Francine went through the gateway Pierre formed, fiddle and bow in hand. The dark woods made a muffled comment, the air humid and heavy. Clouds filled the sky, and even the birds were silent. She had watched him carefully, but she still didn’t understand how he could bridge the worlds when she couldn’t.
Pierre came through a moment later. He glanced around, obvious looking for others.
“It isn’t a trap,” Francine hissed angrily at Pierre as she put away her fiddle.
Pierre froze, then turned to Francine slowly.
“I know that,” he said softly.
“I believe you, chérie.”
“But?”
“You may have been duped, too.”
Sadness washed over Francine. She no longer trusted the Unseelie. There was a good chance Pierre was right, and that they didn’t trust her either.
“So we will be careful, yes?”
“Oui, chéri,” Francine said, teasing, just to bring a smile to Pierre’s face as well as her own. She tried not to let herself notice how sad his smile was.
Pierre tried to lead the way, but the roots kept tripping him, making him falter.
Francine knew it was a gentleman thing, and let him, not wanting to hurt his pride.
“Here,” Francine finally said, pushing beyond Pierre as she helped him to his feet for the fourth time.
“Let me.”
They made better progress now. The trees still occasionally tried to trip Francine, but it was more playful, with less intent to harm. They didn’t pause again until they stood on the small rise looking down on the Great Hall.
To the left stood the tree Papa and Uncle Rene were caged by. No other Seelie had joined them, so the most recent raid had been unsuccessful. They’d unbound the rope from their wrists, and it coiled like a deadly black cloud in the corner of their cage.
Francine studied Pierre as he looked down the hill. Did he see the tree? Or was Erastus right—was the queen truly hidden?
“You didn’t tell me there would be guards,” Pierre hissed at Francine.
“There weren’t guards there before,” Francine whispered back.
She scanned the area carefully. Pierre was right. Two warriors now lazed outside Papa and Uncle Rene’s cage. One sat cross-legged and leaned against the bars, while the other lay stretched out, propped up with one arm.
Cruel laughter carried up to where Francine and Pierre stood. The guard lying down tossed something into the cage.
“Not exactly guarding,” Francine muttered.
The warriors probably hadn’t been told to wait outside the cage and guard it. They were probably just there to have some “fun” at Papa and Uncle Rene’s expense.
“We’ll have to wait,” Pierre said.
“No. We have to get them out now. I’ll distract the guards,” Francine said.
The one lying down had given her an idea.
“Not like that,” Pierre said sharply, stepping in front of Francine.
“Not like what?” Francine asked, perplexed.
Pierre didn’t say anything. He merely looked Francine up and down, with speculation in his eyes.
“No! Jeez, not like that,” Francine said, her cheeks suddenly warm.
“Why does everything come down to sex with you?”
“It isn’t sex,” Pierre assured her. “It’s honor.”
Francine rolled her eyes. Pierre would see it that way.
“Get Papa and Uncle Rene out while I’m still playing,” she said as she drew out her fiddle.
“You know this means they’ll know you’ve turned against them.”
Francine couldn’t meet Pierre’s eye. She knew.
The Unseelie would never understand that loyalty. If they ever caught her after this, they’d be merciless.
But she had to rescue Papa.
Francine shoved her misgivings to the side and started a bright, happy tune.
“What are you doing?” Pierre whispered.
Francine winked.
“Trust me.”
Then she let the tune carry her down the hill, twisting and dancing. She didn’t play a constant song, just a few notes here, a string of melody there. She also consciously stumbled, and threw out a few casual curses when she did.
Finally, Francine stumbled into the Grand Hall.
“Ooh,” she said with an exaggerated whisper to the two guards, holding her hands out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She swayed where she stood, as if she were very drunk.
“It’s all right, miss,” said the one lying down. He started to push himself up.
“No, no, no, no, no, don’t get up, shh,” Francine said.
“Here. I’ll help.”
At first Francine continued to skip over notes, switching from one slow dance to the next.
“That’s nice,” said the seated warrior, swaying back and forth.
“Yeah,” Francine said, keeping her own tone soft and unfocused. She changed over to a lullaby, a quiet song Mama had taught her about dolphins and the ocean.
By the time Francine had reached the second chorus, both warriors lay stretched out, sound asleep. She risked a glance at the cage; both Papa and Uncle Rene were shaking their heads, working to stay awake, yawning greatly.
She sent the next round of music up toward the tree, soothing it as well, slipping into something that more resembled a carol—the quiet winter chill needed to send a tree to sleep.
Finally, Francine looked up at the ridge and nodded. She didn’t see Pierre, but hopefully he watched. She kept her playing softer now, casting a heavy blanket of sleep across the two fairies.
