“Not even her own daughter?” I cried in anguish.
“Not even their own children, no. Long ago, at the beginning of time, it was a different matter. They were noble and mighty then. They did not reject the nobility of suffering for love. But things are different now.”
“Why?” I cried. “Oh, why?”
“Because they are diminished from what they once were. Or if not diminished, changed. They do not say so, but one learns of it, listening to what they say and do not say.”
“I thought only the trooping fairies were diminished.”
“Now. As these will be later. Once these were great as gods, but Faery is dwindling, even now. When it becomes small enough, perhaps I could step out of it, but it will be too late for me.”
He sounded anguished. There were tears in his eyes. I started to ask him why the diminution of the Sidhe, but there was a sound in the courtyard outside my window, and he slipped away, closing the door behind him. I heard Mab’s voice, asking him where he had been, and he told her he had been walking in the courtyard.
“In the courtyard, Tom-lin?” Her voice was like honey and silk, like fire and gall.
“If it please you, Your Majesty.”
“You know what would please me, Tom-Lin.”
“I cannot, Your Majesty. Such an honor is not for me.”
“I could put a spell upon you, Tom, so you’d think it was your Janet you were making love to.”
His voice rasped as he said, “Then it would be my Janet I was making love to, Your Majesty. In my heart.”
I peeked out through the window. She stood there in all her loveliness, beautiful as a goddess. If she was diminished, it did not show, not in that moment. “If I cannot have your heart and your seed, Tom-lin, then you cannot have your Janet.” She turned and went away from him and he stood there in the silence, his shoulders shaking.
I fell onto the bed, deeply disturbed by what I had heard, sure I would not sleep. The next thing I knew, it was morning, or so much morning as ever comes in that land. Mama and I drank little glasses of something warmly sweet and honey-smelling, then rode out in procession to attend a session at the King’s court.
“Does the King have a name?” I asked Mama.
“Some call him Oberon,” she told me. “Some Finvarra. Some call him the King of Golden Halls. Some, the King of the Hill People. Some the King of the Good Folk or the Gentle Ones. We call him He Who Endures, and we know when he is gone, so will we be.” I heard in her voice again that slight remoteness I had heard once or twice in Chinanga, though now, having spoken to Thomas, I thought I understood it.
When we came to the King’s court, the news came out to meet us that a delegation was soon to arrive, people of another sort. It was not Faery, according to what they said, and yet it was.
“It is not heaven nor earth,” Mama told me mysteriously, “Nor any hell, so it must be Faery, and yet it is not the Sidhe.” She would not tell me any more, but merely laughed. None of the folk of that place seemed to take this delegation seriously, yet when the time came for them to assemble in the great hall and hear the words of those who came as envoys, everyone was still and courteous and grave. The glamour lay about us so thick that I could smell it. Mama was on the dais among the royalty, and I stood along the side in dagged velvet and cloth of gold to watch the envoys come in.
Ah, but they were horrible. Hairy and twisted, fanged and dewlapped. Some among them were better-looking, more nearly straight, but as a general rule they gave the appearance of half-made things. One had long toenails that scratched upon the marble floors. One had an eye in the middle of his forehead. Some had batwings and others had rat teeth.
“Who are they,” I whispered to my neighbor, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“The Bogles,” he replied. I knew the voice and turned in surprise to find Thomas the Rhymer standing close behind me. “Has your mother taught you to use the power of sight?” he whispered to me, seeing the fear in my eyes.
I shook my head at him.
“Narrow your eyes, and wish to see them true,” he said. So I did, slitting both eyes and concentrating on the wish. In the moment I saw them differently, shorter, stouter people than those of the Sidhe, and darker-colored, but certainly not hideous. Somewhat like those who had ridden at the rear of the procession, though more open of face.
“They appear ugly to keep men at a distance,” Thomas said. “Unlike those of the Sidhe who appear beautiful to make men come nearer. To men’s eternal loss.” His voice was bitter, though only a whisper, as he fell silent in order that we could hear the speeches.
My first view of them had been human sight, obviously. But once I had seen them true, I could not bring back the former vision of them. Most surprising, I had seen their leader before, every now and then when I was a child. He was my old friend, the pointy-eared boy! Of course! Puck.
“You’ve one among you seven years now,” he challenged them. “Taken from human kind, Queen Mab. Time’s
