Act V

Rich and Strange

 

 

“DO YOU MISS the fairy courts?” I asked Ariel, swinging my leg over the edge of a rainworn boulder.

He—it was he that day—considered the question carefully, chin resting thoughtfully on his knuckles.

“I miss the option of their distance,” he said at last. “Which is to say, I miss being able to visit them, but only because I was able to leave again.”

“That sounds a very complicated relationship.”

“Most are,” said Ariel, “when not confined to islands.”

 

 

PUCK’S WARDS KEEP both Moth and Mustardseed at bay the rest of the way to Queen Titania’s court—their strength, Puck says, is less than his, though I suspect their sudden disappearance has as much to do with the missive Puck sent to King Oberon as with any degree of respect or incompetence.

“You could at least humour my vanity,” Puck huffs, when I point this out.

“I’ll leave humour to the physicians,” I quip back.

Puck stumbles over a rock.

Two days out from Illyria and the court, we’re met on the road by a young, dark-haired man who stares pointedly at Puck’s horns—or rather, at where his horns would be, if they weren’t veiled from casual sight—and says, in put-upon tones, “It’s very hard to recognise you without them, you know.”

Puck grins his pointed, toothy grin. “And hello to you, too. I suppose you’ve been sent to keep an eye on me?”

“I’ve been sent,” says the stranger, “to ask why you’re taking a votary to Queen Titania instead of to our lord.”

“Because I paid him to,” I say. “And because, with all due respect to King Oberon, a dear friend of mine is in service to Queen Titania, and I have promised to meet her at the court, should I be granted the opportunity.”

“Hm,” says the man. He subjects me to a thoughtful sort of scrutiny, his brow all wrinkled up. He has a slim, straight nose, prominent eyes, and a stubborn set to his beardless chin. “I take it, then, that my recommendation as a votary of Oberon would do little to entice you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“In that case,” he says, bowing to the pair of us, “I’ll waste no more of your morning. Farewell, for now!” And he heads back the way we’ve come, vanishing around the nearest bend.

Puck clucks his tongue. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Troubling?”

“I didn’t say so. But potentially, yes. Master Will seldom shows up without purpose, and the purpose is usually Oberon’s.”

But though we keep an eye out for any further fairy meddling, none eventuates.

 

 

THE SHIP ROCKED beneath me, calm on the open seas. I ought to have been asleep, but the novelty of seeing my island dwindle into the distance—of seeing a horizon unbounded by trees or mortal limitations—was yet to fade, and so I stood at the prow of the vessel, watching the moon drift by.

“Miranda?”

“Ariel?”

My voice was little more than a whisper; sound carried on water, the sailors said, and as there were still some of their number on duty, I had no wish to draw undue attention to myself.

“The same.” Ariel drifted in the air alongside the ship, wearing my borrowed girlshape—but not me as I was in that moment, but me as a child, the way I’d been at five or six. She was translucent, glowing the same silver-blue as the ocean, her eyes both fond and sad.

“Are you well? I thought my father freed you.”

“I am well. But we had no proper farewell, and I wanted—I came to make sure you are happy. That you want this escape, this path.”

I smiled at her, my heart full of possibilities, the doubts so small, I scarce condescended to hear them. “I am happy, Ariel. Are you?”

Ariel’s smile didn’t waver. “I am, if you are,” she said. “I—I wish you luck, Miranda. But if you ever need me, call, and I will come.”

Before I could answer, she pressed a cool, brief kiss to my cheek, and vanished.

 

 

QUEEN TITANIA’S COURT is nothing like the court at Naples. Living vines seethe over sculpted marble, twisting to accommodate the whims of guests by sprouting trumpet-flowers full of nectar, knotting themselves into swings—whatever the seething crowd of fairies might desire. Everywhere is chaotic variety, wings and eyes and fur and feathers, animal and mortal guises; horns like Puck’s and hair like mine are the least of such strange adornments.

“Now,” Puck murmurs, leading me through to the audience chamber, “unless the Queen—or King, if he’s here, and he may well be—addresses you directly, let me do the talking.”

“What do you mean, King Oberon might be here?” I hiss. “You never said so earlier!”

“If I had, would you be any calmer now?”

My silence confirms the point; Puck grins in triumph. Rolling my eyes despite myself, I nod.

“Very well, then. Lead on.”