The gate of the cage snicked open. Francine hadn’t seen Pierre approach, but he was suddenly there, urging the two men out.
Even in the dim light Francine could tell they were pale—too pale. Maybe sick. Papa stood up straight and stretched as soon as he could. Uncle Rene followed suit.
Papa’s eyes never left Francine even as he rolled his shoulders and head.
Francine couldn’t pay Papa that much attention. She had to stay focused on the two warriors, making them sleep and dream deeply.
Pierre shaped an archway just beyond the tree. Francine wasn’t sure how. He sent Papa and Uncle Rene through first. Then he beckoned to Francine.
“You have to go next. I have to close the gate as I go through.”
Francine didn’t know how to do that. There was still so much she had to learn.
And now, only the Seelie would teach her.
Francine continued to play as she walked, right up to the time she backed through the arch, bowing a little, saying goodbye to the place that had urged her to play as wildly as she could.
* * *
The notes Francine played in the arch bounced strangely through the Seelie woods, skyward and twisted. Darkness wove between the trees and pressed against Francine’s skin. The air smelled right, and Francine recognized where she stood, otherwise she would have suspected they weren’t in the Seelie lands. She’d never seen it so dark.
“The queen’s missing,” Papa said quietly as Francine looked around. “The light’s…fading.”
Francine stifled the urge to say she was sorry, yet again. She looked at Papa, trying to examine him in the dimness. He looked thinner than she remembered, the skin along his neck gaunt and tight. Either he’d shrunk or she’d grown—they stood eye-to-nose now, instead of eye-to chin.
“It’s good to see you, darling,” Uncle Rene interrupted.
Uncle Rene had lost so much weight. She remembered Pierre had said he had cancer.
The stillness holding Francine suddenly broke and she gave Uncle Rene a hug. He held her in strong arms. Francine blinked back the tears.
“I missed you so much,” she said hoarsely.
“Missed you too, hon,” Uncle Rene said, letting go and stepping back, dragging the backs of his now-skinny hands over his eyes.
“Same here,” Papa added quietly.
“Yeah,” Francine said, looking at him and nodding. She’d missed Papa, but that was a familiar ache, as he’d actually left when Mama had died.
As always, anger wrapped around Francine’s grief. She knew it didn’t make any sense, but all she wanted to ask was why, why had he hurt her so?
Pierre stepped through the arch and it collapsed before they could say anything else.
Francine had never seen an arch fold in on itself that way. She was going to have to ask Pierre to show her that later.
If Pierre still wanted to be teach Francine anything; if he would trust her that much ever again.
“We need to get someplace safe,” Pierre told them.
“Lady Melisandra’s?” Francine asked, remembering the strength of her safe haven in the backyard.
Papa jerked his attention back to Francine, his expression unreadable.
“No, though that’s a good second choice. She might help us—help you,” Pierre said with a pointed stare at Francine.
Francine nodded. Just ’cause Pierre would help didn’t mean any of the other Seelie would.
“But I was thinking Brooks and Jacque’s place,” Pierre continued. “They’re living here now, trying to keep order with the queen gone.”
“Why there?” Papa asked. “Why would Brooks help?”
Francine heard the unspoken, “Why would he help me?” There had to be some awful history there if Papa hesitated, as tired as he looked.
“They owe her a debt,” Pierre explained.
“Really?” Uncle Rene said, sounding surprised.
Papa also cocked an eyebrow in question.
Francine nodded. “When their bubble world was collapsing.”
“That was you?” Papa sounded angry, folding his arms across his chest.
“Yes,” Francine snapped, ready to match his rage.
“They were my…” She paused, the anger leaving as quickly as it had appeared. They weren’t her friends, not really, though they’d been friendly enough.
“It wasn’t right,” Francine continued quietly.
“Just leaving them to be, I don’t know, reabsorbed.”
Papa looked to the side, not meeting Francine’s gaze.
“You could have been hurt,” he said softly.
Uncle Rene gave a loud, dramatic sigh.
Both Francine and Papa looked at him.
“Would y’all stop dancing around each other like you’re concerned strangers and just admit that you’re flawed family?”
Francine’s look turned into a glare. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Papa had done the same. A quick glance showed her that she and her papa stood the exact same way, with their hands fisted on their waists, chins out, necks strained. She bet if she had a mirror, it would show they both wore the same expression.
Papa looked at Francine, then bit his lips together.
Francine recognized the gesture—he was trying not to laugh.
It still hurt that Mama wasn’t there to help them see each other. That they had no mirror there to reflect off of. But maybe they could learn to do that without her, now.
Francine dropped her arms at the same time Papa did. They turned to face each other.
“I missed you,” Papa finally said.
“Oh, Papa,” Francine choked out as she crossed to where he was and flung her arms around him.
