His voice faded away, and her gaze was transfixed by golden lights bobbing against the blue-black silhouette of trees and beyond that, a flickering flame of a bonfire. Shadows moved around, their shapes contorting and bending along the trees. It was there that the song led her. It called to her, urging her to join in the dance. That strange feeling of joy and sorrow swelled in her chest once more, and she wanted to laugh, to weep, to dance barefoot beneath the moonlight.Water lapped at her boots as she stood at the water’s edge. She hadn’t even realized she’d drawn closer.
“Careful, Lady Thornton. Lose yourself in the music, and there is no escape. You’ll become one with the rocks and trees.”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely? To be a tree, to feel no pain, to be rooted in a place unmovable for all time,” she said in a dreamy way. She could already imagine it: her feet burying in the earth, spreading outward into a web of roots, her hands raised up to greet the sky, and leaves upturned drinking in the sunlight.
Mr. Thorn covered both her ears with his hands, and she came back to reality. Her vision filled by his handsome face. Her head buzzed as if she’d had too much to drink and too little to eat. She should have been afraid of having him this close, being uncertain of his intentions. But the song had seeped into her bones, had woven itself with the fiber of her being. She feared nothing with the music filling her ears. All her worries felt distant, as if they belonged to another person or were only a half-remembered dream after waking.
“As we are here, you will drink not of the faery cup nor eat from their table.”
His words rushed over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she tingled as if she’d been dunked in cold water. Without intending to, she found herself nodding along. He let go of her ears and smiled, but his face was ashen, and the hollows of his cheeks more sunken than before. She’d seen that sickly look on patients at Elk Grove after long stints in the room without water, sunlight, food, or sleep. A human pushed to their absolute limits. He had said he needed to replenish his magic. Had he used up what little he had left to stop the song’s effect on her?
“The small courts celebrate the Thorn Moon each month, and many bring humans for their entertainment, so you won’t look too out of place. But you must stay close to me. They will do their best to try and ensorcell you.”
Her head ached. Small court? Dances and Thorn Moons? She shook her head again. Mr. Thorn alighted onto a mossy rock in the creek. A row of them acted as a bridge across to the other side. He held a hand out to her once again. The creek burbled as she teetered there. Could she do this? The song called to her, although more distant than before.
“Lady Thornton?” Mr. Thorn asked.
Surely this was madness. And yet nothing had ever felt more right. The tips of her fingers brushed against Mr. Thorn’s, and he pulled her onto the slick, mossy rocks. She wobbled on unsteady feet, the hand clutching the dagger held out for balance. Mr. Thorn grasped her by her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. Her heart thundered against the steady rhythm of his, and their eyes met. For the first time, she didn’t fear the touch of another. He could not hurt her. Mr. Thorn looked away and cleared his throat. He hopped onto the next rock and helped her leap to the next, keeping his eyes averted. It was so utterly absurd that laughter bubbled out of her. To think the man she’d believed a killer would give her comfort in this strange place.
Mr. Thorn turned back to smile in reply. It made him even more charming. On the opposite bank, her shoes sank into the mud and dirtied the hem of her skirt. She didn’t care; she’d never felt more alive.
Faces watched them from the trees. Not the same glowing eyes from before. But the trees themselves. Elegant women, hair coiffed, and the color of green leaves, the folds of their gowns made out of bark. Catherine stared at them in wide-eyed wonder.
“You heard their songs before. What did you think?” Mr. Thorn asked her.
“Beautiful,” Catherine said in an awed whisper.
They shook their branches, and their song swelled around her as gentle as floating upon a bed with the softest down covers.
Mr. Thorn laughed, and it was husky and pleasant. “I think they are pleased.”
A girl with a small sharp nose, round black eyes, and an owl mask pushed back on her head, darted past them, and stooped for a moment at a small pool of water. She dipped her long fingers into the water, splashed it on her face, and dunked in her bird feet. Catherine did a double take. She must have audibly gasped because the girl turned to look at her with golden owl-like eyes and tilted her head to one side as she observed her. The owl child scurried away as they approached the pool. She headed toward the bonfire where the dancing happened. Mr. Thorn didn’t expect her to dance, did he? She was never skilled at dancing.
“Before we see the queen, we must wash,” Mr. Thorn leaned in to whisper in her ear, and her skin prickled with his close proximity.
“Queen?” she gasped and looked down at her muddy boots and dirty hem. She was in no state to meet a queen, fae, or otherwise.
He chuckled again. “Don’t worry, the spring washes all away.” He gestured toward the pool.
Water sprung up from an unseen source in the pool, and the lip was lined with smooth river stones. After tucking the dagger into her bodice, she dipped her hands into cool crisp water and splashed her face. Mr. Thorn shed his boots and washed his feet, then looked to her as if she should do the same. She did as instructed and removed her shoes and stockings, and washed her hands and feet in the chilly water. And it was as Mr. Thorn had said, the water sluiced off all the grime without scrubbing.
They left their shoes behind and joined the throng of revelers.She walked on the mossy ground, her toes curling in it, reveling in the sensation. She’d never walked barefoot out of doors apart from when she had been young enough for it to be charming. At the center of the garden, a bright bonfire glowed, its embers dancing on the wind.
To one side, musicians played instruments made of leaves and glimmered with golden light from the bonfire. Fae creatures gathered along tables, burdened by platters of glistening fruits in crystal bowls, steaming platters of bread and fish, and meats dripping with juices. Catherine turned her gaze away as to not be tempted.
A man with a crown made of a bird’s nest talked animatedly to a woman with a hawk nose and a cloak of feathers. A woman with clever fox eyes wearing tawny pelts with hoods devoured a squirming mouse whole. Catherine turned away, her head swiveling this way and that trying to take it all in. Many wore empty-eyed masks pushed back on their heads, so lifelike it seemed they merely needed to pull them down to resume the forms of animals they once were.
She felt their hungry gazes as they passed them by. She was grateful for Mr. Thorn and stayed close enough to him that their shoulders brushed. In her other hand, she clutched the dagger. Given a chance, she had no doubt any one of these fae creatures wouldn’t hesitate to swallow her whole.
At the far end of the clearing, a woman sat upon a throne carved from glimmering crystals and white stone. Her pale, silver hair looked as if it had been woven from webs of moonlight. Her skin was pale as cream, and her opaque gown shifted in the firelight, glittering like gems.
“That is the Queen of the Twilight Court. We must make our greetings to her. It will be to her pleasure we dance,” Mr. Thorn said to her.
“Dance?” Catherine gulped. She’d feared as much. She’d never learned to dance. When other girls were having their debuts, she was falling asleep to the screams of the other patients at Elk Grove. She shook her head, dispelling the bad memories.
“Don’t worry. I’m an excellent lead,” Mr. Thorn said with a cheeky smile. They weaved their way to the front of the crowd, where a line of supplicants was similarly giving their greetings to the Twilight Queen.
Catherine watched her between her lashes. The Twilight Queen twirled a crystal topped staff between long fingers. She waved away the pair of tree women who came before them. Ray bowed, and Catherine followed his lead, keenly aware of her humanity.