The audience chamber is, I’m sure, a beautiful thing, but whatever its marvels, they are as nothing compared to the beauty of Queen Titania. Dressed in a gown of white feathers, her skin is the colour of burnished copper, glowing against the warmer brown of her wide, bright eyes and the gleaming, impossible gold of her hair. Her kinky curls are bound in braids which, even wrapped in silver wire and studded with gemstones, are long enough to brush her calves.

And beside her, light where she is dark, is a man who can only be King Oberon. Ebony horns curl back from his head; his hair is a long, black waterfall, straight and dark, strung through with tiny chimes and bright red threads. His skin is neither gold nor olive, but somewhere in between, his black eyes folded gently at the edges. He is beardless and bare-armed beneath a single black garment, belted at the waist with silver, living tattoos coiling up the muscles of his forearms.

They are beautiful, and powerful, and utterly imposing. I fight the urge to fall to my knees, and only through the borrowed courage of Puck and Ariel do I keep upright.

“Robin Goodfellow,” Queen Titania says, and at her words, the room falls silent, all eyes turning to us. “Are the rumours true, then? Have you brought me a votary in penance for your impudence?”

“That depends, my lady,” Puck says, and when he bows to her, I curtsey, heart beating hard against my ribs.

Titania raises an eloquent eyebrow. “On what?”

“On whether you consider abduction to the fairy roads by two of your number, Moth and Mustardseed, to disqualify her current bid to serve you.”

Startled murmurs spread through the court. King Oberon’s mouth twitches—a small, pleased smile, there and gone like a flash of summer lightning. For the first time, my stomach lurches at the thought that Puck might be playing some game I know not of; that, despite his pledge, he might yet be loyal to his lord ahead of our bargain. But as I cannot know for sure, I swallow my doubts and trust in Ariel’s trust in him.

Titania’s expression darkens. “Mustardseed. Moth,” she says. “Attend.” Her voice is resonant with summoning-power, and scarcely a heartbeat later, both fairies appear.

“My lady,” they say in unison, bowing.

Titania scarcely notices. “Is this true?” she asks, voice deadly calm. “Did you take a votary of mine on the fairy roads?”

Moth’s voice shakes like her namesake’s wings. “We did, my lady. But only because we didn’t know what she was! The Goodfellow has never brought you votaries before; we thought her his doxy, and only when she escaped without his aid did we consider that—”

“Perhaps,” Titania says, with icy rage, “you might have trusted your liege to punish the reprobate as agreed, instead of taking matters into your own hands!”

Both fairies fall to their knees. It is difficult not to feel some satisfaction at their predicament, though I do my best to keep it from showing.

“Here is my judgement on you: just as Puck walked to my court in penance for his transgressions, so shall you walk to King Oberon’s in penance for yours. Leave now, take no fairy roads, and do not return until your term is filled. Go!” This last word she imbues with command, and with a startled, fearful cry, both Moth and Mustardseed vanish from the audience chamber, leaving a ripple of murmurs in their wake.

“Oh, joy,” Oberon mutters, his voice rich with wry amusement. “I do so look forward to chastising them on your behalf.”

Titania doesn’t reply to this, but fixes her gaze on me.

“Step forward, votary.”

Swallowing sharply, I comply—and, after a moment’s hesitation, kneel. This seems to be the right decision: Titania smiles down on me and says, in a far gentler tone, “I am sorry for your mistreatment, child. What is your name?”

“Miranda, my lady, though sometimes Miran, and once the Princess of Naples.”

At this, both monarchs look surprised. “You are Duke Prospero’s daughter?” Oberon asks. “I heard she died of fever.”

“Not dead, my lord, but fled.” And then, to Queen Titania, “I wish to enter your service, my lady. If you’ll have me.”

“And are you so set on queenly service?” Oberon asks, before Titania can answer. His interjection is clearly shocking; the whole room goes quiet, and Oberon smiles as though he knew it would. “You seem to have an uncommonly amicable relationship with my Puck. I understand”—he says, with a slight incline of his head—“that you are, shall we say, committed to a certain member of this court, but surely that relationship need not preclude your service elsewhere?”

I freeze in place, a rabbit caught by candlelight.

“Really, Oberon?” Titania snaps. “You mean to poach a votary from under me?”

“I mean to offer the girl a choice. That’s not against the rules, is it?”

“The letter of them, no, though it certainly defies their spirit.”

