Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde, #3)(102)
“Hello there!” The door opened, and Callum pushed his head in. “May we come in?”
Lilja hurried to the door, greeting him and Niamh with smiles and thanks—Lilja and Margret had asked that no faerie food or drink be brought, but Callum had offered to play for us and had his harp with him. Meanwhile Niamh had brought several sketches of Wendell’s realm drawn by one of the dozen or so mortal artists who dwelt in the castle, so that Lilja and Margret might gain some sense of the place without having to set foot there themselves.
Dinner was a merry affair. The conversation was rather scattered, which does not ordinarily suit my preferences, but among those I knew so well I did not mind it. Farris and Niamh had much catching up to do, for though I had told him she was alive and well in the Silva Lupi, they had not yet reconnected, and were immediately nattering away like the old friends they were, Farris occasionally forgetting his dignity enough to have to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. Ariadne was full of questions as always, but she also formed an instantaneous accord with Lilja and Margret, who were not much older than she. Within the space of five minutes, it seemed, they were inviting her to their house in Ljosland, to which Ariadne—I note with some melancholy—may travel freely without fear of the Hidden king. Even Callum, who is ordinarily of a quiet nature, was comfortable enough to tell several stories of his youth in the coastal village of Kilmoney, and of his early years in Faerie with Lord Taran.
I did not regret our decision not to invite Taran—who in any event had professed himself wholly uninterested in attending—in deference to Lilja and Margret’s discomfort with the Folk, and particularly such Folk as he. Margret, after all, still bears the mark of the Hidden Ones on her forehead, and in odd moments I have noticed her gaze grow distant, until Lilja brings her back to herself with a gentle word or touch. Yet I could see they were fascinated by Callum and Niamh, mortals who had not only ventured into Faerie and lived, but remained themselves and unbroken.
“I still cannot imagine the likes of our wee ones as royal councillors,” Lilja said. “Do the small Folk truly have an aptitude for it?”
We had told them of our new Council, which now contains an equal number of courtly and common fae—chief among them the little housekeeper who saved Wendell—as well as several mortals. Never before in Wendell’s realm—nor any other, to his knowledge—have the common fae been invited into the upper echelons of Faerie’s political structure. The results, in my opinion, have been rather mixed, but still it is a nice thing from a symbolic perspective.
“As much as any faerie has,” I said. Approximately half of the Council remains entirely useless—particularly the mortal poet and one Lady Thorns and Thistles—and yet I can’t help suspecting, given comments made by Wendell and others, that this is an improvement on the general average. Faerie councils, like faerie monarchs themselves, seem not to have much practical utility, other than, perhaps, as a tiller guiding the wayward impulses of the king or queen, yet I have seen no evidence that the councils themselves are any less wayward.
Once we had finished our meal and established ourselves in armchairs by the fire with mugs of chocolate or tea, Wendell leaned forward abruptly, rubbing his hands together. “Now then! I fear I can wait no longer. The anticipation is too great!”
“Oh God,” I said. “This is that surprise you mentioned, isn’t it?”
“Surprise?” Margret echoed, looking both pleased and nervous; Lilja seemed more of the latter. Ariadne covered her mouth with her hands, nearly vibrating with excitement, and I realized that she had learned of this “gift” from Wendell, and been anticipating it—when, I knew not.
“You needn’t worry,” Wendell said to Lilja. “It is merely a wedding gift for my Emily. One I have planned for a very long time, but which has unfortunately been much delayed due to unforeseen circumstances.”
“Your death?” I said.
“Among other things. The Deer took a great deal of time to root out.”
“The Deer?” I frowned. “Not the hag-headed deer in the rhododendron meadow?”
“The very same. I had to request Lord Taran’s help to remove them—he has an odd sort of accord with them, or as much as any person can have with such magniloquent brutes, and he was only too happy to help.”
This did not do much to inspire anticipation. “Was he.”
Wendell stood, as if he were about to give a presentation. Instead, to my surprise, he knelt by the fire next to Shadow, who gave a thump of his tail in acknowledgement.
“You see, Em,” he said, rubbing behind Shadow’s ears, “that particular meadow is one of the oldest parts of my realm, and home to a number of strange and venerable Folk. Including perhaps the only other personage of mixed courtly and common fae blood in the land, besides myself, of course, a woman of bogle and courtly fae ancestry. An unpleasant sort, as you might imagine! Yet I have long known she is the keeper of several of the ancient Words—you know two of them yourself, which places you already in rare company, for most Folk do not know even one.”
“Yes,” I said, a question in my voice. “Though most Words, in my understanding, are of low value, like the Word for button-summoning.”
“Ah,” Wendell said, “and has that one truly served no purpose? Most of the Words are of that nature—silly knickknack things on the surface, but useful in unexpected ways. Now, some time ago, I took Shadow to see several brownies expert in animal husbandry—”