.” Siofra skipped on. “If a husband becomes indifferent, it is because his wife is insufficiently submissive and forgiving.”
Or he’s a reprobate and visiting his ladybird.
Siofra skipped forward again. “Meekness, cultivated on Christian principles, is the proper consummation, and highest finishing, of female excellence. The better kind of woman will melt into tears at the sight or hearing of distress, while at the same time, they should appear as elegant and attractive as possible, since beauty is a gift from God.”
Siofra slammed the book shut, and it fell to the floor of the carriage. If she had melted into tears at the slightest provocation in the land of Faerie, or even at the attentions of Mr. Paorach, she’d be dead now. If this was how she would have to conduct herself to gain the attention of a laird…
Siofra stared out the window. She wasn’t free, was she? She’d never be free if she married. No matter what, she had never looked at the world like the rest of the ton. Why was she even bothering with London?
Her inheritance.
This required concentrated prayer and thought. There must be a way.