“‘Tis an honor, my lady. As it was my honor to care for your mother.” I was taken aback to see tears gathering in her eyes, but Oberon merely gave her a patient smile and steered me away, up the stairs again.
“Your return to the Arden means a great deal to many of the Fair Folk,” he said softly.
My reply came out tinged with unintended bitterness. “Because they think I can heal the Rot?”
“Because of how much Lyric meant to her people.”
I fell into a sheepish silence as we continued to climb. On the next landing, Oberon held his arm out to indicate that I should be the one to open the door, this one carved with dragonflies, grasshoppers, moths, and crickets. I walked through holding my breath, but released it in a low gasp once I was inside.
The half-moon shaped room was truly like something from a dream, or a storybook. Warm, red-wood walls and a low ceiling created a feeling of coziness, which was only augmented by the merry fire crackling in a squat, copper stove. Atop the stove, a kettle poured out gyres of steam. The long, curved wall opposite the door was covered by a tangled web of sturdy branches, which had been flattened on top to form shelves and were broken only by two slitted windows. These branches also twisted around the top of a wisteria-curtained archway leading onto a wide balcony. To my right, a large desk had been carved out of the wall, with moreshelves above it, and to my left was a magnificent bed, made from more smooth, twisting branches, which appeared to grow from the interior of the tree itself. They formed themselves into four posts and an intricately knotted headboard. Curling up the posts to create a canopy over the mattress was a lush crop of woodbine, which lent its delicate smell to the entire room. At the foot of the bed, another knot of branches formed something that looked like a wardrobe, and beside it sat the trunk of clothing Arachne had given me.
I walked into the center of the room and spun slowly, taking in every detail with a lump in my throat. “It’s…incredible. And it’s mine?”
Oberon nodded. “I…could not bear to give you your mother’s old room, but some of the things here belonged to her. She did love to collect.” He motioned to the shelves, which had been stacked with books and other small treasures. I walked along them slowly, running my fingertips over the book spines, then the shells, rocks, antlers, bones, and snakeskins. A few things, I recognized as having come from Nottingham—a little glass dragonfly, like the ones sold in a fancy shop near the cathedral, several coins stamped with old King Henrik’s grizzled face, and a small, tattered Athenian flag. I smiled, imagining my human father bringing these little pieces of the human world back to his faerie wife.
“It’s perfect,” I murmured.
“You must be exhausted,” Oberon said. “I’ll have Ceres bring you a meal. Your clothes are all here, but if you need anything more, I will send Puck to Arachne’s for it.”
“And I’m free to leave…whenever I wish?”
Oberon pursed his lips, a line appearing between his eyes. “You are certainly not a prisoner here, but I would ask that you keep me apprised of your comings and goings. And that you avoid spending more time than necessary with…certain individuals.”
“Like who?” I asked, turning to face him.
“Marina,” he sighed, “I am only trying to protect you, and others. Titania is obviously well aware that there are still certain humans, and those with human blood, who cannot leave our domain, but drawing more attention to the fact could endanger them. If you care about the people you met in the Hollow, you will avoid it.”
“Oh…” I muttered, glancing out at the balcony. “Is she watching me, then?”
“I can never say for certain what she knows or does not know, but she has eyes everywhere.”
“And what about your eyes?” I asked. “The ones you’ve had following me my entire life. Will they be watching me here in the Arden too now?”
“I left you at Locksley because I imagined it safer than anywhere else, but I was never going to let you be completely alone, Marina. You are still my flesh and blood, no matter where you are in the world.”
“That wasn’t an answer, so I am forced to assume that your little minion and his fireflieswillcontinue to spy on me.”
Oberon visibly cringed, then went to stand behind one of two armchairs situated beside the balcony door. He gripped the back of it, clearly agitated. “I should apologize for Puck. He can be…overzealous when it comes to you. I never truly gave him another purpose, which I realize now might have been a mistake.”
“You could have at least taught the creature some manners,” I said with a soft laugh.
“Well, now you are home, so I will return him to the Arden and find you a more suitable bodyguard. Perhaps Antenor—”
The implication of his words rushed over me like freezing water. “Return him to the Arden? You mean…kill him?”
“Puck is not alive,” said Oberon with a shrug, “and so cannot be killed, as you or I could.”
“So, you will…take him apart?”
“You needn’t concern yourself with his fate. He has become difficult to manage and I would not burden you with him.” The faerie king’s tone was placating, but also flippant, as if we were talking about a tool or a toy that had been put together wrong. Anger burst in my chest and I clenched my fists again.
“He isyourcreation!” I said, trying to keep my tone in check. “Has your immortal life made you so cold and detached from us lesser beings?”
Oberon eyed me carefully for a moment. When his answer came, it was soft. “No. It was your mother’s death which caused that.”
My rage slipped when I saw the pain etched into every line of his face—a yoke he had borne entirely alone for two decades. Something that had changed him so inextricably, all the other centuries of his life felt light in comparison.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I did not mean to…”
