Page 43 of The Queen's Huntsman
Esme was oddly endearing, and whilst her features and form were as elegant as any lady’s Gwendolyn had ever met, she radiated a sense of strength that Gwendolyn admired.
Her hair was fairer than Gwendolyn’s, not so silvery as Málik’s. And while her teeth were sharper, and her ears more pointed, her skin was a paler shade than his as well, and slightly iridescent… like pearls. Her eyes were neither blue, nor gray, nor green, but every shade in between, perhaps depending on her mood.
Her beauty was as delicate as a helleborine orchid, though Gwendolyn had every sense that, no matter how fiercely the wind blew, Esme’s spine would neither bend nor break.
Gwendolyn peered up at her now, studying her delicately chiseled face. She appeared so serene as she sat on the edge of Gwendolyn’s tub, her face so utterly pleasant—so long as her mouth remained closed. Alas, when she smiled, it put Gwendolyn in mind of a porbeagle, with its sharp, jagged teeth. Not even Málik’s smile was so full of menace.
However, it unnerved Gwendolyn that, as it was with Málik, Esme knew too much about her.
“Esme… would you tell me about theanam—how does that enchantment work?”
Esme blinked. “Enchantment?” She sounded confused, but only for an instant. “Ah! Theanamis not an enchantment, Gwendolyn. But you are perhaps wondering what Málik has gleaned of your thoughts after theglamour?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“Well, you must consider it this way: Every trial we endure leaves a scar,” she explained. “But that is not the same as reading your thoughts. While his intuition is seldom wrong, he may only interpret your scars. Does that make sense?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“But he is afflicted with the disease of so many.”
“Disease?”
Esme’s bark of laughter startled her. “He’s a man,” she said, followed by a slow grin. “And since when have you known a man to interpret a woman’s heart so unerringly?”
Gwendolyn laughed now, too, and Esme moved behind her to lift what remained of her curls. “Let me wash it,” she proposed. But she didn’t wait for Gwendolyn to assent; her fingers sank into Gwendolyn’s tangles, working them loose, massaging her scalp. In response, Gwendolyn sank lower into the tub, daring to enjoy it.
Demelza’s hands had never been so delightful. She was always so impatient, scrubbing too vigorously, dunking her head like one would a willful child’s.
Esme’s hands were gentle, unhurried… almost worshipful. It left Gwendolyn ill-prepared for the emotions it engendered because this was the first time in all her life, except for Málik’s one kiss, that any hands besides her own had touched her so tenderly.
And not at all the way a mother would—but then again, Gwendolyn couldn’t say she knew a mother’s touch. She didn’t. Queen Eseld had so rarely touched her, and never once was she the one to bathe Gwendolyn or dress her.
But even Ely’s touch was different—that of a sibling’s—and though Gwendolyn knew intuitively that this woman was her rival for Málik’s affection, she brought out in Gwendolyn a sense of devotion… almost as though she might be enthralled. Even her voice was seductive.
“If you must know,” she said at Gwendolyn’s ear, giving Gwendolyn gooseflesh. “The glamour he performed was not so complicated as you might believe. We areallconnected in this world, and theAethersimply absorbs our emotions collectively; this is theysbryd y byd.The spirit of the age.It bleeds like men bleed, and over time, it seeps into all it touches.”
Gwendolyn had never considered it so thoroughly. Certes, she was raised to consider theysbryd y bydin all things. After all, this was the reason she had connected her father’s illness to the decline of the land. But a thought abruptly occurred to her…
“So, this is the cause for the Rot?”
“It is.”
“And do you believe it will continue to spread?”
“Perhaps,” said the Faerie. “But there are many lands where theysbryd y bydis not affected by Pretania’s trials. In truth, while all lands are subject to this Rot, as you have called it… not all lands will succumb to it merely becauseyouhave failed to oust a usurper.”
You, she’d said, leaving all responsibility with Gwendolyn. “So then… if I fail, Pretania falls?”
“Perhaps,” said Esme again. “But not certes. The answer is not so simple as you might wish it to be,Banríon na bhfear.But if Locrinus prevails, the future, indeed, is bleak. Here now,” she said. “I think we are done.” She came about and took Gwendolyn by the hand, pulling her gently up from the tub. “Quite improved!” she exclaimed. “You clean well, Dragon Queen.”And having said as much, Esme graced her with another full, tooth-baring grin.
Gwendolyn couldn’t resist. She grinned back, noting the sincerity in Esme’s eyes, and no longer quite so alarmed by the fangs.
It was like that with Málik as well. At first, when she’d looked upon his face, she’d thought him the most beautiful creature, until he’d opened his mouth. But Málik never so generously bared his teeth. He only ever gave her glimpses of those fangs, and despite that it gave Gwendolyn a shiver the first time she saw them, it was… somehow… utterly alluring.
“I brought you a gown in the style of my people,” Esme announced. She moved swiftly over to lift a length of folded cloth.
The tunic she presented was not unlike the one Málik wore. Black as a moonless night, fashioned like Esme’s as well, except that Esme’s was a shade like buckskin. The one she handed Gwendolyn shone more like polished obsidian. But it was not made of any material Gwendolyn had ever seen. It was… the airiest of… metals? And still finely woven like a good silken cloth, slightly iridescent.
