“Because time does not pass the same in Faery,” I say, with a wave of my hand. “And we do not weary; why should you?”
Tam Lin scowls. “We cannot eat your food. Not if we want to go home.”
“We cannot imagine why you would want to go home. And yet I fed you plenty of mortal food. You did not starve while in my demesne.” Oft I had the goodies mortals leave out for the brownies gathered for him to eat, or had my hunters catch beasts in the woods of Carterhaugh. “I do not know what you have to complain about. You slept on coverlets of silk in a bower blooming with all the flowers of spring. Every luxury was yours while you remained in the Faery realm. You were the queen’s consort.”
“I was your slave!”
My roses—nay, my minions—wrap themselves around the hapless lordling, Roxburgh’s grandson, de Lyne’s get. They twine themselves up his long legs and around his arms, weaving tendrils over his ears and mouth and twisting into his long dark hair. They do not hurt him; I will not permit that yet. I believe he can even breathe.
I wave my hands, and the roses subside, loosen, and fall around his ankles. I would not have them give any more credibility to his complaint. “You did not seem like a slave,” I tell him. “You came to me willingly enough.”
He blushes again and avoids Janet’s eyes. “Who can ever resist the Faery Queen?”
You can, I think.Both of you are resisting me now.And while I send out a whiff of my magic, the aroma of rose and honeyed wine, I do not go any further. I want them to acquiesce, but I can force nothing. Janet must yield him up of her own free will.
In the distance, far beyond the scope of her mortal hearing, something falls crashing to the ground. A tree. A tree-folk. A giant taken down in his prime. It hardly matters which. It is part of Faery and part of me.
Too many things now have become part of Faery and part of me.
Faery is dying, and I feel myself weaken, bones as mere stems, skin as fragile as cobwebs to the touch. I am glad none of my own people are present to witness these signs of enfeeblement, that they might recall their queen’s half-mortal nature, and think they might take my place.
“And I must finish it, ere Samhain is over. Else all of Faery will be the price.” I meet Janet’s eyes, and let my voice grow soft. “The Faery I have shown you now. Do you wish it to die?”
But Janet sidles up to Tam Lin and does not answer. She does not seem to hear me at all.
Thirty
You never know the weightof mortality until you doff it like a heavy brocade gown at the end of a tiresome ball.
The world, Thomas, everything familiar dropped away. I found myself back in that bonny glen I had first glimpsed on Beltane Eve, not entirely out of Carterhaugh but no longer within it, either.
The Veil thins on Samhain and, for a moment, the two worlds become one. The world of man meets the world of the fae, and it is possible to stand with one foot in both, perceiving little difference between the two.
I had always stood with one foot in both.
I was Una’s lost daughter, born to her from a mortal lover whose name I did not even know.
I was the Faery Queen.
My Bess-self fell to pieces around me; I cried out as my ruddy human skin crackled and curled like dry leaves then floated away. The stench of it filled my senses like sweat and ash, but another aroma rose as well: green growth, honey, and rose. My body stretched, bounteous curves transforming into willowy lightness whether I wished them to or not. I held out my arm and stared in awestruck horror as the iron burns vanished; my skin tingled with renewal, and I marveled at the luminous, poreless perfection left behind. I clutched at my hair, and the red-gold changed to the color of roses, but darker roses than I had ever seen, dipped in wine or in blood.
A prickling of wrongness flashed through me like a thousand silver needles, a sensation of discomfort running beneath my skin.You have worn the face of another for too long. One lives here with more right to that semblance than you.Bess Grieve. This knowledge pulled at me and revolted me at the same time.
I touched the side of my throat and tossed aside the rose that had once been my birthmark. It fell to the ground and planted itself.
Lady, I would gladly pluck that rose.Thomas’s words echoed back to me. It seemed a century since he had first said them; so much had changed since then. He had become mine, but only for a moment.
I had believed our bond would end only with one of our deaths.
But not yet.
Fog gathered thick around us, covering the ground, and then rising, like unquiet spirits from the grave. Though my feet were planted, I drifted like a boat on the tide, pulling away from where Thomas lay wounded upon the forest floor. The mist rose higher and thickened, coalescing into a wall between us. I could still see through it, but my vision blurred.
“Shepherd King!” I cried out, my eyes upon his limp body. The Hunt had vanished, to return to Faery or pursue another quarry, I could not have said. The Dark Fool disappeared as well.
Thomas and I were alone, but not together. He lay upon the other side of a curtain growing ever thicker. The Veil thins at Samhain, but not forever. Even now, when I pressed my hands forward, I felt resistance from the other side.
I had claimed my man. That did not mean Thomas was safe. He had wronged me, abandoned Faery’s queen. I did not yet understand what the rules of fae vengeance might be.
