Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (38 page)

The Fey girl shrugs, her delicate shoulders poking out from her gold-and-blue dress. “How should I know?” she replies,
holding me still. “Maybe he wants you as a concubine. It’s been a while since he’s bedded a human.”

I sputter, and Blanchefleur uses that moment to apply her unguent. The moment the cream touches my skin, I feel a sweet, warm tingling spread down my body, and I let myself relax.

As the girl resumes her treatment, I scan the Fey crowd. Though they’ve been hunted and many of their kind enslaved, they don’t seem to have a care in the world right now. Or maybe they’re celebrating like there’s no tomorrow because they feel their end is near, a little voice in me says.

In a way, that scares me even more. There’s nothing more dangerous than one who feels cornered, and isn’t that what we’re doing to them? Reducing their territory and hunting them down until they have no choice but to counterattack or become extinct?

“There, that should do it.”

I feel a strange assemblage of leaves and flowers wrapped around my neck like a collar. To my surprise, it doesn’t hurt or itch, but rather feels warm to the touch, a warmth that spreads down to lodge in the pit of my stomach as if I’ve just had a full jar of wine. I hop back onto my feet.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Don’t mention it,” she says with a grimace. “It only makes it worse.”

Blanchefleur hands me a net of flowers and leaves, as well as a dazzling pair of shoes. “Please put this on,” she says.

“What?”

Holding the net before me, I realize it’s, in fact, a dress, as delicate as the one she’s wearing. Definitely not something Sister Marie-Clémence would have approved, but better than the tattered remains of my uniform.

“Is there a more private place for me to change?” I ask.

Blanchefleur smirks, then leads me farther into the depth of the woods, where the music is but a faint trace in the air, like the sweet aftertaste of a cream puff. We stop by a large wooden throne lit up by a single flower-shaped lantern hanging over it. On its cushion sits the black cat, staring straight at me with its golden eyes.

“There you are,” I say, grabbing the feline before it can escape again.

The cat gives a single meow of protest, but then settles comfortably in the crook of my arm.

“Hurry up,” Blanchefleur says, taking the cat away from me and setting it back down. “The moon’s nearly past its zenith.”

“Which means what?” I ask, taking my muddy skirt off.

“That the festivities are almost over,” the Fey says, looking longingly at the dancers.

“You can go ahead,” I say. “I can get back there on my own when I’m ready.”

With an elegant pout, she sits on the ground by the throne instead. “Don’t tempt me,” she says. “There are thousands of Fey out there that would pounce on the chance to kill you if they could.” She lets out a sad sigh. “But if something were to happen to you now, Lugh would flay me.”

I delicately pull the dress down over my shoulders, fearful of ripping it. The fabric is so light it barely feels like I’m wearing anything at all.

“I feel so very naked,” I say as Blanchefleur combs my hair roughly before adjusting a diadem in it.

“You could remove it if you want,” she says, all serious. “A lot of us like to go in our God-given attire without shame.”

“I’ll pass,” I say.

A tiny creature buzzes over to land in her hair, a soft light emanating from its chest like that of a lightning bug. I nearly
go cross-eyed as I watch the tiny, humanlike Fey reach up to Blanchefleur’s ear.

“A pixie,” I whisper, afraid to scare it away.

Without realizing it, I’m leaning forward, close enough that my nose nearly touches Blanchefleur’s cheek.

“Careful, they bite.”

I pull away quickly as the tiny creature flies away, like a giant bumblebee. Honestly, does everything pretty here hide fangs? My stomach responds by growling so loudly it scares the cat away.

“Let’s get going, shall we?” Blanchefleur says, directing me back to the party. Noting my hesitance, she adds, “Don’t worry. Didn’t I say Lugh is watching over you?”

Yeah, I tell myself, and that’s what troubles me.

Pixies whizzing in the air around us like tiny shooting stars, we make our way back to the clearing. This time, people are paying attention to me, willing, even, to invite me to dance with them.

As we pass by the buffet, I steal a couple of pears and a dozen tarts, then munch away happily as I take in the scene.

As the moon crests over the oak tree, the air thickens with the scent of roses and jasmine, and the music slows down to a spellbinding pace. My head starts to bob along with it, my food forgotten.

“Would you care to join me?”

The tall Fey prince, Lugh, is at my side, the cat in his arms. Both stare at me with pairs of identical amber eyes.

“To dance, you mean?” I ask.

Lugh gently lets cat down. “Keep an eye out for me, will you?” he says before the creature scurries away.

Then, with a smile, he offers me his hand and leads me within the circle of dancers.

Just think about where you step, I tell myself over and over again. Don’t let your eyes roam anywhere lower than his philtrum
,
²⁴
and no higher than the tip of his nose.

“So do you remember me now?” he asks, his voice sending shivers down to the very marrow of my bones.

“Yes, charmed, charmed,” I say, fixating now on his perfectly smooth chin.

Lugh gives a low chuckle and twirls me about. I trip, nearly losing my pretty new shoes, but he steadies me with his strong hands, and we continue as if nothing’s happened.

“The first time we met,” he says, drawing me closer.

I’m forced to look up or have my head crushed against his broad chest, and find myself caught in his steady gaze like a mouse by a snake, a very lovely snake at that; it’s no wonder Eve faltered. I shake myself.

“Drowning, yes,” I say. “It was quite…wet.”

I blush all the way down to my toes.

“That’s usually one of its outcomes,” Lugh says.

“But I thought…” I stop myself from saying Arthur’s name. I’ve been very good at not thinking about the git since I’ve gotten here, I’m not going to start now. “So you mean to say, you’re the one who saved me?”

“In the flesh, if I may say so,” Lugh says with a short laugh. “Why are you so shocked?”

