CHAPTER TWELVE
DAPHNE
On Saturday, I arrive at a popular park on the outskirts of town. The vast grassy field is edged with trees before a picturesque backdrop of rolling hills and towering mountains, which makes it an attractive destination for picnicking couples. Today, however, the verdant field has been transformed into something else. Colorful tents have been erected across the lawn. Scents of food stalls and strains of music fill the air.
I hover outside the park’s entrance, shoulders hunched, as I watch guests filter onto the grounds. My pulse rackets at the sight of so many people. The sounds. The scents. Monty’s letter had informed me that our experiment would take place at the park and that the park would play host to a carnival all weekend, but I can only prepare myself so far. Experiencing a social event is always far more overwhelming than I expect.
At least the spring weather is mild, despite the sun shining high overhead. A gentle breeze carries fresh mountain air while fluffy white clouds offer abundant shade. That’s one consolation to make up for the sweat that prickles my brow, courtesy of my growing anxiety.
I nibble my bottom lip and shift my feet. Do I look strange standing here alone? Is there a better place to wait for Monty? I keep my eyes on the ground, not wanting to stare at everyone who walks past, yet unsure how else I’ll know when Monty arrives?—
“You wore a dress.” I latch onto the sound of his voice, lifting my gaze to find him strolling toward me from the long line of coach traffic on the street. He’s dressed in a full suit today, his hands adorned in gloves. His cravat is only loosely tied, but I suppose he wouldn’t be Monty if some part of his attire wasn’t askew. His pale hair is as roguish and dashing as ever with its messy waves.
My nerves settle with every step he draws closer to me. “Of course I wore a dress. It was your idea, wasn’t it? You said to wear the finest day dress I own with fashionable shoes and lace gloves, so I have.”
I flick my gloved wrist toward my ensemble. Since I rarely go out aside from work, most of my wardrobe consists of comfortable slacks, billowy blouses, form-fitting waistcoats, and the occasional skirt. Though I do have a dress or two, including the pink day dress I’m wearing now. It’s on the plain side, merely linen and lace with pearl buttons down the sleeves and back, but it’s appropriate for today’s mostly human crowd. I still don’t fully grasp human fashion, and my tastes tend to be either too comfortable or too bold with nothing in between. Hence my one purposefully in-between dress.
“I don’t recall agreeing to take fashion advice from you in our bargain,” I say.
He stops before me, lips quirked in a sideways smile. “Yet you obeyed my every suggestion. Such a good girl.”
My stomach takes an unexpected tumble at his teasing praise.
“Count fashion as part of our case study from now on,” he says, then holds out his elbow. “You know how to properly walk with a man in public, do you not, Daffy Dear?”
I glower at him but place my hand in the crook of his arm. “It may shock you to hear this, but I once studied etiquette. So, yes, I know how to walk with a man. Though one would think simply walking wouldn’t require so much forethought.”
“Yes, well, walking is neverjustwalking in human society. Especially not for a lady seeking courtship.”
“Right,” I say with a sigh as Monty guides me into the fray of guests and onto the park grounds. I tense as the bodies around us grow denser and the scents and music grow stronger.
“When did you study etiquette?” Monty asks. It’s not a question I want to answer, but at least it distracts me from the sea of stimuli assaulting me. His voice is like a tether to calm, the focal point in a chaotic painting. Something to let my attention rest on in a sea of clashing colors.
“I, uh, attempted to debut in high society ten years ago. It didn’t go well.”
Monty stares down at me with a furrowed brow, and I can tell he wants to know more.
Before he can ask, I say, “What did you do last night? It was Friday, so did you fight at the club? You didn’t damage my merchandise again, did you?” I say the last part with a poke to his arm.
He rolls his eyes. “I fought. I lost. Yourmerchandiseis a little worse for wear, but I doubt that will get in the way of our next modeling session.”
“Our next session is in color. How can I accurately depict Alexander’s skin tone if you’re covered in purple splotches? Is that perhaps the real reason you’re dressed so nicely, gloves and all?”
“I lost in the first round, so damage was minimal.”
I notice he avoided answering my question in full, but as we reach the first carnival attraction, my attention shifts from him to our surroundings—my new focal point in this cacophony. Outside a brightly colored tent stands a towering fae, their skin made of rough bark, their fingers twining branches. Their face is merely a collection of vines that form a lipless mouth and sockets filled with glossy black eyes. Their hair is a mass of moss and leaves.
“Step inside and witness the marvels of fate,” the fae says. “Mistress Maythorn can read the lines on your palm as if they were words in a book. Will you be lucky in love? Make a magnitude of money?”
I tighten my grip on Monty’s arm, worried the tree fae might scoop me up and usher me inside the tent against my will, but they do no such thing, they only call out to the next cluster of guests. As we proceed, I notice several more tree fae up ahead, either standing outside tents or pushing confection carts. Some are tall and very much treelike as the first fae was, while others are slender and youthful with humanoid bodies and leafy hair. Others are somewhere in between with ancient visages of weathered bark but still somewhat humanoid.
My anxiety fizzles away, shifting into fascination. I glance at Monty. “It’s a dryad carnival?”
“Indeed it is. The Wandering Trees Carnival is a famous attraction, and a blessing to any court it travels through. This park and the surrounding vegetation will be lusher than ever after this weekend.”
I daresay he’s right. Dryads are tree spirits and are known for encouraging the growth and health of plant life. According to my landlady, my apartment’s former tenant was a dryad, which explains the tree growing in the middle of my parlor.
“I’ve never been to a carnival,” I say, “much less a dryad one.”
