There were many things Alison recognized: platters of meats, fish, and sausages; great loaves of bread and pretty plaited buns with a sticky-looking glaze; cheeses in many colors, some with delicate veins and others with thick red rinds; steaming bowls of bright vegetables gleaming with broth and butter; and bottles of wine and dark spirits in all shapes and sizes.
But there were also many things Alison had never seen before: strange-looking fruits in shades of sparkling blue, some of them covered in what appeared to be rabbit fur; pie dishes that seemed to hum with energy; goblets of golden liquid that fizzed and bubbled; and flowers braided into pastries, including the poisonous foxgloves Aras had warned them about.
“Come, friends,” said the fairy that had greeted them to the revelers gathered near the fire. They weren’t just fairies, Alison realized. There were all sorts of people here: humans, elves, dwarves, and even orcs and some of what she guessed were smaller folk based on their features: pixies, hobgoblins, and sprites, although all were around the same size in this space. “Our guests have arrived at last.”
A number of people came over to meet them before taking their seats at the table: a young dwarven man with red hair and a lazy smile; a pixie or maybe a korrigan (it was hard to tell without the height difference) with iridescent wings and a haughty laugh; a pair of human women, drunk on love or something like it; and several more fairies, their hair in all the colors of the rainbow.
Alison and Keir approached the table, unsure of where to begin.
“Much of it is poisonous,” Keir whispered to Alison.
“Ah, of course,” said their fairy host. They took a seat at one end of the table, gesturing to Keir and Alison to take the bench nearest to them. “Mab, if you wouldn’t mind.”
The fairy gestured to another. She looked much like their host, her hair a similar shade of blue, but she wore a long, white gown with beads that twinkled like starlight. “Of course, Genn,” she said simply, and then she flitted over the table and stood behind Keir and Alison, placing a head on each of their shoulders.
They froze, staring at each other in alarm. But Alison felt nothing unusual, and in another moment, the fairy had taken the plates in front of them. She half-walked, half-flew around the table, taking from various dishes until both plates were full.
“These should be to your liking,” she said when she returned. “And there’s nothing there that will harm you, through poison or otherwise.”
Alison’s plate was full of all the things she loved the most, and Keir’s was as well, although they were quite different.
“That’s an incredible gift,” she said to Mab. And then to Keir: “I didn’t know you liked blue cheese.”
“You made such a fuss about it that time, I didn’t want to admit it,” he said sheepishly.
Alison took the fork and knife before her—they were mismatched, like most things here—and dug into her plate. Although it had seemed like far too much at first look, she found that everything was in the perfect proportion for her appetite and preference. When she’d finished, she felt impeccably, pleasantly full.
There was conversation at the other end of the table, but on this side, they had eaten in silence, the fairies watching Alison and Keir closely while they ate their own dinners.
“Is it all to your liking?” the host—Genn—asked.
“Yes, thank you,” said Alison. “Perfectly so. Do you know why we’ve come? I’m afraid we can’t stay long; I’m due to meet with a friend in town.”
“All in good time,” said Genn. “First, we dance.”
They clapped their hands, and the table was clear in an instant.
“Come, friends. It’s time for the dancing,” they said to the gathered crowd.
As the table emptied, Keir asked Genn how they’d known they were coming.
“How does a moth know to follow the moon?” they said. “How does Jenny Greenteeth know who to drown?”
They did not elaborate further, and Alison was frightened to ask them to clarify.
Alison studied the crowd gathered around the bonfire. They were two dozen, maybe three, but the city beyond them must have held many, many more. She wondered how these guests were chosen and what was happening in the strange world beyond her limited view into it.
She was pulled from her wondering by Mab, the fairy who had made their plates. She came along beside Alison and closed her eyes, listening with a smile on her lips.
Alison listened too. The band had not begun to play again, but the air was filled with song: crickets, cicadas, and the nightjar from earlier, churring and chirping on its own.
“A wonderful chorus,” said Mab. “Gennet, play with them.”
Genn took a seat on a log, raising a fiddle into the air. They began to play, and at first, it was an odd little tune. The notes jumped around in rhythm with the night creatures until a melody began to take shape. It wasn’t like the melodies that Alison knew, nothing like the rowdy music of Mr. Smalls, the bard who was still hanging around the inn of Herot’s Hollow despite his repeated claims that he would be leaving any day now. It was organic and earthy, almost indistinguishable from the sounds of nature.
At least, it started that way. Several others joined Gennet, and as they added their instruments to the tune—a flute, several drums, and some sort of large stringed instrument played with a bow that Alison had never seen before—the tune grew into a lively dance.
Alison was concerned about the delay, hoping she wouldn’t be too late to meet Rinka, but they had come this far, and it seemed a shame to leave before they had any answers. “What do you say?” asked Alison, her hand held out for Keir. The others around them had begun to dance in a dozen different and wild ways, no set of steps alike.
