The Fairy Godmother (29 page)

For the furniture was, in fact, rather more antique than anything in the Klovis household had been, and far more than anything in any other room in the house except, perhaps, the kitchen. The walls were of wood, but there were tapestries hung on all of them. The bed was huge, a whole family could have slept there comfortably; it stood on a little dais of its own, and it was curtained twice. The inner curtains were of thin gauze, the outer of heavy velvet. In the summer she closed only the inner ones, to keep insects out, so that she could leave the windows open without resorting to a spell. The rest of the furnishings, wardrobe, a sort of couch, backless chairs, chests, and her dressing table, were just as massive, and had an air of comfort about them that was rather surprising given how heavily they were built. The walls were dark oak paneling, the floor darker yet, the colors of the curtains and cushions all dark burgundy and garnet. The tapestries all around the walls were of magical creatures; the one above the fireplace showed Unicorns
sans
maidens. Sometimes she wondered if a Godmother had woven it herself, and why. It certainly managed to portray them accurately—beautiful, but with a certain vacuity in their eyes.

She left her clothing draped neatly over the blanket-chest at the foot of the bed for Rose to deal with in the morning
and slipped into the clean nightgown that was waiting for her, left lying on the pillows. It smelled pleasantly of violets and lavender. She waved the lights out and climbed up into the bed, feeling fairly satisfied. Of course, there was no way of knowing what Alexander would actually do or think following his first night of freedom from his curse, but she had high hopes for him, given that he had managed to remain in control of his temper. And she could hardly blame him for being angry that she hadn't just freed him outright. He still hadn't, in his heart, acknowledged that he had failed some crucial tests of character.

On the other hand, if he was reading her spare histories, they might point his mind in the right direction.

It would be a bit awkward to have him around in his natural form, though. When he'd been an ass, she hadn't thought twice about acting as she always had in his presence. The more she had allowed him to be himself, the more
conscious
she had been of the presence of an admittedly good-looking young man about the place. And now, if he was going to be himself all of the time—

But he'll be gone soon,
she told herself.
By winter. I'm sure of it. Besides, he's made it quite clear that he considers me very much his inferior in birth, if our births were to be compared. So although he may begin to treat me with courtesy at last—
she yawned, and closed her eyes—
of course the courtesy—
her thoughts began to ooze away from her—
will be the kind…a Prince…gives….

She did not often dream, or at least, she did not often dream in ways that could be linked back to the real world. That was deliberate; the dreams of a Godmother had the po
tential to take on a life of their own, and one of the things that Bella had taught her was how to dream in pleasant nonsense. So when her dream began, and she found herself walking along a shore of purple sand by an amethyst sea beneath a silver sky with three azure moons in it, she felt quite relaxed and comfortable. So comfortable, that she did not in the least mind when she realized that Alexander was walking beside her.

They did not speak, but after a while, quite easily and naturally, her hand stretched out a little of its own accord, and encountered his reaching for hers. Their fingers entwined, and they walked on, climbing up the purple dunes, through sand as soft as powdered velvet. There they sat down together, on the top of the tallest dune, listening to the sea and watching as the moons set, one after another, like blue pearls on an invisible chain being pulled below the horizon. She leaned her head to the side, and quite naturally found that she was leaning it against his shoulder, and just as naturally his arm came around her and pulled her closer.

Then her heart started to pound, and her skin came alive, so that she was acutely aware of the brush of his fingers against it, the touch of the warm breeze on her face. She felt her stomach tighten, and when he bent his head down to hers and she lifted hers to meet his and their lips met, she felt as if lightning had jumped between them, or maybe the spark of life itself, though she could not have told if it went from her into him or the other way around.

He turned more towards her, and his free hand came to
cup her breast; her nipples hardened and the soft teasing of his fingers sent jolts of pleasure through her that made the secret parts between her legs tighten and burn with anticipation. She moaned a little, and her lips parted insensibly beneath his kiss, and his tongue slipped between them, teasing and tickling her lips and teeth and playing with her tongue, until she—

—Damn it!

She came awake all at once, and in a fury. The benighted Tradition couldn't manipulate her when she was awake, so now it was trying to do so in her sleep!

“No.”
That was all she said into the darkness, but she put every bit of her will behind it.

