Eleven
MY PLAN required some discussion to ensure that Rook could say the necessary lines. We rehearsed it as we walked, and he was well pleased with how it sounded. I was more than a little pleased myself. I felt the glowing satisfaction of having negotiated a particularly twisty enchantment, or stretched and framed a month’s worth of new canvases in advance. My world was in order again, and finally I had some measure of control over what happened to me next. Moreover, there was a chance I might even put my accidental sabotage to rights.
“Do you really think it might repair your reputation?” I asked, lifting my skirts to step through a meadow of nodding yellow cowslips. Whenever the breeze changed directions it brought a different fragrance—some I could identify, and others I’d never smelled before.
“At this point, I doubt anything can,” he replied with a crooked smile. “But the portrait . . . yes, I believe so. I’m relieved I’m no longer on the receiving end of your schemes. You’re a great deal more devious than you look.”
Try as I might to block it out, I heard an echo of Rook’s confession in everything he said since leaving the well behind. Now that I knew to look for it, I perceived the warm admiration in his tone. While our mood might have lightened, the perfumed air hung heavy with tension. I forced out a laugh, focusing on my steps through the tall, tangled flowers.
“I’m not devious, I’m just practical. But I suppose fair folk don’t have much to do with the latter.”
He frowned, trying to figure out if I’d insulted him.
“Look,” I said quickly, hiding my amusement as I waded over to a great mossy stone, “this blossom’s as large as my hand. I wonder what makes them grow so large?”
As soon as I bent down and plucked the flower, a trouser leg appeared next to me. It was made of shimmering rose-gray silk, and another, matching trouser leg followed. I started back and fell on my rear in time to watch Gadfly finish stepping out from the space between the two halves of the cracked boulder. This was made even stranger by the fact that—and I was completely certain of this—he hadn’t emerged from the other side. Somehow, I’d stumbled upon the entrance to a fairy path.
“Good afternoon, Isobel,” he said pleasantly, straightening his impeccably tied cravat. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find me sitting on the ground in front of him, alarmed and clutching a cowslip.
As the shock wore off, I found I was terribly happy to see him. The homesickness I hadn’t had time to indulge in these past few days struck me like a runaway carriage. I’d spent years with him in my parlor, and though his pale blue eyes betrayed not the slightest genuine warmth, his face was more familiar a sight than anything else I’d lain eyes upon since leaving home.
I nearly exclaimed his name, but caught myself at the last second. My manners had deteriorated appallingly during my time with Rook.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Gadfly,” I said, standing up to curtsy. “Did Rook inform you of our arrival?” If he had, it was news to me.
He swept me a bow, then sent Rook a pointed look. “Does our dear Rook ever bother with common courtesy? No, I simply knew you were coming. Very few things escape my attention in the springlands—even the plucking of a flower.”
I looked at the cowslip guiltily.
“Do keep it,” he urged, “as a welcome to my domain.”
While I digested his curious words he swept past me and walked a circle around Rook, who withstood the inspection with a lifted chin and a set jaw. Comparing them, I was oddly proud to note that Rook was several inches taller. His dark, tousled hair and striking eyes set him apart like night from day in contrast to Gadfly’s refined pastel pallor. Though by far the younger of the two, he was in every way Gadfly’s equal.
“Those clothes are at least fifty years out of fashion,” Gadfly was telling him. “No one wears copper buttons in the spring court. If you insist on staying we’ll have to find . . .”
Whatever he said next, and whatever Rook said in reply, was lost to me as I finished digesting that phrase—a welcome to my domain.
I cleared my throat. Gadfly looked around. “Sir, are you the spring prince?” I asked.
He smiled. “Why, yes. None other! Surely I’ve mentioned that to you before?”
“No, I can’t say you have.”
“How remiss of me. I’m so forgetful with mortals—I simply assume everyone already knows.” While Gadfly spoke, Rook studied him with an unreadable expression. “Well, fear not, Isobel. Your manners are beyond reproach. I always felt welcomed as a princely figure in your home. Now, before I forget another detail, would you care to tell me why you’re roaming about in the forest, and in such distinguished company?”
“Actually—” I glanced at Rook. I was grateful we’d planned on having him explain, because the revelation about Gadfly’s rank had left me quite speechless.
“Let’s discuss it as we walk,” he suggested, yanking his coat straight and tightening his sword belt, rather crossly, I thought. I wondered if he’d taken Gadfly’s criticisms to heart. Then he set off through the meadow, leaving us to catch up.
