Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde, #3)(67)
“It is far from ideal,” Wendell said with a sigh. “I had been hoping for something lavish. I have always thought that if I was to marry, it would be in the castle gardens, or perhaps upon the shores of the Hanging Pools. But I have found myself wondering: is that what you would prefer? You are not much for public displays, unless they involve notes and lecture halls.”
I drew a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, but it would not be calmed. “I do not like your timing. You are thinking of the story. Of Macan the Second’s end.”
“Yes,” Wendell said, gazing at me steadily. “I must think of such things for your sake, for you are first in my thoughts. I have no intention of dying today—please understand that. But if things go awry—as you must allow they may—I will not leave you defenceless. My people recognize you as a queen of Faerie because I have told them that is what you are, but the realm does not recognize it. Not yet.”
“Old-fashioned, is it?” I was trying to joke, but it only came out sounding strangled. And yet, against all odds, I felt my pulse slowing. Perhaps it was due to the lulling environment of the lake, or Wendell’s obvious nervousness, something I have observed in him only rarely, but that makes him seem very nearly human.
Wendell answered me seriously. “I suppose so. But then, Faerie does not really recognize marriage. That translation from the Faie is only a clumsy approximation.” He seemed to think. “Mortals, I’ve observed, sometimes marry for very silly reasons. The Folk do not, because one cannot marry someone who does not match them. The word has a connotation of accepting one’s fate.”
“You are trying to calm me with a linguistics lesson,” I said.
He smiled. “Is it working?”
I let out a breath of laughter. “Then—you propose we marry by the old traditions? A simple declaration?”
“Why not?” he said.
It was a strange thing. I had been viewing the marriage question with such trepidation—the ceremony, the spectacle, all that came after it, in the form of this strange and beautiful kingdom that would thence be half mine. And yet, as I sat there upon the lake amidst the tree-shadow and reflected light and the dragonflies tussling with the wind, I no longer knew why I had been so afraid. Likely it was also the threat of Queen Arna hanging over us like a guillotine—well, the prospect of imminent death tends to put things into perspective. It was not that my worries vanished—no magic could manage that. I only realized how much smaller they were than the world that lay before me. A world that I wanted, even after all I had seen, and amidst such a thicket of danger. I wanted it very much. And I especially wanted to share it with Wendell.
“All right,” I said. “How does this work? Must I stand? I warn you, my balance is unsteady in all forms of watercraft.”
Wendell blinked for a moment. And then his expression flooded with such delight and relief that I was taken aback.
“You thought I would say no!” I exclaimed, batting away his hand in indignation. “Good grief. And you are always boasting about how well you know me.”
He laughed again, a sound that echoed across the lake, and it seemed the trees were stirred by it, raining their leaves down upon the lakeshore. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t think that,” he said. “I didn’t know what you would say. It appears you still have the ability to surprise me, Em.”
I rolled my eyes. There was an echo of nervousness in his gaze, and I decided I’d had enough of that. Additionally, he was looking very handsome just then, with the sunlight picking out at least a dozen shades of gold in his hair, so I took hold of his cloak, thumb looping through one of the buttonholes, and drew him towards me.
“Well, come on, what must we do?” I said when at last we broke apart, breathless. I hoped this tradition would not involve lengthy speeches. I have not improved much when it comes to putting feelings into words.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s done. Look.”
I followed his gaze to the lakeshore. A hundred tiny lights dotted the forest—more than a hundred. A thousand? They kept appearing among the shadows, different in size and luminance depending on the lantern. I hadn’t realized the forest was so full of Folk. And among the trees, the silver faerie stones began to glow.
“All this for a mortal queen?” I muttered, flushed and overwhelmed.
“Too much?” Wendell made a gesture, and the faerie stones dimmed, retaining only a faint luminescence. “That’s as much as I can do. The small Folk will keep to their traditions—they would be greatly offended if I ask them to put their lights out before morning.”
“Very well,” I said. It was easier to bear without the faerie stones, which I’ve always found eerie, the way they hang untethered among the treetops like a strangely shaped mist. I know the curator of Cambridge’s Museum of Dryadology and Ethnofolklore would give her eye teeth for just one of the things—none have ever been smuggled into the mortal world, and their form and size makes them unique among faerie stones. We drifted for a time, watching more lights flicker to life.
“What is that?” I said.
We had floated towards the southern bank of the lake. Now we were not far from where Ariadne and I had sighted the castle for the first time, mirrored in the glasslike water. The lake was shallower here; I could see the algal hue of the rocks at the bottom. And something else.