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WE TORE THROUGH THE woods, Kian and I. He dragged me along by the hand, running at fairy speed, while I coughed and choked and spluttered behind him. I was just a human, I thought to myself, trying to catch my breath as we jumped over brooks and streams, darted through forest glens and glades, how could I be expected to run as quickly? I didn't even have wings.
“Why can't we just fly?” I coughed.
“Pixies scan the skies - come on!”
I was reminded of my agonizing PE classes at school, where Clariss would constantly outstrip me, her lithe, tan body running rings around my thin frame on the track course. As much as I despised her, I think I rather preferred her to minotaurs.
As we ran, however, I began to regain my breath and my strength. Fairy air had a strange effect on me – or perhaps it was just the fairy blood after all – and my lungs at last seemed to increase in size to take in more air; my legs pushed more quickly at the ground, and soon I was not just catching up with Kian, but nearly leading the way, pushing us through stony cliffsides and along sandy shores. I had little time to take in my surroundings; at the same time, I could not help but be affected by them. The land of Feyland didn't seem to have a discernible ecology – instead, rushing waves and sunny beaches gave way in the space of moments to snowy mountainsides and harsh, jutting cliffs. There were some patches of ground that felt like the tropics – fetid heat, the buzzing murmur of the jungle – and other areas that were like the forest I had first seen. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed all manner of creatures – not only other fairies, but mermaids darting in and out of the waves of the sea, centaurs galloping alongside us, the sounds of satyrs' dances in the distance. I had always read my Causabon's Mythology assiduously, memorizing every fact about every magical creature, but I had always thought that these creatures were fictional – products of the unconscious fears and stirrings and longings of human history. But they were real – the most beautiful and most terrible things that human minds had ever come up with – as real and true as I was. I was one of them.
“Now you've got your second wind,” cried Kian, as at last we came to a snowy mountainside, jutting straight out of miles of grass. “You can slow down now; we're almost there.”
“Why slow down now? Which way am I running?”
“Just up the path.”
“We came at last to a little house made of rock, half-hidden in the cliffside, covered in snow.
“This isn't the Winter Court, is it?” I said, with some not inconsiderable measure of disdain, as we entered. I had, after all, some growing measure of pride for the Summer Court.
“No,” said Kian. “I only come here to hunt.”
I didn't ask what it was he liked hunting.
“Lock the door behind you,” said Kian. I thought of Logan, saying those same words earlier that afternoon (had it been that afternoon?) and my heart grew heavy again.
“So, minotaurs,” I said at last.
“Minotaurs,” he said. “They, like much of Feyland, are out for the bounty on your head. Either that, or they just want to eat you. Fairies don't speak the minotaur language; we consider them animals.”
The conservationist in me leaped up. “Well, just because you don't understand them doesn't mean they're just beasts!”
“Would you have preferred that we stay and chat?”
He did have a point.
I looked around the lodge. It was unlike the Courts I had seen in my dreams – grand, filled with ineffable beauty, awe-inspiring. No, this place was smaller – even – dared I think it? - human. The walls were covered with frescoes – paintings directly on the stone. I began looking at one – a study of a fairy dance. As I stared, the figures seemed to be getting closer and closer to me, as if I were being drawn into their world. Suddenly, they began dancing – first in the painting, and then around me; as I looked around it seemed that I had been transported into the world of the painting, so that I was standing in the midst of the fairy court, listening again to the fairy waltz. I had been to the Musee d'Orangerie in Paris when I was a little girl, and sat in the “Monet Room” - where Monet had painted on a circular canvas going all the way around the room, enveloping the audience in the story of the painting. It didn't even compare to this.
Kian laughed, and suddenly the images around me vanished.
“You're not used to fairy art,” he said. “We paint in three dimensions here. That one is one of my best works.”
“You did that?” My eyes widened. “Incredible!” I looked at Kian with a bit of admiration. He was a bit of an artist like I was.
“I'm very proud of it,” Kian said.
Before I could answer, there came a knock at the door. We both stiffened.
“No,” Kian said presently. “It's safe; open it.”
In strode the funniest-looking creature I had ever seen – half-man, half-goat, with horns on his head that looked like they were in perennial danger of falling of.