“He’s a singular fellow, isn’t he,” Gadfly said.
How could I possibly answer that without giving anything away? I settled for the blandest reply I could think of. “Indeed, sir. I find all fair folk to be quite singular.”
“Oh, how I wish that were so! But we’re all the same, I’m afraid.” He gave me a smile as subtle and chilly as a spring thaw. “Most of us. Now, Rook—you were saying?”
Pacing along in front, Rook was clearly growing tired of all the cowslips. “As you know,” he said impatiently, “Isobel is the most distinguished Crafter in Whimsy at present. The portrait she painted for me was unlike anything we’ve ever seen in the autumn court.”
“So I heard,” Gadfly replied. It took a monumental effort of will not to look at him and gauge his reaction.
“It shocked us, myself most of all. At first I imagined it to be an act of sabotage for which Isobel should stand trial. But on the way to the autumn court I discovered that she had no harmful intentions. She merely painted a human emotion on my face, and skillfully, without understanding what she had done.” This was all true—in a manner of speaking. “Now, Isobel is interested in replicating her newfound Craft.”
“Human emotions, Gadfly,” I said to him, my confidence swelling the further we got without slipping up. “You’ve sampled everything Craft has to offer—tea cakes and china, silk suits, books, swords. We keep coming up with different versions of the same old things, but I think what I’d like to try is completely new. I could put true joy on your face. Wonder on someone else’s. Laughter, or wrath—even sorrow. Rook has informed me your kind will find this most diverting.”
“So I’ve brought her to the spring court, where she might demonstrate first for her most dedicated patrons,” Rook finished grandly. “If the results are satisfactory, I do believe such Craftsmanship deserves a just reward. I propose that should she choose to take it, Isobel’s payment will be a trip to the Green Well.”
My smile radiated innocence. A trip to it, not a drink from it.
“Something completely new,” Gadfly mused in a faraway voice. Briefly he looked much older than his apparent age. The bees stopped droning in the honeyed air, and all the songbirds stilled. I held my breath along with the rest of the world. “Yes. Yes, I think that’s just the thing. Isobel, Rook, I would be delighted to host you. For as long as you’re in the spring court, you will want for nothing.”
We reached the court much sooner than I expected, and I almost walked straight in without realizing we’d arrived. Birch trees wider than a man was tall grew around us, soaring to impossible heights. Craning my neck, I saw that their branches were woven together much in the same way as Rook’s shelters, with songbirds and jewel-bright hummingbirds flitting among them. The only tree that stood apart from the rest was an old, knotted dogwood in full bloom, elevated on a mossy knoll. It had grown into a strange shape, and puzzling over this, I realized it was no normal tree, but in fact a throne.
As soon as I drew that conclusion, the forest around me changed. Silvery laughter filled the air, and with a shimmer like steam escaping a teapot, brocade chairs, silken pillows, and picnic blankets unfurled across the flowery meadow. Previously unseen, dozens if not hundreds of fair folk watched us approach from various states of repose. My knees turned to water, and I had to force myself to keep walking. I’d never seen even a fraction this many fair folk in a single place at once. Worse, they weren’t watching us after all. They stared at me, and me alone: the first mortal to enter their court in over a thousand years.
As we neared the throne, a girl rose from a blanket—she seemed to be having tea, but all the teacups were empty—and pelted toward us, her long blond hair flying, the many layers of her periwinkle-blue gown frothing up and down like waves. When she reached us, she startled me by seizing both my hands. Her skin was cold and flawless as china. Were she human I would have guessed her age at around fourteen.
“Oh, a mortal! Gadfly, you’ve brought us a mortal!” she cried in a simulacrum of rapturous delight, revealing that all of her little white teeth were as pointed as a shark’s. “We simply must introduce her to Aster, she’ll be ever so pleased! Are you going to drink from the Green Well?” She shifted her attention to me. “Please say yes, please say yes! We can be the best of friends. Of course, we can still be best friends if you don’t, but you’ll die so quickly it would hardly be worth it!”
Gadfly’s hand alit on her shoulder. “Isobel, this is my”—he searched for words—“niece, Lark. Please forgive her excitability. This is her very first time meeting a mortal. I trust she’ll be on her best behavior, with you as our honored guest.” This was clearly more for Lark’s benefit than mine.