I blink very fast, trying to recall that day, but the most I can pick out of my fatigued mind is the cold and darkness of the water before finding myself on the landing hill where Arthur and the others found me.

“Why are you protecting me?” I ask. “What do you want from me?”

“Want?” the tall Fey asks. “Cannot the pleasure of your company be sufficient?”

Blanchefleur was right about the whole courtesan thing, I realize as my hands go clammy with apprehension.

“Maybe I saw something in you that was worth saving,” he adds as he whisks me around the tree again.

“Oh, OK,” I say. Maybe it’s the dance and the lack of food, but I feel more and more light-headed and am having a hard time staying suspicious.

“You’re putting the rest of the company to shame,” Lugh says, squishing down any further thought of life preservation I was entertaining. “And the dress matches your violet eyes.”

I giggle. At least this Prince Charming has a defect if he can’t tell the color of my eyes from this close—or could fallen angels be color blind like dogs?

“There’s really no need to flatter me,” I say with a smile. “Besides, I already know how your people feel about me.”

“And how is that?”

I lift my chin so the poultice around my jugular shows clearly.

“Ah, that,” he says. “They just lost a sister a moon ago or so, and they’re blaming your colleagues for it. Please forgive them. In their grief, they forgot their basic manners. Besides, you were wearing clothes that don’t make people here feel at ease. But that’s all well now, isn’t it?”

One of the musicians, a young man with a long black-and-white Mohawk that reaches down to his rump, blows a lively trill with his flute, and the Fey orchestra picks up the tempo. We spin around the circle so fast I’m afraid I’m going to be flung out, but Lugh keeps me anchored, and I laugh with delight.

All my cares and worries seem to have disintegrated into thousands of particles. All that matters now is that I’m alive, amongst these beautiful if somewhat unusual people. And maybe it’s because of this disparate group of Fey that my history doesn’t matter—except for the minor detail of having trained with knights.

“So what happened?” Lugh asks as we pass a gnome skipping by, his bonnet askew.

“With what?” I ask.

“Well, it seems every time I see you, you’re in trouble,” he says. “What happened to you today that you made your way to our world?”

The words jar me back to reality in a most unpleasant way.

“Maybe,” he says, drawing me close, “it means you should stay with us. It’ll be easier for me to keep an eye on you then.”

Though the tone is light, I sense that he’s being serious. I tense up. Is this how people get caught in the Fey’s meshes? By being promised a worry-free life, filled with light and sweets and dance and beauty? But that’s what Father Tristan’s warned us against. These are not angels, but devils, cast out of heaven like Lucifer. And everyone knows
he
was the hottest of the lot before he was sent to Hell.

Besides, I’ve seen what these pretty Fey people can do.

Lugh senses my inner conflict and pulls back, a look of sadness in his eyes.

“I heard you faced a banshee,” he says. “If you stayed here, you could be safe. We could keep you away from the Sons of Darkness.”

At his words, I stop dancing altogether as memories of the cadaverous creature bring shivers down my back.

“This is only an invitation,” Lugh says quickly. “I would be sad to see you leave, but if that is your wish, there’s nothing I can do
about it. All you have to do is find a fairy circle, and you’ll be back where you want.”

I feel the knots in my shoulders untie. I’m free to do as I want, which is more than I can say about the way they’re treating me back at school.

“So all I need is to step through that ring of mushrooms?” I ask.

Lugh chuckles. “Mushrooms, stones, trees, it doesn’t matter which. Nature is nature, and a circle’s a circle. All you need to do is visualize where you wish to go.”

My eyes widen. “You mean to say those things are like portals?”

Lugh nods.

I whistle. “Fancy way of transportation. Wish the rest of the world knew how to use them.”

With a tight smile, Lugh makes me spin around. I laugh.

“How could Father Tristan ever think you’re demons?” I say. “That’s so obviously not the case. You’ve fed me, clothed me, let me join in the fun, all with no strings—or chains—attached.”

“And what makes you believe we’re not demons?” he asks.

I open my mouth to answer, then pause. “Is this a trick question?”

“We’re all from the same source,” he says, lifting me up over a badger with a fancy yellow bow around its neck. “We’re all… brothers and sisters, in a sense.”

“So you mean to say that you’re part of the Devil’s cohort, trying to tempt humans into doing evil things and possessing our souls for… for your final battle against the Heavens?”

Lugh shrugs. “Would that be so far-fetched?”

I stop dead in my tracks, and a young Fey boy crashes into me. Lugh tries to get me going again, but I don’t let myself be swayed.

“In that,” he says at last, “we’re more like you than you may think. Not everyone wants to use and abuse humans, just like not
every human wants to enslave and destroy us. Our powers were God-given, there’s no denying that, like everything else in this world. And with abuse, comes retribution. I can understand that. But we’re not all bad, though God chose to turn His back on us, leaving us to our own devices in a hostile land. Isn’t it natural for beings to fight for their survival?”

I gesture toward the clearing with a wide sweep of my hand. “This doesn’t exactly strike me as survival,” I say.

“Just because you’ve seen a small part of our world doesn’t mean you know the whole picture,” Lugh says. He takes a deep breath, then draws me in, so close I can feel the heat emanating from his body. “The question is, do you think we’re bad?”

I lose myself in his intense gaze again, unable to look or move away. But I find I don’t want to. His hand cups my cheek, then slowly follows the curve of my neck, traces my collarbone, and comes to rest on my left shoulder, over my old scar, leaving me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. His face draws nearer to mine, his lips so close I can almost feel them. I close my eyes, tilt my head up—

Something slams into my back, and I fall forward, my lips meeting Lugh’s. The world seems to stop as my heartbeat drowns out all other sound. I feel like I’m drowning again, but in a pleasant way this time.

“Get away from her!” someone says, jerking me backward.