Impossibly tall, with skin so inky black, he seemed to consume the light around him, Oberon walked onto the dais and watched as the Fair Folk bowed in unison. I dipped my body into a low curtsey out of habit, but my eyes remained fixed on the imposing figure before me. He wore an intricate crown made from bare branches, knotted together with green summer vines and stalks of pale lupine. The entire thing was woven into his own snow-white hair, which fell in neat ropes nearly down to his knees. Along the lengths of hair were fixed beads, bangles, feathers, twigs twisted into beautiful knots, and other tiny treasures. Silver embroidery along the shoulders of his heavy, black robes formed the same bear’s head symbol the guards wore. But it was his face that truly caught my attention. I knew fay lived much longer and aged slower than humans, but crows’ feet adorned the corner of Oberon’s dark eyes, and laugh lines framed his handsome mouth along with a neat, gray beard.
“How old is your master?” I whispered to Devil.
“He has never deigned to tell me, but according to the stories and histories, he must have lived at least…six centuries by now.”
“And what of—” I stopped mid-sentence, the answer to my question having appeared in a swirl of leaves at the other side of the dais. “Titania…”
Chapter seventeen
The Moth & Her Flame
Any word for etherealbeauty I’d once known abandoned me. Therewereno words for such a creature as her. Equally as tall as Oberon, but warm and sultry to his shimmering darkness, with smooth, umber skin and a loose waterfall of tightly coiled, raven-black hair. The crown atop her head was made from spring wildflowers, set between every shade of autumn leaf imaginable, with delicate plaits of hanging moss tangled into her hair. From her back grew a pair of magnificent butterfly wings—rich, sunshine-yellow, with velvet black trimming the edges and splotching the centers. Her amber eyes swept over the crowd first, then exchanged a knowing look with Hippolyta, but avoided her husband entirely as she made her way onto the dais.
“They are…everything I’d imagined them to be,” I breathed, my heart nearly aching at how beautiful the pair of them were. I supposed it was a natural reaction to seeing such unearthly splendor for the first time, particularly as a human, but it felt strangely bone-deep. Oberon extended a long-fingered hand to his queen and she took it, still without looking at him, and they descended the front of the dais side-by-side. As they walked out of the stone circle, the crowd parted and Devil’s hand closed gently around my upper arm, pulling me back, but ensuring I still had an unobstructed view.
The Fair Folk called out blessings, tossing leaves or flowers from their own outfits onto the dancefloor. Titania’s gown, layers of pale yellow gossamer edged in black and held around her neck by a bronze torque in the likeness of a dragonfly, began to float around her, as though she were being carried into the air by the breeze itself. Shadowy shapes formed at Oberon’s back, coalescing into a pair of enormous, black bat wings with silvery-gray talons. The same shadows formeda pair of silver-gray ram horns on his head, which sat just below his crown. In the center of the dome, beneath the oculus, he turned to face his wife. But it was not a smile or look of affection they shared. He spoke something to her in the fay language, and Titania’s mouth pulled into a frown before offering a sharp retort. Instead of moving closer, they kept one another at arm’s length as they took up their positions—his fingers resting lightly on her waist, hers on his shoulder, hands clasped stiffly together and eyes averted.
I couldn’t help but wring my hands at the oddly distressing image. “I don’t understand. All…all the storybooks say the faerie king and his queen are a picture of love and devotion.”
When Devil answered, his voice carried a note of sadness. “They were…once upon a time.”
The music began, and so did Oberon and Titania’s dance. Each carefully avoided the other’s gaze while the flowers and leaves that had been tossed beneath their feet were picked up by a magyk whirlwind, enveloping the two of them in a spinning mantle. An inexplicable but profound sense of loss washed over me, as if I’d been left out in the cold to shiver, and I turned to look at Devil and my question came out in a whisper.
“What happened?”
“Your human war,” he answered, “and the invasion of the Arden. It took something very precious from them, and in the midst of grief, they tipped their arrows in poisonous blame. Wounded and alone, they never found their way back to one another.”
“That’s…terrible. But what—”
“Hush. Watch the wheel turn.”
I fell silent. The music picked up speed, the whirlwind around the two dancers now made entirely of Oberon’s silvery shadows mixed together with bright pinpricks of warm, familiar light which spilled from Titania’s fingertips.
“Is she a Lightweaver too?” I asked excitedly.
“Yes, and Oberon is called Shadowspinner. It is a gift more common amongst the Pallasian Court fay, where my master was born.” Dipping his head, Devil murmured in my ear again. “He is the lord of shadows and stillness, she is the lady of light and of change. He is the night and the day, the winter and the summer, when the earth slumbers beneath cold or heat. She is dusk and dawn, the autumn and the spring, the shift from one state to another. She helps the snake shed its skin and brings forth acorns from the oak tree, while he sets the bear to sleep and shields seeds beneath the ground. She is movement and flame, wind under the wings of a falcon. He is the silence of darkness, prowling like a wolf, waiting andwatching. Together, they bring balance to the Arden. Everything in a perpetual, perfect rhythm. Never one without the other…”
I could scarcely breathe as the pair became encased in a cocoon of their own magyk, which suddenly burst apart. Oberon’s shadows dissipated instantly, but Titania’s light flew out in the shape of a pinwheel, showering the crowd with pale sparks and eliciting a loud cheer. As soon as it was over, however, they released each other and turned away, each moving to opposite sides of the Bower. They walked the edge of the crowd, stopping to greet their citizens, laughing and smiling gently. My heart began to beat out an erratic rhythm when I realized that Oberon was moving in our direction.
I anxiously smooth the front of my gown and adjusted the torque around my neck. “What do I say to him?”
“What would you say if you met your own Prince?”
“I’d tell him to go fuck himself,” I hissed.
Devil chuckled. “As I said before, you may tell Lord Oberon anything you like.”
It was far too late to debate with myself though, because the faerie king came to stand in front of us, his dark eyes boring into me. On instinct, I dropped into another curtsey.
“So, Puck, this is your healer?” he asked in a smooth, deep voice. Although he spoke to Devil, his gaze stayed on me, but I could not hold it.
“Yes, Lord,” said Devil quietly, his hand settling on my bare shoulder, “although I think she prefers gardening to healing. Don’t you, May?”
A rush of heat passed through my body and I could hardly draw breath enough to say, “I-I do what is asked of me…to help…”
“And if I asked for a dance?” Oberon said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, I am n-not certain I could…” I trailed off and, without thinking, leaned back into Devil.
