However, once he completed his mission and satisfied Brigit’s quest, he meant to speak to Airiu at some length about her plans. Perhaps they included him. Perhaps he’d found someone he’d be happy with.
* * *
The not-quite-butterflies that swarmed outside Adhna’s cottage seemed to have taken residence within Fingin’s stomach. Bran whined. “Are you certain I can’t come to the ball? I’d rather stay with you. I don’t like some of those Fae. They smell strange.”
“I’m certain. Grimnaugh thinks if the Faerie Queen doesn’t see you again, she’ll forget her desire to keep you. I don’t want to take that chance. You’re much safer here, in Adhna’s home. Promise me you’ll stay here?”
Bran shifted from foot to foot. A bee buzzed around his head, and he snapped at it, but the bee flew away too fast to catch.
Fingin picked at the edge of his new clothing, a length of fabric which wrapped around his hips and over his shoulder. Despite the brass pins which held it in place, he remained worried it would fall if he moved. The warm sunset colors blended into his skin. Airiu had told him he looked lovely, so he didn’t argue with the choice.
Grimnaugh examined him from head to bare feet, making clicking noises as he went. “She has an idea, I can feel it. She will ask you for something big, and you must accept it. If not… well, I’m not sure what she’ll do. I am sure you won’t like it.”
The walk to the palace seemed much shorter than it had the first time. Fingin’s nervousness grew as the towers loomed closer, the shadows becoming more ominous than before. Even the glittering pearlescence seemed to be a warning, a portentous flicker of certain doom.
What would the Queen ask him for? In the back of his mind, he harbored the idea that his grandmother might recognize him at the last minute, and draw him into her arms for a familial hug. Another, more rational part scoffed at this idea. His grandmother had never been the nurturing type, given to long hugs and maudlin, sentimental gestures.
The Fae they passed made no secret of staring at him. A mortal man, amongst the ethereal Fae, was a true novelty, even without his hound by his side. Each one dressed in superb finery, impossible costumes of shifting colors, translucent material, or soaring sculptures.
One Fae, the one with black skin and white fur stripes, had donned an outfit with opposite stripes in varying shades of gray, from pale eggshell to deep stormcloud. Each shade swirled within its stripe, making Fingin dizzy as he watched it.
The summer scent of flowers grew intense, almost overpowering. Flowers, fresh-cut grass, cloves, and ginger.
Another Fae appeared, and Fingin recognized the bark-skinned bully who’d beaten him when he first arrived. This one glared at him, but Adhna kept a firm grip on Fingin’s shoulder and sent a warning glance at the other. With a disgusted noise, the bully stomped away behind a group of chatting onlookers.
The center dais housed the thrones, but no Faerie Queen or Consort sat upon them. Fingin let out a breath of relief, though his fate was merely delayed, not reprieved. Adhna nodded to several Fae as they passed, but did not mingle or chat. Grimnaugh took leave of them and disappeared amongst the crowd.
The general buzz of conversation shifted when Fingin passed them, the questioning tones increasing with the laughter. He did his best to ignore the obvious mocking tones. With every giggle or chuckle, he remembered his brothers’ taunting voices and the physical pain which always followed. He wished he’d been able to bring Bran. The charm around his neck felt icy against his skin. He resisted the urge to grasp it for comfort.
Silence flowed across the hall, and all eyes turned to the far end, where the Queen stood for all to see. She appeared resplendent in what appeared to be a structure of white ice and icicles, sparkling snow, and gossamer webs.
Her Consort, the bark-skinned bully Fae, held her arm, escorted her across the translucent floor.
How she moved without breaking the fine threads, Fingin couldn’t tell. She glimmered and glistened as she sauntered to her throne. Her midnight-black curls stood out in sharp contrast against the pure white, and her black eyes glittered against her pale skin.
As her gaze cast around the room, they halted when they found Fingin. A small half-smile played across her berry-red lips. The bully Fae sat next to her on the second throne and glared at him, menace clear in his gaze.
She clapped her hands twice, and all the Fae backed away, forming an empty aisle before her. Somewhere, musicians played ethereal music, sweet and compelling. Several Fae stepped forward to make their sets. Adhna shoved him forward. “Go. You must dance in the first dance. See, there is Tomnat. She’ll be your partner.”
The brown-haired Fae woman matched him in height. As he placed his hands on hers for the opening set, she smiled. “Airiu said she liked you, human. Such a pity.”
Before he could ask her to explain her comment, they launched into the dance, swirling and twirling amongst the Fae. He mostly kept up, only stumbling once or twice between the graceful Fae. The flowing fabric of his outfit merged with others as they turned, the swish of contact a pleasant counterpoint to the Fae music.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Airiu’s ebony hair, flowing against her back as she danced with a tall, thin Fae with spots. She winked at him as they passed, an ephemeral promise he kept close to his heart. Perhaps, after the ball, after the Queen made her payment known, he’d be permitted to