“Pan!” said Kian. “Good of you to join us. Pan is a satyr, Bree.”
“I gathered,” I said, a bit more defensively than necessary.
“Hello, beautiful!” The satyr scurried over to me, taking an intrusive sniff of my person. “Well done, Kian!”
“Pan,” Kian said, with a warning note in his voice.
“That's fine,” I said. “Well done indeed, Kian.”
The satyr laughed. “You've got a lot of spunk, missy.”
“Bree,” I said. I grew a bit more daring. “Princess Bree, if you wouldn't mind.”
The satyr's eyes widened. “Of the Summer Court!” He nearly fell backwards over himself bowing. “Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude upon ah, erm, uh, a political affair.”
“I didn't realize you had so many young fairy women over, Kian,” I said. Of course it was to be expected. He was attractive, after all, and I imagined the fairy world wasn't quite so different from the human world in that regard.
“Pan exaggerates,” Kian said, stiffly. “We had an unfortunate run-in with a minotaur, Pan.”
“Ouch,” said Pan, wiggling his horns. “Ferocious creatures, aren't they, minotaurs?”
“Yes indeed.” I turned to Kian. “It would be a good idea for me to have a weapon to fight them off with, don't you think?”
Kian scoffed. “I don't think giving my prisoner a weapon is a particularly good idea,” he said.
Pan shrugged. “He's got a point, you know. So,” he turned to Kian. “You taking her to the Winter Court?”
“As soon as I've recovered from my wounds, yes,” he said. “That is, if the Princess doesn't try to escape again.”
“You needn't keep me prisoner,” I said, exasperated. “I'm not stupid. If I am royalty, and if you want to trade me for your sister, you're not about to kill me – which is more than I can say about everyone else around here. Give me a weapon; don't give me a weapon. I'm not going to try to run away, so you can stop treating me like a prisoner and start treating me like – well – a guest!”
“How can I know you won't run away?” said Kian.
I rolled my eyes. “Do I look like I want to get eaten by a minotaur? Or bitten by a pixie.”
He had to concede that I had a point.
“If you want me to go somewhere, just ask.” The whole thing seemed abundantly silly to me. pixies and minotaurs I could understand. Political treaties and wars just seemed arbitrary. Then again, my mother had been a fervent anti-war protester. (Then again, I remembered, my mother had also carried on an affair with a Summer King. I felt vaguely nauseous).
“Very well, Your Highness.” Kian's voice was laced with sarcasm. “Would you mind staying the night, before we set out upon the morrow for the Winter Court?”
“Why, yes, your Highness,” I said. “Thank you kindly for your ever-so-polite invitation. I would be delighted to join you for a marvelous jaunt to the Winter Court! I've been longing for you to ask for ever so long.”
Pan laughed heartily. “That's a firecracker you have there,” said Pan. “Now, anyone for some fairyfruit wine?”
Fairyfruit wine, I discovered, was designed for fairies – fairly enough. For Kian, it seemed to have a pleasant, relaxing taste; he could drink glass after glass without getting more than merry. For me, I realized, it had a stronger effect – as a half-fairy, I imagined, my tolerance was lessened. I stopped after a glass or two, and resisted Pan's attempts at pouring more into the golden goblet Kian had supplied me for that purpose. Pan, by contrast, clearly had no tolerance for fairyfruit wine; this didn't stop him from pouring goblet after goblet down his throat, washing it down with healthy shots of what he called birch beer brandy. In the end, I think, it was neither the quality nor the quantity, but the mixture, and Pan was astoundingly, uninhibitedly, drunk.
“Look at the Princess Bree,” he cried. “Not even swaying. That's one powerful tolerance.”
I neglected to mention my temperance had something to do with it.
“Of course, Halflings are always more powerful than normal fairies,” he added, laughing.
“Oh really?” I turned to Kian, who glowered. “You didn't mention that, Kian.”
“'Course they are!” said Pan, giggling, oblivious to Kian's black stares. “Simple evolution. Most humans die of a fairy kiss; only the strong ones survive. So any halfies – they're made of some pretty strong stuff. Simple evolution.”
“Is this true, Kian?”
He said nothing. At last he conceded the point. “I didn't think it, ah, politic to remind my...guest...that she was particularly powerful, under the circumstances.”
