Fairy Godmother

flitting about on the edges of the forest, far more than usual, and I don't think it's entirely because of the presence of all the Unicorns here. Some of them have even come to me directly to ask about him.'

'Welladay.' Lily's eyes widened a little, as Elena helped herself to another roll. 'The Wild Fae don't talk much to us; we've not much in common with them. Like a fish trying to talk to a bird, I suppose, or a rock to a star. I hadn't noticed them about, but then, I wouldn't. But interfering — '

'Just tell me this — what would one of them do if — just speculating, mind you — he happened to wish aloud to know how to get himself out of here?' Elena raised an eyebrow at Lily, who clapped her hand to her mouth.

'By Huon's horn! That would appeal to the mischiefs!' Lily exclaimed. 'Because — the only way for him to get out of here without even bending your magic is — '

'To change his ways,' they said together, and Elena smiled.

'And it has to be sincere and permanent, just like what his brother's going through,' she added. 'So — maybe. The Wild Fae don't, won't bind if they can help it. But they'll change, oh, yes, or else, they'll midwife change along. We'll see. I'm not entirely agreeing with Rose, either, but it doesn't take much to backslide.'

'And The Tradition?' Lily asked cautiously. Elena shook her head. The truth was, that since that odd day in her room, when she had confronted the faceless force that was The Tradition with her own will, although she had still felt its power circling around her to the extent that she felt like one of the Great Sorceresses, with enough magic at her command to move the world, she had not felt that terrible pressure of it on her, forcing her to walk a path she was not at all willing to take.

'This doesn't feel like The Tradition,' she said only. 'This is — new.'

Lily blinked. Then said, 'Well — good.'

'It will be, if he can hold to this course,' Elena replied. 'If.'

''If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there'd be no work for tinkers,'' quoted Lily briskly. 'And my garden is not getting weeded by me sitting here.'

'Nor those harvest-potions getting brewed by themselves,' Elena agreed, finishing the last of her breakfast. 'Still — ' She took a long thought. 'Let's make a point of rewarding virtue, shall we?'

She and Lily exchanged a smile that might have been called 'conspiratorial.'

'Good idea,' said Lily. 'A very good idea. 'Catching more flies with honey,' eh?'

'There's truth in old saws,' Elena agreed. And maybe in a Wild Fae's help as well.

Chapter 15

Whatever had happened to the Prince — whether it was a bit of helpful interference from one of the Fair Folk, getting sense beat into him, as Hob opined, a bout of brain-fever the way Robin suggested, Rose's suggestion that he'd managed to wear out his stupidity, or just simply that he realized that there was a reason why he'd wound up as a donkey — that day marked the turning-point.

He still got angry, insulted people, and showed his temper. But it was in short bursts, usually after a long and exhausting task, and he had even begun apologizing for it afterwards. And as the season moved into harvest- time, Elena made good on her determination to 'reward virtue' by making a profound change. She allowed him to spend every fourth day as himself. Then every third. Then every other day, and told Hob to find a real donkey — 'or really, whatever you think we need' — to purchase when the Horse Fair came to the village.

Hob left in the morning with a purse full of silver, and returned that evening, well before sunset, just as Alexander came up to the cottage for his supper.

The sound of hooves on the road made him look up, and brought Elena to the door. The look on his face when he saw Hob arrive riding one donkey and leading two mules was worth every silver penny that Hob had spent.

Nevertheless, he hastened to help the Brownie to unharness and put the three new animals in the stable — and put one of them into the very stall that he had been occupying since he had been brought to the cottage.

He was still enough of a Prince not to go to the subordinate for answers, though; when the work was done, as she had expected, he came straight out and looked about to see if she was anywhere in sight. Since she had been waiting for him to do just that, he didn't have far to look.

And he walked straight over to her, his demeanor a mixture of emotions and attitude that was so comical in its way that she had to fight to keep a straight face. For all that he was being scrupulously polite to her, he still deeply resented what she was doing to him. For all that he recognized what an idiot he had been, he resented that she was punishing him for it. And he was sullenly, burningly angry that he was still, in effect, her prisoner. She was, in a way, the Enemy — and now he had to come to the Enemy to find out what was in store for him now.

She watched him try to find a way to ask what her intentions were without asking the question directly. He didn't want to hope too much — yet hope was hard to keep down. Finally, he settled, and asked, harshly (probably more harshly than he intended), 'Am I sharing my stable with animals, now?'

'In a manner of speaking,' she replied, 'since I expect you'll be using the room in the loft, now.' She watched varied emotions chasing themselves across his face — no real surprise that there was some bitter disappointment there, since this might have meant, and he surely hoped it had meant, that his term of correction was over. 'Unless, of course,' she added, so he understood why she was not letting him go quite yet, 'you backslide.'

'I — ' She watched the temper rise; watched him struggle to control it. And expected the outburst of anger and insults.

It never came.

'Very well, Madame,' he got out, through gritted teeth, then turned on his heel and stalked back into the stable.