Nothing answered her. There was neither an increase in pressure upon her, nor a decrease—nor was there any change in the amount of the magic she could sense swirling in potential around her.

Could it possibly be that what she had just dreamed had come, not out of what The Tradition wanted, but out of what
she
wanted? Or what her body wanted, anyway.

She lay there afire with
wanting
and not knowing, well, not really, not
truly,
what it was she wanted. Madame Klovis's servants hadn't bothered to hide themselves when they dallied, but her curiosity had never been enough to overcome her embarrassment and past a certain point, she'd always covered her eyes.

But she
ached
with frustration and need. And it took a very, very long time to get back to sleep again. And when she did, it was to toss the rest of the night as part of her tried to get back to that purple sand dune, and part of her utterly
refused to go there, which left
all
of her so bleary-eyed when she woke at dawn that Rose took one look at her and ordered her to sleep in late for a change.

W
hen Alexander woke the next morning, it was with strange dream-fragments echoing in the back of his mind; blue moons and purple sand, and a very sweet and lissome lady in his arms. For the very first time since he had left Kohlstania, he woke feeling good, warm and very pleased with himself. It had been a
wonderful
dream, apparently. He just wished that he could remember more of it.

But just because he wasn't waking as a donkey didn't mean that the work was going to stop. Hob had made sure he knew that weeks ago. Back when he'd been thinking he'd only be spending every other day as a donkey rather than most of a week, Hob had told him in bald terms that man or ass, if he didn't do his share, the same rule held: no work, no food. Alexander didn't think that things would have
changed just because the Godmother had decided that he was going to be spending his time as himself from now on. This was the season of harvest, and there was work even for the untutored hands of a Prince.

“Alexander!” bellowed Hob from somewhere beneath him. “Get your lazy royal ass down here!”

Royal ass—
Maybe it was the good mood that he had awakened in, but the phrase that would have made him livid with anger yesterday struck him this morning as inexpressibly funny. He rolled out of bed and stuck his head through the hole in the floor. Hob was looking up at him.

“Lazy I am, but today, at least, I am no ass,” he replied. “Give me but a moment.”

There were
three
new beasts to tend now, and one of the few good things about being a donkey had meant that he didn't have to tend himself. His first chore on his first morning waking as a man were quite enough to drive the last fragment of erotic dream out of his mind; nothing was
less
erotic than mucking out a stall.

Still it didn't spoil his good mood at all. The beasts were mild-tempered and easy to work around and he was done reasonably quickly. He joined Hob at the pump in the kitchen-yard just as the sun came up, the two of them doing a thorough-wash-up in the cold water. “We won't be able to do that much longer,” Hob said, shaking his head, and sending droplets flying everywhere. “Be too bloody cold before long. I don't fancy icicles off my nose.”

“I don't fancy them hanging off elsewhere on my anatomy,” replied Alexander, who had been a bit more thor
ough in his washing-up. But then, Hob hadn't been mucking out the stable, either.

Hob grinned at him.

“Come
on,
lad,” he said, and led the way up the kitchen stairs.

Alexander stopped where he was. “Ah—”

“Come on, lad,” Hob repeated. Dubiously, and certain that he would be stopped dead at the door as he always had been before, Alexander followed him.

Followed him right into the warm and fragrant kitchen, where he stood in the doorway, blinking stupidly in the light, just as Rose entered from the door opposite.

“Godmother won't be coming down until later,” she informed Master Robin, who was the source of the wonderful smells of sausage and egg, of baking bread and frying ham. “She looks as if she hasn't had nearly enough sleep.”

“She was awake rather late last night,” Alexander offered. Both Rose, and Lily, who was already seated at the table, gave him odd looks. “She was reading, I suppose,” he added. “I could see her from my window.”

“I trust your room meets with your approval?” Rose asked tartly, managing to sound only the slightest bit sarcastic.

“Rosie—” Hob injected, with a note of warning in his voice. “Lad, sit down, have some breakfast.”

Alexander did sit where Hob indicated, but he also answered Rose. “Mistress Rose, it is exceedingly comfortable, thank you,” he replied as courteously as if she really had asked him the question seriously. “And I thank you for asking.”

