He speared me with his gaze. “You have permitted them to starve. That is why your power is weaker here.”
And Una had displeased them, taken no Unseelie as her lover. Lord Elidor might have been the hands that poisoned her, but he was surely not the only fae to feel such resentment. What dissent, nay, what sedition might have brewed here in this nest of vipers as a result?
“You wished to know what you are doing wrong? Ignoring half of your kingdom for a start.”
I swallowed my revulsion and shook my head. “How can I have ignored them? I have never even seen this place before.”
Amadan laughed, and it echoed through the marshland, picked up by the chirping frogs and singing crickets, or other marsh dwellers I could not bear to think about. “Obviously not,” he said. “Nor did I expect you would. Your pretty seneschal does not like to get his hands dirty, does he? He no doubt turns his nose up at such things.”
It was cruel, his mockery of Lyel, and right after he nearly bound him and Lileas with his geas. I did not take kindly to such cruelty.
But perhaps I must come to embrace cruelty in the end.
“You must see these things if you have any hope of becoming the queen we need.” He gave his steed a slap on the rump, and it grew gills, fins around its hooves and behind the ears. Its mane and tail flowed like sea wrack behind it as it raced for the river and leapt in.
Soon it was completely submerged.
Kelpie,I thought.Dark Fool, do you count yourself among the Unseelie as well?
“The river,” I muttered. “’Twas only to the knee moments ago.”
“Blood shed on earth does ever flow,” Amadan said. “This river shall never run dry.” He opened his arms wide, turning about in a slow circle, while his cloak billowed. “Come out, my people, Unseelie ones. Come, greet your queen.”
From the rotted trees and the hideous marsh, they came: water wraiths, the centaur-like, skinless nucklavee, and the brollachan. Redcaps stood in attendance, twisting their bloody hats in their hands.
I forced myself to consider the mottled and wrinkled and mucky flesh of those around me. Not all were hideous. Some of the marsh wraiths were sylphlike and flawless in appearance; some of the kelpies threw off their equine appearance and stood as handsome men. Yet there was an insidiousness to their beauty, like a silken tapestry laid over a bottomless pit.
I smiled weakly, feeling less like a queen than ever. “My people,” I said. “It is”—I choked on “lovely,” “pleasant,” and “a joy”—“an honor to meet you all.”
“Your people.” Amadan smirked, and I hoped none of the creatures present would notice. “Yes, they are your people, Majesty. Faery is not only the pretty, and it is never ‘the good.’ If the Aos Sith are your flowers—and remember, dear, they’ve proven to have thorns—then these are your maggots.” He gestured at the redcaps and boggarts surrounding him. “Your maggots and your worms. Those who turn the corner from death into life again. They have never pretended to be otherwise. If you are a healer, you know life and death are two sides of the same coin, and for all your talk of life, you neglect its opposite at your peril.”
My blood receded from my skin, and a deeper chill filled me than I had ever known.
Forty-Seven
The realm of the Unseeliefolk loomed before me, shadowy and cold as the pit of the Dark Fool’s heart.
A crawling sensation moved up my limbs, as if tiny mites had crept inside my clothing, and I had to fight against the impulse to swat them away. They were an illusion, nothing but a mortal-reared fae’s reaction to the unfamiliar, the alien, and the corrupt. I understood well why Lyel had never brought me to see where the Unseelie dwelt. I was far from ready before.
But was I ready now?
Amadan knew I was accustomed to creatures with two eyes, four limbs, and a relatively standard number of fingers and toes. Beings of far less symmetry greeted me now. Some had eyes spilling out of their sockets; others skin raw and red as the meat hanging in a butcher’s stall, mottled green and toadlike, or no skin at all. Even the lovelier here, the tempting kelpies and beauteous Leannan Sith, had no gentleness about them, but clustered around us hungrily, their need tasting of rot, corrosion, and decay. It became hard for me to breathe.
My emotions stirred; I longed to summon a gentle summer rain, to wash away the muck and gore.
I had to remind myself the muck and gore belonged.
I must stand among it and play the gracious queen, waving my hand and smiling while my gorge rose at the squelching noises and scent of the blood-marsh. I, who could not lie with my words, must do so now with my expression. I dared not so much as wrinkle my nose, shrink away, or shudder, lest I cause the Unseelie offense.
Diplomacy towards the monstrous. Nothing had prepared me for this.
They areyourmonstrous. They are part of Faery and thus part of you.
The Unseelie swarmed around us, like a colony of ants around a crumb of honeyed bread. Green limbs with too many joints snaked out of the reeds and climbed up my steed’s legs. A creature like a dark butterfly landed on my torso, its hideous proboscis poised to pierce my skin. I swatted it away, with a sizzle like fat poured into the fire.
How do I make peace with this—with them?
At least, they seemed to intend me no harm.