“My baby girl,” Papa murmured, pulling Francine closer. “My number-one girl.”
Something crashed nearby: a limb falling, or something worse, like a wild boar Fée on the hunt for more Seelie? Both Francine and Papa jumped.
“We have to go,” Pierre repeated.
“The woods aren’t safe.”
Francine let herself be hurried along the path, but she kept looking back to make sure Papa followed.
She wasn’t going to lose him again.
* * *
Gator eyes greeted Francine as the door swung open. She steeled herself from taking a step back. It didn’t matter if Brooks hated her now; he had to help her papa.
Brooks’ stern eyes looked from one to another in the group before he said, “Y’all are like a bad penny, always coming back. Get in here.”
He stepped to the side as they shuffled in, then turned and walked straight back through his house after he closed the door, expecting them to follow.
Francine caught a glimpse of an empty living room and pale, bare walls, as if no one lived there. The kitchen was a homey contrast, a white-and-black tiled floor running into checked walls with a similar pattern. It could have been dizzying, but the bright red chair rail and shelves broke the pattern just enough.
It looked like the kind of kitchen Aunt Lavine would have loved.
It didn’t surprise Francine that the back of Brooks’ house looked like the field from his bubble world, with long green grass and spots of tall reeds. A faded blue rug lay along one side, and Jacque looked at them from it.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled.
Jacque sounded friendly enough, but his smile didn’t meet his eyes.
“You rescue them, too?” Brooks asked as Francine as her papa got Uncle Rene settled on the rug.
Francine nodded, something tight and hard hurting inside at how Uncle Rene still worked to catch his breath after running through the woods.
Jacque looked at Brooks, who nodded. Jacque disappeared inside the house for a brief moment before returning with moon wine.
“This will help,” he told Uncle Rene, his fingers wrapped around his wrist to hold it steady as he sipped.
When Papa took over, Jacque went in and came out with glasses for everyone.
“This gonna be a habit of yours?” Brooks asked, his voice as hard as his eyes.
Francine nodded.
“Or maybe I just need to see if the third time’s the charm.”
“Oh?” Brooks asked, not looking at Francine, his posture stiff, as if tensing for a blow.
“We have to rescue the queen.”
* * *
“So what are y’all intending, exactly?” Brooks asked as they all settled down on the blanket for a “war council.” Stars shone coldly above, barely burning through the dark. The woods were quiet, every creature hidden away. The wind barely whispered above them.
“I saw where they buried Queen Yvette. I know where she is,” Francine declared.
“So?” Brooks asked, challenging her.
“We can go get her back.”
Brooks and Jacque exchanged a quick glance.
“How do I know it’s not a trick?” Brooks asked.
Francine looked down at the rug and picked at a loose thread.
“The Unseelie—they were good to me. But they used me, worse’n you did.”
From across the rug Francine could tell Papa had just sat up stiff and straight. She’d have to talk with him later to make sure Brooks didn’t come to an accident.
“They used me,” Francine repeated. Now she looked up, staring directly at Brooks, her ready anger rising.
“I won’t be used by anyone anymore.”
Brooks met her eyes for a long moment.
Francine couldn’t read anything in that golden glare.
Finally, Brooks gave a curt nod.
“I believe you. And I’m willing to work with you. But know that the rest of the court won’t be so kind.”
He turned and looked at Uncle Rene.
“While you’re still welcome to visit, I’m not sure how long you’ll be able to stay, now.”
Francine swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. Oh God. What if she’d just killed Uncle Rene by rescuing him and Papa?
Uncle Rene reached over and placed his big hand on Francine’s knee, giving it a squeeze.
“Don’t you fret. I have whatever time I have, and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.”
The silence strained as Francine struggled to swallow down her tears.
“So, are we going?” Papa asked roughly.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Francine retorted.
“You need every fighter you have,” Papa said.
“I don’t care. You’re not—you’re never going back there,” Francine said vehemently.
“But—” Jacque started.
“No!”
Francine glared at them all.
“He might be right,” Brooks said with a sigh.
“No. He is not.”
Francine knew if she said one more word she’d start shooting flames at all of them.
“I can’t deal with all you idiots right now,” she said as she stood up, stomping off the rug. The tall grass easily parted for her as she walked farther into the yard.
She stopped at the back wall, where the trees started. Without thinking she reached out to touch one, then jerked her hand back.
The moans of Queen Yvette still skittered across her palm, making her skin itch.
“Hey, babe.”
Francine turned to see Uncle Rene.
“You should be resting,” she scolded, reaching for his hand and drawing him to a clear space between the tree trunks where he could sit down.
“He worried about you every day.”
“No, he didn’t,” Francine said. “He worried about himself.”
