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“Perhaps that is the way it should be,” I said. I wondered if it was the lack of enemies that drove Macan the Second mad—if it is the cause of other instances of madness among faerie monarchs. Perhaps being too powerful, too unopposed, is a curse in and of itself, leading to boredom and dissipation, and the invention of imaginary enemies whose powers to torment are less limited than those of flesh and blood. Another paper there, I suppose.

Lord Taran glanced from me to Wendell and shrugged. “You are listening to the whims of your wife, and for that I cannot fault you.”

“Whims!” I exclaimed, but Taran had already turned away, seeming uninterested in pursuing the argument. I knew that I had not convinced him at all, or rather I had not convinced him for the reasons I had intended.

Wendell gave me an anxious look, as if fearing some discord remained between us. “You are certain you are happy here? You have no idea how the question kept me up at night.”

He was so worried that I could not help teasing him. “Only one thing shall make me happier.”

His anxiety seemed to increase. “Oh, yes? Please let it not involve my stepmother this time.”

“You still have not given me a tour of the kingdom,” I said. Despite the continued annoyance presented by our audience, I felt the relief of homecoming, the anticipation of rest and familiar comforts, wash over me like sunlight. “Was I not promised a map to every province and a key to every door?”

“Oh, Em.” A smile broke across his face. “I believe you were.”

19th February

Tonight we dined at Lilja and Margret’s—overdue by several days, for I knew they had been anxious for news. Wendell tells me I should stop thinking of the cottage as Lilja and Margret’s—they will be leaving soon, after all, and though they have already promised to return in the summer at my insistence, the cottage will soon be my domain alone. I do not know how much time I will spend in the mortal world, but I can’t deny that having the option of escaping the absurdity of Faerie is comforting; it is one of the best gifts Wendell has given me.

On the subject of gifts, Wendell informed me as we made our way down the hall to the faerie door that he had a surprise for me that evening.

“Is that necessary?” I said with a sigh. “You know I prefer not to be surprised, as a general rule.”

Wendell paused to speak to the small brownie who had run up to him clutching a mug of coffee—these days, Wendell is rarely without a retinue of common fae, who trail after him bearing delicacies and gifts they have made. I am unconvinced that all this fawning is good for his ego, but it is a remarkable thing nevertheless; the small Folk are more accustomed to hiding from the courtly fae, particularly in this realm. Wendell is kind to them at least, and if this kindness remains mixed with some amount of condescension, this is still more improvement than I expected from him.

“You must allow me a little fun once in a while,” he said, following me through the door to Corbann. “I have been so looking forward to this.”

“Well, if you must.” We walked to the cottage gate, and I paused to wait for Shadow to catch up. He has been doing a little better since our grim quest, but I still worried about him. When at last he doddered up to the gate, I knelt to rub his neck.

“Come, dear,” I murmured, my chest filling with a familiar ache. “You shall have your usual blankets by the fire, and first choice of all the courses.”

He licked my hand and his tail gave a solitary thump against the grass.

I turned to find Wendell gazing about the garden with a distracted frown that I recognized well. “You are not thinking of apple trees, I hope,” I said. “Lilja and Margret seem happy to have escaped that unnatural thing you gave them in Ljosland.”

“But it is such a drab little place,” he complained. “Even as cottages go. I could add a pear tree, at least.”

“No,” I said.

“A strawberry patch.”

We spent the next few minutes bickering about it until at last I suggested that he summon a wisteria. He beamed in a way that aroused my instantaneous regret, but it was too late; he placed his hand on the cottage and tapped his fingers against the stone. A vine erupted from the ground and clambered up the wall with an unpleasant, excited sort of energy, splitting itself as it bent around the windows and door until it looked like a many-fingered hand itself, crooked possessively about the cottage. Flowers dangled like fat purple lanterns, dewed petals limned by the hearthlight of the windows.

“Much better,” Wendell said.

I gazed at the place in silent awe. After wrestling with myself for a moment, I said, “You could add one or two more.”

He looked delighted. “That was exactly my own thought!”

I watched as he summoned more vines, taking his time with the placement. It was not so much the flowers themselves I appreciated, but the magic trick. I do not think I shall ever grow tired of that.

Lilja threw the door open at our knock and welcomed us with hugs, followed by Margret, and took our cloaks to hang on the rack. The cottage was filled with the scent of roasted pheasant and more of Margret’s baking—which, I can say without prejudice, has only improved with time, and is not far from rivalling Poe’s.

Naturally the evening began with everyone talking at once, Lilja and Margret full of questions and Wendell full of compliments regarding their improvements to the cottage and the aromas emanating from the kitchen. Shadow, meanwhile, was so happy to see his friends again that he overturned the tray of toasted cheese Margret had prepared for hors d’oeuvres. Somehow I managed to interpose a summary of recent events amidst the chaos.

“Then the queen is—under guard?” Margret asked. We had settled ourselves at the table, apart from Lilja, who was stirring the pot of soup. “But free to roam about?”

I could guess the source of her anxiety. “She is unable to leave Faerie,” I said. “Wendell has bound her to the realm. So you need not worry about her showing up in your garden again.”