Love,
Tiberius
KIERAN
To: Julian Blackthorn, Master of Blackthorn Hall
From: The Court of Unseelie
Dear Brother,
It always brings a smile to my face to receive correspondence from Blackthorn Hall, and this occasion is no exception. Mark has communicated to me your question, and I am pleased to answer it, although the answer may not, I am afraid, please you overmuch.
As you know, the borders of Faerie are hazy and irregular, and no man can know how vast its acres, for it flows on to the north, south, east, and west without end. And as you also know, such an expanse may contain within it unknown thousands of denizens, from the smallest sprite on its fairyfly mount, to the grandest ogre who everogred down ogre streetMARK.STOP IT. Ahem.
My apologies. I stepped away from the compositionof this epistle for only a moment and a certain fellow of both our acquaintance has made free with my pen.
As I was saying, Faerie is exceedingly expansive and its inhabitants without number, and so it is very unlikely I would have knowledge of a stray member of the Folk. I say this not to scold you, only to lower your expectations, as your question is a bit like my asking you if you knew someone whose only commonality with you is that they also have lived in Los Angeles.
But as it happens, I have lowered your expectations only to make their fulfillment the more gratifying, for I do, in fact, know the phouka of whom you speak!
Or rather, I know of him. His name is Socks MacPherson (though very clearly that is not his True Name, for no loving mother of any faerie sort would name a child Socks) and he has some renown in the courts as a milliner. He specializes in hats devised for those whose features may cause difficulty with a normal fit (e.g., horns, cat ears, bat ears, fox ears, hair made of snakes).
Alas, he is allegiant to the Seelie Court, as he holds a royal warrant to produce his wares for the Queen. Because of this, it would be impossible for me to seek out MacPherson for any business beyond the commissioning of a hat, and I do not need a hat, as they do not fit well over crowns.
That said, I believe I can still help you. I will send word to my brother Adaon, and ask that he invite you to the Seelie Court for a friendly meeting. There you will beable to meet with MacPherson himself. I authorize you to offer him a gift which he doubtless accept in exchange for his assistance: one favor from the Unseelie King. (Me.)
I provide this assistance from the bottom of my heart, brother Julian. But I would ask you for a small courtesy in return: that you tell me about your time in the Seelie Court, with all the detail that you think relevant or interesting. I told Mark I would be asking you this, and he became cross with me and suggested I was attempting to make you my spy. Let me be clear that I am in no way asking you to act on behalf of the Unseelie Court or to violate any confidences from your visit that you wish to keep. I would, however, ask you to pay close attention to everything you see and hear, and provide an account to me, especially anything that the Court would prefer to hide.
As always, I remain your obedient servant. Glory to Kraig.
Kieran
JULIAN
PRIVATE COMMUNIQUE
DO NOT SHARE ON PAIN
OF DEATH
From: Julian Blackthorn of Blackthorn Hall
To: Kieran, King of Unseelie
Well, we’re back from the Seelie Court. Good news: we got the fish slice. Bad news: we didn’t learn very much, and we raised a lot of suspicion. But I’m happy to share the tale with you in the hope you find it informative. I hope that you will consider it sufficient exchange for the favor you now owe a phouka. (I am pretty sure that favor will involve you buying a hat.)
We were nervous about the trip, even with Adaon’s invite—the last time we were in Faerie, things were not great. It was all gray smoke and snow and moths and blasted areas of dead land. All of that seems to be over and done with; Faerie looks healthy again. It was autumnthere, and the ground was covered in fallen leaves, all red and gold.
Anyway, we followed Adaon’s instructions and entered Faerie through an old barrow in Primrose Hill. We ended up in a forest clearing with two big wooden doors rising out of the ground. Adaon was there to meet us, which was nice of him.
But he did not look happy. He hurried over and explained that he had had to tell the Queen we were coming. “There isn’t much that occurs under her roof,” he said, “of which she is unaware. It is how she has maintained her power all this time, in part.”
He looked so miserable that Emma told him it was fine and we weren’t doing anything that the Queen would disapprove of, or even care about. He just kind of shook his head. “One never knows just what her Majesty will care about. Or disapprove of. She has bid me take you both to the throne room upon your arrival, and so that is what I must do.”
Now I began to feel a bit more nervous. I reminded Adaon that he had guaranteed our safety. He said, “By the laws of hospitality, not to mention the Accords, she may not harm you or detain you, if your purpose be virtuous.” But he was shaking his head again.
“Let me guess,” I said. “The Queen has the exclusive power to decide if our purpose is virtuous or not.”