Both monarchs look at me then, but though I burn to speak, to say I’ll serve Titania only, Puck’s warning tickles something in the back of my mind, and so I keep silent, staring abashedly at the floor.

One second of silence. Two. Three.

“A boon,” says Oberon, suddenly. “Serve as my votary, child, and I’ll grant you”—he pauses, as though musing on the perfect gift—“youth eternal. All your mortal days lived out as young as you are now, without age or infirmity.”

“And if I may make a counter-offer?” Titania says, sweetly. “Serve me, Miran-Miranda, and I’ll grant you”—her pause is dramatic, not contemplative—“a form that changes to suit your heart, as a fairy’s might.”

My head jerks up of its own accord, heat rushing to my cheeks. I do not mean to speak, but her double-naming of me betrays her knowledge of what I am—and more, through her proffered boon, her acceptance of it. “Truly?” I whisper.

Titania smiles, generous in victory. “Truly.”

“Then,” I say. I take a breath, and turn to Oberon. “With all due respect and apologies, my lord, I must decline your offer, and accept my lady’s, for though your boon is generous beyond my dreams, in hers, my dreams are manifest. I could no more refuse such an offer than walk to the moon.”

For a thunderous moment, I fear that the King will be wroth with me. But then Oberon tips back his head and laughs, deep and heartily. “Oh, well played! Well played indeed! I concede both votary and match.”

“Rise, then,” Titania says to me, and I obey, my legs as shaky as a fawn’s. “Let all bear witness!” she calls, her warm voice ringing through the room. “This votary, though importuned in travelling here, escaped by wit alone. Otherwise, she came to me afoot, by mortal means. I accept her as votary; I accept her into this court, and grant my promised boon. And in exchange”—she lifts my chin with a fingertip, the contact shivering me—“do you, Miran-Miranda, once-and-no-longer Princess of Naples, swear me fealty—to serve my interests, and those of my court, to the best of your ability?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to accept my judgement in return for my protection?”

“I do.”

“Do you accept the witness of those gathered here, and understand the burden of these oaths?”

“I do.”

“Then be my votary,” she says, and kisses me lightly on the forehead. “So will it be.”

A strange sensation fills me up, like deep-sea bubbles fizzing through my bones. Titania’s boon takes hold of me to the sound of laughing, cheering fairies, light in my blood and music in my lungs, and as though I’ve grown an extra sense, I suddenly know, just as I know the movement of my fingers, that I can make my body change; that I might take whatever shape or sex I choose, and wear it without fear of contradiction.

“Oh,” I say, and fall to my knees—in love, in shock, in gratitude. “Oh, my lady!”

“Thank me with service,” Titania says, her tone both fond and wry. “For as my first request of you, I ask that you serve as my emissary in King Oberon’s court, the better to foster unity between us. After all”—she glances sharply at Puck—“you do have fellows there.”

“Of course, my lady,” I say, still dazed. Titania winks at me, so brief and quick I might have imagined it; and then the interview is done, and Puck is leading me gently away from the dais, out to the brilliant, buttery sunshine pouring into an adjacent courtyard. Sensitive to my shock, he sits me on a marble bench and brings me one of the trumpet-flowers to drink from, holding its rosy petals to my lips. I drink, and the nectar goes down sweetly, tasting half like wine and half like summer.

“You planned that,” I say, when the flower is empty. “Didn’t you?”

Puck grins broadly, taking a seat beside me. “Oh, I had a hand in it, to be sure. But mostly, it was Ariel. She knew that, if she brought you here herself, there’d be no conflict to force the granting of a boon, but if I did it, my liege would likely make a bid for your loyalty, which means a boon, which means Titania would offer one, too—your lady being, I’ll admit, uncommonly adept at discerning a heart’s desire.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and lean my head on his shoulder, momentarily overwhelmed. “And Ariel? Was she truly busy?”

“Oh, she had some chores to run, but I’ve no doubt she’ll be here soon.” He kisses my temple, strangely fond. “But until then, Miran-Miranda, how would you like a proper tour of Fairyland? After all, as a fellow emissary, I can hardly leave you ignorant.”

I laugh at that, and the sound bubbles out of me like joy. “Oh, brave new world! No—brave new worlds! For I never truly knew there was more than one, and now I plan to walk them all.”

“A noble task,” says Puck, and gently laces our fingers together. “Well, then. Shall we?”

“Yes,” I tell him.

I don’t look back.