Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde, #3)(34)
I found him standing alone near the centre of the gardens upon a hill festooned with lilies and foxgloves. At the summit was a bench shaded by several neat rows of cherry trees and—to my dismay—an attentive oak. It was smaller than the wild-growing ones I’d seen in the forest, but it glowered and gawked at me all the same.
Wendell rested his hand on one of the cherry trees in an absent sort of way, gazing over the landscape. The tree began to flower, buds bursting forth in a riot of purples and blues, and the leaves grew so green they resembled crushed emeralds. It matched Wendell’s expression, somehow, as he swept his gaze over the view, a contentment that seemed to radiate from him, cheering all in his vicinity. Two servants carrying what looked like a newly minted silver mirror stepped more lightly, their faces brightening, and a fat leprechaun sprawled against a nearby boxwood chuckled in his sleep.
Wendell turned and saw me standing there, and if anything, the happiness in his eyes only grew. “Em!” he exclaimed, and I am certain he would have seized me and spun me around again, if not for the cup in my hand. “Well? Did you enjoy yourself? By that I mean, did the cottage provide the correct ambience for devouring stacks of old tomes and scribbling away in journals?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “Though you might have told me about the guests.”
“To tell the truth, I was a little nervous about your reaction. I felt you would enjoy seeing Lilja and Margret again, but last night I wondered if you wouldn’t have preferred solitude more.”
“You needn’t look like that,” I said, laughing a little at the worry that had stolen over his face. “I was indeed happy to see them. And I am glad you took the initiative of offering them a holiday.”
He smiled. “Well, how could I not, the poor dears? What a misery winter is in that accursed place! I don’t know how anyone stands it.”
I doubted he knew how anyone stood any clime different from his native realm, but I was not about to waste my breath on this. We had far more important things to discuss.
“We must go to see this curse your stepmother has inflicted upon the forest,” I said. “It is far more important than any other problem we face—I am embarrassed I did not recognize it immediately. I know the stories of deposed faerie monarchs quite well. Working out what she has done must be our sole priority.”
“Emily,” Wendell said after a little pause, during which the only sounds were the wind moving through the leaves and the bloody oak blinking moistly at us, “as we have established, your thought process moves apace; I often struggle to keep up. You must learn to explain yourself.”
“?‘The Tale of the Bard’s Stolen Dirge,’?” I said. “?‘The Robin Lord’s Reckoning.’ Just to name two examples—there are a dozen more. Don’t you see?”[*2]
“I know my stepmother must be dealt with,” Wendell said. “My uncle has sent scouts—”
I shook my head. “That’s not good enough. We must see what your stepmother has wrought, and without delay.”
Wendell gave a breath of laughter. “Well, naturally we will, then.”
“Oh, and you must remove the Lady East Wind from your Council,” I said. “And, if possible, banish her from court. She had a series of clandestine meetings with the head of the queen’s guard before he was executed. Apparently, she helped your stepmother plot the assassination of your father and siblings.”
“What!” Wendell exclaimed. “But we won’t have an even number now. I shall have to find somebody to replace the Lady with, and there is nothing more tedious than dealing with councillors, as I have recently discovered. I am out here hiding from them, in fact.”
“You should also banish Lord Carlin and someone who calls herself the Keeper of the Secret Brook,” I said. “They too are plotting against you.”
“How I hate politics!” Wendell heaved a sigh. “Oh, well. All this is useful material for your book, is it not?”
I could not help smiling at this. “Indeed, though I would rather said material did not come in the form of people wishing to kill you.”
He made a noise of agreement. “Well, Em, I am now convinced that your stay in Corbann has done you good. You are quite yourself again, ink-stained and full of schemes to burden me with, as if I do not already have enough to do.”
I paused. “You do not wish to know how I came by this information?”
“Yes, but only because you clearly wish to tell me,” he said, smiling.
I blushed under the warmth in his gaze. “The servants proved exceptionally knowledgeable,” I said. “The oíche sidhe. I have asked their leader to report to me should they learn anything else of note. I believe this should solve the assassination threat. The courtly fae either ignore the little ones or treat them with condescension, particularly the servants. That they might be listening in on their conversations seems barely to cross the minds of the nobility, even when they are plotting regicide.”
Wendell stared at me, and then he began to laugh. “Of course,” he said. “The common fae have come to our rescue again, have they?”
“The head housekeeper,” I said after a short pause. “He—seemed to feel some affection for you. He said you were theirs.”
Wendell’s amusement faded, and he looked momentarily disturbed, then a little lost. “Did he?”