Rose blinked at him for a moment, then sat down without another word.

She ignored him during the meal, speaking only to the other Brownies, but Hob, Robin, and even Lily addressed him from time to time, making him a part of the conversation whether Rose liked it or not.

“So, you'll be going out with Lily and a cart today, past the water-meadow,” Hob told him, after some discussion of what needed to be “got in.” “Time we beat them deer t'the orchard fruit, I'm thinking.”

“A fine plan, Hob,” Robin said, nodding with enthusiasm, as he cleared up the plates from the table. “I've always said there was almost no point in having the orchard, we get so little out of it each fall. And nuts! With Alexander and the new beasts to help, we can rob the squirrels of the harvest of the nut orchard as well, later this fall!” He grinned. “I mind me that there's none of you would object to apple cake and spiced nuts.”

So Alexander found himself harnessing up one of the mules to a small, two-wheeled cart, loading it with empty sacks and a couple of baskets and a ladder, and leading it out to meet the Brownie woman Lily. It was she who beckoned him down a path he was
sure
hadn't been there before today, past the meadow with the pond in it, and into what he had thought was just forest.

But it wasn't a forest; it was an incredibly ancient apple orchard.

The trees were huge and gnarled with age; the apples were small and a very bright red, but when he pulled one off a low-hanging branch and bit into it experimentally, ex
pecting it to be sour or woody, he found it utterly delectable, tart and sweet at the same time, and bursting with juice.

“Finish that and let's get on with it,” Lily chided, but with a smile. “I've a mind to fill the cart before the morning's over, at the least.”

In fact, about the time that breakfast was beginning to wear off, Robin appeared with a second cart, mule, and their luncheon of bread, onion, and chunks of cheese. He brought water, too, but they hardly needed it with the juicy apples all about.

“We'll have cider this year, I think,” Lily said with satisfaction as Robin led the mule and laden cart away. “And preserves, and plenty of apples in store, too. First year we'll have had cider of our own pressing in a while.”

“Um—” He paused, not sure how to word the question he had delicately. Then he decided to just blunder on with it. “Why? I mean, why are we doing this by hand?”

“Why not use magic, you mean?” Lily didn't look in the least offended by his question. “Well, it's like this.
We
Brownie-folk don't have all that much magic to use for that sort of thing. We're small Fae, as such things go. The Great Fae, they've no need of mortal foods, for they create such things out of their own power if they choose—we little Fae, who haven't the magic, either feast at
their
tables or live as mortals do by the work of our hands.”

“But surely the Godmother—”

“Ah.” She laid a finger alongside of her nose and nodded. “Well, here's the thing. Aye, Godmother Elena
could
use magic for suchlike things if she chose, but she don't choose. And that's because she's a saving wench. She don't see the
need to do with magic what can be done with hands, ye see. There's only so much magic that she
has,
without gathering more, and she reckons she can't always count on gathering more. Am I making sense?”

“You mean—” He groped to understand Lily's words. “You mean, magic is like rain, and sometimes there's a drought, and you can't always tell when a drought is going to come so you—you save it in a cistern?”

“Very like!” Lily applauded. “Now not all Godmothers think like ours. There's plenty who do a lot more with their magic. But Madame Elena always thinks, ‘what if something really terrible happened, and I
didn't
have the magic to fix it,' every time she goes to do something. So there you are.”

“I—see.” And actually, he
did
see, though it seemed a rather novel and perhaps parsimonious approach to him. After all, what was the point of having magic if you didn't use it?

But then again, what if she did go about squandering magic, then didn't have it to turn
him
from donkey back into man again? He'd supposed that he'd have felt very differently about her approach if he'd been the one feeling the “drought.”

“Now, one of our Godmothers, one we served a long time ago, was like that,” Lily continued thoughtfully. “Using her magic to do this and that, cleaning her rooms and appearing and vanishing where she chose and suchlike. And something bad
did
happen. The Kingdom of Lorendil was invaded, and a Black Sorcerer took the throne and held it for three generations. And our Godmother didn't have the
power to stop him because she'd used so much of it on things we could have done, traded for, or done without.”