I gave her an awkward curtsy, which was difficult with her still clinging to my hands. But apparently it counted, because to my relief she let go and curtsied back. My fingers felt as though they’d been immersed in ice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lark.”
“Of course it is!” she said.
“And you already know Rook,” Gadfly went on pleasantly.
“Hello, Rook,” said Lark, without ever taking her eyes off my face. “Can you turn into a hare for me again and let me chase you about?”
Rook laughed. “That was a child’s game, Lark. You’re a young lady now.”
“You’re no fun. Poor Isobel, she must be ever so bored with you. Can I put her in some new clothes?” she asked Gadfly, whose smile was acquiring a fixed quality.
“In a moment, darling. For now, Isobel and I must discuss her Craft. Why don’t you have a seat beside the throne and think about the dresses you’d like her to wear? Remember, she cannot use glamour, so it must be a new dress.” He inclined his head meaningfully.
“Oh, fine!” She collapsed next to the throne in a tragic heap of blue chiffon.
“Now,” Gadfly said, arranging himself elegantly on the dogwood’s platform, “what will we need to provide you with so you may work your Craft? I’m afraid we have no materials similar to what I’ve seen in your parlor. I can send for supplies from Whimsy, but my court is terribly busy preparing for the masquerade, and it may take some time to have them delivered.”
I resisted glancing at the fair folk around us, none of whom were doing anything more productive than nibbling on shortbread.
“Let me think, sir.” What could I use? “First I’d need a substitute for canvas or paper. Perhaps sheets of bark, thin and pale in color, sturdy but flexible enough to straighten out without breaking. Birch bark might do well, and there looks to be plenty of it.” Was it my imagination, or were the branches on Gadfly’s throne moving? “And then,” I went on, unnerved by the idea that his dogwood might have taken offense, “I think I can gather natural pigments myself. I used to do so often as a child.”
“Excellent,” he said, tapping a spidery finger against his lips. “And a chair, and a stand for you to put the bark on?”
“That sounds very good, sir.” I hadn’t the slightest idea what I might use in place of a brush or pencil, but I’d figure something out. I’d use my fingers if I had to. “Because of the difference in materials, the portraits won’t look like the ones I usually do, nor will they last as long. But if you’re pleased with the work, I would be happy to do them over in oils. Using my normal method, that is,” I added, aware that he might not understand.
“Now can I dress her?” said Lark’s voice from the ground, where she was still collapsed in the same, piteous heap.
Gadfly raised his eyebrows at me.
“Er,” I said. “Yes, I suppose. Though I should—”
“You’re going to try everything on!” Lark exclaimed, her cold hand closing around my wrist like a vise. Before I knew it I was being dragged through the laughing picnickers with little hope for escape. I glanced over my shoulder at Rook, who watched me go intently, and had the comforting thought that he’d find some excuse before long to make sure I didn’t suffocate in last century’s silk bustles.
Lark towed me toward one of the giant birches, which had thick vines winding up it like a spiral stair. She mounted this dubious-looking feature without hesitation while hauling me behind. We went higher and higher, the fair folk on the ground receding to the size of toy soldiers. I found that if I paid close attention to where I stepped on the knobbly roots, didn’t look down, and held on to the bark with my free hand, I could resist the urge to vomit on Lark’s chiffon. She chattered at me gaily the entire time without seeming to mind that I didn’t once reply.
At the top, we emerged into a leafy labyrinth. It reminded me a bit of a hedge maze, if instead of hedges there were arched bowers of white, wickerlike branches filled in with pale green leaves. The ground felt springy but otherwise solid. I wouldn’t have minded walking across it if I hadn’t known about the long drop beneath. Items of Craft lay jumbled all along the pathways, climbing the walls in teetering stacks of furniture, cushions, books, paintings, and porcelain wares. Jewelry dangled glittering from upended chair legs; spiders wove glistening webs over atlases and bronze coatracks.
“This way!” Lark cried. She whipped me around with nearly enough force to dislocate my shoulder and took off down one of the corridors. Racing behind her, I frequently had to hop sideways to skim through the narrow aisles, and suspected I rendered a few spiders homeless along the way.
She said, “I keep my dresses in the Bird Hole. We name all our rooms, even though they aren’t really rooms, because that’s what mortals do.”
“Oh, how nice,” I replied faintly, filled with dread.
