“Those clothes are at least fifty years out of fashion,” Gadfly was telling him. “No one wears copper buttons in the spring court. If you insist on staying we’ll have to find . . .”
Whatever he said next, and whatever Rook said in reply, was lost to me as I finished digesting that phrase—a welcome to my domain.
I cleared my throat. Gadfly looked around. “Sir, are you the spring prince?” I asked.
He smiled. “Why, yes. None other! Surely I’ve mentioned that to you before?”
“No, I can’t say you have.”
“How remiss of me. I’m so forgetful with mortals—I simply assume everyone already knows.” While Gadfly spoke, Rook studied him with an unreadable expression. “Well, fear not, Isobel. Your manners are beyond reproach. I always felt welcomed as a princely figure in your home. Now, before I forget another detail, would you care to tell me why you’re roaming about in the forest, and in such distinguished company?”
“Actually—” I glanced at Rook. I was grateful we’d planned on having him explain, because the revelation about Gadfly’s rank had left me quite speechless.
“Let’s discuss it as we walk,” he suggested, yanking his coat straight and tightening his sword belt, rather crossly, I thought. I wondered if he’d taken Gadfly’s criticisms to heart. Then he set off through the meadow, leaving us to catch up.
“He’s a singular fellow, isn’t he,” Gadfly said.
How could I possibly answer that without giving anything away? I settled for the blandest reply I could think of. “Indeed, sir. I find all fair folk to be quite singular.”
“Oh, how I wish that were so! But we’re all the same, I’m afraid.” He gave me a smile as subtle and chilly as a spring thaw. “Most of us. Now, Rook—you were saying?”
Pacing along in front, Rook was clearly growing tired of all the cowslips. “As you know,” he said impatiently, “Isobel is the most distinguished Crafter in Whimsy at present. The portrait she painted for me was unlike anything we’ve ever seen in the autumn court.”
“So I heard,” Gadfly replied. It took a monumental effort of will not to look at him and gauge his reaction.
“It shocked us, myself most of all. At first I imagined it to be an act of sabotage for which Isobel should stand trial. But on the way to the autumn court I discovered that she had no harmful intentions. She merely painted a human emotion on my face, and skillfully, without understanding what she had done.” This was all true—in a manner of speaking. “Now, Isobel is interested in replicating her newfound Craft.”
“Human emotions, Gadfly,” I said to him, my confidence swelling the further we got without slipping up. “You’ve sampled everything Craft has to offer—tea cakes and china, silk suits, books, swords. We keep coming up with different versions of the same old things, but I think what I’d like to try is completely new. I could put true joy on your face. Wonder on someone else’s. Laughter, or wrath—even sorrow. Rook has informed me your kind will find this most diverting.”
“So I’ve brought her to the spring court, where she might demonstrate first for her most dedicated patrons,” Rook finished grandly. “If the results are satisfactory, I do believe such Craftsmanship deserves a just reward. I propose that should she choose to take it, Isobel’s payment will be a trip to the Green Well.”
My smile radiated innocence. A trip to it, not a drink from it.
“Something completely new,” Gadfly mused in a faraway voice. Briefly he looked much older than his apparent age. The bees stopped droning in the honeyed air, and all the songbirds stilled. I held my breath along with the rest of the world. “Yes. Yes, I think that’s just the thing. Isobel, Rook, I would be delighted to host you. For as long as you’re in the spring court, you will want for nothing.”
We reached the court much sooner than I expected, and I almost walked straight in without realizing we’d arrived. Birch trees wider than a man was tall grew around us, soaring to impossible heights. Craning my neck, I saw that their branches were woven together much in the same way as Rook’s shelters, with songbirds and jewel-bright hummingbirds flitting among them. The only tree that stood apart from the rest was an old, knotted dogwood in full bloom, elevated on a mossy knoll. It had grown into a strange shape, and puzzling over this, I realized it was no normal tree, but in fact a throne.
As soon as I drew that conclusion, the forest around me changed. Silvery laughter filled the air, and with a shimmer like steam escaping a teapot, brocade chairs, silken pillows, and picnic blankets unfurled across the flowery meadow. Previously unseen, dozens if not hundreds of fair folk watched us approach from various states of repose. My knees turned to water, and I had to force myself to keep walking. I’d never seen even a fraction this many fair folk in a single place at once. Worse, they weren’t watching us after all. They stared at me, and me alone: the first mortal to enter their court in over a thousand years.