At the name “Lorendil,” Alexander found himself feeling cold. Even in Kohlstania they had heard of the Black Beast of Lorendil, a Sorcerer whose atrocities were the stuff of nightmare. “
Could
she have?” he asked. “I mean—she was a Godmother, but
he
was a Sorcerer….”

“We'll never know, will we?” Lily countered. “But Lorendil was her responsibility, and it went down on her watch, and it took a Prophecy, a Child of Prophecy, and a Sorcerer to set it all right again.”

He pondered that for a moment. There was just so much he didn't know about magic—

“Well, in that case,” he said, finally, licking the juice of his last apple off his fingers and wiping them clean on the napkin his luncheon had come wrapped in, “let's get back to these apples.”

They filled that cart as well, and a third, before Lily decreed an end to the harvest for that day and they headed back to the cottage. And that was when something odd occurred to him.

The kitchen that he had sat in this morning was huge. It should have filled the entire ground floor of the cottage.

Except that it hadn't, for Rose had come in from what was clearly another room, and Elena had been sitting at a table that had
not
been in a kitchen.

“Lily,” he said hesitantly, as they neared the building. “That cottage—”

“Is bigger on the inside than the outside, I know,” she said nonchalantly. “No worries. You'll get used to it after a bit, and not even think about it.”

“Ah,” he replied. And tried not to, because the very idea made his head begin to hurt. How could a building be bigger on the inside than the outside? It sounded mad, and yet he knew that his own eyes had given him contrary evidence.

Hob came to take charge of the cart and its contents, and Alexander and Lily proceeded on to the kitchen yard, and if Alexander had thought that the aromas issuing from that chamber had been delicious this morning, they made his mouth water this evening.

But Lily drew him away from the kitchen door to one of the outbuildings. “Men's bathhouse,” she laughed, pushing him at the door. “Go make use of it. And when the weather is too cold to bathe at the pump, you can come here, but you'll have to fire the stove yourself.”

It was his first bath since he had left home.

He would have lingered, except that he was far too hungry. Even so, to revel in hot water was something of a revelation.
Now
he felt wholly human again. Hob had washed him down regularly as a donkey, and what had happened to the donkey had, of course, happened to the human. In fact, washing him as a donkey seemed to clean his clothing as well. But that was no substitute for a real hot bath.

Nor for real clean clothing, with the scent of the hot sun that had dried it still in the folds. He walked alone into the kitchen with some of the same euphoria that had buoyed him this morning.

There he found that the others were already sitting down to their dinner, the Godmother sitting at the kitchen table among them. And that surprised him a little. Ladies did not
eat in the kitchen among their servants. But then, again, this was no ordinary lady, nor were these creatures strictly “servants.”

Quietly he took his own seat, and held his peace while they talked of the day. The Godmother kept sending odd glances in his direction, and though he kept his mouth shut, he wondered what was going through her mind. Did she regret her decision to allow him to remain himself? But why?

Whatever the cause of her behavior, she said nothing to him. And eventually, he gave up trying to figure out what was in her mind, and just listened.

And ate, of course. The food was marvelous, and the results of today's work appeared at the end of the meal in the form of a huge apple pie.

Robin's food had always been good—it was just a great deal better eaten like a civilized man, on a table, in company with others. However strange that company might be.

Strange company, indeed.
While casual talk of what must be done over the next several days went on all around him, he felt curiously detached from it all; it occurred to him that had anyone described this situation, these surroundings to him a year ago, he would have considered them to be mad. Sitting in a room in a building that was larger on the inside than the outside, in company with a magician and four Fae. And if he made one misstep, he might be spending the
night
as a donkey again.

“There's a new room in the cellar,” Robin was saying, in answer to some question of Lily's that he had not been paying attention to. “Complete with barrels for the cider.”

“Ah, well, that's one problem sorted,” Lily said with satisfaction.

Elena was looking from one to the other of them with a look that was something between a smile and a grimace. “Would any of you mind telling me just how the house does this? Gets bigger when we need space, I mean?”

“We don't know,” Rose replied, as it finally dawned on Alexander just what they had been talking about. “It's some magic that the first Godmother to live here did. Actually I don't think that the house is actually getting bigger. I think that it is merely giving us access to parts of it we didn't have before. We've never actually seen it growing, you know, even though Robin talks about it budding.”