“Child, I’ve never seen you be so willfully ignorant before. Just look at him.”
Francine grimaced but did as her uncle asked.
At first, it appeared Papa talked with Brook, Jacque, and Pierre. But after a few moments his eyes turned toward her, checking to see where she was. As Francine watched, Papa did it repeatedly, always looking toward her, always checking.
“He never stopped looking for you, waiting for you, not even as the years passed.”
“Years?”
Francine’s stomach fell and her insides knotted in fear.
“It’s been more than five years since you left.”
Francine shook her head.
“No. That’s wrong. It hasn’t been—” she counted in her head “—even eight months yet.”
“No, darling. It’s been longer than that for him. First your mama, then you. That sorrow weighing him down.”
Where had the time gone? Had it disappeared in the wilds, while she danced with the trees?
“But you both seemed so happy when I saw you,” Francine snapped.
“When was that?”
Francine gestured toward Jacque and Brooks.
“You know.”
“We were happy to see them,” Uncle Rene said slowly.
“And coming here did lift a stone off your papa’s heart. But he spent every day expecting to see you, to turn around and have you pop out of a corner somewhere.”
Uncle Rene sighed.
“With your mama, it was easier to let go. He knew he’d never see her again. With you, all he knew was that his grandma had sent you away someplace and wouldn’t tell him where.”
“Lady Melisandra’s my great-grandma?”
Uncle Rene rubbed the back of his head and looked down.
“No one explained, did they? Your relations.”
“Papa wouldn’t talk about them. You wouldn’t talk about them,” Francine accused. She glared first at him, then at her papa across the yard.
Papa met Francine’s gaze steadily for a moment before turning away, as he always did.
“Darling, he wouldn’t really talk to me either. I don’t know what happened. His grandma raised him.”
“So Queen Yvette is Lady Melisandra’s daughter?”
Uncle Rene gave her a hesitant nod.
“Not directly. Once or twice removed.”
“Huh.” It didn’t make sense, but Francine got the general idea. She looked back at Brooks and Jacque.
Maybe they really were her cousins, two or three times removed. Then she noted Papa had turned to look at her again.
A soft breeze played with Francine’s hair, blowing it across her eyes. Just try, came the faint words.
Francine would have sworn it was her mama talking.
With a nod, Francine pushed aside her anger and really looked at her papa. He did look older; she’d noticed that before. Care wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, deeper and more downturned than the laugh wrinkles. When he glanced her way again, she finally saw the question in his eyes, the hope that she might care.
“He was pretty mean,” Francine said quietly.
“And he’s beat himself up about it, too.”
“I don’t want to lose him again,” Francine finally admitted, her voice cracking.
“All you have to do is let him in,” Uncle Rene said.
“He’ll never let go of you, either.”
It sounded so easy.
Francine knew it would be harder than breaking apart oak branches twined together to give him more room in her heart.
“I’d kill him if he got captured again,” Francine said. Or she’d kill herself.
Uncle Rene chuckled.
“That’s my girl. You show him just how bad it’ll be if he’s an idiot again.”
Francine felt a smile creeping across her face though she tried to deny it. Then Francine turned and looked at Uncle Rene.
“What about you?”
“What about me, darling?”
Francine merely glared at him.
“I’ve already lived a full life.”
Francine’s heart caught in her chest and her happiness froze.
“That bad?” was all she could choke out.
She reached out for him, grasping his hand.
“‘Fraid so. That’s why Charles brought me here again.”
“I’m sorry it had to be now—with all this,” Francine said, gesturing to the twilight and the screaming trees.
“Now’s all I got,” Uncle Rene said.
“So yeah, I’m going, too, to rescue the queen. Because you both need me, and I ain’t got nothing better to do.”
Uncle Rene squeezed their joined hands.
“Can’t be spending my afternoons making hush puppies here,” he added mournfully.
With her other hand, Francine pushed away the tears that had welled up.
“Well, if we’re all gonna be idiots, we might as well be idiots together. Come on.”
Francine stood and helped Uncle Rene back to his feet. They walked arm in arm across the yard, back toward the others.
Papa saw them coming and rose to his feet. At first, he looked like he was going to be stubborn, arms crossed across his chest. But seeing how loose and easy Francine walked, he let his arms fall, and looked puzzled.
“Papa, if you get hurt or recaptured, I’m gonna kill you. All right?” Francine said as they drew near.
Papa pressed his lips together as if to stop from smiling, but he nodded.
“Fine by me, darling.”
They all sat down again, this time with Francine closer to her papa, leaning into him sometimes as they made their plans.
Later that night, when Francine found she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore, she lay down with her head in Papa’s lap.
Just before she slept, she realized how like a tree he felt, how comforting, solid, and strong.