As it turned out, however, the unpropitious-sounding Bird Hole looked more or less like the rest of the labyrinth, except that it was a dome-shaped room protruding from one of the corridors and had songbirds roosting in it, which flew off in a melodic explosion when we entered. Blossoming vines shielded the far wall like a curtain. Lark finally released my abused wrist to go root around in it, vanishing up to the waist.
“Here,” she said, thrusting a pile of chiffon through the curtain into my arms. “Take off your boring old brown dress and put this on. It might be long on you because you’re short, but you can change it, can’t you? And then put it back the same way afterward?”
It took me a moment to understand what she meant. “I don’t do that sort of Craft, unfortunately. I can sew a bit—mend tears, and that sort of thing—but I’m not a tailor.”
Lark straightened and stared at me without comprehension. Her large, widely set blue eyes gave her the look of an inquisitive sparrow. If not for the teeth I would have found her countenance very charming.
I tried, “Some fair folk have different types of magic, don’t they? Magic that’s unique to them or a small number of your kind, such as Rook being able to change his shape, for example.”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Just like how Gadfly knows things before they happen.”
I filed that information away for later. “Well, that’s also how it is with mortals and the Craft. My specialty is making pictures of people’s faces. I can do a little with food, but not much with clothes, and nothing at all with weapons.”
“Who needs weapons anyway! If I were a mortal I’d want Craft to make dresses. Please won’t you hurry up and put that on?”
I regarded the pink fabric grimly. “I suppose. Hold it for me while I get ready?” I handed it back and stripped off my dress. For the lack of a better place to put it, I laid it out on the ground, and then struggled into the new dress with Lark’s “help,” which involved an unnecessary amount of poking and prodding. All the while I thought of the iron ring hidden away in my pocket, and wished I’d thought to put it in my stocking instead.
“You look much better,” she said gravely when we were finished. “Except pink isn’t your color. Take it off again!” She dove back to the closet.
I was stepping out of the wads of fabric when a rustling sound came from the wall. I turned to find a raven poking its beak through the branches. It angled its head this way and that, snatching at the leaves and tearing them off to make room for itself, cocking a demanding purple eye in our direction. Relief swept through me, chased by the prickling awareness that I stood there in my undergarments. I snatched my arms against my chest just as Rook popped his head the rest of the way through. Stuck halfway in and out of the wall, he made an irritable burbling sound in his throat.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It was hard to remain self-conscious in front of a bird.
“All right, hold still,” I told him. I went over and slipped my hand in next to his feathers, and pulled the branches aside. He flapped down to the floor. With a self-important air, he strutted across the room and tugged on the hem of Lark’s dress.
“Stop!” she said. “I’m busy. I won’t break her, I promise.”
Rook and I exchanged a look. She’d just given her word, whether she meant to or not, but I had to wonder if it counted for much given how unlikely she was to understand how, exactly, one went about breaking a mortal.
She spun around. “This one.” Her face glowed with satisfaction.
Oh, god. It was a Firth & Maester’s. I took it reluctantly, as one might a queen’s diamond necklace, and held it close with my knees pressed together, overwhelmingly mindful of Rook standing just a few feet away. “Lark, I don’t know about this one. I have to go tromping around in the woods looking for berries after we’re done, and I’d hate to damage it.”
“Why would you care about that?”
“Well, because then it’s ruined. Wouldn’t Gadfly be upset if he had to replace it?”
“You’re silly. Watch!” She fetched another dress from inside the vines. Involuntarily, I recoiled. It looked like it had served as a wedding dress long ago, but its once-white fabric was soiled and graying, riddled with moth holes. The ribbons dangling from the waist were so rotten one of them dropped off when Lark pulled it against herself. But as soon as the dress touched her body, it unrolled new lengths of snowy satin. Lace restored itself like blossoms unfurling, and the ribbons spooled down to her toes, pristine. Just like that the dress looked freshly sewn, without the slightest trace of decay.
Seeing my expression, Lark shrieked with laughter, showing every one of her pointed teeth. Then she stopped laughing all at once, as though she’d shut the lid on a music box.
“That’s what he meant when he told me to get you new ones,” she explained. “But we can only make them look exactly how they did when they were made. So I can’t change its shape if I want to, or add anything on.” She sized me up. I could tell she was about to ask about my sewing skills again, so I swiftly donned the Firth & Maester’s dress before she had a chance.
