LITTLE FAE’S RIDING BULL
MARILYN BARR
CHAPTER ONE
LILYFAIR
“This is all the money the hucows could scrape together? Excellent,” says my father…or as everyone else calls him: King Marigold XVI of Magmell. “They will turn on one another as soon as the first goblin hops their fence. Then we will swoop in to save the day.”
“Yes, they are woefully short,” sneers Maple. I don’t like Maple. He’s one of Father’s most trusted advisors, so I’m supposed to like him, but I can’t. Ever since I came of age, he’s leered at me like I’m a slice of cake instead of the little Fae he used to carry around the castle on his shoulders. Whoever marries me will be the next king, and I hope that’s all Maple wants from me…but the lustful expression on his face when he sees me says otherwise. “I left them considering the missive you wrote, requesting a hubull in lieu of more gold.”
“So quickly? I thought they would try one more scheme to raise the money before turning on themselves.”
“Oh no, my liege,” Maple says in a syrupy sweet voice that makes my insides crawl. It’s the tone he uses with me. “Your wax seal strikes fear in the hearts of all creatures from the mighty centaur to the humble woodlyn nymph.”
“Can’t be that easy though,” Father replies with big spaces between his words. I can’t see his expression from where I hide under the table, but I imagine he’s tugging his beard and frowning.
He must have forgotten I was under here, sewing my latest doll, when Maple entered the dining room. The Seelie Castle has many dining rooms, but Father prefers the third one for his morning tea. As I’m the first awake each morning, I eat first and then grab the day’s sewing to sit under the table. Just being around my father’s calm, secure energy makes me happy. It doesn’t matter if he’s interacting with me, someone else, or just sitting quietly. I hear the energy someone gives off much louder than their voices.
“The hucow herd has had a string of bad fortune lately,” Maple says with an evil chuckle. The solid oak table creaks over my head as he leans on it. His voice lowers to a whisper. “They’ve been without leadership for some time, and the two young hucows that I thought would rise to the occasion have disappeared. My sources say Bessy threw herself into a leprechaun’s servitude and proudly wears his yoke around Magmell—quite the scandal—but that’s not the worst of it. Daisy, the other brainy cow, has been locked in the orc’s fortress for over a year. The herd isn’t certain she’s still alive.”
“How dreadful,” Father says with true concern in his voice…unlike Maple. “We can’t depend on an orc crashing their fences if they already have a hucow of their own. Orcs triple in strength when supplementing their diet with hucow milk. But as long as they don’t break the poor girl, one hucow should sustain them. They’ve had her long enough that the whole horde will be jacked up on milk. The herd taking her back by force is out of the question. Our flimsy peace accord with the orcs may be in jeopardy, too. The Seelie army has a chance to withstand an orc attack. The hubulls do not.”
“There are more threats to the cows than just orcs. Centaurs, goblins, ogres?—”
“And apparently, leprechauns,” Father adds with a sigh. He must not want to blackmail the hucow herd, so why is he doing it? It doesn’t cost the Fae to enchant an object like a fence, so why do the cows have to pay for it? What do they have that Father wants so badly? “Did the herd ask for our help in negotiating with the leprechaun for their sister?”
“No, rumor has it she’s smitten with the little guy. Seelie knows why when she has her pick of the hubulls in the herd. Why settle for one little cock when she had a herd of them at her beck and call?”
“Not everything is about sex, Maple.”
“I’m sorry, sire. I forgot how much you advocate for love matches.”
“And my hope is that my Lilyfair grows to have one of her own. Keep the pressure on the herd. You are doing this kingdom a great service, Maple.” Father’s reply warms my heart. As long as he sits on the throne, I’ll never be forced to marry Maple—or any male I don’t see fit.
Maple’s heels clack out of the dining room. I swear he started wearing them when I grew taller than him. Even with them, he’s a foot shorter than the dungeon guard who enters the dining room.Giggle, bedding Maple would be like the hucow bedding the leprechaun in that regard.
“Sirus stayed dead, your grace,” says the guard without greeting my father first. This must be grave news for him to speak before kissing the ring. His blue tunic dangles at the table’s side as he bows. I shrink behind the far table leg, so he doesn’t accidentally see my spying. I don’t mean to listen to my father’s confidential conversations. He just forgot where I was…because I have no other place to be.
“How did he die? You can’t just say he stayed dead after I ordered a necromancer to reanimate him and not explain what happened. The future of our kingdom rests on his shoulders, and he just…died.”
“We contacted the necromancer at your request?—”
“And?”
“He declared the hubull’s death a suicide. Apparently, there is nothing he could do for a suicide case.”
“Except give us a definitive cause of death!” My father’s outburst shakes the table and sends a shiver of fear down my spine. I had no idea we had a hubull in the dungeon. Why would a prisoner be so important to my father? If he’s a prisoner, why not let him die, so we don’t have to feed him?
“He swallowed a piece of glass, sire.” The guard’s voice is small, like he’s scared of how Father will react. His boots shuffle next to me with nervous energy. The air is electric with anticipation. Will my father’s temper explode at this guard? I’ve never seen Father angry, let alone about to explode at a member of staff. “The necromancer ruled it a suicide, so he wasn’t forced to swallow the glass.”
“But how did he get the glass? Don’t gulp my air in fear—that didn’t require an answer. A threat to the hubull is a threat to Lilyfair, so have the necromancer question every guard who came in contact with the hubull, then instruct them to report their findings to me, personally.”
“But, sire? The sun will burn the necromancer to a crisp. He only agreed to examine the hubull because the dungeons are underground. How will I arrange such a meeting?”
“I will go to the dungeons,” Father declares in his royal way. “Don’t you worry about my magic underground when I have my loyal guards. Besides, my body hasn’t rotted away to old age, as is the way of the Fae, so I’m sure my fists will make up for any sparkle that dims. Make it so.”
“Yes, sire,” the guard whispers. His footsteps out are triple the speed of those he used to enter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he came down with food poisoning and was scurrying to relieve himself.