I shot him a honeyed smile. “Of course not,” I said. “I understand completely.”
I didn't want to admit, but I was enjoying our repartee. Mortal enemy or not, Kian could match me word for word and raised eyebrow for raised eyebrow; there was a reason, I thought, that we were both of royal blood. And by the laws of magic were each other’s intended. It was certainly better than being attacked by Pixies.
Once we got to the Winter Court, I thought, we'd be able to work this out. I had been in Model UN at school, after all; how different could fairy politics be? I was sure the war between the Winter and Summer Courts could be ended with the right amount of royal influence – and I was the Crown Princess. And then, I thought, against myself, the marriage contract would still be on.
I looked up at Kian – who seemed even more beautiful by candlelight than he had some hours earlier – and pushed the thought out of my mind. It was just the fairyfruit wine, I decided.
Pan, meanwhile, had taken to dancing on the table. He had captured what looked like a firefly in his palms, and placed it under a clear glass vase; thus trapped, the firefly began to sing, a plaintive melody.
“He's asking us to let him go,” said Pan. “It's the ballad-bug's custom!”
“You can't imprison a living creature!” I said. I shot a look at Kian for emphasis.
“Excuse me,” said Pan, “but it's tradition, Princess. Ballad-bug sings us a song in order to gain his freedom, we let it go; it flies around happily until the next guy gets him. We'll give it some fairyfruit wine before it goes. It doesn't mind.”
Fair enough, I thought. The ballad-bug's song didn't seem too miserable – he struck up a rather jazzy note, and soon Pan had leapt to his feet to dance some more.
“Come on, have a go, Princess,” cried Pan, taking my hands in his. He smelled like goat, only less pleasant.
“I'd rather not,” I said.
“Well, if you'd rather go somewhere more private,” continued Pan, yanking me around the small living room floor. “We can go upstairs and have a little...party of our own!”
“That's...very flattering,” I said, “but I must protest.”
“Just a kiss?” continued Pan. “Come on, just one!”
“That's enough!” cried Kian. “You are talking to a princess of royal fairy blood! Summer or Winter court, I won't have any lady of her rank and blood be maligned by insolent advances! Go upstairs and lie down – that's a royal command!”
Pan didn't seem to be in any mood to assent, but apparently a royal command had some magical component; almost against himself, Pan was carried upwards, up the stone staircase, and out of view.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” said Kian. The deference was real this time. “War or no war, there are honorable ways to behave.”
“Tradition,” I said, releasing the ballad-bug. It blew me a kiss with a tiny, puckered mouth before dipping its wings in the jug of fairyfruit wine and flying off. “Of course.” I couldn't help but soften. “Thank you,” I said.
“I didn't mean to...behave with disrespect in taking you prisoner,” Kian continued. “It was nothing personal.”
“Oh, of course,” I said. “You're only my ex-intended.”
“That wasn't my choice,” Kian said quietly. “I did not decide to go to war. But I must do my duty by my kingdom, and if that means giving up...my intended, then I must.” He blushed, slightly. “Whatever the laws of magic might say to the contrary.”
“I thought there was no law stronger than that of magic,” I said above a whisper.
He looked up at me, his eyes darker and more intense. “There is no law stronger than that of magic,” he said softly. He was standing perilously close to me; his hair shimmered in the moonlight. At that moment, I could believe what he said was true. We were standing close enough where I can see my reflection in his eyes and if I lifted my hand, I could easily trace the soft curve of his full lips with my fingertips. He half-closed his eyes and reached his arms around me, gathering me closer. I half-closed my eyes...anticipating what I had always dreamed about.
“I must to bed,” he said harshly, suddenly pulling himself away. “I suggest you get some rest. In the morning, Princess, we head to the Winter Court. You can sleep on the divan; I'm afraid it would be unseemly to allow you into my private quarters upstairs. Can I trust you to not run away – if I don't tie you up, I mean,” he seemed rather embarrassed.
“I give you my word as a Princess,” I said, trying not to think about Kian’s arms around me just seconds ago.
“Then I will trust you – as any chivalric Prince ought to do. Goodnight.”
I curled up on the divan and went to sleep – too tired to reflect any longer on this long, strange day.