It was made of gorgeous sage-green satin. The bodice was embroidered with tiny songbirds in silver thread, and a cream-colored satin ribbon marked its raised waistline, beneath which an additional layer of sheer muslin draped over the green underskirt. I felt diaphanous and shimmering, like a dragonfly’s wing. Ordinarily I’d never wear anything half this fine without a petticoat underneath, and the sleek fabric slid unfamiliarly over my bare legs, a touch as silky and subtle as water. It looked terribly at odds with my stout leather half-boots peeking out beneath the hem, but that was one aspect of my wardrobe I refused to compromise. I never knew when I might have to run.
“Perfect for berry picking,” I joked weakly.
“What about you?” Lark demanded of Rook, who was watching me with a cocked head. Warmth flooded my cheeks, and I resisted the urge to fold my arms again, even though there was nothing to hide. “Has Gadfly changed you out of those dreary autumnlands clothes?”
Wind shook the Bird Hole, and Rook materialized beside us looking rumpled and cross. “Yes, that was his first order of business, unsurprisingly. But these colors don’t suit me at all.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport! Black and brown and whatever else you had on suit everyone poorly. I think you look awfully fine.”
“I believe we must agree to disagree about fashion,” he replied with dignity. “Also, it wasn’t brown, it was copper.”
“Copper!” she repeated, and gave another shriek of laughter, though the source of her amusement eluded me.
To be perfectly frank, Rook could trail about in a bedsheet and still look magnificent. But he did look better in his own clothes—the fern-green jacket Gadfly had scrounged up for him didn’t match his darker complexion or his hair, and fit too tightly across the shoulders. His embattled cravat showed signs of restless clawing; I doubted it was long for this world. But, I thought wryly, at least we matched.
“Are the two of you finished? I’ve been ordered to bring Isobel back down for introductions once she’s dressed. And you can help introduce her, of course,” he added to Lark, who was summoning a pout.
“Oh, all right!” She seized his arm.
Rook lifted his other elbow meaningfully, and I smiled and shook my head. “We’ll never make it through those corridors if we’re promenading arm in arm. I’d impale myself on a coatrack.”
“Just do it, Isobel!” Lark cried. “We aren’t going that way.”
What other way could there possibly be? Certain I was about to experience another fairy strangeness I’d rather go without, I took Rook’s offered arm. I observed how delicate my hand and wrist looked resting on his sleeve, and conceded it was possible to see how fair folk got so vain, parading around in Firth & Maester’s and constantly discussing which colors looked best on them.
Rook looked down, his gaze stripped bare.
He really is in love with me, I thought. My heart leapt forward like a startled deer. Seeing a confession of love in his eyes was nothing like hearing it declared aloud. This was a look that would make time stop, if it could. Soft and sharp at once, an aching tenderness edged with sorrow, naked proof of a heart already broken. Here I stood in a dragonfly dress, holding his arm, and he knew our time was almost over.
A thousand wings unfurled inside me. I chased after them, trying to silence them, stuff them back down where they’d do no harm, but I might as well have been in the middle of a whirling vortex of butterflies, attempting to capture each one by hand. I became conscious of the heat of Rook’s skin through the fabric of his silk jacket, and that ever so slightly, my hand had begun trembling.
He couldn’t say anything in front of Lark, and he didn’t need to. I saw everything I needed to know reflected back at me in his eyes.
What was I feeling? How could I be certain?
Love between us was impossible. I forced myself to confront what would become of us if I allowed this feeling to take flight. There were only two options: drink from the Green Well, or condemn us both to death. Meeting his gaze, I let the resolve show on my face. I could permit neither. I was stronger than my emotions. If I lived a thousand times, not once would I destroy my own life and another’s for love. A storm gathered in my breast; the butterflies fell fluttering weakly to the ground.
With a sharp intake of breath, Rook looked away.
According to my head, I’d done the right thing. But my heart yawned dark and hollow with the emptiness his averted gaze left behind. I wondered if my head and heart would ever reconcile, or whether I’d just cursed myself to relive this moment for the rest of my years, half assured I’d made the only choice available to me, half always whispering if only, the whole of me filled with bitter regret.
The Bird Hole creaked. The floor shivered beneath my feet, and the walls’ wicker branches began twining about like thread in a loom, weaving, tumbling, bowing outward. I clenched Rook’s arm by reflex. Lark howled devilishly at the look on my face. All around us the room transformed, and a panicked thought gripped me: during that single intimate moment, had Rook and I broken the Good Law after all?